When, in class 9, I first chose to go to a late night party at my friend's, her father chose to accompany me home.
When, after school, I chose English as a major, even though I had Science in the plus 2, my father chose to stand in the long queue at Presidency for hours to get the admission forms.
When, after graduation, I chose to do my masters away from this state, in the midst of an unknown world, my father chose to accompany me to Delhi for the first time and also chose to let me take that trip alone thereafter.
When I chose not to continue with academics and take a six month break doing nothing, after completing masters, my father chose to pamper me at home, bringing me glasses of water every half-an-hour. (I don't drink enough water and he can't stop complaining about that)
When I chose to work for a Bengali magazine after completing masters in English, my dad and my boyfriend chose not to point out the dichotomy or the futility of my English education but showed my stories off proudly, exclaiming , "We never knew, you could write so well in Bangla"
When I chose to have one too many drink and got sick in the middle of the road while returning home alone, a bunch of young men, unknown to me, chose not to pass lewd comments or question my character. Instead, they chose to bring me a bottle of water so I could wash my face and offered me help in any other way they could.
When I chose to have one too many drink and got sick in the middle of the road while returning home alone, a bunch of young men, unknown to me, chose not to pass lewd comments or question my character. Instead, they chose to bring me a bottle of water so I could wash my face and offered me help in any other way they could.
When I chose to change jobs, finally, for an English daily, the two men in my life chose to remind me, a 6-day-week would get tough. Then my dad chose to remind me to get my PF transferred. My boyfriend chose to make me a diet-chart, because it was going to get gruelling.
When, on a regular office day, I chose not to have my breakfast and got dizzy in the taxi, the driver chose to drop me off at the nearest hospital and leave his phone number with me, so I could call him up if I needed.
When, after a long battle with myself, I finally chose to come clean about my OCD to the people who matter, they chose to disguise their befuddlement, instead, opting to read up, watch medical shows, talk to doctors in order to understand what generations before us had blanket-termed as insanity.
When, on a regular office day, I chose not to have my breakfast and got dizzy in the taxi, the driver chose to drop me off at the nearest hospital and leave his phone number with me, so I could call him up if I needed.
When, after a long battle with myself, I finally chose to come clean about my OCD to the people who matter, they chose to disguise their befuddlement, instead, opting to read up, watch medical shows, talk to doctors in order to understand what generations before us had blanket-termed as insanity.
Oh wait, did I mention, my mom, my sister, my friends — male and female, were all very much part of these choices too?
My choices are my fingerprints. Sure. But my relationships are my fingers. If that makes any sense.
No comments:
Post a Comment