Lives Change

Time changes,people change,you change. The same happened to me. I remember myself as the free living beautiful creature with no bounds, no addictions, no love and no hate. I loved myself, adored myself in little ways I did not know. Lethargy, laziness were not the things that were prevalent in my dictionary. I praised myself on little things, I cried on little things. Everything was so simple, so just, so open, so transparent. Life was so easy, so good, so bountiful. Nature was so beautiful, human beings were so joyful.  I lived in Dehradun then, living the happiest life I have experienced till now. I do not remember the houses, the trees, the roads, the rivers. But I remember I was innocently happy and innocently sad. I remember the farewell party which was organised and all the Bengali friends invited. I remember the bus which was rented to take us to the station and I remember us standing at the door of the rail car, while the train accelerated, while streams of tears rode down my eyes and we bade our last ,but not the least farewell, with my parents’ and mine closest friends.

I do not remember the journey or our stay at my aunt’s house in Tollygunge, Kolkata. I remember that some dangerous bacteria or virus or whatever else had attacked me and that I had to spend long nights in the children’s ward of a hospital with something itching all over my body.  We did not go back to my aunt’s, I was taken to a small quarter in the thirteenth floor of the longest building I have even seen by now.  We went up the floors using a lift which used to look like a mini-train to my exploring eyes. Once in a while when I returned from school I found that there was no electricity, I only climbed all the way up using stairs because the Kurkure packet in my brother’s hand seduced me. I remember the days when I used to cover all the easily breakable things with pillows and make a boundary out of it so that I and my brother could play mini cricket on bed. I remember rearranging those pillows into mountains and hiding some mini-objects into it so my brother could find it(he did the same for me).

Then I remember another move, to the opposite side of Kolkata, to a better house, poorer neighbours, better connections, poorer school and better friends. Yes, in that new school painted red, with plasters peeling out of walls, with cobwebs hanging on the classroom walls, with a single toilet that smelled like hell, with broken marbles and sand filled ground I found my best friend, that I found myself to undergo a change.

The girl who I described as my best-friend appeared to me at that time to be a thin girl with large dark eyes and chocolate brown hair which used to form a fine braid. She is and was quite a beauty if you could imagine her without the limp. I met her on the second day of my new class. She sat with me. She might have bored anyone else with her nonsensical talk but she did not bore me for I still had not gained the habit of talking and hearing much. Whatever were her failings in studies, she made it up with her good behavior, polite manners, helpfulness and caress.

I liked her to be on my side through petty happiness and trouble. But I was attracted to other students, students I considered of a higher value than me, those who I despised and yet at some part in my heart admired. they did not like me,they never talked for I never brought up a conversation meaningful enough. So the more I despised myself and them, and so the more I admired them.

Then suddenly I discovered that I was a good enough to compete the students  to whom I gave such a high stature, then I became sure. At some point I become proud and then over-proud.  I had come to believe that it would be easy to change-to forget the old and accept the new. I desired to be the friends of those who who had popularity,intelligence, smartness and somewhere hidden in them- a desire to live and to ignore the life.  But somehow my plans backfired. Somewhere I went against the plan of God.

Yes it was easy to forget much but not all. Yes it was easy to adopt some but not all. Somehow I got hung between two branches. I no longer belonged to the clan I had tried to leave for good, it being stated by material mouths matter-of-factly (which carried some amount of regret I assume).  I entered partly into the group i desired but not as full and whole. They now talked to me but not let me be with them. I sat with old friends but did not share with them. I became oceans between two lands, wanted only for having fun. I became salty like sea, remembered but yet not truly essential. I lost something to get nothing. Somehow those days made me lose something inner,made me lazy and tired. Somehow I lost my beauty, my grace, my bounty over the thing you consider as a trifle incident. Somehow I lost my charm. Somehow I lost myself. I got for the hate of me something I hate more. Chains broke to let me starve. I recovered from that dreaded state of human life, but it was not me who recovered. I am not me, no longer.

Advertisements

A Worthless Life

I enjoy my life, I play, I dance, I read and I study. And after doing all this at the end of the day I realize how worthless is my life to this World, to this wide expanse of gases, of flowing liquid, of stars twinkling in shady nights, to the gravitons which are keeping me attached to the Earth, to animals, to plants and to the ingenious minds of human. Whatever I do, whatever I write does not affect anyone a bit. But do hey affect me? Do this body, this soul have any worth for me? Do I want to live? Yes, I think so. But why? I do not want to achieve anything. Whatever I see, I want to do feels worthless. What is its worth to me? This house, this food, this money, this paper,this air. To use, to waste and then to sleep. Would this thing I am writing have any worth than take up some precious moments of other’s life. But that is it. The answer is in my questions. Nobody gains nothing reading this mess but yet I write because I feel like it. It gives me a pleasure to put my thoughts out of myself, to make my head free, to relax. So why should i mind if its another piece of trash to anyone. Its serve its purpose for me.Its serves my purpose of a dustbin and i am throwing this things out. Now you may laugh at this mess I have made. You  achieve whatever you are achieving. I have achieved what I want to achieve. I have thrown this burden out of my head and i will never think of it again because it does not matter to me what happens to me. you use your art in writing, you take in my heart with your writing but I am gonna expel waste. And as I again say, I don’t care what others think. I am worthy of myself because both of us me and my soul are unworthy for this world. And so I shall rest in peace with my excuses (if you wanna call them so) worthy in my own worthlessness.