Smell of Hope.
It was three years ago when I was a totally different person and now I’ve changed. Perhaps those changes came to bring the best of myself out. I am happy now that I changed in those three years. I came to college like a normal party loving, friendly guy, and later I became more of a studious guy, after that Vrinda came to Delhi and I was on the verge of getting back to that same old Arnav but as soon as I got to know that Vrinda was no more mine and was dating someone else; my soul was pushed back to the same old studious boy. Now it was the last year in my college, I was all about studies and the result of my hard work was that I got a job in Google, dream workplace of engineers. The best part was of the job was that I was going to look after the Indian office. I don’t how this was the best part, maybe because I was still keeping hopes to get back with Vrinda.
My college was over; I got the degree and a proud moment for my father. I gave him my degree which said “Arnav Sundriyal Bachelor in Technology”. This small sentence meant a lot to my father, and least to me. As the days were passing away, Vrinda and his all new boyfriend Raghav’s relation was getting stronger. I was jealous, by one man in the world and that was Raghav. I never thought that I will be this much possessive for Vrinda, but it is true that we got to know the value of someone or something when we no longer have it. The same case was with me.
Slowly the first year of my job passed away, and in that first year, I got promoted too. I never saw any lack of money in my life; I was earning more than enough and now also all my whole expenditure was handled by my father. I never asked him for money; neither had I refused his money. He used to wire fifty-thousand Rs every month in my account which more than to live a luxurious life. And my salary was just lying as a haystack in my bank.
I became someone that I didn’t like. I was more of a robot than a human. I was fixed to go to office than to a cafe with my so called office friends and later in evening in my two bedroom apartment where I lived alone. Sometimes I used to remember how I used to be in my 12th standard, full of adventure and passion.
That night I was thinking about the same thing, about my passion. So I ran towards my store room and looked for my sketchbook. However, I found it in a bad condition still my sketches were looking full of life as they used to look six-seven years ago.
Once again I took my pencil kit and a white canvas, and started sketching, and stopped till I completed it.
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