The Voice of My Soul

Today, I couldn’t stop thinking of an incident that had happened when I was in 3^rd grade. I had joined a new school the previous year, and was still getting used to the fact that none of the kids around me spoke Hindi. They could only talk in Telugu or broken English, and since I did not know Telugu at all, I chose to speak to everyone in English. It made me stand out, and as a result, I was the subject of scorn and ridicule. I hardly had any friends, was constantly bullied, and was desperately trying to fit in. In the midst of my misery, my house mistress decided to put in my name for the Hindi poem recitation competition. My mother immediately jumped to my rescue – she brought a poem from someone she knew and slaved all evening to help me to recite it perfectly. Since I was blessed with a good memory, it took me very little time to memorize the poem. My mother then spent the rest of the evening in helping me practice the recitation.

I went to school the next day. As the competition began, I was terrified due to snide remarks from the other kids. Then I noticed that most of the other kids who were participating were terrible. They had all memorized the same poem – the first one in our Hindi text book, and were struggling to remember and pronounce the words correctly. Some of them just shook their head and went back to their seats. This elicited huge gales of laughter from all other kids – I saw that most kids found the floundering kids pathetic, while the ones who gave up were apparently, hilarious. So when it was my turn, I just shook my head and went back to my seat. The judges (our impatient teachers) quickly announced the winners, and made them come up to the front. I was shocked to see the “winners” - they were actually terrible. But they had won prizes since they were the only ones who could at least get through at least 2 verses of the poem.

After the results were announced, we broke for recess. Images filled my mind. My mother spending her entire evening to teach me the poem, and to help me practice. Images - in which, instead of acting like a stupid jerk, I was confidently reciting my poem much better than anyone else who won. Images of me – head raised, shoulders squared, smiling with the pride of a winner. I broke into helpless sobs, and no matter how much the other kids or teachers tried, I just could not be consoled. I cried endlessly the whole day until I reached home. Shamefacedly, and till sobbing, I told my mother the whole thing as I sobbed at the floor. I could not bring myself to look into her eyes and see her disappointment in me. I did not understand my own feelings then, but the guilt of wasting my mother’s efforts, of hiding my own talent, of letting my mother & myself down, and of not having made use of the opportunity when I had it was weighing very hard on my 8 year old conscience.

My mother consoled me like no one else could – probably because she could understand exactly how I felt, and what I needed at that moment. However, that moment was definitely one of the most important ones of life – as I learnt the most valuable lesson of all. That incident, among many others, helped me become what I am today. The memory of this incident makes me seize every single opportunity I get and give it my best shot today. This memory reminds me that while it is definitely easier to blend among the crowd and be a part of it by being mediocre, the worst insult I could ever give myself is to actually want to act mediocre. Today, I don’t care at all about whether or not I fit in with everyone else around me. I embrace my individuality, my own uniqueness, even if it comes at a cost. Undermining my own worth is not something which my soul will allow me to do. I strive to be the best at anything and everything I do – at least, I give it an honest try. For, anything that I do should always be at the best possible level to which my abilities allow me. If that makes me insanely competitive, then so be it – because anything less would be the worst way in which I could humiliate my own self. The voices of other people – be it of praise or rejection – matters very little compared to the voice of my soul. This is the only voice, the only opinion that really matters.

A Nap to Forget. The Strength in our Earth.

Seems random? Not so much.

Bored with non-fiction, I decided yesterday to go to my favorite bookstore for some fun browsing and coffee. I was going through some books, when I came upon a few titles in the Romance genre. I flipped through their summaries – and many of them had a recurring theme. About an average young guy or girl, and how cynical and normal their lives are. But when one of them contracts a terminal illness, it transforms their personality and attitude. In some of these books, the lead characters find their true love after they contract a terminal illness, and it is this love which helps them fight all odds and rise above the challenges. All of the books had one thing in common – it is only after being faced with the possibility of death, do the lead characters realize the true meaning and value of life.

Most people will feel that such books and movies are very touching, and I know a lot of people who find themselves in tears. These stories are indeed touching at times, because in real life, when a person is in the horrible situation of being terminally ill or permanently injured, he or she will find that life changes completely. Some of them are lucky, and survive through their pain with terrific support from family or friends. Many others find that most of their old friends start avoiding them and drift apart. Most people are generally uncomfortable dealing with such situations, and don’t know what to say when they happen.

A lot of people with terminal illnesses, especially women, have also reported that their spouses don’t give them the support they need, and automatically assume the worst. Many women have been abandoned by their spouses after being diagnosed with cancer. Their husbands feel that any time or money spent on them is simply going to be wasted. Even if the doctors suggest alternative courses of treatment which give some hope of survival, they feel that it the bet is too risky, and pull out. Thus, they move away and try to start a new life with healthier partners. So, to people who have been abandoned by friends and family, these stories are indeed inspiring. These stories teach healthy people what is expected of them when a loved one falls ill or gets permanently injured. They give hope to people who are sick or injured – that someday, they too will find the love and emotional support they need to embrace life and feel the will to live.

Personally, I absolutely, from the bottom of my heart, detest these stories. I feel that they are incredibly stupid, unnecessarily soppy, and full of shit, apart from being a little insensitive (unintentionally, of course). Firstly, I feel that it is insensitive to romanticise a life threatening disease. I mean, when I love someone – a friend, a spouse, a relative – anyone for that matter, I love them for who they are. I try to make sure as much as possible that they know exactly what I feel about them. If they need me, I will make damn sure that I am there for them. If there is anything which I can do to make them feel happy in any way, or if there is something I can do to help them achieve their dreams, I would definitely do so.

My point is – why wait until someone falls terminally ill to do this? Is expressing your love really that difficult for you? If it is, then I am sorry – but you probably don’t deserve to have such relationships at all. I mean – that movie “A Walk to Remember” is considered to be a giant romantic classic. But why? What if the girl did not have cancer? What if she was perfectly normal? Would the guy have tried to fulfill her dreams any way? I don’t think so. They would have probably dated for a while, but would have eventually drifted apart. He wouldn’t have married her to fulfill her dream of being married in her mother’s white dress. He wouldn’t have spent that much time writing long sappy wedding vows. He would have probably never even felt so much in love with her. They would have been just an average teenage couple whose story, in all likelihood, would end at prom night. What I want to say here is – is this really true love? Or is it just sympathy? Or some kind of psychosomatic reaction to the fact that his girlfriend’s time was limited – like the way kidnapping victims have Stockholm’s Syndrome? These stories may appear extremely romantic – but reality is starkly different. Watching a loved one suffer is living hell. Suffering from a terminal illness is physically and mentally exhausting – these people rarely have the energy to go on world tours, wear wedding gowns, have babies, or even feel anything at all.

I believe that real love, true love – whatever you call it – is about being there for someone at all times. I feel that if you really love someone, you would do everything you can to make them feel wonderful every day, any day. Taking someone for granted all the time and then suddenly getting all misty eyed when you realize that they may leave you soon - is not love. While it is a wonderful thing to be supportive and loving to a person who may or may not survive, I feel that the movies and books of today forget the most essential point – that love is unconditional, and that mere sympathy is not love. I don’t think that love is so shallow – that its importance is only defined by the existence of an expiration date. Somehow, over the years, we have become so preoccupied with the notion of “I take you in sickness” that we have forgotten about the more crucial “I take you in health” part. Life is indeed short – and it would do us a whole world of good to embrace the fact as soon as possible. We all need to get over ourselves, and learn to love with an open heart and mind.