'Even God cannot save India'

A white strip seperated two steel gates. A few hundred of us stood on one side of the first gate, a few hundred on the other side of the second. The evening sun painted the sky a marvellous shade of orange, a shade that spread equally beyond both the gates, as if bringing a message from the heavens, a message of what was meant to be, and not what actually was. Ironically enough, the potrait of the man stood atop a pillar beyond the other gate, the man because of whom it actually was. The people on the other side, they looked so much like us, any of them could have been standing next to me and I would not have been surprised. But they were not, they were on the other side, seperated by a white line and some black text. I stood at India's close, and saw India's reflection in those eyes that looked at me curiously from the other side, just as I looked at them, with a bit of regret, a bit of hatred and a bit of hope.

I came back from college and the warm blanket in my room looked as welcoming as ever. At that time, there was nothing easier to do than to slide through the blanket and let go, close my eyes and open my mind, to dreams that is. It took a few minutes as I shuffled within the blanket, but then sleep came upon me, as enchanting and as soothing as ever. I don't know for how long I slept, but after some time, I could hear my mum talking. My eyes were closed, and my body was unmoved. I tried shifting my head, it took all my will power and all the effort in the world and yet it moved just a wee bit towards the other side. I tried again, and again. I could move my head, finally. Moving the rest of my body was equally difficult and agonizing. But Thank God, I could move. Just as I opened my eyes, I realised I was somewhere else. It was still my house and still my mum and yet, it didnt feel 'real'. It didn't feel 'here'. By here, I mean the world in which I'm writing my blog. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep again. I did. This time it was much longer, but then I heard some movement. I think it was our servant. There was a part of me that had woken up, but it was as if my body was still asleep, as if my heart had stopped pumping blood but I could still breathe easily. I lay there, unable to move, again. My body became my prison, and I could not free myself from it. Only death could do me apart from my body, and it would not come. I just lay there, powerless, trapped. It took an enormous amount of strength to get my fist to open, to move the fingers of my feet. And then, the blood would start moving slowly, and after a painful wait, and an even more painful effort, I could move. But the world in which I woke up, still did not feel like reality, more like an illusion. It was so true, and yet I had never experienced anything more fake. I closed my eyes. Twelve times, I woke up, twelve times my soul pleaded with my body to free it. Twelve times, I went through the same suffering. Twelve times, I opened my eyes in worlds that were not mine. Twelve times I closed my eyes, praying with all my heart that the next time I open them, I would be here, that my suffering would end. It was the thirteenth time though, even before my eyes opened, I knew I had done it. No effort, no pain. I could move with effortless ease. It was the same room I had woken up in, thirteen times now, but this time I knew, it was truly mine, it was real, it was here. The room in which I write my blog.
I don't have nightmares often. I don't even remember ever having them before. But this is what I woke up to (the thirteenth time, that is) half an hour ago. It's an experience I've never had before, and I hope I dont have it ever again.

And I am no actor. But on my way to being one, I seem to have lost myself, what I always was. Pretention isn't something I've ever been good at, and yet I've been forced to practice a lot of it. I've always been me and yet I no longer am. Whatever I'm made to do, is not not something I ever wanted to. Copying assignments just for the sake of it, cramming for tests and yet ending up learning nothing, being everywhere and yet unseen, unnoticed. College has passed like a blur, and I'm tired of running. Running a race with a non existent finish line, just going on because everyone else is doing the same. When was the last time I watched a ManU game and felt elated at their performance? When was the last time I opened the newspaper and read it endlessly until I slept? Not in the recent past.I've been working on a story that needs my attention, just as I myself do. I've forgotten what it was to be at peace with myself, because I am me, and not an actor. And the world is not a stage...

So PecFest is done and dusted, finally. There wasn't anything memorable about this one, except seeing some of the cutest girls descend on your college campus :P. My heart tells me I had fun, but my mind is bent on making a strange but natural comparison. There was something about PecFest4- the zing, the excitement, the enthusiasm, the feel of being a part of something spectacular which was completely lacking this time. The journey to PecFest5 for me, was a journey from innocence to responsibility. Its a journey everyone undertakes, but no one really wants to. You do not want to grow up, and yet you do. The childhood dreams give way to practicality, just as the purity of youth gives way to a convoluted maturity. And the young child is lost somewhere in his own dreams, in his perfect world that, our imperfect thinking tells us, doesn't exist. 

Maybe I'm smiling, but maybe it's just a fake. Maybe we were meant to be, but maybe it was just a dream. A dream I lived every moment I breathed, a dream more fulfilling than the greatest of pleasures. Maybe I saw something in your eyes when you looked at me, but maybe it was just an illusion. An illusion that used to light up my days, an illusion that lit up my life. Maybe we had moments, but maybe I was the only one who felt them. But they were so real, so apparent that they became my reason for living. Those moments, when words were no longer enough, when standing next to you felt like magic, a magic only you could do. Those moments when you looked at me and smiled, a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, a smile that made everything so right that I could no longer ask for anything else from the gods because the gods had given me you. Maybe you were there once, maybe you still are. Maybe, we are too far apart or maybe, we are still there, just facing opposite directions, hoping for the other to say something. Maybe a single look will do it again, or maybe nothing ever will. Maybe we fell apart, but maybe it was my mistake. Maybe I loved you, but maybe, I still do...

There are so many people who share your life, so many people whose lives you share with them, and yet in a college of over a thousand people, in a class of over fifty people,I stand alone. You could say I have friends, but I seem to have forgotten what the term stands for. Does it refer to people who stand around me laughing and joking about absolutely everything in the world? Or does it have to be something more? Suddenly something seems to have gone amiss. I no longer understand my 'friends'. Do I even have any?
Could you ever feel lonely standing in the middle of a crowd? Having so many people to count on, and yet no one you can truly trust. 
I'm not doing any justice to what I actually wanted to convey, maybe its hidden too deep inside. Maybe, it will take more than just a bad day to bring it out. 

You have days in your life, wherein, no matter how hard you try, nothing seems to go right. And then you have days when everything seems to fall in place with effortless ease. Today, thankfully, was one such day. There's been a lot to do these past few days, and everything seemed to be reaching a befitting conclusion today. From opensourcED to PR to academics, I was everywhere at the right time. Didn't miss a thing the whole day and covered stuff that's been pending for a while. I guess that leaves me contented but 'happy' isn't a word I would like to use. Because I'm the happiest when I have a lot going on, when there's something next to achieve, something more to prove. Maybe that's an addiction, but if it is, its a sweet one.