I know there are a lot of people who wonder about me when I say this. They look at me strangely as if trying to fathom what could have happened back then, though I seldom bother to explain. Because I have lived here for most of my life, I don't feel that I have to unless it's on my terms, and that would take more time than most people are willing to give. My story cannot be summed up in two or three sentences; it cannot be packaged into something neat and simple that people would immediately understand. Despite the passage of forty years, the people still living here who knew me that year accept my lack of explanation without question. My story in some ways is their story because it was something all of us lived through.
It was I however who was the closest to it.
I'm fifty-seven years old, but even now I can remember everything from that year, down to the smallest detail. I relive that year often in my mind, bringing it back to my life, and realise when I do, I always feel a strange combination of sadness and joy. there are moments when I wish I could roll back the clock and take all the sadness away, but I have a feeling, that if I do the joy would go away too. So I take the memories as they come, accepting them all, letting them guide me whenever I can. This happens more often than I let on.
It is August, and as I leave my house, I glanced around the sky is overcast and grey, as I move down the street i noticed that the lilies and jasmines are blooming. I zip my jacket just a little. The temperature is cool though I know it's only a matter of weeks before it will settle into something comfortable and the grey skies give way to the kind of days that makes Dehradun one of the most beautiful places in the world.
With a sigh I see it all coming back to me. I close my eyes and the years began to move in reverse, slowly ticking back as the hands of a clock rotating in the wrong direction. As if through someone else's eyes, I see myself growing younger, I see my hairs changing from white to black; I feel the wrinkles around my eyes smoothing out. Lessons I have learned with age grow dimmer, and my innocence returns as that eventful year returns.
I open my eyes and pause. I am standing outside my High School and when I stare at the board I know exactly who I am.
My name is Manik Malhotra, and I am seventeen years old. This is my story and I promise to leave nothing out.
First you will smile and then you will cry- don't say you haven't been warned.
please do tell me if you like itđ
CHAPTER 1-PAGE 3
CHAPTER 2-PAGE 5
CHAPTER 3-PAGE 9
CHAPTER 4-PAGE 12
CHAPTER 5-PAGE 15
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