Walking down the corners of La Paz streets, these two boys were not so young. Wont call them old either. Not having seen many seasons, yet seasoned by time and hardships. Before Bolivia, they had their share of middle east - Syria, Lebanon and Iraq, lil bit of palestine. They were living a dream. Living a process of being on a way to be christened "bravest and the best". They were nearing end of their station assignment. To be back home in a quarter. They were best of buddies, having shared lots of time - good and bad together, and always lived to tell and recollect it.
When it all started for them, they were young boys. Dreamy eyed, hopeful, all positive young boys. They wanted to make a difference. They wanted to live for a cause. For them, the whole world deserved good things that life had to offer.One world, one race. No barriers, no strings. One of them loved cars. The convertibles. Ones which will go roofless at push of a button. With bright sunshine filling it and breeze through hair when at top cruise. He could not afford to own one, but dreamt of buying one. A second hand will do. He was a realist. The other one was little sane. He had his feet firmly attached. But he also knew dreams and how important to everyone their dreams were. But he never missed a laugh at his friend. He joked , " what will you do with a convertible if you were fired upon?". And reply was always the same - "You got to choose. You can either live inside a bulletproof chirokee or drive a convertible. Cant ever get both."
Today they were here. Having left behind all the talks of that other world, they were in middle of something different. Every day an event, every moment a life changing decision. In the name of doing good things for people who were not priviliged or equipped enough to handle the crisis that had unfolded in their own backyards. These boys were messengers of Messiah. They were the anchor of all hope that was left. With these boys and others around, these people felt safe. Felt protected and believed no unknown fire would split them up into parts. But this was an illusion. Like that of a colorful butterfly flying up into sky through a sunlit black crevice. Making it enriched, leaving a bright trail behind for sometime. Untill it soares up high, vanishiung in the light. Leaving everything behind as it was. Dark, damp and colorless.
One day marching orders came. Peace was restored and they had to vacate. They said goodbyes. To locals they had befriended - shopkeepers, peddlars, truckies and others. Everyone was happy. These people, governments, allies, troops and these two boys. Finally their da has come. To be back with honour and pride of having done so much and to be able to start of afresh. Being assured of the fact that those people were safe and happy too. The other one joked , " May be bulletproof convertibles exist. Look at what we are leaving them with. A safe, secure and peaceful place which was not that untill now. They can feel the breeze and sunshine now and yet live without fears of being shot at". Even while they were talking and packing, a roar went off. Fresh bouts of insurgency and attacks. All march were put on halt and everyone was back to station duty. Sine die. Two boys still had their souvenirs in the hand. Half unwrapped gifts they got from locals. They wont need to pack those anyways. They knew they were going to stay. Untill ever. They knew that bulletproof convertibles were a myth afterall. It was not one world. You either had to live whole of your life driving a bulletproof chirokee, fearing what might happen next or you just had sunshine and breeze. And these two were different parts of this same "one world".
When it all started for them, they were young boys. Dreamy eyed, hopeful, all positive young boys. They wanted to make a difference. They wanted to live for a cause. For them, the whole world deserved good things that life had to offer.One world, one race. No barriers, no strings. One of them loved cars. The convertibles. Ones which will go roofless at push of a button. With bright sunshine filling it and breeze through hair when at top cruise. He could not afford to own one, but dreamt of buying one. A second hand will do. He was a realist. The other one was little sane. He had his feet firmly attached. But he also knew dreams and how important to everyone their dreams were. But he never missed a laugh at his friend. He joked , " what will you do with a convertible if you were fired upon?". And reply was always the same - "You got to choose. You can either live inside a bulletproof chirokee or drive a convertible. Cant ever get both."
Today they were here. Having left behind all the talks of that other world, they were in middle of something different. Every day an event, every moment a life changing decision. In the name of doing good things for people who were not priviliged or equipped enough to handle the crisis that had unfolded in their own backyards. These boys were messengers of Messiah. They were the anchor of all hope that was left. With these boys and others around, these people felt safe. Felt protected and believed no unknown fire would split them up into parts. But this was an illusion. Like that of a colorful butterfly flying up into sky through a sunlit black crevice. Making it enriched, leaving a bright trail behind for sometime. Untill it soares up high, vanishiung in the light. Leaving everything behind as it was. Dark, damp and colorless.
One day marching orders came. Peace was restored and they had to vacate. They said goodbyes. To locals they had befriended - shopkeepers, peddlars, truckies and others. Everyone was happy. These people, governments, allies, troops and these two boys. Finally their da has come. To be back with honour and pride of having done so much and to be able to start of afresh. Being assured of the fact that those people were safe and happy too. The other one joked , " May be bulletproof convertibles exist. Look at what we are leaving them with. A safe, secure and peaceful place which was not that untill now. They can feel the breeze and sunshine now and yet live without fears of being shot at". Even while they were talking and packing, a roar went off. Fresh bouts of insurgency and attacks. All march were put on halt and everyone was back to station duty. Sine die. Two boys still had their souvenirs in the hand. Half unwrapped gifts they got from locals. They wont need to pack those anyways. They knew they were going to stay. Untill ever. They knew that bulletproof convertibles were a myth afterall. It was not one world. You either had to live whole of your life driving a bulletproof chirokee, fearing what might happen next or you just had sunshine and breeze. And these two were different parts of this same "one world".
3 comments:
You have a gift.. of story telling.. loved the way this came together. Brilliant piece.
A good piece of satire.....gagar me sagar bharna achcha wyangya hai......writer should be absent-neutral yet a very good one maa.
wish ..pray and hope....everyone and everything ..well at ur place in delhi....take care!!!!!!!!
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