Blogger: Alex M Thomas
Blog: http://philososphyofalex.blogspot.com/
I do not know the exact date I came into this earth. My parents never told me the date I was born as I have never seen them. I just believe that I do have parents anda big happy family somewhere.
I was a young boy who liked asking questions. I wanted to know the reasons for many things. I
asked people around me, but they were angry at me for asking questions. I did not understand
why they did that. I could hear them telling people who tried to think, not to think. This must
have made me to think more and more.
I kept to myself mostly. I admired the beauty around me, the grass, the brown mud, the mango
trees, the coconut palms and other houses. I saw colourful flowers.
When my friends were taught about colours in school, the teacher told them that grey, black and
brown were dull colours and green, red and orange were bright colours. And everybody wanted
and loved bright colours.
Since, I had not been to any school I liked all colours in the same way. I looked for different
colours around me and I found that this world was made up of many different colours. I liked the crows especially. My friends never thought much about the crows as they were black.
I was called a fool for not following the crowd because I liked the crows. It didn’t matter to me as
I wasn’t schooled nor brought up as the others were. In fact, I never went to any school and nor
did I have parents to bring me up.
I grew up. I did various jobs for a living. I worked in a tea stall, as a mechanic, as a painter and as a driver. There were many other jobs which I did, but were of a more ‘petty’ nature. I learnt to do many things. My friends at that time were studying in 10th standard. I used to see them get scolded for playing in the evening after coming back from school.
I used to see them rarely, so there was not much of dislike towards me. But I used to get a feeling that their parents did not approve their friendship with me as I did not fit in to their ‘standards’.
They used to tell me their desires. One friend wanted to be a doctor but their parents wanted an
engineer in the family; another wanted to be a singer, but his parents told him that a doctor is
more respectable than a singer and that they get more dowries; and the tale goes on. I asked one friend why he had not told his parents his wishes. This was his reply “I love my father very much and I don’t like to see them sad. Moreover, they took care of me so well for these many years. I should be able to sacrifice this much at least.”
The answer left me broken. I felt the pain. I cried. I felt sorry for my friend who gave up his
greatest desire for his family. And he was really proud of the sacrifice he made. I asked myself if
I would really sacrifice my greatest desire for anything. I decided I would not.
I was like a stranger in this world. My name never appeared in any newspapers. No one knew me.
No one came to me. I shifted jobs after my friends completed their 12th standard. They went to
different colleges in and outside my country.
I loved to paint. I loved to capture the beauty of the nature with my strokes. I always knew that
my paintings would never be as good as the original. The real beauty could never be copied by
me. But I still liked painting. So with all the money I had saved, I spent them on my paintings. I
would sit all day, staring at the trees and the mountains all arranged so well, as if some one had
put them all there. I used to imagine myself rearranging the hills and the trees and placing them
elsewhere. But the rearrangement never looked as beautiful as the real one. I spent nights without drawing; but just staring into the star filled sky and at times into the dark sky. I tried counting the number of stars. I was never able to count them fully as I used to get confused in between and I just knew to count till hundred.
I used to roam around, travel widely in buses and trains. Whenever I was in villages I preferred
traveling in bullock driven carts. I enjoyed the bumpy ride. I used to travel just for the sake of the ‘bumpy ride’.
I had earned money and had kept away some for my paintings. I had never been in banks because I didn’t know how to fill up forms and I didn’t find the need to.
I am sixty years old now. When I look back at my past, it seems just like a dream to me. I came
with nothing and I know I will go with nothing too. Out of these sixty years, I traveled through
towns, cities and villages. Villages always used to be my weakness. So here I am aged and living
in a village. In my thatched cottage, I have devoted one room for my paintings. No one has ever
seen them and I doubt if anyone would ever see them.
I cry thinking of all the people who sacrificed their dreams for their loved ones. I still cry thinking of people who view black as dull. For a painter, all colours are equally important. I still cry for people who compare themselves with others and end up feeling dejected. I don’t know if my cries will last longer. I know I have not taken anything from this world.
I still think of the day when I decided to follow my dream, the dream to become a painter. I rest
everyday knowing within, that I have succeeded.
Blog: http://philososphyofalex.blogspot.com/
I do not know the exact date I came into this earth. My parents never told me the date I was born as I have never seen them. I just believe that I do have parents anda big happy family somewhere.
I was a young boy who liked asking questions. I wanted to know the reasons for many things. I
asked people around me, but they were angry at me for asking questions. I did not understand
why they did that. I could hear them telling people who tried to think, not to think. This must
have made me to think more and more.
I kept to myself mostly. I admired the beauty around me, the grass, the brown mud, the mango
trees, the coconut palms and other houses. I saw colourful flowers.
When my friends were taught about colours in school, the teacher told them that grey, black and
brown were dull colours and green, red and orange were bright colours. And everybody wanted
and loved bright colours.
Since, I had not been to any school I liked all colours in the same way. I looked for different
colours around me and I found that this world was made up of many different colours. I liked the crows especially. My friends never thought much about the crows as they were black.
I was called a fool for not following the crowd because I liked the crows. It didn’t matter to me as
I wasn’t schooled nor brought up as the others were. In fact, I never went to any school and nor
did I have parents to bring me up.
I grew up. I did various jobs for a living. I worked in a tea stall, as a mechanic, as a painter and as a driver. There were many other jobs which I did, but were of a more ‘petty’ nature. I learnt to do many things. My friends at that time were studying in 10th standard. I used to see them get scolded for playing in the evening after coming back from school.
I used to see them rarely, so there was not much of dislike towards me. But I used to get a feeling that their parents did not approve their friendship with me as I did not fit in to their ‘standards’.
They used to tell me their desires. One friend wanted to be a doctor but their parents wanted an
engineer in the family; another wanted to be a singer, but his parents told him that a doctor is
more respectable than a singer and that they get more dowries; and the tale goes on. I asked one friend why he had not told his parents his wishes. This was his reply “I love my father very much and I don’t like to see them sad. Moreover, they took care of me so well for these many years. I should be able to sacrifice this much at least.”
The answer left me broken. I felt the pain. I cried. I felt sorry for my friend who gave up his
greatest desire for his family. And he was really proud of the sacrifice he made. I asked myself if
I would really sacrifice my greatest desire for anything. I decided I would not.
I was like a stranger in this world. My name never appeared in any newspapers. No one knew me.
No one came to me. I shifted jobs after my friends completed their 12th standard. They went to
different colleges in and outside my country.
I loved to paint. I loved to capture the beauty of the nature with my strokes. I always knew that
my paintings would never be as good as the original. The real beauty could never be copied by
me. But I still liked painting. So with all the money I had saved, I spent them on my paintings. I
would sit all day, staring at the trees and the mountains all arranged so well, as if some one had
put them all there. I used to imagine myself rearranging the hills and the trees and placing them
elsewhere. But the rearrangement never looked as beautiful as the real one. I spent nights without drawing; but just staring into the star filled sky and at times into the dark sky. I tried counting the number of stars. I was never able to count them fully as I used to get confused in between and I just knew to count till hundred.
I used to roam around, travel widely in buses and trains. Whenever I was in villages I preferred
traveling in bullock driven carts. I enjoyed the bumpy ride. I used to travel just for the sake of the ‘bumpy ride’.
I had earned money and had kept away some for my paintings. I had never been in banks because I didn’t know how to fill up forms and I didn’t find the need to.
I am sixty years old now. When I look back at my past, it seems just like a dream to me. I came
with nothing and I know I will go with nothing too. Out of these sixty years, I traveled through
towns, cities and villages. Villages always used to be my weakness. So here I am aged and living
in a village. In my thatched cottage, I have devoted one room for my paintings. No one has ever
seen them and I doubt if anyone would ever see them.
I cry thinking of all the people who sacrificed their dreams for their loved ones. I still cry thinking of people who view black as dull. For a painter, all colours are equally important. I still cry for people who compare themselves with others and end up feeling dejected. I don’t know if my cries will last longer. I know I have not taken anything from this world.
I still think of the day when I decided to follow my dream, the dream to become a painter. I rest
everyday knowing within, that I have succeeded.
2 comments:
To live one's dream is the ultimate success story! Thanks for writing this thought provoking tale.
Pauline,
My pleasure. :)
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