Effectively, Dev had two houses. One was physical, and the other mental – he could see the latter only with his mind’s eye, and only he could see it, nobody else. Because his parents weren’t rich, his physical house was plain, without embellishments, but adequate to live in without particular discomfort. However, since his parents loved him dearly and he too loved them as much, the house he carried around in his head was very bright and colourful, with bouquets of balloons tastefully decorated on its ceilings and walls. They were of every conceivable colour, and every conceivable combination of colours – red, yellow, blue, green, orange, white, pink, black-and-mauve, purple-and-grey, magenta-and-brown-and-yellow, and what have you. They created a very wholesome atmosphere, and filled him with good cheer and optimism. He felt as rich as anybody else where it really mattered.
When he was ten years old, his mother suddenly passed away, and there was an abrupt depletion in his balloons, as if a thief had stolen in and spirited them away. It created empty spaces on the walls and ceilings which did not look very nice. As time marched on, and more of what Dev considered ‘bad things’ happened to him – like when he was left out of the school cricket team he dreamed of representing because he skipped net practice on a Sunday that was his father’s birthday; and when, later, in college, the girl he fell in love with was forcibly married to a wealthy businessman's son – more and more of the balloons vanished. Illusions were shattered, such as the belief that goodness always wins. Favourable happenings lost out to unfavourable ones. The process continued till his inward dwelling took on a bare, even woebegone, look. Dev’s shoulders began to droop.
Then one day, as he was walking down a street and had to negotiate a zebra crossing, he saw, standing at the footpath’s edge, an old, bent man with trembling limbs. He looked at Dev and said, “Young man (though he was not so young any more), will you help me across?”
“Of course, sir,” Dev replied. He held the man by the arm and led him to the other side.
“Where are you going?” Dev asked.
The old man pointed to an apartment building ahead of them. Dev accompanied him there.
As he resumed his walk, he felt, bubbling up in him, a pleasant sensation: there were new balloons popping up left, right, and centre within him. Intimations of colour and hope seeped into his being. His stoop gave way to an erect posture.
“Was God sending me a message through the old man?” he wondered. Was compassion the key to feeling fulfilled?
After that, whenever he could, he tried to be useful to others. When he saw someone in trouble, he did his best to lend a helping hand. As a result, he never again fell short of psychic balloons. He no longer had to depend on the outside world to make his life meaningful.
When he was ten years old, his mother suddenly passed away, and there was an abrupt depletion in his balloons, as if a thief had stolen in and spirited them away. It created empty spaces on the walls and ceilings which did not look very nice. As time marched on, and more of what Dev considered ‘bad things’ happened to him – like when he was left out of the school cricket team he dreamed of representing because he skipped net practice on a Sunday that was his father’s birthday; and when, later, in college, the girl he fell in love with was forcibly married to a wealthy businessman's son – more and more of the balloons vanished. Illusions were shattered, such as the belief that goodness always wins. Favourable happenings lost out to unfavourable ones. The process continued till his inward dwelling took on a bare, even woebegone, look. Dev’s shoulders began to droop.
Then one day, as he was walking down a street and had to negotiate a zebra crossing, he saw, standing at the footpath’s edge, an old, bent man with trembling limbs. He looked at Dev and said, “Young man (though he was not so young any more), will you help me across?”
“Of course, sir,” Dev replied. He held the man by the arm and led him to the other side.
“Where are you going?” Dev asked.
The old man pointed to an apartment building ahead of them. Dev accompanied him there.
As he resumed his walk, he felt, bubbling up in him, a pleasant sensation: there were new balloons popping up left, right, and centre within him. Intimations of colour and hope seeped into his being. His stoop gave way to an erect posture.
“Was God sending me a message through the old man?” he wondered. Was compassion the key to feeling fulfilled?
After that, whenever he could, he tried to be useful to others. When he saw someone in trouble, he did his best to lend a helping hand. As a result, he never again fell short of psychic balloons. He no longer had to depend on the outside world to make his life meaningful.
