Page 39 - All India Magazine Feb-2025
P. 39

But whenever there was unpleasantness with my relatives,
        with playmates or friends, I would feel all the nastiness or bad will
        — all sorts of pretty ugly things that came (I was rather sensitive,
        for I instinctively nurtured an ideal of beauty and harmony, which
        all the circumstances of life kept denying)... so whenever I felt sad,
        I was most careful not to say anything to my mother or father, be-
        cause my father didn't give a hoot and my mother would scold me
        — that was always the first thing she did. And so I would go to my
        room and sit down in my little armchair, and there I could concen-
        trate and try to understand... in my own way. And I remember that
        after quite a few probably fruitless attempts I wound up telling
        myself (I always used to talk to myself; I don't know why or how,
        but I would talk to myself just as I talked to others): "Look here,
        you feel sad because so-and-so said something really disgusting
        to you — but why does that make you cry? Why are you so sad?
        He's the one who was bad, so he should be crying. You didn't do
        anything bad to him.... Did you tell him nasty things? Did you fight
        with her, or with him? No, you didn't do anything, did you; well
        then, you needn't feel sad. You should only be sad if you've done
        something bad, but...." So that settled it: I would never cry. With
        just a slight inward movement, or "something" that said, "You've
        done no wrong," there was no sadness.
            But there was another side to this "someone": it was watching
        me more and more, and as soon as I said one word or made one
        gesture too many, had one little bad thought, teased my brother
        or whatever, the smallest thing, it would say (Mother takes on a
        severe tone), "Look out, be careful!" At first I used to moan about
        it, but by and by it taught me: " Don't lament — put right, mend."
        And when things could be mended — as they almost always could
        — I would do so. All that on a five to seven-year-old child's scale of
        intelligence.
                            The Mother: Conversation with a Disciple, July 25, 1962

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