The Road to Life
When this picture happened to drop into my mailbox, my first reaction was one of tranquility. There was a degree of calmness to it. I paused to delve into the picture deeply, oblivious to my surroundings. The deeper I looked, the deeper I drowned in my thoughts.
This picture was an introspection of the journey of my life thus far. It is reminiscent of the peaks, the troughs and everything in between.
Looking back, I visualized some of those peaks and troughs. I laughed at a few and still got shivers at others. Not being academically brilliant, I always felt terrorized by Science and Mathematics. The terror continues to this day and probably will last till the very end.
Not the one to get into a career in engineering or medicine, I conjured a world of my own. I could not brand myself as an extrovert, but I could talk and write to anyone. I was happy to dream, to tell stories. My mother had noticed this trait early and motivated me to dream about a career in journalism. Yes, journalism indeed fascinated me. But alas, that did not materialize. Coming from a strong patriarchal family, I had to comply with what my father wanted. It was his opinion that journalists had no personal lives or money. Back in those days, there was no way you could rebel, unlike today.
Life rolled on. But my interest in writing to communicate or connect with people stayed alive. It has been like a simmering piece of charcoal ever since. This interest moved me to a career in Administration and Management. When I drew up content for various organizational campaigns in my amateurish way and garnered appreciation, my days turned brighter and gave me the needed confidence. Yes, at moments like these, my mother’s face always came up in front. It did hurt that I could not realize her dreams.
As in the picture, my road to life continued. It traversed through various terrains and encountered many trials and tribulations in its path. Sometimes the road just disappeared, only to emerge weeks or months later. The storyteller in me seemed to survive all the peaks and troughs.
Today, writing has become therapeutic. It is also my partner in solitude and also an act of rebellion. Today I do not look back at what could have happened and did not happen. I cannot change things. But I find happiness in living the life I want and not what others want, at least now.
Every photograph has a story to tell and this is my story.
Picture Credits: Mrs Epsita Ganguly Sikdar