This sort of continues in the series. Viraj is 17 here.
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Headcanon #3 - Absence.
A mother pushing people around in the queue, because she wanted to confirm her child's name in the list. Another mother forcing the tiffin in her son's hands. A mother kissing her child on the forehead. Another mother consoling her son on not winning the medal. The medal that Viraj had won.
He couldn't take it anymore. Viraj started walking away from the grounds, where some shooting competitions were going on and some some were over. Having won the gold, like always, Viraj was now waiting for the prize distribution ceremony to get over with. He was looking around listlessly when he saw mothers with their children, supporting them, scolding them, pleading with them, teaching them. And he couldn't bear the pain anymore. He started walking away towards the car park, with a very out - of - breath Shyam Singh running behind him. "Wait...Chote Hukum wait!" Shyam Sing was now breathing heavily. Clutching his sides, he requested Viraj to stop. "Your...medal Chote Hukum!"
What is the point Daadji? She is not here. Neither are Dadaji, Bhuaji or Priyanka. What is the point of the appreciation?" Viraj had a bitter smile on his face. He asked Shyam Singh to sit in the car and directed the driver towards the palace. He only wanted to shoot without thousands of eyes on him.Dadaji had that shooting range constructed for my last birthday. Maybe it's time I use that extravagance for comfort...
The palace watched upon its son, Viraj, aiming and hitting the bull's eye again. Had it been a person, it would have definitely applauded. Such clean shots. Yet, the shooter was not satisfied. There was something missing. Why didn't he feel complete? The feeling on reading his mother's note came back to him. And he hit another bull's eye. The boards were covered with bullet marks, but he didn't want to stop. It was becoming an obsession. A desperate attempt to bring back the peace of mind. Poor kid, thought the palace. He so badly wanted to be a human for this moment. He could have told the boy that he was searching for peace and answers in the wrong place.
Finally, when it was dark, Viraj threw away the pistol he was holding. He tried to scream with frustration, but voice failed him. He finally went towards the car. Shyam Singh followed. They reaches the mansion where Viraj stayed with Gayatri and Priyanka. Without waiting for anyone, Viraj went inside. He picked up a pen lying on the table. There lay a stack of postcards, brought for someone's use. Viraj picked up one and scrawled,
WHY???
The pen dug in the paper, tearing it. He crumpled and threw it. He picked anther card and wrote,
Was I not good enough?
Crumpling this one too and picking up another postcard, Viraj continued to pour his heart out. He suddenly laughed. Mirthlessly. He was writing such a disorted version of a diary. She wrote a diary. Where is she?
And he wrote that on his postcard.
He continued till he had used up every single post card. He asked Daadji to buy some more. While waiting for them, he looked around the drawing room. Suddenly, the set of drums drew his attention. Fufaji* played them when he was angry, didn't he?
Viraj picked up the sticked and started banging. There certainly was a vicious satisfaction in hearing the shrieks of the metal protesting against his assault. And he continued.
Gayatri opened the door of the house. She stepped in the drawing room and suddenly backed of into Priyanka. She then saw Viraj staring at the ceiling, his eyes bloodshot. He was randomly banging on the drums which her stupid husband played. Strewn all around him, were the post cards that Priyanka had brought for her school project. She tried approaching him. "Oh My My darling, what's wrong with you?!"
When Viraj didn't reply, she slumped on the sofa, looking at Priyanka who was staring at Viraj. She was going to see Priyanka erupting soon because her postcards had been used by Viraj. Such a nuisance these kids were. Gayatri was already busy busy daydreaming of a holiday with her latest beau. Well, atleast this man returned her affections...
Viraj looked at Priyanka screaming and bringing the house down and Gayatri staring off into space with a dreamy smirk. Would it have been this way, had Ma been here?
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*Fufaji - It is the Indian term for the husband of Bhuaji. (Father's sister, paternal aunt).
Too long? I know...but this is the last piece that I'm writing for the next week. Have an exam on Saturday and I've hardly studied. *shaking my head at myself*
So, this is supposed to compensate for it.
Please do leave feedback! :)Edited by Aditi_28 - 9 years ago
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