Photography: Devadeep Gupta
Author: Anusha N.
"And
now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the earth, this god whom
men have sought since men came into being, this god who will grant them joy and
peace and pride. This god, this one word: 'I.'" | Anthem- Ayn Rand
I sometimes wonder what is it exactly that makes the spiritual. Like the journey to the temple. Did it
really just start with the first step I took into its compound barefoot? Or did it start when the thought of worship was first seeded in my mind… or is it just the act of
folding hands in prayer in front of god?
I have found God in the
face of men. I have found God inside me. Every man who has a belief has a God.
Every belief counts. It is like a higher collective conscience. Where every man
is an end in himself. If you think you are contributing to a greater cause
which is undefined, I counter that dream. Can you really work wholeheartedly
for a purpose that isn’t your own? Can you vouch for anything with conviction
because of hear-say? You are here to fulfill yourself. And it is in the self-satisfaction
of some religious or spiritual or emotional or metaphysical part of you that
you feel like a higher power surrounds you. How you turn out may or may not be
related to that stone that you pray in front of. But for those who believe, it
is so for them.
So what is “I”.
There was a girl I once
knew. We were both really young. Like the age when pebbles and raindrops are our
secret friends and we talk to an imaginary class with a chalk and a stick in
our hand? Ribbons and frocks? That young! I met her in a place where we were
all equals. And with each day that went by we discovered newer things about
each other we hated. They knew her for her predecessors but I didn’t know them
neither did I know her. I was the insufferable know it all. An out-of-towner,
so I was as much of a misfit in this place as the place was a misfit on me. We were like
an odd-pair of socks – black in one foot and white in another. Just
never a match.
I envied her for her
family. They seemed too happy to be true. I envied her voice. Much louder than
mine. I envied her lunch. Much grander than mine. I envied her bag, her
clothes, her sport and her smile. Much prettier, fancier, fashionable and
cooler than mine. So was that how it would always be? But that is the age when
we think of ourselves to be what we possess. Where we feel where we come from
is all that we are. When I neither knew what was I nor who was She.
But all this while that
I envied her possessions and her fame; she silently wished she was me. Because
she knew at that age that this would not last and that day, what would last was
I, myself and me.
Then we welcomed adolescence. By this time we had managed to co-exist. She had a fair share of drama.
Boys falling around her left, right and centre. Sometimes she’d reject them
even before they could speak. Sometimes she’d reject them the first time they’d
meet. As I tagged along on her fun filled teenage I envied her every bit. And
deep down I knew she loved my library, my books and my petty little tantrums.
She’d smile at me and take to my nerdy whims. And she’d rather spend the PT
class playing ping-pong in a hall. When the whole bunch of ‘Them’ was busy
playing in the sun; she’d always meant for me to see. That they all had fun…
but she had hers with me.
And then we were adults
and we parted our ways. Trying to see what really was I and Me. I went and
searched the earth, the soil and stones. She went her way down science, logic
and streams. We let time mould us and somewhere in this Apart; is when the
whole “I” in me and the “She” in her came together. Like a patchwork of dreams
and a board full of post-its, our memories just pinned up on the timeline of
our past. We left.
And somewhere in all this
time apart, I saw when we came back… it wasn’t the same Her. She was lost
slowly like specks of sand from a fist. She had gone through the shredder on
her own as had I. But this time, it was nothing I envied, nothing I could
perceive.
She’d been a mother to
a family that refused to grow up; a child to elders who refused to exist. She’d
been a lover to lovers who didn’t know love, a faithful friend to friends who
would never yield. She’d fought battles that weren’t her own only to realize. There
was no such fight when enemies patronize. She’d been a pillow to sleep on for
so many maniacs. When she had barely slept for herself in years. She’d
patiently suffered for those who couldn’t for themselves. She’d listened and
heard and battered and bruised. She’d never demanded of those who were
incapable to provide because they were just that - incapable. She’d never
expected from those born to disappoint – because they were that - disappointing.
She showed me her wounds one by one with a sardonic humor.
She’d told me
that these weren’t badges from battles she’d won. She’d only meant it as
lessons she’d learnt. She’d say she wants to shield me. But I wondered how
could she- She hadn’t even seen what they’d done to her. She hadn’t known what
she was to me. To her this was never
her journey so far. Because all she’d done unknowingly was play hundreds of
roles at people’s demands compensating for those who lacked the decency to play
their own.
What am “I” she said,
she didn’t know. No belief. No faith. No expectation. No oars. Am I the same “I”
you envied all that while? When I knew I envied you…because at least you knew
there is “I” in you. They let you be and reveal the true you. But I, I am
solitary and that is what is me. I don’t know how else to be anymore. Because
all the while I should have spent in finding me... they and I never let me.
And she said “they gave
me wings to fly. But all they forgot was that “I” too need a sky.”
She said something that
she could never take back. Because the truth is we all exist for ourselves.
Peace is not borrowed, like faith or belief or love or happiness or sorrow or
pain. God can’t be borrowed. It has to be yours. It has to be born. I can’t
just be. Every “I” that plays at least ten of our million dutiful roles with a
little more conviction would relieve so many souls trapped like her to just be;
in their due time to be “I”.
You aren’t the “I” you
want everyone else to praise. Your identity is not that which is in my eyes or
his. Because if my eyes envy you today tomorrow they could say pity. If my eyes
love you today, tomorrow it may just be sympathy. You aren’t the “you” I see.
You are the “I” you see. Even when you think the ones who loved you do not
anymore. Are you even sure you know yourself well enough for them to?
If all you search for
in the eyes of strangers is love and praise, you will never be satisfied,
because the “I” in you knows better than that.
“I am. I will, whether
you like it or not, exist. I shall not apologize for my abilities, neither for
success, nor for my dreams. Not one of those is what you owe to others. ‘I’ am
the one you owe to satisfy. Because without a satisfied you, you will never
fully be one of the ten “I” you Have to be.”
God is within you and me. I search for “I”. There is no bigger religion and no bigger God.
