This took me back to my hostel days, to him—to Shaf kaak. I remember standing at the gate, asking, "aapko kahaan jaana hai?" "kuin jaana hai?" "entry kiye bagair nahi jaana," even when he already knew where I was heading. He was always quiet, and I often wondered if life had carved that silence into him, if the weight of unspoken stories had made words feel unnecessary. But as days passed, we, the trio—gathered around him, asking, "aap kabse yahaan hain?" "shuru shuru mein yahaan ka maahol kaisa tha?" And slowly, we realized—he wasn’t a man of few words; he was a man waiting for the right ones. He didn’t choose silence; he simply waited for someone who cared enough to break it. Some people aren’t quiet because they have nothing to say. They’re quiet because no one ever asked in a way that made them want to speak. And you’ve captured that beautifully.
Happy to know someone else saw what was always there.
The brain really does sometimes stores mundane memories from the past which had no serious impact on you as a person.
While reading this, I remembered the time when I stayed with my maternal grandma’s sister’s home one summer. I must be 11-12 at that time and she had 5 children. The youngest was a boy and he was a year younger than me. My young uncle and other older aunts ranging from 13 to 20; we hung out solid for a month. I am reminded of many instances happened at that time. Such raw memories, untouched by your “post that life” experiences are rare and are so refreshing that you don’t want to share it with the world.
Anurag, you bring back so many memories and after a long long time, your writing is nudging me to start writing again. Love it as always -- can see everything including the man and the telephone he must have used to call your father.
Storytelling at its best! The false sense of power is evident in the case of select wardens. Same is the case with some security guards in housing societies and their honorary secretaries that have no honour. Reminds me of the Stanford Prison Experiment, a compelling case study about the nature of power, conformity, and obedience; including the way in which the experiment was conducted.
might be memory playing tricks .. but it feels like I remember him (even though I was not in the TPS hostel).
I also must have had similar experiences ... but why dont I remember anything? One thing I feel like I do remember is relentless burden of existing, even as a kid. Perhaps thats why I left the city as soon as I could and rarely go back. Maybe I have consciously forgotten everything,
This took me back to my hostel days, to him—to Shaf kaak. I remember standing at the gate, asking, "aapko kahaan jaana hai?" "kuin jaana hai?" "entry kiye bagair nahi jaana," even when he already knew where I was heading. He was always quiet, and I often wondered if life had carved that silence into him, if the weight of unspoken stories had made words feel unnecessary. But as days passed, we, the trio—gathered around him, asking, "aap kabse yahaan hain?" "shuru shuru mein yahaan ka maahol kaisa tha?" And slowly, we realized—he wasn’t a man of few words; he was a man waiting for the right ones. He didn’t choose silence; he simply waited for someone who cared enough to break it. Some people aren’t quiet because they have nothing to say. They’re quiet because no one ever asked in a way that made them want to speak. And you’ve captured that beautifully.
Happy to know someone else saw what was always there.
The brain really does sometimes stores mundane memories from the past which had no serious impact on you as a person.
While reading this, I remembered the time when I stayed with my maternal grandma’s sister’s home one summer. I must be 11-12 at that time and she had 5 children. The youngest was a boy and he was a year younger than me. My young uncle and other older aunts ranging from 13 to 20; we hung out solid for a month. I am reminded of many instances happened at that time. Such raw memories, untouched by your “post that life” experiences are rare and are so refreshing that you don’t want to share it with the world.
Thank you for writing this!
Anurag, you bring back so many memories and after a long long time, your writing is nudging me to start writing again. Love it as always -- can see everything including the man and the telephone he must have used to call your father.
Keep writing.
Storytelling at its best! The false sense of power is evident in the case of select wardens. Same is the case with some security guards in housing societies and their honorary secretaries that have no honour. Reminds me of the Stanford Prison Experiment, a compelling case study about the nature of power, conformity, and obedience; including the way in which the experiment was conducted.
might be memory playing tricks .. but it feels like I remember him (even though I was not in the TPS hostel).
I also must have had similar experiences ... but why dont I remember anything? One thing I feel like I do remember is relentless burden of existing, even as a kid. Perhaps thats why I left the city as soon as I could and rarely go back. Maybe I have consciously forgotten everything,
What an engaging writeup! Also very insightful. Thank you for sharing.
This is wonderful!! Nietzsche reference peaked here 🫶🏽
Perfect ending with nod to Godot. Really like your dry humor.
Thanks, Rishija ✨