My blogger friend Joe Perrone recently asked me whether I have written any fiction. This is my answer to his question:
An excerpt from the book I hope to finish one day:
This was my haven, my little island of solace where I could talk to myself. It was not always so soothing as in this dark room I have spent many hours, all alone, weeping, wishing and praying. I have spent many days thinking…what was my fault, why was I blamed, why was I slapped. I have often cursed myself for offending others.
I looked out of the little window to see some light. I craved for company, a friend, a loving person who could answer my questions. It was at such times that I tried to analyze people with my little and limited thinking. The world appeared to be a cruel place, emotions seemed quite useless and ‘love’ was just a hollow word. How could those girls, my so called friends, say they loved their mom!
I couldn’t understand what is love, as I had never seen it. What I had seen was yelling and intimidation. Fear was a very familiar emotion and I got so close to it that it steeled me. This strength was building up with the kind of atmosphere I lived in. I didn’t share my hurts with anybody. I became an introvert. I could never be comfortable in the company of friends.
A day came when I lost all sense of time I spent in this room. It ceased to be dreadful as I made friends with those bare walls that terrified me. I liked being there, away from those insensitive people around me, pretending to be my well wishers, my so called parents, one of whom was always absent and the other always in rage.
I started enjoying those punishments in the dark room. I would hide my color pencils in some corner to enjoy my time in a fruitful manner. I stopped weeping and cursing myself. I invented new games of using my color pencils as candles to decorate my imaginative house. I learnt to smile and refused to be sad just because certain people took pride in disciplining me in their own manner.
If I emerged smiling out of this room, two of my bullish brothers would frown, wondering what gave that vitality to my cheeks! They mocked at me for having missed the regular play hour and I had a lot of homework to finish. Learning the tables took most of my time and I hated them.
Even this dark room could not stay with me for long. We moved out of that house into a brand new big house. Now we had our own rooms and there was no dark room. I knew all my friends abandoned me, probably I was what I had been branded to be – ill-fated!
I loved this new home, the fragrance of new paint and wood. I could experience the friendship of all the nooks and crannies that I explored the very first day I stepped into this house. It cherished my dreams, cushioned my lonely moments, provided solace to my disappointments, gave shape to my adventures and inspired me to aspire high.
Every wall was a supporting shelter, how much I could share my thoughts with them, silently! But I could never forget that dark room, which taught me how to dream.
Thank you for reading this story. Please share your reflections, they are much appreciated.
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©Balroop Singh.
