People II

My first write up on People was a humorous one, where I met only one kind of people coming with only one agenda in mind: getting their children admitted to Sir’s tuition and yet there I saw so many different reactions. I have been spending a lot of time with Sir over a period of six months, and among other good things I have got the chance to see and observe the human kind as a whole. I have come across many parents and students and observed and analyzed them at close quarters and just reached one conclusion: people love to think that they are different and unique; but they are incredibly similar to each other.

As Sir often thinks and talks about how so many people come so close to him and then go away suddenly, I tried talking to a few of them to find out a reason for their sudden disappearance. So a certain X who had spent a considerable amount of time with Sir, spoke to him almost twenty four hours seven days a week over chat for almost a year, had suddenly run out of things to say to Sir. The reason as pointed out by her is that, Sir being a very “serious” man, she can’t think of anything else to tell Sir. And also told me that “Sir is angry” and she doesn't really know why. However she keeps sending chats to Sir asking him, why he is not talking with her or responding to her chats.  Talking to this particular person makes me wonder, if she actually knows what she wants! And if she does know, why does she need to pretend? There can be just two possible things happening: One, that she was never really interested in Sir and pretending the whole time. And Second, she suddenly realized that any kind of relationship with Sir calls for a serious commitment and that scared her.

Another Y, had dropped out of Sir’s life, some six years ago. I tried talking to him too and asking him to come back. Much to my surprise, he promptly replied to my email and told me how much he had missed Sir for all these years, but did not get back to him because he was asked not to. He tried to make me understand that he was all in for a reunion with Sir but he couldn't because “Sir was angry” and he “did not know why.” He however called up Sir to say that he has got “nothing much to say” to him and then told me that it was all “Sir’s fault” that he couldn't talk. But then he kept bothering me about how he missed Sir and how he was important to him and how it is all Sir’s fault that he had to cut him off. Again I ask, why the pretense?

A certain Z, wanted to come back to Sir, and wrote to him telling him how she wants one more chance and won’t disappoint Sir. The day after was spent by her chatting with me and telling me how she missed him and how she wants to come back. How eager she is and all the other things which made me believe that she was really interested. Just twelve hours later she shot an email telling us that she should be left alone and that she is not really interested and again pointed out how it was all Sir’s fault.  I again wonder, why did she have to pretend that she was interested in him?

These are just a few of the many who behave exactly the same way. You might have noticed what I am trying to point out. Without being judgmental, I am just surprised at the incredible similarity between these individuals. Irrespective of age and gender, they all think the same way, behave the same way and even talk the same way. Their way of dealing with certain things is also very similar.

I came across a number of parents as well, and one thing very common in them is that, they tend to think, that since they have given birth to a child, they can treat him the way they want to. They can behave like dictators and treat them like slaves, abuse them unnecessarily, both physically and mentally, and when the child can’t take it anymore and stands up for his rights, the child becomes a “bad boy”, who doesn’t know how to behave. So many people come over to Sir to complain against their sons and daughters, speaking in a way, completely forgetting how they are at fault as well. This makes me wonder about how these parents were brought up! Certainly parents have been the same way generation after generation and like every generation of parents they claim that they are better parents.

I have been teaching for some time and that has helped me meet some more people. Students and parents alike.  Sir often tells about children of 15 being more grown up than the parents who are 50 years old. I realize how true it is. A certain W, had a bad childhood and was sexually abused by her maternal uncle, and is still traumatized because of that. She came to me asking for help. She just wanted to talk to me and eventually to Sir because she hated her counselor. Just few days later, I get a phone call from her mother asking me to stay in my “limits” and not “provoke” her daughter against the woman’s brother.  I wonder did she really think before saying what she did? Her daughter has been sexually abused and all she cares about his her brother. That person, who hurt her daughter, became more important.  I laugh when these mothers come to me and tell me that they love their daughters and are “worried” for them.

I will tell you, she is not a very strange case. She is just one of the many mothers who behave in this way. My mother is no different. They somehow revel in being tyrannical and think that physical and mental abuse is the easiest way to keep their children under “control”. That is how they can gain respect from them and that is how the child is going to “love” them.

The purpose of writing about all these people is not merely to judge them or improve them. It is just a way of expressing my sense of wonder and amazement to the fact that human beings are so similar to each other, in the way they behave. You can actually group them in certain categories. When observed closely, you can notice how desperately people try to fit themselves in that category. Females, irrespective of their age, try very hard to look pretty, have an obsession for shoes, cry for every small things possible, have a strong liking for tall handsome hunks, have to wear dresses that “accentuates” their body (and then shout if men lech at them!), talk about fashion and dresses and make ups, consider reading to be boring (I am talking of the majority of women here, and not about the smaller group who thinks differently.).

Males on the other hand like to pretend to be the “cool strong handsome hunk” types, who don’t have a heart and can’t feel anything. They don’t have emotions and can talk only about cars and bikes and read Playboy and other sports’ magazine.

Parents are supposed to be strict, tyrannical, inhuman beings who can only shout at their children and force them to live their life the way the parents want them to. They expect to be respected and consider their duties towards their children as favors and keep talking about it all the time. If the children stand up for themselves, they are considered to be ill mannered. 

What is funny is that in spite of people being exact mirror images of each other; they claim to be “individuals”. Little do they realize that they are no better than herds of animals who come and go in groups making no significant difference in anybody’s life. I wonder can’t they see each other? Or is it that they like being one of the herd?  

The Box Of Fond Memories

Cleaning up the cluttered book shelf and an old suitcase is messy, but also filled with pleasant surprises. I was looking for a few note books from my school days in an old suitcase and the suitcase soon became a box of memories. 

I came across an old photograph of me and my first ever friend, relaxing in the sun on a winter afternoon. I was hardly 5-6 years old then, and all I was concerned about was the sun setting too early and reducing my play time. That was the biggest worry then, and the biggest responsibility was keeping an eye on my toddler brother and going after the boys who did not give him a chance to be the batsman. The gully cricket was the biggest match ever and cycling around the neighborhood the biggest rebelling act.

Then I came across a few old letters. Yes back then I used to write letters to an old teacher of mine. She used to teach us Bangla and retired and shifted to Calcutta when I was in class eight. She left her address behind and I used to write letters to her. She was kind enough to patiently go through that almost illegible bangla handwriting of mine and reply to me. The smell of those inland letters made me smile and of course the innocence of the words written on them. I wonder if I can still write like that. It is sad how no one writes letters now and the closest alternative now is the email. I have been told a number of times by so many people to write small emails. Alas! I just can't. I am pretty old school here and love writing and reading long emails. Yes now we can chat over the various social networking sites, but then they are not as personal and beautiful and thoughtful as letters and emails.

A little more rummaging through that box of memories and I found an old, pages almost yellow, book by Albert Camus. On the first page of the book was written, "For being an attentive reader, and liking this book so much! --Sir" I remember borrowing that book from Sir and liking it so much and talking about it to him, that he had allowed me to keep that book. It was so precious to the 16 year old me, that I had not displayed it on my bookshelf. 

There were birthday cards and new year cards and gift wrapping papers with small notes from a special someone. An old t-shirt which belonged to the person I first fell in love with. Wrappers of chocolates, movie tickets, and so many other small gifts, and even a glass jar labeled, "a bottle full of sunshine and fresh air from the hills." That was my brother as a seven year old, bringing back fresh air from Darjeeling. I know these things probably mean nothing to so many people, but brought back fond memories to me. 

The final thing I found in that suitcase was a box full of shells. That collection was a recent one. When I was in Chennai, a few friends and I, on a whim went sea digging for shells. Chennai beach has got the most beautiful sea shells ever. We spent almost two hours collecting shells till our fingers were sore with numerous cuts and our back stiff from bending down for so long. But we were happy. We had the best collection of shells ever and we proudly flaunted it around.

These are the little joys of life which makes us happy. Maybe the friend doesn't remember me anymore, or that special someone has drifted away somewhere. The old teacher is no more today. My grown up brother considers it stupid to bring back fresh air in a jar now, and probably Sir doesn't remember giving that book to me. But these things made me smile, and I know what they mean to me. Being responsible and serious is important, I know but then it is the memories of those completely impulsive and careless times which make us smile. Rummaging through this box of memories on a hot summer lazy afternoon really made my day. And may be it is these memories that still help me to be the happy person that I am today.