The dirt road curved through the desert sand, the sun shone with all its might in the afternoon. Her little feet hurried as the road beneath burnt her little bare feet. Her red worn out frock fluttered in the breeze. Her face was covered with dust and her parched lips were dry but curved in a half smile.

As she came closer to the hut, she increased her speed and hopped and jumped. As she reached the door she came to an abrupt halt and stood at the door. The door was wide open, and she peeped inside and her smile widened into a grin.

The girl sitting inside caught the glimpse of her standing at the door. Her sight made her eyes sparkle and she frantically waved her arm and beckoned her little sister inside. The little one couldn't conceal her happiness and shrieked with joy. She ran across to her elder sister, and threw herself at her. Her sister hugged her tightly and tickled her playfully. 

She laughed and gasped for breath, her sister pulled the plate kept in front of her. She then picked up little morsels of food from the plate and fed her little sister. She ate hungrily and giggled in between looking at her sister. Her sister's eyes filled with tears looking at the joy of her younger sister. Deep within her heart she thanked God for the food and returned to feeding her little sister and they both smiled.

I feel empty as I sit here, ironically this emptiness makes my heart heavy. I swivel in my chair and ponder on a thought I can't think of. Its a beautiful evening outside and the child in me wants to go out and play.

I want to laugh at myself and at the same time I feel like crying. I feel angry and I feel sorry at the same time. In short I am lost and frustrated!

I don't know what to write and at the same time I have to write! 

An inspiration..

A holiday finally cleared my mind, as I lay on my bed, besides my mother. I couldn't stop my mind from wandering. I felt empty as work had taken up most of my last 3 months, I was drained physically & mentally. I turned in my bed, as cool breeze blew over my face, I looked at the shadow of a plant on the wall, casted by a construction site's halogen bulb. I had this sudden urge of reading, reading the blog of Rahul Pandita - Sanity Sucks. My mind races, sensing my mother still awake, I tell her about Rahul. 

"Maa, you know I read a blog written by a journalist. You won't remember his name, but during the Kargil war he would often report live from Kashmir. In one of his blogs I read how he is helping the mothers of Eastern India, where children often fall prey to drug abuse. Rahul decided to help these women, and he had a friend back in Delhi, who was good at making caricatures. They decided to start publishing comic strips to raise awareness and help in this movement. He gave up his job of journalism, and is now writing a book."

My mother asked, "What about the women? Did the movement help?"

I said, "Yes, it did."

I wondered, its been quite sometime since I read that story of his. I wondered whether I even remembered the facts clearly.

My mind raced back, almost 5-6 years back, I don't recollect completely. I had just entered home from college I threw my bag, and watched the TV as I sat munching on the dining table. A news report from Kargil was being telecast live, a name in white flashed on a strip of red at the bottom - Rahul Pandita, and a voice said, "... with cameraman ... reporting live from Kargil ... Rahul Pandita". I smiled, picked up my phone and called up my friend, Avinash Pandita, a Kashmiri, his best friend's name was Rahul Koul. I asked him, "Do you know any reporter called Rahul Pandita?" He said "No." Of course, it was this co-incidence that I could never forget Rahul Pandita's name. I happened to tell both Rahul and Avinash the next day in college about the reporter on Zee News (or was it Star News I don't remember now) named 'Rahul Pandita'.

Years later, I had started to blog, and had started to read many blogs. One day, while browsing through the list of one of the blogger Jugal, whose blogs I used to frequent often, I stumbled upon an interesting blog, where Jugal was a contributor and there were innumerable other contributors too. But, my eyes caught one particular name, 'Rahul Pandita'. My heart raced, and I wondered is he the same Rahul Pandita?!

A young boy in his twenties, wearing sun  glasses sitting on a low compound wall, that was his profile picture. That was the first time I saw him, I don't remember him from any of his news telecasts. But the white name on the red strip, flashed in front of my eyes again. At that time I had thought Rahul would be a man, in his late thirties or early forties, with a thick moustache, reporting from Kargil. But I was quite taken aback when I saw this picture of his.

I then clicked on his profile, and read that he was writing a book and thought, wow how cool is that! There were 3 blogs in his profile, the second one was where I had found him, where he contributed along with Jugal. The 3rd one caught my eye, it read, 'Sanity Sucks'.

I clicked on it, the background was an image, from a village, it was the picture of a brick wall of a house. It had a small closed window, which had a steel glass kept on it. I liked the picture, it reminded me of my granny's village. I read his posts, most of them, I barely worked for two days in office. I only read his blogs, and talked about his blogs during lunches and coffee breaks.

Read blogs about him in Delhi, about several other things, refugee camps, Abshaar, tomatoes. I discussed his blog with my Kashmiri friends on lunch the following Sunday. Of course my friends were younger than Rahul and didn't remember much about refugee camps. However, Rahul Koul, my friend, did narrate his adventure about their leaving Srinagar and moving to Udhampur. Vinay Raina too remembered, how sad he felt leaving his cricket bat back home, which he never got again. I proudly told Ashu, I learnt a new Kashmiri word - Abshaar. A song from the movie Yahan echoed in my head - Urzu Urzu durkut ... I pictured Rahul Pandita, sitting in Abshaar, as a guest in his own home.

I would often read his posts, I used to love reading them before going to bed. They always made me think, they made me think a lot. I purposely skipped most of his posts, they were real, they were true, truth so bare I knew I couldn't bear.

I turn again in my bed and my mind wanders again, I picture my self in a book store in Delhi. Its the launch of Rahul's book, I buy a book and move towards him, he doesn't look like that boy in his profile picture now, the sun glasses have been replaced with a pair of spectacles. I see the resemblance to his current profile picture. I hand my book over to him, he autographs it and smiles. I smile back, thousands of thoughts race in my mind, I wonder should I tell him that I read his blogs. I pick the book, and start walking away, I reach the exit and I turn back and look at him signing other books. I want to open the book and look at his autograph, but my mind cannot imagine his autograph, it draws a blank page and I like to leave it that way. I clutch the closed book, in my hands and walk out from the exit door.