Skip to main content

The Romance called Childhood


Put a few children on an island with no adults to supervise them.  Watch from a distance what they do.  In no time you will have to intervene in order to save them from themselves.

William Golding wrote a novel on that theme.  Lord of the Flies, the novel by the Nobel laureate, tells the story of some children who were marooned on an island.  Soon savagery dominates their life.  The benign Ralph loses to the bullying Jack.  Evil triumphs.  There is no childhood innocence.   There is only the savagery that marks humanity essentially.

Three years before Lord of the Flies was published, American literature was blessed with J D Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye (1954) which told the story of a 16 year-old boy, Holden Caulfield, whose dream was to preserve children’s innocence from the necessary corruption of adults.  Holden ends up in the loony bin. 

One has to lose innocence if one is to remain sane in the human world.  Growing up is necessarily to embrace evil or at least grapple with it.  There is no escape.  When you die, as Holden tells us in the novel, people will come and put “a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday.”  When you are alive, all they give you is crap.  Holden detested people.  And the psychiatrist thought he was insane.  After a year’s treatment in the asylum, Holden could not begin to love people.  But he was willing to accept their limitations.

Holden didn’t grow up, in short.  Did that help him anyway?  Not at all.  Accepting that human nature is essentially more evil than good is important in the process of growing up.  Childhood innocence is a good romantic notion.  It does no good to anyone trying to make it a gospel.  The harsh reality is that we can only grow up to evil or at least grappling with it; there is no way to grow down to childlike innocence.  The harsh truth is that there is nothing like childlike innocence.  Unless you keep the child locked away from the world of men!

As poet Gerard Manley Hopkins told the little girl Margaret, “as the heart grows older / It will come to such sights colder.”  Margaret has to grow up and learn the sorrows that accompany human existence.  There is no growing down.



Comments

  1. I love all of your posts, but this one,so far, is the best post that I have read. I relate with what you have said. I have a belief that maturity comes with experiences. And experiences are the best teachers to show the child in us a pragmatic look of the world outside.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Experiences are the best teachers. And more often than not, they teach us harsh truths.

      Delete
  2. Hopkins lines are so apt....we grow old and we find coldness in relationships everywhere, partly because we have lost the passion of childhood.....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. One of my favorite poems by Hopkins, it shows the inevitability of evil in human life. Man is a "fallen" creature, as Hopkins - a Catholic priest - understood.

      Delete
  3. The world makes us do things which we ourselves never imagined. It's all corrupt practices around us that we get infected with!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. True. When there's so much evil all around survival depends on acquiring some of that.

      Delete
  4. Yes that is true. But in growing up in an evil world, in becoming mature and losing innocence so much of the spontaneity is lost.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Inevitable loss. That's why we come across so many people who can't even smile.

      Delete
  5. The freedoms of childhood are best recalled in the confines of adulthood Tomichan, but then that confine is the one we have built for one another. As you have quoted variously, there is no escaping that fence. This was a good read.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Freedom has to be accompanied with responsibility. We are like children insofar as we behave without responsibility. The confines are necessary because of that lingering childhood.

      Delete
  6. "One has to lose innocence if one is to remain sane in the human world" - harsh but true.I wish, however, there was some other way. Side-effects of being a parent, I guess.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I too wish there was some other way. We can't have Rishisringas!

      Delete
  7. Childhood is free of notions and speculations but as we start aging the exposure to the world and society makes us adapt to the world and the quest of survival brings harsh changes to befit the world.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. William Golding would say that even if adults are not around, the children will still make a hell out of whatever is available to them.

      Delete
  8. Time ones gone never comes back. So is childhood. no matter how hard we try, at some point we all knowingly or unknowingly fall prey to evils.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Experience sure is a good teacher.Nice article

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Experience may be a painful teacher but a pretty good one. Glad you liked it.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pranita a perverted genius

Bulldozer begins its work at Sawan Pranita was a perverted genius. She had Machiavelli’s brain, Octavian’s relentlessness, and Levin’s intellectual calibre. She could have worked wonders if she wanted. She could have created a beautiful world around her. She had the potential. Yet she chose to be a ruthless exterminator. She came to Sawan Public School just to kill it. A religious cult called Radha Soami Satsang Beas [RSSB] had taken over the school from its owner who had never visited the school for over 20 years. This owner, a prominent entrepreneur with a gargantuan ego, had come to the conclusion that the morality of the school’s staff was deviating from the wavelengths determined by him. Moreover, his one foot was inching towards the grave. I was also told that there were some domestic noises which were grating against his patriarchal sensibilities. One holy solution for all these was to hand over the school and its enormous campus (nearly 20 acres of land on the outskirts

Machiavelli the Reverend

Let us go today , you and I, through certain miasmic streets. Nothing will be quite clear along our way because this journey is through some delusions and illusions. You will meet people wearing holy robes and talking about morality and virtues. Some of them will claim to be god’s men and some will make taller claims. Some of them are just amorphous. Invisible. But omnipotent. You can feel their power around you. On you. Oppressing you. Stifling you. Reverend Machiavelli is one such oppressive power. You will meet Franz Kafka somewhere along the way. Joseph K’s ghost will pass by. Remember Joseph K who was arrested one fine morning for a crime that nobody knew anything about? Neither Joseph nor the men who arrest him know why Joseph K is arrested. The power that keeps Joseph K under arrest is invisible. He cannot get answers to his valid questions from the visible agents of that power. He cannot explain himself to that power. Finally, he is taken to a quarry outside the town wher

Levin the good shepherd

AI-generated image The lost sheep and its redeemer form a pet motif in Christianity. Jesus portrayed himself as a good shepherd many times. He said that the good shepherd will leave his 99 sheep in order to bring the lost sheep back to the fold. When he finds the lost sheep, the shepherd is happier about that one sheep than about the 99, Jesus claimed. He was speaking metaphorically. The lost sheep is the sinner in Jesus’ parable. Sin is a departure from the ‘right’ way. Angels raise a toast in heaven whenever a sinner returns to the ‘right’ path [Luke 15:10]. A lot of Catholic priests I know carry some sort of a Redeemer complex in their souls. They love the sinner so much that they cannot rest until they make the angels of God run for their cups of joy. I have also been fortunate to have one such priest-friend whom I shall call Levin in this post. He has befriended me right from the year 1976 when I was a blundering adolescent and he was just one year older than me. He possesse

Kailasnath the Paradox

AI-generated illustration It wasn’t easy to discern whether he was a friend or merely an amused onlooker. He was my colleague at the college, though from another department. When my life had entered a slippery slope because of certain unresolved psychological problems, he didn’t choose to shun me as most others did. However, when he did condescend to join me in the college canteen sipping tea and smoking a cigarette, I wasn’t ever sure whether he was befriending me or mocking me. Kailasnath was a bundle of paradoxes. He appeared to be an alpha male, so self-assured and lord of all that he surveyed. Yet if you cared to observe deeply, you would find too many chinks in his armour. Beneath all those domineering words and gestures lay ample signs of frailty. The tall, elegantly slim and precisely erect stature would draw anyone’s attention quickly. Kailasnath was always attractively dressed though never unduly stylish. Everything about him exuded an air of chic confidence. But the wa

Nakulan the Outcast

Nakulan was one of the many tenants of Hevendrea . A professor in the botany department of the North Eastern Hill University, he was a very lovable person. Some sense of inferiority complex that came from his caste status made him scoff the very idea of his lovability. He lived with his wife and three children in one of Heavendrea’s many cottages. When he wanted to have a drink, he would walk over to my hut. We sipped our whiskies and discussed Shillong’s intriguing politics or something of the sort while my cassette player crooned gently in the background. Nakulan was more than ten years my senior by age. He taught a subject which had never aroused my interest at any stage of my life. It made no difference to me whether a leaf was pinnately compound or palmately compound. You don’t need to know about anther and stigma in order to understand a flower. My friend Levin would have ascribed my lack of interest in Nakulan’s subject to my egomania. I always thought that Nakulan lived