In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Lazy Learners.”
I think I may have looked like this guy a couple of times while walking down the streets, metal banging deep into my ear drums – crazy enough that I would just not jump in the air to relieve the rush. It must have started in my toddler years when I started counting beats and moving my wrists and ankles to every beat.
I have no clue when this crazy habit turned into a long held and suppressed passion. Yes, I’m talking about drumming. Yearnings often have a strange way to fill voids around you. They just simply pop up when you are least prepared for them. You’d have no money, no resources, no motivation to start a new chapter. But this is how and when life throws you tests to check if you’re still that kid who’d give anything to hit a six on the first ball of every over, to take a wicket with the first ball that you bowl – to test your zeal.
It came and went by, multiple times – the opportunity to start drumming. I’d have no money or the studio would be far or I’ll simply be lazy enough to not let even an earthquake move me from my bed and each time it felt like I missed a train and with it, the journey to all good and adventurous things. And when I think about it now, all the while I was simply avoiding the journey to start finding myself and my truer purpose.
I have this crazy habit of killing myself and my ambitions before building new ones. It starts with a simple and an insignificant compromise made in the name of benevolence wherein I’ll give my chocolate away or skip a pizza to provide for a cab ride for my wife. You know it’s these kind of things that birth a lackadaisical attitude. I have a tendency to wait for opportune moments to arrive when I’ll best savor the pleasures that I indulge in. But sadly, it has never served me well, or that’s how feel right now – left behind, cowering from the harsh realities of this world.
I’m evolving as all things do. And with it I’m learning the important factor that governs all things – TIME. And as each moment passes me by, this incredible urge to finish all that’s yet incomplete is killing all the patience I’ve accumulated in my 30 years past. It feels that I must miss no train again. And if it means losing something precious, so be it, for all good things that you do for yourself compensate for other good things that aren’t really high on longevity.
So now when I play inside the jamming room and the calf muscles start to burn, I think about all the times I have ditched this pleasure – my pleasure in order to pleasure others. Now I don’t get scared when I hold those two sticks between my fingers. I’m just starting (3 classes young) but the encouragement I get from my teacher is enough to let me return to my home with a well earned smile. This, my friends, is true happiness. Nothing surpasses it!!!
A colleague just narrated a small anecdote to me this morning –
A teacher asks a girl one-day – If I give you 1 apple and then 1 apple and then 1 apple, how many apples will you have?
Girl replies candidly – 4!
Teacher asks again – Please think again child, if I give you 1 apple and then 1 apple and then 1 apple, how many apples will you have?
Girl replied – 4!
The infuriated and confused teacher thought – what if she doesn’t like apples?
So he changed the question to strawberries.
Teacher asked again – If I give you 1 strawberry and then 1 strawberry and then 1 strawberry, how many strawberries will you have?
Girl replied – 3!
Teacher was happy. He turned to apples again and asked the same question with apples. The girl again replied – 4!
Confused again teacher, asked – Why 4 apples but 3 strawberries?
Girl replied – I already have 1 apple in my bag!
That only says – always try to know if the other person has any hidden apples with them already! Or in short always try to know the other side of the story as well. May be you know a lot, but sometimes, time and conditions beat you to it and what you know becomes redundant!
He was 6 years old. His second school after his father got transferred from Bilaspur which then belonged to state Madhya Pradesh (now Chhattisgarh). It was his first day at his new school. Far away from his home, he wasn’t used to the alien feeling. He was small and was about to do something that will forever force him to do, only the unthinkable.
Father took him to his new school in his Jeep. He entered the main wrought iron gate of the school – Shri Tagore Vidya Mandir. Like it was his habit from his earlier school from the same town, he started looking for his class. Roamed around for a while and found it wasn’t on the ground floor. Those small feet then climbed the roughly cemented stairs. He was perplexed – why were all the others were wearing red shorts, and his were green? Never having known the concept of mediums in a school, he matched feet to feet and proudly entered his class, having found it on the first floor. He was half an hour early. He entered never having noticed the teacher who was sitting with the kids. She saw the boy with the green pants. She got up from her place and without asking a single question, slapped the boy hard on his left cheek. And then another. She yelled – ‘Baahar jaao yahaan se (Get out of the class)’!
And he promptly did so, shedding tears not because of the stinging pain on his cheek but for the sheer embarrassment that the incident had impaled in his heart. He cried, cried loudly when a maid heard him. But he didn’t notice. She yelled out at the boy for roaming around on the campus and there came another slap on the same cheek. He hadn’t yet spoken a word on the alien land and had already been assaulted thrice. He forgot the face of the teacher with the last slap but will forever remember the face of the maid – the stroke was ferocious. The boy sat on a tampered round-about, looking at that wrought iron gate that brought him into this hell. And in a fit of rage, decided to open it for he had quit. This was not how he wanted it!
He stood on his toes, slowly and silently opened the gate, got out, leaving the gate hanging limply on its hinges. He smelt freedom, still crying.
He knew his way home. Never once thinking about the distance, he started walking. Wandering around, he saw the relieving sight of the railway station. He saw the rails. He saw the ever-so-fascinating engines. Tears blurred his vision as he started crossing the web of rails never aware of the danger. Guess he never knew danger. He was so small. He was just 6 years old.
Getting across the station and into his favorite empty street, plunging trees caving in from the right and the rails on the left. He now knew what he was looking for. He was looking for a clinic where his father would bring him for treatment when he got sick. He knew that the road from this clinic, drove straight to his home. He had forgotten his tired legs, thirst, hunger – for he knew his way home now, joy bleeding from his heart. Home where his mother will greet him. He found the clinic. Finally relieved, he kept walking.
Then a miracle happened, small as the place was, a driver from his father’s office noticed the boy, took him in his Jeep and took him home.
He was then a happy wanderer!
Remember, I once announced that I’ll rewrite some of my posts. This is the first of the series!
Lets find out how others fared today –
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