You’re different.

You’re not the same as people who surround you.

Where people see shades of black & white, you spot that filthy little gradient.

That’s your little curse.

You didn’t want to make a  lot of money when you were growing up.

You wanted to be really, really famous.

You didn’t play Cricket or Football like the others did.

You didn’t play with Barbie. You stayed away from Teddy Bears.

You had your eyes set on Woody Allen. On Arundhati Roy. On Salman Rushdie.

You got bullied in High School.

You were pushed into little restrooms and held by the collar, by people who demanded that you stop being a creepy smart-ass.

You didn’t want that perfect score in English, you never craved for it. But you were good at it, and the blissful ignorance of the administrative forces of this world ensured that you were labelled as an unnecessarily good guy/girl.

You never faltered on the stage. You owned it.

The world tried its best to bring you down from the stage.

You stayed awake for the Late Show with David Letterman.

They pulled the plug on your Broadband Connection.

You grew older, realized that you didn’t have to follow the crowd.

They said you couldn’t be different, but you chose to do it anyway.

You didn’t view money as an object. They used it like a weapon.

You thought your creation was the purpose of your existence.

They told you that the purpose of your existence was a face free of pimples and a body free of fat.

You didn’t like cheesy poems by cheeky poets.

They loved the cheeky poems. Adored the cheeky poets.

You took a stand. They forced you down.

You took a liking to that new Politician. They trashed him.

You thought of John Green as a literary savior. They turned him into a fashion accessory.

You thought the stage was your world. They kept repeating “The world is a stage”.

Their faces looked like zombies, and you kept quiet. They applied mascara.

You went out on a limb and sang to the world. They distributed earplugs.

You made a mistake. You thought death was the worst outcome of Life.

They showed you how wrong you were.

You’re different. Nobody cared.

You’re different. Nobody understood.

You’re different. Everyone’s indifferent.

You hate the fact that most people don’t know the difference.

Once again – They don’t care.

Time out.

About the Author: Shomprakash Sinha Roy is a bestselling author of Fiction & Non-Fiction in India, winning accolades such as the Whistling Woods Young Achiever Award in 2013 & Getting nominated to the Forbes Influencers List in 2014. He is 24, a Tongue-in-Cheek Sly Devil who doesn’t fail in the act of weird repartee. He lives alone, in Bangalore & spends time criticizing his own books, most of which are available at http://tr.im/shom

He rants on facebook, at http://facebook.com/BrandShom.

Twitter : http://twitter.com/thenewauthor