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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