Please stop calling me a fool

Like a couplet of previous years, loneliness was my only companion in my last birthday as well. Both my parents didn't even bother to remember my birthday and at noon I told my mom about the day. I demanded her to give me sweets and she suddenly agreed. In the evening, my dad brought some sweets and my mom told that those sweets would be my birthday sweet and I was very happy to have them. Those sweets were really good and were of an expensive brand. In fact, I expected my mom to cook some payasam so that I can give it to my friends and neighbors, but there was no such move from her side. The taste and brand value of those sweets calmed me. I was really happy and had some pieces of sweets from Dad’s box and went out to bring gifts for my parents and neighbors.  I spent much to get gifts and sweets for my parents and made a good day for them. I told myself that this day is not mine; it is the day of my parents. Today is the anniversary of the day when my mom became a mother for the first time and my dad became a father for the first time. I deleted the memory of all the pain suffered from them in my life and thanked them for giving me birth and cooked special dishes for them. I spent much time in the kitchen and after the dinner, I overheard my dad speaking to someone over phone that today is the 5th wedding anniversary of his subordinate and her husband sent sweet boxes for all the employees from New Zealand. He got a box full of sweets among others to celebrate the happiness of a wedding anniversary. “That was named as my birthday sweet!!!”. Actually that must be named as s 'pseudo birthday sweet'.

I was shocked on this injustice. I locked myself in the room and looked at my own image in the mirror; I could not find me there. I could see the image of a fool there. In the meanwhile I heard my mom wishing my dad’s subordinate on her wedding anniversary. My mom was exclaiming on the expensive gift she received from her husband who works abroad. I looked at my hands, they were empty. I again looked at my image; there I could see the same image with head down. I felt like laughing at myself. I was trying to find happiness among unhappiness.  My effort was to seek life in the desert. In the novel, the Alchemist, Paulo Coelho wrote about life in the desert. To win the test of being his disciple, the Alchemist asks Santiago to find life in the desert. As it was one of the compulsory criteria, Santiago sets out to find life in the desert and he finally succeeds in his mission. The world glorifies the protagonist as he became a success and could become the disciple of the Alchemist who knows the way to the pyramids where the treasure lays, but I will never term the life in the desert as a symbol of success as he could find a poisonous snake there.  Life does not count as perfect with poison, as it is harmful for others.

After shedding lot of tears, I compared myself with Santiago and tried to bring positive thoughts in my brain. In the novel, Santiago gets his real love and a big treasure in his own town. I also expected myself to get that. I dreamed myself to become a big writer and a Nobel Prize winner. I closed my eyes and I had a soothing image before my eyes, my husband. Suddenly I opened my lap top to see his image. My desktop wall paper was his image. I looked at his eyes. I wanted to hear his voice, so I dialed his number but his phone was not in range.  His eyes was comforting, I felt that I am not alone in this world. I have my real love to be with me forever.  I went back to the mirror once again. There I could see me: the beautiful, elegant, confident and impudent “me”. I could not believe my eyes as there was such a visible change from my previous image. I tried to compare my current image with that fool’s image with head down. I felt that both of them are different creatures. They have no relation with each other. There I could realize the strength I get with the presence of my husband. If his image strengthens me like this, I count myself as a success in his shadow. With this feeling, I started writing a poem. I took more than a month to finish that small poem as I changed, words, meters and phrases in it often.

I transferred my heart into the poem. I portrayed all my wishes in it. With it, I told my husband that how important he is to me, I made him feel that I want his hands to close my eyes when I die. I completed it and I was proud of myself as I am the author of such a lovely and heart touching poem. Even though I wrote about death,  I could see life in the poem. I loved the contrast of life and death in it as I read the contrast of life and desert in the Alchemist. I became very happy whenever I read it. Almost a year passed and my situations changed to a happy mode. I believed that I don’t need to be a fool anymore. Unlike in the case of last year, I will spend my next birthday with the person I love the most. I wanted the world to know that, I am not a failure. I started counting myself as a success. I believed that I will give birth to 11 kids, so that I can constitute a cricket team. I enjoyed my days in the memory of my unborn kids. I played with the dress I bought for them. I was in an ecstasy, as if I reached somewhere near my ultimate destination.  One night, I was watching a movie and I could hear a song that repeated the same words of my poem. I could suddenly realize my words and the feelings and emotions associated with each word. I told my man, that it is my poem. The only difference was, I wrote it in English and the song was in my local dialect.

My husband browsed the net and told me that the lyricist of this poem wrote it before I finished writing mine. He was confused whether my poem is a plagiarized one. The dismemberment caused by it was such that I could not even understand the depth of the situation. The next day, I sat alone and recalled my pain and emotions associated with each words of that poem. I remembered how deeply I desired to die when I wrote each word in it and how intensely I wanted the presence of my husband in my final moments, but unfortunately I had no proof to prove my originality. I posted the poem ten days after the audio release of that particular song. In fact, I never heard that song before, but nobody will trust me as the man who wrote the song is an acclaimed lyricist. To maintain the authority, I need to remove my poem from my blog was the suggestion I received from my friends. I didn't understand the relevance of that suggestion. Similar to the expensive sweets belonged to someone else, my own poem, where I depicted my heart was said to be owned by someone else. I was made to believe that the sweets are mine, but I am sure that the poem is mine. I could not control my tears from making a stream below my eyes.  Suddenly I ran to the mirror to see my face. Yes, there was the image of a fool.

After shedding some tears, I again tried to think positively. Suddenly I remembered a dialogue in a recent movie. When the hero loses his love he says, the alcohol drank for her and the rain water that laid on her behalf have gone waste. Suddenly my disappointed mind tried to make a new statement for me. The effort I spent for my parents and the pride I hold for my poem have gone waste. I tried to demonstrate this as the biggest comedy of my life in this year, but even this low level comedy could console me. Someone, might be my ego cried inside me to quit my writing career. There was very big war happening inside my mind. The war between the fool and me. I tried to focus on other things but I could not, I wanted to go out for a walk. That also didn’t regain ‘the me’ in me. I was terrified to watch my image in the mirror, but I had to. So, I went back to the mirror and saw the same fool, and this time it was with the head down as I expected. Again the fool defeated me in the great war. The world remained as viewers. In that big match, I expected the support of the world as Coelho wrote, "When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it". My expectation remained fruitless as the support of the world was not for me, instead they shouted the name fool. The repeated calls of fool made me insane. I wanted to tell the world that 'I am not a fool, even though I seem like a fool, I really am not….Please….. please……. please stop calling me a fool'. But my voice refused to come out and what came out was only two drops of tears- The tears of an insane.


deeps on February 28, 2013 at 3:25 AM said...

To me it sounds like one of the best Bdays one can celebrate… there is no point in big-bash bang bang party that happens year after year if that doesn’t make us think about ourselves and our parents who brought us to this world….
liked it

Post a Comment


Jisha Jagadeesh

Copyright © 2015

It's Me The Miracle by Jisha Jagadeesh is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License