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A Season of Mixed Colors

The are certain seasons of particularly cheerful and colorful disposition and then, there are some gloomy and bleak ones, apart from some which are terribly nostalgia inducing. Each season is marked by its own hue and color, and these colors are what we in our minds paint them with. The promise of the splendor of the Sun and birds chirping will hold good only in the event when we decide to look at the sunlight leisurely lying on our terrace, across the flowers with fondness and grant some attentiveness to the birds chirping some attention. And we have no way of knowing if we will be able to do it TOMORROW. 
The world changes so quickly that we have absolutely no way of knowing how we are going to respond to it in a moment from NOW. Just a moment back you could be feeling all powerful, and sudden turn of events could turn you back in to Human, all too human and alas, too human.


 By the time the last week was limping towards its closure, I got my daughter school admission formalities concluded. All thoughts were on the way the lovely, little one was all set to slip in to the world with sea of people, offering no hearing and no control. From the fond and loving glare of few who were to never judge her, she will be getting into a world where, each of her step will be judged. Though I do hope that she might remain blissfully unaware, and pass through the life as such, without even noticing the attempts of the world to measure her up, I know, it will take an extreme amount of intelligence or devastating amount of foolishness on her part to be able to do so. She will be getting into a world which will stretch her away from me, till the time when she pulls out completely. That, my friends tell me, is inevitable and that looking at the universe around me is the only desirable option. The portion of a star which is able to pull away from it as it comes out of it, becomes a planet and life blooms on it, the portion which even after taking birth, fails to pull away and maintain a healthy distance, will have no other option but to fall back into it with a black hole as its future. She had been to the school with me for admission and to my surprise, she loved it. So deep is our desire to know people and discover friendships, that we are ready to take the risk of the unknown for it. From next Monday, she will be entering into the world which will judge her more and love her less. What is surprising that as a kind of silent surprise or coup in the ranks, we parents join the larger world around, clapping our kids to the wining race line, very so often. We imbibe a sense and desire of winning that is somewhere takes away all the charm of living as a flower child unbound by the conventional, which I would want Nonu to be. I want to be as unchanged, un-judging as loving tomorrow, as I am today for her. I hope to be so as proof of living possibility of such an impossible idea. A baby can be afford to be obnoxious, cumbersome and inattentive and still draw our love. I hope to always remember that to me, she will always be that baby and that I will never side with the world against. And I want to be around for her to have me as her north star that will never change its place and be her guiding sign in a rapidly changing world. This brings to my mind the mixed colors this moment has for me.It is  a season filled with hope of great things to come and fear of not being able to see some of them.
It changes so swiftly, the mood and tenor of writing. I till day before yesterday wanted to write a response to  recently written blog "An Open Letter to a Delhi Boy" which made its way to the national daily simply on the account of acerbic, hateful wit that it carried. But between today and tomorrow, a chill which moved down my spine, does not want me to write any of it. All I want to write at the moment is something to profess my love for my daughter and about the yearning for a friend who can touch the paper soaked with tears on which I write, in the knowledge, that I am so certain today of the uncertainty of my own like that my feet tremble. It is my own desire to be noticed, to be cared for and the fear of ending unloved that makes the task so very difficult and confusing as I am not able to detect my mood at this very moment when I write this. Will you know without me going through the agony of telling you what I am feeling, simply because you are my friend, and will you, hold my hand and comfort me without even trying to know, simply because you are my friend. It is very bad to live long enough to be able to understand the fatalities of your desires, I wish, I knew so little, that I could hope that my desire will come true.
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