My Grandfather

Hey everyone! This is my new short story, which I have written for Tinkle Digest. This is just an excerpt, and carries a theme of motivation. Please share your views here:

“I don’t know what I always felt about my grandfather, because I never saw him in my life. He had been a freedom fighter in his youths, who stood by Subash Chandra Bose during his early teens, and then joined Gandhi in his fight using the weapon of ahimsa. After the country won its independence, he stayed with the Mahathama, until he got shot and killed.

“Later, he joined the army and served the nation during many important crises, such as the Sino-Indian War of 1962, and later against Pakistan in years 1965, 1971 and finally the famous Kargil war in 1999. In course of time he won numerous ranks and medals, but the first and last time I ever saw him was when he was in a casket, buried with all the pride and love from the countrymen who he tried to protect.

“I still remember when my father was asked to receive the folded Indian flag and a golden medal, the famous Paramveer Chakara for his services. My father held it with pride, while his heart was burning with loss. He didn’t dare to look into the casket again.

“I was asked to burn his body, and I did. Being his only grandson, I was given the right to do the last rites for him. But what I never understood was the whole purpose behind the act. I could never understand why he had to fight for 50 crore people, and why he died for them. There was no purpose.

“As I grew up, I started to learn more about my country. Nothing made sense. People were born, people die. In between they live for no purpose. It made no sense to me. The way I saw it, I was the charioteer of my own ride.

“Things were not meant to be simple. Let me describe my locality. I live in a colony with a group of other families. We have a drainage running in front of everyone’s house, which had be stagnated for years. The municipality would always promise about coming over to clean up the mess and make the drainage run smoothly, but those were false calls from them. I mean, who would enter the sewage to clean someone else’s waste?

“Next to our colony is the busy slum of Mumbai, which is also the living place for many people. Everyday when I walk to school I see kids beg for alms, people working for the least of wages and women trying all sorts of things to feed their babies. It was not a chaotic situation. It was just a typical India, where people can never make a move for themselves and expects someone else to do it for them. I pitied them, I always did.
“Questions about my grandfather giving up his life for nothing, and the living styles of thousands of people around me always confused me. I just wanted to escape this country. And so it was decided that after graduation I would leave for London for an elegant life. My parents could not make think otherwise.”