You are under a lilac sky, a gleaming night sky which barely overlooks the remnants of your whims and calls, aren't you? Now you wonder Jasmine, how I do know all this, don't you? I know myself and that's why I can say, you wonder. And at this time, you are frowning and digging every possible souvenir out to connect the dots. But you fail. And now you are just going to see the name of sender. Don't do that for now. Let me say who I am. I'm, you, Jasmine. I am the twenty years old you, writing these letters to you, my nine years old self. I'm twenty now and I have so many "could've been" and "would've been", in other words, regrets. There are some things, I would like to tell you before you keep your feet on the thorns like I did eleven years ago. I know you would believe me. I was as simple as a mirror back then. As fresh as first rain of monsoon. As soothing as the first sakura of April. Here are some letters. And at the end of each letter I have mentioned exactly when you are supposed to read the next letter. Please do as I say. I know you will. I was obedient back then. You may read the next letter right now.
Letter 2 :
Jasmine, if you are reading this, then I assume you have read the first letter with your rapt attention. In few weeks you are about to have your final exams of KG school. I know you are morose. You abhor goodbyes. You hate showing back. Then it will be the day of result outing. You, along with your classmates, would make a promise to themselves that you all would be coming for the ultimate goodbye. A proper, goodbye. Don't make that promise. Your closet friend would make that promise too. And you would expect him coming. Don't do so. Here the sun of questionnaires would be rising deep inside your heart. But as I can't fumble the curtains wholly, only I can say this. That day, you would be meeting your first heartache ever. The very first crack on the ground of your heart. And the root is that promise. Don't make it. Please. You will be moving to a next town. So get prepared for new air. New sighs. New classmates. New. New and everything new. Only the blood in your veins and your bloodline would be the same. And nothing more. You should read the next letter before you join your new school.
Letter 3 :
Here, you have made two letters, imprinted on your mind. Well done Jasmine. Here is something very important. I need you to listen to this. Very carefully. With every ounce of yours. Father will be willing to put you for your drawing classes. Don't join the class. Don't! The classes would be on Sundays. You love painting. And back then I was pretty good on that. You have a good choice of colours and canvases. You have been adoring hues for so long. The crimson twilight, the blue winter. The orange and your favourite back then, the summer rose. Here, at my twentieth step, things are unbearably grey. Mundane. Don't join the class. Save yourself. Save jasmine. Father would listen to you. He loves you.
You will be leading the top position in your class. But you pushed yourself very hard. Well, precisely saying, I pushed. You don't do that. Perhaps Mum would love you a little less, perhaps Dad would be less proud but hey, it's gonna be okay. Things would tend to better-ness than bitterness.
After the summer vacation, you would skip school for one day. Don't do that. Go to school. Successively. No matter what and how. You would be refraining someone from doing something notorious. Something fatal. And this way you would be able to save both of you.
Make some good friends. By the word "Good", I meant, the friends who would be by your side no matter what. You will get one, your best friend. Don't let him go away, in any cost. He really cares. With him things would be little bit more bearable. He really would be meaningful to you with the passage of time. He would be shy or perhaps a slap of introverted self. But he will be doing things for you silently. So each time he would be making you smile, don't forget to thank him. He would be overwhelmed. He would be smiling.
You must read the next letter before 2013
Letter 4 :
By this time, you have embraced your puberty. Now you know about hormones and feelings, chemistry and all the statics. You are struggling to untangle the knots left, I assume. And I really hope you did as I said and now having a serene smile on your face. The most important thing, in fact the main tornado of your life is, Love. Next year, you would be falling in love. I can not say, don't fall. This is something words cannot control. This is beyond all. Rather I would say not to go out on 15th March. Stay at home. For the entire day. Read as much as you can. Don't go outside. From here things would be pretty much awkward. Love is something, that was never in my basket. To me it has always been a cigarette, passionate enough to kill all the butterflies of my very stomach. If people wanna abandon you, let them. People are breeze Jasmine, they are just to touch your face and leave.
Perhaps life there, has been changed a bit or maybe a lot. And I hope that's for good. Maybe you have found someone who is apt to cherish your heart. If not then don't hurry. Just don't fall for the wrong autumn. The spring would mourn. Just wallow over the canvas and wait for the sky to fall upon.
You may read the next letter after your 10th board.
Letter 5 :
I know you have done very well in your 10th board. Congratulations. But you are not so happy, well, I know myself. It's gonna be okay. Don't worry.
In my world, I write. Precisely I'm a scribbler. And I find my euphoria here, in the lines, voids and metaphors. I started writing to lift up the burden, to set the world free from upon my shoulders, from the heart. If you have done accordingly as I said and if there life had been changed for a betterment, still you can hold a pen. Still you can sniff the aroma of ink soaked paper. There are zillions of hues that you can paint with black and white, in poetry.
Above all, I would say, if you can, Write. Write for the goods. Write for the summer rose. Write for the sufferings and sufferers. For the survives. For the fighters. For zeal. For nature. For the these letters. For mum. And above all, for yourself.
And on this pathway, in the poetic exodus of unspoken and metaphors, you may fall for amalgamation of words but don't fall for the hands who write it. Poetry is better than a person. Fall for a poetry but never for a person. Not now. Be sane.
You may read the next letter.
Letter 6 :
This is the ultimate letter. From me to the junior me. Now I wonder whether I could reach you with these words. How are you now? I wonder. But asking a question would be a vain. You can't answer. But someday if you see a dandelion dancing in rain, wave your hands towards that. Do so. 'cause that would be me.
You may think, I am happy, dancing at my edges as I told you some alterations and now I, here, would be breathing in a fresh air. But no. Jasmine.
I can never change future by writing letters to bygone. Here, I would be the same as I was. And somehow I have accepted it. By altering the bygone, in your world, you would be creating a parallel world, different from mine where you would live, breathe in a fresh air. The letters cannot be back to me. So you may keep them.
I always wanted to save myself. But each time, I failed. I stretched my back to save else's sake. I always have been doing so. But at the end of the day, I am fallen all alone, like a culprit. And here I'm, a culprit for decade. Whenever I see a kid, cold, standing, or is about to jump into the world of blue, I shiver. I urge to save the kid.
Nobody said this to me. Even when I needed to hear it the most. And if nobody has said this earlier then let me say now, to you, "it's okay, you will be just fine. I'm here."
So I wrote the letters. To save you. I know not how far I have come out victorious. But I guess, the world there, the parallel one would be a bit more bearable than it. The wind here, it blows from land to sea, dried and hot. I hope the wind there would be blowing backward, from sea to land, full of moisture and heartthrobing. I hope I saved you. And not me, in this world, but you, would be smiling Jasmine. Somewhere, somehow. Beautifully. Perhaps more beautifully.
And when the cold harsh winds blew, piercing like shards every nook of her heart, she feared twas time to move on, she knew she had to risk it all. What was the risk she thought, what would she lose after all, when all she had was no more hers to call.
Its never easy to let go, cut the chords that once strummed the most enchanting melody for her heart Ah but now a farce..
And then silently amidst myriads of delusions whispered hope, and that one moment awakened her from the spell of being a dead bough.