Saga of small happiness and sorrowYear: 1977. I don't recall the month. My younger brother and I were in seventh heaven. After lot of cajoling, request and pleading, father finally gave us a good quality football. On the first day, my borther and I played with the ball as much as possible. On the second day, we took our precious possession to our friends for some show off! They appreciated the football and we started playing. Unfortunately, some construction activity was going on just beside our playground and there were some broken glasses and sharp stones in that place. In two hours or so, the ball was punctured beyond repair.
My brother and I was in trmendous mental agony. We lost our prized possession within two days. Nobody could see our silent cry. We did not have courage (audacity!) to request our parents to purchase another ball.
Today morning, a young boy of less than ten (definitely from a weak economic background) was going to a nearby Government school. He was playing with a newly purchased tennis ball along with his friends on the road. Suddenly the ball fell in the dirty drain. The boy first wanted to get down to the drain to retrieve the ball, but later dared not to do so in school uniform. He watched the ball floating away. A silent tear came to his eyes.
I was watching the boy. Suddenly my mind travelled back to 1977. I could clearly see a young boy returning home with his younger brother and a punctured football.