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Nirbhik “Bhola” Senjee was born on 3rd June 2012 in a large, bustling household nestled in the heart of South Kolkata. The house, painted in faded cream and bordered with iron railings, had stood for over a century. It was home to four generations grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, and at its very centre, Bhola. Though named Nirbhik meaning fearless the boy earned the nickname Bhola early in life for his innocent, wide-eyed ways and unflinching trust in everyone around him.

His world revolved around his joint family. The mornings were filled with the sound of clinking cups, newspapers rustling, and the strong aroma of South Indian filter coffee prepared religiously by the maid, Renu. Bhola’s mother, a senior bank manager, would leave early, dressed in crisp cotton sarees and armed with files. His father, the general manager of a logistics company, would follow, giving Bhola a quick kiss on the head before disappearing into the chaos of Kolkata traffic.

Bhola grew up amidst stories and secrets his grandfather reading aloud Tagore’s poems under the neem tree, cousins pulling pranks, his grandmother’s ritualistic Friday prayers, and laughter that echoed down the long corridors. It was a loud, loving home, one where food was plenty, rules were fluid, and everyone had a place. Bhola loved every inch of it.

But the warmth of joint families often hides the slow-burning members of change.

In 2024, when Bhola was 12, tragedy struck. His grandmother the quiet anchor of the household passed away peacefully in her sleep. Her death unravelled more than just memories. It loosened the threads that held the family together. Cousins, once inseparable, moved out as their parents sought independence and quieter homes. The sprawling ancestral house, once brimming with people, began to empty out.

Then came the unexpected transfers. Bhola's mother was promoted and posted to Delhi, while his father was relocated to Bangalore. Both were high-ranking officials with careers they had built over decades, and the opportunity was too significant to pass. But Bhola was in the middle of his schooling in Kolkata, and moving cities, especially amid the recent emotional turbulence, didn’t seem right. And so, a painful decision was made.

Bhola would stay back in Kolkata with his 92-year-old grandfather and Renu, the family’s lifelong maid. His parents promised it was only temporary two years, maybe less until things settled. Bhola, though heartbroken, didn’t protest. He was always the obedient one, the understanding child who nodded instead of arguing.

But nothing could have prepared him for the silence that filled the house after his parents left. The laughter, the noise, the chaos all gone. His grandfather, once a sharp and jovial professor, was now slow-moving and often forgetful. Renu tried her best to keep the house running, but Bhola missed the warmth of his mother’s hands on his forehead, his father’s evening stories, the fights over television remotes, and the simple joy of being surrounded by his own people.

He began to drift not visibly, but quietly. School felt heavy. Friends noticed he was quieter. Teachers saw a spark fading. He tried to focus on studies, but distractions loomed large. Sometimes it was the loneliness, sometimes just the overwhelming silence of the home. His grades began to slip. When he sat for his Class 10 board exams, he knew he hadn’t done well. And the results confirmed it an average score that brought him shame, self-doubt, and a new nickname at school: “Google Bhool gaya kya?” they mocked, a cruel play on his dream to work at Google one day.

But fate, like stories, has a way of turning.
In the summer of 2027, after three long years, his parents returned to Kolkata. The first thing they did was hug Bhola so tight that he cried for the first time in years. His father didn’t ask about his Class 10 marks. His mother didn’t scold. Instead, they simply said, “Let’s start again.”

And so, they did.
With his parents now back and his home slowly feeling like home again, Bhola entered Class 11. He chose the Science stream not out of pressure, but passion. Somewhere, buried under the pain and disillusionment, the old Bhola still dreamed of building things, of coding, of creating solutions for the world. His father bought him a used laptop. His mother helped him build a routine. And Bhola, determined not to fail again, studied like his life depended on it.
He found solace in Physics and joy in Mathematics. He watched YouTube lectures at night, solved problems till dawn, and when he got tired, he’d talk to his grandfather, who shared old stories from his days as a physics lecturer. Renu would silently leave plates of fruit and warm milk outside his room.
The boy who once struggled to stay awake during classes now studied with a fire that surprised everyone even himself.

His hard work bore fruit.
In 2029, Bhola cleared the JEE Advanced with an impressive rank and secured admission into IIT Bombay, Computer Science the most coveted branch in the country’s most prestigious institute.
It was a moment of redemption. His father wept silently. His mother held his face and said, “You did it, Bhola. You found yourself again.”

And he had.

(To be continued...)

Digant Shah (Class XI)