This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda
During Kargil War 1999
I came back home. I couldn't feel my thoughts or my legs. When I looked down at my wheelchair, I put my fingers over it, feeling the loss of power that was once mine. I was a star player in my school and my mother displayed all my trophyes at the mantlepiece. It is still there somewhere. She never changed the decor of her home, she just liked the way things are. But I am not the same anymore. The war did that to me. I was blown by a grenade and was lying, waiting for death to come to me, only to be found by some young jawan, who lifted me and carried me to the Military medical camp. The camp was damp and stuck of blood and death. I was waiting for mine but it never came. I just got better, I got calls from home and my girlfriend wrote me letters. I answered none. She was still doing her graduation. A young nineteen year old who liked art. She was beautiful, I could see no flaw in her really. Her young vibrant face flashed again and again in my eyes but i closed it tightly, defying my feelings. I wanted to let her go. So I didn't answer. I could see cards coming damp because of the rains but I stopped opening them after I was informed I would always be in a wheelchair.
The door opened and mom came to me with tears ready in her eyes. But we were still in war. I sat everyday in front of the television and watched the news, waiting for some hope, that we won. But time just dragged in front of me. Mom was always around as if waiting for some kind of a miracle but it never came. My amputated legs just lay there, snug in a blanket, taking in the warmth of a cold winter night.
Then I saw her. She was on TV, and she was among the soldiers, I could hear the bombs, the firing and I gripped the chair, shouting at her, yelling for her to leave, that war wasn't for girls like you.
She was on the mike, "I was inspired to follow my dreams to become a reporter here. I wanted to know what is war like and how our army gives their best to protect us. So tell me what's your inspiration?".
She was taking interviews of officers and jawans now and they were smiling at her, captivated with her smile as I was. And someone asked her why was she here.
"I love an army man. He is my inspiration. always will be". It was like she was looking into my eyes.
There was another bombardment in the background and her voice was fading. The camera stopped.
Has it been years already? She looked grown. Almost hard and so serious about life. I couldn't see that laughing girl anymore.
"She has become a war correspondent", Mom was wiping her wet wrinkled fingers with a kitchen towel, "And she called me so many times asking about you".
I was quiet. It was better to be.
"Why did you leave her?"
I had no answers. I just stared at the figure, hoping, praying that she comes out of this a winner. She has suddenly become my inspiration.
PS- Lest we forget the heros of our country. Lets just remember the times when life was difficult for so many out there.
During Kargil War 1999
I came back home. I couldn't feel my thoughts or my legs. When I looked down at my wheelchair, I put my fingers over it, feeling the loss of power that was once mine. I was a star player in my school and my mother displayed all my trophyes at the mantlepiece. It is still there somewhere. She never changed the decor of her home, she just liked the way things are. But I am not the same anymore. The war did that to me. I was blown by a grenade and was lying, waiting for death to come to me, only to be found by some young jawan, who lifted me and carried me to the Military medical camp. The camp was damp and stuck of blood and death. I was waiting for mine but it never came. I just got better, I got calls from home and my girlfriend wrote me letters. I answered none. She was still doing her graduation. A young nineteen year old who liked art. She was beautiful, I could see no flaw in her really. Her young vibrant face flashed again and again in my eyes but i closed it tightly, defying my feelings. I wanted to let her go. So I didn't answer. I could see cards coming damp because of the rains but I stopped opening them after I was informed I would always be in a wheelchair.
The door opened and mom came to me with tears ready in her eyes. But we were still in war. I sat everyday in front of the television and watched the news, waiting for some hope, that we won. But time just dragged in front of me. Mom was always around as if waiting for some kind of a miracle but it never came. My amputated legs just lay there, snug in a blanket, taking in the warmth of a cold winter night.
Then I saw her. She was on TV, and she was among the soldiers, I could hear the bombs, the firing and I gripped the chair, shouting at her, yelling for her to leave, that war wasn't for girls like you.
She was on the mike, "I was inspired to follow my dreams to become a reporter here. I wanted to know what is war like and how our army gives their best to protect us. So tell me what's your inspiration?".
She was taking interviews of officers and jawans now and they were smiling at her, captivated with her smile as I was. And someone asked her why was she here.
"I love an army man. He is my inspiration. always will be". It was like she was looking into my eyes.
There was another bombardment in the background and her voice was fading. The camera stopped.
Has it been years already? She looked grown. Almost hard and so serious about life. I couldn't see that laughing girl anymore.
"She has become a war correspondent", Mom was wiping her wet wrinkled fingers with a kitchen towel, "And she called me so many times asking about you".
I was quiet. It was better to be.
"Why did you leave her?"
I had no answers. I just stared at the figure, hoping, praying that she comes out of this a winner. She has suddenly become my inspiration.
PS- Lest we forget the heros of our country. Lets just remember the times when life was difficult for so many out there.
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