Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way, so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there-― Ray Bradbury These thoughts filled my mind as I remembered the people I’ve met along the way, each leaving a lasting impression on me. One face stood out warmly; it was of Santosh Sir. My first encounter with Santosh Sir was nearly a decade ago when I was assigned a cabin in the training and placement cell at the college. It was actually an interview cabin, and there were five identical cabins. When given a choice, I selected the corner cabin with windows all around. I often stood there, admiring nature’s beauty in those days. Now we do not have any nature left. One morning, Santosh Sir, a vibrant young faculty member from the Electronics and Tele...
It was one of those magical evenings when the sky wore a soft cloak of bright stars, the cool summer breeze stirred, and we walked aimlessly into a quaint shop called Cakes and Pastries. The shop, though simple, was filled with a special kind of warmth. The sweet smell of freshly baked bread, the enticing aroma of chocolates, and the quiet allure of neatly stacked books created a welcoming atmosphere for everyone who entered. This little shop specialised in instant cake mixes, promising delicious treats in just twenty minutes. Though it was entirely vegetarian, a small area served sandwiches and fast food, attracting those with a sweet tooth and those craving savoury snacks. In one corner, a weathered writing board stood, ready for thoughts and feelings to be shared. It was Mother’s Day, and the board in the shop had displayed a touching Mother’s Day poem “To a special mom. You hug me when I am sad, You cheer me on when I am glad…” These words struck a chord in me, reminding me o...