For two months and twenty three days, dad did not speak to me. It was painful, but I cannot figure out who suffered more: me or him. All he told me was I was a sinner. But, did I commit a sin? All I did was try to break free. I did not want to remain confined; I did not want to regret.
I am a Hindu, or at least my parents are. Our gods have names, too many to remember. Each of them serves a purpose, I was explained. Some gods create, some destroy. Once I asked why a god would destroy his children. "To operate the world." was the answer I got. I did not understand the answer but I was content with it. The first lesson I was ever taught was 'never do anything wrong' and the second was, 'Everything that happens is meant to happen.' Does that not mean everything I do wrong is meant by gods? Alas, I did not wonder. Either Sanskrit classes in an English school or holy bath in a reeking river, my childhood was a contradiction; still, I did not wonder. I did not find it hard to cope with these contradictions, merely because I did not realize they existed.
Despite my ignorance about my own life, I had seen a world around me, a world utterly different from the one I lived in. It housed people wholly different from those I knew: people with boundless imaginations. Out there, Dr. Brady Bar was trying to tape jaws of a gargantuan crocodile, Simba was fighting to claim his rightful throne of Savanna, and Harry Potter was searching for horcurxes in a hope to save the world. Maybe all I saw was a lie, but I saw one truth: the God does not want prayers; he wants deeds. Yes, it was the world in television and books, the world that did not exist in my father's meaningful terms; nonetheless, it was the world that inspired me. It made me want to escape the contradiction, eventually.
Even today, every time I see my father I feel the same melancholy I felt at the time he first told me to study Sanskrit. It was more like 'he commanded' than 'he told'. I have always revered Hinduism and Hindu ethics, yet I have found studying Sanskrit to be totally pointless. Life had taught me way too much than dad had expected and there was no way I could undo it. No matter how hard I tried, I could not imagine myself wearing a dhoti and chanting high pitched mantras in weddings. Besides, I wanted to serve a meaningful purpose with the life I was granted; I did not want to waste it pretending to be a herald of the gods. I did not want to be another activist of some bigot's propaganda. I see the God in every being, and the God I see is not tagged with an identity card of a particular religion. Dad would not understand me, so, I did not argue. All I said was 'no'.
I wish I could say he forgave me. I wish I could say he understood me. I wish he had slapped me and made me cry instead of avoiding me. I wish my apologies had sufficed to heal his wounds. I wish a lot. Dad has given me many things, my life being the first of them. Still, there is nothing I can give him as a tribute except a promise. I am always going to call myself a Hindu. But again, I wish I was a Hindu from his definition.
Maybe life is always a contradiction.
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1. The frequent remainders for suspension are scaring me. This is my first essay so, kindly, do not suspend me.
2. Please do write what kind of person you think I am after reading this essay. Please be honest.
3. Does this essay reflect my background story?
4. Are there some redundant parts, parts which I can cut out?
5. Please review my word choice, grammar, spelling and punctuation.
I am a Hindu, or at least my parents are. Our gods have names, too many to remember. Each of them serves a purpose, I was explained. Some gods create, some destroy. Once I asked why a god would destroy his children. "To operate the world." was the answer I got. I did not understand the answer but I was content with it. The first lesson I was ever taught was 'never do anything wrong' and the second was, 'Everything that happens is meant to happen.' Does that not mean everything I do wrong is meant by gods? Alas, I did not wonder. Either Sanskrit classes in an English school or holy bath in a reeking river, my childhood was a contradiction; still, I did not wonder. I did not find it hard to cope with these contradictions, merely because I did not realize they existed.
Despite my ignorance about my own life, I had seen a world around me, a world utterly different from the one I lived in. It housed people wholly different from those I knew: people with boundless imaginations. Out there, Dr. Brady Bar was trying to tape jaws of a gargantuan crocodile, Simba was fighting to claim his rightful throne of Savanna, and Harry Potter was searching for horcurxes in a hope to save the world. Maybe all I saw was a lie, but I saw one truth: the God does not want prayers; he wants deeds. Yes, it was the world in television and books, the world that did not exist in my father's meaningful terms; nonetheless, it was the world that inspired me. It made me want to escape the contradiction, eventually.
Even today, every time I see my father I feel the same melancholy I felt at the time he first told me to study Sanskrit. It was more like 'he commanded' than 'he told'. I have always revered Hinduism and Hindu ethics, yet I have found studying Sanskrit to be totally pointless. Life had taught me way too much than dad had expected and there was no way I could undo it. No matter how hard I tried, I could not imagine myself wearing a dhoti and chanting high pitched mantras in weddings. Besides, I wanted to serve a meaningful purpose with the life I was granted; I did not want to waste it pretending to be a herald of the gods. I did not want to be another activist of some bigot's propaganda. I see the God in every being, and the God I see is not tagged with an identity card of a particular religion. Dad would not understand me, so, I did not argue. All I said was 'no'.
I wish I could say he forgave me. I wish I could say he understood me. I wish he had slapped me and made me cry instead of avoiding me. I wish my apologies had sufficed to heal his wounds. I wish a lot. Dad has given me many things, my life being the first of them. Still, there is nothing I can give him as a tribute except a promise. I am always going to call myself a Hindu. But again, I wish I was a Hindu from his definition.
Maybe life is always a contradiction.
------------------------------------------------------
1. The frequent remainders for suspension are scaring me. This is my first essay so, kindly, do not suspend me.
2. Please do write what kind of person you think I am after reading this essay. Please be honest.
3. Does this essay reflect my background story?
4. Are there some redundant parts, parts which I can cut out?
5. Please review my word choice, grammar, spelling and punctuation.