I, Pravin Singhania, am
the lone child of my late parents Mr. Bhuvan Singhania and Mrs. Bhavna
Singhania. I have spent the most memorable times of my life in the prized company
of my parents. Till the age of twelve, I used to live in Dehradun where my Baba
was posted as a bank manager, before we moved to the big city, drawn by my
father’s entrepreneurial aspiration.
Life in Dehradun was
lucid and peaceful and everybody had a lot of time to spend with family. I
remember our little single-storied bungalow, colored a beautiful lemon-green,
where my Maa used to make yummy delicacies every day and Baba used to take me
for long refreshing walks among the wilderness.
On my seventh birthday, Baba
gave me a special present. It came packaged in a beautiful basket as a surprise.
It was a little baby rabbit! I was overjoyed on receiving the gift. I named by
rabbit as ROCKY! He was not a pet for me, he was a friend, a best friend! Though
Rocky was devoid of vocal expressions, he was a good listener who always
listened to my childhood fantasies, while relishing on a tasty piece of carrot.
Every night I used to make him sleep on a couch make inside the basket and in
the morning Rocky would come and cuddle up with me on my bed and wake me up. We
became the best friends!
Three months passed and
my Rocky grew up to a decent size. Baba and Maa used to secretly admire our friendship
and encouraged me to take care of Rocky. From that tender age, this taught me
to be complacent towards animals and nurtured the softer side my basic human
nature.
Then the fateful thing
happened. During the monsoons, Rocky became sick. Baba got medicines from the veterinarian
and fed him. However, nothing helped and Rocky died after five days. I was
completely shocked by this sudden blow of destiny. It was my first experience
of death. Baba took away lifeless Rocky and buried him in the woods in his
eternal rest. Two weeks passed, but I was unable to get out of the state of
shock. I had lost my only best friend! I remember how Maa and Baba became
worried about my mental state but remained helpless.
Then, one day, on a
sunny Sunday morning, Baba came to me with something. He stood beside me, while
I was sulking in the small lawn outside our bungalow, and gave me a small
flower pot. It was a small earthen pot with a little wild flower plant. There
were no flowers in it yet, but there were some nascent buds.
Baba told me that this
wild flower plant had grown above the grave of Rocky and it carried the soul of
my best friend! He told me that they day flowers would bloom in the plant; it
would mean Rocky is smiling at me. My innocent trusted the words of Baba and I
took the flower pot with great ecstasy. Baba told me that whenever the plant in
the pot would wither, I would need to sow the seeds of a new one in it, so that
the soul of Rocky, that is ingrained within the soil, would bloom through it.
Ever since that day, to
this day of my life, that flower pot stays with me in my bedroom window. I have
taken care of my Baba’s flower pot every day. Even though my personality has
matured over the years, the child Pravin still lives in me who trusted every
word of Baba. The flower pot never argued with me. It never fought with me. I
made many friends in life, but none could replace this friend in whom I can
still confide all my feelings.
My flower pot remains to
be my best friend to this day! Many plants have bloomed and withered in this
pot, but the soil remains the same. It is the soil which holds the soul of my
best friend Rocky. The speechless Rocky rabbit, transformed into the speechless
flower pot has remained my buddy to this day.
I am writing this story,
this special portion of my existence in this diary here, so that the day I
forget everything, the day I come back to rediscover my own self… I shall
remember Rocky; I shall remember my flower pot. I shall remember my best
friend.
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