by Sonia
There comes a time, once in everybody’s life when they are at crossroads.
After entering the teenage years, at 14 years of age, surrounded by many coloured dreams, I too was ready to experience the heavy delight that the new life promised.
I wanted to fling myself into the throes of myriad activities, the fun and frolic that youth beckoned. But in my own way, in a restrained manner.
There were a lot of things that did not appeal to my sense of righteousness, which I wasn’t willing to do. As much I fancied parties, pools and all night dancing, I was not keen to experiment with drugs and liquor. Nor did I wish to cast off my inbred traditional morals and values.
And it yet was impossible to segregate the two. It seemed everybody who enjoyed life lived in the fast lane. They had thrown aside their upbringing and accepted the best with an alarming alacrity. Somewhere along the way, the good clean few that are so characteristic of real American life were lost.
What had trickled down was filtered worst. It was an import of gross, exaggerated negativity. I stood at the intersection, confused and troubled, distorted images flying past my mind and mutilating my sensibilities.
At this time I rediscovered that one person, who went on to become my idol. That one lady whom I had known all my life as an artistic, aloof, older cousin, or that’s how I thought of her till I got to know her all over again. She wasn’t a distant didi anymore but was a warm, caring, loving woman.
The perfect guide, mentor and best friend, all rolled into one. I remember how she stood by me like the Rock of Gibraltar, silent and supportive and let me sift through the muddle. She let me get the perplexity out of my system, and quickly, and bravely, led me towards crystal clear thinking, free from my inner maze of turmoil and confusion.
My cousin made me realise that I wasn’t a cow in a herd. I didn’t have to follow anybody or anyone. I didn’t have to subject myself to what I didn’t need in my expedition of existence. The taunts, snobbery be damned, I was not going to be enmeshed in so-called Joneses syndrome.
I was first and foremost an individual. If not drinking and doping made me a pariah, then so be it. If not stringing people along meant not being one of them, okay. If racing cars, cracking wit, perpetual gaiety and raucous laughter, minus the sting, made me a freak, I loved it. But no way was I going to be a part of a gang at the cost of myself.
I wasn’t going to follow. I was going to lead. I was going to go MY way. All those who thought alike could join in. All who didn’t, could shut their traps, keep mum. Those who didn’t matter, didn’t matter and don’t matter. It wasn’t an easy trip. There were more brickbats than bouquets.
Daring to be different is not felicitous. But as long as the conscience is clear and the will is strong, nothing can be a deterrent. I have stuck to my chosen ways stoically with courage…all because of my cousin.
“I never knew I had such a strong influence on you,” she says.
Well, she did and now she knows. And being the most fortifying anchor in my life, I feel my life has become more vivacious, animated and enchanting. I saunter through, alive and kicking, sparkling like a flame without ever having to compromise all that elders taught.
And I dauntlessly prose:
A toast for those who love us,
A toast for those who don’t
A smile for those who dare to,
And tears for those who won’t.
