Seriously- Kitna Chain Hota Hai Na Sachchai Mein!

“An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does truth become error because nobody sees it. Truth stands, even if there be no public support. It is self sustained.”

-Mahatma Gandhi

My father always loved his antique vase. It was his prized possession.  So naturally, when he found saw it broken into pieces in the living room one fine morning, he blew the roof. An emergency family meeting was called and my mom, my elder sister, my elder brother and I were interrogated like criminals. However, after a couple of hours of 3^rd degree torture, we all dispersed.  My father simply chalked up the incident to a natural disaster that occurred by the strong wind blowing the curtain towards the vase, causing it to fall and shatter into pieces.

My mother went back to the kitchen and my siblings went back to using their respective smart phones. However, I could not forget the incident so easily. I went out for a walk, all the time replaying the incidents of the previous night.

I had woken up for a glass of water in the middle of the night. On my way back to my room, just for fun I decided that I would try to find my way back with my eyes closed. I managed to get half way there, with only one bump against the dining room table, when I suddenly dashed into something and heard a shattering sound. I opened my eyes and there it was- the remains of what was once my Dad’s favourite artifact.

I was sad and afraid. If my Dad found out, it would be the end of me. So I decided to keep the truth to myself and take it with me to my grave. When I went back home the pieces of the vase were still lying on the ground. My father had prohibited anyone from cleaning it up, lest the matter be forgotten. I slowly made my way towards the dining table, all the while staring at the pieces of clay that were at the centre of the room. I grew pale and my head started aching. I was filled with so much guilt that I felt like the leading character in Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’.  My chest got heavier and heavier. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I started sweating profusely. I was out of breath. It was as though all the oxygen had left the room. I couldn't take it any more!

Kinley: “Boond Boond Mein Sacchai"
(Image taken from here.)

“Dad, it was me!” I shouted. I then explained the entire story to my Dad. I was surprised to find that my Dad was not as angry at me as I had imagined. Yes, he mildly scolded at me and told me never to walk around with my eyes closed again, but that was it! I was grounded for a week but it did not matter to me. A weight was lifted! I never felt so alive!

A few years later my Dad passed away. Looking back now, I am glad I told my Dad the truth. Had I lied to him, the guilt would have remained with me my whole life. So I have imposed on my self a rule to always come forward, be true to others and myself and live a pure life.

Kitna chain hota hai na sachchai mein!

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