Its wailing deep inside. It is wailing so loud that I can't sleep. I cant
bring myself to a tray where I can shut those junks that is taking the peace
out of me. Crushed I'm, in this little world of nothingness and digging up my
own shit hole, hiding. It 19:53, Nov 1st 2013. Should i look upon
this date in the previous calendar, and the previous, and the previous, i see
no difference. Its the wailing me all where. So much so, that I actually have
to shut that less enthusiastic and buffed self to make my own self heard, make
my self, seen.
I miss those years, I miss that lonely lovely morning walk to school, how i
took the longer route to pleasure the inner me. Things were easy, chums came on
date and all i worried was about my Facebook crush not replying, I mean, oh come
on, is that even a reason to 'worry'? Such were the days when joy meant running
to get the puff, cribbing to get the records signed, toppling over one another
to click pictures, opening the tiffin box to find it empty. School time had its
own sweetness. The phase of your life is shit sweet and all you would have done
during the day would be giggling. If you could remember, you were able to run
faster that time, now its hard, ain't it? Now if you have to lift yourself up,
you need to shoo away that laundry clothes, dodge some biscuit wrappers, grab
some glucose and then think of the distance that you need to run.
In a way, growing older is nice. It makes you the superlatives of wise,
alert, prudent and gives you the ‘sense’ of growing. Like the old man says, we
never know the value of the things until its gone- this queasy lament will
obviously be there in some who miss their innocence. Yes, innocence; that is
another thing that one sacrifices to being wise. Before, we need a muuuuummm to
decide which color to give to that witty rose you have drawn, you need your
brother to give you company in standing queue to get that salty chewing gum,
you once needed your dad to swing you every time he comes home, atleast a peck
if not. Now kissing has got nothing to do with parents, company meant some puff
of smoke or loud music, decision making should be on your own, else your
friends will call you ‘de-pend-ent’. Visits to grandparents will go less in its
frequency, the pride overrules your innocence and you fight anyway to prove
you’re definitely the one who was right. Forgiveness is nowhere to be seen; and
if seen, tadam, she is a saint they’ll say.
