30th BIRTHDAY BLUES

I’ve much to be grateful for, I keep telling myself, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, there is a deep sadness within me: the telephone is ringing nonstop, well-meaning callers no doubt wanting to wish me on my 30th birthday, but I am afraid to pick it up, scared of overwhelming them with my corrosive-melancholy.

Three decades is a long, long time; long enough to make one feel older than one actually is: most of it has been happy, but the Pain of the last seven years, beginning with Anu’s death, the turbulent years in power, followed by Papa’s accident, my terrible trial and indefinite incarceration, makes the happiness seem distant, blurred, as if it belonged to another person, not me. Looking back at my life, I know only one thing for certain: I would not wish it for anyone.

I could’ve been so many other things today, living the Quiet Life of contented anonymity, happy to be in the company of family and precious few friends, enveloped in a blanket of warm affection, but here I am instead, adamantly refusing invitations to ‘party’, sitting alone at my desk: and hating myself for not choosing any other life. Come to think of it, this life that I now live chose me; I never had a choice, really. Now, whether I like it or not, I am condemned by Fate to make the best of it.

And then, suddenly, this Regret dissolves: maybe, I wonder, is there an ultimate purpose to this pain, our undeserved suffering?

For one thing, it made me see things, dark things, that I hadn’t known existed: not just on the outside, but also, within me. No longer distinct, I felt myself suddenly connected with Life around me, all its beauty, its ugliness, its mysteries, by an unseen umbilical cord, and I marveled at how people living in such close physical proximity could remain so blissfully unaware of each other, as if they inhabited two separate, disjointed worlds; with what ease they blocked out unpleasant things; and above all, at the endless human-capacity to endure in every conceivable condition.

Am I not selfish for wallowing in my ultimately meaningless sorrows when others, less fortunate than me, struggle simply to exist? Except that there are no Others: they are me, the Same; we- you, I, them- are one human. And the Pain that I now feel, the cause of my melancholy, is not mine alone: it belongs to us; from all around, it permeates my pores, silently suffocating my soul...and I know there is something to be done: it has to be done alone and without ambition.

All desires die; ironically enough, this birthday marks their solemn burial. For myself, I want nothing...Already, I am excessively blest: if the suffering of the last few years was undeserved, so also were the outpourings of Love- from my Parents, the twin-pillars of my strength, my Friends and well-wishers too many to count- that sustained me through it all: even now, this Love continues to empower me everyday, every step of the way. If this is a life I would not wish for anyone else, then paradoxically enough, it is also a life I would not replace with any other. I have lost much; but in losing, I've gained so much more.

And if this life can be of some little service to those who suffer silently, then perhaps, it might not be an utter waste. When the time comes, as I’m sure it will one day, then at least, I can face my Maker, knowing that I’ve done my best not to let Him down.

Pray, dear Friend, for me, as I go forth to embrace the remainder of my Destiny.

AJ