An untold story.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 32; the thirty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'An Untold Story'

It was one of those days,  Ramdeen dreaded like hell. The days when sun and rain both refused to grace Mumbai skies. Grey intimidated the clouds instead of pristine white. Ramdeen buttoned his khakhi shirt with a heavy heart, because he didn’t feel like going to work. He wished he could go to Worli sea-link, buy himself some chana murmura, cutting chai, those sold by small kids in white disposable cups and watch the youngsters strolling by. Youth.... always energized him whenever he was bogged down by the monotony of life, more so it reminded him of Karan. The truth about truth is that it hurts, and today it did no less. It pinched him where it had hurt most.

He finished buttoning his shirt, combed his hair, or what was left of it. Today was not the day to mull over his thinning hairs or for that matter Karan, because it was a sunday when Mumbai decides to shed corporate attire in lieu of casuals. In other words his cab would have more guests than his house had in years. His house has not seen any face other than his  own in years, even he liked to spend more time in his taxi rather than his house. It was suffocating without Karan and Shashi, the only two people in the world who meant world to him.

CST station was the sure bet to get his bohni. If Shashi was alive she would chew his years off for not starting with a good bohni .  But she was not , and still he was worried about what would she think. But then they were married for thirty years before she died.

It was already 2:00 in the afternoon and he had dropped a few nagging couples, 1-2 elderly hotshot business men and a few college students. Ahh!! They were his favorite customers , their incessant chatter, petty fights, always lightened him up. The day seemed never ending to him. What’s wrong with him today?

He didn’t feel like working and decided to call it a day, after all it was Sunday for him too. May be age was getting to him. He had not realized but he was already heading towards his favorite dhabha where the 18 something,a lanky guy, Kishore served latest gossip along with cheap food. Today even Kishore was not able to lift his spirits. He missed home food, he missed his wife and son. The truth about truth…it hurts.

He would clean his taxi today, thats the last remainder of his past and making it gleam always took his mind off other macabre things like he was alone in this whole big bad world. Now what’s that? How careless of someone to leave their book in the backseat. A novel,by some  Amitav Ghosh. A crisp white , unfolded piece of paper fell from it, a love letter may be. What harm would it do, if he read it?

“Dear Mom,

I love you all but I’m not happy and I’m ending my life.

No one is responsible .

Love ,Sam.”

This could not be happening to him. It was like déjà vu. He lost his son, Karan, to this monster called suicide. His Karan, so young, so vivacious, always finding new pranks to make them laugh. The year he decided to end his life so cruelly, leaving him and his wife stranded with a lot of unanswered questions, was his second year at college. Karan was everything a dad could wish for. His sudden decision to end his life became something of an untold story, known to none. His short note did nothing to reveal the story.

“Dear dad and mom,

I love you both but im not happy with life. 

I’m ending my life and no one is responsible for it.

Love ,

                Karan.”

He could not forget the day when they found Karan’s body hanging lifeless from ceiling fan. They did not understand the reason for his suicide. They tried everything but to no avail. Shashi never came out of that shock and withered away like a dead flower.  Within three years he lost everything that was important to him.

No, he could not let this happen to someone else. He has had too much of a trauma to see someone else suffer the same fate. Nobody should be allowed to go through such hellish experience. He would find the owner of the book. It might not be too late and that unfolded paper seemed freshly written. Who could it be?Definitely not one of the nagging couples or the businessmen with the crisp suit. Sam..seemed like some young kid.  May  be one of the college girls. The silent one did seem a bit of a loner. Now only if the book had some name. He flipped the book open. Bingo ! Its from a library.

“Hello ! I found a book belonging to your, can you give me the name & address of the person who issued it?”

“of course I would return it to the girl, whats her name? Sambhavna… “

“I got it, thanks so much.”

Ramdeen’s  taxi was running to save some young soul. The untold story needed to be told today.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: The fool, Participation Count: 1