Nipped in the Bud

The proud toddler, covered from head to toe with nothing but excitement scurried across the pathway to show off his newly acquainted skill to his parents; the ability to walk.

To his surprise what his parents noticed weren’t his newly acquired skill, but his nudity. Sheepish with shame, the mother picked him up in the same manner as his poop,to cover him with some baby clothes.

Cradles and walkers were vestigial artifacts. First rays of awareness had bloomed on him.

 

                                                                  .   .  .  .  .

On an obscure afternoon; he articulated his first ever word. His grandmother was the first witness to his graduation from “ga-ga-goo-goo” gibberish. His first word became the frantic toast of the house and was on endless loops for the rest of the day. That day he slept a proud sleep not aware of the agenda awaiting him. His father woke him up with a picture book and started pulling words out of his mouth. He couldn’t communicate in gibberish anymore and they wouldn’t communicate back in the same tongue like they used a few days ago. Not long ago was this language a big hit with his parents and relatives. He would try earnestly, but his naive tongue was too soft to let the friction with the gum create syllables yet.

The quick transition from being a trophy to being evaluated in months and day, life’s ruthlessness had dawned upon him. He eventually learnt the syntax of adult approved vernacular.

Soft toys and singing dolls were things of the past.Too premature to be disappointed; he was perplexed.

                                                                     .   .  .  .  .

A thing just couldn’t just lie around in his ecosystem. Not anymore. There was this undying enthusiasm to deconstruct everything into it’s spelling, utility and the numerical extrapolations possible.

Every bedtime story that he was carefully told, couldn’t just be an anecdote. It had to compulsorily end with a punctuated moral inference. His ethical apparatus-his civic fiction wasn’t allowed the luxury to evolve; it was cut and stitched whimsically.

He was baptized. That day, he got a name and a god. A god who could do no wrong. One who’s prowess illuminates the sun and rotates the earth.He who kept a record of every person’s deeds.

Hymns in his glory were slipped along with every course of meal.Every inquisitive query about his existence were admonished as sacrilegious. He was modeled to become another god-fearing individual.

He picked grammar, multiplication and blind faith. Grown up enough to be disappointed, but premature to understand;he was at the threshold of identity crisis.


                                                                     .   .  .  .  .

With every grain of individuality, systematically weeded out at home he went to the land of uniforms; School. Here he was a uniform clad roll number with ceiling limits on his decibel level and creativity. The seeds of curriculum and discipline were planted in his mind, fertile for initiative and free spirit. This place with homogeneity in it’s sanctum sanctorum was a behemoth machinery; that churned out a homogeneous pupil who would represent it in the society with his rank.

The rank which would help him land a college. A college which would go on to land a job.

He had come to place his individuality in the altar of acceptance. He was too overwhelmed by the perks of approval; to be disappointed at his shallow existence fashioned on representing aspirations and school of thoughts; that weren’t his.

      .   .  .  .  .


He married the girl he fell in love with; when he was spoilt for choice with alliances pouring endlessly through acquaintances; thanks to his fancy pay and god given looks. This relation masquerading as a love marriage was essentially an approval seeking device; a habit of the past.

He didn’t know her well enough, but knew she made the male population at workplace go weak in their knees. This was his way of seeking their approval.

He was part of a generation that thronged theatres playing rom-coms and had lyrics of love songs for Facebook statuses. This was his way of seeking it’s approval.

Few years into their marriage, they had a male child. One day the proud toddler, covered from head to toe with nothing but excitement scurried across the pathway to show off his newly acquainted skill to his parents; the ability to walk.To his surprise what his parents noticed weren’t his newly acquired skill, but his nudity.

                                                                        .   .  .  .  .


A majestic rock more often than not, can’t be embraced as a stand alone spectacle. Admired for it’s intrinsic value. Let alone to remain married to a mountain or a valley. To be sculpted by rain and storm to an eternal piece of art.

Most of us would  tear it apart from where it belonged. Wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to chisel it to a statue of our imaginations. Place a tag on it, to make it viable in an exhibition of statues.

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