ENGLISH: CREATIVE WRITING

Dear Journal, The world that I know is fast becoming the world that I knew. The last night of my life here in Allahabad, and no one is even talking. As I walked in from the farm for the final time, my feet blistered, my hands black and my face sprayed with confusion and bewilderment, my mother stood and dropped her head. Her eyes were red, and underneath you could see the charcoal black, she hadnt slept for days. I had developed a tumultuous relationship with my father ever since he asked me to leave, his words are still echoing in my ears. You will find a better life. However I enjoyed the breath of the morning sun filled with the smell of blueviolets, the willowing fire from cooking and the persistent murmur of the animals walking through the fields. This was my life, the soft foliage gracing my eyes, to the warm and temperate wind casting its wings through my hair, as a fountain of youth; nature rejuvenated my soul each morning. My father is still staying bitterly cold to his directions for me, and will take no such otherwise guidance. So little red book, this is my last goodbye from home. My next writing will see me a little closer to my new world. A world that I do not know of yet, let the path of destiny embrace me, and let the new world grace me. Sekuh Krishan.

Sekuh in a low soft voice, came floating from my door as a leant to put my diary in my suitcase. Kai ke jata he? (Why are you going?), Amila my younger sister said. She was holding a flower in a plastic sleeve, and a white paper with neat writing, blotched with what seemed to be tear drops. Amila, come. She came and rested her head on my shoulder. Her benevolent smile gave warmth to my otherwise anxiety filled heart. I will be gone, but... I couldnt even think of anything to say to give her comfort, even I was feeling so much remorse for leaving her. Memories live forever, yes? And even when the world comes crashing in on you and you need me here... I handed her a little red book, just I had used for my memories since I was 12. Write in this, and once a year I want you to post it to me. I promise I will never leave you without a brother She turned her head into me, and I felt her warm moist cheeks pressing against my cold dry neck. She looked up at me, her heart was full of grief and peril, but her eyes were ablaze with love and passion. Though tears seeped from her young and innocent soul, like a stoned martyr she put on a smile, and wrapped her warm thin arms around me. Hum ke miss kare? (Will you miss me?). I wanted to stay strong, but my knees weakened, my palms grew sweaty and my shoulders felt as if the world of my family, was riding on my back. My mother suddenly walked in, she hadnt said much to me for weeks since my father had told her of his planned departure for me. Her heart was continuously sinking, her will grew weak and she had no expression on her face. Her ghost like opaque figure seamlessly drifted through the house. I could smell the vivacious fragrance of her cooking, packed into three bags.

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She slowly placed them on the outside of my suitcase. Then like a hollow tree fell to her knees. She began to pray for me, for my journey. Prathna me bolo bahgwan ke tum ke follow kare... (Pray that God will guide you.) No words could explain the perilous pit in which I felt I was at the bottom of. In what seemed a cold gesture at the time, I asked both of them to leave.

I turned the lights off, closed my suit case and aimed to catch some rest before my flight in the morning. The moon glistened off the nearby river, causing a wave of shimmering light to reflect onto my ceiling. The tranquil ambience of my surroundings had created my identity, my humanity and shaped my humility. I rose early before the sun the next morning. My father had booked a local taxi driver to drive us into the city and drop the family at the airport. With a steadfast look, he sat next to me in the taxi. He handed me three forms. Ee konchi he? I confusingly replied (What is this?). I looked down to glance at the first few lines...West Delhi Newton College. You will be attending school next year Sekuh, and I want you to be able to express all the gifts God has given you. You will be living with Amun in the city, and he will take care of you. Your fees have been paid for, and I will send Amun money every month. New home, new life, no family and now this, my mind grew weary from the constant thought of possibilities and paranoia towards what awaited me. Sirens, car horns, engine roars and peoples pervading voices were piercing my childlike ears. Smoke filled my lungs, and I felt as if my face was disappearing into the endless wave of people. Amila held my jacket; I reached down to hold her hand. It was warm, moist and weak. He face was pale, and her eyes lashes wet. She followed by my side as we walked through the rotating doors of the airport. My mother was speechless, but her eyes were a scroll holding the endless stories of me as a child engraved into her every thought. My father was looking at the flight screen, tediously searching through the infinite flight calls to match my plane ticket. I finally kissed Amila and my mother, and said goodbye. My father turned and looked at me. Krishan is your last name. Your love is in Allahabad. And your faith is in God. His strong sun-darkened arms embraced me, and for the first time I felt protection from their terrible meaning. He handed me my ticket.

Flight two zero two, 8:15 to Delhi is now boarding. I turned to look once more at the world I knew, and walked forward to write a new entry, in a new world, in my old little red book.

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