My Expressions

Professor Asha Banerjee held not a glass of water, but a simple clay kulhar filled to the brim. The earthy scent of damp soil wafted through the auditorium as she waited, a small, knowing smile on her face. It was her favorite cup, brought from a bustling potter’s market during a visit to Kolkata.

“Tell me, how heavy is this kulhar?” Her voice was soft, laced with the lilting accent of her childhood in Bengal.

A wave of murmurs and guesses filled the room. Numbers were thrown out – measures of weight, a student’s hesitant question if the temperature of the water mattered.

“The weight, of course, remains the same,” she replied, “But I ask you this – how long can I hold it?”

Weight of water,
Weight of worries –
One a vessel,
One a tide within.

Time stretches, a riverbank,
The water remains, but weight descends.
First the fingers clench, a fleeting strain,
Then the ache, a slow burn spreading.

What use is a cup held high,
If the water cannot quench?
To hold, to carry, to control…
But heavier grows the load.

Professor Banerjee continued, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces. “For a few moments, this kulhar feels light, a familiar comfort. But if I hold it longer, the pull on my arm grows. A few hours, and a dull ache settles into my wrist, spreading like a smudged line of ink.”

She paused, letting the silence linger. “Imagine a day – a week – perhaps even longer. The weight remains constant, yet to me, it grows unbearable. It is not the kulhar alone, but the strain of holding.”

Shifting Perspectives

Professor Banerjee’s eyes found Priya, a bright student with a furrowed brow. “Priya, your textbooks – they are heavy, yes? Yet you carry them with purpose. What if your anxieties were another book, added to the stack? The burden grows, does it not?” A flicker of recognition crossed Priya’s face.

“Our worries, our stresses – they are like this,” Professor Banerjee explained, finally setting down the kulhar with a gentle thud. “Briefly held, they are manageable. But we cling, convinced that by carrying them, we gain some control.”

The Transformative Release

“It is in the letting go,” she said, “that we find a different kind of strength. To acknowledge the weight, but refuse to be weighed down by it.”

A hush fell over the room. Professor Banerjee picked up a piece of chalk and across the board, wrote a single Bengali proverb:

• “Jemon badorer ghore bash, Temon manusher mon” * As the bamboo bends in the house of the storm, so too the human spirit.

“Notice the bend,” she said softly. “It does not break.”

Another proverb took shape on the board:

• “Boshonto kale norom hawa” * A gentle breeze in springtime.

“Remember, just as the seasons shift,” she said, “so too can the weight of our worries. Seek moments of lightness, of ‘norom hawa’, for rest strengthens the spirit.”

A crackle, a snap – is it the cup?
Or the strength within, at its limit?
To hold on forever is to be forever held.
Bend like the bamboo, find solace in yield.

The Takeaway

Professor Banerjee closed her lecture with a lingering question that hung in the air like the scent of monsoon rain. “Was it better to be a rigid clay vessel,” she asked, her voice soft yet firm, “risking a sudden, shattering fall under the weight of worry? Or to embrace the resilience of the swaying bamboo, bending with the storms of life without breaking?”

A thoughtful silence descended upon the auditorium. Students exchanged glances, the weight of the question settling on their young shoulders. Was it truly possible to navigate life’s inevitable burdens with such graceful flexibility?

Professor Banerjee offered a gentle smile. “This lesson,” she continued, her gaze sweeping over the room, “extends far beyond the confines of this course. It’s a philosophy for living. Exams may come and go, grades may fade, but the weight of worry, of doubt, of uncertainty – these are companions we carry throughout our lives.”

She pointed to the Bengali proverbs on the board, each inscription a brushstroke painting a profound truth. “Remember the bamboo,” she said, her voice imbued with quiet wisdom, “It bends, it yields, but it never breaks. It weathers the harshest storms and emerges, season after season, standing tall.”

Professor Banerjee’s words resonated within the students. Perhaps, they thought, true strength wasn’t about unwavering rigidity, but in the ability to bend, to adapt, and to find moments of release even amidst the heaviest burdens. This was a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget – a lesson not just for exams, but for the weight of life itself.

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