Something that I have always believed in about decisions, is the fact that it’s not possible to know where the decision you are going to make, falls in the area of correctness. How close or far off across the line does it lie. Only time, the everchanging variable decides its fluctuating ethical placement. And if we believe that we hold the key to self-reflection, while doing the internal course correction, we can keep the variable in our favour. In simpler language, a decision is neither right nor wrong during the time when it’s taken. Only time dictates.

But it also means that it wages a constant internal war, which neither side is ever able to win. As it’s not possible to always be on the right side of the field. So, your decisions are the ones which always keep you undecisive. Such an irony!

Never an easy choice, is it? From which food to pick, to which friend to drop. There is no right answer. Then what do you go by? Nothing ensures a dreamless night, which over time might convert into nightmares. Those innumerable loops of walks from the reason to the decision, to be mandatorily and urgently taken when you question yourself, or when the question springs upon you from beneath the corners and crevices of your lack of surety, at that very second. Does it ever stop? Do they shorten at least? I hope so.

I guess I can surely say, “I know so.” These are the days when it has become easier to permit myself to feel, devoid of where the feeling lies at the spectrum of intensity and ethics. It allows you to empathize and be a bit patient towards yourself. I am able to accept myself more, than asking myself to change as per situation. And it is liberating, with a tinge of hollowness gaping through the holes made by the departure of the people you considered close. You feel that too, a chilly breeze causing you goosebumps. And then you wait for it to subside.

It feels so comical, how interwoven your memories of the days spent is with their presence. You find the wisps of their presence so often in your day-to-day life, that it’s difficult to assess their absence. They are in your songs, movies, comics, manga, food, games, likes, dislikes. They are everywhere. And life keeps on happening as if on an auto scroll. The days go by, one reel after the other on “the Gram”. Before you realize, your recent memory has no storage of them. They all have become different points on your timeline, with an era under their influence, which like all other great things, has come to an end.

Life continues. You try to plan it along the way, and it keeps happening as she likes it. You have your different goals now. Your pathways are different. Technically, they should be only for now, as even roads travelling in opposite directions, meet at some places. Or change their direction altogether. But these are roads not taken, as are less travelled by. So more often than not, they drift away. I wonder what is it that stops people from acknowledging their limitations. What I wonder more, is for the people who do acknowledge; what stops them from breaking through? Is it their embedded knack of privilege?

I had been exposed to a theory, of charmed circle, which basically talks about the directly proportional relation between social acceptance and social power, that can spin around on the basis of race, colour, caste, religion, gender, sexuality, or all of the above together. Now imagine how close to the center a cis-heterosexual able-bodied male, who is an upper caste Hindu – Kshatriya, is educated, and is also fair in complexion, lies in it, if the epitome of the construct holds the central point. I mentioned my caste only to emphasize where would a person, who belongs to the same criteria, except their caste – Pandit, be in the circle, even when compared to me. Funnily, none of these traits have to be developed, or earned. These all are traits people have as their birthright. And that’s how you get privilege, which you do not even have to ask for. In the same universe exist some people who are so down below the ladder, pushed at the edge of the outer circle, for no reason whatsoever. None that should matter at all, at least.

I understand how easy it is to be ignorant of it; it’s just like breathing, as you have been doing it since you were born. The privilege fits like a second skin people are oblivious towards wearing. And it’s so snug, that people grow old and pass away without even knowing about it or its presence. The people who do come to know about it, are never able to look at it the same, some even choosing to believe that they are hallucinating the reality.

Some do too. Unfortunately, none of those who are responsible for holes. Or maybe some of them do too. Some of these holes have also taught how tough it can be to address the guilt that comes from doing things that you believe in are right. Again, because its level of correctness varies depending on what day it is. Or rather I should say, the complexity of the journey from reason to decision that day depends on whims and fancies of everything else, but you. There are days where you get a glimpse of your own cruelty towards yourself. The voices of the holes fuel it, antagonizing your actions, stripping away the kindness you have for yourself. On the contrary are days when the sun shines the brightest, piercing through any haziness of doubt present in the air. It’s an acquired taste, the thrill of predicting which side weighs more today on the see-saw.

There’s another template explanation kept for the days when a different question hits. What about those who have caused these holes, or are clawing away still? No matter how much ignorance you feign about the smoldering anger, or the tired disappointment carried, unknowingly at times, there is a burning sensation in a deep pit somewhere inside your stomach. It feels as if all that was carved out of those holes, has merged together to form a different body, a different being someplace else, and now its whole on its own. Whereas you are on the verge of turning completely see-through. It takes multiple reruns to develop an understanding and acknowledgement towards the presence of this thought across people, through anyone and everyone. If you have holes, you have caused them too. No matter whose body the holes exist in, the residues of abandonment will stick to their inner lining, rotting them from the inside. It’s about how you live with them.

It’s a wonder what people imagine when they say, “time heals everything”. Do they visualize the holes are filled like a wound in the human flesh? That you are just left with scars as a reminder of what your carried. Do they imagine it to retain the vague imagery of their current self, to what they think they have always looked like? To preserve the idea of who they are in they own head, for their own sanity? Aren’t we actually like Ships of Theseus? We keep on completing ourselves by filling our holes while trading with all who enter our lives, before we realise that the only thing that has remained the same since the beginning, is the name we respond to. With that notion, isn’t comparing or shaping current self of one’s being to their idea of what they looked like in a certain time of their life journey, akin to comparing current self with a stranger that only carries one’s name?

All this introspection, at times come to a screeching halt when the realization of the relation between the affordability of time and repeated efforts put into resolving these knots, and privilege stares back. There exists a majority whose priority list has more critical concerns directly related to their survival, for their right to be, to exist. Maybe that is what makes it easier to embrace these holes; privilege. With each attempt to grievously swallow this bitter pill each time, makes it easier to not miss parts which could not respond to its truth. Acknowledgement makes honestly existing easier.

Hence, even if the decisions made put us in our places, holding any resentment against them is futile, as their correctness can only be validated by the tides of time. If I am to talk inwardly, I never took them because they were seemingly right. I took them because it was important to me, for me. As far as the cost they come up with, there will be days when the trade seems fair, and some moments when the curses to fate for getting the shorter end of the stick feel heavier. But past these turbulent moments, exist immense peace, something I wish for everyone to find. Irrespective to which direction the wind is blowing today, I hope time leads them all to it.

You wake up with tightness across your chest, and your mind is racing frantically in a closed loop, as if attaining a certain speed threshold would eject it out of the orbit into space. Your eyes take a few seconds to adjust and are able to recognize whatever you have woken up to facing. Your dream takes almost the same time to blur somewhere between something and everything. By the time you realize where you are and what you were doing, your dream blends in the archive of dreams you have seen all your life, and suddenly you are unsure about which part of the memory of the fading dream woke you up, and which just refreshed one of the forgotten ones.

In attempts to clear the raising fog in your head before the dream vanishes, you find yourself between the hodgepodge of now varied floating figments, and the exact feeling you were immersed in through the third act, in your body. You realize that the dream had taken a page out of your memories, and you find yourself where that bookmark is placed, going through it again. However, even though you are now fully here, on your bed with your back rested against the wall, playing the distant memory in your head, it doesn’t leave you with the increased heart rate, which the dream brought you.

The pages turned are a tad bit dusty, but you find what you are looking for. A memory, of you sitting alone on a bench of three in a classroom. You look around, and find similar uniforms hunched over their respective tables, with the only sound of nibs scribbling against the batches of paper. Your stare down at the Maths paper of your class 12 board exams in your hand. You look at your watch and find that there is an hour to go. But you don’t have anything to write. Because you don’t know anything. You know you are going to fail. You look at the clock again. You have still an hour left. Still nothing to write. Because you still don’t know anything. Still going to fail. You look up. People still scribbling furiously. You can’t pretend. You are thinking why you didn’t study. Why couldn’t you study? How’s your life going to be? After you fail? 12 Boards are crucial, right? How would you get admission in any college? How will you be able to carry this all your life, that the kid who was considered brilliant at academics has flunked his final exam? That too Maths, a subject of choice? Do you have answers? DO YOU? You seek a straw that can help you keep afloat for next sixty minutes, so that can figure out how to survive the rest of your life. You put everything off the burner and let it settle. Let yourself settle, so that you can acknowledge that you fucked up. That you’ll have to move through and beyond this fuck up. But first, face this fuck up.

The walls of the classroom melds back into your room. You remind yourself, that there won’t be another Maths exam anymore. That you’ll never find yourself in that situation ever again.

And here we are, wondering why you are having these dreams again.

 

“What’s the difference between righteousness and conscience?”

This question came in as a wild plastic ball inwardly swinging in midair, completely out of my peripheral vision from the right, as I was finding something educational to watch on YouTube, like a 24-minute video about how to pick a lock, while trying to drown the cacophony of the megaphones outside the house, bathing in the resurgence of dodge-worthy covers of old patriotic songs by respected senior citizens of the society, that comes twice a year.

As I turned to my right, I could see her gleaming eyes locked on me raptly, as if she’s found something precious. She does it when she believes she has found a very interesting piece, specifically a question, to pry my brain. I used to wonder what she seeks out of it. Was it just to know my thoughts on it? Was it to maybe see if our thoughts align? Or was it the anticipation of a good long conversation? The correct answer is first and last by the way.

The question took me back to one of my favorite memories of engineering college. It was the external viva for the subject of Business Communication, and I had not read a word. Not turned even the first page of the reference book (Not dwelling on the “Why?” of it for now). I could always feel back the churnings in my stomach that I did while waiting for the impending doom, imagining the worst scenarios of how it would go. I decided to come out clean about my level of preparedness, in the hopes of maybe being spared with some dignity by the end of it, if not marks. When the questions started coming in, all I answered was what I could make out of it, by my own understanding. And lo! I found myself sitting in maybe the best viva I have ever given. That viva has given me and continues to give strength to be clueless but hopeful in many situations.

So, here I was, drawing and channeling that strength again, while unconsciously trying to mute down “…pareshaan hoon mai X3”, where the senior citizens had reached downstairs, whatever happened to patriotic songs in the while.

“I think righteousness has to do with the social definition of good and bad. A righteous person tries to align themselves to be on the good side, wherever it lies as per to societal constructs. Righteousness has rigidity at its core. Even a person who is self-righteous, when always trying to align by the good/right/correct side as per their own code or ethos, are rigid about it. The line drawn in between is very clear to them and they see everything to be on either side of it, where the line never/barely shifts.

Whereas conscience is like a compass. The course correction happens based on where you are right now. The pointing directions can be different for everyone. And the direction North, is ever evolving. We keep finding our own true North, as we learn more about where we are right now. There is no other way to find it. Nobody else can tell you which direction to move in, because they are not in your place, but maybe share how their true North appears to them.”

As I shut my mouth, after what I felt like an eternity, I realized the senior citizens have now delved into nostalgia, forgetting the occasion altogether. That’s what happens with Patriotism. When it stems from a seemingly righteous source, which otherwise you don’t know anything about. It turns into individualistic agendas before you even know.

I looked at her, whose face was now all serious. I liked my honest answer, so I was not worried about its correctness, definition-wise. But it seemed like maybe there is scope for improvement. And then she started about how apt my definition was in capturing the crux of it, and added her own points to it, and we kept talking.

Before I realized, the senior citizens were gone, and our conversation remained. YouTube was now suggesting me to watch a 15-minute video on learning to ride a Unicycle, if it is ever required to save life. But that wild curve ball had spiraled into a whirlpool of discussion, all due to an earnest winging swing.

I wish I could discuss more about what’s the difference between righteousness and conscience, or about the unlikely patriotic playlist, ft. Senior Citizens, or the shenanigans that took place after that viva fifteen years ago, or even what YouTube keeps on suggesting me to watch. But that’s not what it is about.

This is about how everything from my past, present, background and meta, merges in the conversation with one. The one with the gleaming eyes, that brings out everything inside of me that I wasn’t sure was there. The one that tells me that it’s not winging it, rather it’s a culmination of what you have questioned, observed, and analyzed. That challenges me, only because of the faith in me. Questions me, because of the belief that I have answers, or the willingness to find them.

Now that I think of it, that sounds like my true North.

What about you? Do you prefer drawing a line, or follow directions by a guide?

“Sigh..”

In the absolute absence of sound, within the little room deep inside the head somewhere, something that operates this entire biological machinery visible as a human body labelled with name Abhinav, has been peeking through the glass windows into this screen, waiting.

Waiting for a particular sound to originate.

Not the periodical, long drawn scraping of the graphite nib against the coarse pages. Neither the ignorantly unintelligible communication between the socially accepted, walking on all fours with a tail “best friends”, which can be a prelude to a territorial war, or maybe just a casual gossip across the streets.

A sound that is being sought by something, without being aware of what it is.

Till that happens, the storage of sounds is being managed in an optimistic fashion. By letting out stored “Sighs” in order to make space and waiting.

Waiting for that particular sound to originate.

It is much easier to create complexities in the simple things that we want to convey, rather than finding easy ways to express something complex. Although the knots that are left to be resolved are many, and none at the same time, this time the sound I am seeking, is a sound that can travel, as I write this, to someone whose biological machinery is on its way to a different city. A different country. A different continent. With the hope that, not if, but when the sound originates, it finds place in it, as a piece of now, here… us.

It took me therapy (theory) and then marriage (for the practical) to realize that us, “Rawats” (just family), have a pretty limited range of expressions for our feelings.

We are pretty good in stating facts, even more amazing when putting logic forth. We do understand feelings, we can articulate them well in other forms, but as far as the talking language of emotions itself is concerned, oh we fail so splendidly!

Our coping and defense mechanisms are pretty sturdy, fortress grade. But that’s the issue too, as it is pretty difficult to put down those walls we have so strongly built all our lives. Be it our sarcasm, strong headedness, solitude functioning, or silence management. Very dangerous with all those S’s.

And hence, originally, I had thought of having a conversation with my brother, before he leaves for a different continent to pursue his career further. Though in a manner that would more honestly reflect my emotions.

Unlike usual, where all the expression comes in the form of public writing, maybe tell him in person, how proud he always has made me feel.

Maybe pat his back to reassure, that he does not need worry about our parents, just in case, and can explore the opportunity to its fullest.

Maybe hug him goodbye and allow me to tear up a little.

Maybe express my emotions a bit more honestly and upfront, rather than waving from the fortress wall.

But well, I guess we made the walls too strong, or, now find ourselves more comfortable with the signal system we came up with.

It’s not as we are unable to express or understand what we mean for each other. That love, and clarity about it, is as transparent as melted snow (I hope that’s visibly transparent enough as an example, TBH). I just want to do it as much more humanely, and as less as a biological machinery as possible.

So, for this time, let me take a step forward by exposing the tunnel below the fortress wall at my end. Hoping, that the huge bridging doors would find themselves to be in motion more often, at both of our ends.

Brother, spread your wings and seize the sun in your talons. Your wings are not made of wax, but of your grit and brilliance. Soar away. You’ll not fall, you’ll not fail. As this voice and its echo will propel you forward towards wherever your path takes, be it back home. Godspeed to new heights.