Skip to main content

CRAYONS!



I love crayons. There can be no other way if I am to picturize my childhood without my odd crayon filled sketch. I had invented a theory as an introvert, which was to quietly escape the wrath of meeting people over my scholarly devotion at recreating crayon-artworks. I liked being that way: focused-contented-solitary. Saturdays and Sundays meant story books and crayon art works.

And then I lost track of time, my crayons got replaced by poster colours. I began fancying painting with art brushes. Not that I marveled in it but somehow crayons stopped fiting into the larger picture of growing up. I had this tin geometry box with a picture of the globe in it, it was there where I stuffed my crayons for good. Metaphorically, by then my globe had shifted to other dimensions.

As life happened, I found myself struggling with dull coloured pens trying to earn degrees. My class notes would be filled with flowcharts about 'who-did-what' stuff. Now, that I have misplaced my tin geometry box, I realise I have misplaced important pieces of who I used to be.

Yesterday, when I was least expecting any revelation to happen, some soothing colour sequence made me miss my crayons. I know I have lost that tin box holding my crayons for good, but I took a moment to smile as I sat in that cozy chair for I had realised I may miss out things from my life but memories would keep those fallen pieces etched to my existence.

A crayon may break into pieces but it never stops filling lives with colours. Isn't it time we find our broken pieces as well?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Reading between the lines

"Read between the lines",  I heard our professor say. We were in midst of a Victorian text. I looked at her point blank. She had spoken about something which I had no clue about. "Ma'am,  would you please elaborate? ",  I tried framing this sentence in my mind but my introverted  self overpowered my inquisitive soul like everytime. I hopelessly waited for an explanation. Ma'am started explaining about how beyond the surface meaning of any written text, there lay a wide plethora of meaning which wasn't explicitly stated. She talked about finding a void between the written words and our imagination, that void which shapes our interpretation. That explanation opened doors to my perception of reading a text. It wasn't that I had never considered about the possibilities of meanings that lay coated in words until then, but, what perhaps I lacked was to look for that void where I questioned the layers of meaning, where I put myself in those layers of wo...
Post a Comment
Read more

What do you want to be?

While I was in my 10th standard, almost everyone I met wanted to know what I wanted to be. This question always perplexed me. From the lens of a fifteen year kid who was not yet sure of the changes which awaited in the near future, this question gave me nightmares. I would constantly sit by the mirror and ask myself, what actually would be my answer. My friends always had fancy answers at their disposal. They would confidently chirp whenever any one asked about it. What amused me most was, my friend who had no inkling to study Biology wanted to be a doctor and another friend who detested the idea of even cooking noodles, wanted to be a chef! But whenever they spoke about their wishes, they would always sound confident. And there I was, fumbling for words which refused to escape my lips. It was not until I entered Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya to do my plus two, I found my voice. The teachers there have a different way of viewing life. For the first time, I no longer felt the classroom...
2 comments
Read more

"My love is enough for both of us"

"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while ...
2 comments
Read more