Santi-niketan, or Maybe Not.

It’s been a while now since I’ve come up with something, you know a piece of writing so to speak. I tried writing on all these classic and varied themes like friendships and unrequited love and so on and so forth. But to be honest, I never got any kind of “kick” out of it. The more I tried to focus, the worse the writing seemed to get. The harder I tried to make it aesthetic, the uglier it got. And then it got me thinking, why does this keep happening to me? Why the hell can’t I just write a few hundred words on something that I truly like and believe in?

It is then that I realized, that’s not how it works. So I stopped trying so hard. You can’t and you shouldn’t write just for the sake of it. You write because you want to.

More than often, writers all over have come up with themes and topics and plotlines for their short stories or novels or novellas based on personal experiences and autobiographical details. What goes on in the person’s mind is reflected in his/her work. I, for one, believe that a writer or poet’s work and his/her personal self can never be two absolute and separate entities. They intermingle. They juxtapose with one another in mysterious ways to give rise to wonderful pieces of works that adorn the face of literature.

So here it is. I won’t go on to say that all coincidences are totally accidental or whatever. Instead, all coincidences and similarities are highly and absolutely intended.

There comes a time in a young person’s life when he/she begins to introspect about the decisions made, the actions done, the words spoken and more than often about the things not done and the words not uttered enough, or at all.

I seem to stand now in that small area of the vast expanse of life.

All these years, I have had a pretty normal and happy childhood; I have had all the comforts and luxuries kids of our times can ask for. I have had a very very loving and supporting family, protective siblings, great friends, a few boyfriends here and there, etcetra etcetra. So to sum it all up, life has been fun-filled so far. I’ve made literally, and I use the word very carefully here, millions of brilliant memories. Be it my fourteen-years-long school life in a convent, missionary school, or the most casual three-years-long college life, I’ve had it all.

Being in an environment filled with everything-girly w.r.t. to being an Auxilian, I’ve have made a few decent girlfriends, who I believe will stand by me even when time tests us. From school to college, the transition was a bit of a shock. But even there I managed to find myself a couple of good friends.

And then came Bolpur. Santiniketan, unlike its name, has been nothing short of a nightmare so far. Should I blame my absolutely horrendous roommate or the only other two people I loved and trusted enough to be my true self with them, for my current miserable state?

I suppose none. The very three people I chose for myself turned out to be the worst ever human beings possible, or am I being too hard on them? I don’t know and I haven’t quite figured it out yet. And I guess that’s okay. Because starting from making me feel bad about myself to doubting my own self, from making me cry to taking therapy, from feeling replaceable to being invisible, they have done it all.

So this goes out to three people that I thought I could trust, you know what you have done. And I hope you feel sorry for it someday, I hope you regret losing out on a good friend one day, I hope the future makes you see yourselves for who you really are. I won’ t ask you the seemingly reasonable question “why”, because I get it. I do.

The fact that no one’s going to read this till the very end gives me a sort of strange relief. I find this to be the perfect way to vent out my anger and frustration and pain.

And now that I have, am I free? I like to believe I am.  I don’t hate any of you, in fact I am thankful to you for teaching me the value of staying close to family, and for showing me who my real friends are. I’ve always, ALWAYS, valued friendships more than love, and you had pushed me to the edge where I felt like I was wrong. Being away from home for the first time has taught me so much now. From living in the same room to hanging out with the people who didn’t think twice before stabbing you in the back, life in Bolpur has been my strict-est teacher so far in life.

Just a year more, and I’ll never see you again. Bolpur, you will be history, long forgotten. You will truly and honestly be my favourite goodbye.