The yellow red curtains mask the sunlight streaming through the window panes and bathe the room in a soft mellow light… I close my eyes and a painted picture of a farmland washes up in front of my eyes. My eyes hurt. They have been, for a while.
Looking back, it feels like its been in an overwhelming journey. They say I’ve grown up. I am now officially an adult. I’m not sure I know what those words mean. But yes, I have lived with myself for a while now and its been alternate bouts of reasoning and breaking. Its just the beginning and I know that. My stride is still not in harmony with the streets of this city. I’m still a little unbalanced, a little alone. Yet scattered acts of kindness have taken on a new colour and tinted my life with all its blues, greens and reds. Often I’ve had the feeling that I was standing on the platform of a railway station, and trains were rushing by me. I was caught in a sea, an inferno of people, humanity, beggars and their cries and whispers. Everyone was rushing ahead in their haste to get away, to jump onto the racing trains and there I was, in the midst, alone, deafened by the noise, blinded by the visions, silenced by their cries and whispers.
I like my room. That is what I like to call it. My bed is not flea-ridden. The temple, the markets, little lanes and parks envelope my abode. I go to the temple and feel peaceful. I go the market, I feel cheerful. I take a walk down these little lanes and feel hopeful. I haven’t been to the park yet. My eyes still hurt.
2 years ago