That Is Why

There are many sides of a story.
Only the well lit is visible.
Like there is day only on the sides where the sun shines, rest stays dark.
There are also shades of gray. Dusk and dawn.

What happened yesterday, and what we will be living with all our lives is the same dusk and dawn.
As I chronicle this, from the hospital room.
I can only show one part of the story at a time.
To be fair to both parties, I would focus on none, instead myself.

Rohan is 6 years younger than I.
Yesterday, Dad shot him, at his foot, missing by centimeters.
World War II German masterpiece weapon, Mouser, .975 bore, is known for its precison.
And my dad is a decent shot, and he fired from not more than 10 ft away.
The lead hit the brick floor, centimeters from Rohan’s s feet, must have splintered and deflected in an angle to hit him in his left calf, missing the femur, by millimeters. Small lead and brick pieces made their way thru, flesh at some 30 different sites below the knee. The thick denim must have reduced the velocity of impact.

He was rushed to a Patna hospital.
Must have lost around a liter of blood and 200 gms of flesh.
Could take more than a month for all wound to heal, and two for him to walk.


He is asleep for most of the day today. We have not spoken about the incident. Both of us have not seen each other in the eye.
I can read his eyes.
He is confused, is unsure of his own emotions.
More than the pain caused by the bullet, he is pained at the thoughts.
Anyone would be.
But then he had asked for it.
Rather then getting into further details, my point of view is that, my dad had planned to scare him and retain his lost glory. And to an extent he has succeeded.
Just that he will have to live with the guilt of shooting his son all his life.

And one thinks there are other impediments to development.
Infrastructure, governments, society et al.
It begins at home.
All the above are, what they are, is because what we are at home.
If we do not have electricity at home.
Or, Roads, schools, hospitals, banks, telephones, businesses, entertainment, travelers, investors.
A self sufficient Gandhi’s village turns into fiefdom where property is your identity.
Ruining lives, talents. Clipping own wings, and tying the anchor around ones feet.
Killing your creativity for some stupid pride, which is insecurity that you are able of nothing else but, what your fathers have left for you.

What has this stooped to?
Who do I blame, but myself, for have not done enough. Not planned well, not been assertive enough.
This is the reason, why I was here. So many said and still say, I have been wasting my life. Why would one start a business with so many odds stacked against it.
Well there is more than money to be gained or lost.
That is why.

(This is an act of fiction, any similarity to truth is completely coincidental, this is in no way my confession, and I can not be prisoned or produced in a court of law)
(The police report says, it was my rifle and not my dads. Though the chances of the Bihar police tracing my blog to falsify the case is super bleak, still why take chances)