Last Sunday I was taking a morning walk in the local park near my house. Suddenly, a piece of paper came flying and put on my face. I wanted to throw it away when I realized that there is a Hindi newspaper. The Sunday column had something to say. I took my pocket notebook and began to translate. This is what happened:
My heart was palpitating strange, because I woke up this morning. Yes, I remember, it's Sunday today. Every Sunday, it seems to me that I wake upIn the early morning at 4 O clock on 'and I'm beginning to think about unnecessarily. I remember the gloomy darkness that embraced my family lucky enough to see the pain, cursed my husband firmly in my arms, my son is dark present and bleak future. I think of those who received the high political positions, despite the charges against them dismissed because her trial, before they step into politics or covered up the cases. But what about the boy orGirls who committed a minor offense in their immaturity, but they carry on the day of her life, and as a result they are deprived of the government jobs. How are characterful good or good, they turn out in their lives for a phrase, they are not repaid.
I remember my little Mohan, Amitabh promptly put her finger under his small steps. My son Mohan, the boy I saw his first step toward its first school, came home after his first bike ride,was initially included in the Higher Secondary Examination Board, hugged me with joy and strength of a young man who was everything to me. How can I forget that my son Mohan, who had topped the entire district in the interim, and had wept hours behind the closed doors of his room after the wedding of his older sister Sunayana. How innocent, he had said: "Mother, how will I survive without arguing with my older sister?"
Each Sunday morning begins with the expectationMeeting with my son. In the same way, every second Sunday of the month, I have to convince my father to Mr. Jeevan Singh, a retired Major, for an act he immediately responded with flushed face, "Let's do it rot in jail. He has to atone for his misdeeds, "he cries, as if he were justified. Then his face changed with agony of his grandfather. He continues: "I have not yet forgiven him, you know, why go in this depressing place to him every Sunday?" Why drag me into it? "
ICan not believe my ears, that all this is said, for my beautiful and brilliant son, Mohan, who had grown up under the leadership of my father disciplined disciplined. How proud I felt when I would see him with his grandfather. I do not know where we went wrong in our education of the son! How happy he was in his engineering college in Pune?
Mohan has been in the last year of engineering course, when he befriended the son of a local politician. I once had met the boy, and he seemeda nice boy. Sometimes, he would take my son to late night parties. Once I had objected, but it was not nice to blame a young man of 21 years. I did not like to stop him. One night at one of these parties that his girlfriend had a fight with someone, and in his rage, he fired his pistol, and reached as a result of bullet strayed a waiter. The day that Mohan and his friend were arrested, the police had come to our house as well. Mohan was handcuffed and kicked four policementhe house with him. I did not believe my eyes what was happening before my eyes was the case. Mohan was sentenced to two years imprisonment for the crime he did not commit. His only crime was that he was the friend of the culprit. His friend was dismissed because manipulating his powerful father is the case with the help of local police. My son's future was ruined at the beginning.
Amitabh and I had felt relieved after the wedding of our daughter because we had the hope that ourSon was an engineer and he takes care of his parents take in retirement. My husband felt so much because of our son insulted that he take an early withdrawal from the Indian Army decided. We came up in Pune and settled there.
Amitabh things were relatively quiet in the house, sometimes I had to force myself to believe that he was there. He never talked about Mohan. I want to go alone, especially to meet my son because my husband did not even talk about him. Once or twice, I accompanied Amitabhbut he remained outside the central prison. This time I did not force him. I took the car and drove me. There were hundreds of thoughts in my head. To take our driver wanted to make the air more rumors about our family. Already we were ridiculed and shunned by society.
After about an hour I was in the vicinity of the open prison. It was a well-kept place. The inmates were taught to many kinds of skills. Some of them were engaged in agriculture, while others made wood furniture. Iwas glad my son is sitting in front of a computer in the computer class to see. The prison officer was a nice guy and he treated very politely with the prisoners. I do not know if they are treated in the same way even with the illiterate inmates.
My car was checked at the entrance of the yellow building from the prison. The sight was quite depressing. I reached the reception and looked at the picture of Gandhi, hanging on the wall. Most of the attendees was one of the privileged classsociety. I was regarded with contempt. Most of them were male, with the exception of a woman feeding her child on the bench near the counter. Everyone had the same request to extend their stay with the prisoner they had come to fulfill.
"How is your relationship with the defendant?" said the head of the body, such as, but not offensive.
"Mother," I said softly and stared at him.
He took a file and saw my picture in the file. Then he handed me the paper on whichI had to write that I was the mother of the prisoner. I wanted to meet him. Be filled, the time of my arrival and departure at later stages of the employees. Even after a year, I feel the burden of shame, when I completed these formalities.
Before the space to fulfill entered Mohan, reminds me of the guards, "You must leave your wallet here.
"And the food ..."
"Oh mother, how many times I have told you that you will not do here. It is not allowed here. You are an educatedWoman. The last time I will allow, but it does not mean that you should take it for granted. "
I could not control my tears. I did not want to create a dramatic situation.
The guard said to a constable near him: "She is a mother." Motherhood is forcing them to do all this. But look what these boys? "
I drove a dark corridor, and reached in front of a barred room. The sound of the grid is often echo in my dreams. There were a few benches, but most of them were occupiedof the families and the inmates. A veiled woman, sobbing, sitting in front of her husband. The baby on the lap of his father. One boy whispers something to his father. His father gave him instructions as if in his tender age the boy has prematurely, the guardian of the family. Stupid tears are again ready to come. I waved my hand and tried to feign a smile on my face. My son, Mohan, looks a lot thinner this time. Undoubtedly, he still seems more serious and intelligent.I remember my first visit. As much as he had been crying, "Mama, take me away from here. Tell father to arrange a good lawyer for me. The real culprit is already there. I have done nothing, mother ..."
Well, maybe he has shown in the circumstances.
"Mohan ..."
"Mom, how are you?" He said and hugged me tight.
"It seems you have been out?"
"Yes, Mother, we play football in the evening. You alone are you coming?"
"Yes, that's your father withFever ... "I lied, avoiding his gaze.
"You should not drive cars alone, mother."
"Really?" Do you worry so much about your mother? "
I can the water in his eyes.
"Yes, that's what I can do from here."
"Forget it, is only a year remaining. "
I do not want to anything that might cause him afraid to say.
"How is my sister?"
"She's fine. You'll be maternal uncle again.
"Really ..."
"Yes."
"Mommy, I will come backhome. "
"Only one years, my son ..."
"Mother, what should I do now?" My studies were interrupted, and I'm not up to the government's wishes. "
"This world is very great, my son." There is no shortage of possibilities. "
"I miss you and dad very much.'s Father must be happy that the house is quiet."
"No, my son, he spends every second in an immense pain."
"Mother, I was caught."
"I know my son."
"Now I'm going back in time to forget the mother."
Meanwhile, the guard hasknown that the time had passed. I had left him. I was able to hit him after three weeks. These moments are unbearable. I think there are ways .............
The newspaper was pulled after this line. I wish I could continue to translate the story. Once I thought to close my own lines, to telling the story, but my heart that it would be an injustice to history, the poor mother to produce. I have my laptop back into my pocket and started at the main gate of the paradepark. Everyone was on the lookout for new opportunities.
Raja Sir
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