From the diary of J- (19 April, 1998)
If I open the curtain of Time and peek into the afternoon of 19 April, 1998 (into class 9B at the City High School, K--( a small town in India), I would find a 16 year old boy scribbling in the last page of his notebook.
‘..Sometimes, I fear I would be left behind. The World will simply pass by. And I shall watch in a sort of foggy haze filled trance. Everyone will rush ahead in their parachutes. Somehow the image that fills my mind is of parachutes (shaped in the form of colonial bungalows and tall houses), filled with people floating in the sky. And I watch from a rock cut moss covered cliff. For a long time. Till they are just a speak and could only be seen if I really squint my eyes.
‘But Mot, our mongrel dog will remain with me. And then in that deserted world filled with empty blocks, tall trees and vast wild fields already returning into woods, Mot will chase rabbits and I will … I don't know... I will watch and perhaps guard all the things that people have left behind. I will be the guardian, a groundskeeper of a moment in time. I will never move on. This moment in time is where I decide to spend eternity. Me and Mot.’ He watches across the window as the breeze brushes against his hair.
There is a swift gust of wind knocking the window panes and rustling the pages of the notebook. The boy sits straight and turns sideways towards the window. For a moment, only a sliver of moment, so delicate that I can never even be sure of it later, my eyes meet his. And I recognise the lightness in the eyes.
It seems familiar. It feels like me on all those years past on a hazy afternoon when I still had doubts about it all. When I still dared to seek answers. The questions were many and …
Let me open the bars of my prison - mind, become a bird and fly away…
(The Art Of Drinking Coffee.)
He looked at the cup of coffee, the little bubbles forming around the sides, and the stained table cloth. He lifted the cup gently, watching the warm smoke slithering into the air, closed his eyes and savored the fragrance. It had the strong aroma of the southern hills. He slurped a little from the cup and closed his eyes as a thin line of foam formed around his mouth.
It was ten in the morning. A clear sunlight hit the rooftop, making small puddles of shadows near the wall, where the birds- mostly pigeons and sparrows and sometimes an odd crow rested. All in all it was a good summer morning.
Author’s Note:
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