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LOCKED SECRETS

I purchased my first locked diary in the throbbing malls of Dubai - a slim book with a soft cover and a tiny padlock on the side. The sight of it sent me into such a tizzy, I dished out half my monthly allowance to buy it. I whisked the pink diary home and spent every moment savoring it. At first, its pristine pages almost made me feel guilty for staining them with my awkward handwriting. But once I opened myself up to it, it just invited me to write more.

In the night, hidden under the covers, I held a torch in one hand as my pen flew over the pages. I poured my soul out into the diary – how I felt about the new boy in my class, my best friend spreading malicious gossip about me behind my back, everything.

A few years later, we returned to our home in India. By now I had graduated to larger locked diaries that flaunted scented pages and quotes for each day among their prominent features.

When I secured admission into a good college in another city, I packed my belongings carefully, placing my last two diaries into the corners of my haversack.

My first months in the hostel were awful. I did not fit into the new place. The girls made fun of me, the teachers didn’t seem to like me much, and the boys just irritated me.

On one such tumultuous evening after a vicious exchange with my classmate, I ran back to the hostel and up to my room. I let the tears drop unchecked on to my lap. Much later, when the flood stopped, I noticed my haversack.
I dug out my first locked diary. Its pages no longer bore the first blush of their youth. As I soaked in the words, a rush of emotion overcame me. I had struggled through a similar phase before, and emerged from it scarred but not beaten.

I picked up a pen and started a brand new entry.


BY: GARGI MEHRA