Rusty Mindset do not Evolve!
Dynamic ducks do get nurtured with time, but static ducks don’t!
You may have noticed a slight change in our daily life amidst the ongoing pandemic. Our new normal can be defined as being the experiments of witless quarrels. These quarrels nullifying the aroma of homes, beneath the buried hours.
Mindsets, opinions, obsession, or even possessiveness. These ailments cause many people to undergo the brim of grief in their own houses.
Home, as a place where we took birth, or where the first phase of crying lights of schooling began. Or, a place where the days of depression startled every insect nourishing the atmosphere within.
Yes, that same home has become homeless now, with the furniture trying to visualize the eerie picture of silence, this pandemic created.
The aura of such inhumane humanity has leaked the stress of fights beyond the doors.
What I have noted is the fact that,
a mismatch in opinions can lead to innovation, but a mismatch in the fixed mindsets can deprive of motivation and can create a funeral for the constituents of that very home.
Here is a story on one such incident, whose witness is this writer of yours.
Viewing the frame past the pandemic ever arose, a girl named Shreya, elder than the home she shifted to, but younger than 25, can be described as a canny mind in a charming brain.
Her home had various components, placed safely in each box of her life.
Her mother, the Head of the Department, was in charge of Shreya, ensuring to keep that ever-glowing joy in Shreya’s eyes.
Her next component was her brutal father, who passed away when she was just 5.
Her maternal grandmother was her last component, who used to flourish her wishes by making mind-slurping dishes for her.
What was worst about her grandma was that she was a box of old spices with supernatural beliefs and thinking.
Shreya’s new normal started with some finitely great hours of playing cards or with her footsteps dancing to each of her favorite Bollywood songs. The ticking clock kept her dirty smiles well settled on her naughty dimple.
But, something happened suddenly. Anomalies and abnormalities gathered every niche of joy, from her balcony, to burn those off in the flames of fire.
What were the misfortunes ahead, Shreya and her home, didn’t plan for? What could happen in this new abnormal?
Was Shreya the center for this home-quake? Or were the old minds just not fit in this modern insightful society?
It was a windy atmosphere when she was lying on her grandmom’s lap, with a 26-year adult brain and an alluring body, the curvature of which lay around that little lap to touch the grounds.
Her smart curves around her hips meant that a lot has transitioned from when she was a little princess, to when she became an enticing piece.
She was well matured to become a so-called Hitler for the boy she wanted to marry. But, there came some roller coasters driving off her excitement to causing an end to her faith in her only grandmother.
She wanted to marry her chosen partner, the one who was with her on a 6 months date, or the one who heard the cracking noise of her feelings. He was also the only one who made himself promising enough to become the top number in her contacts list.
But the boy, she would shy in front of, was a Muslim choice.
Her religious, over-threatening Hindu grandma saw it as a curse to society's laws. She dreamt the future of Shreya with her drowning eyes soaked in the sponge of sorrow, troubled enough to reveal the sadness of marriage.
Inter-caste marriage was the greatest weaponry, she thought, as was used by the ‘Musalmaan’ community.
Shreya knew that Ahmed, her future fiancé, was god’s pre-planned gift. She needed a convincing milestone to feather her grandma, in believing that marriage is a way to exchange and share emotions.
Shreya had her mind sinking in the rivers of hopelessness. But one day, when Shreya was alone with her dearest grandmom, she saw something unusual in her grandmom’s health.
Her Nani, as she used to call her, had a breathing complication. Nani’s lungs went puffing air in and out, driving Nani out of her own governance.
She breathed heavily, and started puking like a dragon’s saliva, but could not get to normal as before.
Shreya’s moist eyes made her mentally handicapped to even call an ambulance and also be by the side of Nani.
By the destined fate, Ahmed came to meet Shreya at her house, just to get startled by Nani’s fatal disorders.
He immediately made arrangements for Shreya’a grandma. It looked like humanity was not the only factor for him.
His facial curvatures turned triangular, conveying that he treated Shreya’s grandmom as his own.
Nevertheless, specialized practitioners compiled their working hours to diagnose each second of her breath. It was then they realized that the blood flow in Nani’s embodiment was nearing a dead end.
They scrutinized her blood group to visualize the fear of the hour.
Unfortunately, she was O -ve, the rarest in the history of mankind.
The boat Nani once sat on, drifted from the stream of life to mark a turning point into the ocean of death.
Even, blood banks twirled their hands to apologize for the help they could not provide. This pandemic snatched the last drops of blood and faith from Shreya’s hands.
Ahmed, a Musalmaan as noted by the tired old eyes, was of the same blood group as that of the dying light.
He proposed to offer his blood, to swim into Nani’s life.
But that terrific angry ears of Nani, could not take in the proposal of a Muslim. Her egoistic fingers responded with a thundering NO.
She didn’t want her Hindu body to contain a Muslim’s breed. She would prefer dying with that jammed Hindu blood, in her self-esteemed body.
Was Nani having a home-grown fixed mindset?
Did Ahmed offer humanity just to please the oldest pillars of the house? Or, was Ahmed promoting the culture of inter-caste marriage?
Ahmed was not a social worker or even the Messiah of humankind.
But this Covid pandemic transformed his good virtues to dive into the ocean of humanity. He helped thousands of people, with money, connecting emotionally with their families, or even donating that Muslim blood as much as he could.
He would never feel disheartened if he does not get to marry his Hindu dream girl.
Now, the only rugged assurance was that little grown-up Shreya. She was the one who could strongly convince her grandma to stay practical.
Shreya’s watery eyes moistened grandma’s lungs with the air of modernism. She did not want to view the loss of her favorite grandma.
This event was a godly history. The blood progressed from a Muslim vein, to be seen in that transparent pipe, to shake the nerves of the old thinking of a Hindu.
It was when Shreya’s grandma admitted her guilt and trashed her wrong mindset. Her beliefs took a tragic ride, to note that she had also become half-Hindu and half-Muslim.
She started to realize that caste is not a metric to measure one’s ability to promote humanity.
That was a clear death, not of her egoistic life, but of her ancient mindset, which fed on her healthy embodiment, to abolish her own self.
A grave of the antiques does mean murdering the crude brains, but not murdering the enticing civilization.
Inter-caste marriage was just a part of this audience, to view this dramatic radical of life.
I would just ask for a small answer from you.
Are the old mindsets fit in this modern museum of life?
Thanks, Vanshika (my sister) and Anupam (a good friend of mine) for helping me think of ideas for this great piece.
