The Trajectory of an Advice

The movie ambled into a relatively crowded compartment of the imagination of the fragmented community that functioned as my adopted home. It lingered there for a while before ferociously charging towards the outstretched arms of eavesdroppers or random individuals on the grape vine; acting pretty much as self crafted post cards seeking immediate attention! I seek apology of the contemporary hi-tech generation since the mention of post cards amidst the electronic invasion is just like writing with chalk on a smart board! I was acting as a willful fugitive from the place that hatched my identity and nurtured me into an individual who could make a decent attempt to come to terms with the tortuous complexion of an office that fails to keep pace with the advancing moments of time; without much to offer in the way of a drift from convention! I came across quite a few admirers of the movie whose eyes would pop out of their heads as they fondly dwelt over their favourite part of the story and I felt increasingly tempted to lurch towards the bait. My busy schedule would ill afford sparing 3 hours but I could no longer resist the enticement that had begun to encroach into all the sparingly leisurely moments of escape from work! The very next weekend I helped myself to an ‘elusive’ ticket obtained after quite a scramble given the praise that was being heaped upon the ‘movie of the century!’ The house was full and at least the crowd size appeared to be proportionate to the film’s popularity and I was encouraged. My critical lens always operated at hyper intensity as it grappled with the task of deconstructing every minor act of the story in order to find a common thread to the intersecting layers of the narrative and this movie was all set to trigger that very instinct.

 The story began impressively. It was about an obsessive father who wanted to make her daughter a star cricketer. He had limited means but the passion that drove him was larger than life. He would take her daughter to intense practice sessions that would continue for hours and her daughter in the process of this rigorous training was even deprived of some ‘daughterly things’ and had to practice like ‘sons’. And his effort became doubly remarkable in the face of a patriarchal society that would consider any ‘daughterly promise’ to be a slur on the social status of the community and fiercely opposed this ‘cardinal sin.’ However, the devoted father continued his rough journey where he was not only competing against his lack of resourcefulness but also with the discouraging reception of a society that abhors anything remotely resembling ‘womanly progress!’

The story was immensely attractive and I hardly batted an eyelid. At one stage during his daughter’s training for swimming he tossed her into deep water and then left her to her own devices. As her daughter struggled to find her way, begging for his help he chose to stay away, and instead reminded her of a lifelong lesson.

“I won’t be there every time with you. Learn to draw yourself up! You have to fight your own battle on your terms; on your own strength!”

This dialogue somehow penetrated my imagination. The story drew to a close with many inspiring messages but this particular advice from father to daughter somehow shook me all over making a permanent home in my memory.

I went back that day and reflected over it a great deal!

The next day, I proceeded to my workplace, beaming with an unusual energy. It was noticed by one of my colleagues.

“You seem uncharacteristically bubbly today. All ok?”

Khurram inquired in a playful tone.

“Yes, you are really observant. I am really excited today.” I chuckled. Of course, I didn’t want to disclose the reason behind my unusual chirpiness.

After the traditional greetings, I commenced my classes.

My lecture began on a traditional note. Today the focus was on one of the trickiest grammar terms called ‘conditionals.’

I tried to teach inductively by giving an example first followed by an explanation in keeping with the communicative language teaching.

Babar, an inquisitive student asked me.

“What is the function of a condition in conditionals?”

Rather than losing my confidence at the very first instance of being challenged, this time I stood my ground.

“They involve a condition and everything depends on the status of that condition.” I answered without a rattle in my voice.

 The student was quite convinced and that made me doubly pleased.

After the class, I sat with my colleagues discussing all things college over a cup of tea.

One colleague, Maleeha commented.

“The assignment on the research project needs to be shrunk by half since we don’t have time.”

“I believe time is no excuse. We still have it aplenty to make a difference. If we start making excuses then what impression are we going to make before the students?” I said in a firm tone that was bursting in self-assurance. The other people turned around their necks laboriously to take a hard look at my face! This wasn’t me if they remembered correctly my legacy of admitting my mistake even if the offender was not me!

While going for half a mile saunter in the evening, my friend was not available so I decided to stroll alone.

I was writing a thesis for my PhD as a parallel commitment alongside my work to keep my academic ambition alive. The thesis required a lot of critical thinking and I would always struggle to come up with an argument that would reflect some novelty without compromising too much on realistic grounds.

I always underrepresented my potential and regarded any perspective of my own as an attempt at overreaching myself without being supported by an equal degree of competence. As a direct corollary to this diffidence, my work would often stall and remain suspended somewhere in the region of fantasy and actual achievement.

I would always consider the people who had written something about the construct I was working on as superior in intellect and thus followed their writing style in order to remain visible in my overly competitive field.

But watching the movie was a watershed moment in my line of thinking.

I started to give greater consideration to my thinking pattern.

My next encounter with my professor was scripted entirely differently.

“Mr. Brown argued that language learning is a process that is genetically determined.”

“No. I beg to disagree. “It is more related to your social experiences.”

I exulted with joy. My capability as an independent thinker was drawn home and it raised my confidence.

The next day was the defence of my PhD.

As I entered the room, I wore a ‘stranger’ expression that had an unknown identity to the demons of my past.

“You talk about memory as a source of defence but the author uses it to further the plot. Don’t you find it untenable?”

“With all due respect sir, I don’t agree with your construction of thought. He has throughout his corpus of works relied on memory as a protective tool that comes to the rescue of the protagonist when he needs some uplifting and the plot advance happens only as a secondary consideration.” I tried to produce a logical defence of my argument.

“But the memory is deceptive.” The professor continued to challenge my argument.

“It cannot be classified into so clearly demarcated boundaries. There will always be some grey areas that are hard to be captured in a rigid framework of analysis.” I replied with a thud in my throat that entranced my body and spirit at the same time.

Here was the beginning of an altered existence-that was not related to the hibernating, delusional self that would crouch under the sofa at the prospect of even a tiny adversarial condition. I had drawn myself up! I was ready to take on the world. My old identity as a timid, dependent personality was slowing yielding to a firmer, surer and stronger self that wanted to seize every moment with a stamp of my own way of looking at this world!