The Haunted Deepawali

The Haunted Deepawali

 

The year was 2017, and the festival of Deepawali was just a day away. Arun’s shift was over an hour ago. Still, he wanted to capture all the pending payments of his clients’ debtors. All his teammates were already on their Deepawali vacation, except two young girls, who were still under their training tenure. They both were doing nothing productive for the last three hours except scrolling their smartphones. Arun gestured them to leave, and they gladly collected their stuff, wished him happy Diwali, and went home. It took Arun another fifteen minutes to wind up everything and consider it a day.

Magenta Pvt. Ltd. was almost vacant at that time. A handful of people were working half-heartedly. Arun worked there for more than five years now and recently got promoted and became one of the payables department team's leader. Also, he just got married. So the upcoming Deepawali was undoubtedly very special for him.

Though he didn’t mind working overtime, the last shuttle towards the metro station was about to leave. He was really not in a mood to book a private cab and spend money unnecessarily. He quickly shut off the system and came down to the ground floor, all the way from the sixth floor, without waiting for the elevator.

The shuttle was standing right in front of the corporate complex's exit gate, which had three identical buildings. The shuttle was already in ignition mode. Arun quickly jumped into the shuttle and grabbed the seat somewhere in the middle of the bus. The shuttle started moving, and it took him a couple of minutes to discover that he is all alone on the bus (of course, except the driver). He kept his head against the window’s glass and closed his eyes for a while. He quickly entered into a state where he was thinking nothing at all. His closed eyes were only sensitive to street lights' rhythmic passing, which took him into a hypnotic state. The M.G. Road metro station was good twenty minutes away. The shuttle took a right turn towards a kaccha road behind the tall buildings, between the bushes and weeds. The twists and turns of the road brought him out of his nap. He could now see bushes, weeds, and crooked trees, after a patch of vacant land. He checked his cell phone and looked again outside the window. Suddenly he saw a figure running with the bus at a matching speed.

He tried to adjust his eyesight and saw a woman wearing something white, looking directly towards Arun and running at an inhuman speed. He held the handle in front of him and stood up with a thud.

‘Bhaiyaa…” he almost cried and called the driver.

The driver looked back to see the reason for this young man crying like a maniac. He saw nothing but a pale-white face of Arun looking out of the window. He ignored him as he wasn’t in a mood to have a word with another literate psychopath, who is good for nothing except sending emails to the organization's transportation department, filled with the driver's complaints. He concentrated on the beedi between his lips.

Arun saw the figure becoming thick white smoke and disappearing all of a sudden. He came near the window to see backwards but saw nothing except crooked trees and weeds. He grabbed his bag and stood near the driver. His heart was thumping against his chest like an old railway engine. The driver looked at his face through the mirror as he took out another tobacco rolled beedi from his pocket.

In a couple of minutes, the bus took a turn towards the main road. The metro station was on the other side of the divider. The bus took a U-turn, and Arun jumped through the bus. He punched his card on the first level of the station. He started feeling a bit safe as he entered the station complex. He ran towards the platform, and a handful of people were waiting for the metro. The other platform was completely vacant as the train terminates after two stops at the hudda city centre station. So there was utterly no one for a ride up to the last station. The frequency of the trains at this time of the day is extremely slow. There were still eight minutes left for the next train towards Vishwavidhalaya. He could even listen to the voice of his heartbeat. He was avoiding eye contact with everyone around him.

There were still around three minutes left in his metro's arrival when he saw a lady wearing a white top and a long blue skirt, standing alone on the opposite platform. He was walking towards the left side of the platform. Arun smelled something fishy, so he also started walking towards the left side.

Now, the girl started running, and to match her speed, Arun also started running. The train towards the Hudda city centre was about to arrive on the platform's opposite side when that lady suddenly jumped in front of the train.

‘No…’ Arun cried as he sat on the floor, with his hands tightly shutting his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he saw around fifteen people were surrounding him through his blurry eyes. He looked downwards and came to the centre of the platform. Everyone boarded the train when it arrived at the platform.

In the metro’s cart, there were few people present. He grabbed a seat near the door and sat with his face between his hands. He was not able to distinguish between reality and his imagination. Everyone around him was busy with their cellphones, but he was shivering with fear. His shirt was all drenched with sweat, which made him shiver more as the air vent was just above his head. He ignored all that, took out his mobile phone, and started typing a WhatsApp text message to his wife, explaining whatever happened to him in the last half an hour. He explained every minute detail of the woman who ran near the shuttle and the lady who jumped before the train. It was hard to vouch for the incidences' details, but he tried his best to compel his wife about the incidences.

Suddenly, the lights in the metro started flickering. Arun's attention got diverted while he was framing the sentences. He looked towards the glass in front of him. He saw a circular area covered with frost. He found something strange about that. He was looking at the frost with all his attention when he saw it clearing up.

The next moment, he saw a pale face, stick to the glass, with his eyes popping out of the socket and tongue coming out of the mouth. That feminine face was disfigured with something sharp and strong enough. The face was looking directly into Arun’s eyes.

Arun was on the cart’s floor, with the phone on his side when he breathed his last.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….....................................................................................................................

Nav Bharat Times

29th October 2016

Meera Sharma, a resident of Pashchim Vihar, New Delhi, committed suicide by jumping before the metro train at M.G. Road metro station. She was an I.T. Professional by profession and worked in a well-reputed multi-national company for four years.

According to sources, she suffered from an acute stage of depression and took heavy sedatives before committing suicide. The reason for suicide is still unknown. The forensic department of Haryana police is working on the post mortem report of the body. There is fear in the air of Gurugram this Deepawali.

1st November 2018

The last thing Vijay saw was a white figure on the floor of the metro train going towards Samaypur Badali before he collapsed on the ground. The ghost of the white lady still haunts the city of Gurugram. This is not the first time Haryana Police received the reports of some mysterious figure haunting young people. Though, Police call this a result of mass hysteria and the spreading of unnecessary rumours. The locals are still afraid of going out when every other city in the nation is celebrating Deepawali.

HRN

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The One Who Stole My Heart...

The One Who Stole My heart

My home, like many other houses, has two gates. One is at the front, and the other opens towards the little street at my home's backside. Around two months back, I saw Bachi (a beautiful female dog, with big wolf eyes) lying under a staircase with five little pups around her. I was excited when I saw all of them. They were just so small, even smaller than a tennis ball. Their eyelids were stuck together, and their eyes were forcefully closed. In about ten days, they started opening their eyes. They used to follow me whenever I used to whistle at them.

All five were so damn beautiful and active, but out of all, one little Pup stole my heart. I had a doubt that he was visually impaired. He could trace my voice and follow me, but I think he couldn't see me correctly. He always used to be around his siblings, as he was unable to manage alone. Apart from that, he was weakest among all. He used to scream whenever he was alone, as he couldn't find his way back to his little shelter near the staircase.

Once I found him at the end of the street, screaming and banging his head here and there, trying hard to find his way back. I whistled at him, and he started following that irritating voice and successfully found his way back.

After a week or so, I realized that he was able to see a little. I discovered this by placing him at a four-feet height on a small cemented platform, to feed him chapatti and milk with a bit more attention. Soon, his legs started shivering, and he started looking downwards. I was happy when I discovered that. I patted him, and I lifted him in my arms. I told him to trust me and kept him back at that little platform. He started eating without being afraid of height.

One Sunday morning, I woke up a bit late, and that too because of someone screaming outside my home. I saw him walking in my backyard. I asked my Mom what is he doing in the backyard. She said with an alarming voice that some dogs attacked the Pup. They dragged him while holding the little one in between their jaws. I ran towards him and saw him panting. He looked at me and waged his tail. I picked him up immediately and saw a big hole in his abdomen. I could see some internal bleeding and a yellowish noodle kind of thing coming out of that hole. I rushed to the Veterinary clinic near my home. They told me to run to the hospital as the little one needs stitches before any dressing.

I rushed to the hospital, but there was no staff available. They all went for lunch. One kind doctor gave him pain-killers, which helped him to bear the pain for a while. The doctor who had to perform the operation came after one hour. They gave him anaesthesia quickly and took him to the operation theatre.

They bring him back in an unconscious condition. The internal bleeding was so much, but the doctor said that the recovery chances are more than fifty per cent. I brought him back home, and he slept the whole afternoon. He woke up around six in the evening and started crying. I patted him, and he went back to sleep. After two more hours and another episode of screaming, he slept again.

After Nine, I got up from my desk and started preparing the bed for him. I guided my wife to mind her step as the little one is sleeping near our bed. I went to that basket in which he was lying.  I picked him up, but something looked fishy. I tried to shake him up, but he wasn't breathing. I panicked a bit and start giving CPR. I called my Mom to confirm whether there any chances, but she denied. The little Pup, who stole my heart, had left his mortal body.

Honestly speaking, I have seen innumerable dogs bidding me goodbye and leaving their mortal body. I was able to cope up. But this time, I couldn't. I was normal at first. I was consoling my wife as she was crying a lot. After bidding him goodbye, we went to bed. I slept for a while, but specific memories of the time I spent with him disturbed me. I was remembering him revolving round and round to find his way back to the shelter. When I was feeding him on that four-foot platform and telling him to trust me, everything was coming like a picture in front of my eyes.

That was it. I couldn't control myself and cry like a maniac.

I don't cry easily. But that night, I was not in my control.

No matter how much one reads about detachment and not getting attached to someone, It gives one a hard time to practice the concept. No matter how much you try to learn about the body and the soul concept, sometimes you fail miserably when applying that concept. Human emotions are hazardous. They have the tendency to make a person look crazy.

The next morning I was lost somewhere when I dropped my wife at her office on my scooter. I checked my phone after dropping her when two white feathers fell on my shoulder. I looked above but found nothing. I don't know what happened to me, but I kept those feathers with me in my fanny pack.

I asked my friend, who is a tarot card reader that what could this be. She replied that that's a message from angels. Now, I have a reasonable belief in Archangels, and I have literally felt their presence around me many times. I researched about this feather message on the internet when I found this video.

I pasted the feathers in my journal

That lady in the video said something that I couldn't control my tears. She said that it's a message from someone who has left this mortal world that he or she has reached safely in heaven, and now you should stop grieving.

Love, it's a crazy thing. Whether it is one-sided or both ways, it has beauty. But when someone loves you back with the same passion, trust me, that feeling cannot be described in mere words. That love can cross all the mortal boundaries. It's beyond the body, beyond the mind, beyond everything.

I lost him, but I'm happy that he is safe and became my guardian angel.

To conclude this, I just want to say that being emotionally vulnerable doesn't make someone weak. Weakness appears when someone stops doing something because of the fear of heartbreak and that grief. But you can mark my words, I will not stop falling in love, again and again with those little kiddos, who expects nothing but love.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

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"One Arranged Murder" by Chetan Bhagat - Not a Book Review

 In life, one of the most challenging tasks is judging something without being judgemental about it. Let me elucidate.  While Judging something, you have to be neutral in every aspect. You have to keep aside all your past experiences, earlier records, and people’s opinions regarding that particular thing. On the other hand,  when you are judgemental about something, you bring the past performances and other people’s view into the equation. Don’t worry, this theory is created by me. It helps me to bifurcate between judging something or being judgemental about something. I hope that will help you too, as you read this article further.

Chetan Bhagat, who started his career with the books like One night @ the call center, Five point someone, and Three mistakes of my life, was a trendsetter and converted many non-readers into readers. He brought a different revolution in the field of literature. He became the apple of the eye of millions of readers, specifically in India. But with time, and after lots of success, Bhagat started losing his charm when we talk about his books. Most of his books began adapting to Hindi movies. So, I personally felt like he started writing more for the movies’ scripts than readers. His Books like Half-Girlfriend and One Indian girl was somewhat looked like more of a Bollywood script than a book.

And then, his views upon feminism and gender equality were widely criticised across the nation. However, his books were a huge success and always remain at the top of the charts.

I read his recent book – One Arranged Murder.

If we talk about its story, Two friends, Saurabh and Keshav, are not much in talking terms after an episode of misunderstanding.  Saurabh, who is about to get married in a couple of months, is going to her fiancé, Prerna, at his home as she fasted for him on the occasion of Karva Chauth.  He was climbing the stairs to meet her at the terrace but was welcomed with something alarming. He saw a people gathering around a dead body on the ground. Was that an accident or a murder? The story revolves around that. Sourabh and Keshav, apart from working in a corporate, also run a detective agency called Z Detectives. So no points for guessing; they help the police to solve the case.

Honestly speaking, without flaunting my intellect, I could guess the criminal on the 80th page of this book, which has about three hundred-odd pages. That was more of a work of my emotional instinct than my critical analysis. But with each page proceeding, I started doubting myself, and that’s what I consider the success of this book. New theories came in eventually, and that’s the essence of the book.

It has that Chetan Bhagat factor as it mixes up all the variants like his earlier books. It has that tragedy, that romance, and that masala, his x-factor in the books like two states and three mistakes of my life.

On the other hand, I found some parts of the book quite impractical and hard to believe. The characters were behaving quite differently and beyond the boundaries of their portrayal. At some point, I also felt that this book is also written for a movie or a web-series. But that’s again one’s personal opinion, not a fact.

Do I like the book? Oh yes. It’s undoubtedly a page-turner, and I believe that its entertainment quotient is relatively high.

Will you like the book? That will depend on what you are looking for in the book.

Here’s the link to the book, in case you are looking forward to reading it.

I’ll see you soon.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

"And The Mountains Echoed" by Khaled Hosseni - Not a Book Review

 Not much after I relocated from my earlier society and started residing a few kilometres away from there, I got a fracture in my left foot. So after a few weeks of bed rest, I started walking in my society. I had utterly no idea who my neighbours were. 

A lady in her mid-fifties, who I suppose lived in the house just next to mine, asked about my well being and how I got injured. In that short conversation, she asked me a fundamental question that ‘Where I’m from?’ Without thinking much, I replied, ‘ We are from Pakistan.’ Her expressions were a cocktail of fear and amazement. She thought for a moment and asked, that where did I put up before shifting here.

I felt like an idiotic ISI agent standing right in the middle of the road. But I have this habit of telling people from where I belong to or where my roots are.

My Grandfather came to India after independence back in 1947 across the border. Undoubtedly we north Indians have faced innumerable invasions and massacres. We’ll talk about this sometime later. Today, I’m here to talk about the book I recently finished. It’s called “And The Mountains Echoed,” written by Mr. Khaled Hosseini.

Khaled was born in Kabul, Afghanistan, and moved to California afterwards. His book called ‘The Kite Runner” was highly acclaimed and his most successful work.

“And The Mountains Echoed” is a story of Abdullah, a ten-year-old kid, whose life resides in his younger sister Pari. He loves her more than anything in his life. But one day, his father had to give Pari to a financially well off family because of his monetary conditions and because of various other reasons. The story is about how Pari and Abdullah reunite and in what circumstances.

The book is a work of tragedy – filled with hope and pages filled with void. The story runs in a multi-level format where, in every chapter, the protagonist seems to change. All the characters are appropriately expressed and well connected.

My agenda to write this post is not to give a book review but to write about the things which needed to be discussed.

The first is, as I just wrote above, about the habit of seeking one’s root. I’m totally in favour of the fact that one should not differentiate based on one's cast and background. But, on the other hand, I think it is essential to seek one's own background. It is crucial to know who our ancestors are and how we channelized our way into this society.

The second is about the importance of memory. Suppose we try to think about this at a basic level. In that case, we can quickly conclude that everyone and everything exists as it is or as it was just because of our memory. There is no meaning of relationships or engagements, love or hatred, and so on. Everything exists in our memory.

Now you might be thinking, why I’m talking about these things in a post related to a book?

My answer is, you need to read the book for that. I feel that these two points are like the boat's two oars, which helps the boat row forward.

I’ll love to write a separate post related to these points. Till then, do read the book and share your views in the comment box below or mail me at  hrntales@gmail.com.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

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A Power Cut in Delhi

The power cuts were more common than cellular network problems in those days, even in the heart of the capital city of India – New Delhi. I was eight or nine years old, and the only hobby I had (still have) is observing people and imagining things. I used to imagine a different world, filled with mountains and lakes whenever I watched the sky. I had this habit of cooking up strange stories and imagining them as they are real. I never wrote or spoke about my self cooked fables to anyone. I feel like keeping them to myself.

But he was different.

Though we had many similarities and we share hell lot of things, like our name. His name was Atul Sharma, and my name is Atul Khanna. I used to call him Atul bhaiya as he was six years elder to me, and he used to call Khanna sahib, no matter how younger I was to him. Apart from having the same name, we both love to cook stories and to imagine things. But the significant difference between us was, he knew how to make use of his stories. He was an ardent reader like me, but he wanted to be an actor.

While having another power cut, all my friends and some neighbors were gathered in the park of society. My friends invited me to that gossip session, but I was a bit late. When I reached there with a torch in my hand, I saw around twenty boys and girls from our society gathered around Atul bhaiya. He was bending a bit leftwards, with his right hand on his waist and a little twig between his teeth. He was delivering one of the famous dialogues of Mr Amitabh Bachchan in is own way.

"Aaj mere paas bangla hai, gaadhi hai, bank balance hai, tumhare paas kya hai khanna sahib, hain?" And everyone just clapped and looked at me.

I was just mesmerized by the way he delivered that dialogue. It was just amazing. His style, his way of delivering that dialogue was just out of this world. It looked like I was watching a professional actor acting in a play.

After coming out of the world of my thoughts, I replied – "Mere paas Maa hai." And everyone laughed.

That guy deserved to be an actor, a storyteller. Unlike me, he knew how to showcase his creativity.

As time flew, we both lost contact. Atul Bhaiya completed his diploma in mass communication but unable to find a job in that sector. He joined a BPO like many others, after shutting down his dreams in a secret room.  

At that time I was in college, pursuing my degree in commerce, and still figuring out what to do in my life.

So finally, like Atul bhaiya and many others, I also joined the swarm and started working in a BPO. I can't forget that late-night shifts and early morning cabs.

One day, around eleven in the night, I de-boarded the office shuttle near Atul Bhaiya's house. I was hell tired. I had a rough day. My manager scolded me and called me dumb in front of the whole team. Though it was a daily activity, it used to hurt me equally, both emotionally and mentally.

I saw Atul bhaiya standing in his balcony. I saw him and tried to smile. He waved at me and asked me how I was. I smiled and waved him back without saying anything. Honestly, I couldn't. I saw his eyes tired. Maybe he saw the same tiredness in my eyes.

After six months or so, we had to sell that house for various reasons, and we shifted to the other corner of the city. I had lost my job soon after that (again for multiple reasons) and started working as a freelancer. I translate books, monthly and annual magazines from English to Hindi and vice-versa.

Yesterday, I had to submit a physical copy of the Hindi translation of a self-published book by a self-acclaimed, best-selling author. His office was around a mile away from my old house, where I had spent my whole childhood. After submitting the copy and getting a cheque of thirty-two hundred bucks, I started my scooter and decided to visit my old society. I covered my mouth and nose with a mask because of this silly pandemic all around, and also, I didn't want my old neighbors to be able to recognize me.

I parked the scooter in front of the old departmental store. I bought a cigarette from there. The owner tried hard to recognize me but failed. I came outside and lit the cigarette after removing the mask. I was standing under the peepul tree near Atul bhaiya's house. My old house was visible from there.

"How are you, Khanna Sahib?" I recognized that voice. All the dialogues from the era of the 70's and 80's Hindi films were ringing in my head but in Atul bhaiya's voice. Those power cuts and long-lasting chit chat sessions, every memory of my childhood, was in front of my eyes.

I crushed the cigarette butt from my right shoe and turned around. Atul Bhaiya was standing in the balcony, wearing a white t-shirt, smiling at me. His hair was a bit less than shoulder length. His Bicep muscle was bulging out of his t-shirt when he waved at me. He was not looking a day older than when I saw him four years back.

"How are you, Atul Bhaiya?" I replied with a shivery voice.

He didn't reply. He just stood there, looking at me lovingly and smiling his heart out.

"Arey Atul, How are you, buddy?" I heard the voice from the other side of the street. It was Prakhar Raheja, my old friend from society. I waved at him, and he called me to the other side.

I turned back to see Atul Bhaiya, but he was not there.

I crossed the street, absentmindedly. Prakhar hugged me and invited me to his house. I politely denied, so we decided to sit on two random parked bikes and have a thoughtful conversation. He asked about my parents, my wife, and why I didn't invite him to my marriage.

The conversation shifted to some childhood incidents and those power cuts and long-lasting gossip sessions with friends.

And then we talked about Atul Bhaiya and his golden Bachchan's Dialogues.

"Man, He was just amazing in his craft," I said.

"Yes, brother, and more than that, he was the gem of a person. I miss those days. And I miss him." He replied.

"Yeah, man, I just saw him standing in the balcony like half an hour back. He still looks the same, Muscular, Happy, and ever-smiling." I said.

Suddenly I saw Prakhar's facial expressions changed all of a sudden. It looked like His eyes were about to come out of their sockets. I smelled something fishy there.

"Atul, wait a minute." He gestured me to sit on the bike.

"Atul Bhaiya committed suicide two years back. The reason is still mysterious and unclear. And I believe that you know this very well."

I saw darkness took me over as I fainted. But the last thing I saw before closing my eyes was Atul bhaiya smiling at me.

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You Are Beautiful

 It would be wrong if I say that I had a disturbed or a traumatic childhood. Just the opposite, I was brought up in a very loving and caring environment. But everyone has his or her own problems. Some people say that they were bullied when they were kids. Some people say that they were beaten by their parents. Thankfully, I faced nothing like that. But I faced very different problems. One of the major problems I faced was ‘Thinking in a Loop syndrome’ (TLS). In medical language, there is nothing like TLS exists. I created it – not the problem but the name.

Now, what is TLS? Let me give you an example. Suppose I lock you in a dark room with a pair of permanently attached earphones, with the most disturbing lyrics playing in it. How will you feel? Trapped right? That’s what TLS is.
When your thinking becomes like a tape recorder, and you start thinking self-destructive, pessimistic, and negative thoughts in a loop, it can be briefly termed as TLS.
My dear friends, when I was in school, I had this habit of getting lost in my thoughts. So whenever the teacher used to teach the class, after paying attention for a couple of minutes I generally tend to lose attention. Once it happened that my History teacher was giving a lecture on Nazis and Hitler. I was very attentive in the beginning. As the lecture proceeded, he was explaining about the brutality against Jews and that famous gas chamber incident. And there I was stuck and entered into my world. I was stuck in that gas chamber, but the lecture moved with its pace. Hitler was there in the room, he created beneath the ground, but I was still there in the gas chamber. Hitler committed suicide, but I was still in the gas chamber with those poor Jews who were about to die.
What I heard next was my amazing teacher asking me questions related to the chapter, which thankfully helped me coming out of the gas chamber, but unfortunately, I didn’t know the answer. The result – the whole class was laughing at me for my blank expressions. That is where my TLS appears.
I’m Dumb.
I’m stupid.
I’m worthless.
I’m going to flunk this year too.
Thankfully, I passed that year, but I was unable to find a permanent solution to my loop thinking or my TLS.
Now when you grow up and meet new people, the first thing you do is, you try to forge a new personality. And in the process of forging a new personality, you try to cover up your problems, your shortcomings, and your past mistakes. The process of forging a new personality is somewhat similar to painting an old house from outside, without repairing it from inside.
So I went to college, met new people, and my TLS disappeared for a while.
I started working in an organization. The first few months were good. But then my TLS entered again in my life.
I was reprimanded for making silly mistakes. I was scolded and again gave me a title for being so dumb. I was even scolded for among a group of people. I can’t blame anyone, it is a part of their job. But that gave me a reason to believe that I’m worthless, stupid, dumb, and not good enough to be the part of the corporate world.
I resigned and started working with my Dad in a little business of his hoses for tractors and cranes.
One day I was coming from a public bus from my office. I gave some money to the conductor of the bus for the ticket and ask for the change. He told me to wait. I waited for a while and asked again for the change.
And he kind of scolded me and told me to have some patience.
Though it’s hard to believe and you might also find it funny, but I couldn’t look into his eyes and I de-boarded the bus at the next station, without collecting my change.
I sat at the bus stop for a while and I don’t know what happened to me. For the first time in my life, I thought that I can’t spend my life like that. I can’t have an ever attached earphone stuck in my ears, which makes me believe that I’m dumb or stupid or worthless. I felt the utmost need to express myself. I feel like making myself as well as other people understand that I’m not that stupid.
If a turning point exists in someone’s life, that was mine.
I didn’t mean that I became a different man all over, but I’m happy in whatever I’m doing. I love expressing myself via writing or speaking. I have some amazing friends, who help me to come out of that shell.
But my friends, we need to believe ourselves. We need to love ourselves. We need to believe that we are perfect in our way. We need to believe that we are beautiful as we are. We need to understand the fact that we can’t love anyone else without loving ourselves first.
I would love to write more about this shift, but let’s keep it for some other day.
Till then, love yourself as much as you can… and some more.
Love, Laughter, and Peace
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A Letter to My Countrymen

 

Sisters and Brothers of India

Today, I’m writing this letter for each Indian to congratulate him or her for being born on this noble land where giants like Ashoka The Great, Swami Vivekananda, Shaheed Bhagat Singh, and Dr. Kalam walked. I want to congratulate you on being a part of the largest democracy present on Planet Earth, where people from different sects, castes, and religious believes live together. I Congratulate you for being born in the nation which always respects the freedom of others and has never tried to invade some other nation and overpower it, provided India itself was overpowered by different rulers and countries Starting from Alexander, Greeks, Turks, Moguls, Britishers and so on. Heartiest congratulations for being born in the nation whose History is so colorful and vibrant. Be Proud, My dear Countrymen!

Freedom – Whenever we think about this word, The black and white pictures of India’s Struggle against Britishers flashes in our mind. Various Freedom Fighters and their courage to make this nation free from the clutches of the British Raj. It was a struggle filled with Courage, Leadership, Confidence, and Unity in the nation. But if we think for a moment that even after almost 73 years of attaining freedom from The Britishers, can we say ourselves free? Are our Heart and Mind is still not Invaded? Are we not being controlled by something? My dear Brethren. We are being Controlled by Media channels and various social media websites. These two things are spreading in the blood of the nation slowly. Switch on any news channel and what you will see are probably Negativity and Pessimism. What you will see is various news of Rapes, Murders, Calamities, Poverty, cheap Politics, and Silly Gossips. What you will see is the stupid news of Film Star’s personal life. Ahh, it is like piercing a sharp sword in the heart of the nation. I’m saying this because What hides behind this stupid news is the achievements of our nation. Read this very carefully, My dear ones. I’m about to tell you what the news channels never show.

No news channel will show you that our nation stands proudly in the first position if we talk about Milk Production. No one will tell you that what are our achievements in Rocket Science and launching SLVs. We know that Sonam Kapoor got married to someone called Mr. Ahuja, but we don’t know that our nation is the second-largest producer of wheat and rice. Our Children know Honey Singh’s raps by heart but they don’t know that India is the nation who reached on Mars on its very first attempt. No channel will show you this news after a week after the achievements. They are busy glorifying our cricket team when they won a match and start cursing them when they lose one. Believe it or not, they love to play with your subconscious mind. They find happiness by burying the seed of negativity in your mind, which will probably one day, become saplings of frustration, anger, Negativity, and national disturbance. All riots and disturbances are the cruel results of the Indian Media.

Kalam* Sahib once said, “Youth is the biggest asset of the Nation – On the Earth, Under the Earth, and Above the Earth.” And that’s true. India is a young nation. The majority of its population is between the age of 15 and 35. We have the muscles of steel and heart of gold filled with indomitable energy. But, it breaks my heart whenever I see youngsters restricting their gift called life, by the filthy walls of various Social media platforms. If you look at this minutely, you will observe that today’s youth is busy balancing Two different lives – One, which is portrayed on the social media platforms; which is glamorous, colorful, Vibrant, Fancy but Artificial. And the Other is their real life, Which is Lonely, Restless, and extremely depressed. Believe it or not, we have created a barrier between our two different lives. We know how a Facebook friend doing in London, but we don’t see what is happening in our family. We know about the tweets of Bollywood celebrities, but we have no idea about where our nation is going. We celebrate Mother’s day on Facebook by posting our Mom’s picture, but we have no time to sit with her every day. We know the whole world, But we don’t know ourselves. 

Social media is weakening the Nation. It is diminishing its glory. It is like a poison that is getting dissolved in the Nation’s blood. Sacrifice is the solution, guys. It is a very high time to stop this nonsense and start building our real life. One facebook picture won’t make you a star, but your actions will. Investing time in self-development by reading good books, meeting Optimistic people, sitting in solitude, and having faith in the Almighty will make your real-life amazing. All of us know how much social media is killing our time. We know that how much it is disturbing our personal life. But it has become an addiction now. We are unable to control our fingers. We subconsciously tap that Facebook Icon on our smartphone. Think once again, Are we guys free? Do we guys call ourselves Independent, when we are controlled by this silly habit? If we want to see our nation developed, we have to make this sacrifice. We have to diverge our time as well as energies in thinking and working towards our personal, societal, and National goals. We have to work with Righteousness in our hearts. Because Kalam* sahib said:-

“When There is Righteousness in The heart,

There is Beauty in Character.

When there is Beauty in the heart,

There is Harmony in the Family.

When there is harmony in The Family,

There is Order in The Nation.

When there is an order in the Nation,

There is Peace in the World.”

So my dear ones, everything begins with righteousness in the heart. G.D.P, PCI., Balance of trade, and all those statistical figures are secondary in developing a nation. Righteousness in your heart and actions are primary. And I’m not saying that social media is bad. It is beautiful and has the power to bring a revolution in the nation. But we don’t know how to tap its power. We are busy abusing it instead of using it. So let’s restrict our time which we spend on social media and start working on our real goals. Let’s make our Life as well as the life of our countrymen beautiful. Let’s sacrifice our today so that the next generation can see a happy, Glorious, and Developed India. Amen!

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

*Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam