‘what do u call a journey in which the explorer is unaware of its beginning and remains the same throughout, even though he fully realizes what the culmination can be, whichever path he walks, it leads to just the sole destination, a dead end.
This is life, the journey of life.
And thus began my journey, on a Thursday, cold December midnight, in an hospital, in one of the remotest, Northeastern part of India, where a joy of being born begins and ends with the distribution of sweets to people who recede to oblivion the very next moment and to whom, it doesn’t really matter.
But I believe my ‘folks’ would have been really happy,’ cause they gave me a name which ‘suggests’.Afterall, I was the first fortunate one to be born alive after two casualities, before. They say, I did not cry, which was quite unusual ‘then’. Maybe,I forgot to cry, my memory is still the same uh!!. Or maybe, I realized quite early that there is enough time for that,for what I was going to face ahead would need a lot of that.
Memory doesn’t allow me to get into the initial part of my journey, but they say I was a feeble, fragile character who refused to eat to everybody’s satisfaction. My appetite was always put to test and compared to my peers nearby, who gobbled anything and everything that was on offing.Although, it changed quite drastically during my travel later. As they say, people and their behavior are always unpredictable, they change in a jiffy.But,I was liked by everyone,maybe ‘cause of the colour of my cheeks,one of the advantages to be born in a cold part of the country,and more so,’cause I didn’t show any ‘airs’ and jumped shoulders to shoulders when they came,calling. It was fun, savouring the fact of being the centre of attraction of a very big family and being the eldest…….
