The winter is coming- Two Conflicting Tales

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Sanchit Wadhwa|10|Doon International School, Derhadun

“The winter is coming” thought Sanchit Wadhwa, the 10-year old kid who was the scion to the Wadhwa group of companies. Known as Sunny among his friends, he looked at the distant tree rife with brown leaves clutching to the tendrils draped with gloom. The thought of visiting his home cast a pall over his usual idyllic demeanor. Kids of his age eagerly await the whole year for the winter break but Sunny would feel unsettled by the idea of going home, or what others called his home. Little Sunny has been in the boarding school since when he was just 5 and a half years old. At his home, he remembers going to sleep every night against the backdrop of his mother’s suppressed shrieks and his father’s violent outbursts. He was too small then to understand, but now he does. The love out of which he was born had fizzed out.

On one such tumultuous night, he gathered enough courage to venture into his parents’ bedroom. Little did he know that it would kill the innocence he had as a five and a half year old boy. In there, he found his mother sobbing on the bed, in a torn designer gown with a bleeding lower lip and dishevelled hair. That is the last memory he has of his mother and his so-called home. Every year he dreads going back to that haunted place where he is treated as royalty. He would rather stay in the empty hostel than go to that hollow, cold home of his. But for that he needs to be a 16-year old.

“The winter is coming” he sighed and went back to bed.

Dhananjay Kate|12|Gun Factory, somewhere in Haryana

“The winter is coming” thought Dhananjay Kate, the 12-year old kid who did a man’s work in a gun factory along the borders of Haryana. Known as Dhanno to his masters, he looked at the distant tree rife with brown leaves clutching to the tendrils and his eyes lit up. He gets a month off, every December, when he goes to his family residing at a small village in eastern Uttar Pradesh. He remembers how distraught his mother was when he decided to accompany his uncle to work in the factory to support his family. With his father losing the battle against TB when he was 5, Dhanno had long given up on his dream of education and had made peace with himself. He had come to the gun factory when he was 7 and had started working as the chaiwallah’s apprentice. Now he had a “job” in the gun factory and earned ten times of what he did. The best part of going home in December was that he got to celebrate the birthdays of his two younger sisters. He planned to buy bangles for both of them this year from the nearby mela with the bonus he got in Holi.

Just when a tear, signifying his sweet nostalgia, trickles down his smiling face, a firm hand pats his back and the man yells, “aye kid, I don’t pay you to count the number of trees outside. Get back to work”. “Yes sir” says Dhanno and gets back to the machinery.

“The winter is finally coming” he says to himself in a low voice with the widest possible grin on his face blotted with charcoal.