With the arrival of summer, our town — a harmonious blend of development and a welcoming environment — entered a new chapter. Not too big, yet just right, it exuded a unique charm where the spirit of togetherness flourished. As temperatures rose, so did the anticipation of both the beauty and the sweltering warmth that characterized the season, creating a shared experience among the residents of our lively town.
As the summer sun shines down on our town, something magical happens. The whole place comes to life with bursts of color everywhere you look. Flowers start blooming as if they can't wait to show off, and the trees put on their fanciest outfits with bright, new leaves. It's like the town is getting ready for a big party.
Guess what? This means the special time of 'Amba Bahar' or 'Kairi' is about to begin. This is when we know that yummy raw mangoes are on their way. You can almost taste the sweetness in the air. It's like a delicious secret that the town shares, making everyone excited for the tasty treats that summer has in store.
Strolling along the sides of the roads in our town is a real treat. You'll see a mix of houses and green areas that make everything look like a beautiful painting. Here, you truly see the spirit of our vibrant town. Life isn't fancy, particularly for the children from the adjacent slum area, dressed in old and sometimes tattered clothes, but there's a unique kind of magic. These kids, with not a whole lot, become the heartbeat of the place. They're out there, full of life, doing something special — throwing stones at mango trees to grab the best Kairi.
Their clothes might not be the newest, but when they laugh, it's like the sun breaking through the clouds. The town comes alive with their energy, turning a simple tradition into a spectacle. These kids, barefoot and in patched-up clothes, find so much joy in the smallest things.
In this picture, where poverty brushes against tradition, you can't help but feel the strength of our tight-knit town. It's not about what you have; it's about finding happiness in the simple moments. Here, everyone, no matter their struggles, gathers to soak in the joy that comes from the little treasures of life.
Yet, even with all the happy summer feelings, there's a bit of carefulness. My dad, always looking out for us, is careful about our safety. He says I can't join in too much with the stone-throwing fun. It's like a little rule to keep us safe. It reminds me that in our nice town, where everyone is friendly, there's also someone watching out for us, making sure we're okay and happy.
In the neighborhood near my home, where the slum kids lived, life was undeniably tough for them. Their families grappled with the harsh reality of poverty, struggling each day to put even two meals on the table. Going to school was a luxury beyond reach, a distant dream that their economic circumstances cruelly denied.
What compounded their challenges was the societal prejudice they faced, being part of the untouchable castes. This unjust bias created an additional layer of hardship for these kids, subjecting them to discrimination and unfair treatment from those around them.
Despite their undeniable struggles, I found myself harboring a sense of resentment, a feeling I knew was unjustified. It wasn't the fault of these kids; they were victims of circumstances beyond their control. My unjustified animosity stemmed from the toxic attitudes of my friends and their families. Witnessing these people treating the slum kids as if they were somehow inferior fueled a superiority complex within me, contributing to a cycle of prejudice and resentment that was difficult to break. It was a rhythm of injustice that, despite my better judgment, I found myself caught up in.
Within my group of friends, an unjust dislike started to grow towards the kids from the slum, especially under Advait's influence. He seemed unaware of the challenges these children faced daily and treated them dismissively, as if they were unimportant. Their parents played crucial roles in our households, doing tasks similar to maids or servants, yet a significant social gap existed. Influenced by my father's esteemed standing in town, I mistakenly developed a sense of superiority.
Advait consistently expressed negative opinions about these people, highlighting what he perceived as their flaws. The unsettling reality hit me — despite my father providing them with employment, deep-seated biases linked to caste and class persisted. Unintentionally, I found myself contributing to the unjust treatment of these individuals, swept along by societal prejudices.
As time passed, Advait's words became a constant whisper in my ears, gradually shaping my own views. The initial dislike I harbored transformed into a more profound resentment. His negative sentiments seeped into my thoughts, influencing how I perceived and interacted with the kids from the slum. My feelings towards them began to mirror the unfounded animosity that Advait projected, and my actions inadvertently reflected this growing resentment.
It became a vicious cycle — the more I heard negative comments, the more my own feelings of dislike grew. The seeds of animosity planted by words took root and flourished in the fertile ground of my impressionable mind. This unfortunate influence became evident in the way I spoke and behaved, a reflection of the poisonous sentiments that had taken hold.
My dad was more than just someone in my life; he was the guy who brought warmth and comfort with him. Whenever he said he was going shopping with a friend, it got me excited. These shopping trips weren't just about buying stuff; they were chances for surprises, for finding cool things like new toys and chocolates. As a kid, those simple joys, discovered while tagging along with him, left lasting memories in my heart.
But life doesn't always happen the way we want. On one occasion, with everything going on and his friend with him, my dad had to say no to me joining. It was disappointing, and I went to a quiet spot to think about it.
In that sad moment, my dad, being caring and understanding, saw I was upset. His comforting look said a lot, like he knew how much I wanted to go. Trying to make me feel better, he promised to bring back something special — a small but meaningful gesture that showed his love and understanding.
Even though I felt a bit disappointed at first, my dad's talent for turning regular moments into special memories stayed the same. His presence, always a source of comfort, showed what a parent could do to make everyday things feel magical.
When my dad got back from shopping, my eyes lit up with joy, eager to see what he had. I imagined unwrapping a big, special toy that'd make me super happy. But surprise, he didn't have a big box with him, making me wonder.
I waited eagerly for my gift, and then he called, 'Siddharth, come here, I have something for you.' Without thinking, I rushed to him, feeling the excitement in the air. I imagined getting a cool toy that'd make me jump with joy.
But things turned out differently. In his hands, my dad had a box, but it wasn't a toy — it was a new pair of pajamas. Pajamas? It was different from what I expected, and I felt a bit confused. The excitement I had before turned into disappointment and sadness.
Feeling sad, I carefully opened the box, hoping there was a surprise hidden inside. But all I found was a simple blue pajama, with my favorite Iron Man print. The blue was bright, like the sky on a sunny day. And the Iron Man print made it cool — my favorite superhero right on my pajamas!
Even though it wasn't a toy, the pajama felt comforting in my hands. I envisioned wearing it for bedtime, experiencing a snug and cozy feeling. It wasn't what I anticipated, and a gentle wave of disappointment and sadness washed over me. It became a moment where my expectations didn't align with reality, evoking these nuanced emotions.
I felt a bit let down. I was hoping for a fun toy, something full of promises of adventure and playmate joy. But it didn't happen. The pajamas were okay, they had my favorite superhero on them, but they didn't make up for the missing childhood excitement.
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A month slipped by, and my Pajama, once a big deal, kind of faded away. I wore it a bit, but I still really wanted that Iron Man toy. The picture on the pajama didn't quite make up for it. Good thing I had other cool toys to play with, so that helped.
Then came summer vacation, bringing along a not-so-fun friend — homework. Lots of it from school. Dealing with all that work, I found my escape on the terrace. Even though I was supposed to focus on my school stuff, my attention kept drifting. I couldn't help but watch those kids again. They were full of energy, aiming to grab mangoes by throwing stones at the trees. It was like a show, and it made for a pretty interesting break from all the schoolwork.
As I watched the lively scene from my terrace, a surprising sight captured my attention — a boy, roughly my age, wearing the exact same Iron Man-print pajamas as mine. The initial response was a mix of curiosity and amazement, but hidden beneath the surface, a pang of hurt surfaced. How could my father choose something seemingly so ordinary that these kids could have it too? Frustration towards my dad's choice flared up, intensifying my resentment towards those kids.
With a sense of urgency, I descended from my terrace and called out, "Maa, where's my Iron Man pajama?" Even my mother appeared perplexed, likely wondering why I suddenly cared about something I had previously overlooked. She suggested it might be nearby and advised me to check my room. Driven by determination, I headed straight to my room, launching a thorough search for the missing item.
Even after looking everywhere, I couldn't find the Iron Man pajama, and it made me more and more frustrated. Then, a troubling thought came to my mind — what if the boy I saw outside took it? This idea made me mad, especially because I already didn't like those kids.
Putting things together quickly, I thought our house's boundary was easy for others to reach. I imagined the boy I saw might have come in and taken the Pajama when my mom put it outside to dry after washing. Convinced by this idea, I was determined to get it back, turning my search into a strong mission.
Without wasting any time, I went outside, where those kids were still busy throwing stones at mango trees. The air felt tense with frustration, confusion, and a strong determination to confront the boy I believed took what rightfully belonged to me. It felt like getting ready for a showdown amidst their playful pursuit, and my feelings were a mix of emotion and anger for the upcoming meeting.
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I stood there, facing the boy, a storm of emotions inside me. Without saying anything, I let out my frustration with a hard slap on his cheek, a sharp sound echoing around us. He stumbled, confused, feeling the pain from the hit. Before he could understand what was going on, I followed it with a strong punch right on his jaw. His eyes showed confusion, and I could see the hurt on his face.
In his shock, he fell to the ground, looking dazed and lost. The weight of my anger pressed down on him, and he struggled, trying to make sense of the sudden attack. Tears welled up in his eyes, reflecting the mix of confusion and pain.
I wasn't satisfied with just one hit. The anger inside me pushed me to keep going, each punch taking away a bit more of his strength. Now, he was on the ground, bleeding and hurt, a big difference from the boy who thought he could take something that wasn't his. The dignity he had was broken, and he couldn't bring himself to face his younger sister.
As I forcefully took the pajama back, he lay there, not just without the stolen clothes but also without his pride. His confusion turned into quiet cries, his pain showing in every shiver of his body. The scene was a picture of embarrassment and loss.
At that moment, as I walked away with my Pajama, he stayed on the ground, showing the consequences of what he did. His sister, seeing what happened, couldn't do much to save his dignity. She tearfully used an advertisement banner to hide him from people's eyes, the truth of his actions leaving a lasting mark on both of their lives.
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As the evening settled, I couldn't wait for my dad to come back. I was so excited to tell him about how I figured things out and got back my pajama from those kids. In my head, I felt like they got what they deserved.
When my dad got home, he went to the bathroom after taking off his shoes. While I was waiting for him, my mom came in and showed me the Iron Man pajama she found.
"I found your Iron Man pajama, Sid. It was upstairs," she said. But that confused me because I remembered putting it in my wardrobe in my room, not upstairs.
I quickly went to my room to check, and there it was, safe and sound in my wardrobe. Suddenly, it hit me — I made a big mistake. That boy didn't steal it; he never took it. The truth hit me hard, and I felt a mix of emotions.
Confusion took over, and I also felt a bit embarrassed and guilty. I stood there, trying to understand what just happened and realizing the consequences of what I had done in a hurry. My heroic victory story turned into a big misunderstanding, and I had to face the results of being mad without a good reason.
Once my dad finished his work, he came into my room and found me there, the wardrobe doors slightly open. "Appa, today I saw one of the kids from the slum area wearing the same pajama you bought me a month ago," I blurted out, surprised by what I had seen.
Without missing a beat, my dad said, "Oh, really, Sid? Kunal uncle probably gave it to his servant. The day I went to the market, he came along. He bought the same pajama for Advait."
As I took in his words, a realization hit me. The pieces of the puzzle started to fit together, creating a clearer picture. My dad's explanation brought light to the mystery, and a wave of understanding washed over me. The shared pajama wasn't a result of theft or trickery but a coincidence, a simple twist of fate.
What is he thinking? What is he feeling? Is he going to make things right? Or, he has other plans? We will see in next chapters.