Mourning the Loss of a Book

Only a book lover can understand pain of the loss of a book. I lend a book to my best friend to read. It was my favorite book which I’ve read at least ten times. I talk a lot about Wuthering Heights to my friend which stimulated her to read it. This is the only book I’ve read a lot and got excited every time I read it. Though not an avid reader, she borrowed Wuthering Heights from me to read. Then she misplaced it and lost my dear book. I literally cried for the loss of my book, but my mom laughed at me and said that it was just a book. She asked me to buy a new one. But how can I forget that book, its feel, its pages, its font, its size, and above all Heathcliff. I miss my book. But I didn’t let this affect my friendship because she is a lovely person and my best friend. I vowed to myself that I will never lend my books to someone who does not revere books and cannot take care of my books. I grieved for my beloved Wuthering Heights!

Friendship without Words

As usual the shawlwala of Kashmir visited our house. But this time the shawlwala did not come, it was his son and that too without his heavy bundle of shawls. I reminisce, Rashid miyan comes to our house every winter to sell shawls to my mother and grandmother. His luxurious pashminas were so warm and magnificent. I was ten when he started coming to our house along with his son Rahmat. Rahmat was of my age. When I first saw him I instantly felt a pull towards him. His fair complexion, deep blue innocent eyes, his brown hair charmed me. I was a reticent child and so did he. I wanted to talk to him but couldn’t gather the courage to speak the first words. He used to come to our house every winter wearing phiran. For a couple of years our speechless friendship grew. We started exchanging smiles. I waited for winters so that I can meet him. I wanted to ask him that is his land haven as everyone said. How does the white spotless snow clad mountains look. My fascination for him grew. But as my education took over my time, I hardly get to see him during winters. My fondness seemed to decline. Lately when I saw him, he was no longer a boy; he was a handsome young man in his early twenties. He has the same lovely blue eyes but with more mature features. I tried to recall those boyish looks in his manly features. We exchanged glances as if trying to dig our childhood memories that were buried under the dust of time. He somberly stated his father’s demise and revealed that he will never come again because now he owns a shop in Srinagar which is doing well since the tourism has augmented. Though I had almost forgotten him yet when we looked at each other I felt a strong pain and sorrow as if a significant twine has been snapped inside me.Our friendship without words ended and I bid him adieu with gloomy eyes.

Sin Tacks

Sin tacks….err syntax, I never had such a difficult time studying any subject. T, our syntax prof is just too brilliant. He is undoubtedly a prodigy…a genius. He is so intellectual that his humor has the same essence…very subtle. Even his student-bashing is equally subtle. He asks us to make a tree diagram of ‘we are stupid’ to make us feel the same. His tone always remains so calm, so cool. Yet the girls have a crush on him (including me). He is so passionate about his subject that he gets sicken when his students do not reciprocate that fervor. But can’t he understand that not everyone has the similar passion for the subject. I’m passionate about education the same way he is fervent about syntax. This is the rationale behind my fondness for him. I don’t like his sarcasm but I like his persona…his mediocre height, his whiz kid looks, his subtle humor. But syntax is emphatically sin tacks for me!