It has been raining since the past hour and all I could think about was how you had described your love for the sky weeping while the clouds roared. I take a sip from the cup of espresso I had made. Coffee has always been palliative. I think I am a ceraunophilic more than being a pluviophile although, I could never figure myself out completely. The mere roar of thunder tells me there is everything in this world you can be afraid of but you have a choice to let your fears wash away with the drops of shower from the heaven and find the beauty that lies within.
Aren’t we all scared? Scared of the GPAs which rule most part of our childhood and yet, never seem to do us any good, somehow. Scared that the person we have come to depend on would one day, vanish behind that veil to the void? Scared that everything that we hold onto, might just come crashing down on us? Everything seems so fatiguing. Like there is this whole bubble waiting to just burst at the slightest of a touch and all you can do to save yourself is just duck your head and learn to endure it.
Lately, it dawned upon me that throughout our life, we are so immensely preoccupied with our own muddles that we fail to recognize that someone else might need a hand to come out of that pit they have fallen into. Have you ever seen a seven month old with cerebral palsy? I saw one yesterday and believe me, I could not wait to get out of that room. I felt claustrophobic in a big hall with just a few people around.
For those of you who don’t know what cerebral palsy is, in short, it is a disorder causing problems with movement and balance, which happens when there is damage to that part of the brain which controls movement.
Well, that is the definition a doctor or the internet will give you. On the other hand, it is far from what a mother will tell you. The mother, which conceived her child for nine long months, endured the labour pain for as long as 16 hours only to know that she would never be able to see her child run and jump and dance and laugh like all the other children of her neighbourhood. The father, who had started saving since the last 9 months, so that he could see his only child walking to the best of schools in the best of uniforms and books and pencils and bags to learn that it would all go to the pocket of a physiotherapist. And the worst part is knowing that it can’t be cured by that doctor who might be responsible for it or by anyone who might care. You see, at times, it might be caused due to the lack of knowledge of a doctor when they use certain instruments such as forceps during the delivery. While a few cases can result due to the malnutrition of the mother during pregnancy, others might result by the child suffering through any disease after the birth.
“Why did you not get the blood transfusion done during the jaundice when the doctor had suggested?” I had asked.
She hid her pain and embarrassment behind a smile. “Her father thought she might not survive and did not want to waste money on her.” I was dumbstruck. Right then, I would have done anything to tell my dad how much I owed him, to tell him that I was sorry for all the tantrums I had thrown and for all those days when I chose to ignore the drops of sweat on his face. To tell my mother that I was sorry for all those times when I would chat with my friends rather than listen to her going on and on about how I did not know to cook. Right then, I wish I could take it all back because there were children who would never be able to their parents how much they loved them. There were kids who would never know the pride of scoring a 10 CGPA or 95%. Or the feeling of butterflies in their stomach at their first kiss or the gloom of going through their first heartbreak. They would never know how it felt like to gossip about those moments with their best friends over a bucket of popcorn and coke or just drive through a never ending road in a red convertible with their friends singing like homeless drug addicts in the backseat. They wouldn’t know what it would be like to be burdened with a twelve hours corporate job or competing with your fellow employee for your boss’s attention. And their parents would give anything to see them in the podium where you stand.
It’s okay, you know. Feeling that you might just give up and none of it is worth fighting for anymore. It is okay to shut yourself out and hibernate, just to hide away from everyone that you know or even anyone who cares. It’s okay to scream into your pillows in the middle of the night and wake up with a smile so that your mom doesn’t ask you what is wrong and you don’t have to lie. Because lying drains up a lot of energy. It’s okay if you think that nobody would be able to go through what you have. Because sweetheart, maybe it is true. Perhaps, none would be able to walk in your shoes. They have been yours. But know that, you are still alive with your physical and mental health intact unlike many seven months old. You have been through many a things they would give anything for. Let their pain be your strength. Let their smiles be your weapon. Let your life be a wonder of presents. Because that is what life is supposed to be. An amalgam of sorrows and delights.