Date: December 27, 2008
Time: 4:30 PM
Location: Sealdah Railway Station, Kolkata
The chaotic bustle of Sealdah station wrapped around Aritra like a familiar, suffocating blanket. The distant whistles of departing trains echoed through the air, blending with the calls of chai vendors and the rhythmic clatter of steel wheels against rusty tracks. Aritra's small backpack felt heavier than usual—not because of its contents but because of the weight of the truths he carried, ones he hadn't dared to share with his family yet.
Boarding the crowded EMU local train bound for Namkana , he squeezed into a corner near the window, resting his head against the cold metal frame. The gentle rocking of the train did little to ease the growing anxiety in his chest. He'd been away for weeks, claiming to attend mock tests at Pathfinder Coaching Center, but deep down, he knew that fabric of half-truths could tear at any moment.
As the train rattled past the familiar fields dotted with mustard flowers, a thought struck him: What if they found out?
He shook his head, forcing a smirk. Nah, they'll never call Pathfinder. Too busy with school and work stuff.
Time: 6:00 PM
Location: Dakshin Barasat Railway Station
The train screeched to a halt, jolting Aritra out of his thoughts. He stepped onto the dusty platform, greeted by the faint scent of damp earth mixed with fried pakoras from the nearby tea stall. The streets leading to his home felt unusually quiet, the sky painted in shades of orange and purple as the sun dipped below the horizon.
By the time he reached the small blue gate of his house, a strange tension hung in the air. His heartbeat quickened. The gate creaked as he pushed it open, the familiar sound now sharp and ominous.
Before he could even set his bag down, his mother's voice pierced through the air like a blade.
"Aritra Naskar! Eikhuni esho ekhoni!" (Aritra Naskar! Come here right now!)
His heart dropped.
Time: 6:05 PM
Location: Inside Aritra's Home
The small living room, usually warm with the scent of spices and laughter, felt like a courtroom. His mother, Anu Naskar, stood with her arms crossed, her face a storm cloud of fury. His father, Satyabrata Naskar, sat stiffly on the wooden chair, his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins on his neck stood out like ropes.
Aritra attempted a weak smile. "Hi, Ma. Baba."
"Hi? HI?" His mother's voice shot up, her eyes narrowing. "Tui boro hoyechis toh? Boro hoyemithhe shuru kore diyechis!" (You've grown up, huh? Grown up enough to start lying?)
Aritra's throat went dry.
"Pathfinder theke phone eshechilo. Bujhli?" (Pathfinder called. You understand?) she hissed, stepping closer. "Tara jiggesh korchilo je tumi mock test keno attend korchho na. Bujhte parchi, je tumi ektao test dao ni!" (They asked why you haven't attended a single mock test. Not one!)
Aritra's heart raced. He opened his mouth, words fumbling. "I… uh… I was busy with—"
"CHUP!" (SILENCE!) Baba roared, slamming his palm against the table with a force that made Aritra flinch. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the small room.
"Tui amader ke boka banachchis?" (Are you trying to fool us?) Baba's voice was low, dangerous. His calm demeanor had cracked, revealing the fury beneath.
Aritra's mind scrambled for an excuse, but nothing seemed convincing now. "I wasn't lying… exactly. I was working on… something important."
Ma's eyes narrowed. "Ki important? Are you running a secret spy mission? Robbing banks? Kichu bolben toh?" (What's important? Running a secret spy mission? Robbing banks? Care to explain?)
Aritra sighed, realizing there was no way out. "I've been… building a company."
Silence.
And then—CRASH!
Baba's hand swept across the small wooden shelf, sending a pile of old books, a flower vase, and the framed family photo smashing onto the floor. Shards of glass scattered like ice across the tiles.
"Company?! Tui bolchis je tui ekta company toiiri korchis?" (A company?! You're saying you're building a company?) Baba's face was red with rage, his chest heaving.
Ma's voice trembled—not from fear, but from disbelief. "WBJEE-er porikkha samne, ar tui businessman hote chay?" (You have WBJEE exams coming up, and you want to be a businessman?)
Aritra stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides. "It's not just some business. It's a tech company. I've hired people. We're working on projects that matter—things that could change the world."
Baba's laughter was bitter. "Tui ki Mark Zuckerberg hoye gesis naki? Ei bokar moto kotha bolchis keno?" (Are you Mark Zuckerberg now? Why are you talking like a fool?)
"Because it's true!" Aritra snapped, his own anger bubbling to the surface. "I'm not wasting time like you think. I'm doing something that has value."
Baba's face darkened. He grabbed Aritra's school bag and hurled it across the room. The books spilled out, pages fluttering like broken wings.
"Tui amar shontan hote parbi na jodi tui ei bhabe thakis. " (You can't be my son if this is who you've become. )
Those words cut deeper than any slap.
Ma sat down heavily, her hands trembling as she picked up the shattered photo frame. Her voice was softer now but filled with disappointment. "Tui boro bhool korchis, Aritra. Tor baba konodin oto rege jayni" (You've made a big mistake, Aritra.Your father never got so much angry!)
Aritra's chest felt tight, like the walls were closing in. His vision blurred—not from tears, but from the overwhelming weight of frustration and rage.
"I'm not sorry for what I've done," he whispered.
Baba didn't respond. He just turned his back, walking into the next room, leaving Aritra standing amidst the wreckage of broken glass and broken trust.
Time: 11:00 PM
Location: Aritra's Bedroom
The night was suffocatingly silent, broken only by the occasional barking of stray dogs outside. Aritra sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his heart still pounding. The words replayed in his mind—"Tui amar shontan hote parbi na."
But beneath the pain, something else simmered—a fierce, burning determination.
"I'll prove them wrong," he thought. "One day, they'll be proud of me. Even if it kills me."