Why thou late?

Was intending to make a post here for a long time, but frequent meetings with one dead line and another took away most of time.

When being alone, with nothing but silence for company, unwarranted and unsolicited bits of scenes from the most personal film - years of your living, pops up in your mind. At times it is voluntary but at other times it automatically uncoils and starts to play. The music will be a hiss, the images will be blurred, but among them some words blared, and some moments vivid. Sometimes when delved deep into it you feel you are being sucked up by the whirlpool of images and feelings that the thin line of reasoning dividing the past and the present snap and both the worlds merge. You may still feel its Jim’s fault that you fell off the cab, and had not been for that kind priest you would still be lost in that big town. Tough you would be very well aware inwardly that if not for Jim too, you would have fallen off the cab, because it was a stupid thing to try and get down a running cab at the age of 7, the long lost hatred on Jim comes resounding back. Even when the present you may feel it’s wrong and immature to still be fueling that idea, you continue to stick to the old story, maybe because you are ashamed to accept that you have done something wrong and unintelligent there or to forget the fact that 5 to 6 of your then classmates, including Jim had not only seen you fall but also had a good laugh at it. Maybe! But amongst all the fading faces, Jim and his wicked leering stand out almost clearly, making you jump out of the reverie imagining the fall and the ensuing pain.

Not that only memories about embarrassment and pain stand out. Just some random words said by someone who somehow mattered at some level, small string of music you used to like when you were in your early teens and other lovely things etched in some place inside of you - of which you never had an idea you have gotten them still, jumps up; And again sometimes, even those events that you so wanted to repress, memories you so wanted to erase out and pretend as if no such thing has ever happened with you, comes forth – sometimes on dot; sometimes out of the blue; sometimes late!

It is like a diary you used to log all your experiences both nice and vice. In the long run you realize that the diary is no more blank or fresh nor its pages crispy. But it still holds all those wonderful minutes of the life, which makes life more interesting and worth a journey; instances of learning and rejoice, hurt and bonding that made you the person you are now!