I have to admit it (though no one asked me to!) I am a victim of my own lethargy. I’ve got enough inertia to hold the earth running in its motion for another billion years with another big bang happening right next to it! All it would have to do is give a litlle shrug, as if it were flicking off a fly from its body.
But why, why DO I have to put up with myself!!!!? I don’t wash clothes properly; if its done once in a month it would be absolutely great! I have got a collection of socks that would last any modern Indian cricketer for a century! Heck my own legs haven’t felt the touch of soap for last couple of millenia… who will bend so low!!!! The clothes and paraphernalia (I had to refer the dictionary to look up this word’s spelling; why do they have to make words so hard!!!?) strewn on my bed have now become fossils. I didn’t even dare look under the bed! The dust collected on my computer’s table and monitor is enough for constructing another Taj Mahal, albeit a mud one. I can anytime give the princess-with-long-haired-by-which-the-prince-can-climb-castles a run for her money, or to that matter our very own great sadhus and sants with the state of my unkempt hair. I would have stopped even brushing teeth if only I hadn’t hated my own stinking bad breath so much… These are but only few characteristic traits that spring into my mind for ready recollection (alas I don’t have wand to draw them and put them in a bottle, that would have been so easy and useful.)
Enough of my self-bitching, but there it is, in the public… (Hope I can pull myself off this chair and get to bed)
I was always late to school. There is no denying the fact, no escaping the truth. My mom was a teacher there and she had a really tough time getting me ready to school, what with cooking food for us and she herself getting ready. And I had a penchant for losing my bus passes. I guess I would have lost at least three of them. It frustrated my dad so much that he stapled it to the front cover of my mathematics text book. Of course I had forgotten to take the text book with me.
I started going to my school alone on my own from my sixth class. My mom used to come a bit later than me. Did I feel awkward if I was found travelling with my mom, hmmm….. I think not much. Except for the thought that I would be looking like a kid and so I started out going alone to school, but I guess thats quite normal. I sometimes used to go to school with my brother, who was elder to me by 4 1/2 years, but it was only occasionally. I now can’t remember why the both of us never used to go together! Maybe it is because by the time I started to go to secondary classes, he was almost out of them. Anyway I was travelling alone on one such day when I had forgotten my bus pass and didn’t have money in my pocket. The minute the bus conductor had asked me to show my bus pass, I searched and found I didn’t have it on me. I panicked. I rummaged through my back, upturned all my books and poured out all the contents of my school bag pockets, but nothing came up. Neither the bus pass or money to cover the fare. (I am not too sure if I hadn’t had any money on me, maybe there wasn’t enough!) I looked frantically about to see if I could find someone who could help me out. And I found one.
He was one of the guys living near to me and I seeked his help and he gave me one rupee. That was the fare (I think) enough to take me from my house to school. I can never forget the feeling of gratitude I had felt for that guy at that moment. He had earned, from that single one rupee coin, a great fan, a follower. I had felt the importance of that one rupee like I had never felt for all the money I had spent on the choclates, pencils or any other sundry things I had bought. My parents, despite the tight string budget that we lived on, what with seven to eight of us family members (we were the only two kids), never let us feel that we lacked what was essential to us. Yes we missed all the comics my classmates could buy, all the freedom to watch our favourite programs on a color TV, or the super cars and games few of my other friends used to play with. We really had what we wanted and never lacked what we needed. And that mattered immensely to that little brain of mine then.
All it took me to realise this was that one rupee. I wish I could say now that I had learnt a great lesson and that I took it with me all my life. Alas I can’t claim that. I still don’t spend my money properly, but thankfully I am not a spendthrift (I think). And still I can appreciate and value each rupee.
The wrecker of all relationships. Husband-wife, parent-child, and even friends. The one feeling that can really break, disintegrate and incinerate any relationship.
But why do we doubt others? Because they have lied before on other things? Or because we think they cannot be trusted? Or that they have misbehaved? Why is there so much of mistrust in relationships? Because there is lack of communication? But then why is there a lack of communication? Because there wasn’t a good relation in the past? But isn’t that exactly why we should communicate? To make / mend relationships? This is all a vicious circle. But always there is a same end to this circle. Broken hearts, fragmented friendships and disintegrated relationships.
But the biggest capacity of doubt is that it feeds on itself. It is like any parasitic virus. Someone you ‘doubt’, whom you cannot trust, no matter who it is: your son, friend, spouse; even if they are telling you the truth you do not believe them. Though on the face of them you say ‘yes’, your mind says ‘no’! Always No.
Here is an interesting case. Someone doubts someone is upto something. Or worse, someone thinks that someone is plotting something with someone else. So though the first person tells you the truth you do not trust him! And it really makes no meaning who it is. Your son, your friend, your relative, your partner, your junior, your senior; it doesn’t matter.
I wonder if any psychologist has ever studied how this guy feels or what goes through in their mind all day. Has anyone ever wondered how this guy must be feeling not to be trusted? He wakes up in the morning and the first thing that comes into his mind, “Good morning dude! Your parents don’t trust you!” Or “Good morning dude! Your best friend thinks you are a cheat, that you back stabbed them!” And the day has just started.
And the rest of his life is ahead of him.
Everyone says love hurts… They are people who really don’t know that there is something far worse than love… it’s called friendship. It hurts, and man it’s hard. A broken heart is nothing compared to blasted friendships… People can get on with broken hearts and fizzled loves but broken friendships are hard to bear… you share your mind, heart and soul with friends…
You fight with lovers you can sit have a chat with your friends… but what if you fight with friends? And what about cases where all the root cause of it was just a simple misunderstanding and your friend stops talking! You have apologized but still they wouldn’t budge! What do they want of you!? Yes one can say, you’ve done your work, if they don’t listen to, just walk on… you can’t do much. But hey, do you really think that it is so easy!? Is that what friends are for!? Just walk on… Just don’t give a damn about them!??! Man it get’s on to your nerves… It hurts… And there is no damn thing you can do about it! And the worst part of it is if you see them everyday… can’t get away from them… The sadness swells and engulfs you but there is no one to give you a hand because the one who can help you is the one who is now hurting you more… And you really have to be the one sinking to know how it feels…
I was doing my intermediate, +2, at a private college in my home town. We bunch of guys were just out of school and tasting the first instances of freedom. Obvsiously we’re quite a rowdy bunch and it did take a lot for our lecturers to restrain us. Of course there were still a few of us, a little extent to me included, who were still getting cold feet at the prospects of ruffling the feathers of lecturers. Being one of the more dimunitive students of the class my mischief was in proportion to it; just a little fun here and there.
There was a petite lady teaching us English. She was shorter than me. And it turned out she taught at a notorious Government college of the city which meant she had to deal with a far greater rowdy gang. Here there was always a little fear of being spotted by some lecturer and then taken to task. For them, or so we felt, there were no such inhibitions. There was a guy in our class, quite a tall guy. Put it simply my madam on top of my madam would’ve been equal in his height. Being tall, well built, he was the obvious brat boy of the class – no gentle giants did we have then.
So one evening we were all going back from college thorough the smaller rows behind our college. She rode a very small scooty. We were all boisterously cat calling at passer-byes. So from behind our back she passed by on her bike and my friend shouted her name loudly. I froze. For all my bravado with my friends I thought it was a very bad idea that he did so, she would stop her bike, find us and take us to task— I thought, god, we’re in for trobule.
But very coolly she didn’t even stop the bike… she just waved us from the bike and left. No stopping, no angry shouting, no dressing down, no lessens that we should not shout at elders…. Just a simple wave without even turning back! I was dumb stuck… and so was my friend… That was a great lesson we learnt that day… how to deal with rowdy people. The picture of her waving will be imprented in my mind for ever.