Diary of a lost wanderer: Growing up!

By



Dear diary, 

Today Mamma Papa fought again. Their screams filled the air and hung around like swords long before silence swallowed it completely, burying the whole house in silence. I remembered by fight with Hari. 

Two weeks ago we had fought in school when I had noticed Hari speak to some other classmates. I felt ignored and we fought. He told me he wasn’t ignoring me and that I was his best friend, but I continued fighting till he gave me a chocolate and said sorry. I don’t wonder on what Mamma-Papa are fighting on. I wonder if none of them thought of giving the chocolate first and saying sorry. It would have ended the whole fight long back. Should I share my chocolate that is lying in the fridge, asking them to just say sorry. 

No. Bad idea, Maria says kids should not interfere in grown up’s matters. I argued that this is not interference; rather I am trying to solve things. But one look on her face and I knew I had to shut up. At the school Miss Mary says when you love someone you cannot stay angry over them for long. That applies to me and Hari, we fight one moment and the next moment we are back to being the best friends ever. Do Mamma-Papa also feel so? 

 Today in the drawing class today we were asked to draw a house and make it as close to real as possible. My drawing was a story told in blacks and browns. The teacher didn’t scold me. She stared at me for long before asking, “Are you okay child?” I nodded. Then she asked me, “Is your home like this? All black?” and once again I just nodded and walked back to my seat. 

Okay, my house walls are not black. But the way I see them, they are drowned in fights and screams, that’s why the beautiful off white walls look black to me all the time. I have never told this to anyone but sometimes at night when I walk down to my room the walls threaten of closing down onto me, crushing me between them till I have no breath left in me to fight. I almost run through the corridor most of the times. I am scared but whom do I tell. Maria is never home at night. 

I am soon going to be a teenager and I am still wondering how childish I sound at times. How do you know when you grow up? Is it when a chocolate stops pleasing you after a fight? Or when you no longer feel afraid of the dark, for then you know the unknown by then. There are no monsters waiting for you in the dark room, because like Maria says monsters can be befriended. Maybe! 

Waiting, 
Myra

Popular posts from this blog

Essay: How to mourn the loss of love?

By
Image
Image Source: Unsplash.com I remember the first time I mourned the loss of love was when I was eleven.  For me, dance was love at that time. I had discovered a strange joy as I glided in and out of those movements. Every time I swirled; I could feel my heart soar. Any beat that strained to reach my ears, tempted me to move my body to its tune. I just knew I was born to dance and that is the only thing I wanted to do, all my life.  I had my reasons to believe so and a very simple one at that. It made me happy. That was a reason enough. However, my father thought otherwise. Girls from good families, do not dance. That line was enough to break all those rosy dreams of dancing on a stage. The day my brother was sent to the same dance class which was not good for me, was the day I experienced heartbreak for the first time.  That is the day I mourned the loss of my first love- Dance. 
Keep reading »

Diary of a Lost Wanderer - Lost & Found

By
Image
Dear Diary, I fell in love with Mumbai when I first visited it in 1995. Bombay, as it was then known, fascinated me since then.  If you ask me what made me fall in love with this city, I perhaps cannot explain. It wasn't that I was seeing the sea for the first time. It wasn't even the biggest city I had been to till then. Still, there was something so magical about this place. The trip was a short one lasting less than a week but this city now had my heart. Years later, I arrived here all alone on my first solo trip in 2005 and fell in love all over again. I got my first job and was required to come to Mumbai frequently. The local trains, the chaos on the roads, the crowds, the humdrum, the salty smell in the air, the stale air- everything about this city was intoxicating for me. 
Keep reading »

Metro Diaries: The Art of Making Love

By
Image
Image Source: Unpexels (Cottonbro) “Do you know why is it called making love?” He whispered, pulling the comforter closer.  I don’t remember for how long we had been in that room, on that bed. Lying aimlessly, just feeling each other in silence. I managed to just whimper to denote my curiosity.   “Because that is the moment we create love. We are the closest we could ever be to love, in its purest form. It is sheer magic as we are naked, in every form. Mentally, physically and emotionally before that one person, we love. We know they can hurt us, as much as they want to, in the way they want to. But love gives us that power to trust them, that they won’t.”   “And here I was thinking it is a need. Something you want at that moment and you get it!” 
Keep reading »