Staying at this remote village, typing lines and lines of code on my assigned Lenovo, taking breaks only to eat, I can’t help but miss my old days, which I realize were my good days as well. For a guy who always believed in shutting down feelings and be emotionally unavailable, this is a rather alien feeling to come across. Perhaps, being socially inactive gives me much time to ponder over things. I think about my friends. The good things that we did but mostly I miss the bad. The people who stood by me when I was broken and had fallen apart. I think about my school. The place which taught me to smile and respect tears. I think about my bike. The beast which I lovingly call as my first real girlfriend. I think about my future too. How will I ever realize the dream of touring the world? Believe it or not I myself am perplexed over my ability to think so much. About so many things. I have fallen in love with poetry and especially the Telugu ones. The newfound inspiration in Telugu movie director Trivikiram Srinivas has made me dig into my mother tongue literature. And above all I have this desk work at almost all times.

With so much happening in and around my life, there should not be even a moment to pause and reflect over. But each day at some point I crave for those days. Those beautifully carved out Sundays, for which I secretly used to wait for the whole week. Waking up late to my mother’s chanting of holy verses, seeing my father read the Telugu newspaper in the living room with some old movie playing on the TV across the hall. My sister texting on her phone or browsing the desktop. This was my routine Sundays. And the more I wish for it, the farther, I feel, am getting from it. The craving for the simple lentils curry prepared by my mom makes me lose my sleep these days. And these are the people I miss the most. And these are the days I wish for. The Sundays, the Mondays, the Tuesdays, the Wednesdays and every other day. My life was never perfect as I recall it. But I can’t argue they weren’t the best I ever had. I had and still perhaps take love for granted. I am rash, insensitive and arrogant and I realize it too. But something in me listens to what my dad says these days. Something in me takes an effort to dial up my mom. I haven’t changed, but I have found a way to satisfy my need. Give back to them what they have been giving you all the years, love. At the end of the day I want my dad to say that he is there for me. I want my sister to encourage me to go for it. I want my mom to say it’s alright. You can’t choose your parents. But thank god I didn’t have to else could have made a wrong choice. I already have been blessed with the best people around me. 

The simplest of the things make our lives. One small coffee byte toffee can remind you of your love. One small bus trip can make you miss your school. But we outgrow ourselves so easily. We mask ourselves with a disguise of pride and prestige. We feel shy to eat with our hands. We feel ashamed of our parents. A mother with utmost care and love helps us grow, only for us to abuse the care in the name of independent individuality. Take a close look at their faces. Their humble faces. Lights up every time you climb a step. And the higher you climb the smaller their contribution seems. I am not pointing fingers towards anyone specific. But this is us, every other youth.

I now know what I’ll be missing in the future if I don’t act on my realization. When we can take time to watch a shitty series on the TV, why not take a moment to talk to our parents and friends. The world is not going to fall at our feet anytime soon, but why crave for a world we already have the universe with us. Live a little, let others live a little.