By Paramjit Bakhshi
There is a story which begins Richard Bach’s book, “The Illusions”, which is an all time favourite of mine. Briefly this is how it goes. A colony of creatures lived clinging to some rocks in a river bed, while the river flowed strong around them. Now it so happened once, that one of the creatures, got fed up and bored, clinging to those rocks. He wanted to stop clinging, and go, wherever the current would lead him. When he expressed such a desire to his fellow creatures, he was cautioned that what he was contemplating was sheer madness, for the river, would knock him against the boulders and kill him. So he stayed clinging awhile. However his boring existence soon got to him, and he let go. Sure enough the turbulent river made him lose control, and he was knocked against the rocks downstream. He ended up badly bruised but surprisingly, he survived. Having to cope with the current eventually made him a swimmer. Once he learnt to swim, he became free to explore the river, and this made him immensely happy. When other similar creatures living downstream saw him, fearlessly and joyfully cavorting in the water, they started looking upon him as a super being and a messiah- someone who could also alleviate their misery. But he told them that, there was no way that he could help them, and all that was required of them to be happy and free, was to let go and trust in the river of life itself.
Of course today’s generation, I have learnt, seldom has the time or the inclination to read books. Fortunately they have Facebook, which occasionally, also dispenses such daring non traditional wisdom. The one quote which I came across today, says the same thing in a nutshell- “You must make a choice or take a chance or your life will never change”.
Ever wonder why we in Shillong never see any positive change? This is because we are too sane a people to take any chances, and too scared to make any choices, so we continue day in and out, clinging to things, albeit in the name of tradition. Meanwhile, the river of change and opportunity continually passes us by. We always use tradition as a prop, to counter change and call, it wisdom. On a lighter note somebody once said” I don’t want wisdom because it just precedes death. So if I was to become wise I would soon die.” In Shillong, our over reliance on traditional wisdom has made us all collectively old.
It is said that there is only one yardstick, to separate the young from the old. Anybody who has dreams is considered young, while people who have mere memories are old. In Shillong, one continually bumps into people, of all ages, who talk only about the good old days. “Those were the days my friend’ seems to be our anthem, which everybody knows and hums often. Till today I have yet to come across anybody – politician, bureaucrat, businessman or journalist – outline a clear futuristic picture of a vibrant modern Shillong or Meghalaya.
Of course a vibrant Shillong, can only be imagined if we have, a dream and a vision. Unfortunately, since we have all chosen to be old, we have also acquired another geriatric disease – poor vision. How else does one explain, the pervading decay and collapse of this city, and this state, in front of our very eyes?
Look around, carefully, and you will see some more old age attitudes in abundance. The two which come readily to mind are a feeling of impotence and apathy. The first is evident in all that we choose to do. Our powerlessness is evident in every project we undertake, whether it is Leshka, or the Crowborough Hotel, the tourism or the mining policy, the eye sores called railings along the footpaths, the grounded Umiam airport, the traffic jams on the highway and in the city, or the tourist-less countless tourist festivals. And of course we have become so apathetic that nothing but nothing can stir us to act. Whether it a friend’s or a relative’s misfortune, whether our young go astray and lack a future, the rampant and shameless corruption, the sad state of the water supply, the erratic power situation, the hypocrisy of some of our NGOs, the degraded environment, the sham patriotism of the militants; nothing is a cause of concern, alarm or necessary corrective action. We shut our doors, our eyes and our hearts, to everything that doesn’t immediately concern us, individually.
What we need is, definitely, not so much the wisdom of the old, but the wild energy of the young to be channelized and boosted, in a manner which the Shillong Chamber Choir has been able to do. If Neil Nongkynrih, had ever laid out his vision, prior to his accomplishing what he has with youngsters, he would have opened himself to ridicule, because such a thing had never been attempted before. We all find resources as we move along the path of our dreams and it is foolish for us to continually sit and make sane but sterile plans and judgements.
While writing this article, one is in the middle of reading another book. This one is called “Wild’ and is written by a young twenty six year girl, named Cheryl Strayed. Her surname is of her own invention, and really describes her character. During her early life, she strayed far enough, in her marriage and her life, and as the back cover of the book says, “With seemingly nothing to lose, she made the most impulsive decision of her life: to walk eleven hundred miles of the west coast of America- from the Mojave desert, through California and Oregon, and into Washington state- and to do it alone. She had no experience of long -distance hiking and the journey was no more than a line on a map. But it held a promise of piecing together a life that lay shattered at her feet.” The book has been made into a movie and Cheryl Strayed has strayed to become a household name around the world.
This article is a result of the despair, one feels on returning to Shillong, after a brief trip outside. Even to get back home today, is a struggle. If you are unlucky, as you are often likely to be, you will get stuck on the GS Road for hours. When you do make it back to Shillong, it really seems that we are perpetually doomed, to crawl slowly on crowded streets, of this so called city, which nevertheless resembles an overgrown village. The street lights are dim, the shops look dingy, the residential areas lack beauty, the architecture is drab, the infrastructure on the verge of collapse, and not to mention the traffic but even the people seem to move more than a tad lazily and sloppily. It does seem that our city lacks vibrancy and energy. Sapped of energy and enthusiasm and dreams we have become the Hollow Men of TS Eliot’s poem of the same name. “We are the hollow men/ We are the stuffed men/ Leaning together/ Headpiece filled with straw, Alas! Our dried voices, when, we whisper together/ Are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats’ feet over broken glass/In our dry cellar.”
Our cellar of achievements is empty and unless we do things Shillong and Meghalaya will just crumble before our eyes. To quote Eliot once again, “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper”. Can we then just stop ruminating and get on with things without pretending to be wise and the fountain of all knowledge and wisdom. We need to take chances and move and change things rather than just thinking, discussing and arguing. There will never be a complete consensus on anything and those wishing for that are damned to wait eternally.
So can we stop stuffing old wisdom down the throats of our youngsters; can we instead inspire them to follow their wildest dreams and can we stop fettering them in this small town and motivate them to make a mark for themselves in this very wide and exciting world. In the words of Charles DuBois, “The important thing is this: to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are, for what we could become”.
The writer can be contacted at [email protected]