The Time for Stories

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Ever since I've become conscious of my actions I've believed that there is a time for everything. Apart from how to say it, I must figure out when to say it. 

This has guided me around many potholes like sending a leave application, taking off early from work, and making acquaintance with somebody new. There is a perfect timing for everything, I believed. It worked well for me because I started being on the lookout for the right time.

Every time I had a need, I would find the opportunity. Sometimes it tests my patience horribly, sometimes I get rewarded right away. But over the years I've observed that there is a side to it that I never really recognized.

In this wait I sometimes miss the small pleasures of life. Because I never found the right time to send that paper in, I never got rewarded for working on it. I never found the right time to sign up for a challenge, and I never experienced the pleasure of winning, or losing, in it. The worst, you ask? I never found the right time to go back to writing, something which I love.

I wait for a story to come to me. But that's not how it works, does it? There are stories all around me. I have to take a beat from my hurried life and take a long look at my surroundings. Just a week ago I saw a woman sitting on Andheri platform, huddled together with a child who had a plastered leg. What was the story behind that, I don't know. I never asked.

I meet a taxi driver everyday while commuting to work. He has so many stories to tell. Why am I not noting them down, I don't know. Maybe because I am waiting for a non-existent right time. It will come, I tell myself repeatedly. 

It will come.