Why Do You Serve Us?

He was holding the tray tightly when he entered the hall. He had a red t-shirt and a pair of dark-brown trousers on, hair oiled and neatly combed in a side-parting. While he walked along the benches or served water to us, he remained expressionless. Every time he would see us communicate in English, his mind would be filled with all sorts of questions. It must have taken a lot of effort to learn a new language? He would try to make out what we were talking but without any success. He barely knew two-three words in English. He would also wonder what we wrote in exams or what they taught us in schools. Why did we study so much? What is the point in writing exams? Why did he never get the opportunity?

My first encounter with him brought a frown to my face. While I was engrossed in writing my paper he went around the hall, holding the tray in his hands. I had only momentarily lifted my head to look at the wall clock when my eye caught a glimpse of him. His presence made me uncomfortable and at the same time ashamed. This was not the place for him. The difference between him and me struck me. It was as if there is a huge valley between me and him, to cross which, would be a formidable challenge for him.

He was hired to serve, by people who claim to be committed to doing their best in imparting education!

I Miss You

They allow me into their world every time I open a book; and every time I do so it's as if my actual surroundings are sucked into and metamorphosed into the surroundings of the characters inside the book. I keep standing there and all the action takes place right in front of my eyes. I go slow, letting every detail sink in. I come to know the characters all too well and get a welcoming response. The more pages I turn, the closer we get. It gives a feeling that they are comforted by my presence; there is someone who is interested in hearing all that is happening; someone so impervious that all the emotions can be shared; someone who wants it to be a happy-ending for them.

I give it several days before I finish a book and so each day some small part of my life is spent with them. The credit lies with the writers, pouring in their chimera, that readers like me want to go back to a book.

If the mood is sunny; it is sunny for me; if it’s dark, it is dark for me. The days I don’t read, a gap is created. Someone goes missing. It feels so important to meet that person again. The connection that has already been created must not be severed. I will miss you Winston. I miss you Mellors, Scout, Jem, Connie, Julia.

Why then, do I always say I don’t have any friends?

If One were To Compare?

A Sketch of My Profile Picture

An Attempt to Sketch Nelson Mandela

Life is Short, Act!

We share the same birth-date. Perhaps that is why I can connect to her so much. I feel that we think alike. I see my childhood in her. The same long, dark hair; the same smile; the same eyes. Even though the age difference is vast; she seems to be much more mature. She can give answers to difficult questions. She can give simple solutions to complex problems. She is one of the smartest kids I have ever met.

That day we were sitting facing each other. She asked me whether I remembered a sketch of hers that I had made. I didn't but she did. Not only that, she has also preserved it. Never knew she valued it so much. So, I asked her whether the sketch resembles her. She at once told me that it actually does resemble her. I felt elated. I have some talent. She made me promise that I would resume sketching.

Why in the first place did I abandon doing it? I had all the time in the world; but I always thought that there was none. I promised. If I don't do what I like doing now the when will I? Life is short. Act!

Don't Let Go

She was walking towards him. Her walk had a rhythmic flow in it. It was bouncy and happy.
He had his back towards her and was engrossed in reading the newspaper.
She wanted to look her best today. After all, they were going to go out after so long. She wore a smile on her face. She was excited.
 He turned and noticed her coming. The look on his face was rather cold, not something she had expected. Never before had he been so withdrawn, she wondered, but continued walking. With movements of her hand she signaled that she would come and her happiness knew no bounds.
He gently nodded her away and just at this point the expression on his face turned to anger.
She couldn't believe it. Her eyes dropped. She turned away in dolor. Was it because of the other day? But that was because of no fault of hers. It was a mere misunderstanding and she had thought he would understand. She didn't feel the need to explain. He should trust her.
 And just as she had started to walk away, he ran towards her with full speed and caught hold of her arm. He wouldn’t let her go!

"It's no good! It's no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. 
You've got to stick to it all your life.
Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in.
At times! But you have to wait for the times.
Accept your own aloneness and stick to it all your life.
 And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come.
But they've got to come.
You can't force them." 
 -D. H. Lawrence

A protective shell is what is needed. It has started to develop already. The shell will reflect back all the negativity, negativity that can sear the heart. It needs to grow all around, all around. So used to it does one have to get that it doesn’t make a difference anymore and that is what should lead to the shell developing. But it has to reflect back negativity coming from all quarters not just one or two. So it needs to develop more, all around and grow stronger with time. The job isn't as easy as one thinks. Each time a new bond is made, the shell will have to renew itself and start the process of making itself stronger all over again. Inside it one will be all alone. One will be so brittle that one won't be able to do without the crust outside. One will have to be strong. Very strong!