15 September, 2010

A whim and a writing prompt .....

(Image courtesy : mydailynews.com via Google)

I know it is going to be my turn soon. There is nothing much I can do about it right now. Oh ! For that matter, there is nothing much I can do about it in the near future either. I know my fate, I know my destiny. It is a total feeling of helplessness that is engulfing me right now. Ever wondered what it is like to be frightened ? Truly frightened ? Trust me when I say that it is not one of the best feelings to have.

Ever wondered what it is like to face death, to stare at death every given minute of your existence, knowing that it will come for you soon ? It is frightening. It is scary.

I drift off very often, towards my early days. I still vividly remember that exact moment of my birth, when I was brought into this world. I remember feeling so fresh, so healthy and so very tender.

I came home and home, as I knew it then, was indeed such a beautiful place. The living room with its long French windows through which the sun filtered in everyday.

I still remember sitting in the living room and feeling the warmth of the sun spread all over me. I still remember feeling the harshness of the very same sun as it rose higher in the sky during the summer months. I still remember sitting on the window sill looking at the lovely blossoms in the garden - the fiery reds of the tulips, the bright yellow of the chrysanthemums, the muted pink of the roses, the pristine white of the lilies.

Then there was the study. I vividly recollect sitting on Dad’s lap in the study as he went through the day’s stock market quotes. Even though he would be busy staring at the screen, in the aim of trading stocks and making more money, those were some of the coziest times I had with dad. For, no matter how busy he was with his work, he always loved to have me around. I used to love the way he would place his hand on my head, for, it gave me a such a strong sense being wanted, of being needed.

Then there was always the kitchen - that bright, sunny place which brings back memories of all things good. I’ve spent many a wonderful year with mom in the kitchen. She would be in the midst of baking a huge batch of wonderful cookies or turning out an absolutely delectable cake but she would always remember to ruffle my head affectionately, every once in a while. “Whatever would I do without you around, huh ?” she would ask me, looking at me with those all too familiar warm eyes, which held a thousand smiles in them. Those eyes, which overflowed with love and laughter. Those eyes which made me feel incredibly cared for. I would sit in the kitchen with her while she spoke to me while she tackled the chores.

(sigh) All I have left now are memories – distant memories but precious ones. For, I now sit ravaged by time. Time and age, which have devastated my body. Time and age which have wreaked havoc on my skin. Time and age, which have landed me here. Here, which is a far cry from the lovely home I once had. Here, which is bleak and desolate. Here, where I lie helpless and unwanted. Here, where the atmosphere is most dismal and depressing. Here, where I know the fate that awaits me.

Like I said earlier, to have to stare at death and oblivion from this present body of mine, is unsettling. I do wonder if it will be quick and merciless. I do wonder if it will hurt – those final moments. All the same, I do hold and hang on to that tiny little sliver known to mankind as “hope”. Hope for myself, hope for my existence in this very same body.

I know I am old and that no one has any use for me anymore. But I long for a home like the one I had during my younger days. I long for that feeling of belonging, that feeling of being wanted.

For, you see, I am a very old notebook. A notebook that has seen much better days. A notebook which carries the aroma of the kitchen where countless recipes have been logged into me. A notebook which carries with it the ups and downs of the financial world, as the same have forever been etched into me.

That’s what I am. An old notebook, sitting in front of the paper shredder.

(It so happens that I have a Creative Writing class to teach today.  I was going thru various possible writing prompts to give the students when this particular prompt caught my attention.  It simply said : write from the point of view of paper which is soon going into the shredding machine to be shredded !) 

3 voice(s) said so:

Kowsalya Subramanian said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Kowsalya Subramanian said...

Very nice.. I was thinking you were talking about your mumbai house but i was telling why the word "so old" she is only forty :) then was thinking may be she is imagining writing at her 80's. wow - gentle ruffling of my head - how it so equates to the shuffling of pages - all in all - i enjoyed this post very much

starry said...

WOW! I was surprised too.very well written.