Story of a "Book" Worm

There was a worm. Her husky brown color camouflaged with its wooden niche'. Day in and day out she kept herself busy scratching her head with one of her dozen legs wondering what to do when she grows big. Shall she go exploring other corners of the world or live a comfortable life where she had spent the earlier years. Fellow worms turned into elegant colorful butterflies and spread out their wings to conquer the nature. But this poor worm had no hope of having those colorful wings for it had an ugly brown slithering body. She thought that perhaps her life would be unlike others, a dull and gloomy among the thick bound books on the wooden shelves. Her slithering body and tiny dozen legs rebelled with the thought of becoming a beautiful butterfly and set free from this corner of the library into the garden swaying over the nectar filled flowers. Her monotonous days passed by chewing the pages and the covers of the books. While her friends were already unfurling their wings , this worm was still crawling deep behind the books.
One fine morning the worm woke up hopeless. Her mind was not bothered by any apprehension. Life seemed the same but had something unusual. Fellow worms gazed at her with astonishment. Some wished good luck while others were dumbstruck. She felt uneasy and something uncomfortable around her chest under her shoulder. As she rotated her head to find the cause of this vexation, her eyes spotted a sliver of bright crimson wings circumscribed by golden yellow. Her heart bounced within her chest. The day has come . It's her day. She has finally got wings. She was about to shed her slithery brown skin and transform into a velvety black bodied butterfly. She stretched her wings, which flattered among the dusty books. The world outside waited with all its extravagant display to welcome her. She was standing on the edge of the book shelve which had been her home for so many years, her wings flapping gallantly. The runway was waiting for her and she was ready to take off.

Death of Aditi Das

Alarm clock beside her head rang just on time. It was 5 in the cold December morning. She woke up with a peculiar enthusiasm very much unlikely at that point of time, as if she was waiting for something. Clutching her sweater which lay asleep beside her pillow she stepped down her bed to look for her slippers. Sliding her feet in the purple slippers she headed towards the room where the computer rested. As she walked through the rooms to get there, bulbs and tube lights illuminated to see what this girl was up to. With one stroke of her finger the machine came to life. She swirled the mouse to search for something. The monitor saw her dreamy anxious eyes drop back to dismay. The computer thought if only it could ask for help, it would have rendered it to her. May be her search was over as she left the computer again to have a nap for an hour. It was 6:30 then, when she again dug into the internet to have another investigation. Her anxiety and restlessness was now visible to other member of her family as by now they too have come out of their beds. A couple of phone calls were made. Dressed in a perfect attire she rushed for some urgent cause.
An hour she engaged her mind in what is called the written test. An announcement regarding the shortlist was made during the test. Her sanguine and confident heart waited. As she headed towards the notice-board she knew not what waited for her. The piece of paper was all set to rip of her heart and assault her pride and identity as a departmental rank holder.
Her confidence, pride and arrogance was crushed. There was attack from both the fronts. From the mind and from the heart. She stood there still in the hope of getting some life savior from other papers hung on the notice-board. This time her tear glands rebelled and she could not fight back. She was strangled and bitten brutally by her strong feeling of being a failure.Slowly she drowned into the chasm of despair, dejection and pain. Perhaps this is the fate of the girl who thought she was bright, hard working and honest in what ever she did. Perhaps she wasn't fit for the time. She will lay in this gloom until rays of hope and morality makes it's way through this chasm to reach her. That's how Aditi Das, the "Clayden book muggu" died.

Erased...

Yesterday I wanted to go to the moon next street. I had set my steps towards it and was may be few yards away. I wanted to take a gleams of that mysteriously glowing red disk. But they grabbed me from all around and forced back into a room they called "my room".I was so close to my destination. Just a right turn from where I could reach would have let me stand face to face with the moon. Things in this room looked familiar. I've seen them earlier but couldn't recollect where. I hesitated to touch them for the one who possesses these may be vexed. But why did they force me to this room? "He's again left his room".."He's again going among the busy street".."What do we do with this man.We are fed up".."Why don't he die??" they shouted on me irritably as they locked the door behind me in this room. Poor fellow, they must have mistaken, this isn't my room. I tried to have a look at the moon from the window which led in a busy market place below it. Well, while the resident of this room doesn't arrive I think I can use is armchair to relax. How about trying his black framed spectacle from over his table and have look at the newspaper?His glass fitted well on me and I could see better. Browsing through the printed lines of the newspaper I felt asleep I knew not when. My sleep was terminated by the sound of unlocking the door. Perhaps the occupant of this room has arrived. Where had he been so long?May I apologize for using his room and his spectacle?But it wasn't my fault, those strangers forced me in here.
The door gave way to the woman followed by a man."Last evening he again set free and walked straight through the busy road. Had Ramu not seen him go towards the fruit market , perhaps we would have lost him this time. His attacks are more frequent these days. This is his fifth attack in this week. " said the woman in a concerned note. "I told you so. As the years will pass by the frequency of the attack will go on increasing till it reaches its extremity when he'll remember nothing.That is the last stage of Alzheimer's" said the man nodding his head and throwing a glance at me. "So what do we do now?"asked the woman."There's no remedy to this disease yet as I've told you earlier. I can just say don't leave him alone and try to spent much more time with him. Here's some sleeping pills which can be given in case he turns violent and unmanageable" said the man as he scribbled on his writing pad and handed the woman a piece of paper torn from it. But whom are they talking about? and why are they staring at "me"?.
"This isn't my room. Sorry for residing here last night.I used your spectacle" I said in an apologetic tone as I landed the spectacle where it laid earlier. They both exchanged a hopeless look and stared at me in a convincing way. "This is your room"said the lady softly. "I'm Shobha, Can you recognize me?". She was almost in tears. "This is Dr. Desai, do you remember"...This time a drop trickled down her wrinkled cheek. As she wiped it away with the back side of her right palm she hasted towards the cupboard and opened it."These are your shirts, this is your study table.And ,and this is your spectacle. The black framed one which you chose from the Mittal Opticals last year.Don't you remember you spent hours in this room with your calculations and studies."She dashed through the room trying to find some thing or the other to show me which she could claim of being mine. "I-I'll show you the group photo. Here, look at this. This is you on this armchair with your grandson Pinku. The same room with the same table behind you in this photo."She was pointing at the photograph of me with a boy of age may be three or four. Yes she was right. It was the same room as I'm standing now. The room I've spent my night awaiting its resident. So, the resident is "me". But I couldn't remember a thing. Neither this room nor these people.
I walked slowly towards the window. The street under the window led to the red moon next street. Perhaps I could go there some day................................................