The night was cold, my spirit was ebbing, my sweaty palms gave away the looming disquietude, my head was hung in an unaccustomed dejection, and lips were knitted tight in painful quiet resignation. A multitude of emotions seemed to swirl in a tempestuous whirlpool as I hoisted my heavy eyes to peer beyond the tenebrous darkness of the night to scour any sign of hope, but it seemed the intimidating darkness had obliterated hope beyond search.
The night somehow seemed to mirror the gloom that I had deep within. A veil that could not be lifted, darkness so thick it could not be penetrated. I shuffled across the street, heaving my eyes to an unwonted elevation, I was growing taller, although everything else in its entirety had peaked. Nothing was the same, never again.
The sheer pleasure of chucking the ball hard while basking in the December sun was far behind me. My hands gripped tightly, but around a book this time, I peered through my thick glasses, nothing but pages. The memory of the ebullient skies pouring with its rejoicing echoes, sloshing my glasses gave an evanescent kick but it hazed out quite like those glasses spattered with tears of wretchedness.
Home, to this day, has been a cloistered haven of a cocoon. How could it not be?
I sauntered along the cracked pavement on my way home, the road that ran parallel looked tattered with potholes, the public quarters looked like derelict building blocks bloated with rainwater, and the street lights were dim. But my face beaming with blissful delirium suggested it the most beatific route I ever tread.
Tomato chutney wrapped in crisp folds of dosa, the luscious ginger flavored tea and the piquant taste of macaroni surfeited my taste buds to the extent of humbly renouncing all worldly palates. By then I had never experienced HD on television and binging on my favorite shows in picturesque clarity was oddly delighting. But the days of bliss were up.
My mind wandered off. Sweltering classroom brimming with somber faces. The scruffy table cluttered with pending assignments. Equations that hacked dining conversations. Problems that replaced day-dreaming. That large barren stretch of land that was dotted with sprawling buildings. The self-professed keepers of academia who choke its very essence.
But my woes were nothing, just minor discountenances. There have been bodies cut in half as someone took the jump, bodies have been washed in the rivers, bodies have hanged. Kota (a city in India) has witnessed more than 60 suicides in the past five years. Life in Kota is one that flourishes with compromise, it runs its course by renouncement of self-interests, inflicts pressure one cannot burden, and much more, all muffled in silence.
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