I'm so glad there's a holiday tomorrow. There's not been even one since I joined. I think I've adjusted pretty well. Learning, unlearning, getting confident at times and trying not to lose ground other times. Floating is pretty dangerous.
What has changed in these few days? I'd say a lot.
Every day I learn a lot of new things, like I told a few of my friends earlier, it feels like the pieces of information floating in my head are now falling in place and finding a meaning. It's beautiful to be able to see one thing from a multifaceted perspective. It's beautiful so far, tiring but beautiful. There are no regrets.
I know I want this, I know I want this for the love of knowledge.
All the teachers who teach here are brilliant. Some failed in the same path and yet they've embraced this journey, that one teacher gives the best of logical advice.
My respect and love for the profession of teaching has gone so far up, it's reached the sky, it'll be past exosphere by next year this time. One of the teachers had said "intellectualism is not easy" and now, I live by those words. Everytime I feel tired, I tell myself it's not easy and that's why it's worth it.
Today's class was so mesmerizing. The sir had talked about how a man's wisdom is displayed in the way he embraces death gracefully. He made effort, every other minute to make us laugh. I took a moment, paused and looked at the old man. What a loss it would be when he's gone. All that grace, all that experience, all of that good humour. Single piece.
I had always feared losing my loved ones to death. It sure will ache, but today I considered cherishing their legacy when they'll be gone. It was a bittersweet thought. To keep them alive in one or the other way is better than to be shattered into pieces.
The old professor today was talking about how there are only a few reasons to leave the country and how his love (he uses the word "Mohabbat") for his parents was too much to let him go anywhere. At that moment I realized, all these people I look up to are also wearing pieces of their loved ones, the ones they looked up to and eventually lost. The pieces they stitch together so precariously and wear so gracefully with their chest outstretched.
I grew up with a different idea of what my country meant to me. For me as a child, it was the diversity, it was those vibrant colors and love everywhere. My little brain didn't know or see more, nor did it have a habit of reading. There's a lot that doesn't feel right these days. There's so much hate everywhere and youth is impatient to leave this "wretched" place.
The other day, I was reading about a recent PSLV launch, I thought, chalo let's watch the launch for time pass. I watched and when the countdown struck zero and unleashed the satellite, I felt so proud. I watched the happiness on the faces of those scientists who didn't jump and run but sat in a dignified manner, clapped happily and congratulated each other. So many women scientists, young and old- dressed in simple clothes- it was heartwarming to watch. These are the people we ought to celebrate. We're are being shown all the wrong things, these are the people whose legacies we need to continue. We need to become them to be the light to kids of future are looking to with no clue, like us right now, like how we feel there's no where to look.
Small entrepreneurs, a daily wage worker who would go beyond her duty to make a forest out of a dry patch of land. These people, these are the people of capacity. No noise here. I still have faith. I want to learn and become them. My intellectual capacity may sure be limited but I trust my hardworking nature :).
While I furtively request my brother to consider staying back in this god forsaken country, while I still figure out what the idea of our nation means to me, I have decided, I'm here to stay. For the love of this people.
Also the title of this blog, there's this man who lives on the footpath across the street, I cross him daily I guess. I think this is the same man I saw masturbating under a sheet of plastic lying on the footpath thinking he was shielded by the parked truck there. Ew.
But still, I see this half naked man sit on the wide footpath of Pusa road everyday and write something on a paper larger than A3. He looks at the road, he looks around, keeps writing something. I wonder what. Today while coming back from coaching, I didn't spot the man but his huge sheet of paper was lying there. There was so much written in Hindi in there. Beautifully aligned words. Beautiful handwriting. I didn't dare to stop and read. But I wonder.. I wonder still
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