As a kid, there were no real aspirations that I had in mind. Nothing really that I would have wanted to do that stoked some kind of fire in me that possibly could have carried on and have fired me on in my youth. The only real desire I have ever had was to be different.
As a little kid that had just lost his front teeth and was watching Kapil Dev bowl at his zenith, there was no real surprise for anyone that I idolized him. But I hadn’t developed any real understanding of, or the love and passion for cricket, till I was in my mid teens. The real reason I adored Kapil was because he looked different. I spent a lot of my toothless days trying to push my front teeth out like Kapil’s.
That was the only real driving force I had managed to carry on in my youth. The desire to be different. For a long time I dabbled in poetry and the occasional prose. My friends, and I realise now how many good friends I have had over the years, were always kind enough to encourage me. Most had never read any other poetry than mine own and either from a lack of any real appreciation of poetry, or just the kindness in their hearts, egged me on. I thought I was different.
After about two years of not writing anything and a year of not reading any of my own works, I have come to appreciate the fact that I was not different, just an insufferable, pompous, pretentious kid difficult to be around. In other words, pretty much normal.
As I enter this phase of my life where I rethink my goals and my achievements, the beginning of a mid life crisis, my first crippling question stares me in the face. How do I deal with my new found normalcy?
As a little kid that had just lost his front teeth and was watching Kapil Dev bowl at his zenith, there was no real surprise for anyone that I idolized him. But I hadn’t developed any real understanding of, or the love and passion for cricket, till I was in my mid teens. The real reason I adored Kapil was because he looked different. I spent a lot of my toothless days trying to push my front teeth out like Kapil’s.
That was the only real driving force I had managed to carry on in my youth. The desire to be different. For a long time I dabbled in poetry and the occasional prose. My friends, and I realise now how many good friends I have had over the years, were always kind enough to encourage me. Most had never read any other poetry than mine own and either from a lack of any real appreciation of poetry, or just the kindness in their hearts, egged me on. I thought I was different.
After about two years of not writing anything and a year of not reading any of my own works, I have come to appreciate the fact that I was not different, just an insufferable, pompous, pretentious kid difficult to be around. In other words, pretty much normal.
As I enter this phase of my life where I rethink my goals and my achievements, the beginning of a mid life crisis, my first crippling question stares me in the face. How do I deal with my new found normalcy?
