Life as a Silent Film(Asmita Majumdar) I was born on 20th June 2009 in a hospital in Mumbai. We originally lived in Delhi but due to my father’s job, we had been moving around quite frequently and had finally ended up in Mumbai. My mother used to tell me how it had been raining in Mumbai for three consecutive days and I had been born on the night of the third day. Miraculously, by dawn, the sky had cleared and the city stood shining in the daylight. I never really believed that story. It seemed like any other cliché story parents would tell their children to make them feel special.

Even as a child, I used to be pretty calm and quiet. It was rarely ever that I cried or shrieked too loudly. This was quite in contrast with my sister who was six years older than me. As a baby, she used to cry so loud, that the people living at the other end of the street could hear her! The screaming toddler grew into an attractive chatterbox, and I seemed to be getting quieter and fading more into the background as I grew. I had my mother quite worried about me when I did not start speaking even small words at the age of two. But then she discovered me talking to the clothes drying outside in full sentences. She realized that I was reluctant to talk and mingle with humans but had no problem doing the same with non-living things and animals. Even now, I always feel awkward around humans. I don’t know what to do or what to say. I especially despise physical touch with anyone. I am often reluctant to even hug my own family members and friends. It is only when I grow close to them, does even the smallest touch feel normal.

Soon after my birth, we shifted back to Delhi. My father continued to move around a bit, but we settled in an apartment in south Delhi. My grandfather owned the apartment and lived with my grandmother on the ground floor. There were two libraries right in front of our house. They were my favourite places on Earth. I honestly learned how to walk holding onto the library's bookshelves.

I started school soon after. I was to join the same school as my sister. On my first day, I remember wondering why all the other kids just sat and cried the entire day. I even remember going home and asking my mother about it. She waved it off saying that it was normal for small kids to feel attached to their family and home. But since I had an elder sister, I was familiar with the concept of ‘school’. I soon realized that having an elder sibling at the same school had many advantages. As I moved up to higher classes, most of the teachers already knew me as the sister of a bright child. But sometimes I think they forgot that I was my own person and not a copy of her. I wished people knew me as me and not just the sister of some student. It was tough coping with the teachers' expectations, which mostly required me to be more oral. How do I explain, that stepping out of my comfort zone is extremely difficult for me? Saying anything at all in front of people makes my cheeks hot and my heart starts beating too fast. Even after I am done speaking, my breathing becomes constricted for some time. Hiding this with a smile and saying, ‘I am just a bit shy’ did not always cover it.

My sister was quite attractive and popular amongst her classmates. She was fun, and lively and always found a way to spice things up. Basically, she was everything I wasn’t and aspired to be. All relatives and friends spoke and chatted with my sister, while I sat and read or drew in a corner, trying hard to go unnoticed. I have gotten better now; like, introduce myself without stuttering, better.

As I said earlier, I grew in all sectors that did not require any interaction with anyone. I drew, read, cut up paper, and did all sorts of crafts. Growing up, art was what fascinated me. It created a distraction from all the problems I faced. I could sit and draw all day and not give a hoot about what people said. Often, I see people mock art, and although I don’t show it, it hurts deep inside. It hurts to see how ignorant people can be towards such a beautiful thing that helped me grow up. I could laugh it off, but it saddens me that so many people fail to notice how important it is for people like me.

The other thing I was close to was books. I guess it was all thanks to the time I spent in the library. But I honestly felt better understood by books than by real people. Again, books don’t really have that wow factor people expect. People lack respect for such beautiful pieces of work and fail to reach the meaning behind each word. All they ever find cool are movies and TV series and make a mockery of the books I love. With my love for books and literature, grew my love for writing. It felt good to express my suppressed feelings through writing. I write all I couldn’t ever say. My stories are usually an exaggerated projection of my own emotions. I write and make characters with struggles of their own to make people know that the brightest face may hide the worst pain, the strongest arm may have the weakest bone, and the most powerful mind may have the saddest soul. What you see on the surface, tells you nothing about what goes on deep inside. It feels good to vent out all I feel, but can’t express. Writing has been an escape from all the pressure I face.

Mingling with peers has always been a tough job for me. I don’t know exactly what is wrong with me, but I just don’t seem to have the energy or confidence to go talk to someone. ‘Boring’ is a word used often to describe me, and now I am too afraid that maybe no one actually likes me, or enjoys my company. Maybe even the few people who talk to me, do it as charity for a ‘socially challenged’ person. I don’t know where I stand with people. Am I just a classmate? A friend? An acquaintance? A charity case? I don’t know, and perhaps I will never know.

Sometimes I would say things, that seem normal to me but rude to others. Sometimes I am too harsh, too honest. Sometimes it seems like I try and try and try, but I can't act normal and I can’t connect with them. Every time I make a break, there is a stronger wall behind. How do I relay that I don’t mean to be unkind? That I don’t intend to hurt? That I care? No matter how hard I try, it always seems wrong.

In 1st grade, my mother made me join dance class, following in my sister’s footsteps. I guess you could say that I did enjoy it and even performed many times which helped me overcome my stage fright. But it was when I joined karate class, did I release all the energy trapped in me. It felt good to not be overshadowed by my sister for once. Karate was the only thing she never pursued but I excelled at. I think my mother made me join, thinking that it would help me with my ‘issues’.

Life was going great or as great as it could be, till the pandemic hit. One day in fifth grade changed everything. Binds shut down from all directions, and barricades blocked all roads. Corona Virus- the name still gives me chills. In those horrible days, I lost my grandmother to the darkness. School was packed and enclosed within a small screen. My introversion grew worse. The constant fear of the illness was eating us all away. Almost each phone call meant the loss of someone. Images of shrouds and weeping people decorated the newspapers. Floods of tears washed over the country; all was given up. Finally, there came a time of hope. News headlines of death and dismay were replaced with headlines of vaccine and recovery. Slowly and steadily the situation came under control and we began a stage of new normal. It took time adjusting but it was a welcome change. The empty halls of the schools were soon filled with the lively chatter of excited children. The cars soon found the deserted roads again. The shops of colour and festivity reopened. But there still seemed a lingering tension. The fright of losing a loved one, and the grief of saying goodbye once and for all, came rushing back at the mention of the virus. Now, things are about as normal as they can be after a dark period. In all of our hearts, we have struggles and sufferings—the pain of losing someone, the joy of coming through safe. But what matters is to remember these struggles and move on. To let go and not be stuck in the past. We all hold the key to open the door to our future, but some just forget how to unlock the door while others are too scared of what stands on the other side. The past is meant to be remembered and let go of. It is tough, but just best this way.

And here I am, a student in grade 9, adjusting to the new normal and ready to face the new time. Maybe it’s time to finally stop being scared. It won't happen overnight. It will take time and I will fail a hundred times. But I think it's time to stop being scared to try a hundred times. A wish, a risk, a failure, and repeat till success is all it will cost. I don’t know what stands before me, and I don’t know if I am ready, but fate cannot be avoided and life is too short to be wasted being scared.

“You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore before you decide to be happy.” -Nightbirde

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