Monday, April 27, 2009

The Boy and his something special

Yeah, hey this is gagan....(stares at v-man! get it right this time :P )

This is the story of a boy and his something special.

The Boy made binoculars out of his hands and looked out of the window. The small window which had been chewed off at ends by the termites and was creaking along the hinges ready to fall off any second. His gentle young hands clasped into unruly circles trying to look far outside the house. He couldn’t see much but it hardly mattered. At his age, every bit of the world was fascinating. Every object brought zeal of exploration. For his parents, the boy was a nuisance since he poked his nose in everything they did and made their lives a living hell. They were obviously living the clich├ęd life of a married couple who had kids to deal with. And this was their boy. The curious kid whose curiosity was too much to be handled by outgrown adults.
He wanted to know why does the rainbow have so many colors and how does his shoes have laces and why cannot he watch television after nine in the night and why can’t he sleep in the soft pointy blades of green grass. So when he got kicked out of the house because he asked too many questions, he pouted and ran out into the lush green garden. The garden decorated with gladioli, sunflowers and aesthetic creepers provided with the shade of an adult mango tree. The enriched environment of the garden was able to turn the mood of many. For the cruelty of sunshine to the devastating effects of the tempests could not be felt in such beauty. Lying flat on the garden bed he looked up. He wondered where the stars go in the morning and how can they just run back to their positions in the night? He felt annoyed with himself and started to doubt his own conscience. Why does he want to know all the answers? Why can’t he live with all the things that are taught to him? Why does he keep asking those pestering questions? He felt the confidence of his own will being questioned.
He flipped onto one side and saw an outgrowth out of the concrete. The garden overflowed with the flora, the scent of the rarest of flowers, the wooden swing which pushed the wind across his face when the innocent boy ran up and down the grass to give himself a push and giggled instantaneously, as sensitively like a touch-me-not plant. Now everything was pushed to the backside. How could a flower come out of concrete? There were four slabs of concrete intermixing into each other and out of intersection sprang out a young outgrowth just like the boy, such a dare move just like his daunting questions.
He had never fed his thirsty flowers in the garden but he ran inside into the kitchen. Jumped as high he could, grabbed a rusty glass and poured in the rushing fresh water out of the tap. Then scampered back and sat close to the outgrowth. Slowly poured water onto the sides and grinned. He had no idea what it would do but he had seen his mom do that to the rest of the garden so he figured he might help this poor creature out of the concrete.
He watered the outgrowth every day. Not one day passed would he forget to pour the elixir. Outgrowth slowly rose higher and higher. And every time he saw it rise, it would give him more happiness in his life than anything else did. He seemed to fulfill the purpose. What was the purpose, nobody knows but there was a sense of satisfaction in his heart.
The boy had frustrated everybody in his purview. Even his friends thought of him as a fool, stupid enough to be talking about a shoot growing out on the other side of his garden.
As he was slowly straddling back to his home after stepping down from his yellow school bus, he saw something spectacular. He dropped his bag and ran towards it. Slid across it and smiled wide. Slowly moved around it and rubbed his cheek onto its smooth surface smelling the intoxicating aroma. It was gorgeous. It was completely red, not a speck of imperfection. It was a rose. Such a spectacle!
He had nurtured it. It was His rose. He didn’t want to trade it with anything in this world. It made him ecstatic and everyday he would play with it, tickling its slender stem and getting a rub back from its gentle green leaf. He could never imagine himself without the rose. His life felt accomplished. It felt like he was right somewhere. His honest innocence found a witness in its form.
And then one day, he came back home from school and ran to meet his flower. The exquisite rose. He bowed down close to the rose and then screamed out loud, “Aaaoow!!” He had streak of blood oozing out of his cheek. It hurted a lot and it made him cry. How could the rose do that to him? He could have never imagined a thorn coming out something so utterly splendid. It had cut into his cheek and scratched it out.
Like all his other questions, he could never know why was there a thorn in a rose?


IsHiTa said...

Why Do i love this little boy so much? Why is this so touching?

the turncoat said...


Ko said...


Mohit Rodeja said...

There are two very different focal points here.
One's stated and the other understated.
Did you intend it to be that way in the beginning only or did that just come about while writing?

m y s t i c said...

yes,it was intended