I sink in the paragraphs and lines of my own creation. I transcend into memories of yore; Of times of 5 Rupee Ice Golas and Street Side food. The times where I used to ride along on my Appa’s Hero Honda yelling at the top of my lungs “Appa, Faster.” Closed eyes and laughing; Showing all my teeth and a blue tongue.
But as I open my eyes, I see myself in another time. A time of neatly ironed uniforms, standing in a line and praying during assembly (But trying to open one eye and look at what my best friend was up to), A time of Amma’s cooking packed in dabbi; which probably will always be tastier than any “Fine-Dine” restaurant. A time of fighting with friends for silly reasons and naively believing that Undertaker came back from the dead 6 times (Or was it more?). A time of waking up on Sunday mornings to catch Shaktimaan on DD1 and Cat-Dog on Nickelodeon.
As I drowned further, I saw myself writing down formulas and diagrams. A time of hard work and running away from it to read Ender’s Game during chemistry Pre-boards. A time when I disappointed myself and my teachers with a marks on a piece of paper which perhaps would forever be my identity as 85.5%; No 95+ Halo. But two digits which gave me a frown from all but my Amma. The time I realised one can never have what one desires but at the same time could never truly make Lemonade from life’s lemons.
Then I tried to breathe. I was here again. Living in a city of Silicon; A place where bodies were sold on the streets and knowledge was sold in pretty classrooms in overpriced colleges. A time of placements, CV, Internships, Research and other words which were shoved down my throat, A time when I am given a pair of running shoes; Transformed into a rat, shown the track and told to keep on running and “keep on solving” .
“Is this necessary?”
No replies as I stare at a faceless crowd which too runs. Runs for Money, Power, Ambition and Sex. “Do I want to do this?” I shake off such thoughts from my mind and keep on running till I reach The Promised Land.
“Is it worth it?”
Perhaps. Perhaps not. I might never get to eat a gola and make my tongue blue in corporate cubicles. I might seldom or never have Amma’s uuta as I gobble down with etiquette some overpriced salad in some restaurant .
What can I do? I am a Drowner you see, I could never swim.
A part in me still longs for sunbaked happazha on a sunday lunch with family. To feel the sunrays on my face as I wake up at 10 AM. I want to feel the wind on my face and go back when I was a kid. I want to be free. I want to unbounded by these shackles and expectaions. To be just me. To lull my demons to sleep and sneak out into a world of simple faces with smiles.
But what can I do? I must drown. Drown again, into these sheets and numbers.