Finally, after a long time I found some peace to post here on WordPress. No. I didn’t forget or ignore this little world of mine, which was my savior at times. But, I felt it inappropriate to share the random thoughts of my disturbed mind. Not disturbed, but a mind with a huge turbulence. Today, after a happy session with my psychologist, I was feeling better. Or rather, he was happy that I felt better. It’s a strange thing, people enjoy being around joyful, happy individuals, even if they aren’t one. And they find happiness when others are happy, than themselves being in a similar state. Last two days were beautiful. I had achieved something in my academic life, and also something with my passion. Two weeks prior to this, I had received the happy news of one of my dreams being true – a scholarship and a project with a foreign university. But, I was struggling hard to pretend happiness. Yes, I had to pretend because wasn’t really happy. Or to be precise, I just couldn’t be happy.
Depression, the asshole about whom I had mentioned in one of my previous posts, hit me again, with a greater force this time. I had kept it away from me through medications that went on from almost a year, yet the disaster came to me amidst my joyful days, to snatch the golden moments from my life. I remember the time where I cried for almost three hours, but couldn’t feel better at all. My body gave up with my depleted mental energy. The medicines which were intended to stabilize my moods and emotions and make me feel better, revolted against my body and the result was a fall. A week of being admitted in the hospital, I had completely lost my mind. Yet, my pretension that I was completely normal made me feel proud of the fact that I could make people believe by pretension, at least for a short period of time. Yet, they found out soon that I was not feeling better anymore, and I needed further help.
I loved being in the hospital. As a medic, I loved meeting people, listening to their issues and trying to solve them. I secretly enjoyed the spark in their eyes and the genuine happiness in their words when they would thank me for making them feel better. But I hated this part where I was being treated as a weak person. Not only physically, even mentally I felt the turmoil on the hospital bed. Music, texting my friends, talking to them – everything that I loved to do irritated me a lot during this period. I was in a confused state; my mind being confused about what actually my emotion was, and my body on how to react to the drugs that were injected on me by my professors and senior doctors, who were equally confused as these two, for they couldn’t determine what exactly was happening to me. Call it god’s grace or the good karma that I might have done at some point of my life, I recovered soon from these things. The doctors called it the signs of a healthy individual with psychological resilience, being intellectually strong etc. Somehow, I became an excellent material for case study in psychology and psychiatry.
I was better now, but my soul had those wounds and they still hurt me a lot. I decided to travel again. This time, not to meet strangers, but to meet my friends. Meeting strangers and listening to their life and stories is amazing, but meeting your friends and revisiting the special moments you spent with them is addictive; trust me! I just booked the tickets and went to meet them, the place from where I had just returned a fortnight ago, after my mother’s surgery. Day 1, I reached home and met my mom, she was happy and surprised to see me. I told her I needed a break, and she didn’t ask me more. Mothers have this magical ability to read the minds of their kids. However you try to cover, she would definitely see through the mask. We spoke a lot, and had a fun time. In fact I was pulling her legs for the irritating braces she had to wear around her neck for a month more, till the part that underwent surgery healed. I met the doctors and went through her reports, and I was very happy with the rapid recovery she made till then. For a moment, this depressed person was the happiest daughter in the world.
My friends started calling me. I had to rush. It was a two hour journey from my home to one of my friends’ place. All of us agreed to meet there, our dear Shankunni’s home. His home was selected, for this was the only place which was peaceful, away from the noisy city, and where we enjoyed the most. The seven of us, being childhood friends, never met together for the past nine years. We met in groups of two or three, but not all the seven of us together… I was excited. 17 years of friendship, we never met frequently. Thanks to the advancements in technology now, unlike the times of our parents, wherein they struggled to keep in touch with their friends and never met for a long time. But we were all nostalgic idiots, and we believed in the art of writing letters. Every New Year, one thing bothered me more than anything- writing long letters to six people and posting them on the right time so that the letters would reach them all on the first day of the year. But the best part was, I would get to read six beautiful, crazy letters, filled with millions of emotions. True. Letters have the power to make one happy or sad, unlike text messages or voice calls. I wish I could write letters to everyone I loved, and express my emotions through these small pieces of paper.
Shankar, or shankunni, as we called him, was the leader of our gang. By one or the other means, we all met almost less than two decades ago. Though no frequent communication took place, there was some miraculous force that made our bond stronger as days passed. We had seen each other, all the seven of us, grow from those innocent kids to the ones with the so called grown-up, complex lives. And the best part was, we still were honest to each other, even if our lives continued to be mysterious and deceptive to the world around us. I was the last one to reach the venue. Everyone had already begun the lunch and when they saw me, a shower of complaints was made. Yet, after all the blames and oppositions, I was happy to see them. From cute little pony tails to different fancy hairstyles, and from the baby faces to the thick beard and moustache, my mind started comparing everyone’s faces with their images I first saw them in and now. And I realized, that even I changed a lot. Physically, mentally and emotionally we changed a lot. Everyone. But our friendship didn’t change. It was still the same, perhaps it was deeper this time.
After long conversations on career and education, we spoke about the memories – our valuable assets of this friendship. But then, deep inside we all had a dark side, waiting to pounce on this sweet cake of happiness. After being intoxicated on few things, some on caffeine, or nicotine, or alcohol, and I on nothing but this happiness, our masks started wilting away. Soon the major concerns were not career or grades. There was an array of topics that made us laugh, cry and think; from hair fall to heartbreaks, from politics to gossips about the people who were our romantic interests, once upon a time. They were meaningless talks, but yes, the most effective talks. We never provided the victim any solution, but made him find the solution by taunts and laughter. Finally it was my turn to speak. What could I say? I wanted to speak out and express what made me visit them suddenly, but they understood. Just like my mother, they read my mind without a word from my mouth. I wondered how cruel I was to judge them that they might have forgotten me, and would expect me to be joyful as everybody else, but they knew everything I was going through, happiness or pain.
We didn’t travel around, nor did we take selfies or photographs together. We didn’t sleep. We kept talking. For a whole week, we kept talking and listening. And after I returned back to my college, I felt something new in me. The next day my friends and classmates and everyone around me said that I looked really fresh, and I was far better than my version before this trip. True, your mind is reflected in your body. Happiness is not measured through success, fame or achievements, but the genuine smile, a gesture or even the way a person walks depicts it clearly. I realized the change in the ways I reacted to two similar things, and realized something valuable. We often get locked inside the rooms of regret, pain or frustrations, and here is our plan – we try to break the door to escape on our own, without disturbing anyone, only to spend our energy and get weak. This actually disturbs the people whom we love and intended not to trouble them, because they love us and being concerned is a part of that love. The correct way is, approach these people who love us, be the so called ‘trouble’ for them, calling someone else, at least informing them that we are locked, helps a lot. And when we come out of this dark room, we come with much more strength and energy than ever before. Thereby, it helps everyone to be happy and more peaceful.
The asshole confronted me this time with its greatest strength, thinking that I was alone. But, I had this huge strength of kindness and love with me. This strength helped me come out of the asshole’s attacks. But, I needed more of this strength to heal my wounds. And I obtained them in something which I never imagined to possess it. Yes, never hesitate to seek this strength of love and kindness in anything, because we never know what we are and what we mean to many souls living here. We often notice the places where we feel unwanted and uncared. We think and assume that many wont love us and nobody needs us. This is a mirage. But in fact, we are blind, because it’s dark. It needs just the effort to open our eyes and see the real things, than this mirage. And once we see this reality unfolding in front of the eyes of our soul, we have the greatest wealth and strength in this world, of love and kindness. Embrace this love, for it owns us as much as we own it.