Raw Dreamers: What's Been Your Catastrophic Event?

By Arsalan Akhter

Very much like every other young boy, Amen too is fussed up into the magnificent-sounding wordsCherish your dream, live your life.
He is strangled into a big mind when he is fifteen years old and decides that he is meant to be in the Indian cricket team but his sky-scraping mind suddenly goes to burial ground when he receives the news of having failed in the ninth grade.

He holds his fantasies tight, thereon. The idea of leaving home is just delayed and not rejected.
Amens mom makes him understand the actual achievement from life; it stands out as the novels justifiable philosophy with which the actual journey of the boy starts.

This story is narrated by a twenty-six-year-old half-old, half-young man who gets camouflaged, secretly delivered by God.

Entwined in the family conservativeness, the boy struggles but does not, at any point, stoop to all these demands. Despite being involved from neck to toe, he fights to keep his dreams untouched, unblemished, and undented, and such was his resolve. He longs to disappear, to fly away to larger horizons and make a man of himself. He feels like a nestling, waiting for the sunny day when he would soar the skies. So he keeps fluttering his wings at his nest, looks, and sighs at the limitless sky. He wished to foresee what the future had in store for him, and he just couldnt wait. Familiar string, friends closeness, fathers debt, sisters talknothing restrains his dream as to get mere forgetful. He disappears from the sights of family for exactly one year and announces his well-being only through e-mails, which emotionalizes the whole journey abstractly.
The more he goes ahead, the more people he meets. The girl he finds perfect, the camouflage secret he getseverything boils down to his achievement.
Achievement with a new definition.

Thousands of dreams cant match up to what Amen achieves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Mar 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482819779

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Copyright © 2014 by Arsalan Akhter.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

Acknowledgements:

Chapter-1

Chapter-2

Chapter-3

Chapter-4

Chapter-5

Chapter-6

Chapter-7

Chapter-8

Last chapter

To the nature of God

To the parents

To the beautiful people of my country: Nepal

Author’s Note

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I choose this book to be unedited by any professional, no grammatical quotient getting corrected for the sake to present the readers what a fifteen year old can replicate the translations to a 26 year old man. This remains raw for the sake of writing ego.

Belief!!

Dedicated to all the people who believed that failing was just as important as it is to succeed today.

PROLOGUE

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V ery much like every other young boy, Amen too is fussed up into the magnificent sounding words—Cherish your dream, live your life

He is strangled into a big mind when he is fifteen years old and decides that he is meant to be in the Indian Cricket team but his sky-scraping mind suddenly goes to burial ground when he receives the news of having failed in the 9th grade.

He holds his fantasies tight, thereon. The idea of leaving home is just delayed and not rejected.

Amen’s mom makes him understand the actual achievement from life, it stands out as the novel’s justifiable philosophy with which the actual journey of the boy starts.

This story is narrated by a twenty-six year half old, half young man who gets camouflaged secret delivered by God.

Entwined in the family issues, the boy struggles but does not at any point of time stoops to all these demands. Despite being involved from neck to toe, he fights to keep his dreams untouched, unblemished and undented, and such was his resolve. He longs to disappear, to fly away to larger horizons and make a man of himself. He feels like a nestling; waiting for the sunny day when he would soar the skies. So he keeps fluttering his wings at his nest, looks and sighs at the limitless sky. He wished to foresee what future had in store for him and he just couldn’t wait… . Familiar string, friend’s closeness, father’s debt, sister’s talk—nothing restrains his dream as to get mere forgetful. He disappears from the sights of family for exactly one year, and announces of his well-being only through e-mails, which emotionalizes the whole journey abstractly.

The more he goes ahead, the more people he meets, the girl he finds perfect, the camouflage secret he gets, everything screeches down to his achievement.

Achievement with a new definition.

Thousands dream can’t match up for what Amen achieves

Acknowledgements:

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T hank God!

Today, I am in a position to draft the acknowledgement page.

The list has to be long as many people lay behind the architects of this book.

It was the 45 minute drive in the bus from school to home when I would sit at the back seat structuring beautiful sounding poems where all of this writing habit took its first plunge of flight.

It was Rupa for whom I would craft letters at DPS and exchanged and she would everytime appall me of my good English writing.

It was Garima Lohani and companion with whom I had my teenage moments at tuition classes.

It was Abhishek and Ashitosh having companied me at a very difficult phase of time.

It was Azhmat (Sonu) funnily being my best friend and the only one to have made it to the adulthood friendlist from childhood.

It was Azhan bhai for having scripted the response so positive in the early phase of this novel.

It was Ram, Nikhil, Harish, Jay, Ashutosh and Ankit to have an awesome time everyday in the bus.

I must thank Hitesh dai for sharing his delicious tiffin when we most needed at the end of each hectic day and Aditya bhai who was the successor later.

Thanks to Ayan, Mandip, Khushbu, Prity, Asmika, Sapana, RIP, Susman, Ankit for being good.

Thanks Manisha, Pallavi, Kanika Arora and the whole army from science batch.

Thanks to Asmita for being a kind counterpart in the sports captain tenure, without any tussles.

Thanks Arun sir, Neeraj sir, RuchiMa’m, Monica Ma’m, Gobardan sir and other teaching fraternities from DPS.

Thank you principal Ma’am—Neelam Pal, your morning assembly words has always inspired me (though at some days, it was only about announcing the fee defaulter’s list, except those!)

Thanks needs to be shared with the ‘soom’ group who were the fuel for surviving in my one year lived time at Kathmandu—Dibin, Bibek, Ishan, Nirmal, Wangla, Shishir, Karpur and Sunir.

Double thanks to Sunir and Karpur for having the morning bike ride to college. It was great help man!

Thanks to many other kcmiites for being kind. It was great to lose that cricket match. Paras dai, you still remain the culprit for the last bowl you bowled.

Thanks Deepesh for believing in my over ambitious project and santosh dai for your support.

IshworiMa’m, Thanks!!

Thanks to Vaibhav, Mohit, Ojesh, Pratik, Shreyansh. I hope you guys remember our commitment to play cricket matches at class 5.

Sunil, Those pipes were real hard!!

Thanks to Mallika for introducing me to this name.

Thanks to Ankit for believing in my young ideas.

Thanks to the other Ankit also with whom days has been ever so enriching though things are different now.

Thanks Deepika for criticizing me a lot.

Thanks to Manoj Jaishi.

Thanks to Yuga Shrestha for many reasons.

Thanks to Aamir bhai.

And at the end, I must thank two most important people again and again—First, my dad for being the most correct inspiration to my life whose struggles has been phenomenal and it’s been a treat to be in it from so very before.

And this creature in anybody’s life is awesome—mom

Thanks to God!!

Chapter-1

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K hudi ko kar buland itna ke har taqdeer se pehle

Khuda bande se puche bata teri raza kya hai

When Allama Iqbal wrote these lines, he must have been unimaginable to what could people ask, and how far could have God given to these ever asking piece of specie.

I had not asked for what I have got today. I am at my running age of 26, half old, half young, less intelligent, more emotional.

It was five years back when I had left home to search something, complying the world’s fashion—‘Find yourself!’

It was six years back when I started my study in pursuit of a bachelor’s degree.

It was seven years back when I passed class 12th marking a big achievement.

Today I got the news from GOD.

I wasn’t waiting for this news.

But today’s morning dripped not only with stupendous light but with the news from God.

Yes God!

The fog now settled in the newly made pebbled road outside my home, whence human eyes could go blinking for hours, but the fog not leaving its commitment.

Making it hard for the human eye to find a vision.

The rooster from somebody’s home crowed its natural alarm, dew drops kissed the petals, sun still hiding its presence.

It’s a time when all the drunken people last night will wake up perfectly normal. All children in rage with their parents last night will wake up sober. Each individual would ready to compete himself to fight with the world’s population.

A new day has kicked off.

What separates fog and smog is color.

From those white vapors emerged a man in white, semi translucent, something of him to tell your senses in one attempt—‘Angel’

An angel sent by God to handover the news uncaring of my reaction to take back.

Even if he cared, I had nothing to react.

The sun that arose today had the power to burn me; it hadn’t come this bright in my life ever before. Maybe, it was all because of the news.

I knew the almighty always have amazing plans for all of us, but why!

Why is the news always amazing?

In this early winter morning of 26 December, 2011 at the while sitting casually at the portico of my house, I had this amazement.

I had this amazement of listening to the news.

The messenger handed me this news in the shells of a secret: NOT TO BE TOLD TO ANYONE

It itched to me, inability of shouting to the world about the most benevolent news ever heard is a near to death silence.

God had his play with almost all the members of this earth. We are his creation, he has the right to do so but does he not see the caliber in pain.

Why didn’t the messenger’s flying legs stopped in the air realizing what he was giving me—A secret

If I ever have a chance to question God, it would surely be, why do I get this?

And, why today?

I don’t know.

I am a simple man as you, as the one sitting beside you and as the one not sitting beside you. I am alike everyone else.

I am Amen.

I will tell you my life.

I don’t know what I will tell and what you will perceive at the end of the story.

Think about a movie, you had seen some years back displaying a flashback.

Everybody’s life is melodramatic in the same way or other.

My story starts from where I can remember, ofcourse!!

Little more than ten years down the line—Back to 2000

That was a millennium year, whence all babies born were termed millennium babies, a useless problem as Y2K was being given so much importance, the billionth living person in India was born, concord—the fastest aircraft had crashed in a hotel, our neighboring country—India in the prime ministerial tenure of Mr. Vajpayee had created 3 new states and my own country Nepal was witnessing a new revolutionary leader—‘Prachanda’ who had arisen as a name seizing terror in the minds of general public. Some even regarded him ‘God’ for his unseen image doing all the activities.

This year amid all the worldly activities was a tensed one at home.

A feud had cropped in between my father and his brothers—It was a separation

Everything is good when a separation happens as so many changes comes in, concluded my 15 and a half year old mind. The only bad thing dad did on this while was, he left ‘everything’—home, factory, cars, everything.

That meant our ravishing life could just turn upside down, into a struggling phase.

The separation papers were ready. Big stamps on the paper, black coat people resurgent on the drawing room, some mullas present as well for the Islamic point of view, constant sullen face from dad—all suggesting ‘Aqram Iraqi Hosseini is getting separated’ that was my father.

Little more days we lived in the same house until dad could find another or make another one. Home-making was no easy job.

Some author had written it, and I heard very clearly from my father, Discouragement is a deadly disease

He was sourly discouraged, bitterly anxious and ragingly furious.

My mother had a way of explaining things that we could understand and if she happened to be in the mood, she could turn the tornado like destruction into a heavenly pleasing breath.

We had yet not seen the phase of poverty, the phase of hard-life, the phase of sheer struggle but now it looked nothing was far away.

Though dad had been in it in his early years, mom was yet not into it at any part of her life and maybe so she had those good words always to offer.

She filled us, particularly dad with encouragement, passion for a new inventive beginning from when on people left marking the end.

This was the sole reason why dad had become yet again passionate.

On exactly eighth day of the announcement of separation, uncle said to mom in that dusty afternoon, Hmm, we need to paint this room as to the room looks energetic again

That was a signal—Go fast

That same evening, when dad came home after his routine search for home, he wasn’t any happy either.

He was sad as he had been in each day of the week’s evening. The signal was relayed and he at once flustered, We need to get moving from tomorrow

I was the one listening everything, witnessing everything.

Two of elder brothers were far in the hostels of Delhi knowing nothing of the proceedings, one sister though two years elder was customized in the tradition of being a girl, a mute watcher in the notion of ‘what can I do’

There was nothing I could do as well, I could just transmit the highest level of pain that my parents were suffering and that was it, that was the limit!

Next day onwards, we had to start the transfer.

Dad had bought a good piece of land and the construction had begun but for the time being, we had to live somewhere else.

One of dad’s kind friend had asked us to live in their house and we got the upper floor for ourselves.

Nobody was happy.

It was one of those few days, when mom asked me not to go school the next day.

I wasn’t happy of not going school this time because I was sad for the reason.

We had little talks in the evening about our actions from now on. Dad was giving little lectures which was okay to hear. We were not to have any ‘good’ pre-conceived notions of the new place, about how to start the transfer, how to coordinate and how to carry the emotions most importantly.

The next phase of our family was to get started from tomorrow. What I remember of the transfer day is that we were shifting from our house to a dad’s friend home that was watchably near to our under-construction area.

I was taking bags of material that was handed to me by my mother in that trans-shifting period…

It was a nice feeling because some change was now to occur and also that mom was entrusting me with materialistic handling work.

I asked mom, What time will it be, that we get shifted?

She looked at the watch respecting my ask, announced any number that came in her view—2

I was excited with a wow ‘2’

The best thing in the home we were shifting was that a boy lived there who was same as to my age or 4-5 months elder to me—Rian.

He was to become one of my most intimate buddies.

I went to the home, Rian had already started following me like a tail, we waited for the time to click 2 and as it did, I announced as it was my first feat achieved—I have shifted now

Rian was the only one showing teeth, giggling, gasping, clapping in amazement like a child and clasping in wonder with excitement.

‘What a child he is’ I garnished and smarted within

He also had come on to believe with me that when the clock gongs 2, things would be official: he would be officially shifted, we would be officially friends, officially home-mates, etc, etc.

But there was ‘nothing official about it’

His sister, 4 years elder was a sighful watcher, heaving and realizing the burden of added members at home.

Mother or father were yet not to be seen at the vicinity. I was uninterested and unrealized for what sigh was dad giving at the while of