Hope

As a 6 year old , all you would want is to run around, Live in your own world of hallucinations, thinking
It is a boon to be alive, to kick anything that moves , where in the pain of falling from jumping from so high, even as high as your bed to the ground, or taking my hand to fire to overpower it, just because i never knew, Fire could me much more powerful than me and that it has the capacity to consume me, or even incapacitate me, to teach me a lesson on mortality.
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But as a 6 year old, there was no fear, not even a sense of apprehension that my life will take a turn that will have no ending, or not even a beginning.

Having lived 4 times the age of a 6 year old physically, and the same amount in negative growth mentally, I know it could have been me? Oh really what could have been me? A child prodigy? Doesn’t matter, every child is a prodigy by itself and for parents, and the world, it is this child, the 6 year old hyper activeness and innocence, that makes a better place to be in. To never to have a time without a smile.

But what happens, when at 6 year old, I am promoted to infinite levels of education and am taught a lesson on mortality?

Yes, 9 years back that’s exactly what happened. 6 year old “A” came from School, his penultimate day at school before he was to embark on a journey that was a turn in his life, to USA to join is father along with his family.

He came from School, threw away his little tiny boots in his typical camaraderie with his thoughts, but 3 pm, his metabolism got better of him. He took money lying at the table to help himself for a biscuit packet that he loved the most. Wish there was no money there, I just wish, there was no table, I just wish there was no metabolism, I just wish there was no shops opened, I just wish there was a rubber slip stitched to his legs, Oh I just there were No life on that day.

But alas, there was, there was the money, there was the biscuit, there was the metabolism, and there he “was” to run without footwear to the mushy earth land which was perched with thirst, and was blessed with drizzle. Drizzle enough, to never return the gift of god back home. Yes he never returned, but went in a parcel to the same God, if he existed, who sent to him as a blessing. His mortality became a curse. Curse that would haunt the family, the whole world, for the time there exists life, death and afterlife. I understood years later, he was “electrocuted”. A electric wave passed through his tiny body, from a live wire which he happened to step on , thanks to our ever efficient Electricity Board. I am sure when the waves passed, for the millisecond he was alive, he would have conversed with GOD, to give his nod, he understood the lesson of mortality and he “passed” with flying colors. No there was not a single droplet of Blood color, but still he did with flying colors.


Saturday, was a musical concert of artistes assembling from across the world. Music, as they say has no language. But it did. And enough to burry me down too deep to earthly bounds. There were couple of guys from Iran, who were performing the Persian Santoor, Lets call him “B” and Cajon, a percussion instrumentalist, named as”C”.
While the evening was filled with melancholy with the enchanting sounds of Santoor filling the air, and the Cajon consistently filling the tremors, both “B” and “C” enjoyed themselves, even without realizing they exist in a certain place called “World”. They were in trance, for 45 minutes that they played. Yes they did know the time running, as they had perfected it to an art, to keep up with time. Well deserved was the standing ovation that they acquired at the end of the performance. But it was soon to change. For the ones who stood for the tiny fraction of their life to applaud, and for me, who stood there to realize there lied a moment of awkwardness.

I, with the flow of being on top of the world with one worthless performance and compliments from the concert before “ B “ and “C”, and also reveling on my networking ability, repeated the same dumb paraphrase. As I was doing with anyone whom I met during the day. I went to “B” & “C”and realized Santoor player, “B” can talk not even two words in English, but Cajon player, “C” could. He did in a broken language, but managed to smile that no language can define, and even complimented me for my performance before them.
But It was not it. It was not the time when you feel useless. Not yet. But you always realize, before being embarrassed, a few seconds before that you will be humbled down, or a feeling like being naked and walking in crowded streets of Benaras. It always comes to your mind at least milliseconds before the actual incident. It did to me, that evening.

I asked him, “ Do you have a facebook account, with my android pointing” to let him know I would be adding him in seconds. Before which the audio system blared. I realized it was the organizer, wanting to talk. And am glad he did. At that time is when he described, that he had found those two artistes on streets of Iran and sent them flight tickets to perform here.

With that I turned to the Cajon player again, and he had the same grin, not realizing it was about them that the organizer is talking about, and for whom the audience is having a fake and flawless expression of awe, only to forget moments later at the food counter.

He said, he doesn’t have computers, replying to me, the difference of time for question was answer, was just a wait for my head to turn back to him, from the Organizer’s announcement.
What he said were the exact words imprinted on my memory, as below.

“Back home, we play every evening at 18 hours, for 2 hours, earn money, and go for dinner”.

Already feeling naked to the last part of my toe germ. It was time to dwell to myself about the irony, of both the question and the answer.

And for their talent, with my limited knowledge of that subject, they could perform with Shivkumar Sharma, yes ,That Calibre.


Two incidents, enough or too much to make me realize, I should always be undressed in my mind, to know, we as mankind have taken life too far much for granted.

While those guys played, with their eyes closed, and a smile that was epitome of trance through them, not worrying about it would be the same routine of “EARN AND DINNER” once this trance was over, it was much much similar to when "A" , lied on his coffin, with eyes closed, knowing he doesn’t have to live tomorrow or to grow up to be a faggot of a mankind, alike me.

Both lived their moments, although with brievity. “A” for 6 years, “B” and “C” for 45 minutes, or all those hours they play to earn their income.

When I rewind to the composition by “B” and “C” and to “A” lying calm and happy with eyes closed, I realize,

What really matters in life ? Even if Life really matters?
How can I realize, that the world does not need to put up with my fuss or my tantrums?

I will never convince myself on what I want from this life, but these two humbling incidents, at least made me realize, what I DON’T WANT.
And on top of that list is, my failure to convince, the ones I love the most in my life,
“That I loved them like no tomorrow and much more than yesterday”

That’s all I can do for mankind, and for the hope of it, if there is any left.

Amen