Tag Archives: respect

I am happy to be

Posted on by
Reply

Last Sunday, I got a message from my dear friend which made me smile from ear to ear.

It is words like these that I live for, that keeps me going.

I… I no longer think I’m lonely. I am proud to say it.

I prefer being left alone sometimes, but lonely? No. I’m not lonely anymore.

In all these years I lived and all the lives I shared my life with; I earned quite a handful of gold.

I earned a few tears that I hope will be shed when I depart.

I earned a shoulder or two to rest my head upon and silently cry.

I earned a lap where I could place my head and sleep a dreamless sleep like a child.

I… I earned compassion from strangers who held out their hands and pulled me out of the depths, not expecting anything in return but an assurance that I will live on.

I’ll be honest. I’m having trouble writing my thoughts, to the extent that I’m listening to ‘Start a riot‘ on loop for the past half hour just to keep myself in the zone. It’s been months together when I last wrote. I feel like starting to walk after lying in bed for a decade. A twitch at a time, a letter at a time.

I am finding myself again, finding my muse. And I’m alone in my journey, but not for a moment will I have to worry about being lonely. Because I am not. I have souls around me, far away from me, close to me and at the other side of the river – souls who care for me like I once cared for myself.

I am seeing the world around me with a fresh set of eyes. Sure, there are moments when I feel being pulled down in the darkness – when someone does not pick up the call, or when someone disapproves my request to get myself a chocolate – but I understand that I have to get back up and make my way down the untamed road like nothing happened. I will crawl out, dust myself, suit up, and continue walking on the road that leads to my father’s home.

I walk with an occasional slouch, but with my chin held up as I try to tap my feet in sync to the tune playing in my head.

I feel the Sun’s rays on my cheek and forehead. It comforts me. I look in the eyes of the Sun and smile. I bow to Him, smile again and continue walking, not caring whether people around me were watching me with bewilderment.

I am happy to be. I am.

I look back and see my people having my back. I feel extremely vulnerable, they know things about me which could destroy me. They have my kryptonite. Yet, I feel at peace with them. Even if they decide to throw a wrecking ball in my way, I’ll face it with open arms and watch it break my will and hope. Murphy’s Law.

It would be pretentious to even assume that my people will be with me for ever. When the night falls, even your shadow abandons you to become one with the darkness. But I’ll cherish their presence till the time they choose to stay. And I will be forever ready to help anyone in need.

It is true that a person lives for itself, that it’s very body breathes not for anyone else but itself. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t need that occasional warmth exuded by a bear hug.

I’m tired of being looked up to, sometimes. I don’t want to emulate anyone, I am a man of my own making – for a change, let me be without having to fulfil someone’s expectations.

Sometimes; it gets dark, gloomy and cloudy inside. I may not even know it, or if I did, would not know how to express it. I never learnt to say a no or to ask for help.

Please. Gaze into my eyes a little deeper. See for yourself the demons tormenting me. Sit beside me. Breathe with me. Help me realize that I’m not lonely. You need not comfort me with words or deeds. Your presence will do me immense good.

Come, sit beside me atop the ledge, while we gaze at the endless expanse that is the sky. Our eyes taking in the colors of nature, while I occasionally get interrupted by your presence. There may be a fleeting thought striking my head that would nudge me to jump off the ledge into the abyss. But seeing you seated beside me, I would drop the idea because I’d hate to leave you alone.

I exhale, and breathe in the fresh air. I close my eyes. I’m not afraid, I’m not alone. I open my eyes and try to focus on the warm Sun that is slowly rising from the womb of mother nature.

I am.

I am happy to be.

Gone, with wings of fire

Posted on by
Reply

I’ll never forget that moment. I was surfing my FB newsfeed when Dad exclaimed, “Kalam no more?”

I rushed out, and was hysterical. I was smirking, my eyes were moist, my legs were giving away, words failed me. 09:02 pm the time was. Words are failing me, as if I were an infant struggling to convey my thoughts.  I let the world know what I thought of that moment, and went in recluse in my room. I remembered that I had a book written by Kalam with me. I couldn’t remember the name, and I was cursing myself for that. I, I felt guilty that I forgot the name of the book! I ransacked my room to find that one slender book, on the cover of which is a girl with shining eyes. I found it.

I kept that book in front of me, and stared at it. This is my Kalam. Who says Kalam is dead? He is here, with me! “Ignited Minds”, his book to the children of India is a singular non-fiction book I read when I was young and was developing an appetite for reading. I opened the book, and there it was. A felicitation written on a piece of paper and stuck on the 2nd page. I had won it at an inter school Elocution Competition on the Children’s Day in 2007. It is my prized possession.

Now, I’ve known Kalam to be an endearing personality. Only after he became the President did the world look up to him and his achievements, and the hardships he went through. You can wiki all of that. But, you can’t wiki how he felt when he faced it, and when he conquered it all. Labelled as the “Missile Man of India”, this one man morphed the Indian Politics when he was elected indirectly as the President of the Republic of India.

A man of such a stature, that no one dare bad-mouth him. He was a modern Bhishma, and he was a devout Muslim. I’ve read it somewhere; sweep so well that even the Gods say “Here lived a great sweeper who did his job well”. Kalam — whose name is synonymous with ‘Kalam’ (pen in Hindi) was true to his name and fame. I went to Rameshwaram for pilgrimage in 2005, and the driver eagerly let us know that Kalam’s house is nearby. My parents and my relatives shrugged to the idea of visiting his house, I insisted.

One would’ve thought that the President of India’s house would at least be painted well. There it was, a rusted green fenced door which guarded the family of the 1st Citizen of India. Strangely, and honestly, I did not expect a bungalow of a house. And, my expectations weren’t hurt. I just stood there for a while, emulating it, staring at it. I didn’t even knock on the door. I didn’t need to.

I’d have read “Ignited Minds” for a good 3 times I guess. I’ll be reading it again tonight. I’m feeling lost. I’m feeling alone. I need Kalam with me. I seldom cry, I seldom cry.

Then I saw this movie titled “I am Kalam”, and it told the story of a poor kid who names himself Kalam and wishes to be like Kalam. He adopts his hairstyle, his ways, and studies by hook or crook. He even hitch-hikes his way to the Rashtrapati Bhavan to deliver a hand-written letter to His Excellency. I watch that movie — that movie with all fantastical elements — and I feel part of it. How I wish I were that kid, who’d go to any length to emulate his role model.

Page 86 of “Ignited Minds”, second paragraph reads, “In Kanchi, I was privileged to see Vedic recitation and recitations from the Quran proceeding side by side”. You feel it? That humility, curiosity, love for one’s country, and respect for all religions; he shaped me in more ways than one. And all the secularists in the sub-continent don’t hail his name, which is understandable. He is not for sale.

Of course, Ayn Rand, Paulo Coelho, and Herman Hesse also shaped my life and character; but I’ve never had a sense of belonging with any of them as I had with Kalam. When I read his words, it’s as if he is speaking to me, to us. He is no more now. He is one with the Force. I felt a strong impulse to go to Rameswaram and visit his home back, but now was not the time. Kalam would ask me, “Who are you?” to which I have no answer. I must become, I must be more than what I am in order to stand in front of that rusted green fenced door.

I feel privileged to have lived in Kalam’s lifetime. Decades from now, I will have stories to tell — of character, of selflessness, of integrity, of Kalam.