WAVING BACK- The day of parting with my teacher : Afterword

‘And the air was full of Thoughts & Things to Say. But at times like these, only the Small Things are ever said.
Big Things lurk unsaid inside’
                 —Arundhati Roy;(GOD OF SMALL THINGS)

       —* —* —* —* —*—*

And those hands...
Kept waving at me-
I waved back, kept waving back,
I wave back, till the memory is
But a distant point in
The Rearview mirror of my life;

A world has left me behind.
I'll have to drive through the
Learning curve, without a map
On my own (My rearview mirror!)
Multiplying the convexities-
Rain drops wash off the memory:
Tears wiping tears!
(The Sky wept with us)

And the melodies echoed...
Across the vales,
The amateur voices resounding
In the mountains, with the
Plethora of heavy emotions
Till it is compressed and fades
Into the lyrics of a known song
The tune...the pauses...
the claps...the rain...
In unison- the pain...
The claps empty,
Losing track of the tune-
Wordless:
You signalled us to STOP
Without words; the journey.
The final moments at the temporary station- halt!
Only the small things ever said,
Big things lurk inside, unsaid

IT'S A MATTER OF TIME; it's going to be okay.
Nearing moments of separation;
Countless words of consolation
Hearts ruffled in agitation
I see all going in vain-
IT WAS NEVER A MATTER OF TIME,
I want to tell them-
IT'S A MATTER OF DISTANCE:
From Mile to mile, from moment to moment,
If only they could experience the same;

And the gate was flung open-
The car zoomed past the storehouse of memories, lit with candles of hope
Into the realm of infinite questions and Bewildered senses (Today the dictionary has fallen silent, wordless!)
Minds confused, eyes moist.

And I find eyes reading my eyes,
Filled with water to the brim
I breathe, heaving a sigh -
A heavy- heavy sigh, a heavy heart
Choked voice, silent prayers-
“I shouldn't weep, I won't" , I tell myself helplessly.
(Let's pretend to be strong for one last time;
Let's fake a smile for one more time)
As I turn and watch
An era disappearing...

And the hands evanescing-
Slowly fading away from my sight.
I want to look back,
“I won't cry but" , I murmur to myself again
Waving... Return the wave, one more time
As the sky betrays me with the tears
(You shouldn't cry)
And, anymore I can't contain
Walking down the memories' lane

And I —
Am already sobbing again!

                 —Sana Shah

SINCERE TRIBUTE- To Bhawana Ma'am- one of the best teachers I ever had

“Yaad-e-ayaam e salf se dil   ko tadpaata hu mai
Behr taskee'n teri janib dauddh aata hu mai"

I make the heart restless from the olden Day's memory
For satisfaction I come ardently running towards you
                      —IQBAL (Lament of separation; in memory of  his teacher, Sir T.Arnold- on parting with him)

When I first read about the bonding between Allama Iqbal and his teacher, Sir Thomas Arnold and how he moulded and influenced Iqbal's mannerisms and ideologies and how on the day of parting Iqbal wrote the poem LAMENT OF SEPARATION for his teacher, Sir T.Arnold, I didn't quite understand what could make any student to write a poem for a teacher and credit him to such an extent; nor could I discern the state of mind or the plethora of mixed emotions that Iqbal would have gone through- But today as I sit restlessly, wide awake around four in the morning, counting on the hours left when my teacher, rather the only teacher I've had in the real sense, would leave us all behind and it's a matter of pity to find myself in such a helpless predicament.

I wasn't expecting such a sudden parting...well, that's life, another name for the unpredictable! I didn't know how to explain what all I was going through- the mere thought of entering the college and she won't be around- leaves tingles running down my spine- From the very first lecture to the very last, it has been such an amazing journey- Bhawana Ma'am- not an ordinary name, rather a legendary legacy( I don't believe in flattery or buttering, ma'am- so please don't even think) Inside the classroom or outside under the sky, what did we not discuss...interactions went on for hours, such fruitful talks that elevated us to a new plane, a new horizon, a new world, all over, the one we had not experienced before... A new door to every house of subject; from sensitive issues like patriarchy to controversial political debates- here was where I found the realm of discussion, dissent, approval and much more. 

When fingers were pointed towards me, I ran to her; when I was confused, I ran to her; when I needed ideas, I ran to her; when something terrible happened, I ran to her, when others wanted suggestions, I ran to her; I have only been running these years as she would have pointed out.But ma'am ab kiske pass jau? Ye tou bataya hi nahi aapne...ab kiske pass bhaagu? Questions unanswered and answers unquestioned!

I will definitely fall short of words in expressing myself and I might just end up crying again :( In fact when we had to order the cake for her farewell, we couldn't decide what to write on it- best wishes, thanks, good luck...then we thought let's write Thanks for everything, but even this everything turned out to be nothing when weighed against all that she had taught us- so we came up with this - Thank you for......

The dot dot dot..implied what couldn't not be listed or weighed or counted- without limits, endless, abysmal as we can't tell where her influence ends or where our decisions won't be governed by her lessons...may be never! But yes those dot dot dot had another implication also- drops of tears...falling and falling- you made us cry publicly, which we never could, so thanks for that as well. Anyway

But yes,the personality, the aura, the confidence, the style, the instant repartee, the blunt sense of humor- yes she taught me that nobody is gonna believe in you until you believe in yourself; developing a sense of self- realization, knowing what your purpose is, what you want and then going after it with all the zeal and enthusiasm. It's from her I learnt that luck, fate are not so abstract as they have been made to appear- it's not a single linearly defined line on which you are computerized to walk, no, rather it's a set of options you make and receive accordingly; those who ask will receive, those who work will be rewarded, provided you realize what you're capable of.

Further do not settle for less when you deserve more- keep expectations, be clever, enjoy life and start living- always remember ‘Life mai koi bhi baat utni badi nahi hoti- ye koi utni badi baat nahi hai'.

Never did she ever say- ‘Tum se nahi hoga ye'  but she was always like: you can do anything.

A box of ready solutions and pointing the could-be errors where there were none! Directly or indirectly I have always conveyed her core message to people around me in one or the other way and of course it helped them too. I fail to understand why could I not say this to her before, face to face...perhaps I was too immersed in the blend of emotions confounding me and still am.

It is from her, I learnt to analyse things with objectivity and logic- Ma'am emotions ka logic tou bataya hi nahi aapne, at least prepare to karna tha humai ki beta aisa bhi hosakta hai.

But on a serious note- people, learn to use reason and logic, especially in matters for which the most quoted rule-book which doesn't actually exist in any tangible form is read out to you by stupid people. Never worry about anything as long as you've done the right thing. Do not pay heed to what others say or how badly they criticise or decide for you because they're not in your shoes and they can't weigh the opportunities for you, when they failed to do the same for themselves- as she would always say ‘Un Sab ne tumhari zindagi nahi jeeni hai, tumne jeeni hai!'

On matters discussed about patriarchy- well here's the take: it doesn't matter if you are a man or woman as long as you consider yourself a human first. Changes do not evolve overnight and anarchy is not an option. But that never means you could allow the tools of oppression to subjugate your individuality in the name of compromise; nor should you pick up the weapon of oppression to oppress others in any way. If we talk about women empowerment, never confuse gender equality with empowerment and stand for what is right, even if it means standing alone. And yes, it's not a matter of shame if men cry, they too are humans- so go on...cry your heart out- talk and not shout, explore options that prevent any harm to those you deal with and of course for yourself as well.And for girls, stop pitying yourself for being girls,you are equal and inferior to none. Stand up for yourself, work smart, become more competent and prove yourself to your own self as well as to the world, you ought to be more competent in all aspects because you will be judged everywhere, every time by the stereotypical heads- hold on and stay strong. Parents teach your sons to respect women as humans, do not teach them the illogical traditionality. For those who prompt like ‘This is not the way,...Aap Ladki ho...' - well, what a news, as if we didn't know, still out of humility thanks for acknowledging!

If you are different and not like others in matter of ideologies and do not follow the masses blindly, then worry not- you are not abnormal- you're a person who can think with a human brain and not a robotic chip computerized to act in that or this way, even if the way is no-way!

Ah, how I wish I could gather more of that ‘gyaan' . let's not be language-puritanical, so I am not bound by language barriers unless I am successful in communicating to you. And nor will I want to impose academic colonialism by sounding technical or using jargons not known to us.Right ma'am?

Talking about our dialogues on Politics- we just talked common sense: connect to the masses and administer in a just way, nothing in extremes and think  for yourself- never be fooled by bumper options but verify on your own.And things change slowly, it takes time but the system would change for the better.

Do what you like, opt for that which you feel fits your aptitude. Science and humanities/arts are equally important and complementary- it's not like science is ‘Sense' and Arts is ‘Non sense'

And for teachers, well she has shown that respect is to be earned and not demanded, be that teacher who deserves to be respected and I assure you, we students love great teachers and we are not selfish to keep the doors of respect in our hearts shut. If you deserve it, you'll eventually get it from us in abundance- an ocean of respect and love.

And so it is for all people in general, be someone who will always be remembered for being kind, genuine, honest and the world will respect you naturally and you will be missed till long after you leave. Give respect, get respect, rise above the mediocre mentality that penetrates the narrow lane of petty quarrels and vain arguments- peace!

Ah what else? Lots...I could go on and on , who knows I might just write a book on her lectures, but for now that's the precise summary and crux of all we discussed. 

I might further update it if more comes to my mind because all I've been doing these days, is dwelling on what I have learnt from her.

And yes make sure you grow intellectually everyday, rise above mediocrity and mundane stuff you see around- if you do that, there will be few others like you- two friends having the same mental equation- great...more than that-well: soney pe suhaaga!!!

In fact, jaate jaate bhi vo mujhe bohat kuch sikhagayei...while leaving also she subconsciously imparted some essential lessons to us- like life is unpredictable, you never know for how long are people destined to be with you, which kind of people shall meet you on your way(not the ones you want but the ones you need) and when and where;and thus make use of every opportunity to expand the economy of knowledge and do express yourself, enjoy your time with all the good people in your life because they are a blessing and never take them for granted as you never know when you will have to part ways with them. Secondly, if your falling weak makes the other person weak as well then try to control your emotions for the betterment of the other person who is already vulnerable until they reach that level of strength. And the other person should respect that strength shown by you and do justice to it by achieving that level of excellence and strength. Thirdly, everything has a purpose and nothing happens without a reason- if you are confused, just breathe and move on because in the end the big picture will make sense, completely astonishing you for the better, so have faith- remember always: koi bhi baat itni badi nahi hoti.

So all I could do for now on my part was to connect with that blend of emotions Iqbal had to go through while parting with his teacher, but the best part was in few years he went on and joined his teacher in his country for further studies- ammmm...who knows..if not for further studies, then for some other thing I might be around the same place, let's be hopeful and with that hope, here's the poem I had written for her on the day of parting; when even the sky cried with me;it's like the world crumbled on me instantly, given that the river of positivity has changed its course- a void no one can fill, a space that consumes me:

I wish I already knew

It would be an abrupt adieu

You...to your home and I?
Is home only a place I ask;
Or that feeling- that moment
Of assurance ‘you are safe,secure'
I wish I had never known
I wish I already knew

‘All that happens, happens for
The good'- ha, my consolation prize
Everybody awards me now;
I need to be consoled,
Am I such a hopeless case
So miserable and you-
You sprinkle smiles over
To make me cry more
And more and more...

The teacher always wins-
That's just the way of things!
After each precursor to hope
The screen always went BLANK
That's just the way of things!
I wish I had never known
I wish I....

They deliberately advanced languages
So that not all could be expressed
Or explained or condensed in WORDS:
PAIN, MEMORIES, GRATITUDE, LOVE-
Dwell beyond words, transcend languages
I wish I already knew
I wish I had never known

“Aagaya aaj uss sadaaqat ka mere dil ko yaqeen
Zulmat-e-shab se zeeya-e-roz o furqat kam nahi” ★

How well now I know
That ‘Lament of separation'
When Iqbal parted with his teacher-
His words, now my story:
“Today my heart is convinced of
This truth-
The light of Separation's day
Is darker than night...★
Gone is that zeal for walking
In the vast expanse of learning!
In my intellect also, you were
The inspirer of love of learning"
I wish I had never known
Oh, how I wish....

And now I cherish the illusion,
My mind contrived to delude my heart:
That we too shall meet soon, and
There's always a NEXT TIME-
A second Chance:
I wish I already knew
I wish I had never known

So Farewell is all we shall be singing
I know, Nobody stays forever,
But the way you shall be leaving
Nobody leaves in that way ever.

So I'd have devised a language then,
Other than that of TEARS to explain
That how my words failed me today,

Until we meet again...

                         —SANA SHAH

‘So I'll regret it. But lead my heart to pain.
Return, if it is just to leave me again.'
                       —Agha Shahid ali

...And she smiled

‘And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation’
                          --KHALIL GIBRAN (The Prophet)

The aura of sadness dawned in once again with the rays of the descending scarlet sun, invading the room through the front window at once in a stroke. The sun, once again shifting its imploding face to illuminate the other hemisphere, rendering us hopeless yet again, adding to her listlessness. The lambent rays on her forlorn face would not comfort her in the least, instead it appeared as if her face was glowing to incinerate with the gleam of the setting sun, as she inertly lay in her bed.
Sitting next to her bed on a swivel chair, I could spot her watery eyes, suggestive of the itchiness caused by the direct exposure to the shaft of light. Standing up from my seat I walked to the window, drawing the curtains over in order to block the entry of light, wishing earnestly that could it not be possible to block death in a similar way, with the shifting light could I not shift the appointed time.
Taking my seat I looked at her troubled face, her infuriating eyes, debilitated body exuding warmth beneath the fluffy duvet, exhausted of floundering from one hospital to the other for over a couple of years now, battling death, she allowed her excruciating mental distress to physically impair her, dominating her physical well-being and now the doctors too had given up all hope, declaring her terminally ill.
Just a few days before on her repeated importunity we had to shift her back from the hospital to her apartment where she had willed to spend her final moments, after all this was a place  she could  proudly call her own. This maisonette, that she had with utmost  care adorned intricately over the years with the hangings of memories , wind-chimes of laughter, panoramic joviality embellishing the vibrant walls, now only this was her prime consolation for her retiring soul ; moreover the doctors did not find expediency in keeping a ward of the hospital occupied for such a conjectural indefinite time period only for a ‘hopeless’ and ‘irremediable’ case, precisely  apt veritable locution to delineate her existing predicament, for how could any drug, pills or herb, no matter how efficacious be of any avail to cure her when she herself did not wish to live! For what appeared as a ray of hope to us, seemed to only ignite her yearning for death, as if enraptured by the tryst she itched over the chase. And now she was on her death-bed, waiting with alacrity for the final moments that would lead the steps for the ethereal transition into some arcane world that would ease her off the acute pain and relentless suffering of this world that she had been accustomed to, after that cursed night of estrangement that had rendered her wretched and harshly dejected.
As all the doors shut on us, one after the other, the only sensible thing left for us to do was to allow her depart in peace, and thus we also appointed a nurse to look after her needs. Her bedroom metamorphosing into more of an ‘ICU’ (Intensive care unit), had been equipped with contraptions and machines to monitor her cardiac activity, pulse rate, blood pressure, body temperature and respiration rate. On her side-tables lay scattered piles of medicines, syringes, nostrums, analgesics and certain anti-pyretics. Next to the upper corner of her bed, stood a long iron stand for clamping the drip-feed that was being administered directly into her blood, as she had refused ingesting any solid foods.
All day she would snuggle in the bed, muffling up the fuzzy duvet around her body. She would recurrently alternate her glances between me and the door, perhaps this was the only movement she made, that would suffice to divulge her last wish in her beseeching eyes for me to read.

Burning from high fever since a couple of days, her cerise body enervated in a way yet her heart had reconciled with her inevitable fate, her sublime soul wanting to set free from the ravages of temporal transience. As I caress her rubicund cheeks, I am amazed at the intensity of heat exuded, perchance the heart has engrossed a vast desert of passion and suffering, annihilating within, that prompts me to recall that peculiar, eerie night when I was sleeping on a couch in the ward in which she had been admitted. And breaking the covenant with her slumber, she suddenly got up in the middle of the night, hysterically uttering something abstruse for my mind to comprehend. She then went on to narrate the apparition she had that night, about her nearing end, all the while perpetuating an idiosyncratic grin with a hint of mystifying exultation, flickering deep in her eyes, which of course was disturbing that for an instance my blustering rationality had been fuddled and I was cold for some minutes. But regaining my composure somehow, I lulled her back to sleep, undermining her premonition for some bad dream.
But that night a part of me was convinced that she did not long to live or as I put it: she did not have a purpose to live.
But who could make her senile parents to discern that their beloved daughter was going to forsake them soon. Her parents had emptied their bank balance on travels to many counselors, doctors and priests and now after such an arduous venture that yielded no result ,they preferred to sit penitently in the adjacent room, refraining from seeing the pitiable sight of their only daughter, suffering from such torturous tribulation. Her mother snivelled day and night, while her father consoled her with false hope but somewhere both realized that they would soon lose their ‘Apple of the eye’ in a matter of days or may be hours, promptly accepted or not, was hardly any clause of stipulation in the divine ordinance, given the helpless yet self-assuring nature of humans.
Not that I did not want to save her but she is too good a human to bear this ordeal that is destined to slowly steal away her breaths. She always deserved a life of honour and dignity- yes, she could have started fresh all over again, if only she would have listened to me once- just once!
Now as I reminisce her life, how exuberant and contented she looked with him. Both were extremely devoted towards each other, cheerfully radiating the warmth and tenderness of their strong bond. His adorable face glimmered in her ochre eyes and her laughing timbre resounded in his speech; both looked perfect but together! Then one fateful day, he walked away form her, distancing himself from her…. forever and everything changed; the world turned upside-down for her and since then she has never been in fine fettle; the estrangement shattered her to the core, forcing her into abysmal trauma and she never recovered.
The vehement passion of wilderness enfeebled her that even today as we count on the seconds, all that engraved on her heart is his memories and she is vulnerable to nothing but to his requiting love, for she has been too much used to this separation now, more than that, the requiting acclaim from him that she hopes for in her silent reverence, merely a self-delusion to avert from despondency, to this day passively consumes her from within.
With such endearing love even the cruelest heart will melt like wax, but he did not. Thus despising her burning fervour, she longed for death believing it for a better choice than that of scrambling with a life void of him.

Being half absorbed in these thoughts, my self cogitation was ruffled at what appeared to be a fretful sight when I looked at her face. Her forehead had just started to glisten with sweat bead seeping out and in a matter of seconds she was sweating profusely. Anticipating my apprehensions of the presage, I immediately called out to the nurse who scurried in the next minute. My raucous screech was enough to hassle her parents, who dashed in the room before the nurse. The nurse perusing the screen that monitored her cardiac activity nodded in disapprobation, clicking her tongue, she sighed.
In the next blink her breathing grew heavier adding to our anxiety; amid all the bedlam as I was set motionless, I noticed a drop of tear slip out of her distended eyes, smoothly trickling down her face, perhaps finally a comfort for her smouldering cheeks, manifest from the peaceful, mystifying and everlasting smile that concomitantly prevailed on her lips, indicative of some last wish that had been just fulfilled finally as she unremittingly stared at the door, her eyes fixed, did not blink. It felt as if time protracted to eternity and some cherubic, placid air filled in the room bewildering my senses to stupor. Naturally following the direction of her gaze, my head turned towards the door. As I shifted my gaze towards the door, my mouth fell ajar and my body froze, entirely benumbed by what I saw rather whom I saw.

Yes- it was him! He stood at the door as I let out a wistful sigh, glancing at his complacent face; in the backdrop, I could hear the repetitive beeps of the monitor and the nurse conversing something with her parents. But in harmony with her focus, my attention too was fixed at his face. The fraught insurgency soon abated his complacency and the next second tears trickled down his face- possibly her fire had been watered and doused now. But on his face too that mystifying, placid, gratifying smile, gently blossomed like her. I again turned my face towards her, and she smiled…. she was still smiling at peace, her one hand in her mother’s hands, her father standing besides her, stroking her disheveled hair, their eyes moist.
The inexplicable blend of emotions was confounding us.
I firmly held her other hand, she was cold now. Apprehensive of the appointed time I glanced at the monitor and the nurse’s words resonated in my ears, “She is sinking!”
Tears streamed down her parents’ face in a surge.
“The blood pressure is dropping”, said the nurse.
The ephemeral speediness at which everything was happening made it difficult for anyone to move. I rubbed her hand in a vain attempt, at the same time on tenterhooks I alternated my fleeting looks between him and her; he had not moved an inch inwards, standing still at the door with moist eyes but the same enigmatic smile persisted on his lips like her; yet his tense face was the answer to her prayers and requital of her patience.
The uninterrupted beep of the monitor grasped my attention the next moment, as I saw the green wavy lines dwindle and subside into a green flat line.
“She is gone!” the nurse vociferated as if we did not fathom the moment.
A distinctive ambience of silence pervaded in the room where just before a minute she was gasping for breaths.
He fell onto his knees, as a clamorous wail ensnared the room. I looked at her cadaverous, pallid face, relieved off the agony and pain, as tears rolled down my wan face and she at peace- still smiled!

Uss aakhri nazar mai ajab dard tha Munír
Jaaney ka uskey ranjj mujhe ummr bhar raha
                —Munír Niyazi

   “That inexplicable melancholy flickering deep in that final gaze
    The poignancy of that valediction so ensnared me for life!”
                                                
                                        -SANA SHAH

Confessions

                                          

               Writing the heart wrenching admission as your errand
               Unspoken sentences, so you festoon with reticent words
               Each heart is smothered with nostalgic memories and
              Undermining their woes, you aver your grief as worst!
             
I just read somewhere that- we see day by day nothing changes, yet when we look back we find a lot has changed. Well, may be this is the ultimate philosophy of life, that we are not our past yet we tend to leave a part of ourselves in the past, something the memories of which continue to linger on in a little space in our hearts and may be somewhere at the back of our minds too, until of course those dark moments, that every human encounters, design the tapestry of our time and again we recollect those memories of our past that lead us to the ephemeral world of nostalgia.
And now when I look back on my life, it is not that I have crossed decades together to shape up the word called experience, yet in a way enough things have happened that make me reflect; I could have done certain things a lot differently and in a better way than how I did them in past, I wish I could travel back in time so to reveal to myself those consequential things of life that I know now, I could have restrained the bouts of catharsis to myself, that at least would not have hurt people in my life. Yes, the word “hurt”, something that we inflict as a reflex action at times, spontaneously without caring for the ramifications and consequences and of course we end up regretting, harming and hurting ourselves more by that ulterior giant of regret that feeds our guilty conscience, and then comes the point of how we decide to act further. Do we rectify our mistakes rather blunders or instead do we go on to add more to the list of the blunders. We all realize this- that being humans, everyone has their own self-esteem, dignity and integrity, yet invariably in a bid to prove our self defined imaginary hypothesis about human psychology we do not fumble a little to go out and start experimenting randomly with the emotions and sentiments of the people around us just to satisfy our own ego and think high of our own selves, concomitantly forgetting or deliberately overlooking the fact that human beings are not the chemicals in any science lab that react as per some universal laws and yield the exact product, rather human nature is unpredictable and  different people react distinctly given the circumstances, and has it not happened that in such a fit we end up hurting the ones that make us , that support us and whom we hold more dear to us than life itself. So how do we justify this….act of vengeance, revenge for the scary and bumpy roller coaster ride called life! I believe the scene would have been much better if instead of experimenting with and predicting the human nature and actions we rather try to understand the humans.
Not generalizing though but yes, I too have committed mistakes after mistakes, concomitantly conscious of the blunders I was up to and even now as I write all this just as another form of catharsis, I might sooner or later think of this as another mistake. I am not a very good artist and so bad being my canvas of the past, with no proper landscape or perfect proportion of vibrant colours to make that canvas aesthetically beautiful enough. But then I console myself with the thought that there are others who are even bad artists, and some cannot even hold the paint brush properly. So what is the remedy I ask? Do we stop living life or finish our existence which is so blotted with the stains of sins, mistakes, indecisiveness, remorsefulness and dilemma. Or will we ever switch to the old precept that we first learnt in our life- “Think before you speak”. Are we prudent enough to consider that others are so greatly devout and saintly to forgive us each time or are these notions that we use to delude our misgivings a fine example of our foolish disposition? Should we expect others to act wise enough to overlook our blunders and pardon us, resting our last hopes on: ‘To err is human; to forgive divine’. Do we take pride in giving others a chance to prove their divinity while we consider ourselves innately bound and obligated by the human psyche, and if so, then for how long are we going to evade our responsibility of acting wisely considerate or divine enough towards others also?
Ruined dreams, diminished hopes, lame excuses, shameful temperament, sleepless nights, restless days, and yet expecting people to understand our behavior, and adjust with our swing of temper is another folly to the long list. I am not wise enough or even experienced enough to lecture on life and humanly committed errors, and I am well mindful of the fact that we all are at times compelled, impelled, moulded and shaped by our circumstances that are not always so pleasant and we all know that life is not all milk and roses, but what I have seen over the years now owing to the circumstances around, that in spite of realizing that life is not all milk and roses, yet each time instead of accepting this we tend to make life all milk and roses as if we are God! And that is when we humans derail and commit the greatest blunder. I am not saying that we should give up on the endeavours to make life a better affair for ourselves, but all I assert on is that, in this process we need to be careful enough not to build our mansion of dreams with the bricks of the wistful sighs and throbbing cries of others and never to further repair or replace the cracked windows of such mansions with broken hearts.
I am no psychologist or an expert of human psychology, but just as another human on the journey it is my duty to inform the other passer-bys to be careful of the puddles, ditches, craters, thorns, boulders and abysmal holes that await you on the way, and it is not essential that every time when you fall in them yourself, only then shall you believe or learn what the other itinerant souls had warned of, instead take the precautions and act with alacrity, a little care won’t do us any harm, will it?
And just before the closing words, I accentuate another dimension to which I also have been the victim, as well as the criminal; the old blame-game, the ready tool for our defence rather the ready weapon for assaulting the innocent souls, and only later do we realize that how treacherous it is of us to indulge in such games of harm and hurt as if we are the only ones with the license to hurt that too stamped by the God Himself. If we are so interested to reverse the attack or blame on others, so better be if we join the game of wrestling because their you have the right to reverse the moves for your defence and moreover that is how you win, but in the tangible life it is an attempt to vanity, because neither will the person nor the Divine count it as a deed good enough to the accounts of rewards, you might be able to acquit or save yourself temporarily, but someday we have to face our reflection and I am sure we don’t want our mirrors to reflect how ugly we look and how in profanity we bathe. So what should we do, another illusive solution-break the mirror or rather the mirror will commit suicide itself in trauma (Trauma is the ultimate killer after all!) Haha! And that is something again humans cannot do because we did not humanly create this mirror, but yes we can only polish it to clarity, glossy brilliance and refinement at the same time being careful enough not to become narcissistic, but as close as being untainted in the eyes of those you love, and being true to your own self, which is always the first obligation for a righteous life.
I know as I earlier said that I have no right to preach such principled scruples for I confess that all the above errors at one time were integral with my being and that cost me a lot, to be honest. Perpetual identity conflict, not being able to channelize the sentiments, going on a rampage and at the end of the day not being able to believe and reconcile with the fact that it was really me who behaved like a ravenous ogre in the day ( surprisingly, I become more human during the contemplative nights, funny!).Then bursting into sobs, panting for breaths, resolving to mend the ways yet breaking that resolve with the utmost grace the very next day, again giving into helplessness, relying on the ‘To err is human’ gospel, asking God to forgive and again the identity conflict……..the vicious cycle goes on and feeling ensnared we give up. What an assassination of our conscience! But the most important question: does the conscience ever dies? Ask your conscience, it is ready with the answer.
As I confessed that I am not a very good artist, but with every canvas that I paint rather blemish and smudge and blotch with incongruous filling of colours I learn that at least I can now draw the landscape with much awareness as to how and where to draw, what and which colours would look best though I might fail miserably to fill in the colours with grace, but I do not give up with this hope that someday I will perfect the colours on the canvas that I paint in my mind and who knows- it well might turn out to be a masterpiece- the canvas with colours inspirited with values, forgiveness, emotions, concern, truth, sublimity and inspiration that can make the viewers love the canvas of life a little more with honest contemplation, people may not be able  to buy that canvas, however who knows they might be enthused, stirred and encouraged enough to paint such canvas for themselves and that too in a far beautiful and elegant way and not to mention- some are born artists!

           It has been an era since I have been venturing this road
          Neither my destination I found, nor did I change the way!
            
             ---SANA SHAH