Non-Fictional

Admist the wave of fictional readers, this reader in me is carrying the weighing scale. On one plate, the delusional world created by the minions of others' minds and hard hitting realities on the other. The fantasies never infatuated me, may be because deep down, even the child in me knew that this wasn't really true. However, the magic of the graphics and visuals on screen did pave their way through my mind and took a special place, raising an adult who watches cartoon movies. Then why not fictional books? It's not that they are not on my list. I do enjoy such flicks casually. They do invoke the magic of possibilities in a mundane tasteless routine. The possibilities that human minds are capable of carving so many vivid imaginary worlds to keep the human race going! But it was non-fictional honesty that had to win over the little girl's curiosity. It began with the Father of the nation narrating hard core reality of his life, where he learnt from his mistakes. Where text books weaved a pretty tapestry, he himself jotted his depreciating reality and the lessons he learnt that made him the man he was. Followed by a comrade's rant justifying atheism, holding hand of that little girl in me, giving the courage to accept and assert myself a little more loudly, to "make some noise." The GOATs of the sports, flaunting proudly, their defeats along with the victories, the little girl was compelled to look eye in eye with the devils of adulting. Where she was a timid kitten, their stories turned her into a beast, indifferent to life's brutal lessons,  because these were the stories of real people. Like you. Like me. Who rose above their miseries, their insecurities, their fears. The ambitions of the Mafia and the revenge of criminals to make it big in their lives, the perils they faced for choosing the "wrong way." Of Artist, of singers, of performers, of dancers, who dreamed! Because the girl saw the jenga of her dreams come collapsing down because of irreversible wrong moves. These stories, these REAL stories of hoping for the ray of light in the dark, picking up those pieces of Jenga and rebuilding that tower! But now she knows that the tower may come falling down any time, but it could be built again and again and again! Just from the non-fictional books, she realized that this game of Jenga is similar to our lives. The beauty of the game is in rebuilding those fallen blocks, with fear, with anxiety that it may fall, and mind me, it will fall! but building it again, letting it fall again. That's how the Jenga of life will go on! However, I cannot deny that a little magic is important to ignite the will to wake up in the morning, with that excitement of a new story everyday. But the balances will weigh the non-fiction more for me, because someone's life is carrying the weight of keeping me grounded.

Nikita Pandit