The pre-election buzz had reached a fever pitch. It was that critical time before Haryana Vidhansabha elections 2024, when parties were in process of finalising their candidates, and the air crackled with anticipation and intrigue. I found myself unexpectedly caught in the whirlwind, not as a participant, but as an observer with unprecedented access. And what I observed shook me to my core.
Delhi’s South Avenue’s party offices, MP flats, and state houses became my temporary home. I witnessed the meticulous dissection of voter demographics, the reduction of communities into mere vote banks categorized by caste, religion, and other markers of identity. Conversations revolved around strategic alliances, calculated appeasement, and the ruthless pursuit of numerical advantage. The blatant disregard for genuine leadership qualities was shocking. Candidates were pawns in a larger game, their individual aspirations secondary to the party’s insatiable hunger for power.
But it was more than just the crass political maneuvering that disturbed me. It was the cynical manipulation of ideologies. I saw how parties readily adopted and discarded narratives, developmental goals, and even core principles, all in the service of consolidating their voter base. One party would play the religion card, whipping up fervor to solidify a particular community. In response, the opposition would counter with promises of social justice and economic upliftment, carefully tailored to disrupt the other party’s carefully constructed coalition and consolidated vote bank.
It was a dizzying spectacle of ideological contortionism. The realization hit me hard: for these parties, ideologies were merely tools, conveniently wielded to secure power. Their true ideology, if you could call it that, was the pursuit of power itself. This realisation was perhaps the most disillusioning of all. It was hard to accept that the lofty ideals and grand narratives that fueled political discourse were often nothing more than cynical ploys to capture votes.
This disillusionment triggered a period of intense introspection, a quarter-life crisis of sorts. The world I thought I knew had been turned upside down. My comfortable assumptions lay shattered, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. It was all very unsettling. I needed to re-center myself, to rebuild my understanding of the world from the ground up.
And so, I decided to embark on a journey I had long postponed. Months earlier, I had planned to visit an innovative, creative and meditation based methodological school, APV School, nestled in the serene hills of Thiri Ghadwal, Uttarakhand. The time constraints of my usual life had prevented me from making the trip, but now, it seemed, the time was ripe. This school, with its focus on alternative education and community building, offered a stark contrast to the cynical world of politics I had just witnessed. Perhaps, I thought, it would provide the solace and clarity I desperately sought. It was time to escape the chaos and seek a new perspective, a new beginning.
So, while going up into the Himalayas, the cool breeze gave little comfort. I reached the school. I liked the whole experience, about which I’ll tell you all in some another blog, but here I’ll be telling you all about another discussion which I heard of a boy, like me, who also had a shattered understanding and experience with reality. The founder of the school – Prof. Anand Dwivedi ji, along with being an educationist, was newly getting a fame as a spiritual teacher, so some people came to him to discuss their life problems. After having a discussion about the education initiative, I too joined in; a video of which is there on YouTube, you can watch. https://youtu.be/C-vAo6keooQ?si=3vNjnQMQeO3IqBIR
Later that day, I found myself sitting on a wooden bench outside Prof. Dwivedi’s cottage, the serenity of the Himalayas surrounding me. A boy arrived shortly after, his shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on the ground. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the beauty around him. As Prof. Dwivedi emerged from his cottage, a gentle smile gracing his lips, the boy rose to his feet, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes.
Boy: (With a sigh) Namaskar Sir ! I’veโฆ I’ve been through some of your YouTube videos, Professor. The ones about peace and mindfulness. I understand the concepts, the practicesโฆ at least, I think I do.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Nodding thoughtfully) Understanding the concepts is a valuable first step. But true peace, true mindfulness, comes from embodying those concepts, from integrating them into the fabric of our being.
Boy: And that’s where I’m struggling, Professor. Usually, I’m quite a relaxed person. I can handle stress, I can find calm amidst chaos. But this timeโฆ it’s different.
Prof. Dwivedi: What’s different.
Boy: It’s likeโฆ there’s this constant chatter in my mind. Thoughts, questions, doubtsโฆ they just keep swirling around and around. I try to quiet them, to find that stillness you talk about, but they just won’t let go. I feel helpless against them.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Gently) It’s a common struggle. Our minds are powerful instruments, capable of both great creativity and relentless torment. The key is to learn how to navigate those turbulent waters, to find our anchor amidst the storm.
Boy: But how, Professor? How do I find that anchor when the waves keep crashing over me? When the questions refuse to be silenced?
Prof. Dwivedi: The answers, my dear boy, lie not in seeking solutions outside yourself, but in exploring the depths within. In confronting those questions, those doubts, with courage and compassion. In accepting that some answers may remain elusive, and finding peace within that uncertainty.
Boy: Sir, I understand your point about accepting that some answers may remain elusive. But when you know those answers exist, when you know there’s someone who could provide them, why shouldn’t I seek them?
Prof. Dwivedi: (Intrigued) Tell me more about these answers you seek. What kind of questions are they?
Boy: (Hesitates, glancing towards me) It’sโฆ it’s complicated. It involves another person, someone I was close to. But things changed between us, and nowโฆ there’s just this silence, this void of unanswered questions.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Observing him carefully) I sense there’s more to this than a simple desire for answers. There’s an emotional weight to your words, a yearning for something deeper.
Boy: (Takes a deep breath) You’re right, Professor. It’s not just about the answers themselves. It’s about understanding, about closure. It’s about reconciling the person I thought she was with the person she’s become.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Leaning forward, his eyes filled with understanding) It sounds like this person’s changed behavior has shaken your faith in your own perception. Tell me, how can someone else’s actions alter your understanding of reality?
Boy: (Hesitates, takes a deep breath) Sir, it’sโฆ it’s hard to explain. There was this girlโฆ We reconnected after a long time apart. I had feelings for her, but I was also aware of the complexities our different backgrounds might bring.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Nodding patiently) Tell me more about this reconnection.
Boy: We started chatting regularly, sharing things about our lives. One day, she asked why we were reconnecting. I told her it felt good, that I enjoyed our conversations. Then she asked, “What if I marry tomorrow?” and I, perhaps impulsively, said, “Let’s marry then.”
Prof. Dwivedi: (His eyebrows raising slightly) A bold statement. And her response?
Boy: (His voice falters) She didn’t say no outright, but she didn’t say yes either. She said she’d let me know. Our conversations continued, but the frequency decreased. After about a month, she declined the proposal, saying we shouldn’t even talk regularly unless necessary. I respected her decision and stopped contacting her.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Gently) It sounds like a clear boundary.
Boy: It was. But thenโฆ after few necessary interactions from my side. she started engaging again. Initiating conversations, sharing personal things, even when she came to the city, we met for hours. It felt like we were building something real, something deeper. It went on for months.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Softly) But then, the disconnect happened.
Boy: (His voice filled with frustration) Exactly. Out of nowhere, she dismissed everything as “basic courtesy.” It felt like a betrayal, a denial of everything we had shared. Like those intimate conversations, those vulnerable moments, those hints of a futureโฆ they meant nothing to her.
Boy: (Looking down at his hands) The thing is, sir, this isn’t the first time this has happened. Back in college, we went through a similar cycle. We connected online, then offline, and these long, engaging conversations started. I realised I had developed feelings for her, but I was hesitant because of our socio-cultural differences. I eventually told her about my concerns, and we stopped talking for a while.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Patiently) And then?
Boy: She reached out to me a few months later, and we reconnected. Our conversations were even deeper this time, more meaningful. But then, after a semester break, she came from home and, everything changed. She dismissed our connection as “basic courtesy,” even claiming it was a “compulsion” for her.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Softly) It’s understandable that you felt hurt and confused. Such a sudden shift in behavior, especially after a period of deep connection, can be incredibly disorienting.
Boy: It was, sir. It made me question my own judgment, my ability to understand people. I couldn’t comprehend how someone could go from sharing such intimacy to dismissing it as mere courtesy. All those gestures, the regular updates and discussions, the gifts, the late-night birthday visitsโฆ they all felt so genuine. But then, it was like a switch flipped, and everything changed.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His expression thoughtful) It seems you’re caught in a recurring pattern, a cycle of connection and disconnection that leaves you feeling confused and hurt.
Boy: (A troubled expression crosses his face) It’s justโฆ it’s hard to reconcile, sir. My mind tells me it’s impossible, that people don’t change so drastically, so frequently. That the person I connected with, the one who shared those intimate moments, couldn’t simply vanish. It feelsโฆ jarring, almost like a betrayal of logic itself.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Nodding slowly, encouraging him to continue) And yet, your heart tells you something different?
Boy: (Gazing out at the distant mountains, his voice barely a whisper) My heartโฆ my intuitionโฆ it whispers that it’s all a facade. That beneath those dismissive words and actions, something else lies hidden. That her fear, her insecurities, are driving her to create this distance. It’s this intuitive feeling, this inability to accept her apparent indifference, that has kept me in this loop for so long.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Softly) A conflict between the head and the heart. A struggle between logic and intuition.
Boy: (Meeting the professor’s gaze, his eyes filled with a quiet determination) Exactly. And I can’t bear this conflict any longer. I need to understand. I need to reconcile these contrasting behaviors, to find a way to bridge the gap between what my mind tells me and what my heart feels. I need to break free from this cycle of hope and disappointment, of connection and disconnection. I need to find closure.
Boy: It’s likeโฆ my intuition, my gut feeling, it screams that there’s more to her story than she’s letting on. That her dismissiveness, her avoidance, it’s a facade, a defence mechanism to protect herself from something deeper. And until I see that truth reflected in her eyes, hear it in her voice, feel it in her presence, my heart won’t be convinced.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His gaze filled with understanding) So, you seek a deeper knowing, a confirmation that transcends words and logic.
Boy: Exactly. I need to witness her truth, not just hear it. I need that visceral connection, that heart-to-heart recognition, to truly understand and finally let go.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Softly) It’s a noble pursuit, seeking that level of authenticity and understanding.
Boy: (Continuing, his voice gaining strength) And it’s not just about this time, Professor. In the past, I let her words dictate my reality. I accepted her statement without truly questioning them. But this time, I need to break that pattern. I need to understand the root of her behavior, the why behind her contradictions. I need to find closure, not just for my sake, but for hers as well. Perhaps, by understanding her, I can finally understand myself and break free from this cycle of connection and disconnection.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His voice gentle and encouraging) It’s a courageous pursuit, seeking that level of understanding and closure.
Boy: (His voice filled with a quiet desperation) I’ve spent years trying to decipher her words, her actions, her contradictions. I’ve analysed every interaction, every text message, every phone call, searching for clues, for answers. But it’s like chasing shadows, grasping at smoke. I need something more tangible, more real.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His eyes twinkling with wisdom) And you believe that a face-to-face encounter will provide that tangible truth?
Boy: (With a newfound conviction) I do, Professor. I believe that in her presence, I’ll be able to sense the truth, to feel it in my gut, in my heart. I’ll be able to see beyond the words, beyond the facade, and connect with the essence of who she truly is. And maybe, just maybe, in that moment of shared vulnerability, I’ll find the closure I’ve been seeking.
Prof. Dwivedi: (A gentle smile gracing his lips) Then perhaps, my dear boy, that is the path you must pursue. To seek that face-to-face encounter, to express your need for understanding, and to trust that whatever the outcome, it will lead you closer to the truth, closer to peace.
Boy: (His voice tight with frustration) So, I asked her to meet, to have an open and honest conversation, to find some closure. At first, she said there was nothing left to talk about, then she wanted to discuss it over text or call. But I knew those methods wouldn’t give me the answers I needed. I needed to see her face, to hear her voice, to truly understand.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Nodding in understanding) A face-to-face conversation can offer a depth of connection and clarity that other forms of communication often lack. It allows for a more nuanced exchange, where words are just one element in a tapestry of expressions, gestures, and unspoken emotions.
Boy: Exactly. But she refused. She said that even if she compelled herself to meet, it would stem from sympathy. That hurt, Professor. It made all those shared moments, those deep conversations, feel like an illusion. Like the understanding and trust we built meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Softly) It’s painful when someone dismisses or minimises shared experiences, especially when those experiences held significant meaning for you. It can make you question your own perception, your own reality.
Boy: It feels like she’s choosing the easy way out, the path of avoidance. She’s leaving me with all these unanswered questions, these unresolved emotions. It’s not fair.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His voice gentle but firm) You’re right. It’s not fair. And it speaks volumes about her capacity for emotional responsibility. But you cannot force her to engage, to provide the closure you seek. Sometimes, we must find that closure within ourselves.
Boy: (Sighing) I know, sir. But it’s hard to accept. It feels like I’m being denied the basic respect of an honest conversation, a genuine attempt to understand.
Boy: (His voice cracks with emotion) It’s likeโฆ it’s like these questions are holding me captive, Professor. They haunt my every waking moment, whispering doubts and insecurities in my ear. I long to be free from them, to find a quiet space within myself where those questions no longer have power over me.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His gaze softens with empathy) I understand. The mind can be a relentless tormentor, especially when faced with unanswered questions and unresolved emotions.
Boy: (Closing his eyes, as if reciting a silent prayer)
เคฎเฅเคเฅ เคเคจ เคธเคพเคฐเฅ เคธเคตเคพเคฒเฅเค เคธเฅ เคเคเคผเคพเคฆ เคเคฐ เคฆเฅ, เคฎเฅเคเฅ เคเคจ เคธเคญเฅ เคเฅเคฏเคพเคฒเฅเค เคธเฅ เคเคฌเคพเคฆ เคเคฐ เคฆเฅ.
Prof. Dwivedi: (A knowing smile graces his lips) Beautiful lines. They speak of a deep longing for liberation, for a mind that is not imprisoned by doubt and uncertainty, but rather inhabited by peace and understanding.
Boy: (Opening his eyes, a glimmer of hope flickering within them) That’s what I seek, Professor. Freedom from these questions, from this constant struggle between my head and my heart. I want to find a place within myself where I can accept the uncertainties, embrace the unanswered questions, and still find peace.
Boy: (His voice trembling with emotion) It’s the uncertainty that’s the worst, Professor. Not knowing, not understandingโฆ it’s a constant torture. It’s like that scene in the movie “Moses,” where his girlfriend is left alone in the desert without water. He doesn’t know if she survived, if she found help, or if sheโฆ
The boy’s words struck a chord within me. I remembered that scene vividly, the raw agony of Moses’ uncertainty, the way it gnawed at him, leaving him in a state of perpetual torment. It was a powerful reminder of how uncertainty can be a punishment in itself, a cruel form of mental torture.
Boy: (Continuing, his voice filled with anguish) It’s that not knowing that haunts me, Professor. The questions keep swirling in my mind: Why did she change? What did I do wrong? Does she even care? It’s like a never-ending cycle of doubt and despair.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His gaze filled with compassion) Uncertainty can indeed be a heavy burden to bear. It can keep us trapped in a cycle of what-ifs and maybes, preventing us from finding peace and moving forward.
I could relate to the boy’s feelings all too well. The way he described the shattering of his perception, the unsettling feeling of having his reality turned upside downโฆ it resonated with my own experience in the political world. The realisation that things were not as they seemed, that motives and ideologies could be so easily manipulated, had left me feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
Boy: (Looking at Prof. Dwivedi with pleading eyes) How do I escape this uncertainty, Professor? How do I find peace when the answers seem so elusive?
Prof. Dwivedi: (Smiling gently) The path to peace lies not in finding all the answers, but in learning to accept the uncertainty, to embrace the unknown. It lies in finding a place within yourself where those questions no longer hold power over you, where you can find stillness amidst the storm.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Placing a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder) It’s understandable to feel frustrated and hurt by her actions. But remember, you cannot control her behavior or force her to take responsibility. The only person you have control over is yourself.
Boy: (Nodding slowly, absorbing the professor’s words) I know, sir. But it’s hard to let go of the hurt, the confusion.
Prof. Dwivedi: (Smiling gently) Letting go is not about forgetting or condoning. It’s about releasing the burden of those unanswered questions, the weight of those unresolved emotions. It’s about finding peace within yourself, regardless of her actions.
Boy: But how do I do that, Professor? How do I find peace when my mind keeps replaying those moments, those contradictions?
Prof. Dwivedi: By turning your attention inward, my dear boy. By exploring your own emotions, your own needs, your own values. By recognising that your worth is not defined by her actions or her inability to acknowledge your feelings.
Boy: (Taking a deep breath, a sense of determination dawning in his eyes) I want to find that peace, Professor. I want to break free from this cycle of hurt and confusion.
Prof. Dwivedi: (His voice filled with encouragement) You can, my boy. You have the strength within you. It starts with acceptance โ accepting that some questions may remain unanswered, that some people may never be able to give us the closure we seek. It starts with focusing on your own healing, your own growth, your own journey towards inner peace.
Boy: (Reflecting on Prof. Dwivedi’s words) I agree with you, sir. I should be responsible for my own emotions and find my own peace. Butโฆ doesn’t just accepting this reality, without demanding accountability from others, perpetuate a cycle of emotional irresponsibility?
Prof. Dwivedi: (Nodding thoughtfully) A valid concern. It’s true that accepting a situation doesn’t absolve others of their responsibility for their actions. But demanding accountability, while important, doesn’t always guarantee a resolution.
Boy: But shouldn’t we strive for more accountable and just human interactions? Shouldn’t we expect people to acknowledge the impact of their behavior on others?
Prof. Dwivedi: Absolutely. We should aspire to create a world where emotional responsibility is valued and practiced. Where people are willing to engage in open and honest communication, even when it’s difficult. Where empathy and compassion guide our interactions.
Boy: But what if those we interact with aren’t capable of that? What if they choose avoidance and denial over accountability?
Prof. Dwivedi: (Gently) Then we must recognise their limitations and make choices that protect our own well-being. We can express our needs, set boundaries, and choose to distance ourselves from those who consistently disregard our emotional well-being.
Boy: (A sense of clarity dawning in his eyes) So, it’s about finding a balance between holding others accountable and taking responsibility for our own peace.
Prof. Dwivedi: Precisely. It’s about recognising that we cannot control others’ actions, but we can control how we respond to them. We can choose to engage with those who are willing to be accountable, and we can choose to walk away from those who are not.
Boy: (Nodding) It’s a difficult balance, but an important one. I realize now that seeking closure doesn’t always mean receiving answers from others. It can also mean finding those answers within ourselves, through self-reflection and acceptance.
As the boy’s session with Prof. Dwivedi concludes, a sense of calm descends upon him. He seems lighter, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He rises from the bench, a faint smile gracing his lips, and turns to leave. I, having witnessed the exchange from a respectful distance, approach him with a hesitant step.
Me: (With a gentle voice) I hope I’m not intruding, but I couldn’t help but feel a connection to your conversation with the professor. It resonated with me on a very personal level.
Boy: (Looking at you with a mixture of surprise and curiosity) Oh? You wereโฆ you were there?
Me: (Nodding softly) Yes. I was drawn to the intensity of your emotions, the honesty in your voice. It reminded me of my own struggles, my own search for meaning and understanding.
Boy: (A glimmer of recognition in his eyes) You were the one who spoke with the professor earlier, about the politicalโฆ
Me: (Smiling) Yes, that was me. It seems we’re both on a journey of self-discovery, each navigating our own unique challenges.
Boy: (A genuine smile spreading across his face) It’s comforting to know I’m not alone.
Me: You’re not. Your story, your struggle with those unanswered questions, it felt so familiar. It reminded me of my own experiences with broken trust and the search for rebuilding my understanding. Would you be comfortable with me sharing your experience, your journey towards peace, with others? Perhaps it could help someone else who’s going through something similar.
Boy: (His eyes lighting up with a sense of purpose) Please do share it. If my experience can help even one person avoid this inner turmoil, this constant struggleโฆ it would be worth it. As someone said,
“If all my pains & all my tears & all that I have learned throughout these years could lift a fallen head, could lighten a darkened mind, then I should think that not in vain – was my service to mankind.”
A Note to the Reader:
This story is a blend of reality and creative imagination. While the core emotions, the central conflict, and the boy’s journey towards inner peace are rooted in real experiences, certain details and dialogues have been fictionalised to protect the privacy of those involved and to enhance the narrative flow.
Any inaccuracies or misrepresentations are purely unintentional and solely my responsibility. The wisdom and insights shared by Prof. Dwivedi, however, are authentic and reflect his genuine approach to guiding individuals towards self-discovery and inner peace.
It is my hope that this story, despite its creative embellishments, will resonate with readers and offer solace and guidance to those navigating similar challenges in their own lives.
