Many a times, one thought triggers another and one goes on a long trip sitting at one place. My travel recently had been the same. The collarbone fracture that is still healing has taken me on many trips, here is one where I ended up questioning myself – is it self respect or ego?
Our return train journey from my sister’s home was turning into an unexpected adventure. We did not get a reservation, forcing me to snag whatever last-minute Tatkal ticket offered. My daughter was with me, she had rejected sleeping alone on a berth. So, with a grimace, I booked whatever I could get – not ideal for my recently fractured collarbone and a daughter averse to solo slumber. Whatever you call it, I got a three tier side upper berth. I could not leave Adviti alone on upper seat, I cannot go up with my fractured hand either. One-handed (thanks to the sling), I wrestled with luggage, my limitations a constant reminder.
At least we had a ticket. But as the train inspector checked it, my hopes of a restful journey plummeted. “This berth belongs to the next conductor boarding at Coimbatore,” he announced. I thought, I can manage it the TC would be kind enough. We settled in for a bumpy night.
At 11 pm we reached Coimbatore, and with it, arrived a surprise. When the TC duty changed at Coimbatore, two conductors came for their berth – The berth where I and my my 6 year old were sleeping. My request for a lower bunk was met with a dismissive, “The previous inspector should have sorted this.” Exhausted and frustrated, I stood there, my daughter clinging to me, and the sling as a beacon of vulnerability. One conductor, thankfully, seemed to sense my predicament. He disappeared into the carriage, returning with a solution – a new berth, blessedly lower down.
Relief washed over me, but a knot of discomfort remained. The conductor’s pity stung. This wasn’t the first time. The sling had become a conversation starter, often eliciting sympathetic looks and inquiries about my surgery. While I appreciated the concern, the undercurrent of pity rankled.
I realized it was a pity. I felt embarrassed and very bad for myself. I don’t want someone to look at me with such an eye. I wished I was fit. Here I was, trying to navigate this temporary setback with my dignity intact, and all I saw were some eyes filled with a kind of sorrowful voyeurism.
This experience sparked a question: was it ego or self-respect that smarted when people saw me with pity, especially the condescending kind?
I started introspecting. The discomfort of pitiful eyes, made me take another long trip. This time the trip took me 2500 years back. I asked myself – “Did the Buddha, in giving his disciples begging bowls, equip them to walk the tightrope between self-respect and the chasm of ego?“
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