To quote ace filmmaker, Woody Allen, life as we know, feel and aspire is divided into horrible and miserable. This is not to state that we don’t carry hope. We certainly do as it is one among those which provide us with tiny little packets of joy that makes this increasingly violent, rude, selfish and warmer world, a livable one. But this time I’m not writing representing those fortunate ones, who are living their lives in relative luxury but rather the less fortunate ones which suffer silently among us. The other day on a fine morning, after a great game of football, I was walking back home with a great deal of satisfaction of having played a good game. With the help of someone really special, I was able to put myself on field and play to my potential after a long time.
As I was walking back, I experienced one of the most endearing moments followed by the a rare but guilt inducing moment. As I was walking up the lane bisecting the hospital into two, making my usual observations, I noticed an elderly man sitting with a 17-something teenager who in all likelihood could be his son. That usually wouldn’t capture my attention, but except this time, his son was mentally challenged which I could deduct from some distance.The fatherly figure was feeding the younger figure his breakfast, carefully crushing every piece of idilli, dropping it at the tip of his mouth. I stopped for a moment to take notice of this display of some gritty realism. The moment was so endearing as it dawned on me, how bleak their life must be, looking after their son unless they take a great deal effort to make themselves find happiness elsewhere.
As one Romanian proverb goes, ‘Children are our dream machines, parents realize their unfulfilled dreams through them‘. Assuming that to be true in this case as well, I couldn’t help but visualise the agony the father must’ve gone through giving up his hopes before even he could take a shot and realise all through his child. It’s a thought that started to grow on me and haunt me.
This lead me to think further and ponder about the possible existence of a cosmic balance that exist for human happiness. If any of that was true, the theory would do like this: At any given point, the aggregate amount of happiness (assuming that it can be quantified) present in the human world would remain constant and same through out. Or in other words, when someone from a certain part of the world gets fired from the job, get dumped, leaving his home, to balance it out another happy soul must be proposing a toast for his latest MnA deal that has gone through, birth of a healthy baby, so on and so forth.
Meanwhile, a few heavy moments must’ve passed as I was continuing taking secret glances at the those living specimens of human resilience. It so happened that, out of the blue the father started staring right at me. Understandably, I was startled and found myself in a foot in the mouth situation. This was least expected as I was in the middle of a swarming 100-plus crowd. Despite being in the middle of this commotion, I managed to comprehend that the stare contained agony, helplessness, despondency over his and his son’s fate. Above all, he was asking a question that only I could hear: do I have the guts to absolve and keep myself away from his fate?
Fighters are those who choose to live!