When my dad died four months ago, I cried continuously for four days. I cried not just because of my love for him and the realisation that I could no longer see him, but also because I couldn't get rid of my guilt in not being there for him. My guilt trip was stronger than any other emotion then. Then my aunt, who watched me silently for four days, told me to control myself. She said my dad will not be happy if I send him off crying. She said even now, years after her husband's death, she still felt guilty about all the arguments they had; that it was guilt which makes our emotions go out of control. It was only then that I could clearly see how self-absorbed I had become, that I did not acknowledge my mother's and sister's grief. It was only then I could find the strength to take responsibility for things to be done. They both looked upto me and I was on my way to fail them by being miserable when I had to be strong. I still feel guilty, but I know now that I cannot let myself become weaker.
'Caught in a strange land in a net with other butterflies, I'm a caterpillar yet undecided to remain a caterpillar and perish or turn into a beautiful butterfly and live a life full of joy.' Readers don't laugh. But I came up with this one night recently when I was travelling in a train. I tossed and turned, not being able to sleep, upset over unexplainable things and frustrated over events not in my control. Then it occurred to me that our life and its usefulness depends on our decisions -- whether to remain a crawling caterpillar whose existence otherwise is either ignored by all and sundry or who is cursed for just being there and thrown out with a stick, or to develop wings of life and metamorphose into a beautiful butterfly whom everybody adores for its beauty and colour, for its flitting liveliness, for its service to the flower's pollination... I thought that I should be a butterfly, of service to others, but then again I thought, anyway, who really cares?
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