Flashbacks of a fool -- is "this" important?

As far as confessions go, "this" isn't much and deals with an almost open secret about me.

Even the little man seems to be understanding how to get around "this" now and mimes for me, when he is in a patient / ultra-communicative mood.

So, if you are wondering why I am disclosing "this" now, frankly there is no specific reason.

Yet, since this is the first time ever I am writing about "this" at length, one can say I am coming out of a peculiar and strange closet.

By "closet", I am referring to a close circle of people who know about "this" -- family, friends, colleagues (lot of them past, some current) and probably some readers who have guessed what "this" is, either by reading Hoshang Ji's foreword to my book or by reading the poems where I refer to "this", in a multi-layered, far from direct, maybe stoic way.

By "closet", I am not referring to my sexual orientation, this post is not about that.

Peculiarly enough my decision to "come out of the closet" was made long back -- on the first of this June -- on one of the beaches opposite Thotlakonda (near Vizag) just after I had attended my Grandmother's fourth death anniversary.

Maybe this decision was influenced by the occasion-strengthened memories of her -- I can't claim to have got over her loss but with every passing year, on attending her death ceremony, I get a heightened understanding of the grace, charisma and silent dignity with which she had lived her life.

Maybe this decision was influenced by the other-worldliness of that beach setting -- a sun-splashed evening of what was an overcast day, when as I lay / sat amidst the surf and gazed out to sea (with the only other person on the beach being my 10 year old nephew -- goose-stepping and stilt-walking to stay dry) a white-bellied sea eagle flew in and passed barely two coconut palm trunk lengths / heights away from me, the extremities of its wings burning a russet gold as they caught the setting sun, almost meeting at the "down-flap" while it furiously beat them to get higher, now that it was above land.

Either it was the occasion or the setting but from the very moment I decided to acknowledge "this", wave after wave of self-realization kept washing over me.

I may write about these self-realizations sometime soon and in all probability here itself.

Or I may decide not to.

Or I may deal with them through my poetry.

Or I may decide not to.

But it was pretty clear then (and is even more clearer now) that I have been a fool in the way I have dealt with "this". It was also clear that "this" will not go away and since my pride won't go away either, life will not get any easier for me.

So then, the "this". I am what I would choose to be called "Hard of Hearing".

No, I don't like being referred to by derivatives of "hearing challenged", "hearing impaired" or other glorified politically correct words which mean nothing but "hearing disability", because I don't consider my being Hard of Hearing a disability.

And yes, you are welcome to blame this on the pride I mentioned earlier.

At least in my case, its important that I retain my pride and dignity, because from what I have learned, the world doesn't understand the strange world of being "Hard of Hearing". For instance, the world (at least that of recruiters and other strangers who interact with me based on quaint checklists) assumes that the Hard of Hearing are good for nothing and discriminates -- either by shying away as if repelled or by assuming dystopian scenarios of my capabilities where I probably come across as someone needing a dole, kindness, sympathy, whatever...

That's something which will never cut ice with me, since I have an overpowering aversion, almost bordering the physical when it comes to dealing with misplaced senses of superciliousness / arrogance manifesting as kindness.

So then, the "this". I am Hard of Hearing and I do have a far from easy day (with family, work or with friends / colleagues) when my hearing aids don't work properly.

Yes, life's tough as it is, and even tougher when one is mistaken for a freak / retard / loonie if he cannot hear (properly).

No, I am not in denial, I have no problem in explaining the degree of my "Hard of Hearing" ness, the nature, the other nitty-gritty involved in it, but believe me its a long, "very very" technical story that you may not understand totally and I will find boring.

I mean, it's the progressive story of something like ten years of my life and by now it bores me.

And oh yes, the "this" doesn't mean I am a recluse, or not social. Not more than any other poet / writer I know or you know.

It means (among other difficulties I face on a routine "bad ear" day) that I cannot converse on phones and find it difficult to follow conversations at crowded places (like conference rooms of companies, poetry readings, cocktail evenings and bars).

Or, you could say that when my hearing aids don't work, I hear almost nothing of voices.

Apart from some friends (most of whom anyway know about "this") I really don't know who visits this blog. Frankly, I don't blog much and I certainly haven't promoted this blog. So I don't really expect anything earth-shattering to happen because of this blog post.

My days will go on, mellowly delightful when poetry comes or surging with adrenaline when I chase it. Some days (some at least) will hopefully be full of poems "written" down and "rewritten" down and stashed away. And someday soon (hopefully soon) I will sit down and plan the next book too.

Is poetry life? Is life poetry? Which should I consider a bigger priority? I don't know.

Talking of life, I will still treat it as a gift meant to be lived and chase adventures endeavoring to love and laugh as much as I can.

WTF, hearing aids or no hearing aids, I have one life and I intend to live it.

P.S. -- I know I probably come across as a bit angry. And whatever you may think about it, the pride / dignity / anger is important to me, so I will retain it, thank you so much.

P.P.S -- So, if I had decided to disclose / confess / uncloset "this" at the beginning of June, why did it take me so long? Firstly, I did not know what that bird was, took me a bit of thinking and googling to figure out it was a "white-bellied". Secondly, I had to figure out how to be best described and that took time too, I will settle for "Hard of Hearing", thank you. Thirdly, among other crazy things that have happened to me in the last two months, I have lost one hearing aid and taken up 2 other sets for trials -- and been battered and bruised by the chaos of voices machine-gunning into my head. And lastly, I have been busy with the demands of writing copy (and some poetry).

P.P.P.S -- The title of this blog post is borrowed from a Daniel Craig movie that I have seen more than 4-5 times on the telly. Late at night, with subtitles (of course).