The Machines That Taught Me
All my life I have been an ardent admirer of beautiful oil-guzzling machines, the ones capable of being revved up to insane RPMs and fastidiously crafted to perfection. It is amazing what such a machine could do to you. A subtle nudge in the right direction and the orphic beast comes roaring to life, pushing you with such alacrity and bestowing you with the sheer pleasure of experiencing your adrenaline peak. A feeling which, in my opinion, is second to none.
It is rather funny how a machine can teach you so much about life. Though I cannot vouch for everyone, it did teach me plenty. Be it a swanky two-wheeled surprise or a full-blown four-wheeled brute, they have taught me the importance of fear, the need for hope, the essence of believing in oneself, and above all, the art of moving on.
What's behind you doesn't matter. — Enzo Ferrari
I have a special place and a special connection with these man-made beasts, and it is that special place which kept pushing me to explore their limits. What started as exploring the car's limit gradually shifted to exploring my own. Close shaves at high speeds, revving up on blind curves, burnouts in narrow streets, drifting on highways and those beautiful bumper-to-bumper kisses. All those experiences gave me a rush, they did freak me out, but at the same time they made me realise there is someone up there watching over me. All I had to do was believe in myself, keep pushing the pedal and watch the world go by.
Like all good times, mine too came to an end, and I am not complaining one bit. Thanks to my unfortunate wreck on a bike, I now have a priceless chimera of wisdom imparted by carefully cached experiences. My most prized learning has and will always be the art of letting go.
28th January 2013, New Delhi
Evening, around 4ish. I was on my way to Malai Mandir in R.K. Puram, a commemorative temple honouring the mighty Hindu god Kartikeya, also known as Murugan, the Son of Shiva. Being a fervent admirer of Indian mythology, it was more than difficult for me to resist visiting such places of worship and solace. The fact that it was just a couple of kilometres from home made the visit all the more desirable.
I was in a military vehicle, riding shotgun with my windows rolled down, enjoying the cold winter drull and a pleasant chit-chat with the driver. We took around 20 minutes to reach the busy street bang adjacent to that beautiful Mandir. Desperately looking for a parking spot, we decided to push through the busy street, but with every passing metre the road kept getting narrower and people kept adding up by the dozen. A hundred metres further down and we came to a standstill. The white QS in front refused to budge while the auto-rickshaw behind honked frantically. The jaywalkers were busy parkouring their way out, and the bikers stared at us restlessly, making me wonder if we were to be blamed for the entire mess.
Amidst all that clutter, I saw a gentleman, maybe in his early sixties, walking towards me with revulsion written all over his face. And I will say this, the bugger walked pretty fast for a sixty-year-old. Moments later he stood right in front of the bumper, resting his hands on the bonnet, eyeballing me and shouting at the top of his voice. He had probably mistaken me for an army officer and started cussing me like crazy, convinced I was responsible for the traffic jam by exploiting the power vested in me by the Indian government.
It was appalling to witness such a public display of annoyance, and it did its bit. It left me seething from within, clenched fists, only to stare down at my legs and realise I could not do a thing about it. In all that frustration, I felt like Spike the dog from Tom and Jerry, being toyed around by Tom.
As fate would have it, I decided to keep quiet. I did cuss him thoroughly in my mind and imagined how I would have schooled him if I could just walk again. But while I was busy in that castle of illusions, there was a subtle and intermittent voice in my head that kept talking to me.
"Sunny, if you could walk, you would never be here in the first place. So shut the f** up and let it go."*
Two minutes into a conversation with my subconscious and I was overwhelmed with philosophical mumbo jumbo. I paused, plastered a wide smile on my face and said to myself, "Yes, you are right. Maybe you had to experience this agony and humiliation only to learn how to overcome it, and to be better prepared for the uglier stuff that is yet to come."
The Temple, and What Happened at the Gate
All that while, my driver had managed to steer us out of the crazy traffic and found a perfect spot to park, making sure there was ample space for my wheelchair so I could transfer with ease. Soon enough I was in the wheelchair, legs strapped, anti-tippers on. I was not angry anymore and was happily wheeling myself towards the temple gate.
I entered the gate, passed through the security section into the main compound, and a subtle nudge let gravity ease me down the ramp, only to witness the horror of a flight of stairs, at least a couple hundred, all the way up to the main chamber where the almighty Kartikeya's idol rests.
Short of options, I parked myself in the main compound and enjoyed the twilight with loud hymns echoing from the masses. One thing was crystal clear to me.
Faith or no faith, religion or no religion, theism or atheism, one just cannot negate the positively charged aura in any place of worship. Pigeons included.
I was at peace, eyes closed, prayer in place. That is when I felt the tap on my shoulder. It was the same gentleman from who riled me a few minutes ago. The contours of his face had changed entirely. No longer synonymous with revulsion, his eyes were moist. I could not believe it. Guilt was written all over his face.
What followed was not only sweet but enlightening. The gentleman was on his knees, begging for forgiveness, making it yet again a very public affair. It goes unsaid that it made me feel very awkward and borderline embarrassed. All I could say was, "It is okay, sir."
He left weeping, but with a smile and the assurance that all was forgiven. That is when it struck me that a short-tempered person like me, who had been seething with anger and rage, could suddenly transform into someone who believed in humility and forgiveness. Though it was forced upon me, it made me question myself: What if I had chosen to react? Things would have gotten ugly, and I would have managed my false pride by man-handling an older person. An experience I am glad I never had.
Someday everything will make perfect sense. So for now, laugh at the confusion, smile through the tears, be strong and keep reminding yourself that everything happens for a reason. — John Mayer
How Long Does It Take
My question to myself was, how long does it take to get over it? A question which only makes sense when you are really looking for an answer, because if you are not, then you have already gotten over it. Life by large is a series of cause and effect which we keep unravelling on a daily basis. At times the sequence of events just does not make sense, and one could end up feeling frustrated, cheated, denied, victimised, lonely or even lost.
One needs an answer to be at ease. For this, the wiser among us seek solace in faith, religion, intimate relationships, karma, optimism and so on. Finding such anchors often takes time but is always triggered by that one conscious decision to let go and see the other positives that help you add value to your life and make the most of it.
For me, it is an amalgamation of faith, empathy, bonds of love with my folks, and the hunger for achieving my innermost desires. They keep me grounded and marching ahead, unabashedly.