Saturday, January 31, 2015

NOT JUST ANOTHER YEAR


It was the year when things happened. It was the year when everything changed. It was the year when people held him in their arms and he counted their fingers with his miniature fingers. It was the year when his memory became something more than a tool to pass exams, the exams which were nothing more than a signal that another year in the school was going to end. It was the year when he was told that it’s not okay to sleep till late in the morning even on Sundays because doing that would make him an idiot. It was the year when his English tutor stopped teaching him because of some reason he didn’t know, the person who recited poems and quotes with fat and expensive words, and at the end of the class his tutor played mouth organ for him.It was the year when his memories shed away beautiful adjectives and started making new and sad and weird friends. It was the year when he stopped considering god as an option because a person very dear to him almost lost everything and he wished he could burn the clich├ęd and careless sentences of people, the people who loved to say, ‘it’s god’s will.’ It was the year when being told by his mother that he was the smartest and sweetest boy in the world and she’ll always love him wasn’t enough. It was the year when he realized that understanding the perception of other people was as much as important as understanding his own, and which was incidentally proving to be very challenging.  It was year when he started feeling a sense of fear in speaking what he had in his mind because he realized that not everything should be said, some things are better unspoken even though it would give him sleepless nights. It was the year when he knew that money existed as the strongest force in the world and people adored you or maybe just pretended to hurt themselves and their cheek muscles a bit by making smiling face to greet you if you were rich.It was the year when he read Harry Potter and loved it but couldn’t believe that magic existed and with a sense of victimhood he wished that if he could have read it some years earlier, he would have enjoyed it more. It was the year when he stopped playing his favorite sport because it became a way to make yourself look better than your friends, friends with whom he shared his lunch in school. It was the year when the stars started seeming brighter than the morning sun and he realized that constellations were a product of imaginations of happy people who fail to accept that a star so far away can exist alone. It was the year when he realized that he was growing up and it was okay to feel weird about certain things and eventually a lot of things. It was the year when the dreams he would remember in the morning would fall through derisive cracks of the daylight hours but he would still fabricate plans all night and get ready to render the endless each day and every day.It was the year which was worth skipping and he wished that he had the choice to do so. It was the year when he met her. And it was the year when he lost her. It was the year when he started writing and he started sitting nearby the dewy windows and the layers of the outside world and the pungent confusion of his mind became the ink of his pen. It was the year when things happened. It was the year when everything changed.