Today, I am half-immersed in what I call
pseudo-existential thoughts along with project templates and budgeting issue at
work. Quite a spark-free combination – like oil and water. One of the fringe
benefits of growing up as an Army man’s daughter was that I was the only kid in
my class to receive real postal letters and postcards, apart from those that we
were compelled to do as part of home assignments.
I
remember how my father had a God-like influence in my life. Bedtime prayers
always ended with a thank you to him. All the values were developed through
remote access via these letters. Even today, his mails are no different, except
for them being electronic. The underlying thought is always: “Good job! But I
am sure you can always be a better person”. There is no pleasing him.
“Sammu, you don’t always have to be so hard
on yourself,” mom would insist. She would see me burning out the batteries of
emergency lamps during regular power outages, struggling to keep up with exams,
studies and a fierce battle for the first rank. I was always competing - not
just with others, but with myself. Seldom ever happy with the result.
I would walk down the corridor decked with
the most popular students, and almost hear their screaming thoughts - “Sammu is
such a bore. Underdog. Underachiever.”
Those were the days I would go home and
take slow breast strokes in the ocean of self-pity.
