Skip to main content

Ali The Kargil Boy

I met Ali in the Leh airport,he drove us in our hotel. The very next morning we went for sightseeing. He used to drive very fast. I repeatedly told him to drive slow, he followed for  a short time; again continued in his own speed.

On the way to Nubra valley the road was very stiff and the altitude was very high. As I was sick before our tour it was difficult for me to bear that fast ride.After coming back I complained our tour  operator for his driving and asked for another driver.
Pangong Tso



Iti Sidhartha

Where I am, dogs are as well


Our tour operator assured me that he would tell him to drive  comfortably.The next day Ali came drove the car and I enjoyed my entire remaining  trip.

Sometimes he used to push the accelerator and I just told "Ali.....ahista"...he became consous. We used to chat during this long drive. I asked him "How old are you Ali?he replied "22years mam."He told me "At the age of 16 I started driving without lisence,I used to drive big vehicles ,now I drive tourist cars during the season and other time I drive for military 's " ,he  addled "now I have lisence also."I kept mum,at the age of 16this boy drove the vehicles such a difficult road!!! Slowly we became friends.

In the next few days it came to know that he had lost his father at the age of 12. He is from Kargil. He has two sisters and one brother. They are staying in the village with his mother. His brother is studying in Pune in  a residential school, his one  sister is in class 4 and other is in class 6 and he is the only earning member of the family. I was so touched that it was difficult for me to control my tears, my throat choked and I stared at him. This boy is driving with a smile, sometimes singing with the music of the sound system of the car.
In the meantime three incidents happened. 

One evening in a remote place my younger son had gone for  a stroll and time passed by he did not return. I was scared. Ali went to find him and both came back .The next day my son insisted to climb a hill top, guessing my anxiety he accompanied my son and the last but not the least my husband had a leg injury. He drove us to the hospital and guided as our guardian because it was not a known place for us and we didn't know the language, Ladhakhi.The last day I advised him to buy a car of his own with a bank loan, I saw his eyes were sparkling with joy and full  of dreams. 

In the airport I gave him tips shook his hand but I know from my heart I hugged him, kept my palm on his head wished him prosperity and as the mother within me started  to love him unconditionally. Ali I will remember  you  forever.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Good Day

I have a beautiful small house in the hills. It is about 3 km from Manali, in Himachal Pradesh. It is not much. Probably calling it a cottage is stretching it too far. I have got a couple of bedrooms, a small drawing room cum kitchen where we dine as well. There is storage and a small garage that is mostly empty. I have got another small room with just a single bed and a study built on the first floor. It is just about ten feet by ten feet but it has got a retractable ceiling and a wall made of glass with the rest of the roof being something of a balcony. This is the place where I like to spend most of my time.
In the front, there is a garden with some flowers in the front and trees lining the boundary wall. My mother has planted a few vegetables in the back that we regularly use in the kitchen. We mostly require only rice and eggs from the market.

A typical day starts with me waking up and going for a morning stroll. I often spend my nights in the room on the roof. So the first thing I…

My Little Wife

Amar choto bou chole bake bake... If you are looking for some meaning in the words written above - please stop. It is of no use.

This is a short dedicated to my wife whom I did not get to marry.

Being typically Bengali, she is puchu to me.

If you are reading this, please keep in my mind that I am not one bit drunk. And I don't particularly feel like writing either. This you see here is not prose. Just an open faucet. Or a gaping wound sp... okay. Scratch that. Open faucet it is.

She has got a small round face. Her eyes are symmetrical. A bit like almonds. They look lively and restless when open and calm or serene when closed. The nose is neither pointed not large. It sits right in the middle of the face with even elevations on both sides. It is not too small to notice nor is it too large to get in the way. Her lips are small, but not thin. There is an amount of volume to them that you would not usually expect.

Her face looks normal something from a distance. It looks small from c…

The suffocating roadblocks and dead end jobs

Life throws new challenges everytime you decide to do something new.

When you plan to try anything new, you area aware of the challenges that you are likely to face. But Life usually will have other plans. When you expect a right turn, Life will show you a left. When you least expect x to turn up at your door, you find y.

And then there is a dead end job.

This is one job that I at times enjoy. Because I get to work directly in the technologies that I like to work with. At the same time, I feel terrible about the senior management and my future prospects here. What is the worst is that I don't see any way out of this either.

It is not that I have not forwarded my resume over to the other firms. I have. But I have not received any meaningful reply yet. Any response that I have so far been able to elicit are of no interest to me whatsoever.

I feel I have to chalk out a path for myself again. Problem is, the task becomes more and more difficult with age. I can take less risk than I c…