The Hidden Balance

Four monks took a vow of silence. When walking together down a street, one of them tripped and cried out in pain. The second monk laughed out loud. "There goes your vow of silence!", he said. "And there goes yours, you fool!", said the third. The fourth just smiled a complacent smile and walked on ahead. That evening when their master asked them who had kept the vow, and the first three jealously looked at the fourth and told the master all that had happened. And the fourth one was still smiling that complacent smile. When they finished telling the story, the master looked at his face and said, "So none could keep the vow."

I was really young, not more than 6, when I did my first crime - I stole. When you do stuff like that at home, it somehow doesn't feel like crime. I stole 10 bucks and bought a hundred candies from it. But I did one fundamental mistake - I chose the wrong guy to buy it from. The shopkeeper was a family friend. And I bought a buttload of candy from him. So he put two and two together and came to wish me Happy Birthday that evening. And it hit the fan! But I should consider myself quite a good learner. Every stupid mistake was followed by a perfected crime. And every perfect crime was followed by a perfect burial. I just got better and better by the day. Shall I tell you about every wrong I committed and every secret I kept? And once you know what I know won't that make me seem like the kingpin of some information network? Won't I prove that I know so much about so many things? And if I tell you everything, can you keep the secret? If you can, so can I.

If I made a list of all the wrong things I did in this lifetime, I know it wouldn't hurt most of those reading this. Because for that most, this is just a cold record of my opinions, or a place to show off my writing ability and that in itself is a tragedy of our times. But I wont talk about that now. All that bull notwithstanding, what I have done will definitely hurt, no shatter, a handful of souls. And scandalise dozens more. And I am not a special case in any way. Try telling your dad what you saw your sister do with her boyfriend, or try telling your mum how much of an Oedipus complex you had (no perverted readings! please grow up!) and you will know what I mean. And that is only the bad side. Ever thought twice before telling someone what you gave up for them? How much you love them? What you gave them and what it cost you? How much you sacrificed for them? Ever thought about telling that kid on the bus what a big favor you did to him by listening to all that nonsense he was chatting? Ever thought telling your best friend how rude he was on that particular occasion and with what magnitude of heart you forgave him? Keeping bad secrets is a good habit. But keeping good secrets is more important. Because it is the only thing that lets the world think it is equal and human. Because it is only thing that lets egos be. Because it is the only thing that keeps the mortals in their incubator shells, comfortable in the dream that everything is as imperfect as they are - that everything is as mortal as they are. That balance is more vital than you can ever dream.

It is not to show off the contents of my closet that I write this. I write this because I have come to understand the meaning of silence and sacrifice and to realise how omniscient it is. Until a little over a year ago, I was ashamed or even pissed when someone said I did something like my father would do it or said something like my father. But now, everyone tells me I look and act just like my dad and I couldn't be happier about it. And that I guess is an irony no man can escape - that, in a lot of ways, he will be like his father before him. But I no longer wish to escape it. As I said before the effect of this would be very little on any Tom and Harry who would read this because this is just a blog for them. But believe me when I say the best way to learn about your father is from other people - from people he has known and whose lives he has touched. There is no better way. At least not for me.

Because not only did my father teach me sacrifice. He taught me silence. It is like he is a completely different man from what I knew him as. He is a demigod now - invincible, indestructible. Because he could give and not tell. Because he could ask and not tell. He could cut open his own heart to feed his children but not flinch while doing it. And therefore he is my god.

Keep the balance friend. Keep it in. Let it be.