sample copy. not for distribution. · woh to hai ladla ghar ka, ghar ka diya usise jale. daadaji ki...

Sample Copy. Not For Distribution.

i

An Extra Mile


ii

Publishing-in-support-of,

EDUCREATION PUBLISHING

RZ 94, Sector - 6, Dwarka, New Delhi - 110075 Shubham Vihar, Mangla, Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh - 495001

Website: www.educreation.in __________________________________________________

© Copyright, Author

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, optical, chemical, manual, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of its writer.

ISBN: 978-1-61813-656-5

Price: ` 264.00

The opinions/ contents expressed in this book are solely of the author and do not represent the opinions/ standings/ thoughts of Educreation.

Printed in India


iii

An Extra Mile

Pragnya Sahoo

EDUCREATION PUBLISHING

(Since 2011)

www.educreation.in


iv

An Extra Mile

p Pragnya Sahoo, a passionate and rhapsodic scribbler, is a

computer science engineer and has worked with

prominent IT companies in India and Great Britain. Born

and brought up in H.A.L Township of koraput division,

Odisha, she has a wide exposure to various cultures and

languages.

Dreaming big and with a vision to indulge in a

mixture of cultures, she moved to Chennai to pursue

engineering and graduated from SRM University.

Pragnya later moved to London for M.B.A, and she

enrolled into Kinsgton Business School with a

scholarship. It was her three years stay in the U.K,

during which she discovered her capabilities to do more

than she thought she could. Europe was the “love at first

sight” which had accommodated a variety of cultures

with peace and love.

“An Extra Mile” is her debut novel; her sincere

attempt to shape up her writergiri and highlight few

social norms which separates every Indian.

W


v

Dedication

p “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but

the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does

not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear”

-Nelson Mandela

They are not just fighters, they are warriors. They fight

against emotions, limitations and fear. They survive to

inspire millions. They symbolize strength and patience.

They fight the toughest war, silently.

I dedicate this book to all the fighters for their zeal

for life and faith in the almighty.

With my every book, I would help the cancer

fighters to bounce back to life.

With my first book, “An Extra Mile”, I have gone

an extra mile to help the fighters. And now it’s upto you

to do your bit.

There is a CAN in Cancer, because we can beat it.

W


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vi

O Maa ki chaon se door hoke,

Humne seekha hai dhoop ko gale lagana,

Pita ke daant se door hoke,

Humne seekha akele hi aage badhna

Woh hain mere guru, mere mitr, mere saathi,

Humne seekha unhi se jeevan ke

har rishton ko nibhana

Bhai mera sabse chota,

kehte usko bheem saare,

Woh to hai ladla ghar ka,

ghar ka diya usise jale.

Daadaji ki chadi thi main,

thi unke aankhon ka tara,

Woh aaj bhi mujhe yaad aate hain,

jab girta hai aasmaan se sitara

O


vii

O Behind every piece of my writergiri, I have the immense

support of,

My beautiful mother, Smt. Premalata Sahoo, who

has an unshakable faith in my capabilities.

My father, Sri Banshidhar Sahoo, who has given me

the freedom to choose a life and career.

My brother, Ritchie, who being the youngest in

family has been the pillar of strength.

My best friend, Trishna, who stood by my side and

supported my weird ideas.

My dearest, Rakesh Panchal, who being in a

different time zone, managed to edit and design the book

cover. Panchalji, you have been a source of inspiration

throughout.

O


viii

Acknowledgements

p Nothing in this world can be created without a team.

Neither this book. In particular, I would like to thank,

God, for designing my life in way which gave me an

opportunity to discover my capabilities.

Rakesh Panchal, my classmate and colleague, the

first reader and editor of this book, who not only

criticized my work but also helped me to improve

my narration.

Ritchie, the bestest brother in the world, who

patiently listened to all my stories and helped to get

the best out of me, even during the worst.

My editor and friend, Sudeshana, whose experience

as a mother helped me to fine tune the details of

motherhood.

My school friends, Shilpa, Smitu, Ipsita, Pallabi,

Monalisa, Shraddha and Pulak, who always read my

blogs and have encouraged to me come up with

more stories.

A special thanks Maninder Singh, whose kinds

words, support and excellent marketing strategies

had helped me technically to market my book.

My sincere gratitude to Krishna, final student from

BIT, who helped to get a clear picture of the campus

and hostel life.

My sincere thanks to all those in my circle, who

thought I was not good for anything.


ix

I would also like to thank “time”, which taught me to

value life, people and ethics, more than anything else.

W


x

Contents

p

S.No. Content Page

No.

Acknowledgements Viii

1. The Call 1

2. Back to the days of Barfis 9

3. The Torturous Blue Trunk 16

4. Misra in Mesra 20

5. Ragging Shagging 25

6. Truth or Dare 35

7. Our E-quation 41

8. It’s all about Power 47

9. A Trip of Self Discovery 53

10. If you can’t make it, then fake it 66

11. Campus to Corporate 80

12. A trail of Puke 83

13. Friendiversary 89

14. The Proposal 94

15. Moving Apart 102

16. More to life 109

17. Nicole 115

18. The Chicago Episode 118

19. Connecting with peace 124

W


xi


Pragnya Sahoo

1

The Call

p

19th December 2014

New York.

And finally, after a strenuous week at work, the much-

needed Christmas break had arrived. It was that time of

the year when the city appeared an enormous cloud

scintillating with glitters, bells, and Christmas trees.

With Santa coming to town, every corner of the city was

tinted with lights. New York has the stuff dreams are

made of; a magical sight. I decided to drive back and

wished the chauffeur “good night” The drive was lavish

and the tunes of Kishore Kumar made it even more

delightful.

It was more than a decade in a foreign land. Though

we had tailored our lifestyle with everything, the

incredible Indian music and cuisine kept me ingrained.

Avantika was always inclined towards our rituals. It was

she, who kept our roots alive. For every occasion, she

had a special menu, which took me back to my

childhood. She ensured, Arnav knew about Holi, Diwali,

Onam and Navaratri, and followed our traditions.

Though it was not easy, she certainly did not give up.

There was always a constant effort to infuse the rich

Indian culture into our future generations.

1


An Extra Mile

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It was almost 1:00 AM when I reached home. I

parked my car and quietly walked into the living room.

It was all warm and calm, few lights on the ceiling to

guide our steps and a fireplace. I made myself a drink

and switched on the television when suddenly I felt a

hand on my shoulder. I turned around; it was my

beautiful significant other, Avantika.

“You will never get rid of your habits, will you?” I

asked, hugging her. She held me firmly, locking her

palms around my fat waistline, which lasted for more

than our accustomed moment. It wasn’t the usual hug

that we habitually exchanged. I could sense something

strange.

“Are you okay darling?”

We sat on the couch as she held my hand, firmer grip.

I looked straight into her eyes; worried, pale and

sleepless.

“It’s been three days and I haven’t heard from

Arnav,” She said dropping a fat tear. Arnav, my

fourteen-year-old; high on life and music.

“It’s alright honey. He will be around with his

friends,” I said cheering her up.

“No Rajesh! I...I don’t get a good feeling, seems

something is terribly wrong...guess we

shh..shhouu….should call his friends,” She stammered

in a concerned voice, as she walked to the desk placed

near the window, on the other side of the room. She

lifted a frame and said with a pitch in a verge of crying,

“See Rajesh, its broken”

It was our family picture.

She held the frame close to her heart and wept.

Though I wasn’t sure about her angst, I still wanted to

calm her down. I held her close to my heart and felt the

same strange and unusual nervousness in her hold.

Releasing myself gently from her grip, I said, “Com’on,


Pragnya Sahoo

3

let’s check in his room if he has left any note for us”

holding her delicate wrist and making our way to

Arnav’s room.

The room was messy and unorganized. I checked the

notes on his table and memo cards, while Avantika

started picking up his clothes lying all over the room,

and folded them in the best possible pattern. Be it any

situation, their subconscious intellect mechanically picks

up the mess. Avantika silently dropped tears and slowly

started arranging his wardrobe.

“Such mess this room is,” I initiated a conversation.

“When was the last time you had come here?”

“Ummm........ Been a while”

“It’s been two years,” She said, looking at me and

underlining the word two, and then followed an

awkward silence.

I agreed. I wasn’t the perfect father or husband, who

could have given time to his family because all his time

was invested in developing a magnificent world of

luxury for them. My vision was to build enormous

wealth for my family, to enjoy anything and everything

they desired for. I was close to unlearn the difference

between wants and needs. Being brought up in a lower-

middle-class family, the values and principles were

defined as assets. I grew in a house full of opinions and

discussions; a joint family. Bollywood loves such big fat

Indian families, but the reality was far from what they

framed on screen.

Arnav lived in his own private world of friends and

music. He was blessed with a voice that could melt

hearts and had inherited the charm to mesmerize the

crowd. From a toddler to ninety years old, he had the

charm to make anyone laugh. However, Indians are

blessed with an incredible sense of humor, only if they

are acknowledged in a sportive way.


An Extra Mile

4

Avantika pulled the drawer from under the bed and

started to pick the ones which needed immediate

laundry. In the depth of the drawer, she fetched a mid-

size envelope. “Why is this packet kept here?” She asked

with a suspicious look.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know!,” She said and tore opened the front

end of the envelope.

“He has buried our best memoirs,” She said, after a

pause.

“What! What do you mean?,” I asked, almost

snatching the packet from her hand.

The envelope enclosed pictures our best days with

Arnav since his birth. Those weren’t mere images, they

told a story of my family with Avantika and Arnav. I

was taken aback. “Why would he keep it deep inside the

drawer; unreachable?” I thought, keeping the envelope

in my jacket and looked at Avantika. She was still

looking at me for an answer; assurance may be.

“He must have kept it safe. Relax Avantika,” I said

and looked away to avoid further questions. It is not easy

to persuade a woman, especially when it is in relation to

her only child. However, I desperately wanted to get in

touch with his friends, but was unable to locate any

contact number in his room. The breach in our

relationship gained prominent visibility with my every

attempt to reach my son. I gave him the liberty and space

which any teen would expect and which I never had, but

little did I know, the space would become a distance

someday.

Avantika kept looking deep inside the drawers in his

wardrobes; not sure of what was she probing for. I

watched her standing, quietly and waited for her next

question. Her silent tears gave me heartache.

“What are you looking for?”


Pragnya Sahoo

5

“My son,” She said.

It wasn’t the first time for us. Arnav often had

sleepovers at his friend’s. He traveled for passion and

had a circle who shared similar obsession; music.

Sometimes we saw each other only once a week or in a

fortnight, and those were the only time when we got a

chance to catch up with updates. Avantika was always

curious to know every little thing about her son, while

on the other hand, Arnav barely spoke. There was love

but with a different equation. He granted him a personal

life of space and freedom,

I didn’t want to be the father I had. I did crib for

space, but being brought up in a joint family, I barely got

the opportunity to even discharge in private. When I was

a kid, it was compulsory to get accompanied to the fields

because of wild animals and later, it was mandatory to

accompany the kids. Unlike my brothers, I was

despondent with the model of joint families. More than

sensible conclusions, I had witnessed discussions and

opinions from members, who had no contribution in the

family, other than delivering expert and futile advices.

My thoughts were congested with views and opinions of

the lot. I wished for freedom. Freedom from opinions

and discussions. They called it tradition; for me it was

suffocation. “I still remember the days I prayed for

things I have now”

It was close to 2:00 AM. Avantika was done with her

part of cleaning. She stood near the window and looked

at the main entrance. I went near her and gently placed

my hands on her shoulders, “Its okay,” I said. She turned

around and clutched me tightly. The heat of her body

was more than the normal. Avantika and Arnav meant

the world to me. I felt terrible seeing her in pain. I held

her securely, assuring things would be fine. The moment

froze.


An Extra Mile

6

We were calm in the zone of silence, when suddenly

she said, “Shall we call the co.....,” before she could

complete, we heard a phone ring; it was our landline.

I ran down the stairs hurriedly before it could get

disconnected. As I came close the telephone, my heart

started pounding. Neither do we make, nor do we expect

calls at this hour. Before I could pick up the receiver, I

turned back to look at Avantika. I saw her standing at the

end of the staircase, emotionless. Fear had already

gripped me. My hand reached out to the receiver with

my trembling voice,

“He.. He.. Hello?,” I stammered.

“Hello! I am Inspector John Wilshaw, city police,

Chicago. Am I speaking to Mr. Rajesh Gupta?,” Asked

the caller with an American accent and in a voice to

crush all my hope into ashes.

“Yes”

“Is Arnav Gupta your son?”

“Is Arnav Gupta your son Mr. Rajesh?,” Repeated

Mr. Wilshaw when he did not get a reply from me.

“Ye..Yes”

“Mr. Rajesh, your son Arnav has been taken into

custody by the Chicago police. He has been charged

with homicide and drugs overdose”

I froze to death. The unbelievable words kept

resounding in my ears and my throat choked. Even time

had to take a minute and soak in a silence that had never

been so loud. I could not gather my senses to understand

if it was a real.

“Are you there Mr. Rajesh... Hello....Are you there?”

“Yes”

“As Arnav is a Juvenile, would you be the

appropriate adult for further legal proceedings?”

“Yes.” I said.


Pragnya Sahoo

7

“Well.... Mr. Rajesh, you will need to come down to

Chicago for further proceedings and you can definitely

get your solitaire.”

“Ok”

“Thank you Mr. Rajesh” Said Mr. Wilshaw and hung

up, but I didn’t.

I stood still, holding the receiver close to my ear and

waiting for a miracle to happen which could turn the past

two and a half minutes of the conversation into a prank.

The world I was building for my family had just crashed.

The pain in my heart was beyond words. I felt weak and

helpless. All my energy had drained out. I slowly kept

the receiver and turned towards Avantika. She did not

speak a word and was motionless.

“Where is my son?,” She demanded.

“Avantika..It was Chicago Po....”

“Is he okay?,” She interrupted me and continued,

“Where is he?”

“Nothing was okay and nothing will be okay, ever.

Our entire life had turned upside down”, I thought

The more I failed in answering her, the more she

became restless and furious. I made her sit on the couch

and offered her some water. She took the glass and

placed it on the table.

“Just tell me... Arnav is fine, right?”

“Yes. He is fine. There is some crisis but we can

handle it. He is in Chicago,” I managed to calm her

down.

“The call was from Chicago police,” I said after a

pause. She didn’t ask me anything about it. Her only

concerned was if her son was alright.

“We need to leave for Chicago now”

We boarded the American Airlines, scheduled for

departure at 6:35 A.M from La Guardia Airport (LGA).


An Extra Mile

8

The steward showed us our respective seats. Physical

comfort becomes unreal when your mind is not at peace.

We both needed our own space of silence to comfort and

assure our souls. I laid back, closed my eyes, and

traveled back to the days when I was the Arnav;

obedient but manipulative

W


Pragnya Sahoo

9

Back to the

days of Barfis

p

Barfis

March 1989

Muzaffarpur, Bihar.

I grew up in Muzaffarpur, a small town located in the

Indo-Gangetic plains of Bihar, known as the lychee

capital of the state. People were unpredictable yet

friendly. A rumored humor about the town was about its

location. As the town is located in an active seismic

zone, losing temper was a default and familiar

personality trait found in a majority. Although I was

legally 19, my intellect was measured with that of a

juvenile since my birth certificate said so. I wondered

why the age of every kid in the family was counted post

two years of their arrival.

I lived in a big joint family which is a peculiar

attribute of the Indian social life. We celebrated every

occasion together and also fought for the silliest things,

from “who ate an extra egg” to “who wore my

underwear” I and my cousins studied in an all-boys

school, which was an economical advantage for the

family. We re-cycled the old books and uniforms, and

sometimes even the shoes. The women of the family

were confined to household chores and had nil

2


An Extra Mile

10

contribution is making any decisions, while the men

were the biased decision makers.

Unlike my cousins, I had a vision of life; freedom

and wealth. I desired to be my own boss and as I

matured, my desire had taken a shape of an obsession, a

suppressed one though. I was desperate to step out to see

the world, but was equally reluctant to talk to the

commandos of my family. However, I gathered all my

guts and de-cided to confront.

The men and children dined together, while the

women served them hot chapattis. The women fed, till

the lot burped out satisfac-torily. As a child, I had a

notion that mothers don’t need food for survival and that

they had built-in blocks of energy. I had never seen my

mother consuming food.

I noticed everyone dug into their plates and got busy

eating. The men often generated terrible sounds before,

during and after meals. I waited till it was all calm and

said, “I want to pursue engi-neering,” Looking at each

one of them. Few ignored, Babuji gave an expressionless

look, while Pratap Chacha observed him carefully and

said, “Nonsense,” Giggling and intercepting my father’s

thoughts into words. More than Chacha, I found him a

chamcha.

It was not all that difficult. I decided to retry, but with

a different strategy; break individual sticks. The next

morning I rose before the Sun, put on my tracks and

went straight to the field. Babuji never missed his

morning walks after he was diagnosed with diabetes

seven years back and was often accompanied by Pratap

Chacha. I started to match their pace but did not really

succeed. Seeing me panting, Babuji gradually reduced

his intensity and said,

“Let’s go to the lychee garden”


Pragnya Sahoo

11

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sample copy. not for distribution. · woh to hai ladla ghar ka, ghar ka diya usise jale. daadaji ki...

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