mypajama.com is all about storytelling. Stories and essays are published at an alarmingly infrequent rate. Subscribe with RSS or via email.

A few weeks ago, I found myself talking to a bunch of college kids about the importance of visualising one’s goals. There was skepticism as usual. Some were convinced their choices don’t matter. Some wanted, more than anything else, to matter. One boy asked me if I thought he could do what he wants to do.

I told him it didn’t matter what I thought. If he thinks he can do something then all other opinions in the world don’t amount to zilch. All he needs is faith in himself and the universe. He looked better after that and offered to drop me home on his bike after the class.

I took the offer and soon decided that I was going to die. He drove like the wind, swinging in and out of unruly Cuttack traffic. I started running calculations in my head with respect to our speed, angles, and the possible damages we might incur if we hit something.

He said something about a model and I agreed (looking at a billboard) that Kangana Ranaut was quite something. He corrected me. He was referring to the motorcycle model some distance ahead of us. I couldn’t see it because of his bulk. His shoulders extended a mile in both directions, blocking my view like a wall. I was panicking with every turn he took.

And then it hit me!

I was on a motorcycle, floating through traffic. There was wind in my face (occasionally) and the sights and sounds from all around were rich. I had just returned from an engaging discussion and was on my way home where a sumptuous lunch awaited me.

And yet, I was missing all of it. I was so worried about bad things that might happen that I had forgotten to feel thankful about the great gifts all around me then and there.

I shook my head at myself for not practicing what I had preached only minutes ago. Life has such a way of getting back at us! We don’t even notice.

I figured I had two choices. I could either fret all the way home, or I could trust my generous benefactor to drive well (he certainly had a lot of control over his steed) and enjoy the ride while it lasted.

I chose the latter and almost felt sorry when I got to Badambadi. I thanked the kid and said bye. Then I walked the length of the lane to my house, looking at my feet and thinking to myself.

I must have looked depressed. An old neighbour stopped me. She is an ancient Bengali woman. Scantily-clad (white saree, no blouse), and always full of worries. She has been like this ever since I was a child.

She asked me why I quit my job (its local legend by now). I told her. She asked me when I was going to Delhi. I told her. She whined about me going to Delhi. I said I will keep coming back.

“But you are going to Delhi,” she said.

“I will come back,” I replied.

“But you are going there for good,” she insisted.

“I will come back. Don’t worry.”

“But even your parents are going with you.”

“We will all come. We will keep visiting.”

“God knows when you will come next. I am old,” she said at last.

I told her that she was right and God knows when we will come. She shouldn’t worry. Then I went home to lunch, comfort and hard-earned rest.

Posted on Monday, November 12th, 2007 at 1:15 am and filed under personal, faith, essays.

Do you believe in destiny? Click here to read a random post.

I publish new stories and essays with alarming infrequency. To stay updated, subscribe to the RSS feed or get email updates.

Visit me at my new blog: http://www.vmohanty.com