Perhaps because my birthday is approaching or maybe because I’ve been influenced by the Prime Minister and Chief Justice of India, I have begun to wonder what God thinks of me. I know what my friends think and, sadly, my critics don’t hide what they feel. But does God like me? Does he think I talk too much? Does he frown or wince when I interrupt? Indeed, is he pleased with the product he’s created? I rather like what he’s crafted. But does he? Or is he dismayed by the end result?
Much like the Chief Justice, I’ve prayed for favours and God has granted them. In my teens and twenties I’d do a deal with him – what is politely referred to as a mannat. I’d offer to give up sweets or alcohol or, even, stop telling lies if, in return, he’d guarantee a first at Senior Cambridge or a college honour I desperately sought. To be safe, I’d wait for him to deliver first. When he did – and to my delight it wasn’t that infrequently – I’d meticulously keep my side of the bargain.
Was that a sign of God’s favour? I don’t know but I’d hate to hear it wasn’t. I wish I could ask the Chief Justice. I’m sure he’d know. After all, he’s been a beneficiary too.
Of one thing I’m sure, I’m definitely my parents’ child. Mummy produced me. But both of them thought of me as a gift from God. My sisters felt they made that a little too obvious! At school my teachers strived ceaselessly to eradicate the thought. I don’t think they succeeded. Now, does that mean there’s something unique about my birth? Could I be the result of a special delivery? Not a Caesarean section but something created by more ethereal hands?
This time I’d value the Prime Minister’s advice. I feel he’d have the answer. He believes he was chosen, therefore, he’d know for sure if that’s also true of me.
Meanwhile I stare deep into the mirror each morning when I brush my teeth. Sometimes I feel I can see in the reflection a sign that someone is looking back at me. Am I being delusional? Or am I seeing things others cannot? Those eyes that are observing me can’t be mine. That half smile seems to know something I don’t. What are they telling me? Are they laughing? Mocking? Or are they admiring? And applauding? Lost in these thoughts I can brush my teeth forever!
Here again, I’d value a chat with the Chief Justice and Prime Minister. They’re clearly men of another world. They must have had similar experiences. They’d know how to interpret mine.
Alas, I don’t know how to approach them. You can’t just knock on their door and ask if they’d spare a moment to tell you if you’re special. Yet if I did I’m sure they’d have the answer. As Mummy used to say, it takes a special person to recognize another
But the blame for my predicament is surely theirs. They were the first to tell the world they were special. They did so frankly, boldly and publicly. It planted in my head the idea that might also be true of me. Until they declared they were different to normal people it had never occurred to me I might be too.
In fact, have you asked yourself if this could also be true of you? Why would God only make two or three special people? What if there were more? And, if there are, how do you know you’re not one of them?
Of course, we can’t all be special because then the concept would lose all meaning. But the Chief Justice and Prime Minister have done us a favour by encouraging each of us to ask: what if I am? If they can be, why can’t you and I?
Karan Thapar is a veteran journalist and interviewer. For The Wire, he hosts the show The Interview.
