Why this blog?

The nascent and fresh minds of students are so creatively inclined that they have the ability to bring into being a universe of their own. They are little tyros who would, with time, unfold into verves, momentum or sensations of various creative dimensions. A chalk sculptor, a clay artist, an amateur painter of Madhubani, Warli, a dabbler of still life, a budding poet, a tenderfoot writer or a fledgling lyricist – one gets all varieties of creatively-aligned students covered in a seemingly dilettantish peel. We at Shishukunj aspire to provide a humble platform to all such potentials to smatter around and mature into the perfection that they are seeking to epitomize or become! This blog is thus an endeavor that would allow all Shishyans to just play around with their latent artistic caliber and enjoy the bliss of a “BRAVO” from known and unknown quarters.

Friday, March 16, 2018

The Letter


Gauri Parashar, Class X D

The story begins when I saw my grandmother reading a letter under a tree in our garden. She usually had a big smile on her face but that day there was something unusual. She was smiling but there were also tears in her eyes. I suddenly recalled my father telling me about a letter that grandpa had given to her. This must be that letter.
My grandfather and grandmother married when they were kids. But my grandfather supported grandmother’s education and thus she learnt to read and write. My grandfather’s greatest wish was to join the army to serve the nation. Though my grandmother could not even think of being separated from him for months, but, realizing how important it was for grandpa, she did not object.
Soon, he became an officer in the army and he was immediately called for his first mission. Before leaving, he wrote a beautiful letter addressed to grandma and handed it to her himself saying that his presence will always be with her in the form of that letter.
He never returned from the battlefront. We learnt later that he fought bravely. The lives of grandmother and her children was nearly shattered. It was a slow but steady process moving on. It was today, 35 years ago, that grandpa had left for the mission and I could understand why my grandmother held that letter in her hand.

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