Every child isn’t born through a womb, but instead he’s a gift send with an unlocked destiny. The civilization of this daring world, has witnessed a unique course of events that defined, shaped and even survived its own test of time. Nature and solitude are too limitless in a world full of suffering and duka (sorrow), in what Lord Buddha’s life encapsulates the minds. The life of every child, boy or girl whose story might not been heard off, whose laughter has lost its glimmer and the pain becoming the subduing force. Uniquely ended with the struggle of dreams.
When I was born through her, I didn’t manage to realize that mother had something for me. The isolation of life that came like a storm o’er my horizon and thoughts, made an attempt to deepen my world, beyond. I bemoan to be a true optimist for equipping myself to see the light of future dawning upon my sense. My real world of schooling is not education nor academia. I learned that each child is not born to die with emptiness, with a feeble, halo, twixt to the verge of dreams. They are to witness, to be task-force of their own governing mind and principles. Life is my real school and experience is the best educating teacher, who taught the reality and aegis of looking into the delusion. As the teaching reflected from within one’s self.
From the schools of ideas, unlearned to be, but I secured a footing in my own self, in my world, in my moving free verse. I started to tumble o’er the hopes and that’s painted in my blood. The keen observing and study shared with my youthful whole story, giving me not just mere inspiration but proper guidelines to draw the lines of energy into my life apart from sorrow, misery and sometimes darkness. The omnibus and the light of his vision, Fr Thomson provided the enabling input to unlock my quest and struggle with much determination. I believe, a great teacher is not a learner but he is a true leader of his student. I found his leadership growing in stature within myself, in the flowing blood and even in spirit.
My mother was simple to her life and she is still a true source of real meaning, standing behind the scenes of my life. She was very extraordinary in her vigor, vitality and hope for me. When I was only 12yr old, she used to tell bed- time stories, once such fascination that still instills in me, “Sidhu, son your dream shouldn’t be limited, it should also be an inspiration for others too”. And I watched my mother working, learning from her uniqueness the lessons of tomorrow, the generosity. I always knew my mother’s toil cannot be measured using any man-made scale, as it is unconditional. The energy is optimizing and moment of joy.
I was secluded of my childhood and thought shouldn’t take birth in this world. It is a seasonal tale that has tried to silence my voice and the insight is clear to it. I took adventure in the silence of my hopes and breaking the imagination. What I struggled to achieve was a dream, to see dream is greatest blessing of every aspect, in the sense that we are alive today. The school in my wonder lost its glamour, school never inspired to see dreams, it was always a sham. I didn’t care about my school and the few teachers who could really showed me, my true destiny ahead of times, was not present. I used to visit an old Scottish church, very often adjusted to it stood an ancient graveyard. As a 22yr old at that time, I thought it was not the grave of bones but it lies the tomb of unfulfilled dreams that was never, ever made into a possible reality. Not man, but here dream is dead and those hopes are also buried into the soil, sleeping with them in lifeless.
When I strongly made a suitability of myself, I met with an accident. A train journey with my enigma, I travelled nowhere in time, and suddenly at a station, a young smiling, beautiful woman came into my bogey. She was very pleasant and carried a leather bag. She could be anyone or nobody at all, but my curious effect took a U-turn to think about herself. I couldn’t make a glare at her and her glowing eyes made me to do so. The train moved ahead so late into the night. At first, both of our attention gleamed upon each other’s, she asked me with a tender lip “where are you up to”, my reply in a toneless, making no sense “I am off to Chennai”. The talking took further on, and as the moon became full, she fell to her dream. I reclined to be, delighting the sleeping beauty next to me. The journey later sets in motion for my romantic overture and the wide sense of my poetry. I wrote about her freely, with my dreams inscribed in night, darkness and silence.
When I, as a true boy looks back, the mind or dream, the sphere of destiny always twists me. Today as I enter the life of a new era, I could speak of myself only, to show my uniqueness being absorbed and forming too. Every child is the source of their own life, and every dreamer is not final and every childhood deprived off, is not even your final chapter….
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