The time was of misery, the time was of treachery, the time was of backstabbers. It was the time where evil won, it was the time where good lost, it was the time where the poor were pulverised to dust; it was like any other time, in any age, in any era. He sat in his chair and gathered his thoughts; like a ghost he found himself flowing through time. The events of his past, the incidents he had witnessed zapped like television channels. He stood like a silent spectator and waited for the vision of the morning meeting to appear.

The overnight rainfall was still persistent; sheltering himself under the umbrella, he manoeuvred past puddles of water. The moment he got the assignment, his first intention was to pass it on, but his boss was having none of it. So here he was, drenched to the bone under this terrestrial rain keeping his professional ethics and reaching on time to meet Mr Ram Singh. He heard a cacophony of voices emitting from a room. Peeping inside, he confirmed it to be the place where Mr RamSingh taught underprivileged children. While leaving the office he had scrolled through files amassing information that Mr Ram Singh an ex-army officer took early retirement due to an injury he sustained in the line of duty.

The inside of the room resembled any class room one could hope to see in the country. Mr Ram Singh was questioning his pupils about the inception of India and other major events related to it, which his students very admirably answered. He, like an obedient wet dog, kept peeping inside, daring not to enter the class without permission. Ram Singh noticed and gestured him to wait. Finally when the class got dismissed and students started to depart, he noticed the comrade between the teacher and his pupils that reminded him of poise guru-shishya tradition of the old.

Introducing himself, he explained the reason for his presence, he went on to describe that his newspaper, New World, was working on a series on individuals who work for the betterment of the society. So in this regard he would like to ask a few questions.

Getting a nod of approval from Ramji he placed a tape recorder on the table and hit play. The question and answer session stared where the questions were centred on children. Ramji very eloquently talked about the importance of providing our children with the best tools so they grow up to shoulder the responsibility of their lives admirably and indirectly help in building a stronger society. As the question got personal, a darker facet of Ramji's character appeared; which was not apparent while conducting his class. Ramji's personal life was laced with pain, misery and disappointments that was apparent enough. Although a bomb blast took away both of his legs, but a far more severe hit was the separation from his daughter, Sakhi. One can only salute the work Ramji had taken up in-spite of the tremendous personal loss; a broken marriage and parting from Sakhi, his darling daughter.

He had watched what he wanted to see, so stopping his vision he looked at the blank page on the laptop. He thought it was his duty to pay homage to the man who despite hardship went on to do his bit for a better society. Like Sakhi, who was the catalyst of Ramji's revival, he also wanted to be help.

So he decided to use the one thing that every journalist has - his words. He began by writing,

There are men and then there is a man like Mr Ram Singh..