Dear diaries

My dad works in a bank so every festive season and every New Year I was laden with dozens of diaries. Dad always put them in piles and asked me every year to choose one; and each year from the beginning I got a new diary. As I grew older diaries began to be a bit peculiar to me. I always wondered of what use they were. Each one with different coloured cover and bookmark ribbon; they all were at grass root almost same. The calendar entries pages and personal info columns; who on earth would have time to fill those each year? I never understood their purpose, diaries were alien to me. Only thing I did with them was to compare the last one with the old one.

One day I finally asked dad about it. He was in a hurry so hastily told me just few words: Aditya, you can lie to anyone even to yourself but not to your diary. At that time I was totally perplexed of what it meant. Then years later one day it was my friend’s birthday; I almost forgot it and had nothing to give him as present. Quickly I wrapped up a nice diary and went to his house. I enjoyed the party and at last gave him. He asked me what it is. I didn’t know myself what to say (diaries!!! Oh Jesus!) And only thing that came out of my mouth was, “you can lie to yourself bro, but not to it.”

I always thought that was the worst birthday gift one can ever give. We never talked about it, neither had I asked nor he told. One day months later I went to his house, he wasn’t there; his sister told me to wait. I sat on the couch and saw that same diary lying on the table. I picked it up and found it all filled. I was bamboozled, he knew what to write in it ( I thought they were quite costly for scribbling rough work, odd for notebooks, diary writing never got in my mind, I had my sticky notes for important stuffs and cell phone for other things. They never fitted with my stuffs.) So I read the first page…

Dated: “I don’t really remember it”

Today, on my birthday I received the best present of my life. My best friend gave me the shrine for keeping my beautiful memories in place.

And then he came, I quickly kept it away. We enjoyed our talks and finally when I was about to leave I asked him, “how did you find that diary I gave it you.”

And to this he said, “I don’t know what to do with it.”

I smiled and walked out. I only came to know one thing: you can lie to anyone but not to your diary.

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