Somethings in life are certain.
Death, separation, disappointment, failure, deceit, misunderstandings, and many such words in the vocabulary of a literate person would describe suffering according to their own perspectives. For me, the synonym is "Certainty". 'Pain in life' is as sure as 'death', and sometimes the latter seems an easier choice.
Ah! Have I started again? I know, with all my hopeless philosophies of life that won't lead me anywhere, I have the damned notebook again in my hand. But blame it on the rain, it's the first rain of the season, the weather outside is pleasant, and I'm blue. The rains affect my senses, clouding my vision for happiness, leaving only suffering behind. Well, that brings me back to the "omnipresent" suffering.
picture: paula smith
It's been almost a year since this happened, but I've not been able to erase those few minutes from my mind. I was standing in front of a shopping mall, waiting for my friends to return when I saw a little boy about five years of age, wailing, begging for money. His loud cries made me turn my gaze towards him. Beggars here in Lucknow cry a lot, trust me, they'll fool you to perfection, and before you realize, you're robbed completely with your own consent. But for the first time, his tears were genuine. I looked at him now, with more concentration, he was covered with wounds from head to toe. There was pus oozing out from his immensely swollen knee, (not blood, so I could assume that the wound was real, blood no longer attracts my sympathy, I've been fooled by fake blood enough times already). His forehead was disfigured, a lot of red and greenish-yellow something was stuck above his right eye. This little guy was badly hurt.
It's still pouring outside, I can hear the rain drops splashing on the window glass behind me. But, the tears in those eyes were thicker than these water droplets. I was watching that little boy, and instinctively I reached for my wallet, but to my disappointment I just had 42 bucks in it, exactly the amount I needed to reach home, not even a penny more, (imagine and I was thinking, if I had enough money I'd take him to a doctor, after the reality check, I could do with some of those thick salty tears as well). I turned my back towards him to continue with the most interesting task of merely waiting.. but, in my mind, I was thinking of one reason why should he NOT grow up to become a thief and kill me for money.
Today, I was walking among the extravagant in Hazratganj, when a tiny fist approached me for money,. The palm of that little girl was so little that it was almost fully occupied with the 2 rupee coin I put in it. She must've been barely three or four, and had memorized her 'begging speech' so well. I could not recall if I was even properly toilet trained at that age.
While returning back home, I could feel the rains approaching, the winds were pleasantly cool and smelled of gloom, and now the rains roar outside with all their might. I wonder what the tiny toddler, living inside the huge concrete pipe outside my locality, would be doing now. I saw her playing with a scary looking one-eyed doll beside a heap of garbage, yesterday, while her father enjoyed a nap on the comfortable pipe-floor. Trust me, the doll looked scary, it reminded me of the one I had received for my 10th birthday, one with large blue eyes, they did not stay open when the doll lay down flat, and this irritated me so much that I plucked out both the eyes and then the hollow sockets had given me a fright. (Don't know why, I was never given a doll again.)
Now I'll stop worrying about the drainage-pipe-girl, as long as I finish the bowl-full of tasty Sewaiyyaan.
Courtesy: My mother.
Death, separation, disappointment, failure, deceit, misunderstandings, and many such words in the vocabulary of a literate person would describe suffering according to their own perspectives. For me, the synonym is "Certainty". 'Pain in life' is as sure as 'death', and sometimes the latter seems an easier choice.
Ah! Have I started again? I know, with all my hopeless philosophies of life that won't lead me anywhere, I have the damned notebook again in my hand. But blame it on the rain, it's the first rain of the season, the weather outside is pleasant, and I'm blue. The rains affect my senses, clouding my vision for happiness, leaving only suffering behind. Well, that brings me back to the "omnipresent" suffering.
It's been almost a year since this happened, but I've not been able to erase those few minutes from my mind. I was standing in front of a shopping mall, waiting for my friends to return when I saw a little boy about five years of age, wailing, begging for money. His loud cries made me turn my gaze towards him. Beggars here in Lucknow cry a lot, trust me, they'll fool you to perfection, and before you realize, you're robbed completely with your own consent. But for the first time, his tears were genuine. I looked at him now, with more concentration, he was covered with wounds from head to toe. There was pus oozing out from his immensely swollen knee, (not blood, so I could assume that the wound was real, blood no longer attracts my sympathy, I've been fooled by fake blood enough times already). His forehead was disfigured, a lot of red and greenish-yellow something was stuck above his right eye. This little guy was badly hurt.
It's still pouring outside, I can hear the rain drops splashing on the window glass behind me. But, the tears in those eyes were thicker than these water droplets. I was watching that little boy, and instinctively I reached for my wallet, but to my disappointment I just had 42 bucks in it, exactly the amount I needed to reach home, not even a penny more, (imagine and I was thinking, if I had enough money I'd take him to a doctor, after the reality check, I could do with some of those thick salty tears as well). I turned my back towards him to continue with the most interesting task of merely waiting.. but, in my mind, I was thinking of one reason why should he NOT grow up to become a thief and kill me for money.
Today, I was walking among the extravagant in Hazratganj, when a tiny fist approached me for money,. The palm of that little girl was so little that it was almost fully occupied with the 2 rupee coin I put in it. She must've been barely three or four, and had memorized her 'begging speech' so well. I could not recall if I was even properly toilet trained at that age.
While returning back home, I could feel the rains approaching, the winds were pleasantly cool and smelled of gloom, and now the rains roar outside with all their might. I wonder what the tiny toddler, living inside the huge concrete pipe outside my locality, would be doing now. I saw her playing with a scary looking one-eyed doll beside a heap of garbage, yesterday, while her father enjoyed a nap on the comfortable pipe-floor. Trust me, the doll looked scary, it reminded me of the one I had received for my 10th birthday, one with large blue eyes, they did not stay open when the doll lay down flat, and this irritated me so much that I plucked out both the eyes and then the hollow sockets had given me a fright. (Don't know why, I was never given a doll again.)
Now I'll stop worrying about the drainage-pipe-girl, as long as I finish the bowl-full of tasty Sewaiyyaan.
Courtesy: My mother.
