The Performance

The little girl in red. She climbed up the bamboo poles, one step at a time. She looked down, behind her as she climbed higher, her feet trembled, her body clutched tightly to the poles. To the crowd looking at the act, it seemed just a few minutes before she was standing there, ready to walk on the tight rope that connected the 2 poles. But with every step that she climbed, she mumbled a small prayer. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath-her feet had not given way. She had reached the top of the pole. She looked down- her mother wondering, ‘Would this act earn us enough for 2 meals?’, her younger sister running around, exited- little did she know that the same fate awaits her a few years later.

Acts like these don’t entice us anymore. We give a mere glance at them and run along to our menial routine. But there was something in that little girl that day that made us wait and watch her act till the end. Was it her determined face that reminded us how somewhere, in our daily drudgery we had lost that determination that had brought us this far? Or was it the faith that she had in herself that took us back to those days when we had the hope that kept us going? Or was it simply, the anger that she had within her- to be the bread-earner, to support a family when the only responsibility kids her age had was to complete their homework? Did we have the same anger within us that made it so relatable? The anger to obey, the anger to behave exactly how society expected us to;  The anger to accede to unreasonable demands, the anger to accept the future rather than paint it ourselves.

The sound of the drums got louder, bringing me back to the scene- the girl now walking on the tight rope- her feet holding it firm, a bamboo stick in her hand, a tower of steel glasses balanced on her head and a zillion thoughts running in her mind- what if I fall? What if I don’t earn enough? What if my mother beats me today for not giving my best? What if my sister sleeps hungry again today? An infinite series of ‘what if’s’ and the bamboo pole to reach at the far end. She walked- body firm, head held high, and a staring crowd. ‘You could have paid her instead of having a cigarette today’, I overheard a discussion and a chuckle that followed later. ‘Oh this is India, Sir. You find this pretty often. Nothing to worry about’, a secretary reassured her worried American boss.  ‘Would you like to take a video to show your family back home?’, asked a man to his British colleague. They all looked in awe, but not one applauded her, not one came forward to pay her for the act. She reached the end, sat for a while, relieved that she made it through, and looked around- nobody came forward. She sighed, stood up and walked again, back to the start.

Thoughts raced my mind once again. While on one hand, I was grateful for leading a life much better than hers; on the other I found it no different- just like her, we have forgotten to laugh. There were times when just a word left everybody around in splits, when mere exchange of a glance would suffice for days of laughter. Just like her, we have got accustomed to moving with the flow, letting time take its course that there is not much left to laugh over, to talk about, to discuss, to contemplate, to ponder. We have got so accustomed to the life that we lead that somewhere, deep within us, we have lost that little spark- the spark that ignited our creativity, the spark that spread cheer all around, the spark that made our presence felt. Have we ceased to ignite that spark? Have we forgotten to dream? She longed for some company to play with her, to laugh with her, to talk to her; we long for it too. We plan, go on outings to bring back those memories, try to remember the old days and our old friends, long to talk to them, try to remember our carefree childhood days, try to show the world how happy we are. But somewhere, deep within, we know this is just a façade. And no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we long to be the way we were, it can never be the same. Would we want to go back? Maybe we do- to those carefree school days, to the college days where we moulded ourselves to what we are today, to the beginning of our career when we always planned for a brighter future. Would we want to go back? To those tensed days when we were uncertain about our career, to those late nights when we crammed for an exam, to those sleepless nights when we didn’t know what lay ahead. Maybe we don’t want to go back. We want to move ahead, to let time take its course- but is time always to be blamed? For the family we don’t spend as much time with anymore, for the friends that have lost touch, for the promises we failed to keep, for the mask that we wear - is time to be blamed?

Another loud beat of the drums. The girl was now walking on the rope with her chappals, tougher than before, more determined than before, and probably, a little more scared than her earlier round. She completed this round just as the one before-very easy for a passerby to see, but not so for the girl up there. As she crossed and reached the other side, she threw down her chappals. The way back seemed so easy now-for her, for us as well. It only reminded me of the saying, ‘ It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, it is because we do not dare that they are difficult.’ We thought the act was over. And as we turned to go back to our routine, she started another round- this time standing on a plate. Much slower than before, much tougher than before but the only thought in her mind was to reach the other end- it might just fetch me some extra money, it might just help my mother a little. Her sister ran from one person to another begging for money. This act might just replace the begging bowl in my sister’s hand with a beautiful doll. Don’t we do this all the time? Work an extra hour for a faster promotion? Spend lesser time with family and friends to earn an extra bonus? Talk less, work more and then complain about the drudgery that life has become? Can we change ourselves? Can we be the way we were before? I’m not sure if we can. I’m not sure of we would want to.

She reached the other end, ran back to the start and climbed down. She jumped into her mother’s arms, clutched her tight for a while, ‘Don’t send me up there again, Maa. Let me run and play. Don’t let my sister beg, Maa. Don’t take her childhood away.’

I didn’t have money to give her that day. It would be so meager. All I had was a proud applause, an admiration, an inspiration, a blog post after 6 months and a prayer: ‘I ask not for a lighter burden. But for broader shoulders.’

The Times that Change

If I may reiterate Vincent Van Gogh, ‘I dream of writing and write my dreams’. Nearly a year ago from now, penning down my thoughts was never this hard. Was it because life at K was a new experience every day - A story that we would reminisce for the months to come? Or is it because, now, life has become the same old drudgery that we have been forced to get accustomed to?

But then again, what can be a better time to re-enkindle my nostalgia, my passion, my love for writing than the same old zephyr, the same old mountains and the same old winding road uphill that welcomed us back; that made us feel as if we had never left.

The 2 days spent on campus were pretty different this time. With us finding every opportunity to revisit the most memorable 2 years in 2 days, once again seeing those faces that we had last seen when we bid goodbye, meeting our favourite professors, those smiles and hugs that gave us back the warmth we had missed so much. And then again came those goodbyes, those teary-eyed farewells when we realized that it would be another couple of years before we’ll meet again, at this time, at the same place.

However, leaving campus this time was not that tough. Was it because we were more prepared for it than we were the last time we left? Was it because we knew that we were going back to the same old drudgery that we had left behind us just 2 days ago? Or was it because we knew each other better that we knew what to expect from them and what not to?

I have come to realize that most of my posts in the last 2 years have been about life at K and I was quite sure this one would be the same. ‘You always write about your time at K. What will you write about once you leave?’, they kept asking. I really didn’t know how to answer them then. I would, without any doubt, come up with a topic; there are so many. But today, as I write, I can’t help but feel the void; that something is missing, that the ink from my pen doesn’t flow as it used to back then.

What has changed? Is it me? Have I become too professional, too sophisticated, too mature that en route this voyage I let go of the juvenile, mischievous self that I was? Is it those around me? Have they changed? If I think of it, it’s just the time-the Times have changed.  

We have become so used to being in an environment where we are looked at with envy and jealousy that it has only made us tougher. We have become so accustomed to staying alone that it gives us solitude, sometimes boredom but never the sense of freedom. We have accepted with such ease the patriarchy in the society that we have learnt to live with those ogling eyes, those constant stares and those lewd remarks with our heads bent down in acceptance. They say, “When in Rome, be a Roman”. But, did they mean that we mould ourselves in a way such that people around us would begin to accept us; even at the cost of our own dreams, aspirations, lifestyle and behaviour? Did they mean that we accede to their unrealistic dictates without voicing our opinion just because, as they say, “Aaj toh ladki suna kar gayi!”? Why do they expect their female colleagues to behave in a way that they would never prefer a girl from their family to? Why are they not sensitive enough to understand what to talk and what to not, when to talk and to not, yet expect us to feel comfortable in their company? Situations like these only make one tougher, more aware and make us realize that life outside is very different from what we thought and that some learnings are best left within the Acad block-not because we are not adept enough to incorporate them; but because our society is not yet ready enough to accept them.      

Mitch Albom writes, “Man alone chimes the hour. And, because of this, man alone suffers a paralyzing fear that no other creature endures. A fear of time running out.” We have set stringent deadlines for our life - post-graduation by 23, marriage by 28, multiple promotions and a respectable position in the organization by 30, retirement by 60; but is life so predictable that the deadlines can be ‘sacrosanct’? College has made us adhere to timelines, has made us ecstatic, when, in trying situations, these deadlines were extended. But today, a miss in the deadline makes us anxious, makes us fret, makes us feel incompetent compared to our peers. We are so anxious about our future that we forget to live in the present, to enjoy all that we have earned, to give time to our family and friends, to live….

We all yearn for what we have lost. But sometimes, we forget what we have. We yearn to be a student back again, to be in campus for 1 more day, for 1 more year; to spend just 1 hour with the same people who we used to spend months with. We may not be in K anymore, but we have learnt a lot more from there, long enough to keep us going in this ruthless, lecherous world; long enough to endure the changes, the compromises and the adjustments that we are forced  to make everyday. We yearn to go back home, to go back to the coziness, the warmth and the comfort that we have taken for granted all these years; to enjoy the sumptuous meal at home, to pour out all our worries to our parents, to share a laugh with our siblings-to be ourselves, without worrying about being judged. But then again, they are the 1^st ones we go to in troubled times, we need them to tell us, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine tomorrow.” And sometimes just smile when they say, “If you don’t like it there, come back home. You’ll fine 10 other jobs for yourself.” How we wish that was true! How we wish we could go back!

We all have awaited our ‘Dream come true’ moment. But once this moment passes, comes the slow, melting realization that this is not what we thought it would be like. This is not what we imagined our colleagues to be like. This is not what we imagined our managers to be like. This is not what we thought our friends would be like. And this is definitely not what we imagined our life to be like.

Life has changed in the past few months. There are a very few people with whom we are still as comfortable talking to as we were back then. It’s not about how often we meet them or talk to them, it’s more about how good we feel even in those little times that we talk. As they say, it is easy to talk to people, but hard to remember them. As the days pass, very few people would still remember you, very few would still be there to comfort you, very few would give you a shoulder to cry on. But as Rabindranath Tagore puts it,

If they answer not to your call walk alone

If they turn away, and desert you when crossing the wilderness

O thou unlucky one,

trample the thorns under thy tread,

and along the blood-lined track travel alone.

If they shut doors and do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm,

O thou unlucky one,

with the thunder flame of pain ignite your own heart,

and let it burn alone