As a young boy I would keep a track of time. It was me who
exactly remembered the day we shifted to Salt Lake, December 6th, 1998.
It was me who would keep track of the score in every cricket match in
our para. I would remember exactly the time when I would have
to return home. Well we couldn’t afford watches back then. I remember it
was the sun that would guide me. The rule was to get back home before
dark. Back in those days I would measure time, I would mark dates, I
would tell my brain to remember them, from birthdays to national
holidays, everything-The dates that mattered to me, the dates that
mattered to all the special people in my life. They seemed so important
to that little child in me. Doing something for friends seemed so fun.
But
then he grew up. The position of the earth
around the sun didn’t matter anymore.
Little things that once mattered
were slowly forgotten.
As we grow old I guess the meaning of everything around us changes, how we look upon life, our definitions and principles.
Time changes us.
Now ten years is a long time some would say, but for a ten year old boy is it?
No, he is just as fresh as the leaves of spring, in early summer.
Ten years. A decade they say.
My
little dog turned ten years today. He grew with me. He taught me one or
two things about love and attachment. He was always like the little
brother I never had. The advantage of having a brother that doesn’t
speak your language is that he won’t pester you with his problems. He
would only listen to your sad tales. My canine brother would only bark
in excitement, fear, joy and pain.
I remember that autumn of 2001,
when he slowly and silently entered our life-my mother brought him. He
resembled a white snowflake, in our dusty apartment. I clearly remember
those years, that holy time. I remember his first birthday, his second,
third, fourth and fifth. I remember how he would drink water of the
bathroom floor, how he would be scared to get down the stairs. I
remember when as a five year old he would wake me up and save us from a
fire accident. I remember those years when he was young. I remember how I
would walk him around endless blocks and tire him out, how I would make
him run beside my bicycle. He would hate me for that. But little doggy
never said anything. He just outgrew me one day and I didn’t even notice
it.
And suddenly he is ten years old.
Days passed
and the memory of the last few years disappeared in the quick sands of
time. I hardly remember taking him out, I didn’t keep a track of time. I
didn’t keep a track of him. I just let time flow. I didn’t mark dates. I
tried to forget everything. And yes, I succeeded.
If someone asks
me, dude, when was the last time you did something special for someone,
I would say, I don’t know. I would lie. It’s a faded memory though.
Did I do anything special for anyone anymore?
I guess not.
I
never marked the special dates. I never tried to remember the special
ones. I told my brain to forget everyone, everything, and yes it did.
I
never cared they would say.
But if you ask my little doggy, I am
sure he would know. He was there all the time, he looked after me. He
would know everything-all my secrets. He would know how special everyone
was, and how important it is to do something special.
But my little doggy would not bark to me.
Years of indifference made him silent.
I did care. But how does it matter?
In this world,
‘when you care, you have to do something special.’
I guess I lost it there.
