Amu’s Eyes

Amu was a rather curious child; or so his folks told.

I met him when I was 38 and he was 27. He felt fresh like a breeze, uncomplicated, conveniently attached, mostly detached. I wish I could grow up with him, but I was already here – half my life gone, still figuring where I figure. And he was here – waiting to begin.

I wish I could see the world from his eyes, be with him during those days in school when just to catch a glimpse of the rising sun, he would run like crazy and sit on a bench quietly settling his racing heart to be in silence. 

He lived in what I call an enhanced sense of consciousness. Amongst the small conversations of glances and words and other expressions, nothing was casual, everything had a deeper meaning. And nothing of the big things like death and separation seemed to worry. A strange brave being who accepted the unknown with appreciation and understanding.

The boy was all confused with how the world should have been and how it was. His honest utopian imagination failed to match the plain-vanilla routine kind of life around. And although he was an instinctively happy soul, he often faced tragedy when he looked out, or so I was told. You hit him, he’d smile back, kiss him he’d be unruffled but words were like oaths. Each utterance was a promise.

It was different from how I was brought up. We weren’t frivolous; just easy. It was okay to change words to put across the same thought and it didn’t matter even if the original thought reached the audience in a twisted form. Here, with this methodical boy, these became lies. And no one but he was the most affected by this. Trembling in turmoil at each such assertion and defence of which.

The extreme sensitivity brought in a sharp contrast of joy in little things. The most beautiful sight were the smiling eyes when they marvelled at the wonder of creation. I have seen him speak with birds and flies as if they understood, and I always believed they did. And the relaxed lips that were just between smile and sigh at the acceptance of innocent imperfections; all inclusive, motherly endurance. He touched leaves, crushed and rubbed them in his hands and smelled them to take the essence in. Loved the grass and all the insects that inhabited it. Hated fans, hated artificial heat and cold. He maintained journals, worked on himself, tried to better things that mattered and consciously ignored the compulsive expectations of himself and others. One of the very few truly fearless people I have seen in my not so wide life.

He lived a life in black and white where there was euphoria, and then there was gloom. It struck him like a flying javelin and sliced open his heart to give an inward doorway to melancholy. It stayed, totally welcomed without any struggle and left him when he had learnt the lesson well. The fragile spirit kept it in until ‘this attack’ became inept at hurting him again. A life unsheltered at first and then closed with a stone wall where nothing goes in and nothing comes out. Where trust once broken would need years of perseverance to be built again. Such a marvellous life that lived to the full. Laughed to the full, cried to the full. Loved to the full but never let himself hate anyone. Would let his hand out for you to hold and take him on a ride; wherever, however you want. Would allow you to steer his joy ride. Would walk guided by your voice blindfolded if needed to.

He was beautiful with his awkward sneezes and clumsy relation with spoons. Unabashedly original. Condescending, cautious, compassionate and caring all in the same breath. An amusing find. I was boastful of his association with me however in all honesty I knew he had nothing to grasp from me. This was a one sided relation where I just took and he just gave. Well in my defence, I needed and he had plenty. This is my masterclass and he is one of my favourite teachers.

He trusted life and I trusted him. If there was any other way of living life, he’d know. And if he’d know; it would be the right way. My lessons have just started and blindfold walking hearing the guiding voice is the first one. And they said with age comes wisdom; I have come to believe this is not the entire truth. Did I tell you I had a lot of greys with some speckles of gold?