The Child in Me
Growing Pains
I’ve always disliked my birthdays.
Two weeks before my 29th birthday, I was broke. I had about ₹1000 in my account and the writing project I was working on was going too slow. I had a big instalment coming my way, but before it did, I needed to submit the penultimate draft. Spurred on by being broke, I accelerated the project, spending hours and hours in front of the screen to finish it.
That day, two weeks before my birthday, I finished the draft. I sent the email and stretched back on my chair. I still needed to wait for my client’s feedback, work on that and after the new draft was ready, I could demand my payment. The draft I’d finished was just a stepping stone. I wasn’t going to get paid just yet, but I was still happy. It had taken me many hours of slogging, several cup of teas, many yawn-avoiding cup of coffees to get there. My brain was groggy after spending day after day in one spot, and I thought I’d enjoy some air.
I usually go for a ride on my cycle late in the night. The streets are empty, the world is quiet(er). And I can ride at high speeds. But that day, after finishing my draft, I went down in the evening. The roads were bustling, and people walked everywhere. (The Covid Pandemic seems like a fantasy here in India.)
