Tonic
Stories
October 15, 2012 Random Thoughts

O Passion Thou Diest a Slow Death

It was just another aimless Saturday morning. I woke up late as usual to the buzzing traffic on the streets and thought to myself here’s another pointless seventh day of the week. However I was wrong, this Saturday was something different than the others. I woke up to a text by a friend that said, “Writing is an easy task. Just fetch yourself a pen and a paper and write what occurs to you. The writing is easy- it’s the occurring that’s hard.” And there I stood a young lady suddenly enlightened by a text which I felt was indeed true because of the phase I was going through. I had to write a blog but I had no idea on what. As I got off the bed something struck my mind and I turned left I saw my Hobner 120 export smeared with dust. I stood gazing at it for sometime and then said to it, “Dude, you shall be my muse!”

As teens we all had numerous passions and hobbies which we thought would be part of our lives till we die. I too had some one of them was music. I was fiercely passionate about singing and playing the guitar. That guitar which now lies ignored was a very integral part of teenage years. I never thought that I could live without that guitar which gave me a name of my own in my early college and school years. Years later I was no more that black t-shirt, cargo pants clad retro specs wearing girl who was often seen carrying a guitar or practicing in the corridor or an empty classroom. I had now entered Degree College and was often seen as a member of many organizing committees.

That guitar with whom I spent a considerable chunk of my existence was now a distant comrade. It was no more that friend with whom I played everyday. Now playing was only restricted to Sundays later on with the passing time even that wasn’t possible. Every mid-summer and diwali vacation I would promise myself that I would spend time with it. However I couldn’t those breaks were just restricted to de-stringing and replacing it with new strings. With the fleeting time even that wasn’t feasible as I had devoted myself solely to my books. I had to do something for my future and that could happen only through those books I told myself.

That guitar which was once a vital part of my living started being placed in more remote and unnoticed corners of my room with each passing day. It now lays in a dusty case which is also home to those tattered notes that I once used smeared head-to-toe with dust in a miniscule corner of my room with a carom board for company. It has been in that state for almost nineteen long months. Whenever I look at it an ode I wrote for it two years ago which ended with these lines comes to my mind-

“I wait for the moment when life from its vicious chain shall set me free,

That very next moment O friend from this dark-cased world of you I shall let thee free…

And then in some corner of my room O guitar you shall never quietly weep.”

Meanwhile I am trying to escape from this scathing shame of abandoning my truest comrade. I am trying to find out ways to flee this disgrace. I look at my 17 year old cousin who still plays the guitar and I become more guilt ridden than before. I then look at my 28 year old brother I see his guitar, trumpet and bongo lay in dust in a far-flung corner of his room and I smile to myself and say “Indeed! O passion thou diest a slow death.”.

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