I know that I mentioned that I
wouldn’t be writing about myself anymore in the last article. But
this is an article I want to share. This is about why I walk.
I never knew why I walked so much.
Well I had known that it relaxes me and that it will keep me fit. And
I never really questioned that urge. I just knew I had to walk when I
had to.
Well, today I may have figured out a
bit about it. And may be a bit more about myself.
How do I explain it? In a sense
where the very clichéd – “Who Am I, What is the purpose of my
life” questions don’t play much of a role?
Let’s take an example. My mind is
a spoilt, snooty assed annoying little kid. Sometimes it is nice and
well behaved but sometimes it takes certain stands that make all hell
break loose.
When a kid is irritated, restless
and doesn’t get much attention (in my case, mostly too much
attention), what does it do? It protests. It cries, shouts and
crawls. It struggles. It becomes lost. It knows that it has got a lot
of things other people haven’t but then that might be a huge part
of the problem. It has tasted excitement. It wants more. Though
sometimes it doesn’t have the singular idea about what it wants.
Now, my physical being including my
attitude, is a whole different story on a completely different level.
It is restrained, bound. It can’t aspire much. A. Because it owns a
vagina. B. It is from a place where having a vagina restricts you.
You can’t be your boss all the time. There’s always some sort of
hostility surrounding you. Fear of being attacked physically,
socially (what will the society say?), a lack of control over one’s
own life (why do you want it go there? At this time? Why don’t you
take somebody with you? You are too young to be doing this on your
own. You are too old to do this at all.)
How does walking come into the
picture? Well, how do people console restless babies? You carry them.
You walk. You show them toys. You make unbelievably dumb but more or
less exciting stories. You distract them.
This is what I do with my mind while
walking. I distract it. I give it pace. I take it away from people
and things that irritate it. I go ways I’ve never been before. I
give it freedom to choose the most random paths. I give it a sense of
adventure and that quiets it down for a while. My mind sleeps in
peace, exhausted but in peace.
Is this article about walking? Hell,
no. Not even remotely. This is about the baby that my mind is.
I know I get a lot of things that
some other people can’t even dream about. (Note: As much as I love
materialistic things, that is not what I am talking about right now.
I am talking about the cravings of the heart. Like freedom. The
freedom of making informed choices about even petite seeming things
uninfluenced by what other people think) But that doesn’t mean I
have no right to aspire for more. It is like telling a high schooler
that there is no point in her aspiring for college as she has already
achieved what millions around the world cant even dream about. And
the torturous part is that there is nothing I can do about this
torment that I undergo seeing the above mentioned happening to me or
the people around. Male or Female. It saddens me to a greater extend
when I realize that half of these souls don’t even recognize the
chains of fear that binds them. May be do and choose to ignore.
So I distract my baby that my mind
is. I keep it busy. I tell it stories. I bury myself in irrelevant
seeming things like movies, books, the kitchen. When that doesn’t
help, I karaoke to really bad songs (that was a joke.) With all the
extra energy that kicks into me during these rebel spells, a punch
bag is the best gift anybody could get myself (not really a joke.)
So, I take it for a walk. I don’t give it time to think. I keep it
away from people and things and places that questions it’s sanity.
I give it the greenery, the warm sun, the cool wind and the sweaty
skin. I give it complete freedom, the freedom to be its own boss and
choose its own path for an hour.
May be in the future when I read
this article, this might seem – even to me – as the whimsical
tale of a brat. A phase. This future may be an hour from now or years
later because with some experiences in life my baby may grow up like
all other babies). But till then, this is as true as my flesh and
blood. This is who I am. And this is why I do what I do.
