As a junior kid in school, I had one period less than my mom (who worked as a teacher in the same institution). 1 period meant 40 minutes. I had specific set of duties that mummy expected me to finish before she came home. These included:
Getting back straight from school to home (a walk at the normal pace took 7 minutes)
Taking off the school uniform and changing into home – clothes
Washing the rice and putting it up on the hot-plate for cooking (I was strictly prohibited to touch the gas)
Putting up the pulses for cooking (which was already locked inside the cooker by my mother in the morning) on the other hot plate.
Folding off my school uniform and keeping it properly
I was supposed to perform the actions in exactly the same order as listed. But then, I wasn’t ever the one who could do things straight. My to-do list was like:
Getting back from school in 15-20 minutes, stopping under each of the trees (there were 14 of them) to explore the soil (and sometimes dried up drains), the texture of the leaves and observing people in general.
Opening the gas on full and putting both rice and pulses there to cook, because hot plate took more time. (my mother thought all the time that I had no idea how to open the gas.)
Searching for Rasna, Cashew nut biscuits and Haldiram Aaloo bhujiya (which my mother kept away from my eyes) and consuming it sitting in front of the television (watching television was more often considered a crime at my home) .
Doing all kinds of nonsense activities- like admiring my secret collection of junk from around the house feeding stray animals and if time permitted indulge in a bit of reading.
The last few seconds before my mother rang the doorbell was a flurry of intense activity. I would change my clothes in the kitchen where I would be switching off the gas and heating the hot plate for a few seconds so that my mother did not know…Folding off the school uniform was never done – I ignored it as if I did not know that I was expected to do that.
Needless to say, a lot of times I landed in a big mess. Once the school broke early for the teachers and my mother was home before I reached. A lot of times my “co-curricular” activities engrossed me so badly that the rice and pulses would burn out before the smell reached my nose. At other times, when we had company for tea and my mother tried to find biscuits and namkeen she realized that there was not even a grain there….
My mother hates animals. She is one of those people who think that animals cannot be tamed and they will always remain animals. I on my part loved animals, especially dogs. Once I remember, I had found a stray pup on the crossroads near my home where it was alone and helpless in the summer afternoon; as I was returning from school. I had picked it up carried it home and treated it to milk and biscuits. The fear of mummy’s scolding had made me carry it back to the cross roads before she reached home. The pup had tried to follow me back but I was faster than him. However the next day, it was there again at the cross roads to welcome me. I was almost as excited on seeing him as it was, on seeing me. Again a treat of milk and biscuits. My mother didn’t find anything amiss and for the next 4 days this fun continued. I would run back home (instead of my usual loitering) and meet the pup at the cross roads from where on it would follow me home for his lunch. He would then go away – some logic made him understand that my desperation to get him away equaled my love for him. He became my sole attraction and the purpose of existence.
When weekend came – he didn’t find me at the cross roads. But his hunger (and love) brought him to the gates of my house at exactly the same hour as each day. I was inside, having my lunch. Not finding me around in the garden it did something funny. My white canvas PT shoes that I had washed a few hours ago were drying in the sun. The pup picked one of the shoes and was playing with it – maybe it thought that was me. My mother went out for some work and she saw this. The moment she saw this she tried to shoo it off. The pup did go off but it also carried away one of the white shoes’. My mom called me and asked me to run after the pup and get back the shoe. But as soon as it saw me, it stopped running and instead came over to me- yelping with delight. I on my part not trying to appear too friendly with the pup shooed it off- the pup thought it was some game and ran again with the shoe. I had a difficult time getting back my shoe and making the dog not follow me back. I remember a lot of people laughing at the scene- a girl running after a dog on a summer afternoon, which is carrying away her white shoe(no longer white) Meanwhile, one of my neighbours also came out and she told mom about my daily schedule of feeding milk and biscuits. That was it. As soon as I got back with the shoe, I received a sound beating for:
1.Touching stray animals- which can bite anytime
2.Getting it inside the house- feeding the animal from utensils that we ate in.
3.Wasting milk and biscuits that came from hard earned money.
4.For being so callous and irresponsible and for wasting time on useless things.
Needless to say, I never fed the pup again – it was dangerous to do that under the watchful eyes of my nosy neighbour(who had been asked to play CID by my mom, in her absence). The pup after a couple of days forgot me, or rather returned my sudden withdrawal of love with ignorance. With time, as I grew older I became scared of pups and was more concerned about acquiring rabies than petting the animals or pulling them out of drains.
I still love animals, but care for them in a “careful” way- not touching stray animals, not feeding them on the choicest of cream biscuits but rather on left overs and likewise. 40 minutes that seemed so enough for everything in those days have somehow become smaller and less interesting- filled with thoughts rather than Rasna and Aaloo Bhujiya. Is this what growing up all about?
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Namesake
15 June 1985
“….flight was at 11AM. His parents were there so instead of being with him I had to pretend all the time that I was there to bid goodbye to Kavita and not him. He kept looking at me, but like always not a word passed between us.I had already passed on the card and the small note to Kavita, to be given once the flight was in air…I could not even say “Best of luck” or “Happy Journey”. But did I need to? He knew already that my wishes were with him…...”
18 June 1985
“….the class seems so empty without him…and no that wasn’t just my complain even Anita and Saurabh were saying the same stuff. I have no idea if he reached – think he did because the Aakashwani did not report any plane accidents. I hope Kavita gave him my letter…”
29 June 1985
“….Surprise!! He wrote back…my letter got delivered to Anita (thank god he didn’t send it at my address- papaji would have killed me). He is happy at the MIT and wrote back describing each and everything- the super market, the traffic, the library, the natural beauty, literally everything. I never knew he observed so many things- in the last 2 years I have seen him always with books. He also mentioned that my card and letter had made his “crossing over” easier and he read it each day before leaving for work…Makes me wonder if I am so important? The last line of the letter made my blood freeze even as my heart was skipping with joy – it said “you will wait for me…right? Just 2 years…” I am not sure what this was supposed to mean but if it meant what I understood then…….”
30 June 1985
“….I did not sleep yesterday night…wondering all the time about the letter…what should I reply? At the rate papaji is looking for guys, I cannot hope to be single for 2 months, forget about 2 years…there is no hope for us. I think I will not reply at all…”
15 July 1985
“…today papaji went to meet Avinash and it seems he really liked their family…and him. They are coming over to see me on the 24th of this month. I haven’t seen his photo but what mataji was telling he is working in the Income tax department and has 3 sisters- 2 older and one younger. They live in the ITO colony at Naini.
Today Anita asked me if I had replied to Appu’s letter. I told her I hadn’t. She teased me a lot and wanted to know what all he had written in the long letter. She thinks he loves me and asked me what I thought of him. I replied that soon Kavita and Appu would get married – their similar troubles in the foreign land will bring then closer. Anita gave me a strange look but then didn’t say a word.
What does everyone expect? That I should tell Appu about my feelings? Appu to whom I haven’t spoken more than 4 times in the last 2 years and Appu who asks me if I would wait for 2 years…”
27 July 1985
“….my marriage has been fixed for 21st November with Avinash. Everyone is very happy – even I liked him- though I just saw him for a few seconds when I had gone to serve tea. But then there is something that is missing…don’t know what.
Today Anita brought in another of the letters’ from Appu. It’s a short one in which he has apologized for “anything that might have hurt me in his previous letter” and requested me to write again since “my (would be) letters are a solace in the strange world”. Tears came in my eyes but I quickly dried them before anyone at home could question me over them.
I think I will write to him today and inform him about the marriage…..”
15 November 1985
“All preparations are almost done and tomorrow mausiji, buaji and everyone from the village would be coming here for the marriage. This is probably the last time I am writing the diary before marriage…I am neither excited nor sad. I just want everything to be over…soon so that life gets back to normal.
Appu wrote me another letter- but I didn’t have the heart to open it. Someday when I will have enough courage I shall do it…”
*****
I sighed. I guess that is all you can do when as a teenager you end up with your mother’s personal diaries. My parents were away at work and I was supposed to be studying for my Class Xth boards. Boredom had made me enter the store room (I smelled my comics being hidden there; somewhere on the top shelf by mom). I had opened some old boxes and instead of finding what I was looking for – I had ended up with something so much more interesting. I reflected again at the quantum of my discovery. I now knew that my mother was not a topper all her life (though she never said or denied anything in this relation), that her ideal guy was one with curly hair (unlike dad’s), that she did not like her parents (because they were strict) and worst of all she loved someone…
All of a sudden the perspective to my world changed. I had never imagined my parents to be love with someone, other than each other and now this. My active teenage mind started working overtime. I recalled the previous day my parents had a minor argument and wondered if their marriage was hitting rocks. If divorce was a certainty in future then…this guy Appu could be a good option. I loved my parents and wanted them to be together but at the same time I wanted to make sure that if they parted they should be happy, like it happened in movies…
It was almost afternoon and my mother was expected to be home any minute now. I quickly arranged back the diaries in the box and resolved to be back the next day to read more about what had happened 15 years ago and search for similar artifacts from dad. With a thousand thoughts in my mind I went back to the books. That evening over the dinner table I diplomatically questioned my parents over how they had met and what their life was like in college days. Dad in his usual jovial style told that he had fallen for my mother the moment he had set his eyes on her. Mom blushed and added that she hadn’t spoken to him before marriage but had seen his photograph and liked him. Well I already knew this. I thought I saw a faraway expression and a bit of sadness in mom’s eyes…Was it imagined or real? Was she happy with the marriage and did she ever think of Appu? There was no way to know – she no longer wrote diaries. And did dad know of all this?
Next morning as soon as my parents left for work I was back to the store room. I opened the box took out all the notebooks (12 in all) and carried them to my room. I scanned for other love interests but found none…so Appu was my mom’s first love. I found an empty notebook which had the name Arpit Verma written on the top in male handwriting. Something went boom in my heart – Arpita was my name. Inside the notebook, there were letters from Arpit Verma, MS Student, MIT, USA and signed as Appu. So she hadn’t forgotten him after all…
I opened the first letter. It was exactly the same as my mom had described in the diary…had description about everything and the classic last sentence, “You will wait for me…right? Just 2 years….” A shiver ran down my back. I opened the second letter and it was again the same as described. The third one was unopened…so my mother still hadn’t the courage to open it. She hadn’t forgotten for sure, because she must be remembering him every time when she called me out…
I swayed between the thought of opening or leaving it like that. If my mother found out, she would be furious. But curiosity got better of me and I argued with myself that she will never question me about it in front of dad, because it would mean opening Pandora’s box. I opened it and read through. It went as follows:
Dearest Amrita,
Hope this letter finds you in the best of health and spirits. I got your letter today and it answered a lot of questions I had, especially about your not writing back in the past few weeks. I must congratulate you, first and foremost – Avinash is really lucky to have you.
If I understand it correct you will not be comfortable in receiving any more letters from me. I will, however write a letter each month, but will not post it…so that if ever our paths cross again we can connect instantaneously – from exactly the moment where we had left.
I am not sure if you were ever interested in me or the ordeal of the waiting for 2 years made you go for marriage. If you still think that we can be together, just drop me a mail by speed post and I will speak to my parents who in turn will approach your pitaji, thus giving a relevant social status to our relationship. Otherwise you are free to go and be assured that you will never have to see me.
Take care and keep smiling. Remember there is someone at the other corner of the earth who will always remember you.
Yours forever,
Appu
My mother hadn’t ever written to him in all probability after marriage otherwise there would have been more letters. I re-read all the letters again and couldn’t decide what to do. So I did what looked best- noted his address and decided to look over the internet for him. Deep in thoughts, I arranged all the diaries and rummaged through the other boxes to see if I could find something more…but nothing – so I returned back to my books.
That evening, I questioned dad again, this time over my name. Why did they name me Arpita? I kept a close watch on Mom’s expression but it reflected nothing, as dad talked. I was so engrossed that I did not even hear what he said. My teenage heart said “there is just one case in which the eyes stop being a mirror to the heart- when nothing except pain exists, when the whole being is submerged in pain.”
Next day, being a Sunday I had my parents all day long around me. However, Sunday also meant that I could use the internet and the computer and further my research. As soon as I see my parents engrossed I open Google and search. First “Arpit Verma”. Too many results. Then Arpit Verma, MIT, USA. Quite a few results. As I am about to enter the third search criteria of Arpit Verma, MS, MIT, USA, 1987, dad walks into the room. The look of frozen fear that he sees in my eyes draws him like a magnet to the system. He looks at the screen and asks me, what I am looking for? Or more specifically who Arpit Verma is. Mom is in the next room and I know for sure that she can over hear us. I wait for 5 seconds before opening my mouth, awaiting mom to make an entry and slay me, but she doesn’t. Dad nudges me so I cook up some story about a friend’s cousin named Arpit who was studying at MIT and wanted some school kids(like me) to see his website, for blah blah reason. Dad looked satisfied but I can feel energy building in the next room…there is much more noise in whatever mom was doing. For the rest of the day I avoid mom- especially to be alone with her. Her eyes have questions but she doesn’t ask and I breathe easy. Her anger is reflected in a couple of other study related issues, over the next few days. It hurts but not as much if she would have asked me anything about my namesake.
Over the next few days, I manage to collect some information about Arpit over the internet. I make sure that I did'nt do that at home because I knew I was being watched. Arpit had finished his MS and had then gone ahead to do his PhD from the same college. My heart again interrupted the flow of thoughts to let me know that Appu’s pain at my mother being wed to someone else was so intense that he had decided to go for PhD instead of returning back to India. There was a mail ID mentioned and I debated again whether to write to him or not. As expected I did. But from a fake ID mentioning my interest in studying Microbiology (which was his area of specialization) and somethings to make the mail sound real…
The internet was slow and it took ages for the mail to move out of the Outbox. My heart was beating and in my imagination I thought of a good looking curly haired person reading the mail from the Indian kid and replying unaware of the key that I held – key to the bridge between the past and the present. I decided to check for his reply the next day and as I was logging off I saw an unread mail in the inbox, with the same subject. My heart again skipped a beat…so soon? Did he know me already?? I opened the mail but to my disappointment it was a message delivery failure. What the heck!! The mail id did no longer existed…What next??
I searched more on Google but could not find anything beyond 1990 – it was as if he had disappeared from the planet. What if....he was no more?Finally I did what remained as the last resort. I decided to send airmail at the address I had. Maybe…But what then? “Nothing, relax…we will see. One step at a time”, replied my heart.
Days passed and then months. My boards got over, the results were declared and I moved into XIth Standard. Solely for the purpose of having meaningful conversation over Microbiology with Arpit, some day(when in my imagination I would meet him) I changed over to Science, instead of Commerce as I had planned earlier. My parents were delighted over this sudden changeover. Things moved but the letter remained unreplied to.
Now I am about to give my XIIth boards. The memory of the afternoon when I had discovered those books is still fresh…only as fresh as the old memories can be...the smell of old books, yellowed with age, cold to touch because of all the humidity that they had absorbed...the humidity of tears, maybe.... In the last 2 years I have given the best to my studies for one simple reason – I want to be where Arpit had been. To step into his shoes and find him. Walk in the same aisles, sit in the same libraries and see the world as he had seen. And more than that, find my mom...the 20 year old shy girl who had existed 17 years ago...
But then what? I have no idea…I smile and tell myself “One step at a time”. A journey of thousand miles must begin with one single step.
“….flight was at 11AM. His parents were there so instead of being with him I had to pretend all the time that I was there to bid goodbye to Kavita and not him. He kept looking at me, but like always not a word passed between us.I had already passed on the card and the small note to Kavita, to be given once the flight was in air…I could not even say “Best of luck” or “Happy Journey”. But did I need to? He knew already that my wishes were with him…...”
18 June 1985
“….the class seems so empty without him…and no that wasn’t just my complain even Anita and Saurabh were saying the same stuff. I have no idea if he reached – think he did because the Aakashwani did not report any plane accidents. I hope Kavita gave him my letter…”
29 June 1985
“….Surprise!! He wrote back…my letter got delivered to Anita (thank god he didn’t send it at my address- papaji would have killed me). He is happy at the MIT and wrote back describing each and everything- the super market, the traffic, the library, the natural beauty, literally everything. I never knew he observed so many things- in the last 2 years I have seen him always with books. He also mentioned that my card and letter had made his “crossing over” easier and he read it each day before leaving for work…Makes me wonder if I am so important? The last line of the letter made my blood freeze even as my heart was skipping with joy – it said “you will wait for me…right? Just 2 years…” I am not sure what this was supposed to mean but if it meant what I understood then…….”
30 June 1985
“….I did not sleep yesterday night…wondering all the time about the letter…what should I reply? At the rate papaji is looking for guys, I cannot hope to be single for 2 months, forget about 2 years…there is no hope for us. I think I will not reply at all…”
15 July 1985
“…today papaji went to meet Avinash and it seems he really liked their family…and him. They are coming over to see me on the 24th of this month. I haven’t seen his photo but what mataji was telling he is working in the Income tax department and has 3 sisters- 2 older and one younger. They live in the ITO colony at Naini.
Today Anita asked me if I had replied to Appu’s letter. I told her I hadn’t. She teased me a lot and wanted to know what all he had written in the long letter. She thinks he loves me and asked me what I thought of him. I replied that soon Kavita and Appu would get married – their similar troubles in the foreign land will bring then closer. Anita gave me a strange look but then didn’t say a word.
What does everyone expect? That I should tell Appu about my feelings? Appu to whom I haven’t spoken more than 4 times in the last 2 years and Appu who asks me if I would wait for 2 years…”
27 July 1985
“….my marriage has been fixed for 21st November with Avinash. Everyone is very happy – even I liked him- though I just saw him for a few seconds when I had gone to serve tea. But then there is something that is missing…don’t know what.
Today Anita brought in another of the letters’ from Appu. It’s a short one in which he has apologized for “anything that might have hurt me in his previous letter” and requested me to write again since “my (would be) letters are a solace in the strange world”. Tears came in my eyes but I quickly dried them before anyone at home could question me over them.
I think I will write to him today and inform him about the marriage…..”
15 November 1985
“All preparations are almost done and tomorrow mausiji, buaji and everyone from the village would be coming here for the marriage. This is probably the last time I am writing the diary before marriage…I am neither excited nor sad. I just want everything to be over…soon so that life gets back to normal.
Appu wrote me another letter- but I didn’t have the heart to open it. Someday when I will have enough courage I shall do it…”
*****
I sighed. I guess that is all you can do when as a teenager you end up with your mother’s personal diaries. My parents were away at work and I was supposed to be studying for my Class Xth boards. Boredom had made me enter the store room (I smelled my comics being hidden there; somewhere on the top shelf by mom). I had opened some old boxes and instead of finding what I was looking for – I had ended up with something so much more interesting. I reflected again at the quantum of my discovery. I now knew that my mother was not a topper all her life (though she never said or denied anything in this relation), that her ideal guy was one with curly hair (unlike dad’s), that she did not like her parents (because they were strict) and worst of all she loved someone…
All of a sudden the perspective to my world changed. I had never imagined my parents to be love with someone, other than each other and now this. My active teenage mind started working overtime. I recalled the previous day my parents had a minor argument and wondered if their marriage was hitting rocks. If divorce was a certainty in future then…this guy Appu could be a good option. I loved my parents and wanted them to be together but at the same time I wanted to make sure that if they parted they should be happy, like it happened in movies…
It was almost afternoon and my mother was expected to be home any minute now. I quickly arranged back the diaries in the box and resolved to be back the next day to read more about what had happened 15 years ago and search for similar artifacts from dad. With a thousand thoughts in my mind I went back to the books. That evening over the dinner table I diplomatically questioned my parents over how they had met and what their life was like in college days. Dad in his usual jovial style told that he had fallen for my mother the moment he had set his eyes on her. Mom blushed and added that she hadn’t spoken to him before marriage but had seen his photograph and liked him. Well I already knew this. I thought I saw a faraway expression and a bit of sadness in mom’s eyes…Was it imagined or real? Was she happy with the marriage and did she ever think of Appu? There was no way to know – she no longer wrote diaries. And did dad know of all this?
Next morning as soon as my parents left for work I was back to the store room. I opened the box took out all the notebooks (12 in all) and carried them to my room. I scanned for other love interests but found none…so Appu was my mom’s first love. I found an empty notebook which had the name Arpit Verma written on the top in male handwriting. Something went boom in my heart – Arpita was my name. Inside the notebook, there were letters from Arpit Verma, MS Student, MIT, USA and signed as Appu. So she hadn’t forgotten him after all…
I opened the first letter. It was exactly the same as my mom had described in the diary…had description about everything and the classic last sentence, “You will wait for me…right? Just 2 years….” A shiver ran down my back. I opened the second letter and it was again the same as described. The third one was unopened…so my mother still hadn’t the courage to open it. She hadn’t forgotten for sure, because she must be remembering him every time when she called me out…
I swayed between the thought of opening or leaving it like that. If my mother found out, she would be furious. But curiosity got better of me and I argued with myself that she will never question me about it in front of dad, because it would mean opening Pandora’s box. I opened it and read through. It went as follows:
Dearest Amrita,
Hope this letter finds you in the best of health and spirits. I got your letter today and it answered a lot of questions I had, especially about your not writing back in the past few weeks. I must congratulate you, first and foremost – Avinash is really lucky to have you.
If I understand it correct you will not be comfortable in receiving any more letters from me. I will, however write a letter each month, but will not post it…so that if ever our paths cross again we can connect instantaneously – from exactly the moment where we had left.
I am not sure if you were ever interested in me or the ordeal of the waiting for 2 years made you go for marriage. If you still think that we can be together, just drop me a mail by speed post and I will speak to my parents who in turn will approach your pitaji, thus giving a relevant social status to our relationship. Otherwise you are free to go and be assured that you will never have to see me.
Take care and keep smiling. Remember there is someone at the other corner of the earth who will always remember you.
Yours forever,
Appu
My mother hadn’t ever written to him in all probability after marriage otherwise there would have been more letters. I re-read all the letters again and couldn’t decide what to do. So I did what looked best- noted his address and decided to look over the internet for him. Deep in thoughts, I arranged all the diaries and rummaged through the other boxes to see if I could find something more…but nothing – so I returned back to my books.
That evening, I questioned dad again, this time over my name. Why did they name me Arpita? I kept a close watch on Mom’s expression but it reflected nothing, as dad talked. I was so engrossed that I did not even hear what he said. My teenage heart said “there is just one case in which the eyes stop being a mirror to the heart- when nothing except pain exists, when the whole being is submerged in pain.”
Next day, being a Sunday I had my parents all day long around me. However, Sunday also meant that I could use the internet and the computer and further my research. As soon as I see my parents engrossed I open Google and search. First “Arpit Verma”. Too many results. Then Arpit Verma, MIT, USA. Quite a few results. As I am about to enter the third search criteria of Arpit Verma, MS, MIT, USA, 1987, dad walks into the room. The look of frozen fear that he sees in my eyes draws him like a magnet to the system. He looks at the screen and asks me, what I am looking for? Or more specifically who Arpit Verma is. Mom is in the next room and I know for sure that she can over hear us. I wait for 5 seconds before opening my mouth, awaiting mom to make an entry and slay me, but she doesn’t. Dad nudges me so I cook up some story about a friend’s cousin named Arpit who was studying at MIT and wanted some school kids(like me) to see his website, for blah blah reason. Dad looked satisfied but I can feel energy building in the next room…there is much more noise in whatever mom was doing. For the rest of the day I avoid mom- especially to be alone with her. Her eyes have questions but she doesn’t ask and I breathe easy. Her anger is reflected in a couple of other study related issues, over the next few days. It hurts but not as much if she would have asked me anything about my namesake.
Over the next few days, I manage to collect some information about Arpit over the internet. I make sure that I did'nt do that at home because I knew I was being watched. Arpit had finished his MS and had then gone ahead to do his PhD from the same college. My heart again interrupted the flow of thoughts to let me know that Appu’s pain at my mother being wed to someone else was so intense that he had decided to go for PhD instead of returning back to India. There was a mail ID mentioned and I debated again whether to write to him or not. As expected I did. But from a fake ID mentioning my interest in studying Microbiology (which was his area of specialization) and somethings to make the mail sound real…
The internet was slow and it took ages for the mail to move out of the Outbox. My heart was beating and in my imagination I thought of a good looking curly haired person reading the mail from the Indian kid and replying unaware of the key that I held – key to the bridge between the past and the present. I decided to check for his reply the next day and as I was logging off I saw an unread mail in the inbox, with the same subject. My heart again skipped a beat…so soon? Did he know me already?? I opened the mail but to my disappointment it was a message delivery failure. What the heck!! The mail id did no longer existed…What next??
I searched more on Google but could not find anything beyond 1990 – it was as if he had disappeared from the planet. What if....he was no more?Finally I did what remained as the last resort. I decided to send airmail at the address I had. Maybe…But what then? “Nothing, relax…we will see. One step at a time”, replied my heart.
Days passed and then months. My boards got over, the results were declared and I moved into XIth Standard. Solely for the purpose of having meaningful conversation over Microbiology with Arpit, some day(when in my imagination I would meet him) I changed over to Science, instead of Commerce as I had planned earlier. My parents were delighted over this sudden changeover. Things moved but the letter remained unreplied to.
Now I am about to give my XIIth boards. The memory of the afternoon when I had discovered those books is still fresh…only as fresh as the old memories can be...the smell of old books, yellowed with age, cold to touch because of all the humidity that they had absorbed...the humidity of tears, maybe.... In the last 2 years I have given the best to my studies for one simple reason – I want to be where Arpit had been. To step into his shoes and find him. Walk in the same aisles, sit in the same libraries and see the world as he had seen. And more than that, find my mom...the 20 year old shy girl who had existed 17 years ago...
But then what? I have no idea…I smile and tell myself “One step at a time”. A journey of thousand miles must begin with one single step.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Living (in Anticipation)
Every morning when the alarm rings, the very first thing I tell myself is, “one more day gone- one more day less”. I then snooze it and the next 10 minutes are spent in dreaming- for that day – how it would be, what I would be doing, etc etc. The moments go by too fast for my liking and the next alarm jolts me back to the present. The very ordinary present – where there is nothing extra ordinary to look forward to, except for those moments of anticipation for a single moment in the future.
I often wonder and laugh thinking as to how many times my mind takes a ride in the time machine to go ahead in the “assumed future” to make things look brighter. Probably every second when it is free or is engaged in a monotonous task. But what will happen when the moment will finally come? I would be so busy trying to make it perfect (thanks to hours of planning spent) that I would not notice it slipping away- the realization will dawn when it would already be safely tucked away in the pages of history.
Makes me wonder, if this is how life is supposed to be lived? Or rather what is the present? The tears in the eyes on the past hurts the dream and anticipation of the future, so where is this second- the moment? The mere thought is enough to make all my hair stand up – the speed at which the clock is ticking is so fast that its impossible to relish a second…we go about our lives unmindful of this fact or the fact that even a bigger unit like an hour cannot be repeated- what’s gone is gone, never to come back again.
Such thoughts prompt me to plan and organize my life, what it is right now, instead of waiting for the day when I would be at a particular place that I love, or with a specific person, or when I would have n lakhs as a bank balance. It makes me think of creating a list of the “10 things I wish to do each day” instead of the one created when I am sitting beside my own grave. Often it would happen that I would repeat 8 out of 10 things – but still it would make sense, because then I would set the wheels in motion that will in the end make me appreciate the present; instead of dreaming about the future.
So does that mean we should not plan or think beyond the next second? No – plan we must but minus the thought process which says “this will happen when that will happen at a particular point in time”. The focus should be to be able to live the present to the best while keeping an eye on the future. Life is here and now and not there and then. The person who stands in front is the most important-more important than blood relations, more important than all the loved ones. Do not forget to tell him what he means – what he has done to make you a better person in this moment. Love intensely – give yourself passionately and truthfully, without wondering what pains the happiness will bring at the nth hour. Maybe the nth hour will never come at all – there is no sense in dragging the non existent future in the present.
And I end with my favourite quote “Give a stranger one of your smiles – it might be the only sunshine that he sees in all day”
I often wonder and laugh thinking as to how many times my mind takes a ride in the time machine to go ahead in the “assumed future” to make things look brighter. Probably every second when it is free or is engaged in a monotonous task. But what will happen when the moment will finally come? I would be so busy trying to make it perfect (thanks to hours of planning spent) that I would not notice it slipping away- the realization will dawn when it would already be safely tucked away in the pages of history.
Makes me wonder, if this is how life is supposed to be lived? Or rather what is the present? The tears in the eyes on the past hurts the dream and anticipation of the future, so where is this second- the moment? The mere thought is enough to make all my hair stand up – the speed at which the clock is ticking is so fast that its impossible to relish a second…we go about our lives unmindful of this fact or the fact that even a bigger unit like an hour cannot be repeated- what’s gone is gone, never to come back again.
Such thoughts prompt me to plan and organize my life, what it is right now, instead of waiting for the day when I would be at a particular place that I love, or with a specific person, or when I would have n lakhs as a bank balance. It makes me think of creating a list of the “10 things I wish to do each day” instead of the one created when I am sitting beside my own grave. Often it would happen that I would repeat 8 out of 10 things – but still it would make sense, because then I would set the wheels in motion that will in the end make me appreciate the present; instead of dreaming about the future.
So does that mean we should not plan or think beyond the next second? No – plan we must but minus the thought process which says “this will happen when that will happen at a particular point in time”. The focus should be to be able to live the present to the best while keeping an eye on the future. Life is here and now and not there and then. The person who stands in front is the most important-more important than blood relations, more important than all the loved ones. Do not forget to tell him what he means – what he has done to make you a better person in this moment. Love intensely – give yourself passionately and truthfully, without wondering what pains the happiness will bring at the nth hour. Maybe the nth hour will never come at all – there is no sense in dragging the non existent future in the present.
And I end with my favourite quote “Give a stranger one of your smiles – it might be the only sunshine that he sees in all day”
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