Death – for everyone, right?

It seemed to be a very dark topic to take up when I initially thought of it last week. But it seemed like a very prevalent theme throughout the week. If the Mayans were right and the world actually ends in about fourteen days, then it’s pretty much a hot-topic of discussion.

Oh there is so much I want to say but I am not sure where to start (rubs hands gleefully). Death is something everyone and every religion on the face of earth focuses on, whether it is the fear of death, after-death promises or the circle of life and death. It is very interesting to see the effects of such threats and promises. I always imagine one of those Walt Disney cartoon-like groups of mice. They have this one tyrant that rules over thousands of mice, and once the tyrant is done with his (it is usually a male) speech about the consequences of not obeying his orders, he claps his hands and the thousand poor mice scurry about to meet the requirements more out of fear than anything else.

I do not wish to disrespect anyone by comparing them to rats (if it is any help, I’m one too), but I feel that the tyrant would be the contemporary religious leaders who force their ideology on the masses through force. The major religions – Christianity and Islam promise us a wonderful heaven (or jannat) of riches and comforts if we follow their principles. Other religions promise us a better re-incarnation, a better life, or a break from the cycle of birth-and-death – nirvana, the state of ultimate bliss. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with believing in any particular religion. It is what we do with that belief that I wish to talk about.

Our approach to these promises is rather interesting. Most of the time, we scurry about in our lives, going about our lives to achieve something. Till the age of 18, we’re in school. Then we begin to worry about our future (some begin to worry a little earlier than that), go to university and secure a job to get some experience and then go on with our search for our dream job. Somewhere along the way, or right after getting a job, we get married, have kids, work hard to settle them, and then get them married, fight with their partners in life and so on. If anywhere along the way, one were to ask them what they have earned in their life that wasn’t material, they would look at you funny and say, “We’re still young. Why should we worry about that? Or “It’s better to earn money now when we can so we have a comfortable retirement and then we can worry about what immaterial earnings we need to have”.  These answers, these very prevalent ideologies never fail to amaze me.

Ever since I was a kid, I could see myself between the age of 25 and 30, teaching students in a school or university (depending on my age as a kid). I never saw myself beyond that age. Many people have already made their retirement plans, their marriage plans and plans for their kids’ marriages by the time they are 20. And then this is what they work towards in their life. My conversation with my classmates yesterday made me stop and realize that even now, at 22, I do not see myself beyond 30. I have nothing that I would be striving towards after that. In a way, I plan to achieve everything I wish to by 30. Maybe that is why I take up a thousand things at a time. Almost as though time is too precious to waste not doing anything.

Does that mean I have some sort of Mayan premonition that I don’t have that many more years to live? Or is it my short-sightedness that has affected my mind? Either way, it makes me realize the futility (if I may call it that) of a lot of things that others my age indulge in. In many ways, it works as an impetus to do something worthwhile with my time. I find myself identifying very strongly with this video (a big step-up from a rat) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Wf8yEb1cwY. We may not see the clock ticking on our heads but there most certainly is one that is ticking.

How do we know if we have thirty years more to live or three or maybe not even that? Is that a morose outlook to have? But why is it that talking of death is treated with such disdain and mistrust? Why does talking about death have to be gloomy? Why is it that we do our best to forget that inevitable end of life? It IS the truth. Wouldn't it be better if we accepted it and lived our lives like we were going to die tomorrow? It is easy to say, I know. Well, if you want, live your life as though you only have one year to live. That’s not as bad, is it? And the fact of the matter is that most of the things we strive to achieve in life - wealth, fame and friends, are not going to be able to help us when the time comes.

Is it really that better to have your dead body taken in a limousine than on a flat bed of wood? How does it matter when you wouldn’t have your senses to feel the comfort or the lack of it? All I know is that I don’t want my last conscious thought to be one of regret and that if the world were to indeed end on the 23^rd, I would die without any.

Have-alls... Have-nots...

And Us...


This Friday, I was eavesdropping on a rather interesting conversation between my boss and a colleague. It was about vacations that North-Americans book in developing countries. One of the biggest reasons, obviously, is the cost. It is much cheaper to book a two-week vacation in India than in Europe. However, that wasn't the interesting part of the conversation. The conversation steered towards the view of naked poverty that comes along with the travel-package to such countries. Even before you land in the country, you get a clear view of great expanses of slum spreading out in all directions from the airport – “Welcome to India.” Stepping out of the airport, you see people living in absolute poverty, and one isn't quite sure how to react to it.

Now this is where the conversation actually became interesting. My colleague said, “I never understand when people look at the poor people and feel sorry for them. I mean, you’re going back to your own country and your own comfortable life soon. What’s the point of feeling sorry for them?” I was trying to let the words sink in and the conversation trailed off towards other non-controversial topics.

I couldn't help but reflect on what I’d heard. On one hand I was listening to two have-it-alls who felt so entitled to their wealth and affluence that they cannot even bear the thought of sparing their sympathy for the poor. On the other hand, I recall the slum-dwellers in India I have had the chance to see who have been denied everything and every basic right from their very childhood, clearly the have-nots. And then there was me, the in-between, looking at the growing gap between the two and standing on thin air unable to reconcile it. Somewhere you feel sympathy for the poor, and somewhere an anger perhaps, at the rich who treat them like dirt. But is that our responsibility to reconcile the two? The rich and the poor, the Bourgeois and the Proletariat - the French Revolution, the rise of communism in Russia and China. It is the middle-class that bears the brunt. The roles get reversed 180 degree leaving the middle-class at the center, as earlier.

What was upsetting about their conversation even more than their clear disdain for the poor was their assumption about the existence of the have-nots in the developing nations. The problems faced by these nations with their limited resources, increasing populations and lack of structure have been commented on by very many people far more educated than me, and are way too many to be included here.

It got me thinking about how well the poverty is masked here in the so-called “developed” nations. The poor live in their areas marked away from the rich and there isn't anywhere you can see a rich and a poor man living on the same street. I suppose that makes it much more difficult to see their existence and compare it to that of the have-it-all. It gives us the false sense of security, the false allure that everything that glitters is indeed gold in Toronto. And I suppose this false allusion lay behind their (i.m.o.) insensitive remarks.

It makes one think that there is lot more than meets the eye. Of course there is. Every big city in North America, indeed in the world, has the polar opposites of have-alls and have-nots. Why should Toronto be any different? Only, the poverty is so well hid behind the glamour of the rich. There are equally poor people here who are suffering for lack of resources, lack of proper support from the government or the agencies. The stubbornness of the govt to ignore the extent of the problem may lead to lack to proper attention to the matter. Then, are we really better than the developing nations where at least it is all out in the open?

The image of the developed nations is very Utopian, the big brother of the world who takes all the developing nations under its wing. Why don’t they realise that just maybe, the developing nations do not wish to be in smelly squished armpits under the wing of somebody with lofty claims.

The Pre-New Year Resolution

After erasing the first few words for the 7th time, I am still not sure how I want to react to my last blog post. A very strong promise to write and keep up-to-date with my blogging interest was met with 8 months of … silence? That was not a very good promise now, was it?

I would be exaggerating (though not really lying) if I said the last few months have been extremely taxing to the point that blogging was not the charts till recently. I really have no good excuse for being absent for long. It was somewhat intentional since I’d rather not write than write gloomy and dark posts.

The Scouts' Promise

So, here is my resolution. I will work towards updating my blog weekly.

Every week, there will be an update on this blog from me, and to keep things going, it will be about the topic of the week. Every week we have observations. Every Monday gives us a fresh start to gain a fresh perspective. And every week that perspective takes an interesting turn based on the fresh experiences and approaching events. This interesting perspective would then become the topic for the week (hopefully) prompting thoughts, ideas and discussions.

Wish me luck, my friends!!!

-

M

The vortex of emotions...

I visited my own blog after a long time.

It stands as a reminder of a passion that was once mine - the passion to write, to express all that one thinks and feels. So much goes through my head now… a thousand thoughts a second... And yet, there is no urge to write it all down. Words have deserted me as I once deserted them. A tit for tat, you say? The biggest mistake of my life I say.

Remember a time when words were the doorway to a wonderful land full of possibilities - a world where nothing was impossible, everything was true, you could be whoever you want to? Remember the time when words expressed you thoughts better than you yourself could. When you skipped two meals in a row because Dumbledore was dead and no one knew if Harry could stop Voldemort? That time now seems so far away. Almost as though it was all a dream - a wondrous, beautiful dream - but a dream nevertheless.

Now, the world of words is closed to me. I have grown too big for the door to their land. There they are. They beckon me. As much as I want to, I cannot enter their land again.

Or so I think.

Sad and disappointed, I sit outside. Deep in thought, looking for a way to get in there, when all of a sudden I heard a sound, a sound that reminded me of my childhood. I rushed around to find the source.

Going a little ahead, I saw another door. This door led to another land I visited as a child. Another land that held endless peace and quiet for me. A land that promised me joy and happiness every time I stepped through its doors.

I stand outside, remembering the time. The notes that flowed around me. The words that call to me. The sound of music, the beat of the drum, the notes on the keys, the beautiful voices singing. The merriment, the carefree happiness in the voices of those singing. The upbeat feel of the most beautiful language that humans share - music.

I try to enter the door. I find that I have grown too big for it. The door won't fit me. The gates that seemed to call to me, become hostile. No longer am I welcome in the land of music. They shun me now, as I have shunned them.

Too busy in my own life, I discarded all the simple pleasures that were once my best friends. Too busy growing up; I thought they were things of the past, to be buried in the past.

Now I know. Some things are never to let go off. The love your childhood best friends offer is eternal and pure. I hope to return to them soon. The land of words and the land of music. I am positive that they will forgive me despite how I treated them.

Growing up should make me mature enough to nurture what is so rarely got. Growing up should make me realize that very few are lucky enough to find love in immaterial things. Growing up should make me realize that life is more than just earning money and spending it. Growing up should make me realize that no matter how many things I have, things never give you happiness. Growing up should make me realize that the human potential is boundless, and that we have endless possibilities. Growing up should make me realize that I cannot achieve me true potential if I do not accept the real me.

It is the old love returning, and this time there will be no stopping.

Who knows when tomorrow will come...

It is one of those days when you feel like writing... you feel the need to write something and not stop till you have something substantial... sort of like this is the only outlet you have, and you NEED to blog in order to remain sane.

I have NEVER felt this insane need before.

The worst part is, when you realise that you have this need, you'll be out of ideas. It’s funny, but it is true. 

It’s like forgetting how to swim when you're drowning.

Oh, don't get me wrong. My brain is buzzing right now. But the right words won't come. 

They just won't.

And I sit staring at the laptop screen, at my blog page, wondering what I should write. Wondering what I should write that wouldn't be love-themed, that would make me feel better and that would somehow set right whatever it is that is stuck buzzing in my head.

The screen however, is mute.

It says nothing. It gives me nothing but additional headache.

Sometimes, you have so many things happening in life. So many priorities that you don't realise you have them messed up.

Maybe you aren't spending enough time with your family when you should, maybe you aren't there for your friends who need you, maybe your body can't cope with the stress and you're going like a camel - relentless, but about to collapse and die any time.

We all live in the future.

We all live for that glorious time in the future when we'll have everything we need, and we wouldn't have to work as hard, and we can finally slow down and spend some "quality" time with our friends and family.

Ask any person beyond 60 if you will that glorious time never comes.

Just like that glorious retirement never came for the animals at Animal Farm.

They never saw a time when they won't have to work, where they would have all the comforts that they worked hard for.

Their Utopia never worked.

Ours wouldn't.

Who would draw the line but us?

Oh, but we don't draw the line on the amount of work we do. We need to draw the line on our wants, and on our desires. THAT is why it doesn't work. Because we cannot draw that line.

Another Station.. Refuelling the Traveller

Thoughts come rather quickly these days...

I sit in the night. thinking tight.

ghosts and memories cloud my sight.

the past looms up, big and bright.

I shut my eyes. closed in fright.

in the morning. the day is clear.

the nightmare remains. it's all i can bear.

it ties me down. feeds off my fear.

prevents rational thought. my mind unclear.

says, 'you can't let go. not now. not ever.'

i stare wide-eyed. in fright. in terror.

My future gone. hopes dashed forever.

dumbstruck i think, "i used to be clever".

the day passes by. no tear. no sigh.

i look at my future. all shrivelled and dry.

gathering courage, i face the past so sly

renewed resolve. this time to fight or die.

my present decides what i make of myself.

a big giant troll, or a tiny little elf.

my present that shapes the future bright.

my present that finally will, the past, unite.

my future awaits. my past sustains.

my present, from me, a duty entails.

a heart. a will. a thousand water pails.

to set myself free. like the spirited whales.

set me free. now i have grown.

every day familiar, every day unknown.

linking them all, like pieces together sewn

the past to teach. my future to learn.

Today it's time. it's been awhile.

my yesterday and tomorrow will reconcile.

Another day... another thought...

So I was coming home in the bus today, and a couple of really old sardarjis entered the bus. The bus was quite full, but they got a place to sit. Looking at them, this thought suddenly crossed my mind and I feel I should spell it out, so that I can get your feedback on it.

Now, I stay in Brampton. And this city is like a Mini-Punjab. Actually I think if you look at the number of Punjabis here, it might in fact be the real Punjab. As a result, I get to see a huge Punjabi population. And it is a variety of ages there too. So I see small kids trying to speak in Punjabi, Teens speaking fluent punjabi and fluent english, college going kids speaking mostly English, middle-aged people speaking in punjabi and their level of english depending on when they migrated to Canada, and the very old people.

What you notice when you look at the old people, is that the lines on their faces tell you a short history of their lives. Many a times the way they behave, respond to what others say and react to others around them tells you what they have been through in their life. I have noticed that the way these people have adapted to the Canadian culture, the people, the manners, the language, the etiquette can be largely and very broadly categorized into three categories.

Some of them have become docile: The new culture, their own inadequacy and illiteracy in spoken English and the rather “Indian” notion of the “white” being superior to us, makes them meek, and obedient. You realize this when you see them say, “Beg your pardon” or “sorry” at every single thing, and smile embarrassedly. Some others have become aggressive: The same factors have a completely different influence on them. They feel threatened by this culture and try to overcome this threat by being even aggressive. This feeling is brought about when you look at people who look at and judge other people with a very narrow and limited scope of mind. And last, but not the least, some have become indifferent: This indifference comes out in their non-conformance to the culture and language; and moreover with a total lack of their interest in the same. It is just them and the lives that they are leading.

When I look at the equation between the different generations here, I realize that there is, in fact, a huge gap between them. Imagine three generations living in one household. Of course there is a gap between the youngsters and their parents. Also what I feel is important is the gap between the grandparents and the younger generations. It has been addressed, but I don’t think sensitively enough.

What happens to those old people who have been here for, say 10 years? They have integrated into the culture in so far as they know their way around in the city. But what do they feel about this problem? What about the feeling of loneliness and boredom that they feel once they are forced to retire and have nothing else to do? No one here has time to be available for the other person. Everyone fends for themselves and even if they provide for a family member, they don’t have the time to be on their beck and call. This sort of demand is also irrational. These elderly people are forced to look for things to keep them occupied. Some find them, some don’t. Those who don’t, go to religious places and make “friends” that they meet.

Another pressure they face is to uphold the "myth" that life in a "foreign" country is nice, easy, more comfortable and in general, happier. I call this a pressurebecause how do you convince others you are happy when you are, in face, not happy? And you have to convince them because it is a myth you believed when you came here, and it is a myth you have been propagating all these years. What happens when all the pressures come on to you at once, that too when you have grown old?

Many a times, a cute old man has come up to me, and spoken to me as though to his granddaughter. While I love talking to them, I think our generation is becoming rather indifferent to anyone’s needs but their own.

I don’t want to imply that I am “pitying” the elderly in any sense. Who am I to do that?

All I am saying is that there is growing need for us to take notice of what our parents and our grandparents might be going through. A need for us to become a little less selfish. :)

Having said all this, I do admit the possibility that I might be completely off-mark and misinterpreting what I see. After all, we all have different perception. :) So feel free to comment. :D :)

A train of thought caught at a station...

Its been two months and ten days since I came to Canada. I will be honest. When I came here, I couldn't wait to go back. And yet, as I spent time here, I realised I have the choice to either go back and follow the plan of life, or view the next three years as an adventure in a new country.

Knowing me as you do, it is not hard to guess what I chose.

Now as I look back, I think that it was perhaps one of the few sensible decisions I've made in life. And being a sensible decision, it undoubtedly was also painful. I have moved far away from people I have grown attached to in a very short span. Those few people, that I miss more than words can ever express.

True. It is easy for me to move on. New place. New friends. New hardships. New adventures. Nothing to remind me of those people I left behind. And yet, there comes a time when one feels the need. A need to be with someone to just hangout with, someone you can sit with and talk about everything and nothing. It is most hard-felt when you are alone, when you suddenly find yourself doing nothing, when the hours in a day become too many to be productive.

At this time, no amount of calling, chatting and emailing can bring back the intimacy shared over pav-bhaji at colaba and a gola at kala ghoda, during long walks from the station to the guest-house in the sweltering heat and over boxes of pizza ordered to celebrate nothing, while drinking bottles of fizz downed in hours that passed like minutes and texting 24*7, and during the long journey to vashi undertaken right after a sleepless night and 10 hours of inter-state travelling just to meet, hug and say hi. Intimacy shared while randomly calling out "heroine" from one end of the canteen to the other knowing that the person willknow it is her, and while quietly sitting in a corner there complaining about everything going wrong in our messed up teen-lives, in randomly shooing crows off the table by trying to make them (crows) understand why it was annoying to have them around, and while randomly treating eachother to the infamous canteen chaats- bhelpuri and sevpuri, and ice cream.

Nothing makes up for the time spent during extra long walks at Amarsons and Marine Drive, eating pav-bhaji at Chowpatty and Kulfi at the Dairy, while drooling over extra hot guys at Britannia and walking all the way to and from Colaba, time spent when going completely crazy watching back-to-back movies or shocking the hell out of the other by ordering a half kg cake just because one felt like having some. Nothing, as I say, makes up for the bond created and cherished over long talks and tears spilled over seemingly "important" issues in life, and on the night-outer on the terrace watching exceedingly boring movies, followed by 3 am maggi and then two chocolate cakes baked in the hostel oven for at least half the hostel. The bond that only grew stronger while studying seriously, huddled together in our "secret" place or in charming the library staff to keep the library open for the precious extra 5 minutes during exam times.

A great number of hearts and smileys do not make up for three years spent together in classes- studying, drawing graffiti, catching up on the latest gossip. Years spent building a friendship that started either in the library reference room (of all places!), or the literature class and grew through the hours in the high dark alleys of Bhabha Hall, the crowded lane of Colaba Causeway, the cheesy music at Colaba McDonald's, the roads of colaba, the room of UTBT treating ourselves to "Cheese me Please me" and to Relish, going crazy over the intense pleasure of eating hot cheese. Friendships that grew from being just classmates, to co-techs at lit conference and Kscope, the creative head of the best campaign in the history of SBP elections at Sophia, becoming co-workers under Sr.Rosa, philo single majors under Sir and Ma'am, all the way to becoming friends for a life-time. Being very different in our interests and hobbies, we found the midway to our interests where we influenced each other to grow as individuals.

As I realise the hard way, no amount of virtual hugging, online texting and telephonic conversations that end abruptly can make up for the unexpected geographical vastness that separates us.

And yet, it wouldn't be "me" if I were to end this rather nostalgic note at this gloomy stage. Would it?

Having moved from place-to-place ever since I was a kid had made me adventurous and open to new ideas and people. A bond once made with a person doesn't become the "clingy close connection" that threatens every relation.

The experience shared becomes a seed planted which over a period of time, with proper care and periodic inputs from both parties manages to remain alive and healthy.

So, today, I look ahead to the future that I can see, the past that has been and the present that stands affected by the two. I can proudly and confidently say that while distances create nuances in friendships that I hold dear to my heart, the support of these same people will help us get over the past, through the present and beyond the future.

[These my friends, are the words of The Wise One - the one and only, Nirmolak Kang. Words that have been carefully selected from Her pool of knowledge, that has been made sweet and deep over the years with experience]

My "foreign" Trip

The return back home always gives me the inspiration that the enthusiasm of the exploratory journey fails to provide. As i write this, in the departure lounge of the Heathrow airport, i realize its been two months since i have been away from home, from India. people might stay months, years, life's even, away from their motherland, with the material comforts as their only companions, I can't. I might have to at some point in time, but in my imagination, that time is far away.

There's a lot to learn here.

From the people. Their culture, their mannerisms.
Aeron said today, " you might find the people of England, perhaps rude." Shocked that i actually felt the reverse, he narrowed down his generalization to London. (more about Aeron later). People of England had been cordial and friendly in Huddersfield, a small town near Manchester. Perhaps the small place and old-country-style setting gave us the real taste of "true" English culture. Perhaps Indians in the rural are more cordial and friendly than the urban Indians. Warm and friendly, even the weather welcomed us at the onset of our journey. My experience in the UK was altogether memorable. meeting my sister after about a year, living in her small Heidi-like cottage was like living in my childhood dreamland. Enid Blyton, Dickens and my other childhood companions seemed to look at me from every corner, from every cottage. It sure felt bad to leave England in just about 2 weeks, but my excitement to meet my other sister was not to be contained. My departure came ever too quickly for me, before i could take in everything that Huddersfield had to offer, before i could see the beautiful daffodils or the rhododendron bloom in my sister's garden, and after what seemed like ages of killing a thousand slugs.

My flight to the USA was pretty eventful, with nothing to eat till 1 in the afternoon in Dublin and sleep filled eyes, a result of getting up at 3.30 in the morning. Long flights don't help though... i couldn't sleep a bit. The air hostess in Air Lingus was rude and racist and kept being rude to me for no reason whatsoever. I bore it all with the happiness of meeting my sister after almost an year. Having started the journey at 3 in the morning, we finally slept at 1 in the night. so add 5 hours to that, and it means that my day stretched to almost 30 hours.

But my first glimpse of America was BREATHTAKING. the captain of the flight was awesome. when we were flying over the Atlantic ocean, he dropped the height so that we could see the whales and dolphins jump and swoosh in the ocean below. The left side having seen it, he dipped the plane to the right so that the passengers on the right could have a look as well, announcing alongside, " ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain XYZ. for your entertainment folks, the people on the left can see the mermaids frolicking in the ocean... and now the people on the right can have a try at disbelieving their eyes. Alright, here we go back up guys." my first view was of the Chicago skyline, and it stood up to its reputation. soon after i was in the countryside, watching deer and sand quarries and wind farms on my way to Purdue University.

Though largely different experiences, both US and UK were strangely similar. both places i went to were small quiet towns, and people extremely friendly. though i wouldn't want to enrage either by pointing out more similarities, it was fun. in more ways than one.
the young crowd that i had missed in England was more than made up for in America. staying in the university, i had extensive interaction with the elite of the American youth. playing with the basketball players, meeting the nerds in the library, and the fraternity members lounging outside their frats... all was a part of my "American" experience..

Yet the vast availability of the comforts seemed empty if you see the life of the people there. it isn't easy. They say life is comfortable here, but those who work here know better. the the amount of work, and the "senior-pressure" takes it toll on you. its even more difficult for the international students. coming from different countries, they are obviously ill-suited to the environment, to the culture, to the food habits etc to say the least. they try and find places which gets them their kind of food, and thus either end up spending more than required or under-nourishing themselves.

Life there is difficult, albeit lucrative.

no matter how multi-cultural a country is and how tolerant the people are, no one ever gets the acceptance and comfort that one gets in their own nation.

Hell, life is difficult enough in one's own country without adding to one's misery.

I wonder why I always end with mixed feelings, i wonder why i am neither too happy nor too sad with things, be it something expected to make me sad or something expected to be to my liking. Is life always a bundle of joy and sorrow together???

Mordern Singhni!!

urm.. for those who r reading this for the first time, i am a sikh. and i have taken up amrit.. that means i carry the five K's everywhere..

Now.. this evening, i had gone to the Gurudwara for the daily class.. There was some path going on in the gurudwara main hall.. so i just went there to ake the blessings before carrying on to the class. On the door, there were two aunties... when i came out of the hall, they stopped me and one of them exclaimed, "oh! so u r a mordern sikhni?!!"
i was taken aback and could only mutter, "err.. i guess u can call me that.. but why do u ask??!"
"Because u r wearing a kirpan with jeans and a t-shirt.. R u coming from college?!"
"No. French class."
"OH!! so u r also learning FRENCH!?! Thats great! So why are you wearing a kirpan? Are you training to be a priest or something??"
"Well, No. i have taken up Amrit because i believe in the principles of my religion and because i want to be a part of the Khalsa Panth."
"Oh My! that is great!"
"Achcha aunty ji, waheguru ji ka khalsa, waheguruji ki Fateh."

Such comments r a part and parcel of my life now.. But nevertheless they get me thinking.. Why is it that not being normal is taken as being ABnormal and not Different?! Why does society make life difficult for all those who want to be different?!

i might seem immodest.. But i can't help saying that i have definitely unintentionally chosen to be different in all respects.. Coming from a family of Science background, i have deliberately chosen to pursue my hobby and taken up Arts.. At the same time, i have taken up amrit and by the rules, i keep my head covered at all times and cant cut my hair... something that doesnt bother me, but horrifies all my friends..

But such comments have been a part of my life ever since i was 13 years old. that was when i had taken up amrit.. Still in school, my friends and random students would come upto me and ask me if i were a christian.. and ask me why i kept my head covered. though they did not bother me, what made life worse in the intial years were the comments from my Teachers..

Well yeah.. Teachers r supposed to support their students.. but there was this one ma'am who used to teach me Economics.. One day she asked me why i kept my head covered. i told her it was because of my faith in my religion. She was taken aback and she told me that she did not expect such orthodox ideas from a mordern girl! she tried her best to convince me that though necessary once, these outward experiences held no importance in today's world and i am an idiot to believe in them. she even said that the whole community was now waking up to this fact,a nd as a result we had mordern sardarnis. In this competitive world, she said, you need to keep up your image.

At that time, my mom advised me and i was saved from delflecting from my promise.. But I always wonder why people can't tolerate those who want to be different. None of my school teachers r ready to meet me with the same enthusiasm as before. In their eyes, i have shown my weakness by taking arts.. Each to his own, i say.
But they stop whole generations of students from pursuing their dreams..

That is what saddens me the most.