As a child when one is brought up in a very conventional
way, listening to morning prayers by the house elders, learning about morals
and manners at kindergarten, going to the best educational institutes to imbibe
the best that books have to offer, it seems like it’s all a preparation for a
smooth life ahead.
Teachers repeatedly tell their beloved pupils- all must be
kind, all must be giving, all must be grateful and polite. Being in a convent
throughout my school life just meant that all those lessons were imparted at a
deeper level by teachers and nuns whose thought process was as pure and pious
as the Virgin Mary herself. “Sharing is good, waiting for your turn is must,
and being truthful is everyone’s calling in life”. The teachings became pillars
of strength for the future, the biggest support coming in the form of words, “
The Universe is just, and as my heart breaks into pieces, the Universe is
taking care of me”.
Skip to 15 years later, the same pupil with a tag stating
she’s an adult, in the big bad city trying to understand where the people
around are from and where they have imbibed their values from. It seems like everybody is impatient,
everybody is out there for the upper hand and no one knows what kindness or
gratitude is. The pupil tells herself, “The world is big, the people are many
in number and diversity is beautiful. Not everyone comes from the same place
and the same school as her, it’s natural and realistic.” The same logic is
reiterated with every introspection that happens in the next few years, at
least five to six times a day. Life goes on, she is still breathing and care
has thus been taken.
Then comes a day comes where she feels cheated, she is
unprepared for what the world has to offer, her cocoon seems far-far away from
where she is, and the voices of her teachers echo in her mind, “Be kind, be
grateful, be truthful”. The others seem to be so alien, so strange to her ways
and the world she belongs to, a feeling of being alone is experienced for the
very first time. During childhood, looking up to her elders for taking lead was
a reflex, where each time they have all come and wrapped her around in a warm
blanket of familiarity, protective boundaries and walls of defense so high that
even the world’s biggest disasters seemed miniscule. Today she looks around in
all directions, knowing very well that her heroes are not around, some lost in
ashes in time, but still desperate to hold on to even a little piece of the
same familiarity which she may stumble upon by luck. Where is the Lord’s mighty
hand, I need it she thinks, Holy is His name, His kingdom cometh, His will is
being done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Will I be given my daily bread; will I
be forgiven for my sins as I forgive all who sin against me? My Dear Father,
will I be delivered off all the evil?
The Universe is generous, what goes around, comes back to us
and if our palms are open spreading love to all, will we get the love back? The
pupil who’s now an adult thinks of her father for the very first time, where is
he , would he protect me, would he be my savior today? The pupil wishes to wage
a war against the ashes that have stolen her elders, where is my Grandfather
she asks, is he around? I know he is, the winds and waters tell me so. The
pupil seems stuck in a place where going forth or coming back doesn’t seem like
an option, independence of thoughts and actions seems far away where she can’t
reach and going back is not realistic the home she misses is no longer a home. The
sharp mind often gets caught in a siege laid by its own existence.
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