Sturm und Drang

Sturm und Drang. 

German for storm and stress.

The invocation of this German phrase is not to refer to the proto-Romantic literary movement of the 18th century marked by its ebbing sentiments of mirth and melancholy and celebration of sensibilities but to signify the course(s) of lives the people I am concerned about here have taken over the years. One that has stretched over three decades and expanded itself to many a strange place. 

At the dawn of a new millennium, in the cozy town of Kakching, we met, not entirely by happenstance, as our mindful parents queued for days to make the wonderful event happen, at a marvelous school called Padma Ratna English School, Kakching. This was in 2003 when we, unknowing children, left the kingdoms of our birth wit and stepped together into our shared initial journey of life. This year, 2023, completes the 20th year, yet none of us, foolish, clumsy children who played, fought, and cried at the hillock that our school is, has come together to commemorate the event. Perhaps the weight of adulthood has burdened us with heaps of responsibilities that a certain affair celebrating an infantile experience didn't cross our minds. A handful of days remain before the year effaces itself forever from existence, carrying with it the harmony among us we once possessed. So I turn to memories to compensate for this lack, and it is with this fond recollection that I conjure ways and means to guide our voyages before the storm over our lives. 

The dark clouds of the storm began appearing with our first departure. Several of us suddenly parted ways, bidding adieu to the pain and laughter of our friends but carrying them intangibly in the pitiful form of bittersweet memories. This premature rupture punctured our cohesion at a crucial juncture. No longer sharing the same facilities, our proximity widened with the passing days. Removed from the company of our friends, their voices echoed within us but unfamiliar places and strange airs muted the voices. Our social adhesive was gone. Despair-driven envy filled the gap. The parted voyagers were seen as deserters, and they, in turn, couldn’t forgive their friends for doing so. The brooding storm had made us dreadful and contemptuous. 

By the time we experienced the last departure, the storm had become integral to our journey. Several attempts have been made to mend our blighted travail, in vain. A good lot of us once met to capture the semblance of the erstwhile cohesive group but failed miserably. Overwhelming stress loomed over us. Distant and aloof even together, we were indubitably separated by strange airs. It didn't take long to realize that we were not a group of young adults trying to mend a social link but fulfilling the obligation of showing up. Perhaps the pastoral views we witnessed that day charmed us out of our wits, but it evidently became an occasion for the waning harmony to become prominently visible. The storm and stress have taken over us. Friends have turned into acquaintances and acquaintances random faces. Feigning indifference, we no longer acknowledge one another. It is no surprise we didn't come together for our 20th anniversary. We can’t see each other. The storm has blinded us. 

Beneath the veneer of apathy, I tremendously long with a pining heart to recapture the essence of oneness we enjoyed with delight in those bygone years. Friendly faces and voices visit occasionally as musings and guide the brushstrokes to a blank canvas to paint illuminating pictures where the storm can neither reach nor interfere. I look forward to the day when the bright smiles on our faces will cast the gloomy clouds of the storm away and cure ourselves of our blindness.