Reflections on Life

Ranj se khugar ho insaan to mit jata hey ranj
Mushkilain itni parin ke asaan ho ganyeen
-Mirza Ghalib

He had passed by that old deserted house many times. People said there lived an old sage in there who knew everything about life. He, being the man of reason, had never wanted to know much about destiny for he believed more in hard work than luck. But that day he had stopped almost unconsciously. Somehow he had come to believe that he understood everything that there was to life and today he wanted to share his thoughts with the wise man. Perhaps he also wanted to learn from his wisdom.

He was almost on the verge of changing his mind when the door creaked; perhaps the wind was asking him to come in. He was surprised for a second but then he nodded to himself silently, understanding...Inside, there was a small lawn which had not been mowed in ages; the shrubs had overgrown. In one corner, in front of the only room, lay a pitcher of water with an inverted glass on its top. He went inside and saw an old man sitting in the center of the room in a semiconscious state. His eyes were closed and he was reciting something, under his lips. He, hesitantly, started the conversation.

Oh kind Sir, I have heard a lot about your wisdom and I have come today to discuss something that is of grave concern to me. Old man asks him to sit down by nodding to his side while he continues to recite. After almost ten minutes he opens his eyes, looking for the first time at his visitor.

Old man: Tell me child what has been bothering you?

Man: Kind sir, it is not something that is bothering me but it is what I believe; I think I understand everything about life and that is what I want to discuss with you.

Old man: Listening attentively, asks the man to continue.

Man: My story is long and now when I come to think of it, I realize that I might be interrupting your daily routine. However on catching the glimpse of serenity in the wise man’s eyes he feels reassured and starts to tell.

Sir, I am thirty year old. I am the son of a shoe maker. My father worked very hard to send me to school. He sent me to fulfill my dreams and in the wake, perhaps, fulfill his own. He always treated me not like a part of his body but as an independent human being. I always made my own decisions and he only approved them. Life was moving slowly. There were times when it became totally unbearable whereas at other times I adored every second of it. I was very happy when I was admitted to the top art school. It had always been my ambition to be a great artist but the difficulties of time had hindered me from expressing my true potential. I, however, believed in my capabilities and thus I persevered. Near me nothing was more sacred than my goals, not even my life for I believed a life without ones ambitions is the life of a ronin; in ancient Japan samurai’s used to have their own masters. In wars their sacred duty included the protection of their master along with fighting against the enemy. Those warriors who could not defend their master were banished for life. They spent their lives wandering and searching for a new master. Many would be killed in that pursuit and such a death was considered shameful as compared to the noble death embraced while defending ones master in war. Somehow the old concept of glory and dignity had ingrained in me.

As the saying goes, “to err is human…” I had also erred in the blind pursuit of my ambitions however it had left a deep scar in me. I had been penitent ever since… I had not completely recovered from the crisis in my life, a consequence of perhaps being too ambitious that I found myself in the middle of another one. All this I am certain to say, only in retrospect. The life had suddenly taken a strange turn. To one aspect I had paid the least attention so far in my life had suddenly become my obsession or perhaps I had been lead to believe so. Those amorous feelings that had plummeted in my heart had swayed me from my cause. It seemed that I had been falling into an abyss. I was making mistakes one after the other. It was maddeningly real. I was still trying to forget the last incident that I was hit by another misfortune; my reasoning had foretold me to resist the temptation for quite long but the circumstantial evidence was, perhaps, far too convincing. It is said that history repeats itself; it had repeated twice in just a year following my error and I had been left in shrouds. I had been an outcaste and I knew it very well. Once a devout believer in hard work I had been forced to reconsider for despite my best efforts everything was falling out of place.

I had thought that life was all about second chances; we fall only to rise with a new determination, we fail once only to succeed again and we make mistakes only to learn from them. However I had forgotten that we live in a real world where second chances do not exist, where perceptions are veiled with preformed stereotypes and where people are targeted for their mistakes for the rest of their lives. The last two years had been the proof to that. I do not even feel it now perhaps I have acquiesced to the circumstances or perhaps I have silently accepted the verdict but it does not matter anymore.

Man: So, oh kind sir, tell me if I have been mistaken in my conclusions

Old man had started reciting again with the rosary in his hands. He waited there for sometime to listen to his answer but there was no reply. He rose to leave the house. Silently he walked away. He was feeling at ease for having shared.

On the way back he was lost in his thoughts, thinking perhaps this is the purpose of life, to just bear it the way it comes and never complain. Just silently recite the rosary. Perhaps that is what has made him a wise man that he could listen everything without much feelings evoked. Perhaps the silence is wisdom…Perhaps!