A few days ago, I read a post by Sunil Bhandari on Substack. It was titled “Why I won’t protest”. His post reached somewhere deep within me and dragged out old memories of who I once was.
My mum used to teasingly call me “Don Quixote” and insisted that most of the time I was tilting at windmills. But to me all my causes were real. Everything I was fighting for or against was terribly important. It could be standing up against a bully in school or rushing in to break a circle of privileged young men who were trashing a watchman, too old and frail to defend himself.
My mother despaired of my blunt observations and often cautioned me to hold my peace. I tried. I truly tried but it was only when I discovered writing that I found an outlet for my outrage. Now instead of being vociferous about it I still hit back through my words, only now it was on paper.
I wrote about teachers who diminished their students, people who ill treated animals, the abuse to the environment. I wrote against religion which I believe is the greatest sower of hatred in the world, against caste, gender and other discrimination; I wrote for the right to choose our own sexual orientation and many other such things.
I was so sure I could change the world. The years became decades and now more than half a century later, I am tired. I feel I am just a voice crying out in the wilderness. A helpless frustration has settled on me. I have lived more years than I have yet to live. If I haven’t made a dent till now, what hope do I have of doing so in the future, when my body becomes frail and my minds gets less sharp?
And then, a school friend sent me a message saying that she remembered me and my writing even after all these years. She asked me to ,”Keep up the good work.”
I have always felt that I was not good enough, but after a few more messages where friends appreciated my writing, I realised that so often we underestimate ourselves and the influence we have.
As my daughter Nakita said,” Our brains are quite capable of sabotaging us. It will create or perceive a reality that is so convincing we will begin to insist that that is the only truth of our experiences. Which is why we need to reach out to others and get information from them too.”
So once again, here I am with my pen-sword ready to fight for my causes and perhaps now I can add the spice of the experience of my grey hair as well!
Yes, our mind does play these games with us, urging us to give up. More and more, I realise it’s the people who we may never meet or who don’t even tell, that we might make the most difference to with our words.
You have a clear, strong voice, Sunita and I’m so glad that I get to ‘hear’ it in your writing and through our conversations! Tilt away!
You are one of those friends who inspire me and keep me coming back to my writing and fighting for what I believe in. Thank you for always being there.
Your words truly resonate with every emotion. Your writing beautifully captures the essence of each feeling. I thoroughly appreciate the depth of your thoughts.
Thanks so much Kams. You are one of the people who never lets me give up. I am blessed to have someone like you to walk and write with me.
Beautifully written. Thank you for making me smile Sunita.
Thanks Maria. I only write about change. You are creating the change, no matter what odds you face. It’s wonderful how a whatsapp post got sent via a couple of people, reached you. It was destined that we had to meet. Chocolate was the angel whose work was to do that. God Bless you and all the animals you love and shelter.