The Introspection

Tripoto
12th Oct 2016
Photo of The Introspection 1/1 by Mayank Mohanti

Hey buddy, it's been long since I've seen you.

I'm sorry, but the last month had been very busy. I had delved deep into the history to bring out my former self-the always cheerful bud who would just laugh out at anything; the bringer of smile and an optimistic mortal who was fooled into believing that it's the manner in which you respond to a particular situation that makes all the difference, the approach that could even turn a calamity into a blessing. Thanks much, Robin! But I couldn't handle the positive overdose.

Some 250 kms away from the noise and pollution and the fast moving metro life, Maverick was sitting on a concrete bench gazing at the hills to his left. He was so lost in the lush green environment of Sattal that he forgot to sip coffee from the stainless steel mug he was holding between his fingers; and when the only vapour he could see were the ones coming out from his mouth, Maverick gently placed the mug by his side and went on to appreciate the beauty that had enthralled his senses.

There was something strange about the place, something familiar that reminded him of his home, where, even now, the rose bushes stood in front of his welcoming gate, whilst the violet vegetable grew beside the water tap. His grandfather still stares out from the window, waiting anxiously to hear the sound of his younger son calling out to him, which sadly, never came in the last ten years. He would attentively read the mythological tales in the afternoon, but with the faintest sound outside, his hopeful heart would force his gaze, but all they see are the desolated path of mud and bricks.

His mother, on the other hand, would often wake up with a smile on her face. She would tell Maverick stories of how a guardian angel was watching over them. But now, the boy has grown up and gone to a distant land. There are fewer exchange of emotions, but in their heart, both acknowledge his presence and many a time, pay that anonymous divine soul a visit in their dreams.

Meanwhile, at the altitude of 1,370 m, a westerly wind gently caressed Maverick's face. Though he had never set foot on the mountains, the air seemed to be calling out his name, carrying a scent that he had known for long. Out of curiosity, he looked into that direction and through the twigs and the leaves,-colored in shades of yellow and green-he saw a tree unlike any other on the hills. While the rest were slanted perpendicular to the gradient, this one never yielded; it stood straight in all weathers. The rays of the sun danced merrily upon its branches and through the leaves, the bright orange and yellow filtered out into a thousand fragments.

It was only when the magical rays fell upon his face that he realised that he had been looking at his life all wrong. Ever since he took his first step, he was talked into being happy, oh! they even named him so that he wouldn't forget.

If you think only happiness is euphoric, think again! Ask a man who had his first heartbreak. Ask him about the empty walks he takes after midnight; ask those warm tears running down his face; ask those sudden shrieks, the crazy dance under the shower; ask his silence, his sudden lack of company; ask why he vows never to fall in love again; or, in some case, to fall and get hurt again. Ain't these blissful?

Talking about experience, playing a casanova was a better deal than falling in love. With each new face came the same story; new indulgences, same consequences. Lost and tired, Maverick finally called truce with destiny.

This blog was originally published on 'Chasing Horizon'

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