Looking back

Putting down in words one’s ruminations on life can sometimes be one of the toughest and most boring things to do, especially for a person like me.
I think too much!! No matter how insignificant something might be, or how formless it may be, I often find myself comfortably day dreaming and pondering upon such fleeting thoughts. To add to it am a bundle of contradictions and much to my own amusement I, more often than never find myself contradicting my own thoughts and opinions and arguing against my OWN SELF!! Wont quite work to my advantage as a lawyer, would it?
Therefore you see I have too many conclusions for one thought. And now if I am to pen down what I think about life or how life has been to me so far, there would be way too many conclusions and no doubt exists that wording all of it would be an epic task and finally, by the grand end of it, quite surely, I’ll end up disagreeing with myself upon every single line I’ve written and in a fit of irritation expunge what might’ve taken me hours to produce. Such a thing can be quite a pain in the backside when you have a particular fondness for writing. But nevertheless I shall proceed to describe how my life has been so far in this post, without of course meddling much with the philosophical aspects of things or by the end of it, there shall be no post at all!
This is going to be somewhat extensive………
My earliest recollections, as far back as my memory can stretch, are just blurred images and sounds, incongruous and broken; images like mom looking down at me, then grandma, then mom again, and then grandma again, then comes grandpa, uncles and aunts and then a fearfully dark and hairy face (quite presumably belonging to a servant, my lineage would obviously have had better complexion, it could also have been Rupa aunty!) stuffing a large spoonful of some gooey matter down my throat and then suddenly picking me up and started tossing me about in the air like a tandoori roti, singing loudly, I do clearly remember how dad was imitating her standing right behind her!!. I remember when she finally stopped, I looked up at her and……..
There’s the memory of the time, when an older me, marched straight into the kitchen one fine evening and grabbed a bottleful of kerosene thinking it was water and took generous swigs before realizing that water would never taste that offensive….the last thing my fainting eyes could perceive was mom charging at me screaming.
Then there’s also the memory of my first day at school, it was raining cats and dogs that morning and mom had walked me all the way down from home to school, we walked under one umbrella. ‘Little Angels’ was a nursery school and was quite reputed for being really strict, it was the first day of my life that I was to spend without mom, how I cried hugging her, no I wouldn’t let go of her. No matter how much the ayahs tried to drag me away first by cajoling then with force, I clung on to her sari…. finally I had to let her walk away on being promised a chocolate, which was of course never given to me. I don’t remember much of my nursery school days except the large and colorful wooden blocks, toys and number charts, inflated rubber clowns, the water bottles that were hung around our necks and the ID cards and a particular girl whose arrival at school I used to await with unabated breath. Don’t remember much of her…..
My ‘proper’ school life started in Dayanand Anglovedic School, Kolkata which I joined, I suppose when I was 4 and studied in till I was in my 5th standard, DAV was a long voyage of unpleasant experiences. It was in DAV that I was first slapped, struck hard across my face by my Principal, for ‘running in the corridor wildly!!’, then our Vice-Principal, for having been ‘naughty’ and finally our class teacher/math teacher for having failed in Math for the umpteenth time, Math, the subject, that pretty much shaped and defined my school life in the years to come!! It was in DAV that I actually started developing a slight stutter which developed into quite a predicament; I had to jerk my arms and shoulders to get words out much to the amusement of my classmates and even some of my teachers, am not using this post to spew out the pent up venom inside me but this one little incident I’ll never forget; once on being called out to read a passage from my book by my English teacher, I started jerking and stammering ridiculously in front of the entire class and amidst the huge uproar of laughter stood my English teacher IMITATING every desperate move of mine trying to express myself!!! She stood there making fun of me! Then she rebuked me for my infirmity before the entire class. Gosh I so wish I could give it back to that wretched soul!! That was DAV, Kolkata.
Vivekananda Mission School was where things sort of improved; I realized that I could make up for my lack of Mathematical faculty with my growing prowess in English and the latter became my only shield against constant ridicule and criticism for my inability to comprehend that ever-elusive subject pertaining to numbers.
It was during my Boards exams that I actually pulled off miracles of sorts to the utter bafflement of my teachers and colleagues, first there was the school second highest of 97% in Technical Drawing in my Xth standard exams, a subject that I’d taken up one year late and Second, passing in Math with reasonably good marks in my XII th standard exams, where most students considered ‘good’ in Math had flunked!!!
It was also in VMS that I learnt about the birds and the bees and why girls in our school never had pockets in their uniform shirts!
Home was always my safe sanctuary, and I enjoyed an extremely exalted position at home till my grandma was alive. Till the very day she was alive, ‘thamma’ used to make sure that I always had my pockets full and jingling and that no one ever said so much as a word to me or got anywhere near me if something went wrong. Not that my sister was discriminated against, she got her share too. How I wish she were still around. Home was a little bit too protective therefore, that I might have to be sent outside my hometown for college studies after school, was being considered by my parents right from the time I joined Standard XI.
Finally, in the June of 2003, I joined Symbiosis Law College and arrived in Pune! Pune was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to someone like me. From the ultra-conservative environ I was growing under with all its taboos, dogmas and superstitions; Pune was a shocking and most welcome change. It’s in Pune that I first realized what it felt like to be studying in a class full of people from different corners of the country, totally different in attitude, behavior and outlook, rather than a class full of neighbors! It was here that I first saw a REAL mini skirt, that too in college premises!! It was here that I realized that studies alone doesn’t make a man, that friends sometimes matter more than money and that social drinking doesn’t necessarily make you a ‘naughty boy’, something else does!! Pune caused so many ‘firsts’ in my life it’s actually creepy!! The first joint I ever lit, the first peg I ever downed, the first time I feel deeply in love, even the first time I got chased by a mongrel or a drunk, all happened in this blessed city !! Finally, Pune gave me Ehsaas, my first band!
At this grand finale of my 21 year old, somewhat stable ride through life, in spite of all my stupid self-contradictory notions, unrelenting confusion regarding almost everything, extreme laziness, impulsive idiocy, affinity for empty vessels and by-the-minute infatuations….. I feel have learnt a great deal!
Although it’s tough to put my finger on it, but I do feel somewhat matured now! It was facing life alone, having strong friends (…and weak ones) that helped me figure things out and set things straight.
I’ve learnt that things have a way of rectifying themselves only if you want them to, only if you want them to desperately enough. I’ve learnt to care two hoots about nay-sayers, wannabes and pretenders and follow my heart, to shed my inhibitions and sing out loud…..to keep fighting for what I think is right and what I think is mine, not to be ashamed to tell your parents how much you love them, to make my voice be heard, to be who I am and to be proud of being ME, to take a strong stand when needed, to know that I have lifted those drumsticks in the air only to bring them down hard on the skins, to make those cymbals shiver all around me and to pound on till the last drop of energy in my body burns out, to believe that it is entirely rightful stare at a pair of gorgeous bottoms IF you are standing BEHIND the possessor. Finally I’ve learnt that if you’re in love, let her know or you may lose her forever.
Am fighting, am fighting everyday against myself to make me a better person, believe me its tough. I recognize my inadequacies and also know what’s right but you see there lays an ocean of difference between what’s known and what’s done…but what the heck…I am 22 long years old and there’s lots and lots more to come…..

…….when she finally stopped I looked up at her and BARFED out all the slimy goo I was being fed, on her face! I was making a stand!