The filtered recollections

Quite some years back, my English tutor uttered a golden sentence, "You think what you choose to think". I think he said that while explaining the class the disappointment of the father in a Joyce Cary short story named Growing Up.

I'll be honest. I had to do a Google search to get the name of that Joyce Cary short story. I could not believe that I was actually doing that. Just then I realised that I read that story almost ages back. In 2011. Back in school...

Ah, school. These days in college, whenever I eke out some bit of time to sit with my friends, all the conversation turns to those 'golden' and 'silver' and 'whatever metal' days in school. The tiny bits of mischief, all the sports days and cultural fests- these things tend to bombard conversations. I asked one my friends one day, "Don't you ever feel tired of talking about some goddamned school days?"

Pat (and angrily) came the reply, "Oh come on. If you tell me school tales are boring, I'll rap you on your face".

Of course, no one wants to be 'rapped' on the face. And I walked away from that conversation. But then again, the fault, dear Brutus, lies in our own selves, not other men or stars.

I sat down and wondered, well how was my life in school? 

"Life in school, sure", Memory sniggered, "Ever wondered why I never bring to you your schooldays? I've buried them for good measure", said Memory to me in the manner of a doctor. An epiphany occurred to me. Of course, I never chose to think of my schooldays. Because no, it wasn't plated with any precious metal. Those days were dark. As hell.

I despise complaining with whatever evil Providence had showered upon me. I didn't mind the TB, the dengue, the numerous hospital visits, the end of my singing career, the end of my ambition to join the army, or the insults I received from my extended family. Yet I just could not help being tinged green with jealousy whenever I saw kids of the same age as mine talking excitedly among themselves, as if everyday for them were a bed of roses. I would feel like punching a lot of faces when I heard all the plans being made for some new film or for the days during Pujo, sans me.

Of course, you need friends if 'plans' need to be made with you in confidence. I didn't have any. I'm not wallowing in self pity. I just did not have any. I even know the reason why. "Who the hell would wanna go out with you Shila? You know how boring you are?", said one of my classmates, a female one that was. I guessed right. 

Suddenly Memory cropped up at the back of my head and bellowed, "Nice ploy huh, Boring Guy? Dug up a lot of my hard work just because you wanted to write some stupid recollections of yours- don't make me work so much ever again. The digging and those days pain me", and he turned around and went to sleep.

You know, those days absolutely killed me from the inside... And Memory turned back towards me and looked at me with his most angry face, "Filter. Your. Memories. It pains me otherwise".

I think I felt a stray tear rolling down his cheek.