“So, Biswadeep, tell me about yourself”, the man across the table enquired all the while going through my resume, looking a bit uninterested. My whole life flashed before my very eyes, and unsurprisingly my deeds of mischief glared more than the rest, like a lighthouse shining through the dead fog of night. Slowly, alphabets coalesced to form meaningful words and words fused into tangible sentences...
No human life is without pain and suffering, everyone, no matter how rich they are, how happy they are, how satisfied they are, have at one point or the other, experienced sorrow. Life is a mix of highs and lows but sometimes it feels like the lows overpower the highs. I have felt this more often than not and have either blamed god or my bad luck for it. Today a realization dawned upon me, we don’t nearly thank god or our good luck when things do go our way, as much as we blame them when they don’t.
Needless to say, I too am no exception to this rule. When I was in class eleven or twelve, I don’t remember now, my grandmother was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. It was as if the roof had shattered over our heads. I was devastated. I blamed God, luck, myself and anything and everything I could think of. My mother, who is nothing short of a superhero, singlehandedly saved my grandmother (her mother) by taking her to regular chemotherapy and radiotherapy sessions and adhering to the timely delivery of medicines to my ailing grandmother. My mother’s routine was impeccable, almost like a robot working tirelessly towards achieving that one single goal.
This promise led me to explore the deep crevices of my locality and today I stumbled upon the alleyways of nostalgia. The fragrance transported me to a time when I was a naive young boy and much like how I stumbled upon this road today, I had stumbled upon love.
A good writer strives for appreciation as much as he strives for constructive criticism; and how can he expect criticism and/or appreciation when his content is only out there for a select few? It is much more difficult to convey heartwarming and heart wrenching emotions through the tactical use of fundamental elements than resorting to serpentine words with equally esoteric contexts.
The antidote to pain is not happiness, neither is it love. You can gulp down all the alcohol in the world, pump your veins full of drugs and you'd still feel empty as the vacuum enveloping you.
You're afraid of love, afraid that once it consumes you, you won't be able to turn away from it. Yes, one cannot love with the same intensity once the heart's broken. But you'll crave love, maybe not like an addict but sometimes you'll feel alone. And sometimes, love will drizzle on your windows; the leftover lust from the night before.