Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Childhood - guess it never gets over #3

Woke up today, just after dreaming. The kind of a dream which points you in a direction and makes you realise something about what is and never should have been and also, in the same token, what is not and should so dearly have been. Dreamt again, fondly of a place where I knew the innocence of my age, and the feeling of coming to youth, riddled with pangs of a spring long gone and fleeting and evanescent. It's one of those moments where you want to catch some petals in your palm and grab them and close your eyes and lose yourself but alas, curse the winds of time that all that remains is the faint, distant essence of the feeling, which after eluding you, haunts you. And so you wake up, from a dream which makes your reality seem a nightmare, full to the brim and ever dripping with the throes of what could have been but isn't, driving home the point that what you have, you can't get rid of...and what you can't stop wanting, you can't have.

Fateful that the dream comes the morning of 14th of February. A bright morning, bereft of winter, full of a soothsayer's promises of a brilliant time ahead. The bite of cold is absent, the rays of the sun, make their way into my room like a the eyes of a maiden gifted with the rare clarity of thought, would. Alas, I would grow to detest it with the realization that the cause is lost. A beautiful beginning and a bad after taste. What a day!

The dream took me to St. Lawrence High School, Aurangabad, where I spent the happiest days of my life. Happy, for I was in love with a girl who sang like an angel but had supposedly made a clandestine pact with another guy that she would give herself over to him once they made it into college. For, I was in love with myself as I was on top of my own Everest, scoring 100 on 100 in Math, learning Judo and being the monitor of my class. For, the girl that I loved two years prior to this, was no longer pretty and in a different school and looked weird. Well, the individual flavours don't quite look attractive, but like all recepies, the whole is greater than the parts.

So there I was. In my class. Giving some board exam....guess it was that of standard ten. I was supposed to answer a question pertaining to the effect that the band Junoon had on the social and economic conditions in the Indian subcontinent. I was happy looking at the question as I was sure that I was up to it. And then I began writing, hypnotised with the beauty of my hand writing, looking elegant, refined, written with a fountain pen which would put Mont Blanc to shame. And then there is this commotion. Something is wrong. Two boys are caught cheating. What's more is that they have a book in hand. Turns out, the book is actually a 10,000 page comic with amazingly erotic illustrations, highly detailed needless to say, with sarcasm, grose, perverted takes on the state of affairs, all built in. And then I look into it and I want to read it. But then a pair of breasts, soft like petals of a rose come into picture. And then I wonder what is it that is going on? And the class teacher catches me, looking at a girl's breasts and I get chastised for having no focus. But then in this day and age, how is it possible for anyone to have that clarity? Theres so much to distract you, so much to throw you off balance, so much of petty garbage lying around that can in just a modicum make you feel temporarily satiated that you lose track of everything.

And then I wonder, what is it that I have lost? Did I lose growing up with my friends? Did I lose playing the part of the maverick for once and for all? Or did I lose the face that I never got to see, the eyes that never peirced my heart as I was too busy admiring the breasts and visualising them?

As always, I had nothing but air in my reach. No answers yet again. And so, the day began. What happened in the day, is not worth recounting. Let alone faces, no eyes, no breasts even in it. And so the 23rd Valentine's day ended thus.
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