A reminiscence of my college days and the daily dramas of the classroom came to mind. A random memory made me search for this piece that I am sharing now. It was written one lazy afternoon in the B. A Communicative English class as part of an exercise in Creative Writing. We were given half an hour to write on the topic “Morning”.
One of my closest friends, Ibrahim Rayintakath, was kind enough to breathe life into the story with his mind blowing brush strokes. He is a student of Art Direction and Production Design at FTII, Pune, a (super) talented artist who is in the pursuit of numerous dreams including saving the world and watching the Northern Lights.
The merchant stood at the harbor waiting for the cargo ship that would arrive from India bearing spices- rich nutmeg, saffron, cinnamon, cardamom and most importantly, pepper- black gold. It would make him rich- in fact, it would make him the wealthiest man in Venice. The sun still hadn’t risen
Rugged n faceless, blinded by the sun.
Fresh wounds, yet so old by changing grip,
Too young to wake up, too cynical to fall asleep
So unsure, he goes so far for something so sure.
The protagonist trips into a weary layer of reality swaying along with those waves, tryin not to close his eyes. His wife, daughter and his unborn son’s imaginary legacy are all like tryin to excuse himself,to pretend unconcerned cause voices inside keeps asking him, ‘what if?’