"what do you want to become when you grow old?"...my grand father asked me on one of those sunday afternoons, after all of us had lunch and were gathered around him. Grandfathers are popular usually and i can proudly attest that even among grandpa's, my grand father would be rated very highly. It is not just the stories he told us or the gifts he bought for us, but his ability to strike an adult conversation without making it look boring as well as treating us as mature people, even when most of the world clearly did not, made him truly special to us. For me, he was extra special, because he always looked after me and made sure that i didn't get left out of the conversation. As a kid, i was bit shy and had some self-loathing, which he must have spotted early on and hence he made sure that i was the one first to answer these questions. I heard the question and was a bit hesitant to answer. My grandpa gave me a nodding smile, asking me to proceed and clear any doubts i had in my mind. I replied with a slow murmur, "airforce pilot". All of the kids laughed out loud and it was difficult even for my grandpa to suppress his chuckle. Every kid wants to be a pilot or join the military, but not for a kid who was notorious for falling of the bike or for being too late to react. Even at that age, most of them figured out that the future of IAF (indian airforce) was safer without me crashing their planes. Come to think of it, the air force did lose a whole lot of MIG-21's due to some mechanical problems and me being there wouldn't have added to the damage.
Their laughter caused a little bit of nervousness in my stomach. I didn't know how to answer the why part and i was thinking of what to say next. My grandfather who was clearly trying to steer the topic to a serious note asked me, "why do you want to be a pilot?" These days when someone asks me on why i want to move to a company, i would end up saying something along the lines of corporate excellence, moving up the ladder, great perks, location etc, etc but as a kid you are immune to these reasons. I don't know why i said that but the answer was almost instantaneous.."because, it is a great honor to die for your country!"..
A few years went by...The commentator was clearly all excited. After all, it was the final of the world cup and what could be more better than india playing with their arch rivals. However, the indian fans had no reason to rejoice, since their notables had been back in the hut and there was this new guy in crease, mostly untested. The commentator was heard saying that unless some miracle happens, the cup is heading towards karachi. I was nervous as i took guard and had to control my heart, which was beating almost twice its usual rate. I stepped back, took guard and then looked around. The famous pace quartet of pakistan were staring at me as if they are ready to pounce on me anytime and my batting partner was nervous on the other end. I signaled that i was ready to face the ball and i totally blanked out for the next few seconds and i could then hear a roaring crowd waving indian flags frantically as it was the first six of the match from the Indian side. Slowly, for the next few minutes, all i could hear was Indian crowd emphatically waving the tri-color flag and the pakistan side slowly sinking into despair. Slowly, i gained confidence and it came down to the last over, where we needed 15 runs in one over. To top that, i reached to my ninety's and i walked over to talk to my partner. We discussed that, both of us will take our chances and we would like to go blazing guns to finish off. The first ball was a cheeky single from my partner and here i was facing my childhood icon, wasim akram, in what was to be one of the greatest matches for both of us. As i slowly took stance and millions of people all over the world were anxiously waiting, i could slowly see....my mom? my mom was trying to get onto the pitch and was arguing with the security guards. The commentators were visibly annoyed and i had to quickly run off towards her. The match had been stopped due to a rogue spectator and while i ran towards her, asking her what was she doing here, she said, it was dinner time. Unbelievable, here i was playing the most important cricket match ever played and all she could think of is dinner? I threw my hands in exasperation and had to convince the umpires to delay the game for about 45 minutes, while i go and finish my dinner. Slowly, i closed the book and meekly followed her wondering whether she had her usual sambhar and stuff, which means that it is hard for me to play a pull or hook, in case the bowler decides to go with a bouncer. But, i knew it was no use arguing with her.
I closed the door of my room and locked it tight. I got up and went towards my almarah. I opened it up slowly to avoid making any creaky noise and then grabbed the book with both my hands. I looked at the cover and it had a beautiful picture of swami yogananda. The shining,glossy letters read, "Autobiography of a Yogi". I sat lotus legged on a mat, held the book in my hands and then tried to meditate. In a few minutes after i closed my eyes, i could see an expanding light between my eye brows and time went by like that. Ah, the joy of meditation and being oblivious to the pressures of real world.
A few days passed by, and i could sense a feeling of detachment. This has become a part of my life to practice a lot in night and then getup early in the morning to attend my tuition. However, my focus was slowing shifting away from trignometry, geometry to other metrics and i could sense that. But, still, coming from a middle class family, i didn't have the luxury to ignore trignometry, even if i wanted to. I, unwillingly opened the book and started to look at some math problems. Some voice inside me cried out loud asking me to take a break and focus on the things that matter me. But, i couldn't as exams were looming around and my parents had a lot of hopes on me. I read it in a disinterested fashion, but at some point, i had to debate with my inner voice. I told it that if i do not make to engineering, i will simply leave the worldly life and go to tibet, practice meditation and then take up the life of a Buddhist monk. A few days went by and i got the results. I passed my exams and was eligible to get into engineering. However, it was not a elated time and i felt disgusted from within. My inner voice told me that it is not pathway to happiness, but the road to entanglement of worldly pleasures. All the praises heaped onto me were chains that will prevent me from doing things that truly matter to me. All the awards i receive were just tranquilizers that would slowly make me immune to the inner voice and then lull me into mundane existence. It kept asking me, why not do something like yogananda? Why indulge in the worldy matters? Why not go away to tibet? Why not seriously attempt to find your gurudeva? I tried to shut it down, saying, times have changed and i cannot leave my parents. However, the voice of reason has lost to the voice of faith and i had this urge to getup and leave the house at that very moment. As i slowly tried to sneak out, an urge told me to seek the blessings of my parents, who brought me onto this planet and because of whose upbringing, i was able to nourish such good thoughts. I went tiptoed into their bedroom and laid my head near my fathers feet. I could touch his toe fingers and felt the warmth in them. I moved towards his face and could see him sleep so peacefully at night. I realized that it would probably be the last time i would ever see him and feel him. It seemed so real and it didn't seem like attachment to me. Tears started coming out of eyes and all the vedanta and non-attachment, i built into my system started to melt away. It looked stupid and sounded stupid but i couldn't argue with my self. My dad got up and looked at me with a puzzled look about why i was there and i told him that i was unable to sleep all alone and wanted to sleep next to them. He moved to give me some space and i slowly lay down on my back. I told myself that my adventures have to wait for some days and that i need to fulfill my duties as a son. Alas, those some more days never came and i entangled myself with more responsibilities and more roles.
So, in gist, these were a few of my dreams, a few of my many broken dreams. If you walk along this boulevard, you will see them lying around all shattered and please be careful, otherwise they might hurt you as they did to me. Some people might say that it is natural to dream of things and then be disappointed and hence they do not dream. And there are those rosy eyed optimists, who talk as if every dream that is shattered is a reason to rejoice. They speak as if the breaking of the dream is an opportunity for another one to arise, like a butterfly coming out from a caterpillar. what do i say, you might ask? I do not know how to say it, but lay down my feelings. I just say that to dream is like being in heaven and to come out of it is like hell. And in life, you get both. What else can we do except for sucking it in and continue dreaming? Is there a choice, you ask? Even if there was, i wouldn't want it.
A few years went by...The commentator was clearly all excited. After all, it was the final of the world cup and what could be more better than india playing with their arch rivals. However, the indian fans had no reason to rejoice, since their notables had been back in the hut and there was this new guy in crease, mostly untested. The commentator was heard saying that unless some miracle happens, the cup is heading towards karachi. I was nervous as i took guard and had to control my heart, which was beating almost twice its usual rate. I stepped back, took guard and then looked around. The famous pace quartet of pakistan were staring at me as if they are ready to pounce on me anytime and my batting partner was nervous on the other end. I signaled that i was ready to face the ball and i totally blanked out for the next few seconds and i could then hear a roaring crowd waving indian flags frantically as it was the first six of the match from the Indian side. Slowly, for the next few minutes, all i could hear was Indian crowd emphatically waving the tri-color flag and the pakistan side slowly sinking into despair. Slowly, i gained confidence and it came down to the last over, where we needed 15 runs in one over. To top that, i reached to my ninety's and i walked over to talk to my partner. We discussed that, both of us will take our chances and we would like to go blazing guns to finish off. The first ball was a cheeky single from my partner and here i was facing my childhood icon, wasim akram, in what was to be one of the greatest matches for both of us. As i slowly took stance and millions of people all over the world were anxiously waiting, i could slowly see....my mom? my mom was trying to get onto the pitch and was arguing with the security guards. The commentators were visibly annoyed and i had to quickly run off towards her. The match had been stopped due to a rogue spectator and while i ran towards her, asking her what was she doing here, she said, it was dinner time. Unbelievable, here i was playing the most important cricket match ever played and all she could think of is dinner? I threw my hands in exasperation and had to convince the umpires to delay the game for about 45 minutes, while i go and finish my dinner. Slowly, i closed the book and meekly followed her wondering whether she had her usual sambhar and stuff, which means that it is hard for me to play a pull or hook, in case the bowler decides to go with a bouncer. But, i knew it was no use arguing with her.
I closed the door of my room and locked it tight. I got up and went towards my almarah. I opened it up slowly to avoid making any creaky noise and then grabbed the book with both my hands. I looked at the cover and it had a beautiful picture of swami yogananda. The shining,glossy letters read, "Autobiography of a Yogi". I sat lotus legged on a mat, held the book in my hands and then tried to meditate. In a few minutes after i closed my eyes, i could see an expanding light between my eye brows and time went by like that. Ah, the joy of meditation and being oblivious to the pressures of real world.
A few days passed by, and i could sense a feeling of detachment. This has become a part of my life to practice a lot in night and then getup early in the morning to attend my tuition. However, my focus was slowing shifting away from trignometry, geometry to other metrics and i could sense that. But, still, coming from a middle class family, i didn't have the luxury to ignore trignometry, even if i wanted to. I, unwillingly opened the book and started to look at some math problems. Some voice inside me cried out loud asking me to take a break and focus on the things that matter me. But, i couldn't as exams were looming around and my parents had a lot of hopes on me. I read it in a disinterested fashion, but at some point, i had to debate with my inner voice. I told it that if i do not make to engineering, i will simply leave the worldly life and go to tibet, practice meditation and then take up the life of a Buddhist monk. A few days went by and i got the results. I passed my exams and was eligible to get into engineering. However, it was not a elated time and i felt disgusted from within. My inner voice told me that it is not pathway to happiness, but the road to entanglement of worldly pleasures. All the praises heaped onto me were chains that will prevent me from doing things that truly matter to me. All the awards i receive were just tranquilizers that would slowly make me immune to the inner voice and then lull me into mundane existence. It kept asking me, why not do something like yogananda? Why indulge in the worldy matters? Why not go away to tibet? Why not seriously attempt to find your gurudeva? I tried to shut it down, saying, times have changed and i cannot leave my parents. However, the voice of reason has lost to the voice of faith and i had this urge to getup and leave the house at that very moment. As i slowly tried to sneak out, an urge told me to seek the blessings of my parents, who brought me onto this planet and because of whose upbringing, i was able to nourish such good thoughts. I went tiptoed into their bedroom and laid my head near my fathers feet. I could touch his toe fingers and felt the warmth in them. I moved towards his face and could see him sleep so peacefully at night. I realized that it would probably be the last time i would ever see him and feel him. It seemed so real and it didn't seem like attachment to me. Tears started coming out of eyes and all the vedanta and non-attachment, i built into my system started to melt away. It looked stupid and sounded stupid but i couldn't argue with my self. My dad got up and looked at me with a puzzled look about why i was there and i told him that i was unable to sleep all alone and wanted to sleep next to them. He moved to give me some space and i slowly lay down on my back. I told myself that my adventures have to wait for some days and that i need to fulfill my duties as a son. Alas, those some more days never came and i entangled myself with more responsibilities and more roles.
So, in gist, these were a few of my dreams, a few of my many broken dreams. If you walk along this boulevard, you will see them lying around all shattered and please be careful, otherwise they might hurt you as they did to me. Some people might say that it is natural to dream of things and then be disappointed and hence they do not dream. And there are those rosy eyed optimists, who talk as if every dream that is shattered is a reason to rejoice. They speak as if the breaking of the dream is an opportunity for another one to arise, like a butterfly coming out from a caterpillar. what do i say, you might ask? I do not know how to say it, but lay down my feelings. I just say that to dream is like being in heaven and to come out of it is like hell. And in life, you get both. What else can we do except for sucking it in and continue dreaming? Is there a choice, you ask? Even if there was, i wouldn't want it.
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