Endymion

It was raining the day I bumped into him, after a long time, quite unexpectedly, like in the movies. No appointments sought, no schedules fixed. Looking back at the bump which resulted in our accident, I can conclude - 'Not all accidents end up hurting you' - it was best that we met.

He, definitely, didn't look anywhere close to his own self. And yet, from the many things I could have said, I chose to say - "Why and when did you stop writing, depriving yourself and us of getting a peek into your world of thoughts and dreams?" - the most unpleasant of the things I could have at the moment given the situation he lay in. But, you know me, how straightforward and blunt I can get at times. Obviously, he didn't have an answer, just like us he had forgotten to look into the things which are the sources of happiness in moments of despair and dejection. Writing was one of those sources for him, I had known it, since long.

The four walls of my house had taken me hostage over the past few months. I was determined, more than ever, to rewrite history without haste and make my life worth every second. It was painful at times, to recall, the lost yesteryear's which had disappeared in time and coming across a 5 year old version of me in form of a picture didn't help one bit. I had been callous with respect to almost any living or dead soul in those months, I couldn't make the ends meet. That's when reluctantly and hesitatingly I got up from my study, put on my shoes and went out - the traveller and the rebellion with months of four walled oppression had grown over me - to my favourite spot in the city, a ground somewhere 3 miles from my residence.

Though the traveller and rebellion had grown and gotten hold of me, I still was hopelessly careless with respect to my surroundings. In the hurry of storming out into the open and getting into an auto-rickshaw, I had left my several days untouched wallet at home.

While travelling never before had I paid attention, to the voice of a stranger, in the cacophony of the nearby market, to the high-rises that came up within months, in the lunatic driving by the people, in the gentle nod of trees and the stroke of winds brushing up against my face and playing with my uncut and long hairs. Over the months I had learnt to observe without, interacting and, being in the public eye. Silence, meditation and being lonesome were certainly underrated. It was like a gift, the interaction with nature, which I had lost at some point in my life. I was thankful to have felt like a newborn kid with new experience of this world once again.

Only after the halway completion of my journey I could realize that my back pocket didn't have any wallet or money to dutifully pay for the services rendered. The auto had arrived at its stop and I still had to take another mode of transport to reach my spot. Well I stepped right back in the auto-rickshaw, only for the driver to take a dig at me by saying, "Dada, kothay, maansik sontulon theek?" (Bro, where to? Is your mental health okay?) Normally, I would have taken this to my heart, the pride and ego would have got the better of me, but I calmly replied - "Wallet, baadi te bhule eschi, double fare diye debo giye" (I have forgotten my wallet at home, let's go back and I will pay you the fare). In the meanwhile, I had cursed the god, he probably wanted me to keep concentrating on my task and continue with the job instead of roaming around for fun. The driver after listening to me, took out money from his pouch, gave me a few rupees and asked me to repay him the next time I see him.

God works in mysterious ways, doesn't it? All roads led to disappointment but certainly somewhere something or someone had a plan. All I had to do was to listen to the rebel and get going. And last I heard, he had started to write, he was coming back to life.