"Tor ghor porishkar korte giye ek gada kaaner dul r clip pelam" the Mommy said during the usual Goodmorning call today, "...Shob Kota oi brown kouto taye rekhe diyechhi jate khuje pash jokhon ashbi"
Somewhere the faint hope they she still holds on to, of me going home, of me settling down, of me leading a normal life, of me finally being happy, of me finally getting accepted, of me finally accepting, makes me worried, very very worried, and extremely sad.
Time to leave everything else and head for home maybe. As Shahid said yesterday 'jism mein dafn' much too much. Or maybe it's just the Monday morning and Supervisor coming back, talking. Who knows. But there is a sense of utmost suffocation and helplessness in Karnataka 560037 and I need to breathe. And I don't know how.
Why the writer's block at the first place if you're wondering, well, remember that History teacher who did not let you participate in Computer quiz because you didn't know the date for Napoleon's second attack in the middle East?
Remember Priyanka George who had to repeat a year with you because she had Chicken Pox during finals the year before?
Remember yourself when you didn't get that promotion that December when everyone deserving and non deserving did?
THAT be the reason. It's not gloom, it's not sadness, not depression, or anger, or frustration for that matter, nothing! I don't even know if it's disappointment or shock or Obhimaan or loss or disgust or what, and hence the writer's block.
Have you ever found yourself living someone else's dream and someone else living yours? The only key factor here being, you forever thought that their dream needs a lot of heroism and they always ridiculed your otherwise simple and mainstream dreams. Role reversal much and happily? Maybe being Mr.Snape and adding an Always to all the go-get-to-be-the-hero type questions will choke you. Maybe the winner actually takes it all- beauty, peace, vows, money, appreciation, blessings, and a lifetime of self initiated togetherness. Specially now when you have heavy stones in the place where dreams would reside, especially when the doctor can not help, will not help.
THAT be the reason. It's not gloom, it's not sadness, not depression, or anger, or frustration for that matter, nothing! I don't even know if it's disappointment or shock or Obhimaan or loss or disgust or what, and hence the writer's block.
When the FM plays "hreed majhare rakhibo" very late in the night, the night before you leave your city of joy, yet again, and this time with news that has changed you forever. With a heavy heart you fight again, you leave again.
But. Oh. Ouch. Oh.
