When I was a little girl, just in to school, I was taught not to tell people things that can hurt them. For example, a fat girl shouldn't be called fat. A stupid girl shouldn't be called stupid and some other things. But being the girl I am, I had a hard time pretending, or not telling people what they really are.
I hated pretense as a child and I hate pretense now. But what surprises me is the innumerable bunch of people who love to pretend. They somehow love holding on to it and I don't know what they get out of it?Doesn't it feel like living with a lie? That is not a good feeling I know. So how do they continue doing it for years at a stretch? Or may be even a life time?
It is not only about pretending to call an ugly girl, pretty or pretending to like someone's cooking or dresses or shoes. It is also about pretending to love someone. Pretending about the fact that a certain person is very important, or pretending to be grateful even!
Small things, small stories tell me how people love to pretend, till their work gets done. I lived very close to the school, and for fourteen years my house was like a telephone booth, a first aid center, a lost and found box and even a "My daughter needs that thing right now" place. Besides giving my classmates a place to wait if they missed their transport back home, my mother provided tiffin to so many girls in my school that it is not even funny. And she did it gladly. A phone call from some tensed parent and she would calm them down and assure them that she would take care of everything. My father even went out of his way to go and drop a few classmates of mine, home, because they missed their transport, and their daddies were too "busy" to come and pick up their own daughters!
Mothers used (yes USED it is) my house to wait for their daughters to come back from tuition classes, without even thinking that we might have some work to do, and need to go out. They did not even have the courtesy to ask!
My father being a gazetted officer, could attested mark sheets and other official documents. He would gladly do it, without much fuss. Naturally, he was taken advantage of. People came with 10-20 copies of their mark sheets and expected my father to sit and sign them all. And being the person he is, my dad did it, till he grew sick and tired of it and stopped bringing his office stamp home.
We helped everyone gladly, firstly because helping is something good and we should always do things which make us and others feel good. But then is it too much to expect that these people would have a minimum courtesy to feel grateful? Express their gratefulness by at least staying in touch? No sooner did school get over than I lost touch with every one. Now true that I am not a very social person, but then I at least smile at the people I know when I see them here and there! I wonder what are people made of? Is this natural to behave this way? to forget once the work gets done? Doesn't it hurt them somewhere deep down? Don't they have something called the heart? Or at least a conscience?
I don't know whether I should be grateful for not being like all those I have mentioned above. I mean it must be much easier not to feel anything at all. Not to bear the burden of being ungrateful. Not to have any emotions or memories to make them sad. I am sure it must have been easier... Unfortunately I was born with a heart!
