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My Blogger
dashboard shows that there have been eight searches for ‘optimism’ in my blog posts
during the last few days. Out of curiosity, I did a search myself and was
amused to find pessimism topping the suggested links. The second was a post on
cynicism. The posts more directly related to optimism followed and they were
few and far between. I haven’t been quite optimistic, it looks like.
I remember one
of the first classes taken for the staff by a lady who belonged to a religious
cult which had taken over my school in Delhi. At one moment, I quipped in
response to a remark she made, “I’m falling in love with your class.” Pat came
her response, “Sarcasm, I can take it.” I wasn’t being sarcastic at least that
time. She was a good teacher in the sense she had all the skills required to drive
home points effectively so much so my admiration for her rose as days went by.
Eventually, however, she proved to be a witch in angel’s garb. She succeeded in
getting the school closed down so that her religious cult could use the huge
campus as parking space for her Baba’s rich devotees.
I dedicated to
her and her cult my second collection of short stories, The
Nomad Learns Morality. My first collection, ten years prior to the
second, was also dedicated to another similar person who messed up my life by
pretending to be my well-wisher. These two persons together took away my trust
in people altogether.
Optimism
became quite impossible for me. Sarcasm came to me much more naturally than
ever. It touched cynicism quite often. The only place where sarcasm and
cynicism take leave of me is the classroom where the young hearts throb with
optimism and sweet dreams. That sweetness is contagious.
I wish the
world offered me more such sweetness. I know that is wishful thinking. You can
call it optimism if you prefer. After all, optimism, like other attitudes, is a
choice. A very hard one for me, though.
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