A Page From The Old Man’s Diary…

The fire cracked in front of him as he sat quietly staring into the flames, smoking his cigar with Frank Sinatra playing on the record player
in the background. The walls on either side of him were lined up with books from top to bottom. He had been collecting them for years now and was proud of his library. He had books which had been gifted to him as a child, to books he had bought from garage sales to collectibles which had cost him a bomb. His receding hairline was just an indication that he was growing old, even though he was still believed that he was still 18 but his body seemed to disagree. He grabbed his robe as he felt the chilly air blowing through the nearby open window. He got up to close it and cause of his shivering hands he knocked over the book kept on the shelf right next to the window.

He bent down to pick it up. It had a red cover with his name written in gold on top of it. He remembered it was a gift from his grandfather which as a kid he cherished and cause of which he got into the beautiful habit of penning down his thoughts.  Writing was his way to shut his mind to the outside world and feel his soul. It was a way to nirvana for him. Even at this old age, one thing what made him feel young was reading his own thoughts jotted down years ago in this exact diary. The pages had become yellow and slightly worn out. He carefully flipped through them and came across a rather old entry which according to his calculation was around 53 years ago when he was just a little boy chasing a wild dream.

-*-*-*-*-

8^th November 1958

Dear Diary,

It’s been a long journey. I have been drifting in and out of sleep for the last few hours. The train seems to be stopping every half an hour. We have crossed hundreds of stations from busy ones to small one platform ones. I doze off to sleep only to be woken up by the chirping of the birds and a young kid melodiously advertising his tea for the early risers on the train. I can see the mountains at the distance behind the small broken down wooden platform. The sky seems to be a fade shade of purple and according to my calculation it’s around 4 o clock in the morning.

In case you are wondering why I am sitting on this train and not on my table writing my diary, the answer I am not sure about. Last few months I have been fighting the thought of running away from home to follow my dreams. I do not want to join my father at his shop. I cannot waste another day of this beautiful life in doing something I am not happy doing. Father does not understand when I say I want to run away to the hills and hike the peaks. He hits me and shouts at me and tells me to get back to my senses. He yells that I do not understand the importance of money and hard work and I should put my mind into more fruitful things which might help us live a more comfortable life. My mother cries when he hits me but she can’t say much. I do not let her cause im afraid father will hit her too. What if im only 20, I have my dreams too and I have a right to follow them too.

I shut my eyes and let the thought sink in. Last night I ran away from home and have taken a train to the Himalayas. The mountains have called me. I am sick and tired of living a life of lies and fake happiness when I can actually feel the freedom in every ounce of blood flowing through my own veins. I look out the window to those snow covered peaks. It’s cold and all I have is a thin shirt and around 23 rupees in my pockets of my worn out shorts. I have left home to live a beautiful life. I have left home to follow my dream.  I do not know where exactly I am going. I do not know how I will survive. All I have heard is that there are a few monasteries up in the hill for a young lost boy like me and that is the place where I will find my answers to life, answers about God and answers about myself. Since I was a kid I wanted to scale Mt. Everest. I have never let that dream slip away. 10 years down the line I’m more determined than ever to make that dream a reality and would love to cut that off my bucket list.

I wish mother came with me. I miss her warm smile. I miss her caring hands. I wish I would have waited for her. I wish I wouldn’t have left her alone with that horrible man. She was the only one who believed in me and pushed me to follow my heart. 20 years since I was born and she never let a tear drop of mine hit the floor. She was the reason I took this decision to leave home. She was the one who handed that piece of paper into my hands a few days back. Her father, my grandfather, had written something which put my feelings and my thoughts at this very moment exactly into the right words and I would wish to share those words of wisdom with you. Mother this is for you.

I saw the light and I took a step

I closed my eyes and let the shadows tread

I held the door and opened up my dreams

Im falling deeper and deeper into my thought it seems

 

I put the key under the mattress

I push the letter in with no regrets

I pack my bags and say my final prayers

Im off to a world where there is no despair

 

I wanted to say a final goodbye

I wanted to hear you for the very last time

But the train is waiting and I got to leave

This is the only chance I get to be me

 

Follow your dream and never look back

It’s a cartoon world carrying a heavy sack

The more u fight the less you weigh

For a lifetimes dream this is the least you pay

 

I look at that young man from years ago

Who stood at that porch with a dream to follow

Who left with a heavy and broken heart

Whose life was a struggle but never fell apart

 

I had a dream and I had no fear

I never let the past interfere

And after years of pleasure and distress

I still find the key under the mattress

 

Mother handed me the paper with trembling hands and said to me that it was never too late to follow my dreams. The world will still go on and the people who love you will still be there. I wish I had once told her what she meant to me before I had left the house. I wish someday I come back home and hug my mother and tell her how much I love her and thank her for this poem. My grandfather was a wise man and as it’s rightly said, the best thing a writer can do is give the reader some hope. That’s what this poem gave me, a belief to leave the world behind and take the first step towards my dream.

Today is the first day to the rest of my life. As the train starts moving the only thing running through my head is the beautiful divine backdrop behind those long endless yellow farms. I can see the sun coming up in the distance. I have a smile on my face. I am following my dream to reality. I’m holding on to hope and belief to guide me through the rest of the years of my life.

Signing off

A young dreamer

-*-*-*-*-

He turned the page with trembling hands to find the page empty. He slowly got up still in a daze and went to his table and opened up the top drawer.  He took out the black and white photograph of 5 young men clad with heavy suits and huge rucksacks standing on top of a snow covered peak gleaming with joy. He takes out the glue and sticks that picture on the empty page of that diary. He takes the pen and with shaking old ragged hands writes down, “Mt. Everest – 4 June 1967, another page from the story of a young dreamer, It’s never too late”.