Good old days…

I started reading books when my high school sweet heart was married to some body else. The very first book that I read was some thriller by Sydney Sheldon. It kept me occupied. That was nearly ten years ago. Had I read “The Great Gatsby” in those days, I would have known that rich girls don’t marry poor boys. In my case only, the guy she was married to was rich. Over the years I have been writing small blog posts that no one reads. The feeling of being greatest writer in me just comes and goes like a mood. Sometimes work keeps me occupied and sometimes I keep myself occupied with work.

In my childhood years, watching a movie was a greatest adventures available. You could tell how many houses in the neighborhood have VCRs and what movie they played. It would be the talk of the evening in the entire neighborhood. One of those houses was called “Masi Sakeena’s House”. Masi is the name of relation. Sister of your mother. As we call “uncle” with respect to every guys who looks as old as your father, same was the case with calling someone “Masi”. She used to sell children’s accessories in her house to amuse herself. She was crippled and spend the rest of her life on a cot for as long as I was going to their house to buy chocolates and marshmallows and candies and what not.

There was a small table in the corner of the small veranda right opposite of her cot. We would go, choose our articles, walk to her cot, show her the stuff and she will speak the price and we would pay. Her money was kept in a small tin box that was once bought with milk powder in it and now used for money.

On every Friday, there was a movie show in her house at 3 o’clock. We would of course pay one rupee to watch the movie and that would easily cover the rental cost of VHS tape of ten rupees from the one of the only two video centers in town. It would always be a Bollywood movie , and always a action thriller. I’m taking about 1990’s. Most of the movies would end with hero rescuing the girl by killing the villain. After the movie we would feel an immense energy and power in us. And we would tell each other that when I grow up, I’ll become like Sunjay Dutt and kill out maths teacher who always punishes me in the school. We would get into useless quarrels with our friends no less just to let out the hero that had just grown in us. After a while, we go about our routine and forgot all about that hero. This was when I was 9 years I guess.

Now, when I can buy tickets using my phone and go to luxurious cinemas to watch movies, I still bring someone with me on my way back from the theater. That is, the writer in me. Almost after every movie, I would tell myself, oh! This was such a simple story why I couldn’t think of that? Or, this movie was nearly the same as I had thought once in my mind. Of course that ain’t true. One of these days, I keep telling myself, I’m going to write for the screen and I’ll get my first book or a short story published and become famous.

My girlfriend always gets angry at me when I don’t tell her that what she has cooked is so delicious. I used to get mad at her but realized later on that it means a great deal to you. Writing is no less than cooking, after you’re done you anxiously wanna know how your work is perceived by others. Although it shouldn’t mean much to you, but something inside of us will become more and more happy if we hear what we do matters and what we do helps others.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: