on jamun and second chances
disclaimer: this is not a sign to text your ex
I listlessly sat in the back seat of the car when I heard a sound. The sound of crumpling polythene. Before the sound had even stopped, my mother asked, "Jamun?" The one-word question arrived with a tiny hand that has hovered over my head all my life coming into view. Comfortably atop that hand sat an even tinier, dark purple berry.
My mother made the offer despite knowing I do not like jamuns. Such is the heart of a mother, I guess. My dislike of the fruit in question dates back at least a decade and a half back.
I do not know what happened in that moment, but I decided to take it. It was not a thoughtful decision, for my answer would have been a simple no. I wonder if it was influenced by the way the question was asked or by my father's remark that the fruit is in season and it was the best time to have one. Regardless, my hands moved like clockwork and picked up the tiny berry.
Before I knew, I was turning my back against what I had decided upon and believed to be a gospel truth at the ripe old age of 12 or 13. It was an occasion as rare as an appearance of the Halley's comet, for I do believe in making decisions or sticking to them. Whether a decision is right or wrong often depends on how you live with it afterwards.
Second chances are complex. They may either reinforce your already negative beliefs or be the contrary and serve as a stark reminder that you can be wrong. On the flip side, however, they carry with them the promise of one less prejudice to carry. They carry the potential of things working out.
I zoomed out from the purple berry that is much darker in colour than I remembered it to be. I was done extracting unnecessary meaning from this random and insignificant encounter with a fruit. Or so I thought.
I popped in the jamun like one does with paracetamol in this day and age. The first hint of the earthy sour freshness made me first squish my eyes, then open them wider than before. It wasn't new, but it was nothing of what I remembered it to be.
It was not the same jamun that had given me sour memories (pun intended) about it. But it was also not the same me. My perspective and in this case taste buds had changed.
There is only one way of knowing what suits your perspective and taste buds that keep changing constantly. To try. Then try again. Life is trial and error, revisited every few years. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to make a case for endless chances. A vicious cycle is different than trying to re-assess things that never caused any harm. An attempt at revised memories is always more desirable than lifelong hatred.
I popped another one, easy as a multivitamin, the sweetness of it reminded me of the variety life has to offer. No two moments are the same. Things change before we realise they have, and so do we.
I wasn't just philosophising this second first experience, I was being reminded of philosophy itself. It is afterall one of the subjects that taste best when revisited. These are things you read again and again at different junctures in life and they are bound to taste different than they did the last time.
The life of an explorer is the most fulfilling unfulfilled life I can think of. The reason is simply the amount of experiences life has to offer. A number no short of infinity. The more you explore, the more you want to explore.
There is a strange comfort in knowing that, amidst the constant change within and around you, you will always find something that suits any given version of you if you just keep your fear of the unknown and of incompatibility at bay, and try things out.
The timing announces itself. The hand moves like a reflex. The first attempt is calculated, the second is driven by intuition and belief that something has the potential to be better than what it turned out to be.
It is, however, pertinent to remember the caveat it comes with. Try things prematurely or beyond the window where you may benefit from them, and you will have given yourself another round of aversion. Third chances are far more meagre than second chances. Have a jamun around the end of the season and you would hate it even as a lover of the fruit.
I consumed half a dozen of these before I reached my destination. I embarked upon a run and thought of this tiny fruit. I saw jamun trees and below them were jamuns that had dropped from them and splattered on the ground.
I thought of the decisions and judgments I had made that held me back. Surprisingly, I thought not of how many jamuns I could have had over the years if I wasn't strict with my prejudices, but about how many jamuns I would have the fortune of having in the years to come.
you're so brilliant at articulating!
weirdly enough, i was so submerged into your nostalgia that i never noticed that i have also lived life the same way. and things have often surprised me, proving me wrong.
i've loved being proven wrong at certain times.
keep writing! you have an authentic voice <3