There is a world behind these few years, full of time and passion. A world where people had time to sit under the ages-old Banyan trees with roots and long hair like those of Gods. The world danced to the tunes of the music, holding hands, looking deep into each other's eyes. Now, as I cross the roads in the busy street, all I see is a gush of vehicles blowing faster than the winds, showing how they lack in time. Each one has a single purpose, set to earn money either to survive or accomplish a status in society. Sitting down with my witty pen, I empathize with it, for it no longer serves any purpose. Or wait, maybe it has one. For as far as a writer can see universe has always been bound to destroy everything that has no meaning. I have seen men come and go, people move on, and wounds heal. But who says the change is welcomed by everyone? Do we all agree with the way of the universe? Some might not. I talked of the times when pens did magic and writers and musicians thrived.

Audiences lusted over the witty plots that proved to their mind how incapable it was of weaving good stories. Plots that would make them laugh and topple down on their heads, holding their stomachs. Or scenes where their eyes could no more hold the streams of tears, for they felt mesmerized by each dialogue leading to the tragedy. Tragedy not of someone else but a part of themselves for characters held the chord to the audience's heart. The more relatable the character, the more fans it would gather. Relatable in a sense where the audience understands the motives behind the character's action or speech, placing a veto secretly inside the heart of a particular hero.

Sitting among these audiences when I was young, the characters spoke to me. The plots teased me with their twists while I laughed at endings, always supposed to be happier. An end permanently binds the whole play into one bundle like life was a gift wrapped with the happy ending being its last bow. What would you do with a story that has a fixed end? I would play with it, become careless, and put my twists and turns in it. But my journey on this earth has shown me completely different aspects where I see people bond in the chains of society, which was meant to protect its humans, rather than suppressing them to lead a life with narrow mindsets, which take away that wish to live life on one's own term. Being incapable of doing what one feels like will always be an incurable disease on earth, where an individual is tangled in relationships rather than knowing oneself. And the moment I looked inside, I heard a voice, "How far shall I run from my pen? For it draws the lines of my destiny."

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