Fictional Diary Pages – 1

Fiction, Uncategorized

~ Originally posted on Apr 21, 2012.

I reached out for a pen and paper. It was my New Year’s resolution to pen down my every day’s experience. Please note that it’s not just for the sake of recording the happenings. The aim was simple, realistic, and apprised by my beloved teacher. It’d be optative to call aims rather than a mere aim. They were – one, to make myself fluent in the language (I swear, I didn’t know what level of fluency he meant anyway); two, to make myself know where I stand every day (I never even had the slightest idea of where I stand in my life. I never wanted to in the first place;) and three, to improve my hand writing (‘Are you serious?’ That was my instant thought when I heard him say this).

As any hopeless, lackluster, and carefree kid would do, I did nothing. The problem was that he never saw me as a kid who was in the bounds of the previously mentioned adjectives. And that was the reason why he, of the several others, became my beloved, my only beloved. But, regrettably, that didn’t save me from lying to him often. I didn’t know if at all he knew that, but whatsoever, he never eft a hint. I was safe. I mean, I felt safe. Always.

It had been several months since he asked me to do the writing stuff. I never did that till date. What I wondered the most was, he never got tired of asking me about how it was coming along, every single day – save the days when I didn’t meet him at all. Unsurprisingly, I too never got tired of saying the same words to him – “Great! I can see the progress myself.” He merely smiled and patted my shoulders. I never understood the real meaning of that smile and the pat. All I assumed was I was good at lying, and that there was someone who believed whatever I said.

At times, he used to ask me to show my scribblings (yes, he always referred my writing as scribbling. He was trying to be funny, you know. Nevertheless, my academic writing was itself a scrawl anyway.) I’d blatantly reply, “Sir, it is personal.” And guess what, I’d always get to see his smile and feel his pat. In a way, I liked them. I as well liked to lie to him and enjoy his response.

On the first day of this year, as I was still asleep, he came down to my home. My mom had to wake me up to greet him. It was 9:30 A.M. already. I wasn’t sure that it was the question in my mind that he read or it was the usual habit of his to explain things, but he told us that he was crossing my home then and thought he should come by to wish me. By the way, the question in my mind was, “What the heck is he doing in my home at this point of time?” I was a dumbass, after all. Before he left, he gifted me a pen (the one that I’m holding in my hand now) and wished me luck. My parents were lame, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t a random visit. I knew he came by purposefully, and it was to gift me the pen; otherwise who would walk somewhere with a pen gift-wrapped in his pocket, no?

That was when I decided to take this New Year’s resolution – to scribble (in his words) or to write (in my assumption) my every day’s experience. I went back to my room, took out the diary that I had got from my dad the previous night, sat in the table, and started ‘Jan 01, 2001’. Before I could round off what to start with, my mom called for me from the kitchen. She was howling to get me brush my teeth and have my breakfast as it was late already. To take shower was out of question as she knew that if it was included, I’d only have my breakfast at lunch time. She became so adjustable with me. I loved her for that and for every other reason regardless. That was it. That diary only had the date scribbled by me yet.

Today, the calendar in my room shows the date as Jan 06, 2001; but that’s not today’s date in real. Lucky, at least I was sane enough to know that it’s not. Blame it on my laziness – the laziness to tear off the paper every day. Having said that, I don’t exactly know what today’s date is. Maybe, 16 or 17; well, probably, 16th of January. I have to go to the other room to check. Ugh, forget it. Who cares? In fact, that’s the least important of all. On this day of the year, I don’t own a cell phone to check the date and time in a split second. I haven’t even held one in my hand yet, let alone owning one. None of my family members own a cell phone, which I hear is tardily becoming a sensation, at least among the younger generations.

Okay, what’s with me now? No answer. A Blunt mind, which is all it is. It’s been fifteen days into the year with my doing nothing to be proud of, an absolute nothing. Not even able to be true to my beloved teacher; worse, not even able to be true to myself.

Well, that’s not the real reason that made me to sit straight up here from my bed to pen down my first diary page (not precisely in a diary though. Who knows, probably I’d paste this paper in my diary later). It’s the dream I had. The dream in which my beloved teacher met with an accident. And as he laid in his deathbed, asked me about my scribbling. Heck. I was so bad at lying in my dream. But still, he smiled and patted my shoulders before he closed his eyes.

Why did I get this dream all of a sudden? That’s the life, can I answer to myself? Life treats me badly, I feel sometimes. Whenever I feel it, what I fail to do is to treat life differently, as in brazenly different. Things change, in an unexpected and undesirable way. But when and how are the questions. They can’t be answered precisely. We only have to experience them as and when they come along – just like the way I’m doing for a while now.


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