Tuesday, November 8, 2011


I have tried to dash off this story for long, but was never able to bump over the ‘gate go’, as it is too much attached to my heart. It is a story of a boy, a boy who was loved by all, against whom no one recounts anything he did wrong, a boy I grew together with, a friend of mine who died. Yes, it’s the story of him, a boy who succumbed to Leukemia at the mere age of 15. We were in class 9, when he went for the long voyage to meet his maker. His always-zestful face always haunts me, and indoctrinates me that you can live your life even in the deathbed.

Rikesh and Me we were like almost of the same age (maybe he was few month older than me). Although our houses were a good few hundred meters apart, we grew up friends; A reason, he had many relatives near my home. So we used to be always together when we were child. During school, I went to one and he went to other, so we started playing around during weekends and vacations. We were growing apart but we were close. While growing up, I started being bookworm and when I wrote few things I used to show him sometimes (but my first critic always used to be my sister). He on the other hand, was athletic and did other stuffs. He never was book frenzy but always commented on my immature poems and inspired me to continue writing. While I was lazy and rarely did house chores, there was nothing he never did. In other words he was the darling of everyone. One thing for sure, I heard so many times from my parents, look at Rikesh, he does this he does that and you do nothing. I used to be jealous of him and tell them, I will do something someday that Rikesh will never day.

Everything got doomed when he was diagnosed with leukemia, towards the end of our class eight. His parents admitted him in Bharatpur cancer hospital, as soon as they found he had the demon-disease. At that time, I didn’t have much idea of what was happening, I was told he was ill. Baba, went to the hospital to see him, gave some money to uncle(his dad), and also donated the blood necessary rey. When, he came to home, Baba told us that Rikesh had blood cancer and there is almost no chance at all that he will live. And when his mum and sister knew the news, they were shell-shocked; we were no immune to emotions. I realized few days later that Rikesh will never play with me or comment on my poems or my parents will never compare me with me. I asked Grandfather, “Buwa, will Rikesh never come back?” and he said, “He will come to us after the hospital discharges him, but since he was god’s favourite child he won’t stay for long.”

So, few weeks later Rikesh was home. I figured he will be bed-ill, so initially I was reluctant to meet him or his condition. But, when my family went to see him, he asked rey, “Where is prawes, is he allrite?” I went a day later with my mummy to his home. To the amazement he was watching TV and cracking jokes with his sister. My mummy was talking to his mother, while we talked. I figured he knew about the disease but decided not to act like an ailing person. I went to his place almost regularly for a month or so, and acted like old times, played games, watched movies, and talked about my poems, studies and etc.

Then, my finals came along and I had to study. At the time my finals ended, he was black, sick, lost weight enormously and barely could walk. Also, he was to be taken hospital frequently. A few days later, one week end, I went to his place. He was very weak that I couldn’t bear the sight and went out. His mother told me Rikesh was asking if I was there. When I went inside his room, he asked me if I was weeping. I said no, and he urged me to learn how to lie. The feeling that death was near to him, I guess made him a philosopher. He told me not to resent about what’s going to happen, study hard and make my parents proud and etc. He made me say that I will come to his home even after he dies and etc. His mother told with teary things about the thing he had asked to do after he will leave, including not to worry too much about him dying so young.

So, a day later, one rainy morning he died. Just like that, a 15 year old boy who wanted to live, succumbed to death; his life and our memories evaporated just like camphor. Even the thousand years of Science and Conscience, wisdom of Charwaka Rishi, Ayurveda or the Myths that Bishnu is our faster.. Everything became falsified before the corpse of him. His corpse lying abeam me, his mother almost in comma and his father trying to act normal with vain, made the life of an so perfect, and the faith I had about some almighty just the adages. I so much hoped he will wake up and speak one last time… but alas! And his father, mother and Sister, still have never been able to live up the reality. His house is like a museum, every part of which haunts me with memory of him, whenever I go there.

I was too young to be part of the funeral, so it was time I bed adieu to him. It has been so many years since this all happened and I met/many friends through the course of time, but the memory of him always remain. And the way he lived his last few months makes me realize the importance of life. Moreover, with the death of him, I decided not to believe in any of the myths and adages about the maker, in other words I am angry with them for taking my friend so early.

( Three months after finally deciding to write this, I have completed this post, I am not sure how honest and precise I have been(or should I had posted the real name?)… if you have any memories of him please don’t hesitate to write in the comments)

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