"When does a person take up poetry?
When he is so much hurt that he can't express it by speech.
When does a poet give up poetry?
When he is so much hurt that he can't express it by poems."
I sill remember the day I wrote this quote.
I am walking without knowing where is the path leading me to. I am breathing without knowing the reason for my existence. I am in grief without knowing what am I grieving for.
I wanted to break down and and wash off my grief with my tears. But I couldn't as I was on the way back home from college. I wished to return home soon for the only reason that I could wash off my saline memory with my saline liquid from eyes. I think God was kind enough to let me break down in the main road. He showered with drops of sweet water from sky to mix in with my saline water from eyes. I cried and everyone thought I am getting drenched in rain. I just wanted to stand there and forget the happenings with the rain water mixing with my tears.I decided to remember the happenings, cry until I am satisfied and forget it.
It was a warm afternoon. Still, I could see the hiding dark clouds which were responsible for the sweet shower late that evening. I got a violent shock when one among my eight friends said "You are just fake. I don't want to be in this group mainly because I have heard all your truths."
I swallow my shock and ask, "What truths?"
"The truths which define you as a person.So please let us leave the group.Don't stop us",an other friend replied.
I am still not convinced. So I ask "Whom did you hear it from?"
"Everyone says so" was the reply.
I was shattered,at the same time confused. But managed to say "Come on, you people are my friends. Do you believe rumours more than me? Won't you help me get out of this misunderstanding?"
"We didn't really know who were our friends until we heard this thing about you. Now we are enlightened"was the reply.
I was traumatized by the unanticipated reply. I didn't have anything else to say. I just started walking. I thought someone would call me back.But no one did. I continued to walk. I never realized how much I walked.Some one calls me out and says "I am with you prash. I am your friend. I trust you, not the rumors." I just turn back to realize that it was none other than the friend from my group of eight, whom I least expected. I just broke down. She consoles me. I realized then
"Genuineness of a king, can be known during famine.
Genuineness of a wife can be known during misery.
Genuineness of a friend can be known during helpless situation"
I appreciated this thought by a famous Sanskrit scholar.
I could see that my tears had stopped pouring. But the rain continued . I smile as usual to cover up my grief. I reach home and scribble the quote mentioned in the starting.
