Its always about the people and the city...

I took as long to decide that I wanted to write this as I took to confess it first to my sister. And it is so ironical that I should feel this way about it. Then I was a kid, 13 years to be precise. Now it has been 11 years, I am brave enough to handle situations and fight for them. But even today, when I recall that incident, I can realize I feel the same inside, a scared baby! What I am going to tell, maybe is a common incident with girl child in India, maybe of lesser extent, as for more extent, I guess it can qualify as an assault- no assault it was- it will actually be rape then. The plain story first, I am giving only a narration. I was in VIII th standard then, coming back from my school at 2’0 clock in the noon. Now my house is in a lane which is connected to another house lane by a smaller street which I will hence call No man’s land. It is a No ma’s land because there are only parks on its either side and no houses and by the way, that is the place where I have nearly 66.66%

I think I have more clothes in my wardrobe than I remember buying or possessing. I am told, just like my sister is, and for that matter, just like 90% females are, that I have just too many clothes. What if buying of clothes came with a clause that they have to be worn forever? Thankfully, clothes are perishable. They can’t last forever so such fears don’t block mind. But what with things that may last forever? Would we want to have them? I find it scary. If I am told that the color I chose for my bedroom wall will remain so forever or that the first car I buy is what I will carry all my life, I would probably not get my room painted..or at least not have a say in choosing it. I got this realization by two incidents in life that happened recently. One was my cabmate getting married and the other was my cell phone. As for my cabmate getting married, she suddently got her marriage fixed to her consistent boyfriend of an year or two. She is getting married in a month, less than that. Its

“GAUTAM, Best of Luck!” I could look back and barely smile, out of the most peaceful feeling I ever had… Eight years is a long time indeed. and longer when its a transition from teens to twenties…I could hardly recall the buildings, the corridors, leave alone relating to them. Infect, if I was not told that this was the very school I spent my 12 years of life in, and ushered in blindfolded, I could not have been able to tell. But faces…how could you forget them? No mortar or plaster can change faces. All my teachers looked weak and little less of life. As if they hung there on the building for eight years, letting time to wither them, and then suddenly, as I stepped in, they all descended down. Just the same, just the way I had left them, except that they had worn out a little. Eight years after 2000, when I passed out of my school DAV Noida, destiny put me back in the same point in space, in form of a test centre where I had to appear for an entrance test. God. so many known faces in