Dear Boy

Dear Boy,

The first time I saw you was in the Kabir House of SPS. I was on my usual evening tutor [counsellor] duty and the House Assistant pointed you out to me. You were sitting on one of those few chairs in the small office and weeping like a child. You wanted to meet your mother. You were new to the residential school system.

I was quite surprised to see the tears flowing down your cheeks because you were quite a big boy. Physically too big for class 8. I understood soon from the little conversation which I had there that you had been pampered too much by your parents since you were their only child. You were their treasure. You took advantage of that and misbehaved so badly that your parents were forced to send you to a residential school.

I noticed the book in your hand, however. Harry Potter. Your personal copy. Your precious personal possession. Your identity mark in a residential school where most students didn’t bother to read even the textbooks for completing their homework. SPS had its own system of bullying. You just became a victim because of your innocence. And your intelligence. The world doesn’t love intelligence.

And then you grew up in that system. You grew up to become another bully. You stopped reading. You started fighting instead. In order to survive. You had to, because your parents refused to take you back from the school in spite of all the maudlin phone calls you gave them from the Kabir House cubicle whenever you got a chance to do so. Your parents were wise. You didn’t understand them, however, I think.

You could have been the best student in SPS. But you chose to fight with little things. You became a ruffian in the process. Even I became scared of you eventually. You don’t know perhaps that the whole school administration was worried about you. I still remember the day when you left the school after class 10 exams. You told me that you admired me. I was astounded. I didn’t believe you. Yet I thought there was something good inside you which made you say that. Your father once wrote to me to say that you had a lot of respect for me.

Two years later you gave me a call and said that you wanted to talk to me personally. You said that you were ready to travel all the way to Kerala just to meet me and talk to me. I put you on hold. In the meanwhile I learnt that you had become a drug addict.

I recommended professional counselling to you the next time you called me. I think you hated me because of that. Now you question everything that I write on Facebook against a particular political party. Questioning is fine. But I wish your questions came from the depths of your heart.

Probe your depths, dear. That’s the only way to save yourself. I’m not your bully. The world is not a bully if you know how to deal with it. If you don’t know that, keep yourself away from the world and pursue your own interests as I do. Read Harry Potter or whatever you like. Write in order to express yourself. Create your own meanings. There’s no other way ahead. Stop hating people at the very least.

You are fortunate to have parents who support you all through. But I would like you to go beyond that support. And be yourself. Discover yourself. Discover the beauty within you. Discover the divinity within you. Just try that at least. Please.