A true story – Rahul / Raxx whatever you call

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.

Businessman Wearing Cape

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.

non-employee

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 !!!

Remains of Pessimism

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.

Pessimist

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

Woke up 10 mins ago. Don’t know how I fell asleep in a noisy afternoon. Mom woke me up. It might be her, putting away my laptop from my tummy, while I was asleep. I didn’t have any blanket over me. She covered me with one, while I was having my last but one sleep. Her eyes feel something for me. They see her son lying hopelessly, having accepted his defeat. I know what she must be feeling. I didn’t mean to hurt her. The poison bottle is there intact in my pocket. She didn’t take it away. I don’t even know whether she saw it or not. Why the hell, this life is so miserable. Why can’t I feel anything? Isn’t it worth trying once more? For whom? I don’t know. Maybe, for my mom. She…..deserves happiness, doesn’t she? Can I do something now that may undo the past things? Can I feel something again? What if all the painful feelings which I turned off, come back? I haven’t listened to my own voice since so long. What should I do with the bottle which I’m rolling among my fingers? Should I keep it away. Maybe for near future. Maybe, I will need it some day soon. Maybe….. never. I guess, this blue life is worth giving one more shot. What happens, lets see !!

Not today, but soon enough..

I know my fingers have been taking an unreasonably longer nap since past couple of weeks. Even I didn’t feel exigency to intervene in their slumber, until this morning. Three rugged, important years I just passed through with a certitude that even though the path seems a bit hellish to walk on, yet I have the benevolent and conscientious people beside me who will never let me down. But now it seems they are no longer my amigos. The hell with them, I don’t care if their feelings transformed and went into some kinda meander. But I do really care for the feelings of those whom I am related to the same blood. Yes I’m talking about my parents.

This early morning, I faintly sensed my dad gently touching my forehead, while I was asleep. I expressed surprise, yet glad I was within. With curiousness, my lips murmured in an almost inaudible voice, “Dad, is this you?” No answer came, for I thought my utterance didn’t reach his ears. I smiled and this time, with a little higher pitch, I said, “I know its you dad. I love you.” Slightly I opened my eyes and that dream vanished as if it was waiting to be scooted off.  A silent tear rolled out of my foggy eyes. It’s been a long time, since my father even talked to me. He thinks I’m no longer a matter of proud, like I was before. I know it’s quite thorny to answer folks when they ask about his son’s work or his achievements lately, which are none. The nearly same worries might occur in mom’s head when she sits with the neighbour ladies on a sunny afternoon, who know nothing but bringing down others with their harsh yet unavoidable questions. Despite that, at least she talks to me without conferring on me her ignominy. I can read her face full of conundrums.

I have failed in a lot of things in my life, except one thing. I didn’t stop living. It’s really painful for me to control my eyes from shedding tears when sometimes from the closed door, I listen to my parents talking in my absence. They often talk about their agony of having a son like me. I know they love me and that I will believe always. But, they are getting hurt by my failures. Sometimes, I give a thought to suicide. I even gave it a try by sitting on the tracks hoping for a train to squash me. But then my father’s prestige comes to my mind. My suicide can bring his whole image down to soil; so I can never do that.

sitting on tracks

My sisters, on the other hand, are too busy with their maternalistic lives that they don’t even give a damn about what’s happening in their younger brother’s life. I remember my mom used to say that an elder sister is like a good friend, and more precisely a mother in herself. But, both of my sisters failed to fit in any of these definitions. Still, I respect them. Rather than staying in touch with them and giving them stronger reasons to make a place in my bad books, I ended contact with them and kept them in my memory bank as my genuinely loveable sisters of childhood.

Sometimes, I hope for a mishap with me, resulting in either a permanent departure or a state of mind which can’t feel anything. I think that might give me a favour by making a space for me in the hearts of all my near and dears. That might give them some understanding that all I wanted in my life was their love and care.

I am drowning in my endless thoughts. I know it’s so hard to escape now. I am burdened today and I was burdened yesterday. Even in the recent past, when I fell down of stairs, I rather opted to stay quiet, clutching the lips between my teeth and to sit there a while, pressing, rubbing and covering the knee wounds, than calling some one for help. I know what wounds are hard to live with. I know if I had called for help, they would have brought handful of band-aids and a lot of humiliations, which I can’t bear anymore. For the sake of endearment, If you can’t help me stand on my feet, then don’t push me back.

Speaking in all sincerity, I badly want to live more. Toh kya hua, if I had seen more failures than the applauds. Life is allotted to every person just once. I do wanna live it more. I do wanna give it my best shot. I wanna hear those applauds. I just want their support. Nothing more. I will do something great someday. I wanna kiss that contentment, happening after I do that. I’m grateful to my dear lord for this life. I will make it happier by my own karma. I am here to spread love, which I think, I am pretty much good at. And rahi baat failures ki… I will surely win. Not today, but soon enough. At least, I’m not aimless like most of the folks. I have a soul which burns, desires, works and is worthy to achieve success. The time is not with me today. But tomorrow, it will be in motion on the rolex on my wrist. I may not be a good son so far, if the world thinks so, but I will be an idol for millions soon. All this can happen, if I don’t give up living. So…… I will live. A life inspiring optimism for the future. And, a Life full of gratification.

See you soon.. My fingers have roused from a deep sleep. 😉