Today, while sitting on the pot I was thinking what I have
done. My philosophies and digestion system have a very peculiar connection; products of both always come out together. My mother had asked me to clean up
the crap I had accumulated in the store room. I have this unusual habit of not
parting with the things which belonged to me. My philosophy is that, if I part
with them, then they may get under someone else’s ownership. Now call it my ego
or possessiveness, I don’t want that what belonged to me should belong to
someone else. So I had collected all of my assets since childhood, be
it my first school bag which was now ragged or the tarnished geometry box which
I had won in my first vocabulary competition in 3rd grade and even
something as trivial as pokemon cards which used to come with Uncle chips. I
used to call them memories, my mother had another name for them-rubbish.
Hence I started getting rid of those memories, or
rubbish, whatever you may prefer to call them. I started with my JEE preparation
books, as they were the least favourite things in my collection, and then
my old clothes, hot wheels cars, old
desktop, my first love letter (yes, I still had that), birthday cards, those
fairy tale and Panchtantra books, Chacha Chaudhary comics and finally that
exclusive pokemon card collection which I had so painstakingly collected. At
last it was the turn of my old Hero ranger cycle. This cycle has a very
interesting genesis story. When I was in sixth or seventh grade, my father
bought me a new cycle which was rather plain looking with narrow wheels. When I
took it to school for the first time, I saw that one of my friends had brought a new Hero
ranger cycle with glistening red paint, broad tires and uber stylish frame. I
was abashed on seeing my plain looking cycle. When I got home, I said I wanted
a new cycle. My father said that I already had a new cycle and there was no
need for another one. But I was so obstinate, I refused to go to school without
the new cycle. When my demand was not met, I refused to eat food. Still, when
my demand was not met, I got on the terrace and threatened to jump from there.
Finally, my parents gave in and I got that new red coloured Hero ranger cycle.
The cycle was not red anymore, it was rusted. Its break wires were used to dry
clothes in sun, the maid had taken away it saddle for some unknown reasons and
now only a rod protruded from the frame in its place and mice had chewed away
its tire. I had sold it to a scrap dealer who bought it for 150 rupees.
While sitting on the pot I was thinking, I had taken so much
of pains to get that cycle, left the food and even put my life at stake for it.
It was the most important thing in my ‘got to have it list’. It used to be the
centre of my life. And now, it was crap. I myself sold it to a scrap dealer for just 150 rupees. That was its worth. That was the worth of those pains. I
thought about those pokemon cards. I used to get only three rupees as pocket
money for a week. The uncle chips packet came at ten rupees. I used to collect
those three rupees, I used to suppress my desire to buy one kisme chocolate or one samosa. And then after three weeks, I used
to buy that uncle chips packet to get the pokemon card. Those cards now rested
at the base of dustbin. That was the worth of my patience. I wondered about the
things I was running after right now. My pointer and my IIM dream. The
sacrifices I was making for them. After ten years, what would be their worth?
Now, when I thought of my younger self, I see him as a foolish little kid. I am
not proud of his stubbornness. Will the ten years older version of me be proud
of me?
