noName post

Swadha is 8 months today. I write this as she sleeps on my lap, overwhelmed by the beauty and simplicity of this act of absolute acceptance from my baby.

Such bliss!

I often wish it hadn't taken me so long to appreciate the utility of butterfly-netting thought-butterflies into sentences. Oh well. This moment will have to suffice.

Elsewhere, I feel pressed to release this into the universe, with a hope that I will be able to channel into the answer I get, that I will not lose it in the cacophony of everyday.

Becoming older; it makes the time gone by more distant, like a platform that stays put as the train moves away. With some luck, this space offers the opportunity of dispassionate introspection. I try to connect experiences with life lessons, and to the current version of my being. Sometimes, I am able to make sense of an arbitrary section in my life's tapestry that continues to unfold.

I am often told I am nice. I don't know exactly what that means: am I nice because I am very accommodating of people's interpretation of themselves. Or perhaps I am nice simply because I make room (with space to spare) for HD-display of self-flattering self-images, offering nothing in the form of a challenge.

Recently, I was paralyzed into inaction at a crucial time-point. It is far from a first for me and I am unsure of how much of it is out of concern for inflicting pain or out of an undebatable lack of courage. I also hold myself accountable for legless rationalization for not standing up for myself, or on other occasions, for the person at the poor end of the bargain.

Once, I was onboard a local bus to get to the transport that would help me get to Delhi. The 20- minute bus-ride cost less than 10 rupees. A co-passenger who had paid with a note of much bigger denomination was handed a few coins as change. When he inquired about the rest of his money he was accused of lying and verbally pounded into silence by a volley of insults. I couldn't stop myself from speaking up, having witnessed the transaction. It was followed by a similar deluge of insults and name calling, only now directed at both of us. As a release of my indignance and the shock at the misappropriation, I deboarded the bus.

An earthquake had hit and damaged my innocent confidence in the correct workings of the world. After having reached college, I released my angst in-front of a friend. It was suggested that the victim had it coming to him, given his inability to defend himself. I remained unconvinced and agitated, and writing about it, now, fifteen years since, has airdropped me into my unsettled mind space that I work very hard to keep at bay.

I mention this because I have to find a way to not give this to my baby - the inability to stand up against adversity. It is hard. It needs to be done.