THE GLINT OF LIGHT ON BROKEN GLASS

 

“Don’t tell me the Moon is shining;

show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

Anton Chekhov

 

The Moon is the greatest reminder for us, that there is a time to show up in all our glory, and there is a time to quietly go into hiding. As humans, most of us desire to remain visible, shine all the time. But, the Moon is the constant reminder for us, that when we remain invisible, we prepare ourselves to show up with greater glory… This holds true for a mortal like me, too.

“Miss your Blogs,” messaged some of my regular readers, “Please keep writing.” And, some wrote, “What did you do between the full-moon and the moonless night?"

I did many things. Importantly, I got in touch with my desire to ‘show up’… remain in limelight. Otherwise, the life during my short sabbatical was that of a mortal… Nothing beyond it.

Being with my loved ones, reading good books, listening to good music, watching some good films, meeting interesting people, and, above all, watching the movement within my own being… yes, these were some of the things I did during the three-week sabbatical…

One of the things, I kept watching and listening to, over and over again, was this compilation of duets of my favourite singer, Tom Jones…

 

Why did I – and why do I – do it?

 

Sir Tom Jones is 80 now. I have followed his singing career with great fascination. To last so long in a field flooded with fresh, young talents – and to remain faithful to your gifts – is what makes me stand up for him every time he sings. As Anton Chekhov says, I, too, feel like saying, “Don’t tell me the Moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”

I am that broken glass… I long for that glint of light when the Moon is shining up there!

On last Friday, my wife and I had to rush to our hometown, Mangalore, to attend my younger brother Harry’s funeral. Early that morning, he had died of a massive heart attack. He was 59.

Harry’s wife, Dora, son Kenneth and daughter Meghal were heart-broken. Grief stemming from personal loss can be healed only by the passage of time. We were five brothers; Harry was the third brother. We have to deal with our own grief. Mom has to go through her own…

That’s one of the things that happens between the full-moon and the moonless night… You visit the cemetery… You get reminded of your mortality… Your fallibility!

Is that not a valuable reminder?

Harry was a rebel child and was a school-dropout. He always needed someone to lean on… So, for nearly ten years, he lived with me and, for another five years, he lived with my youngest brother, Vivek. His flaws included his heavy drinking and smoking. But, his strengths, which were eclipsed by his flaws, outnumbered his flaws. He was incredibly systematic and organized… He was so time-conscious, that one could set his clock by Harry's timings… He was a fantastic cook… He loved his wife and children and was proud of their self-confidence and talents. But, he himself suffered from a deep sense of inferiority complex (Like I did). But, while I went about dealing with my lack of self-confidence the way I did, Harry, unfortunately, tried to bury it under the self-defeating influence of alcohol and tobacco. Eventually, what most people saw in Harry were his flaws… They failed to see his massive strengths…

On Monday night, we returned to Mumbai. That morning, a  Mass was arranged in Harry’s memory. Dora, Harry’s wife, wanted me to offer an eulogy at the small gathering following the Mass. I spoke about the ‘imperfection’ of a human. “The only perfect thing in life is our ‘imperfection',” I said. I compared we five brothers to our five fingers… “God hasn’t made them identical… They can’t be… Each of them is unique and has a special role to play in life. My eldest brother, Franky, became a sailor, I became a teacher, Rony became a singer, Vivek a businessman. While Harry became what he did… Looking back, I don’t think, it could have been anything different. Yes, I said this to the ones who had gathered to remember Harry. Then, looking at Dora and her two lovely children – Kenneth, an Engineer, and Meghal a fresh graduate – I recounted this oriental story:

 

THE CRACKED POT

 

In a village, a woman carried water from a river in two pots hung on the two sides of a pole. She carried them, everyday, to her house on her shoulders. One of the pots had a crack, and by the time the woman reached home, the pot spilled half of the water, while the other pot, which was ‘perfect’ , served full.

The cracked pot began to feel guilty, ashamed and worthless. After going through this silent suffering for a long time, one evening, it gathered enough courage to express it to the woman. “Madam, for such a long time I have let you down by serving you only half of what the other pot did. You have borne with my imperfection… I feel sorry and guilty.”

The woman smiled and said, “Come with me… Let me show you something which you  do not know.” Pointing to the beautifully blossomed flowers along the pathway, she said to the cracked pot, “I knew about your crack and planted the seeds of flower-plants on your side of the pathway. Without your knowledge, you watered them every day… and, because of it, they have blossomed so beautifully. Every day, I took some of those flowers to decorate my home… So, you need to feel happy and proud of your contribution.”

 

I concluded my eulogy. “Dear Dora, Kenneth and Meghal,  I see in you this beautiful blossom. Without knowing, Harry has been watering the plants along his pathway. So, remember to thank him for the ‘cracks’ he had… That would be the greatest tribute you can ever pay to him.”

Hope, they do.

During the three nights, I spent in Mangalore, another unplanned thing that I did was the long, late-night discussions with my other brothers, my sister-in-law, my nephew Macklin and his wife Divya. The discussions, which centered around Life, would go on till 3 in the night. I sensed, that  young  Macklin and Divya were finding the discussions, particularly, useful. I had spoken about, of the many things, Kahlil Gibran’s book ‘The Prophet’ where he talks about Marriage and Children. The day we were to leave Mangalore, both of them handed to me  a beautifully-wrapped gift. It contained two books – ‘Sea Prayer’ by Khaled Hosseini, and ‘Connecting the Dots’ by Rashmi Bansal.

Meanwhile, Macklin surprised Diva by arranging for a copy of ‘The Prophet’ on Amazon!

 

Do you still want to know, what I did between the full-moon  and the moonless night? 

All dots seem perfectly connected!

 

GERALD D’CUNHA

 

Pic's: Pixabay

 

Videos: 1. Best of the Voice 2. The Guardian