What color is your soul? Sorry, perhaps I am not the appropriate person to be asked such questions…. Why? Simply because…… oops! I miss a soul!!! I don’t have any or might be, it is too fragile, glass like transparent – easy for anyone to see through and delicate enough for a harsh truth to smash into pieces. There are possibilities that my soul is black. A shade which is no color, just neutral. It makes us realize how light a color is before the charcoal and graphite color….. A color that absorbs all wavelengths but reflects none. There have been several influential books that I have read, countless inspirational thoughts that have traveled through my neurons and have been absorbed into the brain but, have rarely surfaced my persona. Why I could never show signs of human enthusiasm and zeal, is a big question mark. And, what havoc it can call upon when cowardice meets a series of sheer bad luck? …Nothing more than a fateful Friday as today.
Act I: Scene 1: Hostel room: The day begins with a self realization that a trifle assignment has been sidelined for about a week and today is the date of submission. It being a trivial problem, major challenge says that I have to take a bath in this chilling winter morning and still manage to complete my task. Now, I poke one finger out, weigh the cold environment and force myself to make it to the switch board. The net connection wire has turned loose and doesn’t fit into the port and I have to hold it tight. As soon as I enter the password, my alarm clock screams and the display message on monitor reads, “ Its 6 AM.You cant log-in. Its not your time-slot”…..quite a mesmerizing day.. isn’t it?
Act II : Scene 1: College library- Our machinery classes are taking place (so to say….) with no faculty around. Its like a herd of cattle in a paddy field. The library sickness is taking its toll on me and I feel like throwing up. I award myself with a break, gift a cup of coffee to my hands ….aahaa…what a relief… however, the next moment, I am found throwing a cup full of coffee in the dustbin and rushing upstairs. Faculty is already there with a cunning smile on her face which gradually changes into serenity as she finds her sadistic pleasure in marking me absent for the session.
Act II: Scene 2: Nescafe counter- “Bhaiya, jaldi se ek frappe de do…. Madam, nahi hai”; “o.k. to ek iced tea de do…. Madam, khatm ho gaya”…..grreeeaaattttt….. about five minutes before, I succeeded to miss the last samosa in the canteen and the trend still continues….
Act III: Scene 1: Mobile recharge shop: I am very particular about my mobile recharges. I always get a recharge of Rs 70 which gives me a talktime of Rs 60. Its so economical. But, I cant understand what made that recharge waala guy infer that I am so fool as to get a Rs 60 recharge done which leaves me with a talktime of Rs 38 only. I want to shout… I want to scold but what difference will it make to him. He cant reverse the whole process.
Act III: Scene 2: Aggarwal’s sweets: This is my favourite eat-out. The South Indian dishes served here..specially, vadaa sambhar, dosa that too with the coconut chutney…are just yummy…(unless you eat them J). The waiter comes to take the order. I am just on the verge of losing patience. I ask him to bring vada sambhar but to my utter disappointment, they are running short of it. Now, when I am losing it completely, I dare to look into the waiter’s eyes. He is in his mid forties and doesn’t look like a waiter. At this moment, I can see my father serving in his place. I don’t like this. I can’t take it more. I cant allow him to clean my table and carry my dishes. I won’t let him do that. But, what will the other people say? Am I trying to show my respect or simply trying to impress the guy on the next table. Who am I to do so? Why should I do it? ….. “madam, here is your bill.” The dishes are gone. The table is clean. I have lost my opportunity. Thanks to my weak soul.
Epilogue: Friends, I have read a book “The Kite Runner” by Khalid Houseini. It’s about a boy Aamir who is born in a rich family and is blessed with a brave father. His heart yearns to be with his father but he can feel the chasm between him and father. His only friend is Hassan, his servant who loves Aamir more than he loves anything. But, Aamir, a boy of a weak character can’t gather courage to save Hassan from being a victim of sexual assault by three guys. It’s a curse to be born with a weak soul and even if it is so…. One must never forget….