Maturing

Of all the nauseated inferences I've made over the years, this has been really demanding. The impending torture to write was beaming bright. But, the obsession with language got a better hold all this while. And the draining from the food blog wasn't helping either!

Somewhere on the web there was this article where in a spiritual guru claimed that "Maturing is all about regaining the innocence of childhood". I could do nothing but break into a hearty laugh. 'Cause isn't there a question lurking behind the solemn pontification? They sound good as books and philosophical foot notes but is that all to being mature? I believe there's more to it than just the innocence. I reckon, there's always that naughty kid in all of us all the while.

Maybe it's the burst of monsoon, the yearning to be on a cycle to school, the lovely dove eyed first love, the dingy pathway on the paddy field, when fear overpowered hope, the collective fascination about watching your first porn, the lovely butt of the cigarette you always wanted to try or the insinuating taste of a poison they called alcohol. Our lives always had flashbacks. That's the way we live. But the problem is we all had to grow out of it. Reckon that's out of plain hegemony. We tend to do that 'coz that's normalcy!

Thinking again, what's the actual mature person? Do you love responsibly? Do you reason with a person to prove your part? Do you go for the 5 am jog? Do you stop cracking jokes at your friends? Do you find solitude in the arms of a guru? Do you make politically correct statements? We are still left with umpteen riddles that would crack the spine. The normality in being mature is far from being an act of systematic annihilation. But then where's the gnawing pressure to do that in the first place?

So here we are. Lost as the children of middle history. Reckon, maturing is not about the physical growth. It's about your movement up those years that you've alive. It's to do with the reallocation of your remembrances that shimmer like beaten metal. It's about your maligned self dangling over the precarious cliff of what's called a society. It's about reveling under the faint recollects of your idyllic homecomings & amorous departures. It's a travel. It's more than regaining the innocence of your childhood. It's about being calm & solemn at the face of futile conversations. It's about trying not to be decimated in the face of being called disrespectful.

I know you'd never remember the stained sheets of your bed, aging toilets at your hostel, the stench of beer residue in your corridor bottles, the grim frustrations of failed desires or even the remembrances of menu cards of a thousand eateries you'd visited in the past years. None of them matter. 'Coz they aren't forming you as a person. But we're still nonchalant about wearing a fake smile to work & screw another person's happiness. We'd kill to exceed expectations & be the besmirch performers of asperse organizations. We need to have the best life which is good enough only when compared to the others we know. We need & want & demand.

I truly wish to be out of it all, leaving all implications behind. Call me an 8 year old or disrespectful. But I do not wish to be matured or normal. 'Coz I love being immature, impulsive, thoughtless, procrastinating, playful & all those countless things of grace that my heart entails. 'Coz I love being me!

P.S: Dedicated to the most puerile couple whom I believe to be senesce than many, Nischi & Sindhu. 'Coz they haven't lost their fluorescent selves for the sake of a relationship.