On a magical morning of year 2012, we embarked on a journey to Dehradun, to meet Bruno for the first time. As fate would have it, on returning home, we realised we brought his sister Bitsy instead. As the comedy of errors unfolded, while we geared up for another round trip. Bruno met us for the first time. Delicate, motu, golu, chotu and full of curiosity.
Being an enthusiast of English, I sat glued to my television screen as I listened to my somewhat favourite news anchor Arnab Goswami 'unravel' the 'heinous' plot by the 'anti-nationals' of JNU, back in 2016. Night on night, I'd hear how he believed that Kanhaiya Kumar and Umar Khalid were the demons of India, gathering forces by evading taxes. Unfortunately, owing to that artful propaganda by almost everyone around me, I solemnly believed that these two lads are the root cause of everything wrong with our country. Back then, questioning a narrative set by a news channel or government official wasn't even an option in mind.
As I saw my childhood friends eventually move out and gazed at abandoned homes become dubiously built hotels, somehow, the street I lived in remained the same. Paharganj has been in a constant state of flux, embracing and resisting change year-on-year. To a non-denizen, it'd look like a vibrant, bustling and exotic hotspot of tourists, shops and whatnot, but to those who live here; certainly, things have been more or less grim.
After living through almost fifty years of your life, looking back at the journey comes almost naturally. There are times when you wonder, “If I had done the things that I did differently, would I be in an even better place today? If only I hadn't missed that darn physics or maths class, or maybe prepared for the entrance exams properly, could I have been living a life different from this?” Fortunately, such trivial pondering wasn't my business. Having made peace with most regrets in life, I believed everyone should walk towards the future with heads held high. Consequentially, the world would have fewer people stuck in their past.
As Manisha Pande, the Executive Editor at Newslaundry highlighted how, "An advertisement funded model of 'News' depends upon hooking up the citizens on toxic oxygen of hate", I realized that this 'news' has indeed made us numb; unable to question our own governments or hold them accountable. Moreover, if the Government itself is an advertiser, who's to say that a journalistic organization is working freely, to its full potential? Numerous instances of deliberate misreporting, inciting opinions, provocative and communalized debates are dividing us all, across regions, religions and so on. You and I need a hard reset, or else we'll crumble away into nothingness. Let's do it together.
Walking through the corridors of my school was always a lonesome errand to ease off boredom, and sometimes, to bunk classes. I did have friends, a lot of them, yet, nobody to connect my heart with. Discovering couples walking hand in hand inside school premises reminded me that such an act is against the 'morals' of schooling, and it's rules at this age, but in actuality, it made me feel empty, and lonely, for myself.
Whenever I reminisce about my hometown, Lucknow, traditional ways of holding back tears begin to fade away. Well, reminiscence is surely a strange tool. You can be everywhere while being nowhere, except for being physically present at the place where you’re brooding. You’re teleported in a world with a vintage filter from ‘Retrica’ applied, and your vision autofocuses on the top-priority subjects; people. One by one, recollections, memories and forgotten moments freshen up and colourize again. It’s not some black and white 70s film any more, you’re living your past again. It’s an amazing feeling, indeed.
Although I’ve graduated from school, the memories haven’t. A handful of people, who never really mattered, have hosted their interventions to guilt me into believing that I’m a relic, trying to live in an era that is lost. Well, to be honest, even though that’s not how I exactly lead my life, I’m happy either way. I was never one of those who could forget things easily. Back then, peers and knowns embarked their cycle of commitments, breakups, and patch-ups, while I silently learnt their lessons on the sidelines. Down the road, it did engulf me as well; longing, for someone.
Even though my memory has now begun to fade, passively tossing meagre details into oblivion, I remember a friend of mine talking about a specific anime almost every week, trying to convince us to watch it. What started in 2017 eventually caught up to me in 2019, when I asked another friend of mine if I should really watch Your Lie In April, something that had been suggested all along. He sighed, smiled, and expressed an air of affirmation, accompanied by words which are spoken by people who have endured, absorbed and processed a vivid assortment of emotions, all at once. In that moment, I knew I had to watch this anime. Eventually, one day, I lined up all the episodes at once, began my voyage of the April Lies, and what followed on, will likely stay with me forever.
