Being Human

This morning I took a BRTC bus. There was a little girl standing beside my seat. She was around five, not big enough to balance herself in a moving bus. To her mum, she was comparatively bigger than the other child. The poor mum could not take two kids in her arms at the same time. So, the little girl was trying to help herself. I took her on my lap and looked at the back to make sure that her mum knew that she was safe with me. To my surprise, I found the other passengers to be a little uneasy with this situation. Why? Because the girl’s dress suggested that she belonged to a poor family. May be her mum was a garment worker or something like that. I did not mean to start a revolutionary movement with my action. Being a Bangalee woman, to offer my lap to a child seems to be the most natural thing to do. Why does it seem so strange? Being completely unaware of the complexities of life, my Bangalee princess pushed herself a bit more towards me so that she could sit comfortably. I loved that!

Finally, when the bus reached my destination, she went back to her Mum. While I was trying to reach the bus door through the crowd, I had to get the attention of the women standing beside my seat. Being unsure about how to address those ladies (Auntie or Apa), I just said, ‘Excuse me.” That worked!!! The looks on their faces changed. Wow! My prestige among Bangalees was regained by some English words!

Can’t help but mentioning that this is March – the glorious month of Independence! 46 years back, we were united as a nation – we were determined to fight against all sorts of injustices and discriminations. Seems like a myth sometimes.

The tale of the sower

All those dry faces with cold looks were ready to suck my inner strength. None of the motivational verses seemed to work. They are determined not to be influenced by any positive thoughts. They were so comfortable with their melancholic, mechanical atmosphere. All the verses on positive attitude seemed to be fruitless. I could sense an invisible solid wall between me and my audience.

This class is my least favorite one. Once in a month I visit this class just because I have to and it is a part of my job. I am being paid for it. I talk about values to these people. They listen to me just because hey are instructed by their authority.I can always sense the cold annoyance on their faces. They were just waiting for me to finish. One of them even reminded me about shortening the session. Such a tiring job!

What is the use of talking about values to these people? Suddenly, I saw a very eager face looking towards me the entire time. I never saw that face before. She was receiving each and every word of mine so eagerly. I immediately became energized. I talked more vibrantly. After the session, that girl shared her story with me. She shared that how these values session help her to confront the everyday injustice in a more bold way.

Her joyful eager eyes touched my heart. I needed that encouragement.  I remembered the famous sower parable. He explained how different soils received the same seed in different ways. Right before me was the good soil!

But the seed falling on good soil refers to someone who hears the word and understands it. This is the one who produces a crop, yielding a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.”

Thank you, God! I love you!

Once upon a time the script failed….

Once upon a time, there was a scriptwriter who wanted to write the scripts for her own life. She designed the entire scene in her head and expected everyone to follow that.

Sometimes, she waited for her parents to follow her story line. She expected them to utter the dialogues from her script. Why not? They were carrying the same gene!

To her utter disappointment, she learnt that the generation gap could speak much louder than the dialogues of her script. Even louder than the gene!

She met her love and expected him to follow the script line by line. Why not? He was the most intimate friend after all!

To her greatest sorrow, she realized that gender gap could be much sharper than the knife. The lust in his eye overlooked her soul’s desire; it cut her heart in two!

She met herself. She expected herself to be the most faithful artist. Why not? She was the playwright after all. She will faithfully do her part.

Alas! She realised that narcissistic outlook could be much more confusing than smog. It would never let you know the thin line between reality and fantasy.

Then she moved her eyes to see the world. She looked at the lives around her. She recognized the best scriptwriter of all.

She understood that her life’s script was written by the Almighty.

Then she started living happily ever after with hope and joy- the inseparable partners of life.