Wednesday, May 21, 2014

BEAUTY OF AN UNKNOWN TRUTH

Recently, I had one of the most simultaneously insightful and disheartening conversation with a young adult. My cousin sister, all of 11 years, very earnest and equally dramatic- in short a very accurate replica of my adolescent and to a large extent current self sat me down (against my extreme protests, if I may add) for a in her own words ‘intense philosophical discussion’. I could relate instantly- ruchi is young, pretty ,sentimental, a decent student, if not a great one, very gregarious around adults but incredibly reserved around her peers and often feels the need to talk out her fears. She trusts me instinctively because she is thankful that I treat like I would any other “adult” and do not mock her somewhat skewed and morose views on life. She is yet to learn that this is a strategy ( albeit an effective one) honed over time which as she grows up shell learn to acquire as well


She seemed a little sad at first. I mistook it for dramatics ( now which 11 year old doesn’t like a little bit of attention huh?) but I was wrong and so much so that it’ll be some time before I test my astute and self proclaimed psychic abilities again. It started like most of my memorable conversations do -over a book. This one being a book I had gifted to her on her birthday- diary of anne frank. I have always wanted a sister and was instead blessed with a brother- blessed being absolutely appropriate here but we are admittedly very different and I have never connected with him or understood how one mother could produce such scarily distinct personalities. He additionally doesn’t resemble in looks or behavior either of my parents. But, adoption theories notwithstanding I never question our differences just as I would never question my love for him or our bond. But well, one does desire similar minded company once in a while. And despite ruchi’s “tender” age, ive always warmed up to her opinions and startlingly intuitive assessment of humans. Not very startling,personally, since most of my own fortellings at this age had later come true. BUT back to ruchi- she has the most angelic, poetic and all synonyms of beauty combined to describe -face and yet has zero self awareness. The girl is truly special and very very dear to me. She wears her heart on her sleeve and her emotions are easily readable. I don’t like to press much but she had been quiet for a long time after sitting me down on the bay window of her bedroom and fearing imminent tears, I prodded- “you know you can talk to me ruchi”  now ruchi has a lot of faults but lack of courage is not one of them- she’s fiercly ungirly as she less than eloquently frequently asserts and tears to her reflect weakness. Even in her most angst filled days ive seen her bang around stuff but never tears. she shook her head aggresively and began her largely one sided discussion. You know di ( I love it when she calls me that, im a traditionalist in certain ways and I prefer my younger friends and cousins addressing me as didi)  I just finished reading anne frank’s diary and the ending haunted me for days- I felt so bad- I mean there really is no god you know in this world not fair- all this came out in a passionate torrent of words interspersed with the most hostile expression ive ever seen on her- an expression im only too familiar with. I felt instantly guilty and te memory of the effect the book had had on me came back to me rapidly. I was gifted the book by my mother as a reward for being a wonderful and patient travel companion on a Europe family trip when I was just a year younger than ruchi is now. It was at Manchester airport and my mother had instructed me not to read it until after the end of the vacation. She knew much of my reading happened at night She also realized tat a book like this would keep me awake for days and my incessant “discussions” and queries would ensure many sleepless nights for her as well. But I was a curious child ( now a curious “semi” adult) and I read it anyway, that very night but instead of going to my mother for comfort, incredibly conflicted cried myself to sleep. Now ruchi resembles me in many ways but she is seldom fearful. Nevertheless, she was conflicted just as I had once been.

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