Some Real Life Stories
Here are four real life stories which I had penned few years back. I am sure you all will enjoy reading these.
“Parcel, parcel”, the Postman was shouting at our main door. My grandfather answered him and asked to handover the parcel. But the postman was helpless because the parcel was addressed to my elder brother. Unfortunately, my elder brother was out of station for few days. He was supposed to come two or three days after the above incident. My grandfather was restless. He could not keep doing well until my elder brother returned and received the parcel.
Finding my elder brother back on the supposed day immediately he ordered him to go to the post office and collect the parcel. Alas! again it was a misfortune for him, when he learnt that it was Sunday, and the next day being a national holiday there was no chance to get the parcel. On the day after, my grandfather went to the post office without any one’s knowledge and reached there much before the post office opened. He was even ready to pay some pocket money to the postman if he did not will to come. The post office opened. Somehow, my grandfather managed to bring the postman to our house. My elder brother had gone for his bath. To make the postman wait my grandfather offered him a cup of tea. Meanwhile my elder brother came and he was not even allowed to change his wet clothes. He put his signature, received the parcel. And then my grandfather relaxed.
With much enthusiasm, he opened the packet, and to every one’s surprise, there was a revolver inside the parcel pack. Carrying it my grandfather went inside the room and asked everyone to keep quite. “Who could have sent this?” Later everything became clear when my elder brother disclosed the fact that he had solved a mathematical problem for a gun company, for which the company has sent this pack. My grandfather appreciated my elder brother’s talent and embraced him.
The revolver was kept in my grandfather’s room. No one was allowed there even just to have a look on it. The room was found locked every time he was out. He was constantly thinking of a person who could be able to test the revolver. The only person came to his mind was Vidyadhar, his younger brother. He was strong, courageous and had some primary knowledge about handling guns.
On a particular day he was called by my grandfather. He came and my grandfather explained him everything. He was even instructed to massage mobile oil on his body to make it slippery. My grandfather’s idea was if something went wrong and the bullet hits his body then it won’t affect because of the slipperiness of the body. Everything was arranged. My grandfather handed over the revolver to Vidhyadhar. We all stood 10 feet away from the place where Vidyadhar was ready to fire.
The top of a huge coconut tree was decided to be the target. Vidyadhar was instructed to pull the trigger on hearing “three” from my grandfather. It was done. Vidyadhar fired. Huge amount of smoke came out of the revolver with a firing sound. But nothing went out of the revolver’s pipe. Vidyadhar was standing in the same position. We all were laughing because my elder brother had already told us that it was a false revolver meant for paper-roll cracker. And my grandfather was quite disappointed to see us laughing.
MY UNCLE AND THE FISH
My uncle is very greedy. He never likes the loss of even “one pie” for some reason or the other. Spending money even for necessary things brings on a headache for him. He is always engrossed in thoughts of earning money and hoarding it. In spite of his miserliness, he always likes to have nice food, especially fish.
One day in the summer, he went out for some work. He had his bicycle with him. After finishing his work, on the way home he found some fisherman fishing. He could not control his desire of having fish for lunch. He felt that the fishes were calling him to enjoy the taste of their flesh and blood. The fishes were hale and hearty. My uncle’s miserliness was defeated by the desire of having fish for lunch. Finally, he got off the bicycle and selected a very good fish of his choice. After a lot of bargaining and exchange of words, he succeeded in motivating the fisherman to take twenty rupees for that fish, whereas the actual price for that fish would be more than fifty. The fisherman wrapped the fish with straw in order that others may not see it and then hung it on the rod of my uncle’s bicycle. My uncle paid the amount to the fisherman and started off. He reached home and parked the bicycle in front of the main door of our house. The moment my aunty came out to receive him, he told her in a masterly voice to take the fish immediately from the bicycle. My aunty came hurriedly, took the nicely rolled huge straw packet, and opened it. She shouted, “But where is the fish? there is nothing but straw.” My uncle then came out hurriedly and finding that there was no fish fell unconscious. After sometime, when he regained consciousness he started cursing the fisherman. He thought that the fisherman had played a trick by covering the fish with straw. Somehow, my aunty succeeded in consoling him that day. But my uncle still mourns at times over two things — the loss of twenty rupees and the loss of that beautiful fish.
THE NIGHT MY UNCLE WAS ROBBED
It was 12.30 mid-night. I was in deep sleep. All of a sudden, I heard someone shouting outside. I got up immediately, but could not make out what the sound was and whence it came. I peeped through the window, but still I could not find anything. In fear, I opened the door. Then I realized that it was my uncle shouting shrilly, ‘chor — chor — ‘I was frightened. I was alone in the house. Gathering courage I picked up the bamboo rod which is always kept intentionally in a corner of my room. I went out. My uncle was still shouting. I reached the spot and found many other people gathered there in order to help him. On seeing the people my uncle stopped shouting and pointing his finger to a room beyond said, “There, there, in that room. Don’t you hear the banging sound?” “Yes, yes”, some shouted from the crowd. My uncle in a trembling voice: “He has entered that room”. Then the people gathered there started devising a plan to catch the thief. Some suggested entering through the back door. Others objected and advised that the front door be broken. Finally, the second suggestion was accepted as my uncle didn’t want to take the risk of the thief entering another adjoining room and the villagers wanted to break something before they left. My uncle and two others stood beside the door to hit the thief when he came out. The door was broken and a white dog came out slowly without making any sound with its tail tucked in his legs. All burst into laughter. The news spread everywhere.
That white dog is no more. But when anybody shouts late at night, our village people remember my uncle’s thief, the white dog.
Once our village people gathered to discuss how the waste lands of our village could be used properly. They all assembled in the hall of the village temple where all our village meetings are held. The discussion started. The first point taken for discussion was: The Pond. It was decided that everybody would work to make a big and nice pond on a large piece of land which existed in front of our house. That land was used as garbage-ground. Every one in the meeting favoured the point of making a pond there. Then the discussion proceeded to the plan of the pond and the estimated cost. It was decided that there should be an access to the pond from all four sides; a compound wall around the pond having four entrances from four directions; staircases to enter the pond. In the middle there should be something like a temple to increase the beauty of the pond. Every week it would be someone’s duty to release and fill fresh water. All these were discussed. The estimation was made accordingly. Each family’s contribution was also announced. Everybody agreed. Every thing went on smoothly. The discussion then proceeded to the rules and regulations of using the pond. What time would the gates open, what time they would be closed, who would take care of it etc. All the rules were made and written and the responsibilities taken. The meeting came to an end. Everybody was ready to start the digging.
Suddenly one old man got up and shouted: “No one should throw his/her tongue cleaners inside the pond. If it happens I will cut that person’s hand.” One of my uncles objected. An argument ensued and turned into a quarrel. Some favoured the old man, some favoured my uncle, and others tried to solve the quarrel. The atmosphere turned chaotic. All efforts to solve the problem were futile. One hour passed. News spread from mouth to mouth. People from other nearby villagers also came to enquire and tried to resolve the conflict. After sometime the situation quietened. Everybody went home. Nothing happened. The land is still being used as garbage-ground and the pond is there in everybody’s dream.
PS: My uncle depicted in the above stories left his body three years before.