14
The Power of First
{ Sheetal Sharma }
T
ill recently the word ‘First’ was like a magic wand for me. It would lift me out of my blues by popping up memories of my First happy experience or enliven my dull moments by recalling my First exciting happening. In fact these delightful Firsts came specially handy in my leisurely hours when they would roll over like a reel, making me feel smugly blissful. I was rather smitten by my enthralling Firsts. I held on to them like a connoisseur of art does to his collection of masterpieces or a miser to his wealth - to the last penny. While reminiscing my joyful, delightful Firsts, I always happliy recall the very First enthralling, charismatic experience from my childhood. I remember myself as a shy and awkward child, keenly waiting to be acknowledged – but not knowing how to make it happen. And
B on V ivant
2-8 January 2015
then came the First magic. I won a prize at school in a Declamation Contest. The memory of this very First victorious moment helps me to this day. Whenever I am at a podium, facing an audience, I overcome my initial diffidence by refreshing the memories of my First victorious moment; and, thereafter, to my pleasant surprise, follows a delightful rapport between the audience and me. I feel the immense power of this First First. The applause at the end energises me, but also makes me feel humble. Further, it was the First that helped me discover my true vocation – by topping the B.Ed. examination. It brought forth the teacher in me and has exposed me to the countless joys of the profession. Of course the most fascinating, the most joyful and the most enthralling of all Firsts has been the exciting
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discovery of my First love. It is treasured as a very, very special First. Of course, down the journey of life, I have experienced the thrill, excitement and joy of other Firsts too - like the moving of the baby cot in our bedroom, my husband’s First promotion, my daughter’s First art exhibition, the purchase of our First house. But alas! One fine morning my euphoria burst. And it was my own reflection in the looking glass that did it – with the emergence of a few wrinkles on my face, which I noticed for the First time. This time the First did not make my spirits soar - instead it sagged them down. I was under the impression that by colouring my grey strands and by deftly handling my fitness regime, I had been able to keep my approaching old age on hold. People’s pleasing compliments,
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‘You look the same’, or ‘You don’t look your age’, had reinforced my belief in my ‘eternal youth’. And now these unwanted wrinkles had appeared from nowhere to bust my myth. I found this wrinkly First very agonising. It filled me with fear. Glaring at me like a ghost, this obnoxious, most depressing First revived the memories of other cheerless Firsts - which came tumbling down falling over each other. Oh my! It was quite a pile of nightmarish, harrowing Firsts. To mention a few – the First heartbreaking experience of being rejected for a job; the First shock of being stabbed in my back by my own colleague, who wrested the credit from me for some good research work; the excruciating pain of losing my First promotion as I didn’t have any ‘pull’. Now the depressive side of First
was screaming at me. I could no longer turn away from this other connotation of First. Thankfully, on reflection it has worked out fine. I have realised that while Firsts can be good and awesome, they can be bad and gruesome too. No First stays forever – including the bad. All First achievements and successes and all First failures and defeats are transient, as life itself has no permanency. Firsts are like equalisers in our lives - whether delightful or joyless, they help us live with equanimity. Emboldened by these thoughts, I looked at myself again in the mirror. The wrinkles were still there. I touched them gently. Now they were fine lines of a life lived well; lines of wisdom, telling me now how to move on. Smilingly, I said to myself that it is perhaps time that I stop colouring my hair. Let the age be. u
prakhar PANDEY
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