Today, during second period (English) I got to thinking about something that happened about four years ago.
A 6th or 7th grade girl was killed by her school bus. After getting off at school she was crossing the road from the back the bus, when the driver started reversing and the girl came under the rear tire. This was not it. The driver changed gears, started moving forward, and once again the same tire rolled over the same body. All this happened in front of the girls’ older sister (probably a 9th grader).
Next day, the two major newspapers – Hindustan Time and Times of India – printed the picture of the mother and another, distant, female family member of the family on the front cover. The mother had tears on her cheeks, her eyes were still wet. I guess she had stopped crying, but she felt helpless.
All this was in the news for a couple of days, we also talked about it at school. While at home, I’d often think about it and look out my bedroom window towards the balcony of a house that, in a huge tragedy, lost one of its children.
I didn’t know they lived there until this happened. Now, whenever I went bicycling and crossed the road in front of their house, I’d always look up at their third floor apartment. It seemed very seemed very quite up there. After a few weeks, the older sister started bringing her younger brother (4th grader, I believe) downstairs to play. Whenever I saw them, I would think… “They used to be three. There used to be someone amongst them who was close to both of their ages at the same time. Old enough to talk and listen to her 15yr old sister and young enough to play with her 10yr old brother. That one 12 to 13yr old was the bridge between the other two siblings.
The little boy used to play around with his cricket bat and actually enjoyed the company of his friends. His sister, however, didn’t do much except just standing, watching her brother play. She probably used to share a room with her sister. The same sort of a room I shared with my brother – 2 single beds, 1 or 2 study desks, 2 cupboards holding clothes and other possessions. At night they may used to talk about things, share the day’s stories, ask for homework help… you know, sibling stuff. But now, one of the bed’s was empty, possessions untouched, and nights all quite.
It was like any other morning, but that one morning changed the lives of these people forever. I can’t imagine how they must have felt. I mean, a member of their family just gone like that. They never heard her voice again, or saw her laugh, or cry. They never got a chance to see her grow up, to throw her parties, to scold her. Just a couple of minutes of one regular (or at least so it seemed) morning took away so much from them.
Just got to thinking about all this after a really, really long time.
Zindagi Ka Safar Hai Ye Kaisa Safar
Koi Samjha Nahin Koi Jaana Nahin
Hai Ye Kaisi Dagar Chalte Hain Sab Magar
Koi Samjha Nahin Koi Jaana Nahin
Zindagi Ko Bahut Pyaar Hamne Kiya
Maut Se Bhi Mohabbat Nibhaaenge Ham
Rote Rote Zamaane Mein Aaye Magar
Hanste Hanste Zamaane Se Jaaenge Ham
Jaaenge Par Kidhar Hai Kise Ye Khabar
Koi Samjha Nahin Koi Jaana Nahin
Aise Jeevan Bhi Hain Jo Jiye Hi Nahin
Jinko Jeene Se Pehle Hi Maut Aa Gayi
Phool Aise Bhi Hain Jo Khile Hi Nahin
Jinko Khilne Se Pehle Fiza Kha Gai
Hai Pareshaan Nazar Thak Gaye Chaaraagar
Koi Samjha Nahin Koi Jaana Nahin
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