Monday 5 October 2015

Being Anonymous

I have been a dreamer always, observing random people, staying absent minded, gaping towards the distant skies, deriving patterns from clouds, looking at birds flying in the sky. I feel a strange happiness observing flying birds, sensing the freedom of it all. Sometimes I wished I could fly, literally. I like doing strange things too, like smelling both old and new books, running my fingers over the tiny droplets that gather on a glass with cold water and melting a chocolate over my tongue before gulping it.
My mind is never quiet. Sometimes it makes me feel as if I am in a music video when I hear soft crooning melodies on my I-pod during a cloudy and windy September evening. It keeps talking to me always, about the books I should read, people I should meet, conversations I should have, things I should write, papers I should study, feelings I should have and a lot of other gibberish.
I can’t help but notice the little spark in the people I meet. Sometimes it might be their eyes, which hold a million dreams, their voices, which contain a million unspoken words, or their smile, which is a gateway to their soul. I love moving beyond the mundane conversations to explore their dreams, their aspirations and their perspective about life. I have had heart to heart conversations in the middle of chaos too. But somehow I can never initiate a conversation on my own, especially with people I know only from a distance. I am an introvert. And it saddens me to think there would never be a conversation with you if I don’t start it.
I am crazy most of the times. I listen to soft rock hits at midnight on my earphones and imagine myself to be the guitarist and try some singing myself while sitting on my bed, and sometimes even playing my ‘air guitar’ while crossing the road, much to the amusement of passers-by. Music is something I can connect to at any time and point of a day. I laugh at random instances or jokes when they come alive with a sudden surge of memory. There are many moments when I laugh uncontrollably all alone in my room. And there are times when I gape at the moon, simply marveling at its beauty.
I love making people laugh as I believe it resurrects the innocent child in each of them. Everyone is their true self when they laugh, loudly, uncontrollably without any inhibitions. I love the way a silent tear trickles down their face when they laugh madly. But somehow I keep myself serious while they laugh. So I don’t know whether they laugh at what I said, or because how I said it.
I am confused too many times about too many things. I take too much time making a decision. A pile of books lie randomly on my table as I love reading randomly from different books. It’s almost like trying a spoonful of different dishes one after another or having a lively conversation with many interesting friends together. Too many books spoil me and I absolutely love it.
Unlike books, I am too impatient with movies. In movies, I am forced to see things from the director’s perspective but in books, I can choose how I want to visualize something through my mind’s eye, relishing the experience. That is precisely, the beauty of reading for me. In movies I might like the visual story of the director or I may not, I may agree with the events and their outcome or I may not. In books, situations, events and outcomes are already in motion. All I have to do is imagine, and I absolutely love doing that.
I am a confused soul. The wires of my mind get tangled royally when I go shopping. It’s not that I am very miserly or something, I simply cannot choose anything without going through at least 5 samples of different products in that segment. The colour, the texture, the price, the durability: parameters in my mind are countless and it results in a powerful emotion, confusion and a slight pinch of obsession. It’s the same with my life.
But confusions are good as they foster possibilities. I always keep a confu-check on me, an imaginary device that makes me aware of how confused I am at the present moment. Strangely enough, it keeps me going and adds that slight tangy flavour of mysteriousness and adventurism in my life. But once I like something I like it for eternity, no confusions there, which works for people as well.
I am devoted to compassion and kindness, for me it is a way of life. I am not someone who would donate a huge amount for charity and pose for a picture on page 3. I love doing my bit every day. Helping an elderly person get down a bus, giving a biscuit packet to a crying child on the street, feeding a stray dog, speaking politely, not being out-rightly rude and judgmental and indulging in random acts that reinforce humanity around is compassion for me.
I love to write. It brings in purpose to my being. It makes me happy. Every night, I close the doors of my room and write, madly, uncontrollably. If there is something that I could all my life without whining, it would be writing. But I write only for myself as I’m scared how my writings would be perceived by others.
I love, laugh, live and wonder. An unexpected downpour makes me romantic, a delicious street food stall makes me delighted, good food makes me ravenous and a happy reader makes me ecstatic.
But I can be sad too, melancholic at times and forever brooding and heavily contemplating, angry to the point of eruption and sometimes even on the brink of depression.
But I can pick myself up, I can fight back. Because I’ve faced the worst, I have seen how life can be cruel. I am not afraid of hardships, because I know I can overcome them, come out on the other side and be a better person.
But I’m afraid of hurting others, because I know I can, because I know I have and because in the end it hurts me more to know that I am the reason for others sorrow. And that pain is unbearable.
But the biggest pain is that of losing a person. The feeling that you know you won’t see them again or hear their voices. That they don’t have any existence in this earth is truly an unbearable pain. I live with it, I’ve accepted it. I don’t like it. But it’s okay.
I am no celebrity, no famous persona, I am a silent part of you that comes alive when you read what I write and gift me your precious smile. Sometimes you don’t like what I write but it always makes you think, makes you want to explore the avenues of your mind that you never knew existed. You carry my words with you, our boundaries cease to exist and in some silent corner of your heart, a part of me stays.
So who am I?
I am Anonymous. I can be anybody. I can be the person reading this right now and silently smiling to himself or herself.
But I have chosen to be one. And that has given me wings to fly, albeit imaginary.
I am me!.......


Saswata Maitra






P.S-  Started writing this one about 2-3 months ago, but could only complete it now. The real inspiration behind this one, are random people I have observed in recent past, people I meet on a daily basis of which some I am acquainted with, some of which I am not, people I live with and people who are there in my life. I ended up understanding a lot about myself in the process... Please do write a comment if you have read.. 
It feels good to be writing again. It's good to be blogging again..  

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