Today, I am sad, Rohith. Sad because you have left us, but also sad because I didn't take the chance to know you. The more I hear about you, the more I read what you wrote, I am sad that I missed out on having you as a friend. Perhaps, you would've felt the same about me. I wish that at the times we made eye contact and nodded in acknowledgement of each other, we actually had a conversation.
Would we have discussed the cosmos, about Carl Sagan and Neil deGrasse Tyson? I would have recounted something that I read on the internet and found fascinating (“Isn't it amazing that there's a possibility that the star whose light we are seeing now might not exist anymore?”). You might have shared my amazement, even utter something profound and philosophical.
Would we have discussed our mutual love for Lionel Messi and his magical feet? I would've said something like, “I think towards the end of his career, Messi could become a midfield assist machine becuase his passing is so visionary.” Would you have agreed? You might have said that Totti had already done somehing similar at Roma and nod that Messi would indeed become a good trequartista.
Would we have discussed society, politics and caste? I would've said something like, “The middle class, upper caste milieu is going to doom this country.” Perhaps together, we could've pondered how to burst the bubble that urban, well-off families live in. Or perhaps, you might have smiled at me, recognising that I was saying these things only to wash away my guilt at being part of the same milieu. Would you have made me confront this hypocrisy?
Would we have spent time around joyful bonfires, discussing the ways of the world? Would we have sung songs of resistance together?
They say that the sleeping feel no more pain, while the living are all scarred. I hope that you have travelled to the stars. I hope that you have found your peace, even if you left behind a lot of us in turmoil. Know that you have found a home in the hearts and minds of people whom you didn't even know (and who didn't know you). Their hearts feel your pain, but they find hope in your words.
Would we have discussed the cosmos, about Carl Sagan and Neil deGrasse Tyson? I would have recounted something that I read on the internet and found fascinating (“Isn't it amazing that there's a possibility that the star whose light we are seeing now might not exist anymore?”). You might have shared my amazement, even utter something profound and philosophical.
Would we have discussed our mutual love for Lionel Messi and his magical feet? I would've said something like, “I think towards the end of his career, Messi could become a midfield assist machine becuase his passing is so visionary.” Would you have agreed? You might have said that Totti had already done somehing similar at Roma and nod that Messi would indeed become a good trequartista.
Would we have discussed society, politics and caste? I would've said something like, “The middle class, upper caste milieu is going to doom this country.” Perhaps together, we could've pondered how to burst the bubble that urban, well-off families live in. Or perhaps, you might have smiled at me, recognising that I was saying these things only to wash away my guilt at being part of the same milieu. Would you have made me confront this hypocrisy?
Would we have spent time around joyful bonfires, discussing the ways of the world? Would we have sung songs of resistance together?
They say that the sleeping feel no more pain, while the living are all scarred. I hope that you have travelled to the stars. I hope that you have found your peace, even if you left behind a lot of us in turmoil. Know that you have found a home in the hearts and minds of people whom you didn't even know (and who didn't know you). Their hearts feel your pain, but they find hope in your words.
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