Under the Rainbows

Folding the dreams that gave me a warm sleep like my quilts, I woke up to the calm rain striking my window pane. The coziness is not attributed to the encapsulated air between the covers but to the solace my mind has acquired over a few days. Droplets of drizzle-like memories which impounded on my etching past, made not writing about them impossible, almost next to kissing a cute little baby when taken into arms.

If I were to say that I am a soul with humanly experiences, I would submit myself to negation. Because, all the philosophy and the due outputs are out of your nasty thought twinges, only once you relish the homosapien delicacies. To some it is Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. But to emotional freaks like me, it is those flavours of love. Tasting like a Rainbow.

Why is that we love? Someone, something, somewhere.

Beyond dimensions and beneath conventions.

I realise, it’s not about attraction or convenience. It’s about connection. I love reading because I realise I am not the only person with a particular set of ideas. I love writing because I know that I am not the only person longing to read about them. It is simply justifying one’s self-admiring persona.

Then, what is the reason for something called self-less love? I hear it often, experience it rarely, but empathize with it constantly. Mind urges me to dissect them case by case. Yet, gives up only to realize that I am not just a drop in an ocean, but an illusion of being a drop itself.

Parents. There is a special reason why their ordinary traits assumed extraordinary influences upon me. Dad. How he managed being ambitious in his career and yet, never compromising on the qualitative and the quantitative aspects of loving his doting daughters, beats me. Mom. She is this unnamed feminist who in fact cried with joy when she got two daughters, only to realise they would just imitate her to become mature women. Calling their love as sacrificing would be an inappropriate christening. But, understanding the reasons which give them joy, will give you memories. Of fondling medals in a race called life....

They are just visible examples. But there are umpteen forces who still don’t show up. It’s not show time yet, may be. It takes a sleepless night to assimilate this. As it did to me yesterday.

How do I thank the guy who first told me I love you? Because if not for him, I would never understand what does it feel like being a rainbow. Of hormones tangled in assertive urges. And the matured ability to reject by seeing beyond them.

How do I thank my friend for believing in my worlds and pushing above my potential? Because if not for her, I would never take any of my inherent capabilities for granted. 

How do I thank that co-traveller in the train for sharing his life’s miseries? Because if not for him, I would never assimilate what does it take to destroy a rainbow. People and their self-centered desires.

How do I thank my hater? Because if not for her, I would never know that even rainbows have to be made and re-made.   

Love is all above sense and sensibility, I told myself.

After all, what is my rainbow? It’s my inner world. It’s the beautiful receptionist who sits nears the entrance desk, checking the details of events and stamps an entry/exit mark on their sheets, to let them happen to me. It’s my conscious which has adapted itself over the years to acceptance. To take pain and joy, as they embrace me.

All that is needed for a rainbow to be visible, is water in the air and light from the source. If you take in, tears in your eyes and the light of experience, will bring the colours of life to the main stage. Just like that. 

It’s really awful to stress the need to hope for it. Because Andy Dufresne was not wrong in The Shawshank Redemption, when he wrote..

Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. 

And no rainbow will give you the deception of success or failure. But only the reality of tasting life as it is. How it cooks a story for you is beyond your comprehensibility.

Hero of the day !

Ever felt a thank you - hand shake filling tonnes of satisfaction and inspiration? Experienced it today as I scribed English exam for a boy who is blind by fate, but impregnable and strong by choice. When I got a chance to write his exam, neither he nor did I expect it would turn out to be such a great day in our lives.

“Hi akka, here you are. I never had a scribe who came this early to write my exam”, greeted the smiling Varun kumar, today’s lead role.

“Shall we begin?”; I pushed, worrying if we could complete the exam on time or not. 

Took a minute to breathe and he started reading the question paper through my eyes. The question paper was of 12-pages. long. It all began with the Stalin’s and Leo Tolstoy’s contrast versions from the book - Animal farm (George Orwell). Having read that novel, I really knew how good and analytical his answers were. I was reading the comprehension- he listened to all those lengthy para’s just for once, answered all with astute accuracy. As I was writing, we slowly moved to our life lines. 

Showing me a recorder + player, he told that is the only source of his exam preparation - also shared by 4 of his friends. How he lost his eyes might be an normal accident, but the way he transformed and took life serious is not ordinary. Its beyond our senses, I have seen it. Born to a son of an electrician, the way he challenged life is a face slap to many of us. Fate beat him in the most sensitive issues, but he kept the fight going. Never gave up. 92 % current aggregate. 95% + is his target. Is there anything that could stop him?

Economics was his heart throb, he said as he blushes. I blushed when he said I was the best scribe he ever got, as I dint want to tell any answers. He understood that mere helping in such domains is not an aid, but a slow paced betrayal. Guess what, we are done with the exam before an hour. Reason – keenness at peaks, he feels bad about the crises not the disability. He strongly cares about reforms that are to be done in those areas.

I told him a few inspirational anecdotes and stories that moved me. They just add fuel to the fire of his Will - that will take him to the peaks. Of perfection and exaltation. When I asked how good his friends study? the answer came, “Talent and hard work can be compared, but sincerity and determination? How? The only thing that worries us is that our hard work is scaled up by scribes, who are often not so serious. They are good, charity stuff they feel. They need to empathize with our feelings. I always wonder how and why these mere numbers decide our destiny” 

With a great degree of happiness, I submitted the answer sheet, vicariously. We departed with a bond of I scribing for his final exams. I don't know if he will beat 95 this time. But LIFE. No compromise. 

He will just do it.