It gets hard after a while, living up to people and their expectations. People like your parents, friends, your boss at work, a colleague who looks up to you. No matter what you do, or how.

Well, sounds like a rant doesn’t it? I’m just disappointed, yet there’s a certain satisfaction of knowing what people think of me, at least. I’m not a backstabber, not the type of person who’d backstab or cheat, and if I end up doing that I’d rather open up to the victim than hide it. Yet, we all have our dirty little secrets, right?

When I was young, say in my early twenties, my brothers took real good care of my expenses from their hard-earned salaries – a thing that bites into me to this day. They struggled in their jobs on mediocre salaries and yet they part-financed my education. I’m indebted to them for that and have always thought of the best ways to repay that, not in exact figures, but in essence. However, at the same young age, I have safeguarded many a dirty little secrets of them, like any brother would do.

In another world, I have been taken care of very well by parents. They have struggled hard to raise three boys, educate them and today they are all on their feet, sufficiently prosperous. It’s indeed a feat and I’m grateful to them.

I’ve faltered too, being born in a generation that is at the inflection point on the line graph of rational thinking. I’ve often found myself lost between traditional values and modern ways, between the rights of yesterdays and rights of tomorrows. Where I haven’t lived up to all the values that my parents would’ve wanted me to live up to, except a few fundamental ones which I believe are essential to a person. Values like bravery, self-respect, strength and integrity, righteousness.

Of these actions, I do know that my parents are aware of my failures as a person, failures that could actually tag me a ‘sinner’ in the current day society. Yet, they have let me live under the same roof as they do, they still take care of me. Now at 28, I’ve tried my best to mend my ways for a few years, to mellow down my behavior, my tantrums and my habits. Trying to be a good son.

So when you accidentally hear these two parties discussing something about you, you tend to pay a little attention. What could they possibly be talking about? Oh, it’s about my Thar, a vehicle I bought with some financial help from my Dad half of which I have already repaid. A vehicle I loved, aspired for. One of the two brothers was so happy, he went on to share my first blog on the vehicle. The idea of buying this vehicle had stuck to me after a conversation I had with him a year before I bought it.

“It’s a waste. Useless. Unnecessary burden” is what my Dad thinks about it. He’d still be happy to sit next to me and drive down to far off places if I’d invite him.

“It’s a white elephant” my Mom says. An elephant that has allowed transportation of tens of planting pots, tonnes of vegetables and fruits every week. It h had served them when a cab driver ditched a troupe of 6 adults at midnight, and I drove them in it overnight to a place 500kms away.

“Not white, it’s black elephant” my Dad replied referring to the size and colour of the vehicle.

All these were reactions to something that my brother said which I couldn’t really hear. 

So why am I ranting again? Why am I being so emotional about a non-living piece of machinery as against living people who are my family?

Because they mocked my dreams, like they have done many a times. 

Because they never opened their mouth to tell they don’t like it.

Because they never understood what it meant to me.

They never understood me.

Well, that’s how life works! Am I disappointed? A little bit. Does it change anything? No.

P.S. This is an earnestly felt thought right out of the heart. Not a depressing rant. 

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