I feel an intense urge to have my own room,
my own space. The first thing that I would do is probably take print-outs of
Alfred Hitchcock’s movies, the standard Che Guevara poster for fighting on,
poems by Robert Frost and Dumbledore’s quotes and stick them to the wall,
beautifully. Additions will take place almost every fortnight. I will also put
the picture of me and my best friend on the wall which we had clicked while on
a random evening in front of Taj Mahal Hotel in Colaba asking one of the random
bhaiyas who roam with a camera which churns out instant pictures. Waking up
every morning to such a creation would be the ultimate reminder that I am alive
in more ways than one. I have seen people plastering an entire map of the world
on one of the walls of their room and paint it with red marks after every
subsequent trip. I would stick pictures of where I want to go of which
Dubrovnik tops the list. I would also put a picture of my Mom, my biggest
strength. I have never seen such perseverance to hold on to life as much as in
my mother. Smiling and holding on. Breathing and holding on. Gathering and
holding on.
