Maa has this peculiar line of investigation. Moments ago, before I sat down to type this, I was watching the telly, bhai was in tuition and baba was busy in his works, when maa came to me, in her usual manner, humming and old song ( mayabono biharini for this instance). She pulled up a chair and sat by my side and then laid some burnt pages with ashes on the table. I knew what I was in for. She started interrogating me and I answered as a convict. It followed somewhat like this-
Maa - Explain?
Me - (letting a gush of breath out) where did you found those, maa?
Maa – in the dustbin, a careless job on your part… what are these anyway?
Me – those were the last existing pages of my diary from the year 2008-09 and some entries from 2010.
Maa- and you burned them?
Me – yes.
Maa – I know it is your private matter, but I have to do this. Would you tell me what were in those pages?
Me – there are 10 pages on the table, 20 sides to be precise. Those entries were from school days. Almost every single significant incident were jotted down on them, especially concerned with my involvement in some silly class fights which turned out to be nastily emotional and sentimental in certain aspects. and some things which I felt towards my friends…
Maa- (her eyes fixed on me, head tilted) I see some sentences written in columns, like rhymes.. what…
Me – (keeping silent for a moment, staring at the pages with burnt inks) those… are my initial poems maa. I wrote some poems in those years. 2012-13 are not the first years of my poetic works.
Maa- (bewildered) you never told me you wrote back then!!
Me – no one knows…well, until now. And I did not felt like telling anyone. They were not even worth reading. Just some stupid verses which I…
Maa- so… why burn them?
Me- (I looked into her eyes. Questions. Like I am a total stranger to her today.) maa… I…its nothing, I just…
Maa – (her voice was…) why?
Me- (resigning) okay. Because it was enough. I am, or was not a habitual diary writer. Whatever I wrote, whatever I created, they were just memories today. Those dates in those pages, they did not provided me anything but a weary smile, true, but at the same time, they stung me. Whenever I read them, they took me sliding in the memory lane with fogs. All of my friends are there, but I can’t talk to them, I can’t change the mistakes I made, I can’t amend the feelings I hurt. I try to hold them, but thin air is all I can feel between my fingers. The old smell of dried ink and damp pages, they mean a lot to me, but I guess it was about time when I set them on flames and set them free.
There is no point of keeping such memoirs with me maa, they are woven in my brain in such fine details that I can revisit those days at any given moment, but keeping those pages is like keeping a ghost with me, who does not mean any harm, but it’s a ghost all the same and is bound to haunt me… and as far the poems are concerned…they were causing me more damage than they were meant to. I read them again and again, trying to find out why I wrote them, or who was or were the reason behind them, but the only thing I found was a thick fog around them. So it was time to burn it. All those memories will be with me forever, yet they will be far enough from my reach. And before you ask, no I was not romantically involved with anyone…as it seems, that particular event is never going to occur… romance and love runs away from me like a child from a monster. I cleaned out my closet and buried the skeletons who came out...and it has cost me a certain amount of peace.
Maa kept looking at me. Then, putting her hand on my arm, she smiled, scraped the pages and crumbled them into her fist, throwing them in the dustbin. Her eyes said, “your secret is safe with me son..”
Maa - Explain?
Me - (letting a gush of breath out) where did you found those, maa?
Maa – in the dustbin, a careless job on your part… what are these anyway?
Me – those were the last existing pages of my diary from the year 2008-09 and some entries from 2010.
Maa- and you burned them?
Me – yes.
Maa – I know it is your private matter, but I have to do this. Would you tell me what were in those pages?
Me – there are 10 pages on the table, 20 sides to be precise. Those entries were from school days. Almost every single significant incident were jotted down on them, especially concerned with my involvement in some silly class fights which turned out to be nastily emotional and sentimental in certain aspects. and some things which I felt towards my friends…
Maa- (her eyes fixed on me, head tilted) I see some sentences written in columns, like rhymes.. what…
Me – (keeping silent for a moment, staring at the pages with burnt inks) those… are my initial poems maa. I wrote some poems in those years. 2012-13 are not the first years of my poetic works.
Maa- (bewildered) you never told me you wrote back then!!
Me – no one knows…well, until now. And I did not felt like telling anyone. They were not even worth reading. Just some stupid verses which I…
Maa- so… why burn them?
Me- (I looked into her eyes. Questions. Like I am a total stranger to her today.) maa… I…its nothing, I just…
Maa – (her voice was…) why?
Me- (resigning) okay. Because it was enough. I am, or was not a habitual diary writer. Whatever I wrote, whatever I created, they were just memories today. Those dates in those pages, they did not provided me anything but a weary smile, true, but at the same time, they stung me. Whenever I read them, they took me sliding in the memory lane with fogs. All of my friends are there, but I can’t talk to them, I can’t change the mistakes I made, I can’t amend the feelings I hurt. I try to hold them, but thin air is all I can feel between my fingers. The old smell of dried ink and damp pages, they mean a lot to me, but I guess it was about time when I set them on flames and set them free.
There is no point of keeping such memoirs with me maa, they are woven in my brain in such fine details that I can revisit those days at any given moment, but keeping those pages is like keeping a ghost with me, who does not mean any harm, but it’s a ghost all the same and is bound to haunt me… and as far the poems are concerned…they were causing me more damage than they were meant to. I read them again and again, trying to find out why I wrote them, or who was or were the reason behind them, but the only thing I found was a thick fog around them. So it was time to burn it. All those memories will be with me forever, yet they will be far enough from my reach. And before you ask, no I was not romantically involved with anyone…as it seems, that particular event is never going to occur… romance and love runs away from me like a child from a monster. I cleaned out my closet and buried the skeletons who came out...and it has cost me a certain amount of peace.
Maa kept looking at me. Then, putting her hand on my arm, she smiled, scraped the pages and crumbled them into her fist, throwing them in the dustbin. Her eyes said, “your secret is safe with me son..”
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