Harish Jharia

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10 July 2009

Do we have a child within us…?

Pranab Pictures, Images and Photos

© Harish Jharia

Yes I do feel existence of a little child right there within me. A tiny tot who wants to giggle at his full throttle… a sprouting sapling who longs to cry for his mom… an innocent toddler feeling pride in holding hand of his dad… and loves to let everyone know whose offspring he is?

Nevertheless, I don’t let the child peep out of his hideout and keep a vigilant eye on him to ensure that he continues to be in his solitary confinement that I have imposed on him. I find out various ways to subdue him against any possible outbreak of his emotions because I believe that I am supposed to look a tough, confident and aggressive person; rather than being a decent, cool, emotional human being, possessing all such feelings like love, compassion, pain and simplicity.

I don’t accept the fact that I keep my face covered with an invisible mask. Yet, I ensure having stiff upper lip, piercing eyes and puffed-up nostrils. I do like someone to open the door of my car for me to to board and would even wait a couple of minutes for the driver to rush around the car for repeating the exercise for me to leave the car.

I speak lies at office, at conferences and at home too. I can easily notice disbelief on the faces of people to whom I lie. Yet I keep lying as it has added to my natural instincts. Sitting on the dining table at home for a dinner, my little daughter looks at my face with amazement while I tell a caller on phone that I was busy in a meeting with clients in the city trade centre.

Nevertheless, the mask on my face vanishes when I retire to my bed in the night. My eyes keep awake wide open until midnight. I keep hearing the feeble sound of wall clock and the wheezing sound of asthmatic breathlessness of my old dad from the adjoining room accompanied with sweet tingling sound of glass bangles of my aged mom.

I recollect my childhood days when I used to sleep right between my mom and dad and used to feel dad’s breath on my face and mom’s feather touch on my chest. Now, sometimes I feel as if I have lost lots of my prized possessions that I used to feel proud of… and recollecting those childhood days, I find my throat chocked… and tears rolling down my face... 


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