"Your battery can no longer support your system. Consider replacing it as soon as possible." That's how his laptop used to greet him every time he would boot it up. Only this time, he was in dire need of a genuine greeting. Seated on cold tiles of the shared balcony. Second floor, Nehru Hostel. He clicked on Continue but remained still. His wallpaper app had put up a surprise for him on his desktop. What he was looking at on the screen were the mountains. These mountains took him back to the lap of those giants in which he grew up. They took him back to the cradle he had been trying to come out of for the last three years. It is hard to admit and easy to assume that he was falling.
Years ago, when time used to run slow and good news would spread fast. There lived a boy named Giriraj in a hamlet called Kreega, nestled in the terai region of the Himalayas. He was a lucky fourteen-year-old. I consider him lucky and I believe so would you. He used to wake up to some of the most beautiful sunrises on this planet. The room that he shared with two of his siblings was a tiny space surrounded by weathered walls. If you get to live there for a week, you would call it cosy. It had a big window facing the most majestic mountains of the region. At the beginning of winters, when the temperature would start dipping, one could see shiny snow-capped peaks as if warning the beholder of a rough winter ahead.
I am sure many of us have imagined ourselves sitting beside a fireplace, in a cosy room and watching snowflakes falling outside our window. The inception of these thoughts don't require much, but unfortunately, the necessitous villagers living in such regions seldom have much. Giriraj's family was no exception. They had to double-time before the winters to collect and store dry wood for their fireplace. Well, 'fireplace' is a rather luxurious word for a mere angeethi they had in the centre of their humble abode. In winters, the entire family would gather around the warm centre. Most of the indoor activities would take place around it.
The village was so small that people smiled at each other when passing by. So did our shy Giriraj. He used to walk for four kilometres with his brother every morning to a school in a nearby village. In the afternoon, when he would return racing downhill, he would be bone-weary. Partly because of being a weak kid. Mainly because of his older brother teasing him on their way home. After reaching his haven where he wouldn't be bothered by his brother, he would run straight to Divya, their older sister, to tell her all about his day. The fact that Giriraj and his brother were sent to school, proves how important their education was for their parents and sister. The elders were not literate but were skilled in their fields. Giriraj's mother could make the best of the region's delicacies. His father was an extraordinary carpenter. In his prime seasons, he used to work on as many as ten different pieces simultaneously. He would wake up before sunrise and sleep after everyone else in the family.
Despite being a small mountain family of five with just one earning member, they celebrated the festivals to the fullest. Be it the birthday of our handsome young lad or Diwali. They used to celebrate these occasions with the entire village as if everyone was part of a huge family. And invitations were just not part of the culture! I know I might be projecting a utopian image of their celebrations but all they used to do was truly enjoy together. They would dance while holding hands, forming a circle. Elders would sip Kreega-Kaahwa, a speciality of the region, sitting near the angeethi. Children would devour sweets and savouries.
With time everything changes. So did our Kreega. The government had now connected the hamlet with the main power line of the state. Kreega was lit up, everyone was delighted but the people had somehow stopped sharing their kaahwa. Television channels had now replaced the sound of never-ending conversations between the villagers. And little did our Giriraj know how far his life was going to take him from all of it when he left his home for higher studies. I know it sounds strange for a carpenter's son to leave his heavenly hamlet, to pursue higher studies. Don't forget every offspring carries just enough mutation to save the species from convergence. So did our Giriraj. He had packed his bags and left for Kuberkhand University. They were offering him a scholarship under the rural upliftment quota. His parent's had put together all they could to send him towards his and their better future.
It feels queer sometimes, how far our expectations take us and how far we take them. Giriraj was just seven hours away from his home. Ketki-Mausingarh Bus number 7 had just dropped him and his heavy backpack at the Dehrol bus terminal.
It was too crowded and too busy for any village lad. At the far end of the road were a plethora of shops. Surprisingly four medicine stores were lined up one after another except for a jewellery shop in between. It seemed as if medicines were the most sold commodity in the town. The street was littered beyond our Giri's comprehensibility limits. Sheathed with dirt and something which seemed even worse around where the auto-rickshaws were lined up one behind the other.
"Son, do you have change for five-hundred rupees?" a man in his mid-fifties, wearing a brown shirt and a jaded coat on his back appeared in front of him. Giri's eyes dropped down from his clothes to his big black suitcase. He seemed well-dressed. Giri knew taking out his wallet in such a crowded place might not be a safe thing. He simply denied the old man and moved towards the auto-rickshaws.
"Bhaiya, would you take me to Kuberkhand University?" Giri asked in a confused tone.
The driver replied, "No! ask the next one."
Giri went to the next one, "Bhaiya, would you take me to Kuberkhand University?"
The driver replied, "No!! the next one will go."
Giriraj was dumbstruck by their answers. He knew this was where he would get the auto-rickshaw because the University's Student Care Cell had guided him about it. Thankfully the next one agreed. He had reached a ginormous entrance. Giri just stood there for a second to digest the enormity of the entrance gate.
The driver said, "Veere, hundred rupees!" Giri knew this would burn a hole in his pocket but he fetched his wallet and gave him a hundred rupee note. Kuberkhand University was just seven kilometres from the Dehrol bus terminal. He got conned. He would realise this way later in his journey.
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