Hey, it's not fair...

Reflections

Let me confess. I am never happy with what I have. Did I hear someone say, “We are all in the same boat”? Oh, well! I always rue the road not taken. In fact, there has always been a huge, huge gap between reality and what might have been, at least in my case. Right from my childhood. Can you beat it?

When I was really, really small, I didn’t like my name. My best friend was called Geetha, and I wanted my name to be Geetha too. I pleaded, cried, threw a tantrum, refused to eat — tried everything in my ability to make my parents relent. But in vain. To this day, my name continues to be the one my parents gave me on my naming ceremony.

At school, the most popular girl was fair complexioned, unlike me. I too wanted to be fair. After all, I’m a true blue Indian, a race known for its ‘fair’ fixation. I demanded my elders at home to make me fair complexioned. My well-meaning, ‘fair’ mama had me believe that I was bought in a village fair in exchange for a sack of ragi and hence I was dark; had it been in exchange for wheat, I would have been ‘fair’. “But, there’s still hope,” he had told me. I just had to drink milk with horlicks in it, twice a day, and eat curds with sugar — both of which I hated. And I followed his advice to the T. For, nothing mattered more to me then than being ‘fair’. But in vain. To this day, my complexion hasn’t seen ‘fair’ days. Life isn’t fair, I concluded.

Growing up, it was time to choose my stream of study. After much deliberation, I chose Science. But my entire gang chose Arts. While all my waking hours were spent studying the laws of motion and trigonometry, my friends were busy enjoying the works of Keats and Shakespeare. I needed a break, I felt, and wanted a switch-over — from Science to Arts. But then, it was too late; I’d end up losing a year, I was told. So, I continued slogging. To this day, I grudge the fun my friends had while I tortured myself mastering innumerable forumlas and chemical compositions.

Cut to present, I walk into a mall and try out as many dresses as possible before zeroing in on one. Yet again, I’m not happy with my selection. I’m nagged by the same feeling — maybe the dress the lady in blue was buying was better. I go to a restaurant and order the most exotic sounding dish on the menu, but end up eyeing the one the man on my neighbouring table is feasting on.

It isn’t natural, this feeling. Or, is it? But, I’m not complaining. Call it envy, or aspirational, or ambitious, or competitive, it fuels my dreams and nurtures my passion to excel. After all, feelings are feelings and there’s no way we can judge them. I guess it’s a way of life. And, what is life without a bit of feelings? Contentment seems like a dream, a far, far away dream. But, who cares? Contentment only breeds complacency, or so I feel.

Wait, are the gerberas in my neighbour’s garden looking brighter than the one’s in my garden? I think so. Not fair!