‘The Being of Trust’

I thought, no I believed with all my life that the images that I saw on the inside of my eyes were no good. And I believed that with all the life, this for the sake of emphasis. And today the situation is that I hope for the same images to flash back on the back on my eyes. And just as when you forcefully exhale, the air rushes into your nostrils, I squeeze everything out of my mind, and images do squeeze in. Not in quite a rush as does the air in my nostrils, but it is certainly happening and I wait till it becomes a gush. The important thing here being that besides the images, it is important to know that unhindered inhalation hinges on forceful exhalation and not forceful inhalation itself, which might seem as the simple way circumventing what the evidence suggests. In simpler words, things aren’t what they seem, even if they are exactly what they seem.

While the air rushes and waits gushing, I ponder about stories which these images bring along, the stories in which the strongest fiber always makes itself shown, no matter what the degree of the tempest. For the sake of emphasis, every story when remembered, the strongest fiber, makes itself shown. And in this story, [story?], too the fiber leaps forth like an enthused soldier falling out of file to accept the challenge that most probably would mean death. Well, most probably is a term of very ‘most probablistic’ nature and by virtue of that death for this soldier might just turn out to mean life by some twist of most probablisticity, here I sincerely hope I am thinking clearly.

So what is the strongest fiber here? The fact that when I sit to scribble these lines I scarcely know weather the weight of my own pen on my shoulder determines the clarity of expression, or is it something more concrete, something which like a leaf from the book of life, thus inscribed into a page, left for the reader to decode out of the simple writings, something that contrast heavily with a book with leafs like traps and hollows of tunnels and wells, not like fields of exploration and the cool high ridges of mountains of thoughts which the mind peacefully ascends and that too at the climber’s patience, the fact that I scarcely know this, means that I may not be that good at spotting strong fibers in stories so best hope for the fiber to make itself shown.

So the strongest fiber yet is…in the time that I have spent in Bihar is…I’ll decide in the morning. For now let me go to sleep with the thought of why should this call for a decision, why isn’t sixth sense ever given a chance..hm…I think I know the answer to this one, sixth sense is not given a chance because that requires trusting something…something that I struggle equally hard with to define and also its need to define, something called destiny…and well since the strongest fiber has made itself shown, that being of trust…well it is only right that the strongest soldier in the realm of trust step forward for the challenge:

Soldier name: Hira
Specifications: Died hair, old age mainly because of life exhaustion, a common form of exhaustion found in this area which basically means that you run out of time before time. He thinks that when I switch the lappy, off I lose everything.
Mission: to stay put when all his pseudo sisters and brothers are gone or as he says in the most yogic denouncement way, ‘I don’t give a shit if my brothers remember my name, I would stick around.’
Implications: his pseudo sister, my mother, showed up after 10 years gap with her son who showed up after 12 years gap.

Hira stays home or goes for a short stint of day labor which may give him ten bucks, the currency which he knows, a frequent restoration of ten bucks for life’s perpetuation, something he asks for quite casually from my Nani having substituted his day labor to do an errand for her, so Hira stays at home or leaves home to earn a ten bucker, while we, me, my Nani, and mom, in that order, though we walk quite alongside of each other, go and have a look at the church, the neighborhood church, a marvel of communication, to dazzle anyone into taking up Christianity as a religion. But I did feel when I stepped into that church what Jesus is all about, quite a cool dude, tough to live up to his life…but not impossible. Standing beside his wife like a cool husband oops no that’s his father I am talking about all this time, he had now wife or did he I dunno, then giving the Romans a taste of his passive yet gory resistance, and spreading the ideal through the ordeal and then yes culminating into a miracle of returning the third day, the incredibility of which is ofcourse quelled by the fact that he is God or is he the son? Exactly the reason why its tough to live up to him…but it is easy to reach a sort of a human truce looking at him eye to eye in this church in my Nani’s town…yes the way she talks about winning elections it might as well be hers one of these days..but anyway to me, me Nani’s town- Bettiah. This also brings us to soldier no.2

Soldier name: Nani
Specifications: ripe old age, respective because of life exhaustion, a common form of exhaustion found in this area which basically means that you run out of time before time.
Mission: To win elections because she believes she can. When she walks down the road, I have to salute in the old fashioned way, pranam pranam, to the whole world, irrespective of their socio-economic status. Its hard to believe it is my Nani…, ‘oh Nani how can you be so liberal with time..move on..yeah okay stick around if you want votes.’
Implications: Power woman is soon going to harvest a ripe harvest of well-groomed, keep me out of it yet, post graduate grandchildren who will definitely give her the queen grandmother status, not that there is any competition. She not like Indian cricket telecast that almost all content on TV seems to be a worthy enemy.

So I am walking down to the church and it is quite easy to discover that I have shit on the soles of my shoes. It’s as common as life exhaustion in these parts.

It’s easy to catch us, after having walked over all that shit inspite of being wary about it but because of the sheer numbers that surpassing the Iraqi landmined scape, talking to townsfolk on one of these roads and my mom somehow suppressing the expression of embarrassment on her face on being absent from her hometown for ten years and quickly looking towards me for self-approbation for I seem to be the only one leading her by two years in that regard. And after having done all this hi-helloing the old way, walking down to home and then there would be Hira to greet us talking in his pitched, colloquial tongue and expressing the trust of years all around which makes me question why I don’t trust people the way he does, what does it take, and the constant smile on his face does let me know that it is worth it for the smile seems to be of the realization of a kindered happiness, the kind which is kept alive like shrubs in the garden when there are no roses or for that matter thorns. No matter what the time of the year, what the season, or what the weatherman says, the smile remains like the symbol of constant trust. So Hira has been here for long, and he claims that he is not going to abandon my Nani who he considers his mom and so does claim my Nani that she has treated him close to a son…no quite but quite close to one…and that is as good as it happens in these parts though situations have entrusted people with greater deeds of generosities in these parts or any parts I am sure for anyone reading this would have a story to tell. Not necessary about trust I trust because it may look as if this is a passage dedicated to trust, it is not quite, it is a simple product of my insecurities which I am only too insecure to claim. Be gone insecurities, come sunshine hm…which makes me wonder if sunshine is the opposite of insecurities. Whatever may be the case, Hira claims to stay even if the children of the children of the children of Nani forget him or his services, for they aren’t any services, they are just acts performed when entertaining trust, and shining acts of goodness are those, those which come with a smile on the face and patience in the heart. God I am your preacher.

I hope, as I have planned for all my plans essentially hinge on hope, that someday I will land in Katmandu, on a plane from wherever I get placed, and make the trip down here, for I think I have had enough of rail travel for a while, it no longer pleasurable headache, it’s a plain headache sometimes. Crossing the border here is like drawing lines on a map, like the childhood games in which my room and your room used to be divided into India Pakistan and such and we used to freely crossover on beats of whatever the music of the season be, no strings attached.

When I come down flying one of these days, I want to se how while Nani’s election plans which are more of popularity plans unfold, how do the children of the children of the children of Nani treat the them both. That, I believe is again going to be set in this very house, a very historical house for personal reasons of many persons, well yes…and though nothing quite unfolds exactly the way I picture it in my mind, I keep on doing so and do it in different ways so that it covers all the ways, and when there is a surprise it truly knocks me off my horse for sure and its as surprising as realizing that the horse I ride is made of inflated plastic and someone busted it with a pin. No matter what you can always trust surprises and that is what someone else’s grandmother world have said sometime or the other I am sure, not my Nani.

Finally, here’s to sunshine, the soldiers in question and a future plane ride into Kathmandu and the events that may unfold thereafter. Till then what to do but to expect fervently in my life, the being of trust. Cheers!