“Hey, do you remember the time we all went trekking? V~ even came in his full gear…?”
“What about that case when we were playing cricket and suddenly we were caught by madam..?”
“Oh how we practised for cricket, and in the last minute all our efforts go in waste”
“Aaaah…how i feared the stick then. I almost peeed in my pants”
“Those wonderful evenings. Badminton, water, laughing…”
“Early morning tuitions and all the stuff. All sitting together and we used to pull each others legs. Horror stories and we scared them all.”
“Those afternoons of cricket…How D~ used to wax eloquently about his exploits.”
Each one keeps adding his own story, another anecdote, another leaf in a tree. I keep watching. I keep listening. I stay mute.
And then they sense me. Sense that I have been silent all along. Not having contributed any words to their sentences. That I never once figure in any of the exploits they had. I never once even for a blur, am part of their halcyon moments.
And they ask “Hey P~, where were you? What were you doing then?”
And i say with a shrug “I was observing you all”. ( as i am doing now)
Its a blur to me. Actually a gaussian blur averaged over a stretch of a decade of my most active years. Whenever my friends meet, particularly the schoolies, there is a tizzy that everyone goes into. Its a non stop verbal hammering till everyone drops that they keep reminiscing the events, those glorious halcyon days and all.
The days when carefree and full of life, I was living my life, quite content with what i did; quite very content with what i do. My own world prism through which I saw, I learnt, I lived. Somehow neither the need arose then, nor now. That doesnt place me in the lazy bugs, if thats what it might be interpreted as. Its just that, I was always there, but silent. In a huge world, which was to be discovered. Couldnt take things just for granted. The moments, the thoughts nor the people.
Its a very simple philosophy. Playing my part and getting out. Just a been there, done that. Not a had been there, had done that.
If i had to linger, it was through my actions in their minds. All my past is inconsequential to me. The present presents itself to me. In its myriad possibilities of the future. I grab each one of them; live, see and then forget. And then move on.
Or failing memory is it? Signs of my impending senility?