“Do you know what Sharmaji ka beta has done? He has got some medal that makes him feel like a cool person to me? What have you done?” Raj’s dad said.
“Oh, dad” I said. I’ve just done something cool in a different field which you entirely disapprove of, but hey, Sharmaji’s son is the one to beat, quite literally now. I thought.
I’ve gone to my dad to tel him about the song I have written. The first song, which I have composed with my own talent. But, as he disapproved me doing music, the first thing he hurls at me is what Sharmaji’s son, Dhruv has done. I mean, I understand the concern my dad has for me. He wants me to pursue science, it is one of the easy and safe ways to go. But I want to do something in music. I haven’t started music, just as a hobby. I knew that I would be doing something in it. I’ll write songs that will move people when they listen to. I will write songs that can cure any bad mood. I had great plans for life.
And on top of the disapproval, his way of encouraging me is to compare me with Dhruv, the nerd. He’s a good friend and all. He helps me study for the exams, but there is no way in hell I would be able to beat him at studies. I never understand what he sees in studying day and night.
I came back to my room and started getting dressed to go to Dhruv’s place. I wanted to talk to him. Despite my dad comparing me to him all the time. he was a great friend to me. One of the best, to be honest.
We met and he seemed to be happy seeing me. He looked like he had something to share. And thus began what he felt about our dads and their race against each other by comparing their kids.
“Raj, I don’t understand why my dad makes it a point to know about your grades every time. I mean, what is the need for it. I do well, isn’t that enough? Does he have to compare you and me based on our marks and say that I am better? I don’t understand. We have our qualities. I don’t understand what you see in music and you don’t understand what I see in studies. But we have accepted each other. Why don’t our parents do the same?
Whenever he compares you with me or your dad compares me with you, I feel like a prized item. Not proud, but used. Used for someone to gain satisfaction. I feel used, Raj. Whenever I am compared with you, I feel as if this was the reason I have been growing up.
Why are we compared? Aren’t we unique individuals? Aren’t we better at different things? I might become a scientist one day and you’ll become a rockstar. There is nothing wrong in that. So, why do they compare us on something which is not even related to you? I feel used, Raj. Whenever they compare us. I feel like a prize. Not proud of the winner, but bearing the burden of the murder of the many that tried to win. Not proud of the winner, but sympathetic of the loser. I don’t feel good. This is entirely wrong. But my dad doesn’t listen” he ended, sobbing.
I understood the feeling. After all, at one point of time, I was like him too.
You can also read the post at Medium