DEGREES OF SEPARATION

In the circle of life your, past deeds make you pay in full measure on Earth; that is, if you are lucky to die without that pound of flesh being extracted, there’s a God above. I am a devout Christian. My “devout” has degrees and is questionable, I am devout when I need something or lose my way, there s a strong tug from above to pull me back. I do believe in God, yes for all the questioning minds, you can sit across and discuss Darwin’s theories but it cuts no ice. My faith is without question. It’s not like the house built on sand but on rock. Enough of my ministrations.

I broke many a heart growing up. When you are in your twenties, you believe you have found the man you want to walk into the sunset with, but life takes an ugly turn and you start searching for that imaginary horizon. In your late thirties, you realize it was, but after all, imaginary. During those lonely nights of introspection, you question everything. It’s all a “Why”. It all dates back to your past life, the million people you hurt along the way, their many curses snowball into this one big hurt for you. A heart so shattered in million pieces that it would take time and a miracle to heal. I do believe in miracles. I believe you are allowed only so much pain that you can handle. Yes, I can hear the pounding on the table saying "rubbish!", from quarters that have suffered untold miseries one cannot fathom. Did they have the reserves to handle more pain that’s why theirs is far more than mine, I do not question, and have stopped questioning HIM.

How convenient for me to have stopped questioning Him. How does He decide who should suffer more, who should rummage through a dustbin and fight with the dogs in the lane for a morsel. Whose dirty, rag-torn face and little fingers should be pressed against the window pane when one stops at a street light. When innocent children are beaten, sold, raped, mutilated mercilessly by people without a conscience. Yes, where is He, I have questioned, and yet I have stopped. How come? Is it because my gilded citadel has hardened me? There has not yet been a circle of life for these little ones, then the circle of life expression is moot.

Every morning, as I sip on my coffee and stare at the trees outside, I wonder what life has in store for me. I may have done something right to be accorded miracle after miracle in my life, or blow after blow so soft that I could rise up and walk. The pain of losing somebody you love is heart-wrenching. Whether its to another, to death, or just a slow death called irreconcilable differences. It hurts.

Does this pain compare to the little grubby face pressed against your window at the street light. It has to leave you affected. You can’t help but at that moment realize your pain being far less than theirs. You can muffle your sobs into your pillow during the lonely nights and yet go out and find life and love again. How can you or me even compare our pain then. There is no such hope for these little street kids, it begins and ends here. That’s their circle of life.

As I walked along the sea front this evening, I paused to sit and enjoy the solitude the sea offers me. I watched couples lost in each other, this being their escapism from the reality of a 4x6 hole they call home, and inhabited by 10 people. I felt ashamed at all the possessions I desired and could not have. They were absolute commoners for me but looked utterly beautiful for one another. She with a gajra in her hair, the sweet fragrance equivalent to my Dior. Her crisp saree maybe a gift from last diwali. She glowed in his love, they sat there forgetting for those moments the unpaid bills and mounting debts. So what are the parallels I am trying to draw between our pain of the heart and the pain suffered by others less fortunate. Is one more than the other? Does relativity have space here? I don’t think so.

I have probably left you confused as to why am I confusing the issues. They stand on their own. The reason being relativity. People say pain is relative, I disagree. The pain of the heart eases with time, the pain of growing on the street never eases, you live and die here. Going back to the beginning what did I do to be accorded a pain far less than the child on the street who has no hope of ever picking himself up ever again, so my theory of you are allowed only so much pain you can handle, does it hold true. Honestly, I do not have the answers. Maybe somebody above thought this is all I could handle and so spared me. Was it fair for that child to be born on the street, I still have no answers. It’s a question I seek from above time and again how does “He” decide the degrees of separation in pain.