A Letter to my Owner
A Letter to my Owner
It has been long since we have shared a couple of thoughts over a cup of coffee. It has been years, since we have weaved a beautiful poetry in my pages. Days have rolled into months and months have turned into years, but we haven't had a rendezvous amidst the break hours of your school. Oh! You must be in college now, because for the last time we met, you were going through a terrible phase of your life. I remember the night before your father passed away, how my pages had soaked up all yours tears along with the ink. Those pages have dried in all this years but they still have the stains of your pain which you may not find anywhere else.
Some agony are momentous, they hurt you for a while and then vanish in oblivion but I have concealed all those anguish which made your soul cry, which had wounded your heart and the ones that are burried deep within and shall always bear patches of their existence. When you use to pen down everything that happened in your life at the end of the day, I felt like, at least I am there to listen to you because in this world of chaos, everyone has their share of demons to battle with and if you choose to share your sufferings with them, in reply they will narrate their impediments. You cannot expect someone to understand you because their fights are their primary priority and in any way you are secondary. But when you chose me to be your confidant, I was so glad that in the world of breathing beings you opted for something which will just soak up all your suffering without imposing any guilt or demands.
Anyway, how are you doing? How is college? Is it better than school? How are the lecturers over there? Do they still care for you like the Maths and English teachers in school? Okay tell me about that guy on whom you had a huge crush, did you finally confess your feelings or you chose to walk away like you always do? Okay at least tell me what are you pursuing, as in career? You were always that confident smart lady with the sash of leadership in your chest. I remember how happy were you when you became the House Captain in the tenth grade and the humongous was becoming the Head Girl of the school. Your school has always been your second home, your inevitable love. Do you still visit School? Is it still the same, the road down the brook hill, where you use to spill poetry in me. The huge banyan tree in front of the office building, is it still intact to its roots? The towering eucalyptus trees near the playground, are they still there, and do they have those cemented base around them? You remember you wrote your first Poem under that tree. How are your friends doing? I hope you are still in touch. Arre.. I forgot to ask, have you met someone, the man of your dreams, the one who used to breathe between your sonnets and odes? Or are you still waiting for that fairytale, which you always longed to have?
I realize we have been so much not in touch that, I don't remember how you feel, anymore. I don't know what impact life has made on you. I don't know what all you have achieved or have lost in these years. I don't know the incidents which must have shattered you into tears and you chose to shed them in your pillow and not in me. I don't know if you are still the same or life has impacted its transition on you. I know you still write. Like you always wanted to. Just the medium has changed. Back then, the shades of ink brewing in my pages gave you immense peace.
But now, you jot down your stories, poetries, similes, metaphors all in the gadget, you human call 'Mobile'. They have replaced me. I know, now when you pen down your thoughts, you get praised for them. People not only read your work but they can even speak to you back. I could never do all that. But I know one thing, everyone out there might be reading and appreciating your words but none would listen to what you try to mean undermine the words. None could really perceive what you are feeling, happy, or melancholic. None can absorb your words and keep those in them like they are your finest treasure. Everyone shall scroll you up or swipe you right. But not everyone will keep that emotion intact in that piece of yours like I did. I may not praise you back, but trust me no one would be more proud of you than I am. People are out there to share their stories to you or to listen to yours but none will tell you that you are a part of their lives. But I do. I was conceived in the boughs of bamboo and was then given birth in a paper mill but what added value to my life, as a diary, was your words. Your words run in my veins and I inhale every emotion that you had exhaled in me. You gave a meaning to my life when you named me Aashi.
Today, when I have grown old, with the dust of time veiling me up, I miss being in your arms. I miss being your best friend. You always feared being taken away by Oblivion but today when you have abandoned me amidst the untouched racks of your study table, I feel you are the one who allowed Oblivion to take over me. You pushed me into nothingness. I was holding your hand when the world had defied to hold you but today, you have left me far behind in that deserted past. Someday, I will no longer hold this position in your rack even. The Scrap collector often visits your home and I see him taking away all your old books and copies along with the pile of newspaper. I might become one of them too soon. I shall be torn into leaflets and all the emotions and embers that you have treasured in me, shall all be obliterated. But there is one thing I have learned from you. You always hold on to hope, even if it came to you in the form of a thin thread. You kept holding it. So will I do. I
am hoping that one day, before I get thrown away in the rags, you will seek me back.
Your Old diary,