Wednesday, March 12, 2014

The Transcendence

The Transcendence
Time has always been an enigmatic topic, the more we discover about it, the more elusive it becomes. There are some events in our life which… which makes us believe that the sands of time are flowing back. Is it indeed that or are we watching the whole thing upside down? This feeling which has now become a clichéd term.
“DÉJÀ VU”
(Prantik; the youngest in a family still torn by the Bengal partition)
There are people who spend almost their entire lifetime at a place, but still they cannot say that they belong there. They have comfort. They have memories, friends, but still cannot call that place their home.
For Prantik, even though his family moved to Unnao when he was a toddler, he had always heard his father, uncles, and elder brothers whining about their home. Even though, they were neither richer nor poorer than the other middle-class families, yet there whole community faced identity crisis. They gave up their lands, their homes. They moved away from their home, where they cherished their childhood, the old were envious of the ones who lay in the graves back home and even after a bountiful harvest, The grain tasted bland, and even in face of happiness, everybody was anxious as if they were trapped in quick sand.
One-day, Prantik woke up to find his mother packing a suitcase, “Your dad will be leaving this weekend; some buyers have approached him about the last piece of land that we own back at home. He hasn’t slept for days, he says he feels like he is selling off one of his new born, but lands that far-out help nobody. Get up now, you are to see him off at the station.”
At the station while moving towards the train, his father was in a pensive mood, “It will be a good year son. We will have a substantial amount of money, but it is nothing without respect. Prantik, remember one thing…All the money of the world, would not give you satisfaction, until you command the respect of the society. Promise me one thing, you will work hard, make a place for yourself among the elite. Knock off every one off their perch and stuff a boot down the throat of anyone who says that you don’t belong here. Promise me that you will not be insignificant! , that you will be remembered ….”
A few months before, Prantik had not thought much of it, but since they may well be his father’s last words to him, he could not help but think of it as his last wish.
It had been months since his father last made contact, the most optimistic of the villagers were also losing their hope.


A few days later….
It seemed to him that someone had landed a sucker punch, straight on his face.
They received the news that the train their father was boarding had been raided by the naxals. Most of the passengers on the train were either killed or decapitated. Given the amount of money his father had on him, there was no reason to expect otherwise.
Even tears were missing from Prantik’s eyes. Although his father had always been a typical patriarch, still the vulnerability, his father showed in his last meeting grieved him.
They were clueless as to how the family would function. They were mere kids, who were now fatherless. All their dreams and aspirations relied on the prospect of the money, which was not in the picture anymore. Feeling morose and depressed, he started moving towards river.
As he sat there watching the sunset, he started pondering about the death. He tried to understand and comprehend whether death was a final frontier or was it just the start of a new journey. All the memories, half-remembered dreams all formed a beautiful collage in his head. All that was missing was a glimpse of future. He wanted a sign, at least a hint that there was still some happiness waiting for him. Just then, his eyes fell upon a shiny pebble. He could see the eyes peering out of it. They were strangely familiar, and looking into them comforted him. He felt energized and determined. With a sudden jolt, he realized that they might be his father’s eyes. He ran towards the pebble, but the stream had carried it off.
He remembered his father’s last wish and decided to act on it.
Many years later…
He was on the road to the village again. He was driving a car instead of riding a bullock cart. It was a much faster way, though his son complained, but it was not his fault. After all, the bullock cart also felt slow to him at that age.
He managed to achieve some recognition and respect. He was a professor at a reputed university, although he was still hungry for more. Visiting his village made him wonder on how far he had come. Their mother had passed away, and regret was gnawing him. The lust for power and his insatiable ambition had not let him visit her for two years, and now that she was gone, all that seemed so shallow.
After the cremation and usual grieving rants of the family, he walked once again towards the shore. He found it amazing how some things never change.
The shore laid waiting, as it was the day, his father died. All emotions engulfed him like a hurricane.
Guilt, remorse and pity for neglecting her mother in her last days.
Gratitude, towards people who finally considered him valuable.
Relief, as he could provide his son with resources, He could only dream of at his age, and sheer wonder, as to how a person like him landed such a wife, who loved him dearly, even after him being the least romantic psycho. Tears of tranquility crept down his cheeks.
As he looked towards the stream, just then a ‘PEBBLE’ drifted towards him, although it was worn by the flow it still showed the eyes, but this time the eyes were not of a grown man but of a little child. He knew then, why the eyes felt comforting. They were his own eyes. The last time around, he chased after the stone, but this time.

’He let it go’