After leaving the hostel, I went back one day. It was deserted. Due to a holiday I was able to find a chance of going to Lahore. I hoped to see and feel all that used to give pleasure. And bits of pain too. As that pleasure and pain were so abundant back in the day, I thought that they would never end. Death is, therefore, the ultimate reality that was specifically designed to not let man become God. It makes him understand the ephemeral nature of his own self, his life, and everything that makes the life beautiful. The staff of the hostel knew me, so even being an outsider, technically, I was still able to reach my old room. It was locked. Obviously it meant that I could not meet the one soul I had come to meet. A few hours were at my disposal as I had to pack and catch the flight and head home. I wanted to live that years of happiness I experienced in the earlier days in a few minutes of reality. The door always had a paper plastered on it which we used to convey messages to the guests and the delivery guys. Thought some of them did containing an “assumed” artistic beauty, some were outright nasty, obscene and classless. Some were life lessons and enlightenments. After I left, a few more words were added.
Scrolling through the pictures yesterday, I came across the photograph from that day. That locked door with the message was a turning point of life. Or maybe the turning point of life became a door itself. Even today I seek the answer.