Paradise Lost

This post has nothing to do with John Milton's work.

I just signed off from a chat window. It was a little chat between my college friend and me. Nothing special about the chat itself. But something has driven me back in time. Those precious four years between 1997 and 2001 inclusive. I myself cannot define these years without losing its essence and hence I had to steal from Milton. Hope he would excuse.

I enjoyed those years like any other one in my batch. I made real good friends. Today's chat was not even about the college days. Still I am forced to think about the past. I cannot say those years were the best as there are miles to go still. But whenever someone asks me for my valuable years, I would not forget to mention those four.

I do not know how many others do this. But I have the habit of reading though my Diary-2001 at least once in every two months. It is where I learn about myself. My friends wrote their opinions on me; few good and many bad. I read through the lines every time and console myself of having quality people around me who bothered enough to point-out my negatives to me.

If I ask any of them today, they'll be polite in their opinions. Life teaches politeness and how to be good to others. On the other hand, life over-shadows perceptions. They may not reflect what they think. They are, to some extent, bound to say good things. But, in those four years, they were what they were. The diary is my treasure. The magical book that teaches me how-not-to-be rather than how-to-be.

All of us know that sand castles are to be washed away by the tides any time. No ones stops building one. I built mine too. The tides could not wash it away. I still cherish the way it was built not in hours but in years.