Climb of a half-lived boy

A little ball of sunshine flew across the street and hit our wall. The colours burst onto the floor. It was Holi.

- MOHUL BHATTACHARYA

My first Holi after I joined the school in Darjeeling. I had almost lost hope of coming back to my town; my warden had told me, “No, Tarak, we don’t give out holidays for just any occasion.” I had thought to myself, ‘Is Holi just any occasion?’ not daring to speak up in front of the warden. He was a scary man in his 40s, but he was never unjust. Since being admitted to the school, the first few months were spent in a daze; I was sure I had been punished, and at any moment, my father would walk in through the courtyard and take me home. But no one ever came.