Many young people have their ideas shot down by their elders, dismissing them as childish, fanciful or down right impractical. How many of you are guilty of this? And have you ever thought about what the young person thinks? Darshana Suresh, a prolific young blogger who as a “17 year old is wondering what to do in life”. She is part of my Write Tribe and presents her point of view in this month’s #GuestPost.
Naive. Dependent. Diffident. That was me. The youngest in the extended family, the last person to be taken seriously. Because of course I was small, and didn’t understand the world as yet. There were so many people to show me the way, to help me take decisions, to tell me what to do. It was easy and all was well, until at some point there crawled out an urge to have a voice of my own.
When my views surfaced, disagreements popped up. I was either mad or sad, constantly wishing for them to think in my shoes. Their reasons found no meaning in my mind, my questions found no importance in theirs. In a single word they’d sum up this whole mess – ‘teenage’. And every time the word was greeted with my silent sighs.
In the rush to use my own judgements, I hadn’t realized how far I’d gotten. All too soon, there I was at the turning, all excited to leap ahead but held back by the chains of self doubt. For once it suddenly occurred to me that everything was about to change. For the first time, I’d be away from home, no more being anybody’s shadow. It was my turning point; the transition from school to college, from home to hostel.
There I stood at the turning, with one too many plans in my head that I waited so long to work on. People still said we’re so full of life and energy now, that we’d start off things with great vigour but they’d diminish with time. Yet again, they called it an ‘age’ thing. They said they were just like me once, but senses dawned on them later on. They saw the twinkle in my eyes, the passion. And they did appreciate it, but not without a shake of their heads and the words, “This too shall pass”. And for once I begin to loathe those words.
I saw that they failed to understand me again, and no amount of stamping legs or rolling eyes made a difference. I’ve finally reached where the unveiling begins, the time to explore, make mistakes aplenty and learn….all by myself. There at the turning, I hear Monica Geller’s words, “‘Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re gonna love it.”
I know. I know it will be tough compared to what it’s been like so far. And I also know that if you’re older and working, you’ll say this is just a piece of cake. But it is a big deal to me. I’ve always been small in their eyes, it’s time I grew up. And it’s true that they still don’t understand me. So I figured, that maybe it’s time I started understanding them.
I kept wishing they’d think in my shoes, never once did I try to think in theirs. It feels silly now to think how much I wanted from them. I understand their concern, I understand their persuasions, I understand that they wouldn’t wholly understand me. And it’s okay too. I am a work in progress, and I know where I stand. For now, that is all I need to take the next step.
We’ve all had those turning points, where what was and what will be are miles away from the other. It is a time to think and reflect, more importantly to believe in oneself. It’s okay if they don’t understand me, it’s okay if my ideas don’t click in their minds. It’s time to don my own shoes, and start building myself. In the journey ahead, my belief will be my fuel.
Have you been at the turning point with plans of your own that were weighed down by the others? Have you ever felt the urge to do what you want to? What I did was empathise, and hold on to my belief. What about you?
In the early 1900’s when Bombay was still a Textile Town, most of its working class inhabitants lived in a block of flats called chawls. These were more than just home to migrant MIll workers who lived there. The residents formed strong bonds of kinship and celebrated many occasions as a community – weddings included. Particularly important was the 10 Day Festival of Ganesh. During these ten days, residents often put up entertainment programs which encouraged in-house talent. Mr. Mone was the President of the Amateur Dramatic Club of one such residential block.
During practice one day, a week before the performance,one of the actors came up to him and requested that the hero of the play be changed.
“But why?” asked Mr. Mone who was quite impressed with old Mr. Bhide’s acting skills.
“I don’t know how to tell you, it’s a very peculiar problem.”
“Really? I can’t see what the problem is.”
“You see, from time to time the old man passes wind.”
“But that’s normal. Besides, as you said, he is an old man.”
“But it stinks!”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Replace him.”
That was out of the question. Mr. Bhide who was a minor stage actor in his younger days was just the part for this year’s play . There was simply no question of replacing him. Besides there was no one else who could step in at the last moment.
Mr. Mone slept over the problem and came up with an ideal solution.
“Mr. Bhide,” he said, ” I know you need to pass wind at your age. But why don’t you go to the side of the stage and do so discreetly?” pointint to the potted plant at the side.
On the opening night, the curtains went up and the show began. Half way through, Mr. Bhide sidled up to the potted plant and a horrendous ripping sound rent the air. No one was more aghast than Mr. Bhide. He looked inside the pot and pulled out a microphone!
Needless to say it was his last performance and the most talked about play in the dramatic society.
Twenty- five Seven 