The Sound Of The Gong - By Nayana Gadkari

 

I am privileged in many ways. I share the company of these compassionate and feeling individuals who have the innate ability to comprehend every one of their life experiences more profoundly, in many more dimensions and colors than most people. They are bold and unafraid to show their soft underbelly, and they pour their souls on paper for the world to see and perhaps even judge. It is a privilege to be in the company of these brave, exalted writers and poets. Some fight with swords, we make love with quills.

Our fearless leader threw down a gauntlet in our band of merry writers, go forth and describe the sound of a gong, he said. I pondered for weeks on end on the premise of this article, it was onerous, infuriating even, describing the sound of a gong. How indeed? A gong sounds like, well, a gong! Or does it? I had a eureka moment one day. He had not meant the sound or the instrument in its literal sense, had he now?

As I let that sink in, I remembered that feeling of euphoria, of the first time that I had fallen in love!  That out-of-body experience upon seeing one’s lover, that first stolen kiss, like a million angels singing, like sparkling starlight, like kaleidoscopic fireworks going off, it was a prayer-answered, that was the sound of the gong.

That first job, that first sweet taste of independence. That first opportunity to make an impact on this world. The first time that I thought I mattered! The sound of the gong.

The first time I stepped into my home as a blushing new bride, I remembered my mother-in-law washing my feet with milk. I gently tipped a “Kalash” full of rice into the house and entered my new world. My vermillion footprints colored the floor. The sound of excited laughter and giggles filled the jasmine-scented air. The sound of the gong.

And then motherhood, the first time I laid eyes upon my baby’s face. He used to be inside me, nourished and fiercely protected by my own body, and then, just like that, he was in my arms. The first time I inhaled that sweet, sweet baby smell, the first time he wrapped his little finger around mine. The first time, he stopped crying when he heard his mamma’s voice trying to soothe him. The first time he smiled his toothless dimpled smile and his giggle, oh, it was enough to douse Vesuvius; this mamma was no match. The first time I realized my heart would forever walk outside my body and that there wasn’t a darned thing I could do about it. It was the sound of the gong.

I realized with delight; the sound of the gong was in fact everywhere. Each day dawns with it! The gong is the first rays of the sun softly illuminating the earth, filling us with promise and hope. The gong is every dew glistening blade of grass, it is every leaf falling to the ground, it is every new leaf taking its place. The gong rejuvenates, it empowers, it douses, it ignites, it hurts, it heals, it is the pain, it is the cure. I only had to open my heart and mind and soul and listen!