There’s a story I have been stuck with since a few days. It was all right there, but it was also the middle of the night. I am not sure whether I am doing it justice or where it is heading, but here it is – laid out bare and vulnerable – for your eyes only.
When I was a child, there was a superhero in one of the comics I read- Saboo. He was a lovable giant with a massive temper. It was said that whenever he got angry, somewhere on the planet a volcano would explode. I am so glad that I wasn’t born with the same temperament. I don’t think I could live with the guilt of such massive destruction.
Let me start from the start. I am sure that in the beginning I was just as normal as any other fussy and stubborn (yet adorable) baby. So I absolve the Creator of making any mistakes with me. My parents too were decent folks, suitably impressed by the stories of good and evil. They tried their level best to pass on their fears and superstitions to me, but the “evil” must have already started blossoming in me. So obviously, I politely but firmly refused their offer to live a life for others. And by that I mean, I would live as only I thought right.
Needless to say, I wasn’t my parents’ favourite child, although I remained the only one they ever produced. Sometimes I thought that the mystery of where they went wrong with me didn’t allow them to risk it a second time. What if they were the ones with the defective genes that led to my being me? So they somehow managed to live out the rest of their days with this trauma, but I knew that sharing four walls didn’t a family make. I packed up a few choice regrets and all of my dreams, and one moonless night, I stepped out in search of light.
(To be contd)