Dipesh Majumdar

Blog and Paintings

I miss those days

As I see my five months old baby, crying, giggling and rolling over in bed, I wonder if he is aware whether he will get the next feed?
When I take him to the balcony of my room, his curious hands go forth as if to grasp the entire horizon with his tiny hands, oblivious of the menacing height at which the balcony hangs in space. But has he ever thought - what if I lose the grip that holds him tight?
When I go out to work, has he ever noticed the wrinkles in my face that reflects my work-tension?
When I look back at my life till the point memory allows me, I simply wish if I had a rewind button to go back in those phases where I had no responsibility, no fear or worry. I ate when I was fed, cried when I was hurt, laughed when someone made funny gestures, slept when comforted with those soft pats.
As I have grown up, I have missed those comforting hands feeding me, caring me, caressing and fondling me. Is this what they call adulthood? If it is, then I despise adulthood. In this moment of depression, I simply slip into that cocoon of affection I had relished in my childhood. I re-relish them. It is virtual but very blissful and I dont want to come out of it. So I remain there, lying with closed eyes.
I sometimes feel not responsible for things going around here. Somewhere in my mind, I still think someone is still responsible for my wellbeing and comfort. I still feel that someone should take care of me in my bad times.

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