Crossroads

"So, 45, what do you think?"

Sitting right opposite me, peeping from behind his Macbook, Mr. B put the question to me. His almost round head resembled a lot like that of Agatha Christie's Poirot minus the mustache. His bespectacled eyes and the stubbled face accompanied by his calm voice and clear baritone, his funny colored socks, immaculate clothes, and shoes made him something someone with my taste would take a moment to admire. And oh, the resemblance between him and the late Chester Bennington was spookily uncanny.

Every day we would sit in the classroom, huddled at a table and discuss literature. For a bookworm, a fan of fiction and a follower of all things art, being there was like a dream come true for me. We’d discuss books, movies, TV shows as well the grand shit-show running out there. One moment we’d be talking about Louis CK and the other, Jon Stewart. One morning would be about how much Mr. B was like Dr. House and the other about how men getting harassed is as real as climate change. Sometimes we’d talk about how writing needed to be ‘pointy’ and Tarantino would pop up in the conversation. Sometimes we’d be talking about persistence and he’d tell us how the Beatles became what they are today by playing music in Hamburg for eight hours, seven days of the week; and the other times it’d be something financial/analytical like, why did Dunkin Donuts fall on their face in the Indian market while doing so well across the world. I’m telling you – if you’re an open casket, Mr. B was the fountain of knowledge and he’d keep on flowing with all sorts of information all the time, so much so that we’d never know how 11 a.m. turned into 6.30 p.m. every day.
And oh, he liked to call me 45 because I'm a skinny person and he couldn't believe I weigh 45 kgs. *scoffs*

When I first applied for an internship at the place, I had no idea what I was going to take away from it. After clearing the initial submit-an-essay round, I had a telephone interview with the HR of the place, and consequently with Mr. B. To be very frank, I felt nice talking to him. You know how when you meet certain people you feel like you know them from another life? Like you want to take them out for food and tell them everything they want to know? And this was just one fifteen-minute phone call. Imagine how nurtured and satisfied my soul felt when I got to sit down with him, discuss things or ‘bounce ideas’ as he liked to call it. It was like, his brain and mine had a hot make-out session every day. And I loved it. Trust me – intellectual hook-ups are the best. You should do that sometime. With someone who has the brains for it. 

Anyway, back to the story.

Never in my entire purposeless life have I ever met someone I wanted to talk to about myself on my own volition. If I might, I’d say I’m tough to crack. But with Mr. B, it came naturally. I wouldn’t say I really liked him when we first met, given his I-hate-people disposition, but he started to grow on me. Don’t get me wrong – I’m one of those I-wish-i-were-never-born snobs too and humans are really tricky that way. We like how we conduct ourselves, and some of us are proud of it too. It’s just like how Kevin McCallister wished his entire family to be gone and when they did, his sorry ass wanted them to come back. Let’s be honest… we’re all Kevin McCallisters. We like how we are but we’d all go mad if other people started to behave like we do.

O no Srishti, not again with the philosophy and shitty movie references

All throughout the sessions we had with Mr. B, it was as if I went through a metamorphosis – my entire being transformed into this whole new person – one who was kinder, one who didn’t hate people that much(more details about that later), one who gave a shit and was willing to do something about it. The force of the spell he put me under was so strong that I started a blog for Zeus-sake (one which doesn’t have to do anything with selling things.)
To be very honest, I’ve always had an opinion about everything, whether it’s about Pop vs. Rock, or about how deep human rights are in the gutter in developing countries. But I was never brave enough to voice them – my values, my thoughts were always overweighed and pushed behind my unwillingness to voice them to others and my lack of belief in myself. I’ve had a lot of people tell me how good I am at writing and formulating things in a manner everyone loves, but after I met Mr B, it’s like the meek, timid writer inside of me wants to take over and scream – about anything and everything my younger self was afraid to say. It wants to remind me of all the trauma and sadness I went through and wants me to bear them close to my heart instead of shutting them in a dark corner of my memories and label them with oblivion.

You know the feeling when you feel unafraid – the feeling that makes you want to riot and tell the world what exactly is wrong with it? That’s it. That’s exactly how I feel. I want to take all the weak links of my existence, couple them with all the strength I have, and use it to fight for everything I hold close to me. Because, believe me, sometimes, the things we think break us are exactly the things that make us – they make us who we are. And I think there’s nothing more beautiful than that. We as humans, putting our face through the shit-storm every day and still managing to stay alive – I think that’s strong, and powerful and wonderful. And no, I’m not talking about multi-millionaires having to run through continents attending fancy-ass meetings. I’m talking about people out there, making their money staying and working in 45 degrees Celcius of heat, I’m talking about the countless vendors and hawkers and sellers trying to make it work through the every-day hustle and still not giving up. I’m talking about all of you out there who are getting shit handed to them every day and yet are the kindest of souls, all of youse who get out of bed every day in the morning so you can provide for those you care about when every damn voice inside your head screams to just let it be and go back to sleep, all of you who get treated less than you deserve to be and yet put your bravest face because you refuse to give up and let that shit get the better of you – all of those who want to change the world in a small tiny way but are confused and stuck between battling with your own demons – I want you to know that you’re not alone.

Look around you – or better, look in the mirror. Picture yourself as the bravest person you know. It could be someone from your personal life, someone you know, a celebrity, or even a fictional character. Sometimes inspiration can come from the weirdest of places – find it and let it run its course.

Remember – we’re all out here, waiting for you. Come find us. Come find your family. Come find yourself. And we can be broken and brave together.