F.A.M.I.L.Y.

Why do we merely inherit identity? Why are the lot of us born under someone else's authority considered rather lucky? A lot more questions answered:

F.A.M.I.L.Y: Why Do You Do What You Do?

Genesis – often to two unsuspecting individuals. Survival – rare fortune extended by those two individuals.

Somehow the needs of a species at large is communicated and made to deceive the likes of individual subjects probably by means of a strange meddling in the 0’s and 1’s of its double helixes to create the Robin Hood of the mammalian genome – a masochistic brew – called love. Each of us is born against the logic of individual instinct. We are born of a person who chokes to let us breathe. Why do such sacrifices not go against the universal ‘Natural Selection’ process of the parent? Is it about the Greater Good?

We grow in a unit of community called ‘Family’. Where we have ‘Relatives’ – we did not pick – often people with dissimilar interests, aspirations, expectations and each with their own set of rights. Rights over us. Responsibilities and duties, to carry on the ‘Family Tradition’. What are these traditions? Why are they made to seem so important? Why are we made to play in a team? But more importantly why are my ‘team-members’ so biased in my favor? Why do they care about the choices I make? Is it biologically etched on to them? And why does my old-man have an influencing (often commanding) say in my life?

These aren’t teenaged retorts thrown ‘in your face’ with a ‘Why’ to begin with, a ‘?’ at the hind and gibberish in between. These questions pick at one of the most incomprehensible connections – those of feelings, fatherhood and family. Those which make us seem ‘human’ in sociological sense. I could forever ask and wonder what difference it makes to ‘them’ whether I wear a black ‘Slayer’ tee to an indifferent social gathering and not grim formals, or why they hopefully make an effort get rid of overgrown hair on somebody else’s (mine) head and face.

The bitch mother of a new litter is notorious for betraying her ‘ladylike feminism’ and going tooth and nail at the unfortunately close passer-by – straying close to her pups, that is. What is so superlatively desirable about those shaggy pups that have already caused pain and displeasure to her? Why the possessiveness? Who or what instills this element of protective parenthood to the extent that a docile creature suddenly turns vicious, and why? Do we the children earn our appeal by the trouble we cause to merely create and ‘own’? And is that earned worth enough to last us a lifetime of care and concern?

They say that ‘by the time a son begins to understand his father, he has a son who doesn’t quite understand him’. Well, in a larger sense, aren’t we all sons who don’t seem to understand our Father?

~ Abhinav Nayar

The Hard Way

Hi, this is a pretty laid back, casual little story about the plain and simple 'hard way'. Hope you like it:

The Hard Way

Spring was just over; the birds and the bees were nestling back into their cozy villas, as he tripped face-first into a not-quite-as cozy slush of mud – the culprit being an idle but misplaced pebble. The stains, a bruise and a soiled ego however weren’t enough to permit his face to contour a frown: he was on cloud nineteen. The humble spirit was skipping his way to school, returning victorious. His report card, the cause of his untamable mood, the envy of a few in his class and excuse for classroom mockery for the rest, lay laminated safely in his pocket.

The boy somewhat enjoyed the attention endowed on him as his peers unanimously clamored for him to take centre stage between social circles at school owing to his thick round glasses, well oiled (scented even) neatly cropped and parted hair, and his enchanted but flimsy black stringed locket which spoke volumes of his devotion to Learning and its Goddess. “The Geeky Nerd: who never caught a bird” was determined not to let this fan following make him falter in continuing to be placed first academically – well just academically.

He found the atmosphere to be just as it was: before the holidays or even a decade – the class jeered, I mean cheered as he slouched in and began his routine of dusting the floor neatly before placing his bag on it. He happened to notice some new faces. Classes began; all was well. Then something happened.

The recess was on. Lunchbox in hand, he braved through a current of ‘non-boys’ who giggled (in awe he believed). His eyes perceived a new face. Hers did too. The ‘non-boy’ left her squad. He didn’t blink. She took strides towards him. He gulped. She waved politely. He ran away. The later events of the day, however were less traumatic. The lady approached him again. She didn’t wave but smiled instead. The boy died but ended up accepting her proposal of friendship.

For the first time he felt ‘cool’ and ‘one of them’. Easy company, easy grades, and an easy life: the boy felt he had it all. The non-boy lent him a new phenomenon called movies, thick almost alien novels, and conversation that would last hours – all without him asking for it. He stopped oiling his hair (but kept the scent), skipped a few haircuts, ‘accidentally’ broke his glasses, occasionally hid away his prized locket into his shirt and often took second glances in the mirror. The exams came and went and he didn’t let that “contour a frown” either.

Then one day it happened so. He was at home, one restless weekend, when the non-boy didn’t call. Sunday passed slowly – he worried whether something had happened. Monday came a tad late. He kicked the stray pebble aside, stormed into class, dumped his bag – and was not jeered at!

The silence was unbearably loud. He realized that the only one not looking at him was the non-boy. He stared as a gesture. She looked away failing to hide an intentional smirk. He was uncomfortable. Known yet more or less unknown faces pierced through him as if the sky was about to tip over: and it did. Classes started. Even the teachers eyed him in dismay. He hid his face away into his books (only an occasional incident now). All was not well. Then one brave pupil broke the ice. He died.

It had happened this way: The exam results had been declared over the weekend and somehow the non-boy topped. He strayed a smile, but then it dawned on him. He figured nowhere in the merit list. He cried; while the young lady pocketed their wager’s promised spoils from her companions. The devastated boy felt exploited: attracted, distracted and duped.

But just as about every story comes full circle, his did too. He revived the ceremony of oiling his hair but ignored the scent. He realized that he could see all too clearly: even without his thick rimmed glasses. The boy had grown up to the conditioning. The exams came once more. This time he survived.

Then one rainy Monday, he drizzled into class. He was jeered at but enjoyed the familiarity. The merit list was up. He smiled no end. He had redeemed himself. Classes started; all was well. He caught the non-boy’s eye, and barely hid a smirk himself, when a tear rolled down from it (which she hurriedly hid). He had finally gotten his revenge, yet somewhere deep inside, he wished certain things done – undone.

Hello World!

Yes it has happened! I, Abhinav Nayar, aged 16 with black hair and pupils, have a BLOG - a space to 'help the juices flow' apart from detaining a sordid account of my philanthropic life. Well maybe you caught me using big words at the wrong places but well I'll make sure this goes deep down into the archive with better and regular posts. As for now I'll post some stuff I penned down recently. Over and Out.