I Killed the Golden Goose

We are all that. A summation of the could haves. A result of the choices not made, as much as of the choices made.†

The 80ís. An era before India opened herself up to possibilities. An era of constraints and deprivation. Individualism, private spaces, essence and excesses were all largely unheard of.† For the 80ís kids, this also meant limited choices and austerity of dreams. Choices were mostly a lack of options, or those made for them by others: clothes, television channels, education, partner, careerÖ, etc.

Like every other child in his school album, he wore the same smile and the same unimaginative clothes rolled out by the neighbourhood tailor. He continued mimicking othersí smiles and then their career choices too. Until one day when he realised how ill-fitting his garbs were. How his true smiles remained hesitant to be completed. How deep that void had grown in him.

And then, the jigsaw of a perfect-looking life went into scramble mode. An unexpected divorce, an indefinite sabbatical, darkness, questions with no answers. An urge to go back to the comfort of the familiar versus that desire to experience the unknown. End of it, most questions were answered. The rest died or were killed. The void filled, and smiles completed.

He then wrote poems, stories and a book about it. About how he made unforced choices, first time in four decades. About how he killed the golden goose, against all proverbial advice.