By Ananya Kumar:
Captain’s log. Stardate17516
Dear inanimate-but-animate-in-my-head friend,
It’s been a year since I wrote to you. I never thought I’d be able to talk to you again. You were pretty much my only source of companionship till we lost touch.
But I found you the other day. In the drawer of my study table, wedged between a 7th-grade assignment I thought I’d gotten rid of and an 11th-grade chemistry practical file I wish I could get rid of. I’m so glad you’re here again. The past year has been the most overwhelming one of my life till now. It’s been a crazy whirlwind of new classes, friends, teachers, subjects, practicals, fights, confusion, barely passed tests, tears, long metro rides after extra classes and the part that made it all slightly bearable, the Captaincy. Not to mention all the heritage walks in Chandni Chowk, plays in Akshara Theatre and British Council, photo walks in Humayun’s Tomb and slam poetry performances that I missed. I also heard that Connaught Place had been revamped and numerous cafes and hangout spots are now open. Hoping to go there, alas, is only wishful thinking. And then there’s the problem of unpleasant men. Now that I’ve grown up i.e. gone through puberty, I have yet to count a week where I haven’t been leered at.
I’m now in 12th grade. It’s the last year of school before all of us go our separate ways and choose our own paths to follow. That is, if we know. Which majority of us don’t. Even if some of us pretend to or give definite answers when elders (aunties and uncles you only meet at family weddings once in 5 years) ask us. That’s the worst part of growing up, if you ask me.
I wish I knew what I wanted to do. The world’s too big to decide which corner to settle in. Between struggling to maintain my grades and my sanity, I don’t think I’ve caught my breath enough to reach a decision.
I have to go now. Physics class beckons.
Live long and prosper.