Now that you have already wasted a couple of seconds in trying to figure out any sensible undertones in the title, and most likely failed in your sincere attempt, I have just one thing to say-"sorry". And if you choose to read this post till its last line then take my apologies in advance 3 more times, for you will find many things (deliberately) left unclear. So make your choice!
Sometimes I think I can write good fiction (the realization that I can't comes a little later!). The same thought caught me on a night exactly a year back and I started writing this piece:
""""""Waking up at 10 in the morning had, by then, become a usual pattern for him ever since he joined the college- as no member of his family was going to pull him out of his bed any more. That day, however, was different: firstly because he woke up quite early despite having slept very late, secondly some members of his family were around (though his parents were not there till then. He didn't want them to know all this, ever, if it were in his hands), and thirdly they couldn't dare pull him out of his bed that day.
His uncle was sitting beside. He had just arrived. They just kept looking at each other for a few moments- neither had anything to talk about, or perhaps had too much for the speech to handle. Eyes helped.
After a brief converstion, he was then looking for his friend Ankit who had become a routine sight for him for the last 15 hours or so. He was out to arrange some urgently required things. Had a lot to talk to uncle, but he couldn't resist another nap, until his cousin arrived. Meeting after a long time, they had some nice talk.
He was still not sure what finally was going to happen, no one around him was. Soon, Ankit arrived with his contagious smile on as usual, but this time with an added effort to hide the sleep deprivation.""""""
That's all of my attempt at fiction on the said day. Writing fiction is difficult. Fictionalising the reality is even more difficult. Fictionalising yourself is the most.
Now an year later, I am not going to put my time in completing this fictionalisation of the reality. But realities in raw form are harsh, howsoever easy it may be to pen them down. And then, there are realities you never need to pen down, for their imprints on your mind are everlasting.
One doesn't encounter death many times (for the most people it is a one time event). One doesn't get to hear the doctor estimating only 20-30% chances for oneself. One doesn't force his father to do one's little tasks within one month of his own surgery. One doesn't let his mother sit beside him for many consecutive nights. One doesn't see one's sister weeping buckets when one reaches home just after a month. But then, there are many such ones and many more much unfortunate than them.
No life was ever a one sided coin though... and the ones who face the desasters are no exception. World starts looking to be so enjoyable after one recovers from the tragedies.. the taste of a roti after 7 days.., a tea.., and the first and foremost- the first sip of water.. seems as if one has had some joy which mortals get only by chance. And then a renewed interst in life.. a will to enjoy it in better ways, to enjoy it fully before one discovers it's about to end..again.
In times of desasters one finds people hitherto little known to them passing sleepless nights for them..and develops great friendships with them in due course.
Sometimes I find myself unable to do things which I do know are very important. Have got many things to say to Mom, Dad, Ankit, Manoj and some hostelmates from my own year. But I can't. I never could. I wish you all could understand without me saying.
I can never forget september the thirteenth,2004. Every year on this day my memories will keep on menifesting themselves into something or the other.. last time it was some incomplete fiction.. this time it's this semi-comprehensible blog post (but the title, at least, does make some sense!)
Now accept my apologies if the four already offered were not enough!
Sometimes I think I can write good fiction (the realization that I can't comes a little later!). The same thought caught me on a night exactly a year back and I started writing this piece:
""""""Waking up at 10 in the morning had, by then, become a usual pattern for him ever since he joined the college- as no member of his family was going to pull him out of his bed any more. That day, however, was different: firstly because he woke up quite early despite having slept very late, secondly some members of his family were around (though his parents were not there till then. He didn't want them to know all this, ever, if it were in his hands), and thirdly they couldn't dare pull him out of his bed that day.
His uncle was sitting beside. He had just arrived. They just kept looking at each other for a few moments- neither had anything to talk about, or perhaps had too much for the speech to handle. Eyes helped.
After a brief converstion, he was then looking for his friend Ankit who had become a routine sight for him for the last 15 hours or so. He was out to arrange some urgently required things. Had a lot to talk to uncle, but he couldn't resist another nap, until his cousin arrived. Meeting after a long time, they had some nice talk.
He was still not sure what finally was going to happen, no one around him was. Soon, Ankit arrived with his contagious smile on as usual, but this time with an added effort to hide the sleep deprivation.""""""
That's all of my attempt at fiction on the said day. Writing fiction is difficult. Fictionalising the reality is even more difficult. Fictionalising yourself is the most.
Now an year later, I am not going to put my time in completing this fictionalisation of the reality. But realities in raw form are harsh, howsoever easy it may be to pen them down. And then, there are realities you never need to pen down, for their imprints on your mind are everlasting.
One doesn't encounter death many times (for the most people it is a one time event). One doesn't get to hear the doctor estimating only 20-30% chances for oneself. One doesn't force his father to do one's little tasks within one month of his own surgery. One doesn't let his mother sit beside him for many consecutive nights. One doesn't see one's sister weeping buckets when one reaches home just after a month. But then, there are many such ones and many more much unfortunate than them.
No life was ever a one sided coin though... and the ones who face the desasters are no exception. World starts looking to be so enjoyable after one recovers from the tragedies.. the taste of a roti after 7 days.., a tea.., and the first and foremost- the first sip of water.. seems as if one has had some joy which mortals get only by chance. And then a renewed interst in life.. a will to enjoy it in better ways, to enjoy it fully before one discovers it's about to end..again.
In times of desasters one finds people hitherto little known to them passing sleepless nights for them..and develops great friendships with them in due course.
Sometimes I find myself unable to do things which I do know are very important. Have got many things to say to Mom, Dad, Ankit, Manoj and some hostelmates from my own year. But I can't. I never could. I wish you all could understand without me saying.
I can never forget september the thirteenth,2004. Every year on this day my memories will keep on menifesting themselves into something or the other.. last time it was some incomplete fiction.. this time it's this semi-comprehensible blog post (but the title, at least, does make some sense!)
Now accept my apologies if the four already offered were not enough!
8 comments:
I think I understand what's being said...
I hope you, and nobody ever, has to live through such a time again.
You're lucky, dude. Count your wishes and enjoy your life
You do write well..and dont apologise!
@Phoenix: thanx for the wishes dear..
Am pretty much enjoying myself.. those memories are only an hour a year affair now..
@Chandni: thanx.. and sorry (oops!)
tht was a very nice piece of work...cant help wishing its purely fictitious...cos i too know how utterly devastatin it can be if be reality..hav gone thru it...hav been thr myself :)
tk care buddy n all the best to u ...
apology accepted.
@Pri: thanx for the wishes.. Bad things leave some good memories too.. just trying to retain those few only. All the best to u too.
@BDD: ohh thanx.. if not for u those would've gone wasted.
Sometimes words speak out more clearly and passionately than people themselves do... You know, this little piece of what you call a post has had far greater impact on me than what our entire one year of acquaintance had. Feelings touch, they do so more if some passionate ones are left stray for others to discover… well, they then do not touch, they strike, and this strike is for the good of one… it smashes ego, it breaks barriers… it opens up ones mind to the bigger picture… I cannot stop feeling guilty now, and my ego still prevents me from disclosing the cause of this guilt.
You know, I often think how you manage to remain so calm, patient and tolerant in yourself, for even in situations I deserve to be called things {i.e. when I stop talking to you or speak insulting comments}, you keep trying to appease me, even if both of us know that all stupidity is mine. Do the roots lie in the way we view things? As for me routine relationships like friendship or temporary love have no value, in fact I have developed contempt for them, but you are more mature in handling them, and this is what makes you a better, more beautiful person to be with….
You have got a great temperament to write, I request you to never stop writing.
[musafir]
I don't know what to say.. may be the best option wud b to leave this one 'stray' too.
But i have got somethings to say. 1. i don't think u have ever been insulting to me.
2. thanx for all those unnecessary praises u bestowed upon me.
the more philosophical things be left stray..
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