Am turning thirty in a few hours from now. Thirty and married. Thirty and not in Bangalore, but the big bad city Bombay. Thirty, with no full-time job on hand. Cynicists would call this burn-out time, after all those years of throwing health to wind for sake of a single passion called journalism. But yeah. It also means 30 n happy 2 b home, basking in the love of a caring husband.
If there is something that proves itself as important as breathing, its writing. At 30, I thank God for all those wonderful people s/he has brought through life in my way. The best days in worklife have been when I met people who taught me life with their mere existence. Friends who have stood by me through my follies, failures and pulled me up every time I fell taught me patience. Parents who stood by me when people threw dirt in the name of moral policing taught what security means. Their generation that got so obsessed with ego-clashes and ritualistic behaviour, gave birth to the rebel in me.
My grandparents who with their experience, have given me a glimpse of an entire generation pre-and post-independence.
My cousins whose letters landed in our letterbox at the right time -- greetings, post-cards, inland letters, even letters with that `Due' fine that I would end up paying to receive from friends, formed the security called love.
Am turning 30. Some of them are married. Others still on their way to adulthood. But all of them taught me life. Thank you cousins.
My school nestled in what was once a quiet corner in Bangalore -- KVDRDO, is something I will not stop thanking God for. It's laid the foundation to life -- replete with its project school nature, friendly atmosphere, those enterprising activities for students such as managing school assembly, display boards and houses, students became individuals and not mere mugpots.
My teachers are an integral part of that system. Not all memories from school are pleasant. They can be debated about later though. My bunch of school friends are who I swear by.
Teachers at college were equally caring. College exposed me to the big bad competitive world and literally threw challenge at my face. To prove myself. There is one man I would not be able to forget though - Jyoti Sanyal, the dean of Asian College of Journalism who we loathed and cared for at the same time.
It's been a few months since he passed away, but he continues to live on in his writing, more so in the journalism he inspired among his students. It is another matter that most of us could not stay on in his good books, for reaching his idea of a great journalist was a dream not so easy to come by.
At my workplace, my colleagues who stood by me specially when manifestations of childhood trauma hit me hard, mattered more than anything else.
My mentors in journalism who came into my life after a long wait, are those guiding stars I would hold on to for dear life.
If there is one person who has taught me not just life but how to live it, my friend from school who my people know as my adopted brother stands out.
Ever came across a friend or even a brother who would silently be with you during a therapy session that was no less traumatic as one's childhood trauma itself? He did, and made life look so inviting that I began to live, not merely exist to fulfill my dreams.
Thank you dear. And thank you all, for giving me hope in life.
Am turning thirty. And raring to go. All I pray for is sound health.
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