Are we a generation gone wrong?

"रहिमन धागा प्रेम का , मत तोरो चटकाय |

                                                                        टूटे पे फिर ना जुरे , जुरे गाँठ परी जाय ||"

-रहीम दास

On a pleasant Sunday evening years ago, I remember working on an assignment for my Hindi class when I stumbled on this Doha, and fortunately (or not), it has tarried in my memory bank since. I was a teenager then, having no clue what love feels like. Indeed, being a die-hard fan of Bollywood Rom-Coms, and an unapologetic subscriber of the Disney channel, I thought I had a pretty clear idea of what my DDLJ/Cinderella story would be like. As if this was not enough, I was brought up in a household where my BIOLOGICAL parents had a love story of their own to brag about. Hence, my hopeless romanticism began to bloom.

Coming from two distinct family backgrounds in an early-90s Indian town, my parents had found love right where they were. In an era with no Internet, no mobile phones, and definitely, a society continually policing them morally, they had gotten lucky with love, for my grandfather had already picked my mother out to be the perfect suitor for my father. While my parents were busy cooking their love story, the elderlies were planning their wedding without them knowing. Soon after, their big day arrived, and thenceforth, they had put their foot forward in their own magical world of Happy Beginnings.

On the contrary, I have seen the transition to a new Millennium while growing up. Thus, as ironic as it can get, I kept oscillating between the ideologies of the 'romantic' Jane Austen and the 'fearless and feminist' Virginia Woolf. I belong to the day and age where all the utilities and resources are available at my disposal. While Bumble and Tinder have enabled me to simply swipe right on my prospective partner(s), I, in fact, feel the void within me. The void that yearns to be filled, the emptiness looming over me on the darkest of days and the loneliest of nights. I would be worried if I were the only one feeling this way; however, talking to my friends and fellows and diving deep to get their insight on this perspective, I discovered that most of us were dealing with the same chaos.

On comparing the two scenarios portrayed above, while lying in my bed at nights, I try to interpret and analyze and decipher some open-ended questions: When all of us are longing for that 'one' love to arrive, why are we, as a generation, so afraid of putting our cent percent into our relationships? Is the concept of 'one love' actually real, or are we just fooling ourselves, mistaking the craving for companionship for love? Has the idea of 'just one call away' assassinated the worth of people in our lives? Is it the backup plan, either of finding someone new if the existing courtship fails or falling prey to our defence mechanisms to cope with the supposed heartbreaks that we hold at the back of our heads, which latently prevent us from falling for someone entirely? Why are we so afraid of wearing our hearts on our sleeves anymore? Are we a generation gone altogether wrong?

The train that took me to my destiny

Traveling through the highland meadows in my ‘Hogwarts Express’, sipping on a perfectly brewed coffee, and looking out of the window at the scarlet and ochre hues smeared by the dusky sun in a cerulean sky, I was finally at peace with my life and enjoying what I had craved the most for one entire year. Contemplating on the perfectly painted canvas by the master of maestros, a voice inside, which I like to believe came from my departed mother, began reverberating on how I am just as much quintessential and will never be enough for this world. Now that her spirit has been lifted, and as they say, things do look better from a distance, she must be watching how everything in this superficial world is worthless except for oneself. Clueless as I might have been since her departure, for I had lost my mentor, my guide, and my friend, all embodied in a single entity, I knew this was my moment of clarity and certainty: my moment of soul gazing and introspection, but moreover, this was my moment of recouping my long lost self-love.

As I had finally stepped out of the ambiguity of what-ifs, my train to the wonderland of witchcraft and wizardry had come to a momentary halt. With a sense of enlightenment and tranquility, I looked at the person sitting next to me. It was an old German lady in her mid-70s knitting a woolen bandana. She took a while to realize that I was following her crochet patterns, and then she turned towards me with a smiling wrinkly face. There’s a beautiful perception about scars, wrinkles, and bruises: they profess some untold stories, the untold stories of life and experiences and struggles. In a world comprising 7B humans with an average life span of 70 years, I like to believe that all of us have a lot of stories to tell and plenty of wisdom to share.

Her teal eyes had evidently gotten tired, either from the constant focus on her crochet or from the long, fulfilling life that she had sustained. Fortunately, she could speak ‘a little bit of' English, and as she started expressing herself, I could feel the longing in her voice, the longing to find someone to finally listen to her. It had been twenty-something years since she had lost her husband to a terrible road accident after almost an eternity of losing her parents to the war. It felt moronic to ask if it had hurt, so I skipped to the part where she could tell me about her coping with the grief, the bereavement, and moreover, the acceptance of the fact that the person whom she had thought she would see her doomsday with, the person whom she would see the thicks and thins of life with, and the person whom she wanted to grow old with, had already bid farewell to this world. I asked if she had felt betrayed. “For a brief period after his passing”, she emphasized. “I am not very spiritual by nature, but I like to believe that he is still looking over me, smiling with me still as I tell you this story. I don’t know what happens to people and their ‘souls’ after their passage, and I guess that’s the ultimate limitation we humans hold. What follows, though, with the ones they love, and the ones who love them is dreadful and horrible. Resentment, anguish, depression, solitude, and bereavement take over, and all these felt simultaneously can definitely be exhausting. The journey from loss to its acceptance is pretty draining. But stronger you shall be, for that is your destiny.”

Engrossed as much I was in her heart-to-heart, the train driver had announced, “You have finally reached your destination. We wish you a pleasant stay and apologize for any inconveniences caused.” I bid adieu to the lady and looked out. The sun was shining brightly on my face, and as the train driver had proclaimed, I had reached where I was supposed to.