My grandpa...

I want to dedicate this blog of mine to my late grandpa.

"My dear grandpa, I enjoyed each and every minute, you had spent with me. You'd always tried and succeeded in keeping me happy. I love you."
– Me.

My life's first asset is given by him. He invested his time with dedication to give me the one, which is my virtual identity. He crowned me with 'name'... the eternal identity virtually carried by everyone and also do I.

Many decades back, when India was ruled by British, there lived a young lady and her husband in Rangoon. Rangoon was a part of India before independence, later owned by Burma. They had a happy life. The love and happiness they shared, gave them a lovely kid. The kid looked so cute and active. The kid never had realized that he'd born in a slave country... May be that's the reason, he always held smile in his face. My mom took much care on me; all our mom would have taken extra and special care on us. That is where the blessings from god, start on us. This kid is one among the hundreds and thousands and lacs and crores of unlucky kids born in this planet. He lost his mom after his first few breaths in this beautiful world. When my mom gave a pause while telling this, I asked her, "who dressed him?, who combed his hair?". These few questions changed her mood and she laughed with me with her eyes watered. But, I very well meant the questions what I'd asked my mom. It never went of from my mind.

I waited for my grandpa to come home. I asked him the same questions, by sitting in this lap. I never knew that it would have hurt him a lot. He smiled and stopped writing something which he was doing that time. He made me sit on the table before him. I saw his face and he should have noticed me, keenly waiting for answers. So, he started... My mom's cousin sister had taken good care on me. She feed me with good dishes and milk. As I grew up, I lost my father before I reached my first year in this beautiful earth... before he could continue anything more, I jumped from the table and again sat on his lap. This time he just hugged me and stopped wording. Adoption of orphan kids is a good thing. But, feeling the meaning, rather than knowing what the word orphan mean is, is a pain. The pain struck the root of my family tree, when it was so tender. When, he was less than a year old. When, he couldn't even understand what it means. No kid is deserved to be an orphan, but sometime The Majesty God, makes kids and made me many a while to run out of faith on him. Thankfully, thou gave good guardians to regain the faith in him. He did his primary school in Rangoon. He was the only one got educated, in his step-mother’s family! Yeah the way he had solved maths and the way he had written his diary are those which proved us he was intelligent, but when he was no more. I remember the day when he cried to me when I was fifteen, being in his death bed… Gone are those days when he used to encourage me; that day I took the position to encourage him without courage in me to take up the moment…

He moaned,

“I am suffering a lot, I had suffered a lot. I couldn’t sustain the pain. Have I done anything wrong to deserve this punishment? I always had hoped to fight my life; I had fought and I am successful; now I am not able to gather my energy to fight this pain. Please help me.”
– My Grandpa.

I didn’t have had enough heat in my blood to utter a word.The worst words a grandchild could bear from his lovable grandpa. I couldn’t help him in anyways. I stood helpless in front of him. I came on a special permission from my hostel to see my grandpa in death bed. He went out of this beautiful world on a Christmas Eve. I cried… I cried… I stopped my loud cry when I realized his pain in life… Heaven would’ve been a better place for him rather than earth.

I went back to my hostel… with a bit of knowledge about life… “On my way to the hell…” writing my next blog…