“Hell is other people,”
as Jean-Paul Sartre said. In his play, No Exit, three characters arrive in the
drawing room of Hell. There is no fire,
no torture, no devils in Hell unlike what their religion had taught. Soon they realise that hell is other
people. “All those eyes intent on me.
Devouring me. What? Only two of you? I thought there were more; many more. So this
is hell. I’d never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the
torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the ‘burning marl’. Old wives’ tales!
There’s no need for red-hot pokers. HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE!”
Human beings, including
me, are jealous, greedy, manipulative, crooked and wicked. We make life hell for others. We enjoy doing that. In fact, most of life is precisely that:
creating hell for others.
A lot of people who posed
themselves as my well-wishers created the hell of my youth. I lived in perpetual depression for about
five years because of my well-wishers most of whom were professionally
religious people. It took me years to
gather the courage to say goodbye to such people for ever. Rather it took me years to realise that my
happiness was not dependent on their approval and appreciation; that happiness
is my own creation, in the privacy of my home and hearth, in the solitude of my
heart.
Religious people create
hells both metaphorically and concretely.
Look at what’s happening in India in the last three years and you’ll
realise how capable religion is of creating hells for other people. There’s no escape from other people except
the temporary relief you create in your solitude.
We are condemned to live
with other people as Sartre argued. And
the other people insist on shaming us, making us feel like disgraceful insects. I spent my youth fighting that shame. During
my middle age I learnt to walk the tightrope between my private joys and the ineluctable
public shame. Now as old age is catching
up, I have learnt to smile at that shame which is still a faithful
companion.
My solitude is my
strength. There is someone who loves me
in my personal wilderness. One
person. One who has endured with me the
disgrace called life. She is my strength
too.
absolutely beautiful write-up. hats-off!
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