Babu! You got to Be Surgeon One Day...
My name is Sarjan (pronounced as surgeon). Dad gave me this name. Indeed, he must be poor at spellings so I got my name spelled as Sarjan. Nevertheless, he wanted me to become surgeon.
Dad used to insist me to become surgeon every day. But now, he has changed. He never tells me that.
* * * * * *
Local organization at my locality organizes a poem competition annually. At my tenth grade, Dad heard about it, so insisted me to take part.
Every religion says that God created us. Anyone who disregards God is an evil. Dad created me. This does mean Dad is God. So, I got to obey Dad. So, without a single word for defense, I told Dad that I would take part, so wrote a poem.
As it was a local competition, many neighbors would be present. It was a matter of pride for Dad. So, I don't know how but he persuaded my language teacher to write poem for me. My language teacher is a professional poet. He wrote a poem for me that was infinity times better than mine. I planned to recite that poem. But, in the eleventh hour of the competition, my heart and mind started battling on which poem to recite. Both poems were in my pockets: the one written by myself and the one written by my teacher. My name was announced, but my mind was saying that competition was a matter of pride but my heart was saying that you are not a thief unless you want to become a thief. I went with my heart. At last, I was first runner up so, was awarded with 'letter of appreciation' and 'khada'*.
My parents were happy. Many people were congratulating my parents too. But, I was extremely unhappy with my parents and my teacher. On the way back home, I dumped khada. Immediately after reaching home, I broke down beautifully glassed framed certificate into pieces. I don't know what I was thinking while breaking it but I am pretty sure that after breaking, I should have smiled and lied down on bed. My parents and my teacher knew about the incident late in the evening but they never scolded me for doing that. In fact, I published an article on national newspaper talking about the corruption in educational system in ***** .
My sixth sense tells me that the pieces of that certificate are still in my mother's wardrobe. But, I don't have courage to ask for it,... to break it for second time. I could observe lots of changes in Dad then after. He never asked me to take part in any poem competition and never took help of any experts to help me win any competition. But, one remarkable change that I noticed was he never told me "Babu! You got to be surgeon one day."
* a piece of cloth, worn around neck, given to achievers
My name is Sarjan (pronounced as surgeon). Dad gave me this name. Indeed, he must be poor at spellings so I got my name spelled as Sarjan. Nevertheless, he wanted me to become surgeon.
Dad used to insist me to become surgeon every day. But now, he has changed. He never tells me that.
* * * * * *
Local organization at my locality organizes a poem competition annually. At my tenth grade, Dad heard about it, so insisted me to take part.
Every religion says that God created us. Anyone who disregards God is an evil. Dad created me. This does mean Dad is God. So, I got to obey Dad. So, without a single word for defense, I told Dad that I would take part, so wrote a poem.
As it was a local competition, many neighbors would be present. It was a matter of pride for Dad. So, I don't know how but he persuaded my language teacher to write poem for me. My language teacher is a professional poet. He wrote a poem for me that was infinity times better than mine. I planned to recite that poem. But, in the eleventh hour of the competition, my heart and mind started battling on which poem to recite. Both poems were in my pockets: the one written by myself and the one written by my teacher. My name was announced, but my mind was saying that competition was a matter of pride but my heart was saying that you are not a thief unless you want to become a thief. I went with my heart. At last, I was first runner up so, was awarded with 'letter of appreciation' and 'khada'*.
My parents were happy. Many people were congratulating my parents too. But, I was extremely unhappy with my parents and my teacher. On the way back home, I dumped khada. Immediately after reaching home, I broke down beautifully glassed framed certificate into pieces. I don't know what I was thinking while breaking it but I am pretty sure that after breaking, I should have smiled and lied down on bed. My parents and my teacher knew about the incident late in the evening but they never scolded me for doing that. In fact, I published an article on national newspaper talking about the corruption in educational system in ***** .
My sixth sense tells me that the pieces of that certificate are still in my mother's wardrobe. But, I don't have courage to ask for it,... to break it for second time. I could observe lots of changes in Dad then after. He never asked me to take part in any poem competition and never took help of any experts to help me win any competition. But, one remarkable change that I noticed was he never told me "Babu! You got to be surgeon one day."
* a piece of cloth, worn around neck, given to achievers