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| BLINDED behind the lens... |
I am blind as a bat. Not from childhood though. I lost sight of my
world at the age of 12 after a freak accident – the sequence of events I don’t
fancy disclosing. But, I do have vague impressions of the colours each morning
flaunts ever so beautifully. It took me a while to sink in this harsh reality
of experiencing perpetual total darkness, but eventually I did accept it. And
gradually, I even started respecting it.
Bob Marley once said, “Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet.”
I don’t enjoy the latter. A month back, under some fiery bolts of lightning and
boisterous thundershowers, I turned 54. For some very odd reason, as there may
be, rainfall gives me the kick. But, it’s not just the rainfall under which I
feel the spring in my step. The cool breeze and the tranquility of the early
mornings make me feel I’m 12 all over again. I don’t sleep for more than 7
hours a day, though it doesn’t make much of a difference, really. I always
await the mornings. I feel the rays of the sun that reach my eyelids from
millions of miles away come with a message. They keep convincing me of the fact
that though I cannot see at all,
somewhere deep within myself, I have a vision, which no one else does on the
planet. And it’s not supernatural as such, but then again, it doesn’t need to
be. A lot of people with their eyes wide open fail to see what the world has to
offer. And I’m sure it has to offer a-plenty.
My father was an avid photographer. When he was alive he used to click
two distinct times of the day – sunrise and sunset. I wasn't interested in
photography as such, but I used to love travelling with him on his motorbike in
the twilight mornings. Some of his morning photographs still hog a lion’s share
in my casket of sweet memories. I never lost sight of them, and never will;
probably because they remind me of the eternal beauty sunrises bring with them.
My uncle, who is aged 79 now, loves to read newspapers really loudly.
The reason behind being, he cannot hear clearly. I’m a firm believer that
people talk loudly when they can’t hear clearly. So, I’m sure every morning my
neighbours don’t switch on the radio, if that’s the medium from which they
fetch their morning news. They get them from us. But, the news mu uncle reads
every morning is never too convincing. All I get to hear is the number of
deaths that have occurred due to some unfortunate events and ruthless violence,
injustice happening all over, embezzlement, suicides, impending wars and
imminent clashes of the races. And it makes me wonder, how can someone kill a
person and see that person die. How can someone see a person dying and not lend
a hand to save him. How can anyone with his or her eyes wide open not see
what’s coming. How can a person cheat someone else and shamelessly walk free
with no guilt in the eyes. All of this baffles me. Sometimes, I just walk away
from my uncle’s morning news-reading. Sometimes, I feel really lucky for being
blind. At least, I don’t get t see people die, beg and weep every day. What an
awful sight that would be to witness. We, as humans have to spread the light on
others, in our own way. But today, people pull the daylight out of others. More
than the darkness that refuses to leave my sight, it’s the people with these
dark souls that scare me the most.
As I said, the world has a lot to offer. The question is what we want
to see. The climax of each day depends on how you start it. Just like in life,
it ends the way we let it start and carry on. If you start by fooling someone,
at the end of the day, in some corner of your heart, you feel you have fooled
yourself. If you start by hitting someone, you feel the pain when you get old.
If you start by giving up, you are already a failure; you wouldn't need to wait
till dusk. The things I cannot see are the things I give immense respect to.
And I don’t see a lot of stuff, you know. I keep dreaming of the change of
colours every morning would be emanating with flair, of the shine on the
surface of the ocean, of the bouncy nature every bird would be exhibiting
before it flies off for an eventful day, of the mist that must be spreading on
lush green outfields and silent lakes, of people joining their hands to recite
the morning prayer, of the youth lending a hand to help the old, and a lot
other beautiful things. Almost every morning I roll my visionary eyes on these
hopeful, phenomenal events, which for anyone else with incredible eyesight may
sound regular.
A few days after i was declared blind by the doctors, my father spoke
to me, probably with tears in his eyes, and told me that each morning throws a
new light on everyone, different than the previous day. All we have to do is
stand in its path; respect it, and be grateful to God for letting us stand in
its path. From that very day, my eyes of total darkness began to act like the
viewfinder of a camera my father used to carry, through which he could see and
capture those gorgeous, shiny mornings.
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