Shane just popped his head into the room. He smiled; I knew the meaning of it all. I have not given him the ‘story for the week’. This is one fault Shane finds in me. I promised him that I will write the story as soon as possible, but I am held at bay by a couple of immediately demanding works. I am not sure I had the patience to hear the nitty gritty details of every problem, and issues within the office life. I’d rather use my discernment than the rigors for any judgment. But yet, they all come in like a wave of sand particles where I have to examine every particle, and I still have to listen. Shane pops his head in again. I need to pull myself from these rigors and pull my senses together. Well then while the office is closed for the day, I pushed a chair across to my aching legs. I threw those heavy logs onto the sleek plastic chairs and the laptop onto my lap. I am in haste and I need to write this quick. Gosh! I admire Walter Scott! How did he ever write bulky novels and the famous Waverly papers in weeks or just in a few months, with the only inspiration of rescuing himself from penury?
No wonder he collapsed just writing, writing writing…Despite the huge criticism on his writings, His fictions are classics! And to tell you the truth on my brow, I love him. I still think there is lot to his authenticity, than just scribbles of mumbo jumbo. Now where was I?
This is perhaps the most delightfully terrible event I had in all these Six years of Jan Pragati’s existence. We were given an opportunity to address the issue of Pornography to a group of young boys, aged somewhere between 13 and 18. These guys were the Boarding students of the famous La Martiniere College in Lucknow. Now I seemed be the only candidate who can address this joyous crowd. It was two hundred versus one. I poured water into my throat, just to get a glimpse of the gleeful crowd.
Some of the stares were suspicious, some with a sly smile. Well the topic was quite
sensitive and relevant, but it also arouses the other side of these teens. I decided for the obvious: just look straight in the eyes of these folks, and tell them the truth. As I greeted the young crowd, they responded enthusiastically, as if they have met with a stand-up comedian. Well I was onto business. I needed to bully them, and entertain them and yet get the message across. With the slightest joviality, there was an ardent laughter that echoed across the crowd. They were at home: I had to be the same. Well, to be frank, I was… I was brought up in a Boys’ High School, and I was part of an unruly crowd, perhaps much more notorious than these guys. So I vehemently asked them, with a passion that was undaunted: “Why do we care less of a generation that is lost?” It looked like I had struck the chord. I could see the same lost-ness of on those innocent millennials. “This is not your fault!” I continued.
“My generation has given you what you just asked for, only because you asked for it… Such perversion in bringing up you, who has lost the spine to persevere.” My harangue further on technology and virtual reality only brought their hearts together. I saw a concern, a genuine thought process that was whirling the young minds. I could see faces that bent forward, to keenly scratch out what more that would remain of the speech. I ended the presentation: “This is a man to man talk; a talk with your hearts…”
I ended the seminar is a solemn notation, and opened the venue for questions. Mr. McFarland further encouraged the boys to ask questions. There were so many questions, and I hope I had given them satisfactory answers. What do I say? I felt at home, instructing them about pornography, as if an elder brother was advising his younger brothers.
Thank you dear friend. Thank you for supporting us. I wish we could speak about such issues at many other places. It is all because you helped us.