A Wish

If wishes had a will of their own, I would be teaching English in my Alma Mater, Carmel School, Digboi, to a likely bunch of eager girls and bored boys, discussing a poem like Walt Whitman's "O Captain, My Captain" and what does the poet signify when he addresses the Captain as "My Father". Then, I would ask if anyone was aware of the meaning of "Elegy" and I am certain, someone resembling the young me or the many literature loving batch mates I was fortunate to have (mostly girls and few boys, a mystery still), would spring from her seat and with a glint of pride and sense of achievement, explain to the class what it means. Some of the boys, in the meantime, would have sketched a fascinating pirate ship, just in an attempt to evade questions on the poet's reference to the misery and pain during the American Civil War.

The English literature and language classes were perhaps the brightest part of a regular school day for me. The discussions, the teachers, the enthusiasm to discover a new word, the essays that allowed us to go on flights of fantasy, those ominous workbooks which I would diligently fill without any care for meals and sleep, all those and more ignited that never to be satiated desire to devour books, reading anything that has semblance to the written form and feel a mental orgasm each time I walk into a bookstore, library or even get near a shelf lined with books.

The desire to go back to those classrooms and share what I learnt in my time always lurks in a bright corner of the heart. Maybe some day this one from my bucket list shall be fulfilled. Till then, I shall be picking up the old text books to read those scribblings in lead adorning the pages and as was always advised, "read between the lines".