Howdy Buddy?

Am Good.

Ever since I have come of age, “Am good” has been my standard response to “Howdy buddy”. Even when I am in pain or distress. I was trained to hide my discomfort not by anybody but the circumstances and environment around my growing up years. The only person to whom I could confide about my physical and/or mental distress was my mother and she’s long gone, forever.

The festival season in India begins with the arrival of Lord Ganesh… Shree Ganesh Chaturthi till the English New Year. Then of course there is Sankranti followed by Saraswati Puja culminating in the festival of colours, Holi. Over six months of celebrations.

There’s an interesting story narrated by my mother… Lord Ganesh was upset when his human head had to be replaced with an elephant head, he felt, no one will respect or pray to him as he was deformed. His father, Lord Shiva arranged for a race between him and his brother Kartikeya to circumnavigate the universe and whoever wins the race will be have the honour of being Pratham Pujya or the first to be worshipped. Lord Kartikeya started off on his Peacock and took an early lead but Lord Ganesh stayed back and simply circled around his parents Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati. He declared, “My parents are my universe.” Impressed by his wisdom, Lord Shiva granted him the boon of being the Pratham Pujya. He further declared him to be the Vighnaharta, the remover of all obstacles which is why Lord Ganesh is invoked before starting anything new. Jai Ganesh. Jai Vighnaharta.

The festival season is supposed to be of merriment and joyous occasion; however, I invariably get emotionally charged and depressed during this time. As I am not a person to confide my thoughts to others including my partner, I tried to figure out the reason.

The emotional blackout resulting in deep depression stems from my childhood. I was the seventh child and that too accidental, totally unplanned. My other siblings were born in quick succession with max gap of four years whereas I have a clear difference of at least seven years from my elder sibling. And my birth did not bring any joy to the family instead it brought discomfort and misery. My father lost his job at the bank and had to settle for a job at one-fourth the salary, finding it difficult to feed so many mouths. Overnight we slipped into poverty from being affluent.

I remember going to the “ration shop” with my father and brothers to get our staples of rice, pulses and wheat which used to be sub-standard, full of pebbles and sand. My mother and elder sisters would painstakingly clean them before use. We lived in a forty-square-feet, two room house where one corner of the first room doubled up as kitchen. Cooking used to be on coal fired angithee or oven which made my mother an asthma patient in later years. The word or concept of luxury was not in our dictionary; we survived on a day-to-day basis. We were not supposed to get unwell as that would mean spending scarce resources on medicine. But as fate would have it, my father became very sick with stomach ulcers that caused him extreme pain and discomfort not to mention the high cost of medications. He suffered for almost ten long years before getting relief from Unani medicines from the senior Hakim of Hamdard.

In such an environment, the festival of Durga Puja brought gloom over the family, not joy. The friends or the peer group would flaunt their new clothes… one new outfit for each day of puja when we could barely have one set for the entire duration. As I grew up, I became conscious about our predicament and I would become depressed with emotional outbursts. Today, affordability is not a concern but the pain is different, missing the ones that were dear to the heart. This depression is chronic without relief.   

The situation improved partially when my eldest sister and brother started working after their college and two other sisters got married to their boyfriends. My parents grudgingly accepted but I have a suspicion that they sighed with relief as well.   

I particularly remember one afternoon, when at the lunch, mother informed there is only dal-chawal and no sabji. I started crying. My mother went to a neighbour to borrow a potato to make some fries for me. Whenever I think about that afternoon, I am drowned in utter shame.

Another instance that makes me feel ashamed of myself happened years later in my teenage years. Most of my friends in school would go to Kolkata (then Calcutta) during the summer break to their relatives. We too had relatives from both parent’s side but the cost of making such a journey deterred us. Anyways, it was the summer break after the class-10 exams when a close friend was going alone to Calcutta and he urged me to go along with him. He was not privy to my financial constraints and kept prodding me. Unable to resist I demanded my parents to provide the funds for the trip. My friend’s parent insisted on traveling by Rajdhani Express with just three in-between stoppages of less than 5 minutes, a safer journey but much more expensive compared to the other trains. My father provided the funds which I did not ask from where or how then but much later, when he had left this world, I suspected was it was borrowed from some source. I did not mean to embarrass him but inadvertently by my stubbornness and immaturity, I did. And worst of it I never said sorry to him.

It is not that I did not have fun, joyous moments growing up, there were a quite a few occasions that brought happiness in our life but they were few and far between. We used to have great times whenever my maternal uncle visited us. Also, I had memorable time when I first met my (maternal) grandparents. In their own way they spoilt me throughout my stay with them. Happy memories.

I being the youngest of the lot, had the privilege of observing the elders, both their wisdom and follies. As an individual, I have strived to use their wisdom and shun their follies from my life. As a struggling family, there wasn’t much thoughts about higher education or career development. The living thought was to complete the college degree and find a job, any job. Only the collective money could improve our lifestyle. That was the thought of the time. There was no one to guide or show a path to the youths to go for higher education or even attempt to become a govt/ bank officer. All my siblings started working at the lowest rung in private organisations taking years to climb up the ladder. I was no exception. I did try to become a Chartered Accountant (CA) and appeared for the entrance exam failing in one subject by two marks. There was no one to push or encourage to try again.

However, I was lucky to have two excellent teachers or as I call them Gurus, who poured their knowledge onto me and taught me the fundamentals of marketing and management in real world. Their teachings surpassed the teachings of the management institute where I got my post-grad diploma in management. The diploma has remained a piece of paper only to add a line on my resume.

My friends and family are blessed with one advantage – faith in something or someone superior in whatever manifestation. Whenever they are in distress or otherwise, they pray to that power. They feel inner peace. I do not recall when I last prayed. I simply cannot bring myself to ask any favour or boon from something or someone who’s existence, I find questionable. I do not pray; I do penance for living in this world by accident. I strongly feel, I don’t deserve to be here.

Why am I telling you all these things?

Because, year after year during the festive time, my inner demon haunts me with these thoughts. I have grown intellectually as well as materialistically to know that there’s no point in pondering over the past. But on a rainy evening, when it gets dark, I experience inexplicable panic. I don’t share my fear. I don’t share my thoughts. I don’t speak out. I understand in this world filled with noise and chaos, silence is golden. Less I speak, it brings peace around me now. And that’s how I shall drift away.

But then you ask me, “Howdy Buddy?”

I reply with a feeble smile, “Am Good.”