Vyshnoo

I don’t like these Indian routines.

​The Indian boy was expected to get A grades in all the subjects from his lower kindergarten. His father was a doctor and his mother was a housewife. Daily, he would wake up early in the morning and would be made to revise his alphabet. He’d go to school and come back and would be forced to study for those As. He’d then eat and be looked after for a while and made to sleep.

When he woke up during his teens. He realised he had to wake up early and study, go to school and then go for tution. His mother wanted to spend time with him but she’d let him study. So he did. He’d be studying even more during his holidays so that he’d get into IIT. At night he’d study late and sleep later.

He woke up and found himself in the IIT campus away from his home. His mom was very happy. His dad was happier. Was he happy? He didn’t know much about interaction and relationships. His books made a cage around him. He’d still study and later sleep.

He woke up and found himself in the office with a huge pay check. He showed it to his parents and handed it to them. He remained indecisive when his parents thought he needed to get married. He finished all his work and slept.

He woke up and found himself on a holiday with his wife who was similarly brought up like him. Neither her nor him knew what to do on the beach. They just clicked a few photographs and returned back home. They slept on the same bed that night, shying away.

He woke up to do the same with his children and they kept growing that way.

He woke up in his old age sitting in his house and wondering what was the point of his life, he realised nothing. He’d receive the pension on time and kept surviving. Golf was supposed to be a good sport and so, he’d play it and practice it to get an A.

No one saw his paintings ever when he was alive.