“I was born talented
but education ruined me.” I would rather like to narrate a story of my
friend Deepak. He was a fantastic guy, a child prodigy. He used to write and he
loved to write. He used to tell me and confess that he wanted to be a writer. But
his father had some unlike thoughts. He wanted to make him an officer who would
depart from his home at 9:00 and would return before 5:00 in the evening. He wanted
to make him someone who would carry a leather briefcase containing some
documents of ‘national importance’ being escorted by some officials in an
ambassador with a lal bathi. His fathers
had his own ambition and Deepak respected him and his expectations a lot. He enrolled
himself in std.11 and begin to prepare for JEE MAINS. He once told me that the ‘things
were not going his way’. I didn’t knew that those 5 words were as deeper as the
sky.
“I don’t know this stuff. I don’t know what they are trying
to search in an atom and wasting their time in those damn microscopic level. Let’s
switch to macroscopic level. I think that these α, β and ϒ are going to kill
me.”
He used to love to write about the sky, about his friend and her strands of hair fluttering in the air, the curious way in which the sunset used to fall at her face and the beauty being used as a drapery….
“Fake it, till you
make it.” He used to believe in that principle. For a brief time he tried
to devote his time in those equations. He was made to handle those thick books
of Arihant and RS Agarwal by force not by choice. He thought faking those
things might help him. He read, mugged up, but he didn’t that he was fighting
outside his domain. I hardly believed whether he could sustain.
He was pushing hard and I thought that he had taken enough
hits and he was down. He still wanted to study because he knew that after his
evening classes his father would call him and would ask about his study and
preparations. His father was an expertise and a very noble person. His father
loved him blindly just like every like every father in this whole civilized world.
The only thing that his father wanted was his security. His father knew that
being a writer meant that he was going to have many hardships in his life.
Deepak tried hard but he couldn’t make it. He tried again
and again but all his endeavors ended in fiasco. And today after many years
when I am not in touch with him, I neither hear his name as bureaucrat or any
writer. He tried to fake it but he couldn’t
make it.
I had started the context in the first person but rather I would
like to wrap it up in third person.
“He was born talented
but education ruined him.”
