The Many Languages of Dissent

 The Many Languages of Dissent:

In my childhood, when I did something that I wasn’t “supposed to do” there were repercussions. Father’s reaction was the loudest, and quickest, physically speaking. Physical disciplining was his way of correcting kids. The energy rush in the blood of a new parent was probably at its full force to raise a flawless child, when it came to the first child. I have vivid memory of a particular incident where I was at the receiving end of his wrath at the age of 4. The incident was because we, carpool students that included my brother who was 2 at the time, me 4, two or three kids from another family/families around 10-12 years old, had turned back from closed traffic in the Khandala ghats on a day when we had exams at our school in Khandala. The traffic in those days was epic. One stopped or overturned truck in the treacherous ghat would bring the entire Mumbai Pune traffic to a standstill for 1-2 days. The older kids made the call that day to return home and told my father that I insisted on turning back instead of waiting longer till traffic clears. If I was 4, my father must have been 29 at the time. He took those kids seriously. My brother and I were dropped off at our home and that car took off. Here my father went ballistic on me. Neither my mother nor grandmother could intervene. I remember them crying for him to stop and he kept on shouting back that” let her know the consequences of missing school “. 

Mother usually would not be involved in disciplining us. Except on rare occasions. And when she did it was more comical than painful. She would pinch. It would feel like a tickle more than a punishment. 

At school, it was a different story. I was, generally speaking, a good student. Did not get into trouble much. But cannot brag that school life happened without incidents that called for discipline. Some of our older teachers and the headmaster at that time are no longer with us. Not sure if any teachers who are here would recall this incident when a bunch of us students had gone to Lonavala to take a state administered drawing exam. After the exam the young teacher who was our chaperone suggested an adventure. Instead of taking a bus, he asked if would walk our way back to Khopoli. We were young, adventurous and enthusiastic. That teacher was more like a friend to all students than a strict teacher. We all seemed to think alike. So we walked down the ghat that day. And each of us reached home safely. 

The next day when the senior teachers and headmaster came to know about this feat, hell broke loose. I’m not sure what our poor teacher had to hear from the senior colleagues. He was too popular to be forced to resign, however. The punishment for all of us involved students was to sit in the corridors and write down legibly, one hundred times, “ I will not do anything that will bring shame upon my school.”

We looked at each other intermittently, giggled when no one was looking, enquired the count another friend had reached writing that sentence, and finally one after another completed our punishment assignment. Wonder if the exercise made a conscious imprint on any of our minds. But it certainly had a subconscious deterrent effect. Although we mostly did not believe we had done much wrong by walking with a teacher in tow, we did not protest about it or refuse to obey the punishment. We just took it in our stride. Resumed our classes. Loved our teachers just like before. Those were happy days that I could trade anything to get back. 

Once I was in Mumbai for junior college my uncle and aunt were the local guardians there. That household was different from my parents’ home. Entirely vegetarian, more religious minded, stricter ethical standards. If I showed any undisciplined tendencies, the reprimand would be visible by the expression on the face of the elders. And I would be guessing for some time about what I did wrong, until I did it a second time and they spelled it out. Nevertheless that interval between the first sign of disapproval to actual communication and resolution seemed like a prison sentence. Worse than my father’s छडी ( cane) treatment. 

Then college. Not much incidents during that time that I can recall.

Fast forward to adulthood and having my own kids and own family. Daughter had grown up and inherited my genes of having a mind of her own. Son too, but his style was to not engage with anyone he differed from. He just went ahead and did what he wanted to do. A parent had to argue with him later, after the fact. Daughter was a different story. She was obedient to the T. But she questioned me when she saw me do something wrong. Almost as if Mother Nature had sent her to play the role of a strict mother-in-law as depicted in movies, that my actual MIL never assumed. This young lady would take me up when I had an argument with my mother. She would be her grandmother’s defense lawyer. One particular incident was so serious that she just stopped talking to me. 

I had not felt the burn of someone’s silence so deeply as I did during that period. A protesting silence from a daughter with who I had a very close personal connection until then. I have no words to express how it felt. If asked to make a choice, I would take my father’s cane any day over my daughter’s silence. Because I could go hug my father after he was done beating me. Here the silence was a “ no entry” sign. It made me miserable to not be able to bridge the gap.

I have come a long long way from all those days now. 

I look back at these personal moments. I look at personal life at it unfolds daily, in present time.

I watch things unfold in the society around me. 

And I try to make sense out of everything.

Even today I continue to get a taste of disagreement from people I know and care about. People who want me to behave in a certain way and show disapproval, each in their own style. People who express verbally. Those are present day equivalents of my father’s cane to me. Much preferred. Some just stop talking and move away. They never return calls again. I am shut out from their lives permanently. Some stop talking for short or long periods. But eventually something makes them open the doors again. Some are separated by Mother Nature. Death. We can never talk and sort out our differences even if we both wanted to. 

Silence hurts even now. 

But it is not the same as it was until a decade or so ago.

A few things are different now.

Most important of all is that I have realized, with no trace of uncertainty, that we are sent to earth with an inbuilt core of love and truth within us. There are no exceptions to this rule. It is proof of universal equality and justice. Why it is not apparent in practice is because our core is not uniformly covered up by dust. If that dust gets wiped off either by conscious effort, or natural evolution although mostly subconscious at personal level, or simply by miracle, then the love becomes evident. I have no longer any incentive left to try and clean the dust from everyone’s core. It’s not my job nor capacity. Nevertheless, it is plenty of reassurance for me just to know that even those who don’t see eye to eye with me, and even those who probably never will, have love in their hearts and I am one of the automatic beneficiaries of that love. Whether I live until it is distributed or not. I have a share in it. 

How does that help me?

It helps me because now that I know that love is real and hate is fake, I am immune to hurt. 

Those who prefer to try and hurt by keeping silence are free to do so. I reach out to them, as I feel appropriate, to tell me their grievances so I get a chance to express my side and make an honest attempt to iron out misunderstandings and differences to best both of us can. 

And if they still refuse to break the silence, I let them be. I respect their choice of protest. 

At my end I do not allow myself to hold grievances against them. Difference of opinion yes. Grievances, grudges, judgments, hate…absolutely no. That is the dust that I have recognized. Why would I keep my home dusty? If I spell out a judgment it is usually on the spur of the moment. I don’t keep a label on them in my mental image of any of them. Everyone is just like me. Our faults are of different kinds but none of us are free of faults. So those labels are completely irrelevant. We are all generic products in the larger scheme of things. 

Here’s my take on disagreements and silence or cutting off communication. My mind, ears, eyes and speech keeps an open door policy. If someone reaches out my mind will greet them with respect to a large extent. If the one reaching out begins with disrespect, I may do a quick assessment if it is even possible to convert the conversation to one that remains mutually respectful and meaningful. If I get a sense that there is no chance for a civilized conversation I will bow out gracefully. Remain quiet. Although my door never closes on them. If they return with a respectful tone, I would put everything from the past behind. It is irrelevant in each an  every present moment for me. Past insults, past hurt are described by the period where they both belong. I endured them in that period. I grew out of my stupidity to suffer from them longer than they deserved. My today is of much value for me. I have worked hard to get here. It took efforts to clean up my home. I will not allow anyone to mess it up. 

I may not be so diligent about cleaning my physical house as before. Reasonably clean is good enough. But my mind is far too important for me now. I enjoy its light and space and tidiness. Its generosity surprises even me because it’s quite new to me. May be the clean up did some magic. Whatever it was, there is a peace and wellbeing that I did not have in my entire life thus far. 

When someone disagrees with my words, thoughts or actions, I have enough light in this home to take a closer look and investigate. Is there room for me to take a step back? Do they have a valid point to get upset with me? Is the matter that’s causing the disagreement big enough for me to not bend before them? It is the answers to these questions that determine my next step. Apology is not an issue anymore. Apology for what is the question that I sort out in my mind. If it is for hurting them, disrespecting them, not hearing them, then yes. I am genuinely sorry for that error. But if it is for retaining the right to have my own independent opinion on matters that concern me then I cannot say sorry. That is intimidation. And I am not fearful of anyone anymore. Having my independent opinion is not to be confused as me disregarding an opposing opinion or insisting that only one of us is right and that’s me. No. It simply means that there is room for us to try and bridge the gap so we achieve some common goals and good for a larger community. So we don’t dismiss and cancel out each other. It may be idealistic. But what’s our other option? To cancel out one or the other of the two of us? And keep going on for rest of our lives with this philosophy? 

The world is free to go on with this philosophy if that’s suitable for it. 

I have found my voice. My voice will enjoy its freedom till Mother Nature silences it. 

As I said earlier, the world may not be in a position to express love for me. But it’s perfectly ok. It probably can’t see what I can see. There is love in every heart that constitutes this world. I can’t make it look through my eyes. I can’t make it hear what I can hear. I can’t make it think how I think. I can’t make it walk like I do. It can’t bend in ways that I bend and it can’t make me bend in ways that it would want me to bend. 

Everything is ok. Everything I understand is the way it is. It will change as it is destined to change. I am just a traveler in a shared space and time with the world of today. 

I dissent on many things with many fellow travelers. Yet I do not resent any of them. I do not ask for them to not express their views. I just have a gentle suggestion, be respectful and watch the tone when doing it. Don’t let disagreement on one issue block the casual conversations and friendships that keep normal life going easy breezy. Activism should take care to not disrupt daily essential life. The best activism is that which goes unnoticed as being activism. Just like the best way to express love is by not overly displaying it or saying it aloud. Let it become obvious when people look back.