Reflections at the End of the Year

And so, this year too, has come to its end. In the few remaining hours of 2016, all I can do is remember the entire year, and hope for the next year to be better. I know this very moment is passing, slipping away into the valley of the bygone eternity. And yet, some infinities are larger than others. For me, 2016 has been an infinity of moments that never before came, and never will again.
To begin the year with, I won medals at the College Week Cultural Programme. I think it was a great experience to participate and win gold in all of the sections that I’m strong in. There were bolts from the blue, and new people entered my life like plot twists in a mystery novel. My circle of friends gradually shapeshifted, but one person remained constant—Oishee, my soul-sister. And it’s obvious, because we’re connected by the innermost spark of life within us.
I turned twenty, and spent my first birthday without my mom. It was kinda off-tune because what with advance celebrations and pizza boxes, the real day was out of importance. The month of March was a month of relief for me and my family, because a seemingly permanent burden was alleviated off our hearts and lives. I received my 1st semester results, and to be honest, I was not really satisfied because I knew I could do better. I got a guru in my musical journey, and I must say it is quite a wonderful experience. And this marked the beginning of several journeys to Guwahati, in pursuit of music.
I was away from home for the first time for a duration of four days, as I was taken to Gauhati University for the inter-college Youth Festival, where I won two gold medals in Indian classical and Western vocals respectively, and a bronze medal in semi-classical vocals. I also had a share of the silver medal we won for the chorus. When I returned, I was welcomed by a new companion in my journey of music—my Swarmandal. The 36-stringed beauty stole my heart the moment I saw it, and my musical life was elevated to a new level. I appeared for the web auditions of Indian Idol season 9 and was sent further instructions after I was selected, but again, my priority goes to studies. I had to let the opportunity go, for better ones to come.
I lost, or rather succeeded in disconnecting myself from some negative people who seemed immovable from my life. It was immense relief and at the same time impended the entry of new immovables, since nature does not allow the existence of vacuums for too long. I was lost again, in the tumult of my own thoughts. I was torn between two selves who spoke completely opposing things, and as happens with the young mind that has been stubbornly, mandatorily dictated through such situations without the insight that it might have to decide amidst such tumult on its own, I succumbed to the waves that carried me away from my desire. But then, all was not lost, for it was not long before I realised that I was mistaken, and I persistently made attempts to rectify my mistakes. It was difficult, what with the turmoil between want and need, but I succeeded in facing the truth. I discovered things about myself I never knew, and this year has contributed in making me a person I never knew I’d become. My priorities have changed, my ideas have changed, and my entire outlook has changed. Some things, however, have only undergone a Romantic Revolution, since they have only become what they were in my ‘good old days’.
With these reflections on the past year, I hope the coming year brings me more success, more good people, more opportunities and more experience.

Fiction fragment #1: A Second Chance

I see him staring at me from the other side of the bookshelf I just picked a book from. Probably he's just trying to find some book and thinks this is it, I explain to myself. I put the book back in place and pick another one that seems more relevant. His eyes are still watching me. I sit down at a corner table and open a notebook. In a few minutes, he's completely out of my mind and I'm busy making notes.
“Excuse me!” he says, walking up to my table and taking the seat opposite me.
“Yes?” I reflexively blurt out without looking.
“Can I borrow a pencil?” he stammers. His eyes—golden brown—look at mine with hope. I produce a mechanical pencil from my pouch and nonchalantly slide it across the table, and resume my note making.
In a moment, I yield to the urge to look at him. He is busy writing in his notebook. I notice his eyelashes: thick and long, curled as if some artist painted them on his face with utmost care with the motives of thus making a masterpiece. His hair is wavy, neatly trimmed and combed with a schoolboy side parting—he probably could've been a schoolboy if not for the stubble he kept, apparently in order not to appear like a schoolboy.
I get back to my notes as I perceive he's about to look up and make eye contact, but, as is the problem with us girls, I keep stealing glances at him to see if he's watching me as intently. On one of those glance trips, his eyes meet mine. I give a wry smile. He follows suit.
Damn! He caught me looking at him. Is he going to think I'm interested in him?
Forty five minutes pass this way, and then he returns my pencil with as much politeness as I'd been rude while sliding it across. “Thanks!” he says.
“My pleasure.” I smile as he gets up to leave.
“That's a great book that you're reading. Very comprehensive.” he says with an almost prophetic air.
“I guess.” I smile—now both inside and outside.
“But,” he says, “Not as well written as I normally prefer. My own collection has better books.”
I simply smile and nod. He walks up to a bookshelf and returns with a humongous volume. “Here. I think you'll find better references in this book.” he puts it on the table and sits down again to walk me through the chapters. I gaze at him in awe. This is impressive!
I jot down points and he points out paragraphs to me. After half an hour, I say, “Okay, can we just come back tomorrow? I think I'm saturated.”
His lips curl into a smile and he closes the book. “That's way more endurance than I had when I began. I didn't last even ten minutes!” he laughs. He replaces the book and vanishes. I put my pen back in my pouch. I take the book I picked and put it back in the shelf, at the exact place where he'd been looking at me.
At the baggage counter queue, he's four places ahead of me. His turn comes in a bit and he takes his bag. As he walks towards the entrance, he notices me. I see him stopping to wait and a smile plants itself on my lips. When I have my bag, I walk up to him.
“So,” I say, “Thanks for the help.”
“My pleasure.” he raises his eyebrows as he says this. I get why. Afraid that an awkward silence might seep in, I introduce myself. “By the way, I'm Neena Singh.” I hold out my hand.
He takes my hand and shakes it. “I'm Abhro. Abhro Kanti Banerjee.”
“Oh! Bengali?”
“Yes.” He smiles.
“You come here everyday?”
“Almost.”
“So you're into Soviet history too?”
“Not really. I just read for pleasure. I'm a student of Parapsychology.”
“Wow! Ghosts and spirits? I love ghost stories and horror movies!”
He smiles and says, “I study phenomena that orthodox psychology can't explain. Not ghost stories and horror movies.”
“Okay, whatever. They're all in the same category for me, you know.” I laugh. “Anyway, let's have a cup of coffee at Stevens'?”
“Sure.” he obliges.
At Stevens', we take a window side table and order two cappuccinos. “So, what's your story?” he asks.
“Me? I'm a student of History and besides I like dancing. I live in the college hostel and visit home once in a while.” I say.
“No, I mean the story of the dreams inside you.” he says as if I should know that when someone asks me my story I'm supposed to tell them about my dreams.
I pause for a moment and try to recall the last bits of surviving dreams in me. No use. All that I see is my ex, hand in hand with a dolled up girl, saying “You know what, let's live together. The three of us.”
I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. The coffee arrives.
“I...I have no dreams. I just have plans.” I stammer, and pick up the glass mug.
“A plan,” he says, “is a dream with a deadline and a decision to act.”
I can't think much. I only hear my ex say, “Trust me, she's very good. I've been with her for the last three years. She won't give you a single chance to complain.”
Complain? You cheat on me and then ask me not to complain? When all of my dreams revolve around you, you break them like a wrecking ball wrecks an illegal building, and you tell me SHE won't let me complain?
A tear escapes my eye and begins rolling down. Shit! He shouldn't have said DREAMS.
“Are you okay?” he asks, probably worried about me creating a scene.
“I'm fine.” I sigh, and dab a tissue on my cheeks.
“I'm sorry if I triggered unpleasant memories.” he says, almost reading my mind.
“It's okay. I'm still healing. I'll be fine with time.” I say.
We finish the coffee and split the bill. As we walk out, he presses my hand and says, “Listen, I've had a bad past too. Give it time and plenty of chocolate—dark chocolate, milk chocolate, candy, drinking chocolate—just drown yourself in chocolate. You'll be fine, I promise.”
“Well, maybe now I will be fine.” I wink at him and we laugh.
As we part, we exchange smiles and he leaves the smile on my face till I fall asleep.
The best part about dreams is that they can grow back to life, stronger than before everytime they break.