I wish textbooks would sprout wings
And breathe fire
That the fine print would twirl
Waltzing their way to me
And let me hear
But tempestuous battle cries
Invigorating the very sense of my self
From skin to bone, through flesh and blood,
So that I may glance and take it all in
With bated breath;
Words lining up, marching on
And dare not stop till the end of war..
I wish textbooks would take me far
And keep me there, keen and bright,
But alas, they pick up the hum of the night
Unbroken lullabies that bid my eyelids
To meet and never part,
As I leave to seek the dragons and battles
In my dreams.
Out of the blue
The fog would clear
And you’d sit back
Why you were ever afraid in the first place.
The minutes tick by as I sit at the railway station, reading another e-book, waiting for the late ride. In the meantime, the Kochuveli-Guwahati Express, beginning a 4-day journey across India stopped at the platform where my train should have been present half an hour ago.
“That’s the A/C compartment!”
I turn to see a porter addressing a pair of north-eastern migrants, two of the many hundreds who now inhabit Kerala working as labourers, probably on an yearly pilgrimage back home, about to get onboard with two visibly shabby hand-held bags. The statement was an innocently conjured, and surely prejudiced, advice to those who obviously were ignorant, and would have to pay the price if caught.
“We know.”, one of them replied.
He didn’t sound defiant or hurt, the tone was very matter-of-fact. They paused for a second, and climbed onto the coach that even migrants are entitled for, and can afford if need be.
The porter shrugged and walked away. I went back to my book.
It seems like a strange coincidence that I should read the final chapters of Educated by Tara Westover while sitting alone in a crowded hall, surrounded by family members who seem, somehow, alien to me. As I stared into my phone, Tara described to me what it was like to be torn away from her family because of wanting to get an education. It would almost seem that her thoughts reflected mine, or perhaps it was so in hindsight. Perhaps it was a passing comment made in jest by one cousin to another, “Of course she is so different now, she wouldn’t talk to us simpletons”. Or perhaps I am paraphrasing, distorting a benign sentence to suit my deranged thoughts, my illogical attempts to justify my self-absorbed exclusion.
Continue reading “Educated”