The Enlightenment

Copyright (C) Shubhrata V Prakash

The night was dark, my spirits low. I sat on the pavement, near the seashore, musing. I had tried sleeping without success. My restlessness had forced me out of the house - into the darkness of the night. It was dark and humid. Not a leaf stirred anywhere. The air was still. Sultry. The present state of my mind was in harmony with the night, both blending into each other. And this wasn't the first time either.

For weeks together I had stalked the seashore, trying to find some meaning to life, in the rhythm of the tide breaking on the sands. Only tonight, it was darker and more sultry. Even the little pieces of silver, sewn on the black satin overhead, seemed to be shrouded. No breeze. My mind - too weak and dull, after weeks of brooding. Still I had no clue as to why I was a living being. Why life at all? Why my life?

A kaleidoscope of images whirred past me. Images from the past. The future? Life had always been comfortable. But why life at all? What would have happened if I hadn't been? Probably nothing different from what was happening now. What if I don't live till tomorrow? Nothing different again. I had heard arguments. Life is enjoy. to create, to revel and to be happy. To establish yourself as "somebody". To be different from the ordinary. I was not convinced. Why be different? What is so great about greatness? What is happiness? Why to be happy? Why life at all? Why?

So there I was. Back to square one. Back to that night. The dark, airless night. There were few people around me - some on the pavement, some down below on the sand. Yet, I hardly noticed them. Neither did I care for the few headlights, which used to appear suddenly from the dark and vanish again into the darkness, with amazing speed, blinding me for a few seconds - disturbing my communion with the night. So it was hardly surprising that I missed a dark shadow that crossed me for a second maybe. But the trailing hysterical scream was too loud to be missed. The source of this high decibel scream was a half-bent, frail kind of figure. The light from the street lamp was not sufficient to make out his features. Yet, the urgency of his manner was too obvious.

"What's the matter?"  I asked in a calm and steady voice.

The reply was hardly coherent. Yet, I could make out something about someone running away with money he had saved all day to buy medicines for his sick wife. The unfairness of it all struck me full force. The coordination between my mind and the night was phenomenal. The roar within me was answered by a rumble in the canopy above. In a moment, I was off in the direction towards which a crooked and shaking finger of his was pointed. Soon I could make out a medium-sized figure steadily gathering speed. But his speed was no match for mine. To come out of it the best way, he dropped a small and dirty cloth purse and sped away into the night. I waited to catch my breath. Then, slowly, I picked up the dirty object from the pavement and headed back towards its owner. As I handed it over to him, amidst the rumble, lightening flashed. Just for an instant. But that instant was enough. Enough to see his face. Enough to read the expression on it.

And even after that instant was gone, I remembered it only too well. It was like Prince Siddhartha becoming The Buddha. I had this strange feeling of elation within me. Pit-pat-pat. Big drops had started falling on the pavement. The latter, having weathered the sun for days, devoured the rain with a vehement hiss. The few people, who were still out on the street, started running for cover. But I walked on at a leisurely pace. 

It was pouring now. I couldn't have welcomed it more - yet I couldn't have cared less. For I had known, just for that instant, what life was. What happiness was. And, for that moment, I did not bother to add 'why'.

(First published in Vibes '97. The blogger was a 1st year MBA student then.)

A Treasure Chest of Memories

Dear Friends,

It is said that there is only one ultimate truth in the world : Death.

Well, there are, then, a number of penultimate truths too. Like illness. Hardly anyone goes through life without falling ill. It is like, whoever has a body will fall ill. Mathematically, body implies illness, at time t=unknown.

Yet, we as a society, have a very queer attitude to illness. Employers think the employee is faking it to steal a few days of leave. Parents think children are faking it to escape school. Teachers think the same too. Doctors want to ensure that their patients are not faking it. Primary care-givers at home are praying that their loved ones are faking it because they want to be spared the anxiety and the work that comes with caring for the ill. Only God knows that his creations are not faking it.

That was on the lighter side. On a more serious note, most people react to illness, especially serious illness, with shock. Arrey, aapko heart atttack kaise aa gaya? Kal tak toh aap bilkul theek-thaak they! (How did you get a heart attack? You were absolutely fine till yesterday!). Or, maybe, how did you get cancer? We met only last month and you were fine. Or, how did you get depression? You have always been a very cheerful person. It is a little like asking a corpse, how did you die? You were so full of life yesterday!!

Yes, the shock is a natural human reaction. Illness and death are difficult and morbid concepts to wrap our heads around. We often hear people say, Mujhe toh marne ki bhi fursat nahin hai (I don't even have the leisure to die). We are so busy fighting for things like getting to a meeting on time that if Yamraaj himself were to come and stand before us, we would probably say, "Come back later. I have to reach office on time else my Boss will kill me". Any knowledge like that of someone's illness is like a rude shock, which brings us back to the reality about life. Its frailty and uncertainty.

So, just imagine the plight of the ill. Having to wake up everyday with their illness. Having to spend the whole day with their illness. Having to go to bed every night with their illness. Not for them cares about the next office meeting. Not for them the care about their next promotion or their child's top position in class. Not for them the woes of the whole world sitting upon their solitary pair of shoulders. Getting by morning to night and night to morning itself is a struggle.

What matters to them is every act of care or kindness that someone shows towards them. A few words on the phone. A few minutes spent laughing, looking into their eyes. A small treat, a light touch, a loving caress, a tight hug. Who knows. Everyone has their own ways of collecting such a treasure box of memories, which they open and look at when they are lying alone in bed. Maybe flowers brought them by a friend. Maybe a sibling's night spent fussing over them. Maybe a relative's hand cooked food, fed with love. Maybe a co-worker's two hours spent with them over coffee and donuts. Maybe a parent's love shared over tea and cookies. Maybe a neighbour's evening spent watching a movie together. Maybe a Boss's surprise visit with the implicit promise of help. Maybe a child's clumsily drawn card. Moments wrapped in the tissue of acceptance, kept in the chest of feel-good emotions. They give the ill the strength to get by the challenging days, the motivation to get well, and the belief that the world is a good place; a place worth hanging onto with dear life.

They don't need anyone's shock reaction. They don't need the crocodile tears. They don't need forwarded jokes and talent-show videos. They need a touch, a humane touch, a human touch. So, when you are preparing for that next big promotion or meeting tomorrow, remember tomorrow may never come. The ill are still fortunate. They know pain. They know that their time may be limited. Life has given them that chance. Not everyone is so fortunate. All it takes is just one second of inattention at the wheels by someone, or a second's delay in reaching the hospital. It may be time for someone else to ask your corpse, "What happened? You were so full of life a second back!!"