There are moments which leave a lingering impact on you, moments which are overpowering and overwhelming; like a heavy sunset sky on a hot Indian summer evening. And like two lusty snakes in a water body directly beneath the sun, twisting and writhing to unfathomable pleasures- my atavistic sense of goodness and my developed sense of practicality are waging wars with one another.
Strangely enough, what started the dispute was a remark from my cousin, Ananya, who is a good ten years younger to me.
... I stay in a beautiful place.
I've stayed here all my life, and have learnt to fall in love with water, sky, wind, earth- the elements of the world- right here. What is even more beautiful about this place is the utter lack of social distinction.There were very few kids here back when I was seven or eight, so the few that were there were played with, regardless of whether they were watchmen's children or students belonging to elite schools.
We slid down slides together, we swung right unto heaven. We were throwing each other down to the ground to taste some earth, we were running with blood coursing mad through our veins to defeat the wind. We were laughing to bid farewell to the suns, we were laughing because laughter doesn't ask of distinction.
We were definitely 'Z'. It didn't matter if we were Zed or Zee, we didn't know there was a Zed and there was a Zee. We just knew we were running to be free.
Then, we grew up.
We didn't grow up enough to be able to fully embrace Zed/Zee yet. We just grew up enough to know that there was a Zed, and that there was a Zee. And that I was Zee and they were Zed. That I belonged to different frontiers, and that they weren't, could never be; as privileged as I was- to know of a distant land beyond the ocean unknown to them- where it was incorrect to call 'Z' Zed and it was 'awesome' to call 'Z' Zee.
And even if our voices weren't reflections of distinctions, our expressions were. Eyes that refused to meet, hands that refused to touch, and feelings that refused to un-surface. So watchmen's children became watchmen's children and students of elite schools, just that.
Still, I occasionally did deign the girls I used to play with, with an offhand, monosyllabic 'Hi.'.
I was yet to understand that I had embraced the Zed/Zee philosophy, you see. I didn't know that I wasn't the convenient slash mark of 'Zed/Zee'. I didn't know that I WAS Zee.
As I crossed the road with my cousin today, and waved to the watchmen's children, saying 'Hi.'; she asked me who the girl I said 'Hi.' to was. When I replied she was the watchmen's daughter, she asked me if she was a friend.
And I paused.
What was she?
The Girl I Had Grown Up Playing With? The Girl Who I Had Splashed Water On? The Girl Who Told Me Strange Stories of Nowhere? Or was she The Girl Who Taught Me To Fall In Love With Water, Sky, Wind, Earth?
I couldn't decide. My cousin was looking at me expectantly.
'An Acquaintance,' I replied.
Strangely enough, what started the dispute was a remark from my cousin, Ananya, who is a good ten years younger to me.
... I stay in a beautiful place.
I've stayed here all my life, and have learnt to fall in love with water, sky, wind, earth- the elements of the world- right here. What is even more beautiful about this place is the utter lack of social distinction.There were very few kids here back when I was seven or eight, so the few that were there were played with, regardless of whether they were watchmen's children or students belonging to elite schools.
We slid down slides together, we swung right unto heaven. We were throwing each other down to the ground to taste some earth, we were running with blood coursing mad through our veins to defeat the wind. We were laughing to bid farewell to the suns, we were laughing because laughter doesn't ask of distinction.
We were definitely 'Z'. It didn't matter if we were Zed or Zee, we didn't know there was a Zed and there was a Zee. We just knew we were running to be free.
Then, we grew up.
We didn't grow up enough to be able to fully embrace Zed/Zee yet. We just grew up enough to know that there was a Zed, and that there was a Zee. And that I was Zee and they were Zed. That I belonged to different frontiers, and that they weren't, could never be; as privileged as I was- to know of a distant land beyond the ocean unknown to them- where it was incorrect to call 'Z' Zed and it was 'awesome' to call 'Z' Zee.
And even if our voices weren't reflections of distinctions, our expressions were. Eyes that refused to meet, hands that refused to touch, and feelings that refused to un-surface. So watchmen's children became watchmen's children and students of elite schools, just that.
Still, I occasionally did deign the girls I used to play with, with an offhand, monosyllabic 'Hi.'.
I was yet to understand that I had embraced the Zed/Zee philosophy, you see. I didn't know that I wasn't the convenient slash mark of 'Zed/Zee'. I didn't know that I WAS Zee.
As I crossed the road with my cousin today, and waved to the watchmen's children, saying 'Hi.'; she asked me who the girl I said 'Hi.' to was. When I replied she was the watchmen's daughter, she asked me if she was a friend.
And I paused.
What was she?
The Girl I Had Grown Up Playing With? The Girl Who I Had Splashed Water On? The Girl Who Told Me Strange Stories of Nowhere? Or was she The Girl Who Taught Me To Fall In Love With Water, Sky, Wind, Earth?
I couldn't decide. My cousin was looking at me expectantly.
'An Acquaintance,' I replied.
