The pain of growing old

It’s been a desire for me to continue in same steam, have chicken steak with same hunger and have enough gas to reach milestones without refuels. Alas, you seldom can do all, and the high sights you set for, come crumbling down after.

Perhaps I’m glad that even after 7 years this homo-1sapient is thriving at least the thinking part. The days of moron donkey seem over and trying to get into meaty action lies ahead. But I can’t dissociate myself from the oxymoron within me. It’s who I am just like the way Dhoni defines when he wears sexy pair of shoes from Reebok, or that very voluptuous looking female sitting right across me tries hard to Ree-Tone her derriere. When I was young like all children around who remind me of my growing age, I thought of myself as He-Man and when RAJ comics came I got myself the hairstyle of super commando Dhruv. I went overboard to create a costume with the VIP trunks my mum bought, cutting its sleeves to make it a V-shape brief.  For a brief moment my mom went mad but had the right panacea for my insane behavior.

The retard within me had to be tamed and this was done with impunity. No comics, no cartoons whatever that came on Doordarshan, no stupid comic books discussion. For me that was blasphemy , all for a stupid trunk that I had turned up into a brief. I couldn’t forgo the grief that not so fancy designer brief had got me.

There was no shitting around when my parents were at task. I had to do something to unleash the hero within, to vent out my inner flux of creative juices and that’s when I decided, I had to write my own comic book, create my own super-hero, create a villain who is undefeated (borrowing it straight from Ra-One), a comic strip with no superhot girls (I was a misogynist since then), with such a strong zeal I started.

Since it was a big secret I didn’t tell this to anyone. Every day after school, I devoted 2 hours to project-Bieber (yeah I don’t recall its name but somehow Justin Bieber has crashed my mind). I could well see my pseudo beard growing, so engrossed I was that I sometimes forgot to meet my friend Chittu and go to nearest railways station to watch trains, walk on railway tracks. I named my comic book -------------------- ( you cannot expect me to remember a name after 18 years).

Finally, I ended up writing my own comic book (only the dialogues part).   That day it was stupidity at its best, I approached my brother have a critical literary review, I approached Chittu for a proof reading. But soon I realized it was a big mistake.

Chittu

He was sitting on his dad’s chair with legs on the study table. He look grim, he started blasting my story first, cursed on the powers the superhero (BlahMan) had, then completely revamped my story and presented the creation as if he had created it. That day I realized this man would end up becoming a big gaseous manager. I was right!!!

Brother

If this was not enough, my brother was the worst. He first ridiculed me of ignoring my studies (I was barely getting pass marks), bashed me up for wasting his precious diary( Did I tell you I stole that diary from dad’s collection of diaries which they get every year,  my dad had 50 of them that time and in Lucknow diaries are considered next to GOD. So we never write in them, we just collect!!!!).

There was no literature review further. The comic book was showed to my dad and mom. They didn’t utter a word. Dad shook his head in disgust; Mom thought I was a gone case.

“iske to paanch rupey milenge madam !!! badi acchi diary hai ye toh par bhar kyun di aapne”

The diary was sold for a mere 5 rupees to a kabaadi waala. I was aghast my first creation was sold. I was broken and tears strolled down.

Then it brought me a smile. My first copy was sold!! I had to start writing the sequel.

Till date that’s the only work that I have sold. My dream of publishing a book still remains a DREAM!!! Talking about dreams, nothing could have deterred me from doing anything, but now I have reasons, reasons strong enough to even stop myself from flatulence. (You cannot fart in living room, not in bedroom; KITCHEN is a blasphemy again…. Practically you cannot fart except in THE BATHROOM)

The art of growing old looms large. I try evading it every day, I try thinking of writing every day, I still dream of having my own band. At 30 you might feel the way you like. The choices are in plenty, you may choose to become Darth Vader from Star Trek, ACP Pradyuman from CID, Spiderman or Peter Parker, or Big B or Abhishek Bacchhan.

A douchebag on couch incinerates any desire of activity and probably catalyzes the pain of growing old.

“Bete jab main chhota baccha tha!!!”