There is so much of misery in the world. Almost every person
goes about life being miserable, and putting the blame on the rest of the
world. I’m sure if someone were to search the earth, with a searchlight, for a
truly happy person, they’d find none. It is sad, but indomitably true and maybe
somewhat wise. Come on, you cannot be happy all the time. Life would lose its
meaning, and your jaw would start hurting. :P
But, are we all really miserable? Or do we just find reasons
to feel sad? I’d have to say the latter. While many-a-times we may actually
find ourselves knee deep in sorrow, we mostly just bring it onto ourselves. Most
people go around saying how miserable they are and how they don’t have this and
that. The truth be known, they do not even know what misery is. Sure, they are
sad, but it is only because they think so.
I am a part of the Youth Red Cross club of my college, which
focuses on doing social service. Recently, we visited an orphanage. I was
pretty psyched about the trip as I was finally getting to do something worthwhile.
When we reached the orphanage, I was overwhelmed. I looked at the smiling faces
of the innocent little children, and had this really weird, indescribable
feeling as I took in the fact that the hundreds of excited children in front of
me were bereft of any family. They did not have a father, no mother, no
relative, and nobody who loved them with all their heart. They had nobody to
wipe their tears when they fell and scratched their knee. They had nobody to bring
them chocolates and ice cream at night. They had nobody to hug them tightly and
tell them it was all alright, when they felt afraid at night. They had nobody
to run to when the class bully troubled them. They had nobody to make them a
meal that had love as an ingredient. They had nobody to caress their hair. They
had nobody to show them old photos and tell them how naughty they were as kids. What kind of a world was this? When I look
back at my life till now, I see it as a patchwork of these very things. My life
has been shaped by the love of my parents, grandparents, my family. They’ve given
me my morals and values, and made me the person I am today. Of course, I have my
individuality. But, it is they, who have taught me that I even have
individuality. They’ve fussed over me when I said my first word, and when I started
to walk. What about these children? Who was there to tell these unfortunate
fruits of a dead tree, about the huge reserve of sweet nectar that they held
inside them? Did anyone care when they said their first words? Did anyone give
a damn when they took their first step? What would their first words have been
anyway? I can’t imagine. Yet, I see them run around in the sand, barefoot, and
scream and laugh and play. What reason do they have, to be happy? Yet, they
are. What reason do we have, to be miserable? Yet, we are.
That was just the first part of the day. Next in line, was a
visit to a Home for Special Children. The orphanage visit had been a joyful and
fulfilling experience, having made the already merry kids’ day even brighter. I
was sure that the second place we were going to wasn’t going to be fun. What I
hadn’t expected was that it would be such a humdinger. The establishment was
small with various varieties of plants and trees lining the façade. There were
mango trees, chikoo trees, pretty flower shrubs, and what not. The air was fresh
and though we were in the middle of a city, it really didn’t feel so. The
interior, however, was in complete contradiction to the lively, bright, and
brisk exterior. The moment we entered the building, our nostrils were flooded
with the familiar hospital smell- sickly and sanitary. The building had big
rooms and narrow passageways lined with windows allowing sufficient sunlight to
stream in. In one room a number of chairs lined the walls. They were occupied
by the children of the institution, and one look at them made the smile on my
lips disappear. The children sat slumped on the chairs, with their flailing
postures and blank eyes; the unfortunate heirs of destiny. A couple of
caretakers periodically wiped their drooling mouths and fed them. Some kids who
were capable of walking, sat on the floor and fiddled with toys that normal
kids of their age wouldn’t even had bothered about. But then, it was heard to
place them in a fixed age group. Some just sat restlessly on their thrones,
willing themselves to get up, and screaming vague words with frustration upon
failing yet again. Suddenly, the children at the orphanage seemed very lucky.
We moved around the
house, only to see even more heart-wrenching sights. A caretaker sat on the
floor with a baby with a cleft lip and no legs, in her lap, and a small kid born
without a right hand and legs, beside her. The kid continuously fidgeted for
attention; maybe he thought the kind lady was his mother. The little baby cried
intermittently. A girl, not very small, sat cross-legged on the bare floor,
immobile and staring blankly at the ground. Her eyes were blank. Maybe she was
searching for answers. Is there anybody who could provide her the answers she
seeks? A small boy, with thin legs, head tilted in an odd direction, sat on a
wheelchair and stared at the wall in front of him. An adolescent girl sat in
her brightly coloured cot, legs tucked beneath her, trying her best to move but
failing to, groaning inaudibly in pain. What had these innocent children done
to deserve a fate like this? Weren’t they God’s children too? How could God
bear to see His children suffer like this? Philosophers and God men give
several answers. Some say, it is to make us realize how lucky we are. I say, to
hell with that. There is already enough misery in this world, we don’t need
this! Some say, it is in repentance of their past life sins. Maybe it is. But,
if it really is, I have a battle to pick with God for this unfair practice of
His. Maybe they did some horrible things in their previous life and they have
to be punished. So, I ask God, do it in that life itself. Why do it now, when
they do not even remember what they are being punished for? I, myself, would like to think of this as a manufacturing
defect. Maybe God makes mistakes too. Maybe He cries every time He sees these
poor souls suffering.
What hope do these children have? It is not that their condition
can improve. They’ll die one day and they’ll die young. They won’t have lived
their life. They won’t have had their share of happiness. What we really need
are places where such children, and people, can live happily and where they can
lead their lives with dignity. When we can call the misery that belongs to
them, ours, why can’t they have our share of happiness?
Ask yourself, do you really have a reason to be sad? If yes,
is it really so bad?
