My name is Vishwakarma. I’m 52 years old and a writer. Please don’t jump to type my name on Google and look for my literary works (if any). No, I’m nothing of the Pulitzer (hope I spelt it right?) sorts as you think. I have no tall reviews. And I don’t apply here for a job either.
I live in a small town called Kottayur near Karaikudi in Sivaganga district, Tamil Nadu. We were born and brought up in this one-bed thatched house for four long generations. I have never seen the world outside. Believe it or not, I’m a painter-writer type that works on those huge advertising hoardings you see on both the sides of the road.
“Toothpaste even the dentists all over the world recommend”, “Intel Inside”, “I’m Lovin it”, “The Real Thing” are the kinds I write, you know what I mean? I once suffered bruises on both the legs while climbing on a steep rock to write for Ramco Cements.
I work mostly by the roadsides. Jobs are ‘few and far between’ as billboards stand the test of time in this part of town. Once written in indelible ink they stand forever. The one over the four-road junction near bus station was written by my grandfather and it still ‘smells of Narasus coffee’. I would not call it a great job, to be honest and I had always wished to become a chef were it not for my family forcing this monotony down my throats.
Well, what business do I have on FB today? I’m not here to say ‘what’s on my find’ sir. I’m at the threshold of breaking down. Pease read on.
“Hardly a week left for celebrating my son Ganesh’s 23rd birthday when we received the news about his death in the UK. He was SHOT in the head. From a close range for not telling time to a couple of brutal murderers”
My hometown Kottayur looked built in a day. Thanks to the generous contribution from NRIs, old derelict buildings were knocked down overnight and there came in their place palatial multi-storied skyscrapers. One-bed, two-bed and three-bed homes were neatly stacked one above the other and looked ominously close to touching the sky. Engineering and medical colleges have soon found their landmarks on Google map. Alagappa University and polytechnic institutions have suddenly become forum for discussing ‘Unity in Diversity’. Shuttle service buses were pressed in to service for both private and public sector employees.
It pained in my neck every time when I happened see a skyscraper being built in my backyard. My thick glasses failed me from seeing beyond the 5th floor. My son Ganesh was too young to understand the patterns of change his small town was witnessing at the moment. He was only four when his mom Parvati fell to meningitis, a deadly brain disease.
I never remarried though the elders in my family advised me one for the sake of my children. My three children knew I would rather depend on my god than remarrying. Life went on.
Ganesh began to draw when he was barely five years old. And at 15 his drawings had grown to such perfection that I found he was sending out a broad statement to the public at large. He was raring to go and belong to the swift transforming of a town which was once a Sunday market for vegetables. Now it turned into a busy 24/7 multi-millionaire’s paradise. “Sky is No Limit” was what he wrote for an NRI builder. I have not been paid for the job yet was a different story.
He rode to school on his old and rusting bicycle carrying that rucksack full of books. Most of them were borrowed books. He never felt tired of cycling 9 miles each day to school. He took care of his sisters very well too, dropping and picking them up on way. I thanked god for giving him such a matured head on his thin shoulders.
It soon paid rich dividends as Ganesh topped in the HSC Examinations and proceeded to get admission on merit in a prestigious Engineering Institute in 2004. The state was so appreciative of his hard work that they offered him a scholarship. WOW!
Nothing succeeds like success. Ganesh completed his degree in engineering with distinction. He went on to receive admission from none other than a prestigious university in the UK this year. We went into a delirium hearing the news about him going abroad for further studies. God could not be so generous!
I sold the only property (a ground my wife had brought from her family and left for my daughters’ marriages) and offered it towards Ganesh’s trip to London. I swelled in my eyes when I saw him off at the Anna International Terminal in Chennai last October.
How blessed was I! I could not wait to become the father of a foreign educated architect son.
We were woken up too early On the Boxing Day on 26th of December. Christmas festivity barely died down in my town. The Church bell rang six and one of Ganesh’s best friends Venkat came rushing towards our home. Before I could greet him with a ‘good morning’, he told us he received a message on FB that Ganesh was shot dead in the UK. I could not get up from my bed and stared straight into his face in complete disbelief.
He went on. “He was killed while he was on a visit to Big Ben in London. He was killed for as cheap a crime as ‘not telling time to a couple of white boys”.
That sunk me. I could hear my daughters rushing in to see what was going on at the veranda of my house. As soon as they heard about Ganesh they faltered on their feet and fell headlong onto me. We all felt as if the ground we were resting beneath gave way all of a sudden.
I could feel my heart was beginning to skip a beat or two. My eyes fell on the small timepiece on Ganesh’s desk (coincidentally a Big Ben presented to Ganesh by his school for his achievements in studies) and the time stood frozen.
I wondered what on earth someone had asked for time to my son near Big Ben in London.
Hope it was not true. What I heard should not be true. My son never hurt anyone in life. Even in that unlikely event of falling to the bullets from murderers Ganesh would have still wished ‘happy new year ‘to those killers. Such was his heart.
I shall continue to keep vigil on this thread for further news about my beloved (hope, he isn’t dead) son in the UK.
Please pray for us.