when i peep into my childhood days,i feel the warmth of those caring and affectionate arms that when hold me,i went into a garden of pleasures and comfort.The arms were none other than a heaven,yes my grandfather,nevertheless than a paradise for me.HE still is my source of inspiration.Whenever i fall,lie hopeless,become sad,he is always there for me to hold me up,to raise my moral,to stand my bar.
One hot summer,when my pulse was running fast,i was anxiously waiting for my twelfth standard result,my heart was popping up and down,i was praying that my result might not be brain storming for me,rather it would be my dream fulfilled.Expecting for my admittance in medical college i was trying to enjoy the rain forcefully.
The telephone rang,i got the news of my rejection in medical with few marks only.The only one who could see my tears in the rain was my grand father.He held my hand,
let me sit beside him and told me a story of an ignored writer.
The writer was a teacher in a GOVT. school in subcontinent and he had an only child who was out of station to get higher studies.At that time the salary was not handsome
enough to run a family well.The writer was used to write articles and poem but all his efforts ended in smoke,because he was unfortunately prevailing in an Era,when writers and poets were considered insane and aimless people.
Once in a cold day,he was taking tea without milk and sugar, his wife in a mournful tone,asked the reason of taking tea without milk, he gently smiled and replied
"Dear, its a trend of elite class to take tea with milk, i prefer simplicity when i can't afford".
His wife insisted him to go for a walk,but he refused by arguing that walk is necessary for a healthy and long life,and to prolong a tragic life with walk is none other than a senseless effort.But,his spouse was very supportive by nature,she used to boost his moral up by saying"Whether one accepts or not, i believe that you are a devoted and creative writer".
The writer was worried due to a heavy debt that he had to pay one or another day,but his worries found a grave to be buried when he got an invitation from the lord of the city "LUCKNOW" ,for a feast.
The lord invited all the writers and poets.The writer was very glad as if he got the free ticket to paradise.His wife suggested him,not to attend the feast as he had no reasonable and expensive clothes,but he believed that "A man is worthy not by clothes
rather by his creativity".

He took an old and unpressed from the wardrobe, made shave after a long time, took bath and put on the coat.He imagined,how he would be regarded in the feast.He felt as he was flying in the air,but his wife was depressed and felling guilty,not because she had not faith in her husband but because she knew,that in dark even one's shadow leave oneself.The writer rushed to the party and as soon as he reached the reception gate,the watch man observing his clothes asked for the invitation card.The writer flew into rage and replied
"I don't have any card and i am not dependent to prove my identity".
After his rash attitude,the watchman got confused and let him in.In the feast the
guest were well groomed and were elite in class.The writer not at all suffered with inferiority complex,as his criterion for rank and regard was different.
Among the guests,a well groomed person taunted him for his clothes and outlook.He when tried to give his identity as a writer, a group of people listening gave cunning gags.
The hos of the feast Lord"Raja Rudahr singh"also felt shy to support the innocent writer who thought that respect follows creativity.the writer went back home but his face was showing too much tranquility and smile.When his asked for the reason, he replied
"Creativity is not to create and expect from public to give you feedback,but in real sense creativity is to burn yourself like a candle and spread light,but don't expect the to light to enlighten the candle in return".
" So dear, don't think if you are rejected your are not capable,just boost up your skills and don't expect feed back from the people".
After telling the whole story the writer patted me on my back,yes the writer was none other than my grand father(WAHEED MIRZA)
Dear grand father,i just want to say,i don't bother about the folk,the globe,the public but
"I DO RESPECT YOU"