The time has come

Sometimes it feels so close. You know you are there any minute. You see yourself flying past through colours, then you are actually flying past through colours. You see Indraneel watching the books gloomily or Rahul again buying you another pack of chips. There was a time when these writers had halos bored or rather engraved on their neck. Anybody who wrote or had written was a semi demon or a full god. I have always been mesmerised by writers and the bug that they so fondly nurture- the writer’s bug. You could always appreciate what they wrote and for sometimes with the miniscule mind we have maybe criticised a bit. But then the onus never fell on me. It was always that someone that heroic gladiator who got brandished for his writings but also went close to the throne which I had created for in my mind. But all these times it always was for that someone, until now. Now I felt suddenly that there was an eerie silence in the room. I tried to foster it so that I could recreate it tomorrow morning for the bunch of my anecdotes which were my idea of heroism. The days are different. Those aliens who lived in faraway fairy lands have disappeared. Those people who conjured up those cackling cacophonies or the wonderful stories are now no more in those faraway places. They have now started becoming real. I can see them thinking, blood slowly filling their forehead, lines appearing as their head accentuates to add one more vein with a thought that would end the chapter perfectly. These people are now at one degrees distance from me. Sometimes I curse my education or my maturity for giving me this kind of exposure for really bringing me close to these centaurs, these Adonis and Samurais. Oh they exist and that too so much in flesh. I have been a coward all my life, one who has been mighty enough to push off my own as well as other’s high expectations of me. But now when I turn back the last cover of books I see people whose education as close as mine. Books which were virgins but went on to collect accolades which even seasoned wine failed to taste. People who could have been easily me and then the storm subsides.

People who could be me or me the one who these people could be.

I think it is high time that I write…