When No One Is Listening

She was born thinking. Not of new sensations, visions, extra bright lights, or extra wide smiles that most fortunate babies come to first think of. But about the mysteries of the world.

It was for unexplainable reasons that she, since birth, could contemplate things that most didn’t wonder about in their entire lifetime. But no one in their diluted minds attempted to understand all her baby coos of wisdom.

Cases in point:

When the mother held her face next to the overfilling bosom, prodding her to take her first draw of milk, she instead babbled about the unfairness of being birthed into a world where she would be taught how to live an independent life. All so that ageing bones could snatch away at her independence just as she got used to it.

But the mother, not understanding her plight, thrust the nipple into her mouth, forcing her to shut up and comply.

And when she attempted to disclose her thoughts about the futility of trying to live on your terms when the entire society prefers you to live by theirs, the father’s father postponed her becoming by proclaiming her continuous ‘bababa’ as a sign of future vocal and thinking prowess.

Which is why everyone’s shock was apparent when she stopped vocalising anything at all. By the time she had begun to walk, she was declared mute.

Only they didn’t realise, she had a lot to say. But when no one was listening, for whom could she carry on speaking?

This was how she came to be considered a lost cause, instead of the proficient philosopher she was.

Though, as time slipped by, she also let a few phrases slip out of her, seemingly out of the blue. But their utterance was not out of chance.

For when the neighbour came, sat, complained about problems of life, and left only to be found dead two weeks later, some say they heard the dumb girl whisper at the funeral, “time knew not of her problems”.

They looked at her lips to confirm if the words had been released from the tightly closed organ. But she held them shut as always.

Not many cared to further deliberate the effect of those words. So they could not know that, at the mere age of twelve, she had realised that problems weighed heavy only on those who thought they had time. Others, in death, could simply hand off their burdens to those with better shelf-life.

If only they could have understood the significance of her remark, they may have cherished their problems instead.

Another incident. When her one year younger brother fractured his right leg, the mother confined him to his bedroom. All she handed him was an old forgotten harmonica to bide the days. But what was simply a measure to keep him occupied, instead revealed a gift so profound that no one dared question his musical genius.

“It was meant to be!”, they all exclaimed.

No one heard her as she almost whispered, “Nothing is meant to be. It just is. We give meaning to it later.”

And so, even as months passed, the family continued to regard the accident that had fractured the brother’s leg as a blessing in disguise. This would carry on until the brother was left jobless and desolate early in his youth. Then they all reverted to cursing the incident.

That’s how life came to be. A phrase here, an expression there, sprinkled unknowingly out of her mouth. Sometimes words were heard, most times not, yet all times disregarded. And that’s how she came to be, decades later, still mulling over her thoughts, unaware of their significance, unaware of her brilliance.

After all, what is brilliance if not regarded by another? Nothing.

And maybe, in the same way, that guilt eats everyone up inside, that rage extinguishes the embers of the soul, similar is the effect of words left unsaid.

At least that’s how she explained the lump growing bigger and bigger in her throat, till suddenly it was almost choking her. At the mere age of 39.

Surrounded by kind, loving siblings, and aged parents, she clasped at her throat and felt her voice draw further and further away from her. Kneeling beside her, they begged and begged her to tell them what was wrong. Somehow forgetting that she never spoke.

She saw the desperate faces of those who could never understand her, for they had never bothered to listen.

For their sake, and possible for her own, she mustered the last air in her body through her lungs, oesophagus, and finally through her lips. All she could mutter was:

“To know you must listen…and all one wants is to be known.”

With this, the never to be known philosopher was gone.

As the minutes grew on, and the wails grew softer, her lips continued to stay parted. Everyone saw them lying free on her delicate face for the first time they could remember.

Perhaps it was fortunate that she was no longer around. No longer around to see the effect of her words. Because there was none.

You see, as she had struggled to get the final words out, her family had also struggled to hear her through their own sorry cries. Now that silence fell, they looked around at each other, hoping any one of them had been able to make out what was said by their lifelong mute relative. But it was not to be.

Her final words floated forgotten, as had her baby coos and casual whispers, drifting away with her soul.

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