A peek at lost years

A peek at lost years

I have never pictured myself as a creative person. There was much to be done to those that were already created. What was need was people to move it forward. A nation had been created a few decades ago and so was a political unit that was still finding its own feet. Too much had been created, too little done to it.
I had lost myself in a hectic bustle of activity and given three and a half decades of my life to it.
Yesterday, I sat listening to the melody of a song, composed by Suveen a young promising music composer. The song had been sung by the redoubtable Jassi Gift. Okay so what is new about this? Well the lyrics were penned by…..well, a certain Abey George. So what was I doing here, with all the nation building to be done?
A month ago, I had stepped upstairs, to those locked rooms of my life. A past, I had conveniently forgotten. It hit me like a sack of bricks. A cudgel that bludgeoned me back to the true realization that God given, thirty and half decades of my life had been wasted on nothing, of any value. I had suffered physical, not made anything of my own, forsaken my family, lost the best years of my children’s life and lost an eye, all for nothing. The pathways behind me were clearly lit for me to look back at.
To regret and relearn.
We, Vinod, Mohan and I, with photographer Kumar in tow, stepped back into the college library that had a million memories. Accompanying us were the college principal, Jijimon K Thomas, Vice Principal Shirley Stewart and Professor Suju C Joseph. The mind went back to an era of carefree joy and great occasions. Good, bad but never forgettable. Therein lay a treasure trove of golden memories. I had done some truly creative work, then. Things that could have grown to something to be personally proud of, at the very least. One thing that could make me look at myself in the mirror and be satisfied by what I see in there.
An article that I wrote then, had brought me accolades, beyond the gates of the college. I had qualities that were useable. Stuff that could well have made it to print or even publishers.
I sat down and picked up the pen. I shut out the pretenders and do-gooder, out for a picking for their own pockets. I blocked their calls and shut my doors to their self-seeking visits. I cared not for anything they had to say. I settled down to real peace within myself. And started writing a new chapter. A chapter of my new life. There was much to learn or relearn and there was only me, to teach me.
The words flowed out, hesitantly in the beginning, with ease after sometime. The nuances of the rhythm and meters sank in. I knew there was something good about all lives. It never stole one thing it gives you from birth. Your talents.
I am a new man, not a politician, but a human, not a agitator but a social servant, not a nation builder but a good citizen.
I am reborn