Life’s *Storry*
Since I’ve got absolutely nothing to blab on, I’ll try my bad luck with stories. Like you know, stories go back a long time. For most of us, our grandmas held the password to the magical world of endless tales that kept us engrossed when we were less-stupid little kids. And then one day you grew up and stopped paying heed to impossible fibs. In simpler words, you became a part of your own story called Life. You were the main character, for a change. Of course, you realized every now and then that you weren’t cut-out for the part but still you carried on with it. Needless to say, you often wondered, “How the heck did I bag this role?” So you started looking around and acknowledged the fact that this whole world is an exotic stage and we are all mere hams, diligently trying to act professional, ad-libbing every now and then to add a twist to the script. But in the end, you get a story to call your own.
No matter where you come from, you always carry some f-ed up story with you. These stories, so to narrate, are mostly based on personal inexperiences and utter disregard to consequences. That’s exactly what makes it so damn captivating — its raw unpredictability and undeniable authenticity. Somewhere down the line, we learn that our story can’t be perfect the way they show in movies. Our stories are basically sad, to be frank. We love melancholic drama and not even attempt to get tired of it. Maybe this is the reason why our stories mostly turns out very hospitable to tears and warms heart. Luckily, a fortunate few find the silver smiling lining amid this charade and laugh their heart out at the trivialness of breathing. And some join in the laugh riot.
This story we’re talking about here is alive. It has procreative gifts. For instance, it can give rise to spiteful rumours, adulterated anecdotes and misquoted quotes, too. Far from being dead words, this story is life itself. It may so happen that once in a while, life may abandon you and digress towards loneliness, lethargy, maudlin and other such inviting corner. Despite this interlude, the story goes on.
“Dearest Life, January was here but you weren’t, where were you? February is here but you aren’t, where are you?”
The search never ends nor the hide-and-seek routine. Just for a story’s sake.
