The gentleman next-door often stops by to talk to me. A middle-aged man, and the father of three daughters, he has quite a few anxieties to share. I love listening to his perspectives on life. This morning, I was overjoyed when he told my mother that he found me to be a very receptive and sensitive child.
Sensitivity….it is the one trait I love about myself. The one trait which awakens my heart to the warmth of the sunrays that stream in through the windows in my room….to the chirping of numerous birds that celebrate yet another day on earth….to the breeze that blows across the garden, caressing all my plants….to the smiles and the tears that breathe life into this world. I feel intimately close to all that surrounds me….my soul becomes one with all that surrounds me….so much so that I cannot smile, until I have wiped all the tears that surround me. I am at the heart of things.

Sensitivity….it is the one trait my father detests in me. The one trait that brings in an unbridgeable gap between me and my father. Nothing can excite my father, just as nothing can depress him. There exists an infinite distance between him and all that surrounds him.

When I was younger, this one trait let me down on various occasions. Perhaps because the expression I chose to give it was raw. An emotional outburst- that was the only voice to my sensitivity. For my father, I was always the picture of everything that a child should not be. For a long time, I believed that I was erring. It took me a lot of time to arrive at the root of things. Human behaviour is complex….and it is fascinating. After a long phase of denial, when I obstinately believed that my father would eventually see my mind, I slowly learnt to understand that it was not to be so. Only a sensitive mind can understand another, and empathize with another. And sensitivity is an inherited trait.
It is a mammoth task to detach oneself from family. Especially since our individual acts bear an impact on one another. For a long time, I had to live with the trauma of being portrayed as everything that a child should not be. For my cousins who were very young, I was an outcast. After a point in time, it stopped hurting.
Children are the most miraculous phenomena in this world. As a child grows in mind, he slowly learns to trust his feeling, over and above all judgments passed by the society that surrounds him. To me, this is the most fascinating phase in life- watching a child on his journey to freedom- freedom of the mind. I watched my cousin gradually transforming from hostility to curiosity. I saw in his eyes the confusion, as he struggled to integrate in his mind the image that he carried of me in his mind, with the feel that I created in him. I waited patiently, and one beautiful day, his eyes settled. He had made that decision of trusting his feeling. My father had stirred a dust storm, and as it settled, the picture cleared.

Kerala is a peculiar mix of conservatism and traditionalism. There is a large segment of society that has no understanding of tradition, but they live in the perpetual belief that they are the true upholders of tradition, and that they are the ones guarding the value system of the past. And then, there is a small fragment that understands tradition in its true sense, and invisibly contributes to the basic order that continues to thrive in this society, despite the ever-multiplying pitfalls. That mix exists at the level of family too. A large segment of orthodox, conservative individuals, and a small fragment of sensitive, traditional individuals, who come as a welcome presence at the most trying phases in life. My mother belongs to that class of individuals. Perhaps a deep-rooted love for her offspring makes every mother a sensitive, non-judgmental individual, with an infinite potential to absorb. Even at times that we have a difference of opinion, my mother attempts to understand the thought that drives my behaviour. My mother is driven by the need to understand and bring to surface the goodness that thrives in her child, much more than identify and condemn the evil in her child. She is driven by the unshakeable faith in the goodness in her child. And for this reason, I love her infinitely. My mother derives happiness from my happiness. But for my father, my formal achievements are my only testimony. For my mother, I am a happy child. For she knows that the simplest joys of day-to-day life bring immense happiness into my life. For my father, I will always be his greatest disappointment, no matter how content I get to be in life.

Swathi and Siddharth are the kids next-door. Swathi reminds me of the girl I wrote about in my first ever post on Fropper- the girl with the stained clothes and uncombed tresses, sitting by the pond, watching the water-lilies and the fish, silently conversing with nature. Swathi is constantly captivated by all that she sees in nature- the plant with the red berries, the egret that faithfully follows the cow, the eagle that works laboriously to build its nest, and so much more. By evening, when her parents get back home, she is brimming with the visions and perceptions of the day. They listen to her patiently and attentively, and acknowledge her observations of the emotional world that surrounds her. This acknowledgement makes her feel good about her thoughts and perceptions, and she grows up to be a sensitive individual. On the contrary, I feel deeply saddened by the numerous parents who work long and busy hours, in the belief that they are ‘providing’ for their children. They fail to see the real needs of that young mind, and their children grow up to be insensitive, materialistic-driven individuals, embarking on discontentment and anguish very early in life.

Very recently, I met this individual who shared with me a few interesting thoughts. The people who set tradition, were obviously sensitive individuals, and they set standards that would survive the test of time. He likes to call them ‘references’, rather than ‘role-models’, for role-models are a transient phenomenon. Now, as a society evolves, the average common man gradually unwinds himself from the framework of tradition that ties him down to society, and breaks free from it. The 70s saw the evolution of the hippie culture- the first series of transformation to a way of life that was purposeless in its journey. A superficial way of life that merely revolved around idle celebration, with no roots and no goals, and the profound lack of the journey into the self. That was the beginning of the loss of sensitivity. 3 decades have passed. And there is turbulence in the hearts of people, gaining momentum. There is a background negativity, an unhappiness, a brewing quest- for what already existed, and was lost to time. A slow demolition is in store, and tradition shall resurface.
This acquaintance is part of a humanist organization- a highly unconventional, informal organization that targets this social outcry of an unsettled turbulence. The need for a ‘reference’….for a more meaningful way of life, is palpable. And this organization was born from this need. To screen for that sensitive and thoughtful segment of society that is largely wasting away, and to put them to the forefront- where they truly belong. To turn over the reigns of society to their hands, so that they set the standards. To translate the complexity of these standards into more comprehensible, practical themes for the common man. To bring in a way of life…a reference…that will settle the rising tempest in each one of our minds.

In the list of people who give me the courage to be myself and to take pride in all that I am, my mother is the first. Writing is the new voice to my sensitivity. And this has connected me to numerous other sensitive individuals across the world. They are individuals who reinforce my mother. I would like to especially thank Ledzep and Dagny, for they have contributed tremendously to my journey into the self, in entirely different ways.
Ledzep: That note on sensitivity in my blog on tradition, sowed the seeds for this post.
Dagny: History repeats itself. I like to believe that these superficial values are transient, and that the world that awaits our children will eventually get back to being the warm and sensitive world that it used to be.

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