THE AGONY OF BEING UNHEARD

She is 6 years old and loves to talk. She wants to talk about her friends, what they did in school, about some funny man she saw in the street, about the dreams she had last night or just some story her teacher told her in class. Her father gives her a patient hearing, but he is not always there. Mother is too occupied with work all the time. She responds to her stories with silences. She searches intently for some sign of acknowledgement or understanding in her mother’s face. But all she can see is the stony face her mother puts on when thinking about the next task in hand.

She thinks – Mother is always busy.

She is 13. She is a normal teen – confused and excited about a lot of things. But one thing she is sure of is her brother. She looks up to him – he is like a god to her. Every day she waits eagerly for her parents to become busy with their evening routines, because it was then that her brother unfolded for her a new world. He talks about his friends, his thoughts and opinions, dreams and aspirations and also many stories he had read or heard. She listens with rapt attention to every word he says, filing away pearls of wisdom into the farthest corner of her brain. But she is also bursting with things to tell him. She wants to talk about her day, her friends and all the interesting and strange things which happens on a school day. As she starts telling him about it, she watches his eyes slowly get disinterested. Within minutes, he changes – from paying close attention to what she is saying, to planning for the next day or homework or whatever other thing which is more interesting or urgent than his sister’s ramblings. She stops talking. They both get on with their homeworks and daily chores.

She thinks – My stories are not as interesting or as fun as his. I do not have anything to interest him. 

She is 19. Being an undergrad student is quite disheartening to her. Neither a child, nor an adult, she is expected to be both at different times by different people. She belongs to a group of friends who call themselves The Gang. They  love to have fun and frolic around all the time. She often finds their actions silly and sometimes dangerous. Her moral meter flickers dangerously many a times, and then she often voices out her thoughts to her friends. Stop it, don’t do this, this is bad and wrong and dangerous. Soon they have a list of nick names for her – Grandmother, Teacher, Aunty. “Chill and relax, have some fun, nothing with happen” they tell her. She becomes silent.

She thinks – My friends don’t understand me. They find me boring Maybe I don’t know how to have fun. 

She is 23. Graduate college is not at as she had expected. For the first time in years she finds people she can talk to. They actually look at her while they listen to what she has to say intently. She opens her life to her friends as they do to her. She is so happy and excited. She really begins to understand people. For the first time it is so easy to be honest, and bold and confident.

She thinks – Finally, I am living.

She is 26. She has a boyfriend and they spend hours talking to each other. It is mostly her who is doing the talking. She tells him about her work, about the wedding shopping she is doing, about her fears about how marriage would change her life. He listens and responds beautifully. He tells her everything about his life, his family and his plans. She is so happy. At work, she belongs to an amazing team. They comprise of lovely, caring and funny people. They are also very good at what they do. Every day after lunch they gather together to talk and chit chat. Here she tries to tell her opinion or random piece of information. But her words are shot down before they even form a sentence. The others in the team have already thought of it or they disagree with her on it or they just want to say something. She never gets to completely express her thoughts – whether it is about a movie they saw or a project they are working on. This happens every day. She stops saying anything. After some time, she stops meeting up after lunch and makes the excuse of pending work to get back to her cubicle.

She thinks – I am stupid. I don’t know as much as these people. They are so smart and confident and assertive. I have nothing to offer to them.

She is 30. Her husband comes back late from work. He is tired. He is always tired these days. Or has it been months. She doesn’t remember. Over dinner he tells her about how difficult it has become in office. Crazy workload, crazy expectations. He sighs and starts playing with their baby. Within seconds, he is smiling. She had been waiting for her husband to come back from office. She wants to tell about her day, some bits of information, some decisions to be taken or just how it has been. She starts to tell him, but after the initial few minutes – he switches off – already immersed with the baby and meeting its demands of attention. It happens so very often now.

She thinks – What I talk about is nothing important. It is drab in comparison to my baby. It is more fun to play with the baby than listen to me. Maybe I am inconsequential too. What I do in a day does not really matter to him. Maybe I don’t have anything interesting to say. Maybe I tell the same things over and again, like my mother.

She is 50. Her children are grown up and pursuing lives of their own. They do not have the time to talk to her. Her husband is busy with his career, only now he doesn’t talk about it with her. He is kind and patient and helps her with everything. But each of them are living their own lives – Two individual islands in a sea.

She does not think anymore.

Have you ever felt this frustuation? Of trying to talk but being unheard. Maybe you have something important to talk about. Or maybe its just trivial things. Maybe it is plea to help you, give you direction, or maybe it is an offer of help to others. Then how do you feel when that someone doesn’t pay attention to you. Not out of malevolence, but out of plain lack of interest. Maybe if it is an outsider, you don’t mind much – only your ego is hurt. But what about when it is a loved one? Or many loved ones. It is more than your ego which is shattered. Not in one go, but the pieces break off slowly – one at a time. Till there is nothing left. You are no one. Then you are inconsequential, irrelevant. All the achievements, treasures and memories don’t matter when you have no one to share them with.

Maybe each man really is an island.