Reading:an escape:)

(Shh... Just Keep Breathing, It will get better)

We live in a lonely world. You would think, 'everyone knows that'. But you are wrong. A 7-year-old child doesn't. And a 7-year-old child shouldn't. For me, my world was perfect. I lived with my grandma in Lucknow, I call her Nanes (pronounced 'Nance'). My mother was posted as a professor on the hill campus of her university, to do research on temperate fruits, and in case you are not aware, most villages and distant hill stations still don't have schools. So much for a developing India. My father, on the other hand, was a scientist in ICAR and got transferred very frequently. So it was a mutual decision, that I was to live with Nanes since I was 4, but only for a few years, after which ma would come to the foothills campus of the university. I missed them both, obviously, but they visited me frequently. And I can't say I didn't enjoy living with nanes, she was less strict than ma and made excellent yum food. We had a great time together. She woke me up half an hour before my school van used to come, and I somehow miraculously used to get ready and even have my breakfast in that limited time. I won't be able to do it today. The school was fun, I did all sorts of pranks. Sometimes I used to squeeze myself outside the school gates when the guard wasn't there and go to the main market during lunch breaks. Sometimes I used to run on the grounds, just like that, for fun during other lessons. I rarely used to study, I was never a topper. Not even a good or even an average student. Below average sounds about right. Well, to be a good student you need to open a book, and to open a book you need to stay still, which at that time seemed like an impossible task for me. I used to come home tired, and nanes used to serve me hot piping lunch and even allowed me to see a bit of cartoon. I was made to take a nap after that. I was a lazy girl (I am still), and I never complained. I used to go play in the evening. We both used to watch Pavitra Rishta in the evening while having dinner and then head to bed. That was all my life was. 

And then, that dreadful date, 23rd April 2012 arrived. Yeah. That was the day my father died. 

I don't know what made me do it, the number of people who were inside my house, the fact that I had just seen my mother cry for the first time, or that I was starting to realize that papa was no more. I imagine it was all of them. You know how sometimes you are feeling too many things and don't know how to react? Yes. That was it for me. I remember going to my room, closing the door, taking out the first book I touched, and studying, for the first time in my life, on my own. It was a Math textbook. We were supposed to have a test on long division the next day. I started practicing it. It felt good. I forgot for a few hours, what was going on outside. It was just long division for me. After I was done with it though, it all came flooding back. And It hurt. And I broke. And I cried.

The next day at school, I tried to forget again. Whatever had happened. It was just another day, but it seemed like all my brain could think of was about my dad. And if there is one thing I hate more than misogyny, is making a scene in public. I have rarely ever cried in my school. Not even when I fell down (which I tend to do a lot) while playing and was bleeding like hell. And I didn't want to cry that day. I decided if this was all my brain could think about, then I was not going to give it a chance to think. I listened to every word my teacher spoke, noted everything down, came first in the division test, stayed in class during lunch, and ate while doing my homework. 

My nanes insisted I go down to play that evening. I knew what she was trying to do. She didn't want me to think my life was different. That something had changed. Ma was not in a great position. And I didn't want her to worry about me when she obviously was a wreck. I went downstairs, to the park and sat down on the swing. By this time, most of the children on the campus used to come downstairs, but today everyone was late. I will not say they were my friends, I didn’t have a friend till Nivedita, I was just a kid with whom they played, that was it, I wasn't invited to their picnics or get-togethers or movie nights or anything. As hard as I tried to be one of them, I was always an outsider. They all came and sat down on the pews in the park. This was the point when we all decided what game to play. But today everyone was quiet. And everyone was staring. Nothing was a secret on this campus, I realized. I felt uncomfortable. Then one of them, came up to me and asked without losing a beat, "your father died, didn't he Shambhavi?"

Have you ever cut yourself?  By mistake? While using a knife or a blade or anything sharp? Have you ever realized that the moment you cut yourself, you don't just feel pain, you feel a shock because you weren't expecting it and that somehow manages to make the pain worse?

I looked at her, stupefied at her bluntness. This definitely was a bolt out of the blue. My lips were trembling and I could feel the heat coming to my cheeks. I was sure my face was red. Before I knew it, tears had trickled down my face. And once that starts, you can't stop it. I ran away, up towards our apartment. Ma and nanes were resting in her room and didn't hear me enter. I went to my room. I waited desperately for the crying to stop, but it just didn't, and I didn't want to upset nanes, or ma. So I tried the same thing, as the day before. Picked up a book.

Children's Omnibus. Ruskin Bond. We were given the book for summer reading the previous year. I hadn't read it then, of course. 'Cricket for the Crocodile' was the first story. I read and read and read. I didn't even realize when my crying stopped. I was not me. I was Ranji, whose ball Nakku,  the crocodile denied to give. And I was Binya, who had a beautiful blue umbrella. I was half done with the book when I finally fell asleep that night.

 I finished it, the next day.

It has been 9 years. And I would be lying if I said I am over my dad's demise. I am not. I will be though. I know it because I am halfway there. It is an arduous journey, and I have to travel alone. But whenever the slope gets too steep, I have my books to rely on. I have my books behind my back. And in every aspect of life.

A big loss made me a different person. But I like to believe, a better person. I have a little nice collection to my name, and I intend to make it an even bigger one. From Harry Potter to Twilight to Chetan Bhagat, to Charles Dickens, to Shakespeare, my taste has changed plenty in the past few years. But you will always find a book in my bag. They didn't lie when they said books are your most loyal friends.

Books can cease your pain, and this dear readers, I tell you all from experience.

Jorge Luis Borges said, “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” and I shall never agree more with another man.

Yours truly, 

Sammy<3