Owning a watch is not a big deal these days, but it was more than a big fat treat during my childhood when hardly a few kids of our age had their own watches. More than a luxury, watches symbolized the transformation to adulthood and independence, a kind of break free from the childhood, the reason why the craving for a watch grew up more and more in our minds each day. I never had one till I was ten, and had always felt a kind of indefinable incompleteness whenever I saw those gaudy and attractive watches that adorned the wrists of my friends. I wanted one for me too, or rather craved for it badly. I didn’t have much inclination towards those too much showy pieces, instead only wanted a very ordinary kind of one that’s just good enough to look elegant and show the time accurately.
A year passed by and I was 11, when I got my first watch. One of the most treasured things in my life, it was beautiful, oval shaped, and golden coloured throughout. It came to me all on a sudden and I was pleasantly surprised get it from my dad. The actually the first watch that I had ever owned in my entire life, I still remember how I used to carefully take it out of the black case and wear it on my wrist so proudly, glee-ing non-stop and rushing off to meet my friends and to parade my new possession. My golden little watch, although not really high priced, was always a sign of independence and a foray in to the world of grown-ups, the world that I always wanted to be a part of. Though it didn’t have any advanced features and glitzy appearances to get enticed, I always had an indefinable liking it, the reason why I was never allured to any of the advanced versions of it that many of my friends. Always glued softly to my wrist, my watch always kept giving me constant company throughout the adventurous lifetime journey from childhood to teenage and then to adolescence.
After about 15 years of constant companionship, my golden little friend left me one fine day, even without bidding adieu. It was a very usual evening and I was back from the office after a tiresome day. Tea and snacks were ready on the table, but hygienic sense overpowered my hunger pages, and I wanted to wash both my hands before munching the lip-smacking sandwich that awaited me. As a precaution to prevent water from damaging my watch, I kept it right there on my bag and went towards the washbasin. It took less than minute for me to come back, but shockingly my watch was nowhere found. I was shocked, devastated, and heartbroken seeing the sudden disappearance of my most prized possession. I frantically looked everywhere and asked the girls who were sitting nearby, but sadly no one could tell me how it went missing in less than a second. I couldn’t stop crying my heart out! I didn’t know what to do and couldn’t figure out how I lost my watch. There is nothing more frustrating than not being able to find thing. But I was almost sure that I won’t get my watch back.
After sobbing uncontrollably for days together, I had to finally come in to terms with the realization that I won’t have the precious company of my long-term friend and companion, my golden little watch, but yet always felt hurt whenever I used to think about it. Seeing my worry and sadness, dad bought me a new watch, which in no way resembled the old one.
Days, months and years passed-by and I moved on with my life. I almost forgot about the watch as I hadn't thought about it for years together until last week.
I had been to the library and chose Cecelia Ahern’s A PLACE CALLED HERE. I started reading it the very same day and was more than fascinated towards the story of Sandy Shortt, the protagonist, an obsessive compulsive young Irish Garda, who goes missing and finds herself in an imaginative world where all missing things and people go. Intriguing isn't it? But what if there is actually a place where all the lost things and people reach? My imagination started going crazy and I felt as if there would really be a world like that where the ‘lost ones’ assemble and start a fresh living. It was then I remembered about my watch. Did my watch get in to the so called mysterious world? What would it be doing there now? I had a thousand questions in my mind, and more coming up one by one!
To be frank, I never wanted to worry anymore, but the idea was just so intriguing that I couldn't stop thinking crazy about it.
If there is an imaginative world where lost things and people finally reach, I am sure my golden watch would have joined its long lost forefathers, friends, cousins and other dear ones who were eagerly waiting for it join them in the world where all lost things and people disappear to. A kind of parallel world that I had never thought about till then, the novel made me feel better and eased my regrets of losing my precious watch. I felt as if I’ve let it scot-free so that it can soon get united with its long-lost family, a huge flock of watches from various ages. I felt good and happy about it! I felt as if I've helped someone get back home, after getting separated for years together, Or I should say that the book almost put an end to my thoughts about the loss of my first owned watch.
Thoughts of a 'third world' beauty
Wondering what I am about to write? Before you start showing me those wonder-struck looks, I want to tell you that I am not jumping in to any sort of serious discussions that you fear about. I promise I won’t make you doze off, but instead tell you yet another ridiculously annoying experience that I’ve had. But let me start off with a very simple question. Whom will you find beautiful, a very fair skinned girl or a little dusky one? By now, you might have got fair idea about what I am about to say. Yes, I am here to rant again about the clichéd topic that we’ve been hearing for decades, and here is the reason why I wanted to share my thoughts with you. Yesterday, amid a casual conversation, I was stunned to the core when one of those less than close friends defined my complexion as the typical identity of a ‘third world’ native. Third world or the underprivileged and underdeveloped, as how it is defined by the snobbish people like him who inhabit in the much acclaimed developed places in the world, was way too derogatory that it took me a minute to come back to my senses and realize what had happened. ‘Did he mean to say I am an ugly duckling?’ I really didn’t have the slightest idea about what was in his mind while he made that remark, and for this reason didn’t feel it necessary to jump in and counter or create a fuss about the comment. But yes, I did feel bad, though I hid it wisely from him.
For a moment I had the tempting urge to tell him that I better prefer being dark outside and fair inside than the other way round, but soon prevented me from making such a momentary and immature reply. Although the discussion ended very soon, the remark somehow remained in the back of my mind the whole day, and I couldn’t help but wonder why people, especially men, have a kind of blind admiration for fair women. I kept wondering why fairness is the benchmark to call someone beautiful, while dark-skin tone is always related to ugliness. It reminded me of those TV commercials where the dark-skinned girl is always the target of ridicule. I am not really dark like jet-black, but am not really fair either, and have no regrets for not having the kind of fairness that would make men like my friend blindly go weak on their knees for women who are fair skinned, only because of the skin tone. There are many impeccably gorgeous yet not-so-fair women out there, but some men, or men like my friend, hardly bother to notice them, or in fact, are brainless enough to see their real beauty. They keep disregarding women with substance, class, and integrity, and go on admiring those who have most whitish skin.
I’ve seen, heard, and read about many dark skinned women who tremendously successful in both professional and personal life, irrespective not are being one among the very fairer one that men would crazily fall for. So if men like him believe that light skinned women epitomize innocence, modesty, and goodness, I would call them stupidest of the lot, for having such silliest reasons to get allured by light skin and to keep mocking at dark skinned women. Nowadays, the concept of beautiful itself is so badly twisted and swirled such men fail to identify the real beauty, instead run behind those fake and heavily pancaked faces that are so badly deceptive, a kind of enticing mirage. The funniest part of the story is that most of the men who worship the fair women will have skin tones that are way far from white. Yet they go on worshiping fair women and keep poking fun at all the others that have abundance of melanin in their skin. White or dark skinned, women with self identity and strong personality will always stand apart from the rest of the crowd, but some dim-witted people like my friend always fail notice them.
As I was going through the Sunday news paper, I came across those matrimonial that read "Looking for slim and fair girl...” where I could again see the extreme obsession for fair skin. I couldn't help but pity the family for being fixated with surface level beauty, and not being bothered about the personality, intelligence and other traits that their ‘would be’ daughter in law should have. I really wanted to call them up and say that ‘White is always not beautiful and Black is always not ugly’.
For a moment I had the tempting urge to tell him that I better prefer being dark outside and fair inside than the other way round, but soon prevented me from making such a momentary and immature reply. Although the discussion ended very soon, the remark somehow remained in the back of my mind the whole day, and I couldn’t help but wonder why people, especially men, have a kind of blind admiration for fair women. I kept wondering why fairness is the benchmark to call someone beautiful, while dark-skin tone is always related to ugliness. It reminded me of those TV commercials where the dark-skinned girl is always the target of ridicule. I am not really dark like jet-black, but am not really fair either, and have no regrets for not having the kind of fairness that would make men like my friend blindly go weak on their knees for women who are fair skinned, only because of the skin tone. There are many impeccably gorgeous yet not-so-fair women out there, but some men, or men like my friend, hardly bother to notice them, or in fact, are brainless enough to see their real beauty. They keep disregarding women with substance, class, and integrity, and go on admiring those who have most whitish skin.
I’ve seen, heard, and read about many dark skinned women who tremendously successful in both professional and personal life, irrespective not are being one among the very fairer one that men would crazily fall for. So if men like him believe that light skinned women epitomize innocence, modesty, and goodness, I would call them stupidest of the lot, for having such silliest reasons to get allured by light skin and to keep mocking at dark skinned women. Nowadays, the concept of beautiful itself is so badly twisted and swirled such men fail to identify the real beauty, instead run behind those fake and heavily pancaked faces that are so badly deceptive, a kind of enticing mirage. The funniest part of the story is that most of the men who worship the fair women will have skin tones that are way far from white. Yet they go on worshiping fair women and keep poking fun at all the others that have abundance of melanin in their skin. White or dark skinned, women with self identity and strong personality will always stand apart from the rest of the crowd, but some dim-witted people like my friend always fail notice them.
As I was going through the Sunday news paper, I came across those matrimonial that read "Looking for slim and fair girl...” where I could again see the extreme obsession for fair skin. I couldn't help but pity the family for being fixated with surface level beauty, and not being bothered about the personality, intelligence and other traits that their ‘would be’ daughter in law should have. I really wanted to call them up and say that ‘White is always not beautiful and Black is always not ugly’.
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