“Did you keep all your books into the bag?” Asked my strict mother while packing her luggage and I couldn’t help but notice she had tried her best not to look pretty for the first time.
My father was also wearing a type of cloth which he never wore in his entire life. This would have helped him comfortably mingle into the crowd.
"Where is the mathematics book..?" Oh no she is after that book of misery.
“It’s too thick to carry”, I tried my best pleading to divorce the book.
“I will carry it.” She said, “hand it over to me”.
I do not hate my mother except on occasions like this, I witness a beastly ferocity in her eyes whenever she talks about studies. Go have a life - everyone dies whether they study or not. But such high philosophy, she is very unlikely to understand. All I cared for was my cricket bat and gifts given to me by my friends.
It is 4 am and we can still see the night has been lit bright by houses put on fire and people inside them in the bloody August of 1947. As per plan a car was supposed to pick us up by this time and take us to the station so that we can board the first train to the country where more people who belonged to our religion lived. Father had given orders not to go close to the door which was locked from outside.
“The driver would have the key,” he said trying not to lose his manly composure.
The grandfather clock had already struck four times and we could hear a car pulling up nearby…..and then I hear the key unlocking the lock…..the doors parted and some light entered...
And then some footsteps…many of them…..
Now tell me where do I belong…which country?…which religion…..?
Can any of you please answer because I do not seem to remember; it is quite long time since that morning, when I was still alive as a human being.