by Tanveer Magrey
So, I have managed to leap into 2025 with a fragile hope that a purple patch in my life lies as close as the stream that flows seamlessly through the front courtyard of my house. It is a hope that sustains me, much like that spring’s gentle, unceasing current.
As 2024 drew to a close and 2025 entered, the digital landscape has been awash with reflections and resolutions. Social networking sites (SNS) have been inundated with tributes to the passing year, as users recount moments of triumph and achievement with pride and joy. Yet, alongside these celebrations, there are also sombre recollections of hardship and loss, shared with heavy hearts and wistful expressions. The duality of these emotions has painted a vivid tapestry of human experience, as people bid farewell to one chapter and cautiously embrace the next.
For my part, I have not composed an elegy for 2024, nor have I penned a welcoming ode to 2025. Instead, I find myself suspended in an interregnum, caught between hope and fear. Hope, that the long-awaited turning point in my life—a purple patch of success and fulfilment—is just around the corner, ready to envelop me in its warmth. Fear, that the shadow of past struggles, with their harrowing grip, may yet return to haunt this new year.
I cannot help but empathise deeply with those who endured a difficult 2024, their resilience is a testament to the human spirit. Equally, I find myself envious of those who thrived, their lives brimming with joy and accomplishment. I have had my fill of resolutions over the years, yet they invariably wither away like mist in the early days of January. Despite this, some truths remain universal. As we age, our priorities shift. What held significance in the preceding year may become a mere footnote in the next. Health, however, stands as a constant. Everyone aspires to be in fine fettle, to perform at their peak in their chosen fields. From personal experience, I have learned that failing to make the right decisions at the right time in one’s academic career can take a toll on health first and foremost. This truth resonates across all facets of life, and I speak from hands-on experience.
To those still in school, higher secondary, or college, I urge you to make your career choices early and pursue them with the precision of a surgeon. Embellish the tapestry of your CV with internships, research papers, and practical experiences. These will enable you to navigate the job market with ease later on. This may be unsolicited advice, but I felt compelled to share it. As the saying goes, “Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches the most.”
I am one among the hundreds of thousands who have, unfortunately, contributed to Kashmir’s notorious position at the top of the unemployment charts in our country. Believe me when I say that being unemployed is more painful than being a cancer patient. A cancer patient is still met with respect, love, and empathy. An unemployed individual, however, is often ostracised and looked down upon. Friends and roommates from university days sever ties. Suggestions offered at family gatherings are dismissed. Social gatherings become a distant dream. The weight of such isolation can be unbearable, leading one to yearn for death. At times, the mind even wanders to imagining one’s death, if only to escape the disdainful gazes and the cruel jokes whispered behind one’s back.
As I type these words, two thoughts linger in my mind. The first is how to secure the stipulated amount needed for treatment in 2025. The second is whether this piece will find a place in any publication. Heavy with uncertainty, these questions reflect the dual burdens of survival and dignity that many in my position carry. The struggle is not merely for financial stability but also for a voice, for recognition, and for the hope that someone, somewhere, might listen.
So, I have managed to leap into 2025 with a fragile hope that a purple patch in my life lies as close as the stream that flows seamlessly through the front courtyard of my house. It is a hope that sustains me, much like that spring’s gentle, unceasing current. As we conclude this piece, let us do so with a note of optimism and a quiet prayer.
May the government public library in my locality be replenished with sacks full of books by literary giants such as Gabriel García Márquez, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Ramachandra Guha, Anton Chekhov, Basharat Peer, Mirza Waheed, Shahnaz Bashir, Sachin Tendulkar, Leo Tolstoy, and Saadat Hasan Manto, to name but a few. Books, after all, possess the rare power to soothe frayed nerves, keep anxiety at bay, and arm us with the resilience needed to brave life’s vicissitudes with vim and verve.
May this year treat us all with greater kindness than the last. Ameen.
(The author is a trained journalist. Ideas are personal)
