Rama Moondra

Place- Amritsar. Time- 2.30 am. Venue- Golden Temple. Temperature – Minus two degree.

 I stood silent next to sarovar. It is holy tank where people take a dip before going inside. I am not a religious person. I do not even believe in doing any rituals. Therefore, curiosity took me to temple that early morning. It all started from the hotel lobby. “The temple opens at 2.30 am” The receptionist informed me. “I am sure not in this season,” I smiled to him. “Oh no, it’s been that way ever since. No matter whatever the season is.” He gave me a look that made me feel like an alien in wonderland.

I could walk to temple from hotel. I gathered my courage. Two am my alarm rang and I came out of hotel. Absolutely deserted road, shivering under my spine I walked two steps. I had to go back to lobby again to get a torch. The fog did not allow me to see anything despite streetlights. I was sure that I may not get a single soul on my way to temple so walking with utmost caution; I looked around when I heard footsteps. I felt better seeing some more people on the way. When I reached temple, there was a crowd walking along the parikrama route.

 Nevertheless, I stood speechless when I saw people taking a dip in Sarovar. Freezing cold, foggy night and wind that could drill a hole in bones, people were bathing in icy cold water. My eyes were moist. I bent on my knees and bowed down. For once, it was less for the superpower and more for the amazing capacity of human beings. I bowed down to the power of faith. It instills power to overcome any hurdle, Faith that keeps us going and faith that there will be a better tomorrow.

 As a child, I read for hours sitting under a tree. Most of them comics of Archie’s and Phantom. In those days, a stranger shifted in my neighborhood. I liked him instantly. However, eight years elder Joyen soon became a part of my life.To write about Joyen, I need to take my shimmer and sepia thoughts back to a small township of a British conglomerate my father worked with. My days got filled with our laughter and his presence.He helped me with my math’s homework and talked late nights standing out of my window. His home was next to mine. Usually we would run to a small lake next to our bungalow, sit and talk about his career as a doctor. I never had any plans as twelve year old. I think I loved being called Bookworm even those days. Joyen taught me to read poetry and appreciate sports.

I had almost forgotten that one day he has to leave for higher studies. I still remember saying good-bye to him as yesterday. He stood tall and smiling in white shirt. I wept through my heart after he left. Very angry with him, I decided never to talk to him again. Why would he leave me?

 Next few weeks my studies took over everything. I stopped looking at lake and would never discuss him with anyone. “I am never going to talk to him again.” I reiterated myself everyday. A month later, on New Year’s Day my mother woke me up. With tears in her eyes, she dropped me to aunt’s home and the car zoomed away. My aunty held me tight.My parents had gone to meet Joyen’s parents.

 Joyen was no more. He died in an accident on 31 Dec. I never could talk to him again.Never could tell him how important it was for me to have him around.This year afresh I decide to continue what he taught me silently. I have learnt to tell people how valuable they are when they are alive.Hope, the New Year brings more confidence and ease of self-expression for everyone.