Remembering Holden Caulfield

I woke up to a very pleasant morning today.Pleasant - until I learnt that one of my most favourite writers was no more. Most favourite, despite the fact that I have had a chance to read only one if his books. Because he did not publish any other major titles. And that was a decade ago. May be fifteen years. Who cares! With good things, you don't keep a track of time. That book had an enormous impact on me. Sort of transformational. As a kid, I remember not having told my mother that I read the 'Catcher'. I knew her well. She would never have allowed me that book when I was 16. And I would have missed out on something amazing.

JD Salinger died today. I learnt about it from the newspapers. But he left an immortal kid behind him. Yes, I am talking about the Holden Caulfield. That ever confused character from Sallinger's 'Catcher in the Rye'. One we all enjoyed reading about. Sometimes dreaded his situation, sometimes laughed at it and at other times just wondered 'how could he be?'. Whatever it made you feel, one thing was for sure. You could so easily immerse yourself into the life of Holden and those surrounding him. The story did not end with last page of the book. It took off from there. For weeks on, I kept thinking about what would happen to Holden now that book has ended and he is still stranded; still desiring; still the same confused kid? It was like one of those great stories you never wanted to end. But end it did.

And did I tell you how I got my hands on that book? Well, that is a whole different story altogether. It was lying in a dusty corner of my english teacher's personal cabinet. Old man was a genious and one of my personal favourites. I was in high school back then and spent countless afternoons at his place; listening to everything he had to say. He, his corner chair and his never ending cigarettes were constant features of my weekend life. And one day, while shuffling through his cabinet, I found this book.
I asked him, ' What sort of book is this? It has quite a funny name - Catcher in the Rye.'
He answered, ' Take a look and try reading it my friend. May be it will stay with you forever.'
And he was so right. Stay it did with me. Forever.

Chimera

I set off at dawn. On a long journey through winding roads and crumbling milestones.

That was a very fine morning when I left. No clouds, red sun and a pleasant colourless wind. Swirling across my face - touch of a ghost. A friendly ghost. But I had something else on my mind. I really wanted to get there. Get there fast and get it soon. Soon enough. I kept walking. At times, running the yards. Slowing down occasionally only to recoup my breath. I knew. If I dont get there someone else will. And I did not want to lose it. So that is how I kept going on. Driven by my desire, chased by my shadows. I made friends on the way. Good people and not so good. There were other good things too. Horses trotting, flowers blooming, birds chirping, cats yawning and gypsies singing. Many more. I remeber them. All of them beautiful and unique in their own ways. I wanted to keep them all. Be with them for ever. But I could not be. I had to keep going. They knew and they bid me a very friendly adieu. Each one of them. I moved on. Missing them and missing their beauty.

Days passed on. Time went by. I thought I was closer. I knew I was. I had to be. It was getting darker. Red sun was turning into a pale vision. Swirling wind was dying down. Flowers too far and too sparse. Birds and animals hardly to be seen. I knew I was getting there. It was a different world from what I had left behind. I missed it, but I had set out to be here. If I wanted all those beautiful things, I could have just stayed on. I could have not desired. I knew I had to be here and as darkness set in I saw end of the road. I was delighted and ran all the way till I reached the edge. I looked around. Hoping to find what I had come for. It was getting darker and difficult to see. I searched hard. But I did not find it. I sat down - tired and exhausted. I could still hear the faint sounds of gypsy songs. I could feel it. All the sound, all the light and all the music of that world I had left behind.

But I belonged here now. At end of this road. Tired and ready to sleep. And when I go to sleep, I will dream of gypsies, the red sun and the swirling wind. May be that is what I have always wanted and never knew. But atleast I know it now and know the way back home.

Lost Words

I wake up every morning trying to figure out just onething! Will I write today? By the time I get to a stage where I can find an answer, I get lost amidst other things. and so does my thought of writing. Shelved, untill I wake up again.

I know. This is not how it works. This is not how it should work. To be honest, my words have gone dormant. sleeping, waiting to be inspired and woken up. But at least I am doing something I promised myself I will. I am writing again. Words are coming out. May be not the way they used to. Nonetheless, visible. To me and to everyone else.

I also know. They are not lost or gone. They are somewhere. Hidden, waiting to be pushed out by me. Desire to write is never manufactured. I have always believed in writing when I feel like. If it does not come, it should not be forced. I am starting to feel it again.

May be, a time for revival. A time like those days. When I could scribble seamlessly. Words are a good friend. They talk to you and you talk back. Good friends never leave. Till they come back, let me figure out the answer.