Life had taught her many things in her 30-odd years of existence, but the most important lesson she had learned was to not care. To care meant to be vulnerable to the whimsical will of “the other”. It had taken her 18 long years to realize that she was enough; “the other” was not needed! But she couldn’t be sure what it was that she was feeling now. Perhaps a sense of déjà-vu, as if an oppressive smell from several years back had filled the air again. It was suffocating! She opened the window and glanced down at the street. Everything was just the same- life in motion, from nowhere to nowhere- mad as always! Everything seemed unreal; just like a dream! And how could she be sure that she wasn’t in a dream? Maybe she was, and everything was just a figment of her imagination. The only thing she could be sure of was herself. She was the only reality which could be trusted. The existence and nature of everything else was treacherously uncertain and unreliable. She was alone; absolutely alone- in a world of infinite forms and faces; in a universe which stretched from infinity to infinity. And that was her greatest strength. But it hadn’t always been so.
The thought was so horrifying when she had first realized it as an adolescent girl, she felt weaker than a toddler left alone on the street. With the passing years, she’d learned to live with it, convincing herself it wasn’t true; constantly searching for “the other.” Sometimes in mother; sometimes in Manya; and finally, in whoever cared to listen. “The other”, wasn’t there, it never was! For all its vastness, magnitude, and variety, the world didn’t have it. Her black, white, red, green and yellow were her own, never matching with the world’s. There were times when she felt like the world was one big machine, and she was trapped somewhere within it between so many moving parts- alone and helpless- shouting, crying and flailing her limbs about. But nothing changed; everything moved just the same, only directions of movement changed; and that was even more horrifying. And certainly, there was no release!
She and Manya had the same mother. Still, Manya was rich from the beginning, and she poor. Manya could always buy her share of “the other”- from mother- with her report card; from teachers- with her acceptable ability to memorise; and from the world- with her acceptable features. On the other hand, all that she could offer was –greeting cards for card-hand made!; drawing and sketching for abilities; and a brown skin over an average form for features. And these things were not enough to buy her share of “the other”. But it wasn’t only the haunting sense of insignificance which nibbled at her being, for back then she had no great ambitions. What she more deeply longed for was her share in the world. And she would have accepted without protest whatever little share came her way. But the world denied her even that!
In higher secondary, when she turned 17, there came a moment when she felt her wait was almost over. A new boy named Vijay had joined the class. Till then only one girl named Ishita sat beside her, though the bench had space for three. But now, Vijay occupied the vacant space and it wasn’t long before she realized that he was not just another boy in the class. He was extraordinarily ordinary! And, for the first time she felt she understood the meaning of the phrase “birds of a feather flock together.”
TO BE CONTD…
The thought was so horrifying when she had first realized it as an adolescent girl, she felt weaker than a toddler left alone on the street. With the passing years, she’d learned to live with it, convincing herself it wasn’t true; constantly searching for “the other.” Sometimes in mother; sometimes in Manya; and finally, in whoever cared to listen. “The other”, wasn’t there, it never was! For all its vastness, magnitude, and variety, the world didn’t have it. Her black, white, red, green and yellow were her own, never matching with the world’s. There were times when she felt like the world was one big machine, and she was trapped somewhere within it between so many moving parts- alone and helpless- shouting, crying and flailing her limbs about. But nothing changed; everything moved just the same, only directions of movement changed; and that was even more horrifying. And certainly, there was no release!
She and Manya had the same mother. Still, Manya was rich from the beginning, and she poor. Manya could always buy her share of “the other”- from mother- with her report card; from teachers- with her acceptable ability to memorise; and from the world- with her acceptable features. On the other hand, all that she could offer was –greeting cards for card-hand made!; drawing and sketching for abilities; and a brown skin over an average form for features. And these things were not enough to buy her share of “the other”. But it wasn’t only the haunting sense of insignificance which nibbled at her being, for back then she had no great ambitions. What she more deeply longed for was her share in the world. And she would have accepted without protest whatever little share came her way. But the world denied her even that!
In higher secondary, when she turned 17, there came a moment when she felt her wait was almost over. A new boy named Vijay had joined the class. Till then only one girl named Ishita sat beside her, though the bench had space for three. But now, Vijay occupied the vacant space and it wasn’t long before she realized that he was not just another boy in the class. He was extraordinarily ordinary! And, for the first time she felt she understood the meaning of the phrase “birds of a feather flock together.”
TO BE CONTD…
