Wednesday, August 10, 2011

A Note on Waiting and the Joys and Sorrows of it.

By Sadho Ram

Waiting, for some, is a process of experiencing joy, for some it is merely a process of evolution of the self by acquiring what one is waiting for. But for me waiting has been all sorts of different kind of things. Like others I’ve had joys and while waiting I’ve evolved too. But it somehow has always felt like a slow severe pain in the chest. And yet I’ve waited for everything that I’ve ever wanted in my life, regardless of whether I got or I didn't, whatever was that I had wanted at the different waiting junctures of my life. I’ve waited so much, working my way through to get whatever I want, that at times I've felt I should just give up, that I shouldn’t wait anymore for anything.

But no, I haven’t given up on waiting or waiting, so I’m still waiting; now for a whole new awakening to embark into a journey from where I know that my life will take all those turns which is only going to make it what years and years ago, lying over the vast spread of due laden grass in the fields of my village, beneath the gaze of winter sun on my face, I had dreamt and promised to myself. And now somehow, somewhere down the line, the waiting for me has gradually turned into something else, a sort of different pain, not in the chest anymore, no. But somewhere deep within; it pleasures me now, keeps me going, gives me strength, and provides me with a hope that my waiting will finally yield the result(s) I’m seeking. So I wait, hoping and holding onto whatever that I’ve now with and within me.

It’s a strange phenomenon with waiting. There is always a sense of uncertainty attached to it and yet we wait.

Currently, at this very moment I wait for her. And I’m waiting for my birthday this August.  I’m waiting to hold her in my arms once again, and to feel her warmth once again. For waiting is all I know that I have chosen to do, not because there isn’t any other option but because I’ve  promised to stick to waiting through thick and thin, and work my way through it for that new awakening, no matter how long it takes, no matter how short it lasts, I’m waiting... I’m waiting.

I remember about exactly 11 years ago I had waited with bated breath to get to my village to take one last look at my mother’s pale skinned face, who was lying dead, covered in red, inside her room. That was the time, probably the first in my life, when I experienced the sorrow of waiting. Because when my wait had ended, she hasn’t come back to life, as I foolishly had thought. The sorrow of that waiting was much deeper than I had imagined it to be, or maybe it was just too shallow. Because I remember I didn’t even shade a tear. But at the cost of being honest, it was that I couldn’t shade a tear, I just couldn’t. I had gone silent, partly with sorrow and partly with the realisation of the great loss. It was silence that had engulfed me, and had consumed the basic ability of a child to cry.

Since then a whole decade have passed away, actually more, and life is not what it was back then, so am I. Emotions have evolved, feelings have changed, I’m different too. But the silence of that day is still within, caged somewhere in some corner of my chest. It still breaths, still lives on. Although now that day of my life seems like another lifetime, it’s a whole new life now that I live. For I haven’t given up on waiting or waiting...because I know that the sorrows attached to waiting are gone now, all it now has to offer are the joys of waiting.

She is coming here to see me, to be with me. My woman from west, who have promised a new world to me and to whom I’ve pledged my life and every single joy of it. I’m waiting to experience the world she has promised, and I’m waiting to live up to the pledge I’ve taken in her name. On my this birthday, I will finally experience the joy, the ultimate joy of its kind, when I take her in my arms, tangle my fingers in her tresses, and plant the kiss that I keep playing in continuous loop inside my ever active head time and again. I’m waiting to become one with her.

Just like the sense of uncertainty is attached to the process of waiting, there’s one very distinctive trait attached to it too. It’s the test of the mettle a man is made of. And currently, I’m testing my own mettle.

...because, folks, all I know is that I’m waiting.