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Chapter 20: Let Go: The Cure for the Disease of Becoming

From my very childhood, my parents, my well-wishers, my neighbors, my teachers, everybody was saying that, “You are going to be utterly worthless, a good-for-nothing.”

I said, “If that is my destiny, I am perfectly happy. Why should I try to be somebody else? Utterly useless? - that’s perfectly good! Good for nothing? - I don’t see anything wrong in it.”

And they would say, “Can’t you ever talk reasonably?”

I said, “It is just a question of reason. Whatever is going to happen, I am going to be successful, because I have not made a criterion that this has to happen, only then will I be successful. Just vice-versa: I am successful. Whatever happens, that does not matter; my successfulness is certain.”

One of my professors was very concerned. He loved me so much that he said, “You could top the university with your left hand, but your behavior is such that even if you manage to get a third class, that would be a miracle, because I never see you reading any textbook.”

He used to come to the hostel to check. He never found a textbook in my room. I had never purchased one.

“When the professors are lecturing, you are sleeping. And the professors don’t disturb you because when you are awake, you are arguing. It is better that you remain asleep so there is no disturbance.”

He was so worried: I may go to the examination hall - but I may not go. Just before my post-graduate final examination, he came in the evening and said, “Give me a promise.”

I said, “I can give you a promise, but I lie. So, it is not of much use.”

He said, “You lie?”

I said, “Yes, I lie; whatever suits the purpose, I do it. You want a promise? - I’ll give you a promise. If somebody else comes and asks for a promise, I’ll give him a promise also.”

He said, “That means you will torture me. Tomorrow morning, be ready at seven; I will pick you up and leave you at the examination hall every day.”

And it was really a torture for him, because he was a drunkard, but a really good man. He never used to get up before one o’clock. To get up at six o’clock and get ready, and. And he had perhaps the oldest model car; it would take hours to start it. The whole neighborhood would be pushing it. Somehow he would manage once it had started.

But he would reach there exactly at seven. All these difficulties. And he would find me sleeping, and he would wake me and say, “This is too much. I never get up before one, now I am getting up at six. And you know my car; she is lazier than me. To start it in the cold at six o’clock is so difficult - the whole neighborhood has to help. And you are sleeping.”

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