The Truant

Drawn towards the silence,
away from the noise -
both familiar and strange
And that creepy human voice
Some days are like that, I guess.

Days that go wrong without a reason.
Or good for that matter.
And you're left looking for logic,
Though you know it's just plain chatter.
Some days feel like that, I guess.

Feelings that run wild
All over your spectrum of emotions.
With, without, nowhere in between;
Sweetness and sadness in crazy proportions.
Some days seem that like that, I guess.

Things that seem one way
But may be completely different, altogether.
Like people interchanging roles -
Friend, foe, mother, father, brother.
Some people are like that, I guess.

I-We League

For a long time, I had been craving a moving experience. Of course not the literal moving, but the metaphorical. Well I couldn't have gone to a better place in search of it.

The last two weeks at Teach For India have been a series of revelations and reflections (as is the popular culture here). Not that I have a problem with either of these; but I do sometimes wonder how many revelations my heart can take in a month. In just the first weekend, we had 2 community visits - both shattering my preconceived notions about people, poverty and even my own self. There were stories aplenty of both heart break and breakthroughs, told in both first and second person. And though it may not be the best thing to say publicly about oneself, I found myself crying like a sissy in all of these. And let's face it - there's just this much that you can blame on homesickness.

We met people living in slums; we made a sculpture out of garbage in a lower income group community; we went door to door in another lower income community recruiting children to a summer school, and we've had 2 PTM's since school started on May 12th. In all of these meetings with people, I have been amazed at how similar we all are in terms of simple joys, hopes, aspirations and even fears. And also how varied because of the conditions we live in and the world we have been exposed to. It's a reaffirmation of what our CEO Shaheen Mistry said during induction - it was a coin toss that decided that I will lead the life that I am living. I didn't do anything to deserve the family I was born in.

There's so much detail that I want to express. But I find I cannot contain it in words anymore. Even though they are the only set of tools I am comfortable with. I'm reminded of roller coaster rides that made me dizzy afterwards. It's only logical that emotional roller coasters should numb your mind. Maybe I should just wait it out and count on the reflections to reveal themselves.

However, even if the details get blurred, the one theme that remains constant is the strength in numbers while also remembering how each one of us is needed for all of us to stay strong. Isn't it ironic?

Oh well.. Life does have a funny way of sneaking up on you. And a funny, funny way of helping you out. Thanks a lot, Alanis Morissette. Here's my other hand giving a high five!

Peace out! \_/

~K.

The heart of conversations

Sometime in school, I had read the book - Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. For those who aren't familiar with the "Chicken Soup for ..." series, all books are collections of simple, heartwarming stories to comfort the target audience. In my case, the perennially agitated teenager. One such story came with a lesson that everyone has something to tell us, and perhaps teach us, if only we're willing to listen.

While that is indeed a good piece of advice, it is rather incomplete. It does not teach how to get people to talk so that you can listen to what they might have to say.

And that, has been my affliction in life - not being able to initiate or engage in conversations.

Last week, I finished reading my first Hindi novel - Kasap. By Manohar Shyam Joshi. It's a beautifully written love story set in Kumaun. It can be argued that I liked the story so much because of the Kumauni flavour, or because Manohar Shyam Joshi was a relative. Or maybe because it was my first foray into reading Hindi literature and I don't have anything to compare it to. But then it's not the relation or the setting which makes language beautiful. And really, I find comparison between literature quite futile. Is there any point judging a Catch-22 against say, Train to Pakistan or Midnight's Children?

Coming back to Kasap - it's a genuinely sweet story. The simplicity of characters and situations make it that much more easy to relate to. Even in a state of hysteria. At the end, the story leaves you with a sweet sadness which is strangely satisfying. As if any other outcome would have been a betrayal. And like any other well written work of fiction, it has these pearls of wisdom thrown in, in the most inconspicuous manner.

And that is what reminded me of my lack of conversational skills. It reminded me of all potential conversations I could have had. Not just with Mr. MSJ, but with so many other brilliant, beautiful people in my family - my Grandfathers in particular. And not just people who have passed away, but even those whom I am not in as close contact with as I would like to be. Or those who are actually close, but with whom I've never managed to go further than weather talk. And all these new, wonderful people I keep meeting everyday in training. Have conversations of substance, only to listen.

Maybe one day, I'll know. Until then .. Hello, voices in my head!

Cheers, as always!
~K.