Lost World

I wanted to discard every thing that is obsolete, every thing which is not in use, every thing which I disliked, every thing which brought me ill luck ( sounding superstitious? yep. That's how it is). Many times I wanted to describe myself as person with no past nor future. I am living at this moment. Hardly I regret for what has happened in the past nor do I bother much about my future. I dislike to live in antiquated bildings may it be the Taj Hotel. Neither do I like too futuristic interiors as they look extra terristrial devoid of plants and mortals. Given a choice between "Ghajini" and "Bobby" perhaps I would prefer to watch Ghajini. If at all I confirm to the old order on certain issues, it's because after so many deductions I arrived that, human life could be less tumultous if they possibly stick to certain core elements. In comparative terms probably I bother much about the world at large than with my own issues. It may look silly. But that's it.

As the last reminder of my past I found that small rusted box, which perhaps no beggar on earth would like to pick it even if I leave it on a busy road. It was lying on my table for the past one week. But least in one weak moment I did not feel like opening it. As it started gathering dust around, I was compelled to open it. It was the moment of awakening. Should I call it so? or moment of resurrection?

It contained so many letters, little reminders of my "Betein huwe din". Some as old as my 10th class days. Many of my friends expressing their anguish on account of my absence on one occassion and wanting me to come back to my home town.I even I forgot some names as I never chanced to meet them again. Some wrote tinged with humour , some requesting, some with casual and matter of fact tone , some in tears,... one thing was very obvious. All of them loved me so much. All of them wanted me back with them as early as possible. But what have I given to them in return? I was a quirky, snooty, heavy head filled with hubris. I thought it was my right to be loved. They were all bound by the duty of friendship with me. I bragged, teased, and abused them very often. But to my surprise none of them deserted me. They always wanted to be close to me, sit with me, play with me, and talk to me. I wonder with all the pit falls how I was liked by one and all. With all the politeness, maturity and kindness I am not able make friendship with any one at the moment. How that stupid "Bewakuf ladki" turned to be an apple in the eyes of so many people around. All the letters dating back decades are fading in colour and close to ashes. All of the old friends have disappeared. I never maintined a contact with them as I was not allowed to do so by my parents once I moved out of the town.Back then I felt that my exuberance was tempered and I was stymed from my favourite foibles. Yet I do not feel sad about it now. Probably even if I meet all the old friends now I may not be able to open my heart. It is past. It faded and melted away into darkness.

One letter stood apart from all others. I wonder how I missed to gauge the wisdom, mental prowess of my lost friend during my friendship days. The knowing, which I thought I have acquired during my past long years, was already there in nutshell in front of me by way of simple letter. How come I could not assimilate the esense of life despite my long correspondence with him ? God alone knows how he thought this stupid girl was fit enough to be his close friend? He throught I had the potential to be some thing (phew) His long stint of education in IITs also could not change his faith towards me. He wrote about so many things which are beyond my reach even to day. He read so much. He learnt so much. He discussed so much. He met so many.He wrote some. Life being cryptic in definition for him, he remained a constant traveller, endless explorer. He was a man with dicerning perspective towards life. He never enjoyed his youth. He refused to buckle to the mainstream masala living. He never enjoyed anything but his persuit of knowledge. He was man who dived into his own heart to the greater depths of it's unfolding secrecy. He sat in Kanpur campus in the midnight squatting on a rug barely covering himself in 3-4 C temperature. He was man who laid down on the dark shores of Orissa coast trying to understand the sounds of waves and coarse wind(as he wrote) He is the man who explained to me about Radha krishnan, Raja rao, Thomas Mann, Satre, Santayana, Francis Bacon, Virginia Wolf, Fitze Gerald, Will Durant, Russian critics, malayalee poets, Butchi babu, Viswanatha Satyanarayana, so on so forth and I swear I do not remember any. He introduced me to the world of philosophers, scientists, critics, and so many reverential souls that lived on this earth from time immemorial. It is impossible for me to complete even a fraction of what he read in his in his early twenties. Where are you my friend? How nice it would have been had I been mature enough to apprehend what you have been trying to teach me !. Yet I don't want to see you again. You are a past. You disappeared away from my memory lane.No one can give me a call from the forsaken lands. I do not turn back to shed a tear nor to jump overjoyed. I keeping walking ... walking a head. I can only see the way forward in this increasingly fading evening light.