Posted in Being Someone, Women

Waiting for godo

I was brought up in a circle. A sphere of customization and conditioning that taught me to stay within the limits of the circle. The circle was a line etched around me. There I sat and waited my turn. My turn lasted a lifetime. So I sat there, because I was told to. I stayed within the circle and never crossed the marked line. I was told to wait. To wait for godo. So there I waited for godo. To come and help me walk the distance from one circle to another. The other circle was also marked out especially for me. There too I was expected to live a lifetime. A lifetime of waiting, till another godo came along to repeat the migration that happened centuries ago.

But this time, the new godo did not turn up. I despaired. I became desperate. The anger and the hatred boiled within me. I waited for over a century for godo but he did not come. The anger changed into something weird. Something I did not think would befall me. Misery. In misery I wept, in misery I moaned. The agony crippled me. I could no longer move.

Shrubs, roots and bushes became to grow around me. They thought I was like them. That I could not move. I belonged in the dirt within a circle etched out for me. Like the plants. I was made to fit in it. I still waited. Godo never came. Agony and misery made way for something new, glistening. The unspoken words of horror and anguish started to well up in my eyes. I was so tired of waiting, that I could no longer move a muscle to wipe what ran down my cheeks. My wait seemed to be useless now, for godo was not showing up.

I let the tears fall and let them become a well around me. It swirled like waves of the ocean, making complete rounds around me like I was some sort of a sink unplugged. The tears swished and swooshed. But I did not stop. I cried on for another century, because a tiny part of me still said that godo might come.

Then there came a time, when instead of the torrents of tears, locks of white hair took their place. Age had changed me. The water had run dry. Godo did not still come. My hiccups of sobs were replaced by a sharp breath of courage. The ground beneath me became my only anchor. The sky above became my guide. I wringed myself out of the roots and the shrubs that had found a place around me, prisoning me, strangling me. I broke free. Stood up.

I felt the hard ground beneath my bare feet. Godo had not come for eons till now, because godo was not going to come. He had never intended to. He never existed. It was an old woman’s tale. I looked over my head at the blue sky and for the first time in life, I smiled. I picked up my right foot and stepped outside the circle they had made for me. I was no longer going to wait for godo to help me. I was not going to wait more. I smiled yet again, beaming with my knowledge. I was the one I had been waiting for. I was godo.

Posted in Dear Sally

How Does Man Console Himself?

Dear Sally,

When man is stricken with grief, how does he console himself? In those heavy moments, when the weight of your own body feels too much, and you wish you could wrench your heart out in hope that maybe you would feel less…how does man console himself?

We tell ourselves, “have hope”, “have faith”, but what is hope and faith? Were we born with these entities, or were we supposed to learn about them and gradually develop them? Who was supposed to teach us about them? Does by being a part of a religion or a sect provide us with hope and faith? So, does that mean that people who do not believe in a Higher Power are void of them?

Sometimes, Sally, I think that in moments of grief and despair we tend to lie to ourselves. But, what then, shall we do when we run out of lies? How do we then console ourselves? Is ripping our heart out from our chest, the best solution? Or should we ask God to make us feel less, that we may no longer carry the grief that sometimes hits us bad? Does that mean that we should trade an aching heart for a life-less stone- a heart that does not feel anything? More importantly, are we willing to exchange the pain for less humanity?

How does man console himself?