My hesitation has often stopped me from doing things. Things I wanted to do, at some point in life. I remember how my hesitation and anger used to coincide. Back three three years, I still remember like the fragrance of a decent perfume, the coincidence of the duo was the greatest force that had ever acted upon me; pulling me towards the pen and the pad to do something every single night; to write. Passion is never at that degree, but when it's the soother of pain or the outsource of frustation. 'We fear your loss, kid!', they'd say. I remember, the millions of conversations that I'd make up in my mind, to tell them that they are wrong, but never let the flow when it comes time to speak. Something was stopping me. It was my hesitation. And yes, I remember myself, remember how this hesitation was eating my heart like a wolf. My frustration was turning me blind, not my hesitation.
It was a rainy evening, four years back, a rainy dusk of Pahalgam. I was on the doorstep of the study-room of our hostel when Faisal Bhaiya approached me. I was a silent kid then. Things were simple, but difficult. An unlearnt - unaware kid. He told me that I was to play a small role in the dramtics for our Chenab House Cultural Evening. I couldn't refuse, nor choose dramatics. I let the silence decide. As they say, 'Let God decide'. Dramatics didn't seem to fit anywhere in the criteria of my hesitation. It seemed impossible. But then again, my hesitation, I silently stood up to do the impossible tonight.
The darkness was denser, the rains and thunders louder, when the Cultural Evening was started. My nerves revealed the heights of my nervousness. Eidrees was painting moustaches on my face. There was utter silence, that we should otherwise call the silence of fear. It poured into my mind, after a hard thunderstroke that could have been followed by a cloudburst in the neighbouring village Lidru, that whatever we'd do in life; we shall try to do it the best. I was afraid but confident. But my confidence couldn't control my shiver. I was going to play the role of a person whose only role is to get stabbed by an axe and fall down. Well, that was much, much for me. I wouldn't tell it to myself, but my hesitant heart knows. My fear of facing the crowd. A byproduct of my hesitation.
When I took the first step inside the crowded ante - room, it felt like a cataract. My vision almost blurred. Soon, my concentration changed the centre towards my role. I was stabbed by an air - toy and I tried to make the best timing for the fall. I rushed out like a lunatic as soon as the act concluded. I was furious, almost teary - almost happy.
It was not then, on the stage, where I learnt my lesson. I learnt none. Dramatics wasn't my thing, I thought. That makes me no less in this world. But why would God have wanted this to happen if it was to show me my failures. God loves us. They say.
After the cultural evening ended and dinner was served, I observed a noticeable number of people teasing me that a mere stroke of air - toy made me fall like an effeminate. Taunts used to make other people feel weaker. This continued a couple of days. A week. Then it was forgotten, like every other thing in the world. But I couldn't forget.
It was then that I realised that dramatics isn't my weakness. It is my strength. I can be a dramatist. It was my perfection in the fall that made me noticeable among the others. And based their taunt. In actual, dramatics is not the problem, hesitation is.
Then again, hesitation stopped me from doing something. Something I wanted to.
- Syed Rehan
