Vani, You must hurry, They all are waiting right behind you, For you to turn back, To see what you lack, To see your mask crack, None of them are your well wishers except maybe a few. To live your life as you want, You must do what you need to do. K...
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I woke up on the right side of the bed.
Not just because I know today is the start of my favourite festival of the entire year: Diwali, but because I was woken up like that, aggressively and with a daunting voice.
My grandmother had woken me up before the Sun, my eyes were half closed but I could make out the time on the clock: 5:30 a.m. I was not surprised, it's what time I woke up usually. I rolled my hair into a ponytail feeling the hard marble floor seep cold into my toes. I felt my sleepiness fade away, and panic take over instead: I had backlog. I had work to do.
The window of the hall of my house I huge, a wonderful thing for me. The first thing I did as I shifted from my grandmother's tiny flat to my own even tinier one was to throw the curtains open, like I was the main character of every single Hollywood movie about a teen girl. My smile widened, the sun had not risen yet, I had time.
I chugged down a cup of homemade coffee, knowing full well my caffeine doses had gone beyond limits as of late. The cup was washed, the evidences of any coffee brewing were erased and the kitchen counter was spotless. Time to work.
I sat down at my desk that faced the window, perhaps my least favourite yet favourite spot in the house. I checked my way too pre-planned and unrealistic planner for today, a large white chart that had been stuck to my book cupboard with ugly washi tape. Four subjects, and yesterday's incomplete work laid out in front of me. My mind was already screaming, some obvious things like, "get it done with quick," and other incoherent things like, "they won't be awake for another hour. Why not enjoy?"
I chose to listen to the saner part of my brain and chose my lucky own for the day: the grey ball-pen with the hooked top. I brushed through the history chapters quickly, they were perhaps among my favourites. By luck, miracle, magic or a combination of all three, I got done with two whole chapters: 15 long answers and 20 short ones in an hour. Feeling like the god of productivity, I let my eyes wander wherever they liked: most often, this was the window.
Sunlight, ah, what a wondrous thing.
Golden rays had wriggled their way into the room and were now flashing on my skin, illuminating my dark henna stained hands.
Oh right- the henna! I'd forgotten about it completely, it had come out beautifully, the colour was a soothing dark brown, the pattern was intricate and classy one. I took a sniff of it as a kid for the first time and instantly was drawn to it, like a sailor to a siren.
The time was 7 a.m., I realised with a jolt, maths practice now. I tried to get my brain to get understand each solved problem, but my brain had already lost some of its ability to hyper focus.
Still, only fifteen minutes till I knew they'd be up, I had to look like I was studying hard and most importantly, I needed to look like I Knew what I was doing. Not that I did not know, I did, but I did not know to the extent they wanted me to. (Don't ask.)
