I’m talking to you today because this is important.
You see, you are on the evaluation stand,
you are on the brink of a catharsis
You, my dear, are me.
I exist in a different time, probably different dimension, if you may
where I am the perfect version of myself, which is you.
You are going to be tested, everyone will know how much you’ll score
Lucky you are from Earth 2023, you will have grace marks for yourself-
whopping 50 marks passed on over from the previous generations
where there was at least one damned fool like the one with the toothbrush moustache
that contributed to this concession by
making your planet a more difficult place to thrive in,
every time you could count
a country that didn’t have an Independence Day.
You’re lucky- damage loves upgrades
and the new contenders,
The leaders you would come to elect
Seem to have realised this before you will ever do
Come, come. I’m the ghost of your Christmas Past
I need to see what you were up to
When the world began shaping you to what you would be now
I see you standing in the ‘late-line’ of your school
Your head hung down in remorse and shame
Remorse because you could have chewed on your breakfast faster
And the half a mile walk to the school could have been done faster
You think you can fight this intense shame
But you can’t, you came when the prayer was over
When everyone was moving on
Look! Look! You will break into tears while
Still standing like a stone for the National Anthem
You will feel the exponential amount of exposure
That you would not be able to nullify by closing your eyes
So you blink faster, harder- trying to catch a smaller glimpse of
what was to follow
All their eyes on the top-ranking student
Who was standing in the punishment line- somewhere she shouldn’t belong
Oh, I remember this- I was told I would be absolved
of punishments, of consequences of everything that I could have done
Absolved on the account of someone else’s’ sins or the lack thereof,
Absolved only if I reach the top of the pyramid- you were the fittest,
Your parents told you- you would not merely survive but rule the world
Because that was the only hope a generation that was afraid of the future of their inactions
Could pass on to a generation trained to believe they can never make mistakes
You chewed on the eraser of the white Camlin pencil with those pink-green flowers
Every time a necessary mistake felt like a blunder and made you think of
Everything that your mother told you would go wrong with you
The society’s eyes are on you, you are supposed to be the best
-the best self-preservation machine your mother could bring up
And show everyone the ticket to the glorified pawn
that could join the army of the Greater League
Those that carry the eternal flame of their ancestors
In the name of the sacrifices ONLY they made
The army whose eyes burn with the flame-
So much that it makes it so difficult
To see what it took for you to beget this generous spotlight-
The countless forests that were burnt- the homes that were ravaged
Your half-a-mile walk for someone could mean 5 villages
But you were told you are the gifted one, different from the
One in four of your age that would remain out-of-school
Of whom you would never hear from- even in the fictional village of Palampur.
I remember reading chapters in Social Science with blind faith
At which time I first began to see that the world was more grey than it was black or white-
Something I was never taught- it had to be learned through falls
The world never liked extremes, and I was one
The top position, I was told, could only host one person-
that power was not meant to be shared or distributed among
those who didn’t deserve it- the ones safest in the middle of the spectrum-
‘Don’t be an average’ they said.
You will be celebrated- this is a journey that is lonely- but this is your purpose,
my parents would reassure-
every time I first learnt what it meant to cry in desperation,
In the realization of getting the rules of the race wrong-
that all of us were meant to be together
I was lied to- my percentile meant I was better than
99.6121 per cent of children in my country- correction
You need to know your subtraction better
99.6121 minus 68% of children who were never eligible to receive a percentile even
Because they could never make it to completion of mere school.
Open your eyes, do your homework child
Your love for time travel, for science fiction
And you obsessions of what-if’s and could-be’s are telling you something
You are uncomfortable. You have been lied to
You have been lied to
Every time you were made to dream of being a woman
Who would be satisfied
With the thought of marrying a man who could happily eat
pan masala standing on top of his mountain of heritable achievements
- which included you
A trophy wife, a special girl, someone who had access to sanitary pads
The elite 12% of women bleeding in your country
In whose households, 45% of routine harmful waste is generated
On the pretext of reassurance that they were contributing to charity,
Doing the society a favor-
Every time they bought a pack of pads,
Every time they said they would not give a man a rupee
Because they were certain he was going to waste it on alcohol.
I know how you are feeling now though-
Confused, feeling jolts of empathy
On a barren river of monotony
That you are ready to fill up with your tears
Begging for someone to throw in seeds of hopelessness
so you can show the world how you could plant a forest with them when all else is lost
You only do this because you wish that these wild and restless creatures
inside of you somehow will finally find a way home
Home to a spoiler-free world, a planet consumed by FOMO and YOLO
Where you could be a puppet who sleeps on drugs
That would make your anxiety better, your sadness disappear
Because you are still afraid of exponential exposure
To the fight with the strings, not knowing who is pulling them
You want to be an anti-hero so bad because
You would rather be anything else but ‘cringe’ material.
I’m talking to you today because this is important.
You see, you are on the evaluation stand, you are on the brink of a catharsis
I’m glad we had this meeting
This class
Although it could have been a mail
Or better on books
Because it was time for performance feedback
You, my dear, are me.
And you need to hear-
your privilege check just told me
That you have so much more to do for the many more
That are not entitled
That need you to imagine
What if you,
Everyone you love,
Everyone you know,
Everyone you don’t-
Could do better,
Could love better,
Could be unafraid.