Last week, on my way to Ahmedabad, an adolescent stray dog was running along the edge of the road, still capricious, unaware of the dangers of the road and the speeding traffic. It suddenly veered off the rails and leapt to the right, playfully chasing a car ahead of me. It was a tight spot to squeeze through, with a truck to my right. The car before me had made it through. So would I have—had it been any other moment on that highway. But this one was a split second chosen by the hands of fate.
By the time I applied the brakes, the inevitable couldn’t be stopped. My car’s right side hit the poor thing, as it froze in place like a deer caught in the floodlights. It was an unusually busy expressway that day, still drizzling, and I couldn’t even stop the car after hitting the dog. All I could do was glance at the rearview mirror and watch it cry out in pain. Its rump was hit as it struggled to stand back up on all fours. I had hurt the poor being. It all happened so quickly, as if fate had carefully placed the dog there as a lesson for both of us.
The incident shook me to the core. Not only am I a dog lover, but the fact that something like that happened because of me had already shattered me. Stopping wasn’t impossible, yet I didn’t. I was too shaken. As I drove further away from it, I couldn’t bring myself to forgive what I had done. The road stretched on, but my mind stayed behind, flooded with questions—Was it alright? Will it be alright?
The scary part was not knowing. But the scariest part was knowing I had to live with it. Sometimes I think, why do I have to be a reason for anything in this world? Why must I be a cause? Is it some kind of cosmic necessity?
If I were locked up in a room, like I was once for three months, I hadn’t caused anything, no ripples in the stagnant waters of mine or any living being’s life. I might not even have hurt a fly (maybe some mosquitoes). Now, if I go out, chances create themselves out of thin air. Suddenly, I am this force of nature that can cause something. Something could happen because of me—someone’s mood might get spoiled, someone’s feelings might get hurt, a fight might erupt—or sometimes just driving a car might result in an unforeseen suffering.
It’s impossible to wrap your head around this idea of causality. Why must I be a character that’s supposed to bring any causal change? It makes you wonder, even if I do nothing, will it still bring about a temporal rift in someone’s world? What does nature expect from us? Does it want us to stay that way? What’s its definition of okay? Does it want us to go out and unleash doom? Or to stay inert and cost no one anything?
During those three months, I had also stopped talking much. I kept to myself, meditating mostly, holding my breath (more like smothering myself), steering myself to the edges of life and death. I realised, if I didn’t speak at all, I wouldn’t wage wars with anyone. No debates, no anger, no frustration, no point of view, no writing anyone off, no conflicts of any sort. I used to get into arguments just for having an opinion. Even when I had cut myself off from the world, trouble still found me to affect someone’s mood. So I withdrew even further. I stopped being a character in their lives.
There I was, lying down on my bed, no longer existing in their world. Seeking no one but answers to the questions within. Everything happening in the universe was only happening in my universe. And even when I wasn’t causing anything, I still existed. I was still allowed to live. Chosen to pass this wretched time, but still causing pain—only this time it was all directed inward.
I surmise—if you do nothing, the consequences still come, only towards you.
It wasn’t hard to pinpoint that somewhere, the culprit was my anger and my ego failing to comprehend that not everyone needs to share my opinions. Even though the same can be said for them, their inability to understand that is ‘their’ battle.
Cause and effect are inevitable cogs in the machinery of life. We have no real control over them, though we often try to blame someone or something for anything that happens. The truth is it is setting things in motion, and causing songs of life to be written and sung.
We will always remain mere singers.