She is Prerona. She is an aspiring writer and not very good with writing bios because she doesn’t find anything about herself worth mentioning. If you do like her write up please comment, share and like her post. 

She blogs at https://pathetichumanoffspring.wordpress.com

The story ahead

There’s a famous word by Heraclitus that says No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man which translates into no city or no place is the same because given a certain amount of time, you both grew from within, and now in a matter of some years you are looking at each other, awestruck, nostalgic, cause things don’t seem the same to both of you.

I spent my childhood way outside Kolkata surrounded by my ma and baba. As far as it is from the city, I never grew any urge to participate in it. Rather I was happy, in the corner of my calm and cool veranda, fists tightly clenching a doll, watching the rain to pour in discipline, always in a single line. Some of them would not listen and they said hello to my face and later to my floors, to my walls as if desperately trying to leave messages of friendship only to last till the sun comes out or ma swipes the area.

My teenage in Kolkata has been curiously weird. I am an introvert so that took up a point. In addition, I lived in a place so alien that I never got any “same pinch” from anyone. As if I were being more and more secluded, like my home, unnoticed and unknown, like a dot, I didn’t have the significant length, breadth or height compared to the universe that was 30 Km away from my reach but I existed.

When I was 19, I went to a college in proper South Calcutta or North. I didn’t know so far then, what falls under the arena of south and north. So I went somewhere which had huge vintage buildings but a showroom of pantaloons too. I mostly stayed outside mesmerised, for what more I can see. The streets, the vendors, the couples walking on road everything felt different. And I started to gobble up every piece of information with a thrust equivalent of the Crow in the story ‘crow and the pitcher’. I was the uncool one. I didn’t text anyone much. Like what’s the deal with that? I barely had anything going around me that I could share with someone for 6hrs a day and giggle. I barely had anything to do. I carried an inner monologue within me which barely reached my lips. Not because I am antisocial, studies say I am, but because I was self-aware. I never had lumps of money, nor had any qualities per say; I always feared the city as if it only bestows happiness on people who have means to seize their dreams, otherwise you can go home and fly off the roof and no one will care.

There came another time of me in South Kolkata. This time I was 22. I was doing well in studies and decided to do something for myself. Now that’s tough. Because my self-esteem is where I brought my new shoes are. And far away below than that. Finally, I stumbled upon a comedy club. For some reason, it felt like the only thing I can do to make myself count. I went there. Startled, with bad pronunciation and worse self-esteem. But the surprising thing is people laughed. I couldn’t believe my ears that someone would pay to listen to my insecurities presented with biggest blunders and laugh on it. I loved it. While coming home, the city not for a moment felt distant. The breeze blew through my face making me aware of sensations I never knew I had and I came back home. Finally, happy to have a long dream of ahead of me.