Once, on this tiled floor, I fell out over silly things like getting a way for my new tractor-trolly which my father bought me the other day, after I was being obdurate. Gosh ! I loved that red tractor. I loved all the toys which I got at some point. I loved the crayons and the geometry-boxes. I had a great collection of disney stickers, I didn’t even use, and kept as it is. I didn’t know how to fly a kite, yet I used to buy ‘em every spring. I used to draw, paint things… anything from a fish to a whole landscape. Even though nobody appreciated my drawings and paintings. They thought it’s a waste of time and efforts. “Do you wanna be a painter? Really? Paint the houses, doors, sidewalk, the ramp over the sewage?” They used to chuckle at the astonishment on my face. It was not a profession in the era of Doctors, Engineers, Lawyers or… Doctors. Don’t worry, I didn’t type it twice actually. The doctoring was considered the best of all. Their mentality was confined to that. For those whose fate was chained to the counter of their father’s shop, no matter how small it was, were not allowed to dream big. Dreams like- going out for studies, living in hostels, and doing your favourite courses. They had to sit at their father’s shop sooner or later, no matter they drastically lacked interest in that. I was one of them.
I write, not much like I used to. But yeah, still I’m in touch with pen and paper. I remember, I could complete that poetic work of mine, consisting of something impossible to think of, at least by 12 years old kid. The words, the rhythms, the verses, the metaphors. They were outstanding. I could be one of the youngest modern literature writer. Even today, I can’t beat that kind of compositions. But the destiny of my writing vanished into thin air, when my siblings called it something worthless, just like they disdained my love for artistic works. That poetic work of mine, got terminated and remained unfinished since then.
What a fate, I was born with. I mean, fantastic sketching at the age of 9, terrific painting at the age of 10 and excellent writing skills at the age of 12. But all lacked one thing – Support from my near and dears. What do you expect from a kid who hasn’t even stepped into teenage? He can’t persist with something unless his elders support him and not disparage his work, no matter how inferior it sounds to them. At least, the kid is happy doing that work. You never know, tomorrow he may fetch more esteem and prosperity by what he loves to do. Sadly, my family didn’t understand it, until I passed my adolescence and taught them so.
As I mentioned before, my fate was handcuffed to the counter of my father’s shop, I never saw the dream of flying like an eagle and settled with what the average youngsters used to pursue. Although, a very distinct part of my inner-self was continuously begging me stop faking smiles and hunt for a real one. But I didn’t, until one day when my family itself asked me to go out and explore the world. They handed me with the application form of something, I never heard of before. Holding that form with few other classmates, I stepped out of my range of vision. They were happy… my family… neighbours… and somehow, they thought I would be happy too. Do you really think, you can force someone to dream the vision of yours, which is another form of disinterest and impassivity for him? You’ve got your answer, I guess.
Still, you can be either optimistic or pessimistic. And being an optimist, I tried to hunt that somehow repaired smile in those years of endless struggle. But my life frowned as it rewrote that fate of mine. Ended with a charming degree in my hands, which I didn’t even receive ceremonially, because I lacked excitement in that. And then, the real chapter of life begins – The empirical and monetary world. Expectations rose for my degree to go into the field and start printing currencies. And that is exactly what didn’t happen. Lost in the battles of facing the world, yet I stood still. Eyes shedded tears, yet my calmness overcame the restlessness. Every morning I woke up with my eyes wide open. Every day I went out with a winning mask and came back with a defeated face. I knew, the dreams I used to shelter, had long gone. So, whatever I had in my grasp, I had to live with. Nobody’s gonna wipe my tears out. Friends, Family, Girlfriend, they’re all means of a reminder that nothing’s gonna change now. I had to live with that. They kept on boosting me up for giving my next best shot.
They confused me with my contemporary situation with the one I was bound with. If they hadn’t made me dream their own vision, then I must have settled at my father’s shop and in that case, I wouldn’t even be writing this thing right now. And If I was allowed to work on my own dreams, then I could be someone far far beyond their imagination, because their imaginations are limited to their surroundings’ happenings. But neither happened.
Sometimes… most of the times… I do follow their instructions, at least for their satisfaction. They wished to see me like a common man earning adequate sum of money, surrounded by the known people of a locality, who commutes to his office everyday with a mind-map of how to please his boss, who is allowed to dream but not big enough, who can afford cars but not Aukaat ke bahar, who is married and blessed with beautiful kids for whom he brings gifts of about same amount every weekend, who spend his holidays at Shimla and not at Vienna, who is filled with that feeling of ‘commonness’ and who is known by a very very limited folks.
But who am I from inside? A happy, good-humoured person? NO !! I never wanted to be a Common man. I literally had a diary which I called “dream book”. I wished to have so many things. I wished to have everything. But nothing came in my hands, but blues. I wished to conquer the world.. But, couldn’t even conquer my own emotions. I wanted to spread smiles like they’re herpes. And look at me, my steps are followed by dolorous. The guy, who could be an inspiration, an ideal for of billions for millennium… settled to be a……. nothing !!!
You really need to put that away. This sharp cutting edge of the knife can cause so much unstoppable haemorrhage, you see. This isn’t a game of win or loose. This is your one and only enviable life, which is worth living. Give a shot. Pull some strings. Toss a coin or two. Try your damn luck. I’m sure, it’s capable of bringing good outcomes. Whimper a little and get up. Try again. Just don’t stop your heart from beating.
WHY? I mean look at that little niece of mine, clenching her first talks with her uncle. But she can’t, because her uncle has become a psychopath, who has ruined all his happiness. And now he’s turned himself into a wretch. No family. No future. No fucking smile on face. The only thing left with him, is this insipid life he is living, in his dark room. God !!! I want to hug her. My niece.. I want to hold her in my arms.. I want to tell her stories of her uncle. But what great story can possibly come out of my mouth? Whatever I have in my grasp, is all meant to vanish soon. Because whatever it is, its not good. I need to end this. I need to end this grey life. I have done horrible things in my life or the people around me made me do so… whatever… but the thing is they can’t be undone. Clock can’t work backwards. What’s done, has been engraved on the stones. They aren’t written on the sand on some sea shores. I just wanna end this suffering. I even don’t have to tell people to do not stand on my grave and weep, because I guess, there will be no people there.
What about those dreams we saw together? Those things to do before you die? And that list of places awaiting for you being there and checking? Don’t you wanna stay in Vienna anymore? Don’t you wanna make your own franchisee chain? What happened to all of them?
It was a long…very long time ago. Now I have almost buried all my dreams. Vienna? It was right there, in front of me, hanging on the wall. I could do anything to jump into that picture. That picture, brighter than the sun ever could be. My dream. Yes, Yes It’s been my dream for so long. But then, you know, that wall rose, slowly, very slowly, between me and that whirling dream. It rose until it kissed the sky. Then I blacked out. Its shadow was on me. Then concussion. Suddenly, I am black. No longer the lights of my dream before me.
I would still request you to hold fast on the last remaining of hopes. Don’t let yourself down. You’re my brave buddy. Just help yourself out. Don’t quit. Even my voice is little unkempt. I know how many times you’ve risen back and all those times, the universe put you back to the ground. But ‘hope’ is all what we carry all these times, in this journey. We see ups and downs. No doubt, your downs have been a bit hideous. But, still they aren’t beyond mend.
This cruel life is not letting me stay optimistic. Day in, day out. All what I can think is, how to get back on my feet and all this universe is making me think is how to give up sooner or later. Why terrible things happen to the most amazing people? Rejected by my own folks, I fought alone for quite a time. I stood there, in those arrows raining over me. Bequeathed by this mother ‘nature’. My mind is all infected. I didn’t commit any mistake at my own. Yet my soul suffers from this…this inferiority. Like a lamb led to its slaughter, I am filled with despairing thoughts. I had all the advantages back then. But now, I feel like I am underprivileged from conception. I feel like I am sired to ruination… I am sired to stutter from inception. The bitter taste of vanquishment has consumed me thoroughly. My puny heart traumatises. And you ask me to rise a phoenix, from these ashes?
My dear, I know, this life of yours have hit you a blow. Your friends and acquaintances, to whom you once called your family, are all making a mockery of you, causing you to desiccate from the very thought of going outside. You want to stay imprisoned in your room, in your own house by these….these psychosomatic fetters of a short fall. But trust me, you can rise again. You may have been blackened and tripped, by the turn of events of your life. I agree that the level of energy might have been slowly oozing from your brain. But trust me, you can fill it with vitality again. Rise up from the mud of despondence. Hold my hand. One step at a time my dear. Dream…dream again and again. As you do this, the cataract of resentment will fall off your eyes. Your vision will be revived. You will be able to picture a day full of hopes. Cast this vision of yours, far…far ahead to a place of consolation, a location of reassurance and in a position of triumph. 🙂
Standing on my barren field, watching across the road a poor little girl helping a crofter who, prima facie, appears to me as her father. Their field was also sterile once. But the father-daughter endeavours, with the utmost pure hearts raised the yields from a black lifeless land. As much as I admire their efforts, I also envy them.
I didn’t know, the few years’ time was nothing compared to an eternal life span. All those seasons, I spent with my family, are now brimmed with futility. Nobody suggested me to beware of that wobbly life. Each day and hour are now just buzzing with sour silence. Minutes and seconds are like splinters of some emphatic tolerance. And here I am, dropped off the impoverished time to wait for a lifetime. The body I am carrying is dry as dust. The soul is thirsty and odourless. Lips bone-dry. A total moisture-less existence.
Changes often come all of sudden. I mean, who could have imagined that a never fading life would take such a sharp turn, deteriorating the entire vicinity with me in it. Those continuous gleaming laughs, enough to appeal any living soul, which only God’s most fortunate species could imagine of, have now lost every last lump of its lustre. It happens with good people, as they say “For every brighter day, there is a dark night after it.” Can it not be inversely? I mean, does a brighter day not come after a dark night? The mere answer is always inadequate.
Is this the punishment of being immortal? I never asked for an eternal life. I never thought this life will become a broken-winged sparrow from a fly-high eagle, in no time. I can’t fly now. I can’t hold fast to any hopes. The farmer and her daughter have lived upto the light at the end of the tunnel. But my life had no tunnel before. I never craved for that light, as it used to stay at my elbow. No matter how snowy or dim the season was, the rooms inside my house were always bright and warm, unlike that farmer’s.
Family parts, friends flee and all that happens in no time. My name is written in that history now, with their twisted bitter lies. My existence has been treaded in this very dirt. Everybody wanted to see me crippled, with lowered eyes and a bowed head. Everybody wanted to see me weakened by my doleful cries. They left me, with a curse of ruination for eternity. They left me because I denied to give up. And what was my fault? Being bold, intrepid and full of spirit? Is it so? Why they held a grudge against me? They were my family, my friends. Why they wrecked my happiness? I lost everything since I lost them.
“Father, who is that man across the road?” asked that innocent little girl, curiously.
Her father answered, “He is a poor deathless man, with an infinitely large field and a big empty house.”
You told me to believe upon something I had lost long ago ! You asked me to set myself free from all despair ! And I haven’t obliterated that it was only you who told me to take a break, go out, explore and live on my own terms ! You told me that the path might sound unfamiliar right now, but its the path written for me. WTF !! You know what? I literally believed on every single word you said, until of course the downfall of my last living emotion.
I’m so lost now. I’ve caught myself in so fucked up situation that I don’t see any hope to bring me back. Yes !! I don’t know how, but somehow, my emotional switch has been turned off. I don’t even feel like trying to turn it on. I mean, why is it necessary to do that? Is it really worth trying? I have no one to talk, to share, to think of. Even, I slapped on the face of my conscience so hard that its dent will never make me forget it.
In a room full of loneliness, all I can hear is the click-clack of the red wall clock. Funny thing is, with every second passing by, the vacuum inside my feelings gets deeper and stronger. I feel nothing. I feel trapped in my own unsolvable puzzles. My mother asks me to pray to Gods. She believes her Gods always sort out the troubles. On the contrary, I believe that they have nothing to do with our lives. They created us and then left us on our own. And if I’m wrong, then you tell me, how many times I have been deceived by her so called God. Every time I lace up my shoes, my feet get paralytic. Every time I prepare myself for a journey, I get lost. Every time I am ready to fight it back with gloves of optimism, all I can enfold are the remains of pessimism.
My mind is debilitated by all little tricks I am playing with it. I try to convince it with how beautiful the next morning would be, how relaxing the tonight is with so many glittery stars welcoming my valour, how many melodious songs the river is playing. I am so good at playing those tricks, that I create a figment of the imagination in front of myself. A mirage, if properly spelled out. A moment I feel its real. Poof ! It’s gone.
The waving of grass. The songs of river. The twinkling of stars. All are just hallucination. I know, nothin’ gonna be alright, no matter what.
Of all the colours in the world, God has picked pale blue for me. Cold, forlorn blue. But then, I look into the sky, with the same colour lacking zeal, just to burst out anything which my blankly inscrutable heart might wanna express. But nothing comes out with. Not even a single mark on my face, questioning God’s entire play. I want to disprove my very own existence. But I can’t. I am completely deadpan.
Maybe, the grass isn’t as refulgent as it looks. Maybe, the stars aren’t as shiny as they appear to be. Maybe, the river isn’t flowing the right way. Maybe, the night isn’t as relaxing as it sounds. With all downhearted thoughts in my head, I wish to give up. If I can’t feel any emotion, then I’m sure pain won’t be a hurdle for death. Lying on the bed with my head resting upon my favourite pillow, while writing this blog, having a small 20ml. bottle of pristine poison in my shirt’s pocket, I’m all prepared to end this. Any death wish? Yeah, I have. I just wanna wake up once before I never wake up. I just wanna sleep peacefully once before I get to sleep in deep slumber. I wanna give this load away from my heart. I wanna die with an upward curve on my face. Not like this emotionless face. Come on. I wanna