The book was heavy. It was a diary of 2005, old and yellow, struggling to hold all its pages together. I wasn’t too excited to go through it, but I smiled at the man who gave it to me, I knew this book meant the world to him and I had no right to disregard it. That book seemed like the hard copy of that man’s heart and its vigor. There were a lot of photographs and autographs of people whom he admired, he treasured them, he was proud of them. One of the news paper articles that he had pasted in said that he was a graduate in mathematics, when I asked him about it he gave a little laugh and I knew that he was one. His eyes were gleaming with pride as I turned each page and I couldn’t help but smile. When the pages were done I returned him the book, he took it from me and placed it inside his shoulder bag with so much care that only a new born baby would be given. The book was filled with the one or two minutes that various people willed to spare and was generous enough to write down a word or a wish for their avid fan. Two minutes from many successful lives made this man’s achievements and certificates. There was one photograph that I still remember, there was him in it holding an album of himself with various celebrity sports people and behind him stood an old woman staring out from the balcony, his mother. As I looked at that photograph I felt that his mother would have been happier if he had chosen to marry a woman rather than cricket.
He surprised me at first, when he told me what he really was. I had never before met a person who was a fan by profession. I liked his genuine smile and his always alert eyes. I was impressed by the memory he had of many random people’s date of births. I was even more impressed when he showed me a trick in mathematics which I couldn’t solve until he explained it to me. When we parted after making a good long conversation I genuinely had some sort of affection for that old strange man. I had a feeling that I had had this close encounter with a great and unique man.
That feeling stayed with me for a while, and then it jus vanished away. Just like that. Now when I think of him I feel nothing. Nothing about him inspires me. Nothing of what we spoke has stayed with me. I think I am even capable of disliking him. The trick that he showed me now seems like a cheap bargain that he throws at all who are willing to spare him time. I do not anymore feel like speaking of him for his simplicity but I find him shabby and unclean. I do not find him unique or great or determined but I find him very ordinary. I am the least impressed by what he has done in his life. His diary now seems so foolish and unworthy of his life.
Is it a terrible thing to feel? I guess it is.
Perspectives differ from each individual; also is the same with interests and passion. It is often difficult to understand other’s outlook but it is the best thing if you can try respecting it. Respect is an important word with a great meaning. It brings value and balance in life. There is no creature alive on this planet that does not have a small lesson to teach others, it may not be largely visible but it isn’t invisible either. I now believe so and I am happy to believe so. Life would be much happier if you look only for the positives and just be aware of the negatives.
When I was with that man, talking, I was carried away by his energy. His old voice and the words that it spoke took me to his world and then it seemed wonderful. He spoke highly of his world, of his experiences and I was travelling through them and I was happy. It took me a while before I was back in my own world and time and space. Then when I sat down and unconsciously summoned up the conversations and time that I shared with him, I realized how much I did not understand. How much I differed in my opinion from his. I proved him wrong and senseless with my own perspectives with no more than a moment’s silent thought. Of course, this doesn’t make any difference to the world. Whatever happens in my head just happens in my head and nothing around is changed. But it makes a difference in my world within. I lose. I lose the lesson that he offered. I fail to look for what he had in him to teach me. I become immersed and absorbed further into my own perspectives and I fail to better it, to better myself.
He is a man who lives life doing what he loves. Pursuing his heart wholly, and living in his happiness. He isn’t living for money but his love that he has found in life. He proves that, it is oneself who decides how one has to live, what one has to do and what one is capable of. Nobody else can stop you if there is that love or passion within you but you.
Thank you for the lesson dear sir…
