October 3, 2012..
I wake up with a jerk. Kicking off the blanket tangled
around my feet,I hastily climb down my bed and pick my marker lying on my desk.
“Check! One month to go!”, I yell , drawing a cross mark
across the giant “3” printed on the 2012 calender. I go hug my mom, yelling the
same thing over and over again. Okay so, clarification, my birthday falls on
November 3. I was gonna turn 16 that following month. Sweet sixteen. It was
special indeed.
October 3,2014
It was the same sensational morning all over again. Déjà vu
dawned in along with the bright sun. The only difference being the fact that I
neither had a marker nor a calendar within close proximity. But I had my
thoughts. The unprecedented thoughts to which I have always hugged on to. I impulsively
made an air check.
18..It was never a number. It has always been a verge. It is
something I have always envisioned. The number that makes you eligible for
practically every aspect, from marriage to owning a driving license. “Wow! Will
I ever turn 18?” I have bugged mom with this mindless question many a times.
Why has it always felt so delusive? Have I got everything I have yearned for?
Isn’t it too early to be turning 18?
November 3,2002.
I am zooming around the veranda in my little bike. It is the
official present opening time. Daddy unwraps a little rectangular shaped
present. He waves it at me. I stop the bike, pause for a second and look at it
earnestly . The book that daddy held
that day.. began everything.
“Once upon a time
there lived a beautiful girl called Cinderella…”, daddy began narrating. I
was already done with asking about a million questions until he reached “.. and they lived happily ever after” . I
remember being charmed by the book like every other little girl. I would often go
to daddy, hand it over, urging him to read it for me again and again until the
book eventually got smeared with crayon marks, dal stains and tore off
completely. The book got demolished, and the emotion remained etched in my
heart. Like every other girl, I wanted to become a Cinderella. How cliché,
right?
Back to October 3,2014
Now, I shook myself. Enough of rewinding and air checking.
The Cinderella and the Prince Charming fantasies had died down years ago. Deep
within, I had taken head trips and arrived
at the place where I had begun initially…to a world without a Cinderella. 17
whole years of life had passed. I was about to embark upon a new … should I
call it journey? Or a life?
Even though I am
deeply apprehensive about the fact that my teenage is officially getting over,
I feel happy, because I finally feel a little less delusive. It’s like I can
finally start believing in fairy tales again. My perspectives have jumped to a
“level 2”. Every emotion seems heightened. It starts from point ‘A’ again, but
in a bit more advanced manner. I can finally start dreaming again.. dreaming
about travelling around the world, dreaming about falling in love, dreaming
about driving a car, dreaming about everything from knitting, baking,
sketching, singing to yes… becoming a writer.
I can dream more. But wait. I can easily turn my dreams to
reality. Along with dreaming about my birthday dress and the matching jhumkas,
I am allowed to dream about every single thing from graduation degrees to
wedding dresses. I can care more for people, decode more things about life,
magnify every second and live it unanimously. My thirst has been quenched. So,
it’s time to be hungry now, to appreciate every single thing that life offers ..to feel the rush, emotions, audacity, turmoil, happiness, disappointements... everything..
With this vitality, I begin the countdown..
