“Now I would like to call upon a stage, Dr. Jitu Rajgor to receive an Award for ‘The Best Author, Media writer and Adviser to the association,’ Hon. Health Minister will give this award to him.”
Announcer’s voice is ringing like a bell in my ears.
I hear joyful murmurs from the audience in the background.
Minister is a gentleman in simple cloths. He watches me climbing the stairs of the dais.
There are flowers and a golden framed award in his hands. I remember my computer keyboard.
I bow in respect as he gives me the award and flowers, smilingly. Hall has full of applauds and joy.
I feel hardness of the frame blending in the softness of flowers in my hands, and remember the endless tic-tac of typing in the silence of night, visualizing those unseen faces that may read my words.
Wife and a daughter are still on their feet clapping heartily. I search for those unseen faces in the audience, don’t find any. Boleybeg is not a nearby place, nor a California or Brazil, my memory recollects.
I step-down from the stage, hug my wife with one hand, still holding the award in other. Daughter is standing behind me; her hand is on my shoulder. Unknown faces smile at me in greetings. I smile too.
Emotions, love and recognition is overflowing from those unknown faces. And suddenly the faces I searched, emerges from those unknown, like morphing of pictures on computer screen, and smiles. I feel their gentle touch on my palm. I hold-back my tears of joy inside, and sit on the chair, facing the faces, unseen but very close to my heart.