A Palpable Sense of Loss

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY

Austin [1978]

When I was young, I loved going to the Church. My parents, being active members of the diocese had originally contributed to that, nevertheless, it must not be deciphered that I had simply followed their footsteps. Every young mind tends to do that, but it wasn't just their beliefs and words that attracted me to the premises of the holy place. More than that, it was the tranquility and the serenity that made me seek solace in it. I was also undoubtedly intrigued by the vicar, the nuns, and the prayers and their traditions. And I must say, the people, the parishioners were all very sweet and kind to me. They never forgot to inquire about my well-being or bless me every time we crossed paths. I still dolefully remember how my parents face lit during all those times.

Yes, neither the angels nor the demons of one's childhood ever abandon him, as the saying goes.

I was a lucky child. I was loved. I was cherished. I had come across a plethora of kids who weren't as fortunate as me to realize this very early itself.

My parents used to tell me that I was unique, that I was special. They believed I would reach great heights with the grace of God, that I would be loved and respected. And the innocent mind of mine, at that tender age, had believed them. Looking back, it was pretty easy to do so.

But then, I grew up, I so wish I hadn't. Being naïve and artless was far better than being exposed to the conspiracies of the world. The place I believed the world turned out to be just an image, a lot of virtual images put together in the most credible way.

It certainly took a while, to get adjusted with the new image of the world thrust at my face, the one which was much closer to reality. I was left to venture out on my own. No one accompanied me, if nothing, they made it a lot harder and less endurable than it already was.

What I believed to be right turned out to be wrong to others. What I desired seemed to be undesirable to others. They judged me, and they made little effort to be subtle about it.

At times, I felt as if anything was real at all, that if I was real. I pinched myself, sometimes, when it became a little too convincing that maybe, after all, I was a virtual image too.

It wasn't just confusing, believe me when I say that. The frustration, the helplessness, not just overwhelmed me, they demented me. I wanted to do something badly, anything that would help me escape from all this. What? You may ask. Many things, so many things, I will say.

I had questions, for which I sought answers, direly. I wanted to know why people were this hypocritical. I wanted to know how they could change with time. I wanted to know why they kept on lying, twisting their words. I wanted to know why they were being so judgmental. I wanted to know why I wasn't allowed to be myself in front of the world, why I felt incarcerated in my own body.

None of them, I got answers. They claimed I was weird, fatuous, sick.

Weren't they the ones who told me when I was young that every child was special, that I was unique? Weren't they the ones who told me they loved me?

Or, were the verses only for children? Did I lose the privilege as I grew up?

But I was an exception. Because for others, it hadn't changed, I realized soon.

They taught in school to respect others, but I received no respect. I was often looked down upon, I was shunned, by students, moreover, by the same teachers who taught me that. Mothers covered their children's eyes as they walked past me in disgust. They whispered chants and prayers to gods, to forgive them, for they had laid their eyes on a sin.