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Sunday, June 21, 2009

Being Defined_2


What I’m …I don’t look like…and what I look like…I’m not

What I say…in mirth or wrath…never meant it

I‘m crazy…but I’m not

I’m insane…I’m not

I’m bold…I’m not

I’m an extrovert…I’m not

I’m an introvert…I’m not

‘I’m playful…I’m not

I’m serious… who will tell this? Me? You? Who?

Enigma…Insomniac…Dreamer…

I need something that can intoxicate me. Everything that has an addiction liberates my senses. When I’m intoxicated…when I’m not in senses, I’m very much in senses.

You fired my imagination…You walk into me, unbarred.

You sleep within me, untouched

You dance within me, unperturbed

You drink my SOUL

You are the music that flows within each and every fiber of my being!

And, I am the curve of every dance movement that my soul does in your presence!

Walking down the memory lane...

I still am bemused by the way I entered classroom long ten years back. Dressed up in black tight-a- hips-one inch –off-the-knee skirt with coke colored white striped collared top, I dared not look up and stood in the doorway till sister Justina called my name, “Prachi, come in girl!”

She announced it to class, “she is a new student who has come from different board and altogether different country so it’s your duty to be co-operative and friendly to her.” On the contrary to her statement she was hardly co-operative herself!

She asked me to go straight and sit with a girl whose name too was Prachi but Prachi Gupta, who, at that moment was making weird expressions as I could perceive from my down gaze. I headed straight to the desk being pointed to me and sat as quiet as possible. St. Teresa’s Academy, the school where I did my tenth and this is where I regained smiles of those years lost in the haze of blunders committed by elders.

I had always been like this, mute and meek whenever in public as if some scorpion has stung me into the feet. I never made friends! But, long time back when I was in second, I used to be the most outgoing and intelligent girl. Topper and monitor of the class loved and adored by teachers and friends alike. What happened to me? What went wrong and when?

Dad got an offer from some textile in Nepal; he left immediately leaving us, we three siblings with mum back at Bhilwara. Bhilwara, a town in Rajasthan far off from our roots (Delhi)! As far as I can recall that was the only time when I lived happily. Never smiles touched me unstinted with selfish motives and pains since then. After some time he took us all with him which marked the beginning of solitary hours, moods of depression and dejection, inferiority complexes, and isolation.

We were sent to a nearby school, Ujjwal Boarding School, I don’t remember which class I was taken admission into. We were there for few months and then papa shifted to some other place in Nepal so we had to quit school again. During shifting he forced mum to put me and my brother into hostel. He had planned for long time but mum couldn’t endure and brought us back within fourteen days.

Yet, I would like to say yet, those few days in that boarding school made me a loner for so long a time that even today I feel difficult in adjusting with crowd. Warden mocked us, being Indians, we didn’t know how to speak Nepal I which rewarded us with two hit with scales on tiny palms, reddening the skin to its core in those wintry days of hilly region. None of the teacher co-operated, kids were older in age, and hostel had only three girls including me which deteriorated my situation further. I used to sit all alone in the backyard where during nightly hours I could see the party of fireflies going on… Those were the only moments when I had ever smiled in that place.

Back in room, Pinku would have already slept. I too try to seek shelter in my bed and then suddenly some older boy comes in and demands day’s details and teases me for my being bespectacled. After, having his fill, I was allowed to go back to bed soon lest there would be no morning breakfast which I generally skipped very often. He comes back and snatches away a small white colored plastic bottle from my hands. I couldn’t do anything and sit helpless staring him giggling and letting all jugnus from the box fly away. I had a daily routine of catching some of them and keep them in box until I get into bed, and once in bed I let them free and see beautiful lights flickering as if some little fairies were circling around me.

We returned to India within few months, leaving classes and those horrible hostellers and wardens. Finally, to India where again I was thrown into the muddle of chaos…Modinagar, former kasba Beghumabad, in Uttar Pradesh, where lived our great grandparents, i.e., my papa’ grandparents. The principal of Tulsi Ram Maheshwari Public school, Mrs. Nirmal Dubey was an intimate family friend-cum- member asked mum to let us join her school. There I was in TRM, sitting in the class of almost eighty students know not at what location exactly, looking around dazed with the cacophony of students and teacher along. At least, language was familiar, Hindi. Shall I continue.... know not?