Within My Mind?!

You all would be wondering (I hope) what the hell happened to me? This brief tale should answer your queries, take you on a short nostalgic trip, and might put a full stop on this blog. The date is August 29, 2020.  Someone called me from behind when  I was walking downstairs. "Siba, right?" "Yeah, that would be me. Do I know you?"  "I would say so. I am Siba Smarak Panigrahi." I froze. Did he just repeat my name? As far as I remember, only one of me is on this Earth. Obviously, I had searched my name on Google. "I am from 2030" Was that meant to give relief? I went into another deep shock. "Great Scott! Time-travel comes around in 10 years?" said I. "That's what you are worried about?"  "Just wait." I looked down, took three deep breaths, gave a tight slap on my cheek, pinched myself, rubbed my hands, warmed my eyes, and said, "Well, he should be gone by now." "Hello! I am real for God's sake!...

My son somehow got hold of the letter—the one from Dear Crush . He managed to understand the first six lines. I hadn’t wanted him to know, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hide what happened next from you all, either.

It’s a fine Monday morning. I was going through my old college books, which were covered with dust. I was searching for one to help my son understand a concept better. Suddenly, a letter slipped out. I picked it up. Something was scribbled on it— I suffered from a terrible toothache. I needed to see a doctor. Instead, I met a nurse. I told her about the pain. She listened and then walked away to call the doctor, leaving me with hope. But what remained? Me. My increasing pain. Nostalgia hit hard. To all my dearest people, I wish to share a glimpse of my thoughts from one evening—three days before I wrote this letter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I stood near the wall—specifically, in one corner of the floor—waiting. Just waiting for the people inside the HOD’s room to come out. I needed to get in for a signature. I had been in the department since five in the evening. It was nearly seven now. Oh gosh! How...

I was under immense pressure. In the secret code language, we all understand—'Nature's call.' I was in tenth grade, ranked fifth in the class. Then there was Wharkin—studious beyond belief. I honestly don’t know if there’s a book she hasn’t read. Her study room was a library, books scattered everywhere, each tagged with what looked like summaries. But they weren’t just summaries—every book was underlined, scientific journals and research papers filled with pencil-drawn diagrams. I rushed toward the washroom entrance.  As I reached the door,  I was reassured by the familiar sight of closed compartments and felt relieved that I was in the correct washroom. I have this phobia that I might enter the wrong one. Yeah, at some point or other in your life,  you've probably had that fear too—or at least, every boy in our school did ! I opened the compartment and something else.  Oh, what a glorious, satisfying relief! I remembered visiting Wharkin’s house yesterday a...