Keep Calm and Carry On
As I recall the path towards achieving one dream and losing another one.
Keep Calm and Carry On
As I talk about my obsession with visiting the UK and striving to see my dream materialise.
And Keep Calm and Carry On
As I talk about a dear friend who believed in my dream more than I did, and who wanted more than me myself, to see my dreams come to life.
The dream to visit the UK. The dream to visit her.
I have always been a dreamer. I have always been a person who has faith. And when I connect the two I find myself believing in the strength of prayer. Prayer to God. I have faith that when I pray to the Almighty with all sincerity, the Almighty will listen and grant me my dreams. That’s how I look at everything I do in life. And that’s how most of my problems get solved. It’s like God has His hand on my head wherever I go, saving me from the disasters that befall me. My dad says that God works overtime to make sure we are saved from all troubles in this life and just that trust in Him should be enough for me to know that what He does is for a reason; and maybe I will never know that reason in this life but that trust in Him will remain.
When I prayed to God to take me to the UK, I had THAT trust in Him; that trust that whatever will happen will happen for a reason. To all of you my dream of going to the UK would seem rather silly; it’s just another country, you all would say with rolling eyes. But for me it was a place that I felt inextricably connected to; that connection too was there for a reason. God had put it in my heart. And the years of my life passed, with me going to college, then university, then starting work, that sense of connection to the UK remained in my heart, lingering, bidding its time.
But God didn’t want that feeling to linger in my heart forever. That is why He sent me and angel in the form of Nish. The angel Nish who would ensure that the path towards my dream did not have any obstacles, the angel who wanted more than me myself, to see my dreams come true. And she held my hand and showed me the way to my dream. But there was a glitch. She became my friend. And you know that inextricable connection that I had felt with visiting the UK? Yes that one. I started feeling that with Nish. And that’s when I felt, for the first time in my life, that my dream to visit the UK no longer existed. It was replaced by the dream to visit a dear friend. The dream to visit Nish. You see how fickle the heart is? God had put it in my heart. But I decided to let my FIRST dream stick with me anyway! Lucky for me though. The good thing was that both my dreams were connected. Achieving one would mean automatically achieving the other 🙂 And that made me HAPPY! 😀
But that did not happen. I achieved one dream and lost the other. And that made me SAD.
I studied at a school that was 129 years old when I had been admitted as a student there in grade 1. The building was old, ofcourse. It was made of stone. I took the building for granted, just like all the other kids there. I was 6. Really wouldn’t have been into judging buildings at that age, would I. But slowly, and I do not even know WHEN, I fell in love with the building I called school. My teachers talked about the beauty of our school, the huge gardens that we had, the numerous fruit trees, the parrots, the chirping sparrows, the butterflies (yes I even spotted one and tried to catch it too but had no success, sadly!) I fell in love with the gardens too. I used to often tease my siblings (who were in another school) that their 10 floor modern building was nothing compared to the paradise that MY school was. They wouldn’t quite welcome the ridicule, And I’d continue to boast about my school to anyone who would listen; my school, the old stoned building.
It did not come as a big surprise then, that while watching the BBC news one day (yes the BBC for the ‘accent’ was still my first crush!) I saw a report on the old buildings of London and fell in love with them.
“I want to visit London, Pappa!!” I whined immediately. “It looks like SUCH a beautiful place!”
“What’s so beautiful about old stoned buildings, beti (daugther)” he said, surprised.”They’re OLD!”
“My SCHOOL is an old stoned building too, Pappa!” I said, a little hurt. My school was the MOST beautiful building in the WORLD. It was my second crush after the accent, I reflected sadly as I looked at my dad, hurt all over on my face. “It just looks really pretty.” I said in a small voice. “I don’t know why—-I just think it is pretty—-I want to go there” I said again.
“It’s quite expensive for me to take you there.” he said, trying to make me understand. “You’ve learnt the continents right? We live in Asia, London is in Europe. It’s at the other end of the world. And the plane ride costs a LOT. Ask your aunty, she lives there”
And so I listened patiently to my dad speak of how it was next to impossible to go to London. It was far. It was expensive. It was impossible. My heart sank and ofcourse I must have shown it too. But as I grew older and received education at that building made of stone, I realised that I would have to make do with THAT building only that; atleast till the time was right.
They say that if a crush exceeds 4 months, it becomes Love. Neither my first, nor my second crush died before 4 months, not even 4 years, and not even 14! If this was not love, then what was?
As far back as my memory takes me I have been obsessed with the British accent. I think I may have been five, at most six. My father was watching the BBC News when I had just randomly walked into the room and for lack of anything better to do, I had jumped up on the sofa and sat to watch the news with him, even though I was least interested. The gentleman speaking on TV sounded like something I had never heard in my whole life. I remember thinking to myself “Pappa what language is this guy speaking?”but did not say it out aloud for fear of being ridiculed. I decided to listen closely and Oh my God! It was English!
But he spoke it in a very different way, I remember being shocked at how he pronounced the word ‘Oil’ (No doubt he must have been talking about the rise in price of oil!) He was saying “Aww-yul”. I giggled a bit and repeated the pronunciation “Aww-yulll’ I said and sounded extremely impressed with myself. “Aww-yul” I said again and again as my father raised his eyebrows in the back ground.
I smiled broadly and asked my dad which country that gentleman belonged to. He used to watch many english movies but someho wTHIS genteleman’s voice had not resembled any of the actors he used to watch!
“England” he said, shortly. And then realising that I was thinking about the speech of the gentleman, he added, “They all speak like that darling. It’s called the accent.”
Accent. That was a new word added into my dictionary. The accent. Hmmm
After that day I sat everyday, without fail, to watch the news with my father. I had a crush on the Accent. A crush on the British Accent 🙂