The light at the end of the tunnel

Imagination is one of the most powerful tools of the human mind. 

There is some scientific evidence saying that the mere act of imagining an icy splash of water on a sweltering day leads to a miniscule but significant drop in the temperature of the body. Imaginations are capable of tweaking some of the most powerful regions of our brain and the story just becomes more colourful from there. 

 This science trivia was just to drive home the strength of imaginations – and the consequent line of thought I have been postponing to jot down for a long time now. 

The first time I imagined this “tunnel” was on my very long and exhausting plane ride to Vancouver. Extremely uncomfortable, jet lagged, with nothing but darkness outside my window as my company, my mind automatically made the cabin, a tunnel from which I wanted escape. It could have been a correlation with my childhood fears of train tunnels as I distinctly remember getting agitated when the train used to cross a specifically long tunnel. 

And yet, the memory at the exact opposite end of the pole which was as distinctive as my fear, was the joy I felt once I could see the light again at the tunnel’s end.

There are many such tunnels in our life - the period of anticipation when we await results to an important exam, the exhausting and laborious wait a mother has to undergo before hearing her child’s first cry, repeated failure of experiments just preceding a big discovery or even the cycles of getting hurt innumerable times before we manage to find our soulmates. 

However, the one thing that can be the biggest motivator for getting us past the seemingly inescapable and arduous tunnel is imagining the light or happiness that we somehow know will come at its end. 

A friend of mine once remarked that, every smile has a price (or a tunnel) behind it and I set on a quest to counter him. I was still searching for an example and was having a difficult time finding one. The smile of a new life comes with the pain of the mother, the happiness after watching an old favorite movie may come with the price of hours lost to other urgent pursuits and even if someone were to say love, well, after a lot of thought, unconditional love is one of the rarest commodities and hence maybe an only exception. But it is something very elusive to find and so, statistically, does not count! And suddenly it hit me, 

“But if we are genuinely smiling at the end – who cares about the price?”

Not speaking from a karma-based perspective, and people all for “smart work over hard work” may disagree – after many rewarding experiences, I truly believe that as long as we pay the price of perseverance and dedication in all our pursuits, needless of how long our tunnels might be, we are always guaranteed the reward of smiles and the joy that comes when we arrive at its end.

Often people who have such a “can-do” optimistic attitude are scorned at and touted as weirdos who seem to be “in their own pretty place far away from the real world”. However, people who only try to see the harshness in reality, cease to live and only start existing. They see life as a taskmaster and react by toughing up and encasing their beautiful minds in an impenetrable mechanical cocoon that is just impervious to joyful creativity. 

I read a very beautiful account once which is one of the best examples of the gift of perceiving the light that will come after the dark. 

A poor rural boy in an Indian village had a big family living in a small thatched hut with a gaping hole in the roof. The boy saw his father struggle daily in their tiny farmland trying to make ends meet. He was his father’s favorite child, always spreading happiness and trying to help him rather than his other siblings who always complained about how the other kids in the village were much better off than them and remained forever dissatisfied.

Even on the days when they could barely have two square meals a day, the father always saw a smile on his son’s face. Once taking a break from the field, the father sat down to eat the dry chapatis and onions his son had got him for tiffin. The son was happily fanning him with a fan fashioned out of a leaves. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, the father finally asked him,

“My dearest one, what makes you so happy all the time?”

“My life father!”

“How is that possible when we lead such a difficult life? Don’t you crave the comforts your brothers and sisters desire?”

“Father!

I wake up to the gentle kiss of sunlight every day. When mother smiles after I help her fetch water and make fire for the stove, my day lights up. When I observe you work, I try to learn and be as good as you at farming someday. I have the soft mud to play in, clean water of our pond to bathe and so many friends in Mother Nature. The starry sky I sleep beneath lets me know that I will reach the stars one day and make you all proud.

Who can be happier than me in this world?”

The father was speechless and hugged his son dearly. For in his little one’s hope, he saw his own motivation to provide the best in his capability for his family.

It is true that life may not treat us fairly at all times – for many it may seem to be anything but beautiful. However, if we always strive to look out for our own starry skies, even the darkest of nights will light up at once, promising the joys of bright sunshine on the morrow.

The tale of a girl and her old friend

Who is a friend anyway?

•          Someone who can bring back joy on the dullest days – check!
•          In whose presence you feel lighter instantly – check!
•          With whom you share jokes alien to the world – check!
•          Who is, often, of the same age or generation as you – UNCHECK (from this day forth!)

I was one among those firm stereotypes who think that that the people we identify as our friends have to necessarily be from our age group for a correct wavelength match. Thankfully, I have been rescued from this misconception early on! And here goes the tale that brought it about:

Last summer, a girl landed all starry eyed in Canada looking forward to an amazing time. However, after battling jet lag and homesickness, she realized that she was alone most of the times work did not occupy her. Her fellow interns were yet to arrive and the other girls in the residence kept to themselves, studying hard to get out to their much awaited summer breaks. Brave as she was, she held on to hope. She had realized long ago that it was one of those beautiful emotions which can keep someone going, no matter how difficult the times.

And lo and behold! Hope made a silent entry for her as she struggled with the exit system at the university’s library one evening. Her hope’s form was tall but slightly bent and clad in a smart tweed jacket over a sweater and khaki pants with big leather shoes to go. He seemed like another one of those busy, old Canadian professors that roamed the campus. Except that he, unlike others, stopped to gently correct and not patronize. He patiently explained the right way to swipe the ID to get out of the building. The girl’s fiasco with the mechanism was a sure show of her newness to the place. Hope’s keen eyes from behind his big spectacles sensed it immediately,

“Would you mind if I walked you till the bus stop?”

All worldly warnings about strangers began reeling in the girl’s mind as she regarded his request. She also had in mind the rude albeit funny labels that accompanied conversation with senior citizens, like any other of her age. She was just about to make a polite excuse and go on when she got a proper look at his eyes. Sitting behind glasses placed on the bridge of a long and crooked nose, they radiated such warmth and kindness, that she agreed on with a smile.

“So tell me how did you come about here in Windsor?”

Then quickly added, “Are you liking it here?”

The girl smiled to herself on his keen sense of observation and began to wonder if her manner gave away too much of her loneliness. Though she was ready to pour her heart out, she started with the usual,

“The weather is too finicky for my liking! And that has made me a little sick.”

“But you’re a long way from home isn’t it? And I’ve heard that being homesick makes you real sick, real fast.”

The girl was skeptical about this and both of them shared a laugh as her eyebrows bolted up at the statement. But he insisted and said there was a scientifically proven nexus between homesickness and low immunity. The girl then proceeded to tell him all about her application to several international internships, the many initial disappointments and rejections and the final joy after being selected for the program that got her there.

He played the perfect listener and was thoroughly engaged and fascinated by whatever she had to tell him. Despite not knowing much about her country, he bravely ventured with questions to gain more knowledge,

“Where do you stay in India?”

Is that close to New Delhi?”

And she laughed secretly knowing for a fact that it was probably the only place in India he knew about. He never let in a lull moment in their talk and after a long time in the age of e-communication, the girl sensed the pleasure of listening to and being listened to. He praised her achievements as if she were his very own granddaughter. He also told her about his experiences as an independent researcher in history, the time of life that he had in Los Angeles long back and his present work. Despite being years apart and far more erudite, he treated her as his equal and that set the factor of comfort in her demeanour with this apparent stranger. When they finally came to the bus stop, the girl pointed in the direction of the shiny, new engineering building and proudly told him that she had an office all to herself there. He smiled at her and confidently said before getting on the bus,

“I bet you’ll be seeing much more grander offices up ahead in your life.” And left off with a smile. For the first time in many days, the girl’s loneliness did not bother her.

As days passed and the girl started putting more hours into work, she never got home till late evening. She became very preoccupied with her project and loved her job. Eventually, with the arrival of other interns, she had a group of “conventional” friends. A thorough e-age person, she didn’t frequent the library either and so she and hope were apart for almost all of her time there.

But she found out to her delight that hope could sense a particularly depressing day and be there to “chat” her out of it. His next appearance was on a day in which none of her lab trails were working. She spotted him at the bus stop and nearly sloshed down her coffee to get there before he went away.

“Hello Aru-pama! How have you been?”

She gently corrected her name out and began venting out everything since their last encounter. They argued a little on how cold salads and simple sandwiches passed around for lunch there (her point) and why make food such a hassle (his point). When she told him all about her experiments along the restaurant street of the city, he was amazed that despite being a vegetarian, she had seen more of the gastronomy of his city than him. He jotted down all of “her recommendations” in “his city” and pledged to try them. The solemnity he associated with this promise made the girl laugh out loud and he left with a puzzled look on his face.

With just two days left for her departure from Canada, she was hoping for a real-life serendipity. Since hope neither owned a telephone nor believed in e-mail, she had no way to reach him. Also, she was too busy jostling between one send-off to another farewell meet to take out time to seek him out at the library. Her disappointment peaked on the penultimate day since she had somehow managed to be at the library for a printing errand and still could not find him. She was leaving sallow-faced and hating her shoes as she walked downcast. And then, she spotted those large leather shoes she was so desperately hoping for. Never had a pair of shoes held such beauty to her as those on that day.

“Aru-pama, you should try and keep a smile on your face – you will use much less muscles that way!”

And with this much needed quirky opening line, the girl cracked into a hysterical laugh. He was amazed at her reaction and asked if she felt alright looking around for help, the care-bear that he was. She giggled and said,

“Sir, you have given me my own serendipity moment.”

When she elucidated, he too shared her moment of hysteria and on-lookers spared looks for the crazed girl and old man outside the library.

The girl had always feared that due to his old age he would not be able to place her face from one meeting to another. She swelled with a selfish pride when she saw another young student approach hope and he tactfully deferred him and then confided to her in guffaws,

“I frankly don’t remember who that is and what conversation he was referring to. I’ll have to use some speech queues with that one,” and winked!

The girl had never before seen such an innocent attempt at winking in her life. That is how she promised herself she will remember her hope, her friend, Mr Glenn Campbell. A permanent smile on his spotted and wrinkled face and an infectious energy within his being much more powerful than any other “highs” people resort to for warding off loneliness. He re-instilled in her a belief that someone watches above us all and sends a medium to light a candle of happiness in the ephemeral dark and gloomy corner of life that chances to come along once in a while.

The girl sincerely hopes that her “hope” will read this, somewhere, sometime and remember her.

-          Aru-pama