The period that followed the 07 July bomb blasts in London, I went through a contradiction of belief system. I was constantly being told that all terrorism was being conducted by a certain sect of people. My bringing up insisted that because of a handful of people, the entire sect gets generalised. I should be informed enough to decide better.
I was torn between fear because of propaganda and the person that I wanted to be. Wise, opinionated but tolerant. Some times no matter how hard you try, cynicism does take over. A good friend then told me cynicism too was a choice.
I made a choice then. I chose to believe in my faith in good over evil. I constantly reminded myself of the childhood friends, good neighbours, the taxi driver who brought me home, the love I will feel but will never have.
I live in a city that takes pride in it’s cosmopolitan make up. Some people want to tar that. That makes content for another post probably for another blog. So in this huge city when every rickshaw walla refused to take me home one rainy evening I am a little perplexed when a young bearded man agrees. I take a look at his eyes. I am not sure what I am looking for, but I hop into his rickshaw, happy to be saved from the rain.
I wont deny fear, nor doubts. I sit still, confused at my own cynicism creeping in again. I try to fight the feeling. I have no reason to feel the way I do. But I do. I tell myself I am human. I am saddened at the constant excuse I give myself for being weak in my mind.
This young man brings me home, safe and sound. In 31 Rupees. Way below the amount I pay each day. I look at his eyes again. Disappointed in the reflection that I see in them. I tip him a fiver for being honest with the meter. He thanks me and drives away.
I did not have a proud moment, but my faith is restored. I might just turn out to be the person I was brought up to be.