In the past, these blogs have been about random stuff that I felt had a preachy note to it. Upon re-reading some of them after a decent interval, I felt these were not authentic as there was little feeling beneath the words. So, I decided to wipe the slate clean and start afresh on this journey.
I am not sure how things will turn out this time. Whether my need to putting down my thoughts would reflect my current state of mind or again slip back into that didactic tone that I have now come to abhor. Because, knowledge is inherently available on demand from within and internal changes need not happen as a result of knowing a few more things. It happens without any conscious effort. One just needs to trust.
And so it is that this blog post aims to start off afresh. And in doing so seek to be authentic – not representative of what I want to be seen as, but as I truly am – warts and all. Today, I feel unapologetic about who I am, because there is no way I can be somebody else. It may fool some people around me for some time, but cannot fool everyone around me, all the time. And least of all, myself.
Self-deception is the worst kind of deception. And possibly the toughest to understand. Because, right from our formative years, we are encouraged to be what we aren’t. People around us foist their hopes, beliefs, rules and regulations making us believe that their’s is the right way, nee the only way. Imagine a world where children are free to choose their own religious beliefs!
As a child born rather late in my parents’ lives, I did not face as much pressure as my friends – maybe because my parents were different or because they were ignorant about parental guidelines. But, challenges there were. I cannot recall a time when I found structured education (at schools) meaningful. Yes, I liked the bits about learning a language and doing sums so I could collect the right change from the vegetable seller as a 5-year-old.
Being an only child and with parents already in their forties meant there was some pressure to be job-ready before my parents had to give up theirs. This was the first fear. And from this emanated others, the toughest being a fear of losing my parents and having to fend for myself. Of course, there were others around, but parents are parents no? To date I recall a 5-year-old standing at the window to hear the sound of my dad’s scooter turning the street. I feared that one day, he won’t come back. And I cried in anticipation of that day.
The key had unlocked a pattern that stays with me till date….
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