ON PAPER

‘Talk anything but on paper’ I was literally out of my mind talking to one of my closest friends who came to meet me after some seven years of gap. And the fellow was chattering non stop on his pet subject paper, paper making, constituents of paper, paper technology, gsm, porosity, fiber percentage,…. He’d virtually driven me out of my heads. I was dreaming of painting our good old college days with him, those girls with their 1:24.5 proportions to boys in our class, daily parties, writing exams, copying, getting caught, and even shamelessly chuckling. But the man was wrapped & pinned in paper as tight as if currency note bundle.

The first sign of growth is differentiation by a kid in any other paper & paper money. ‘Paper has always remained my nightmare’ I can never forget I failed pathetically in XIIth maths paper. I was trying to make a point on paper to my wife. ‘I love paper’ she had to antagonize with me being a woman putting her views before man & also being a wife against her husband. Looking at the cobweb of wrinkles on my receding forehead she explained, ‘without solving crosswords daily how a day will progress? I love paper also because money is printed on that small piece of paper, even our wedding card was printed on paper only’ she chuckled. Wives can read husbands’ head & heart as if they are standing opposite mirror, I always doubted. Knowing opponent so well, helps disarming him like pulling fish out of water. At least my wife never required any efforts to win against me.

Handwriting is my one such an enemy that always kept me at distance from paper. If a person himself doesn’t understand what he’s written what a poor paper can do? Every night I shed at least two tears in the name of whole clerk community in the world. Poor men, always buried in paper. Paper only amused me when I was too young & enjoyed paper boat floating in rain floods out. Mark sheets have always given me mild heart attacks years after years. My graduate mark sheet though was totally in black didn’t let me enjoy since my whole career was open like ocean in front of me & I had my sole paper boat to carry me through.

That piece of paper which brought the information of my selection for my post graduate relieved me & still sooths my senses; I’d at least two more years to go before I actually start sailing through the ocean. My first salary cheque of fourteen hundred twenty five rupees, that paper had made me the riches person in the world that day. One such thin piece of paper stamped mark of fulfillment & immortalizing my living, birth certificate of my son. Many such papers have gone through these hands; many of them have brought me accolades, money & even misery. Most of them have met with their fate in dustbin.

Many of such pieces have helped in igniting cigarette in my lips when smoking was heavenly experience especially in hideouts. One of my friends while sunk in shame & depressed of not having job; I advised him to put some idea on paper. I mean paper on which degree certificate is printed. He’s traveling in chauffeur driven car now; his company has provided him one. A paper sent in time has created marvels, many papers not reached in time perhaps created havoc. One such paper once reached rather late in the marriage hall of my friend; saved the girl who had written him & the one about to seat next to him gave him a black eye in front of some hundreds of baratis.

All said & done, I have not yet adjusted myself to two type of papers; paper napkins at the dinner table & of course toilet paper. They say both the papers are same, yet I prefer water instead. Even today a few signed papers come to me which I deposit in bank with my upward curved lips. Tragically, many a papers I need to sign, I don’t need to watch myself in mirror to see my downwards lips, strained face.

A single piece of paper is light, very light. You raise your hand & leave the paper it will show you where is wind is flowing. If not stacked, papers are very light indeed. Yet, I’m buried beneath such a piece of paper which is literally suffocating me & it will keep doing so. My fathers’ death certificate.

By

Vijay Yelmelwar