31st March, 2017| A Short story|
Prompt of the day
At the young age of 37, Nilamadhab Mohanty was living a dream. He was an investment banker for nine years now. Goldman Sachs, had never seen a man of this calibre.
While most worked for hours, Mohanty worked for days. Dedication and time were two elements in his life, that had no end. When his friends looked at him, they saw – his luxurious three bedroom apartment with imported wooden flooring, a swimming pool, with freshly put Bermuda grass and an English butler. They saw two sports cars, and a man who found clients who couldn’t say no to him.
A modern day teenager, could put his life in one word – “Sorted”.
But Nilamadhab, was living a dream, and all dreams turn two ways – either they end, or they turn into nightmares. And if this world could be “sorted” all the time, then we would never feel lost at any point.
And so, enter : October 24th, 2017. The Wall Street found itself in the greatest crash since 1929. It had dropped 19 points and Goldman Sachs like it’s other competitors, did what it had to do, and took it’s last name quite literally. “Saching” it’s finest – including the man who was ‘sorted’.
On receiving his letter of termination, and not knowing how or what to feel, Nilamadhab packed his box and headed home. He had worked hard enough to have a more than sufficient balance. His house, seemed to be his house only for a couple of months more.
Now, let me ask you : do you know the one thing that every family, in any part of the world, would avoid?
A magnifying glass.
You know why?
Because the moment you look at things that are flawless and perfect, with a magnifying glass, you find the scars. And the worst part was, Nilamadhab, not having a family at all, was his magnifying glass.
When he saw what his friends saw, he saw a routine – Coming home in a small car, to an empty 3000 square feet apartment.
Nilamadhab, had no shoulder to cry on. He was internally frustrated, but his lack of emotion, led to him to cry inside. He couldn’t shout, he couldn’t laugh, he was just, still. His heart and mind fought a battle on which emotion to send at the top.
Suddenly, his mind had won the battle. Emerging from nowhere, his past hit him, and flashbacks summarised his beginning – His mother, raised him in a small, raw house, in the slums of Cuttack. She was the sole bread winner, and she fought battles everyday, so that she could feed her feeble son, a square meal. She sent him to school, not for the mid day meal, but for the education. She didn’t want him to end up like her – uneducated and dependant. And worse, she didn’t want him to end up like she did – with a life partner who lived off drinking and debts.
That’s why Nilamadhab was living a dream, it was Hers.
Empty, yet frustrated, he applied the domino effect on his chinaware. Exotic, matte black plates, that were fine, crisp and clean, were now like his hopes – shattered. He pulled his cupboard down, and broke everything he could find. It was going to the bank anyway. In all the chaos, he saw a small hard bound black leather booklet. In it he saw a little dust. Wiping it off, he stared at it. He stared at it, and then it spoke to him.
“Lost?”, asked the passport.
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