I remember reading about Albert Einstein growing up in a noisy action-packed neighborhood where scars were worn like medallions, with pride and honor.

Now I drive a rather sturdy but not so chic Maruti Alto. Last time while I  driving back home, a gentleman cab driver who was in a tearing hurry to reach wherever punched hard on to my back. A policeman rushed to the spot and luckily, noticed that I was driving safe and took up my case with the cab driver. Since both parties were equally affected, I decided not to press for any police case but just get on my way back home. The dent on the back of my car stood out like a sore pimple.

Being who I am and what I am going through at a particular point of time in my life, I refused to make it up or stitch up the loose parts and make my Alto look dandy again.

While I continue to drive in and out of the city despite a sore car bump, I get stared at all the time.

Some times I am stopped by absolute strangers who want to know, what happened to my car? Who did it? When did it happen? What did I do to the culprits? To explain all this to curious by-standers is a great task.

I wonder why all cars have to look show room new. Well, considering how we drive around in Bangalore isn’t that a tall order?

So, if you are wondering if I am planning to get it mended. Yes, when I am in a situation to do so!

Similarly people keep asking me about the scars on my face. Is that a pimple scar? So big? Looks like you had chicken-pox and so on it goes, speculations about what might have happened to make me a scare crow. I can only smile in reply.

At an upscale school, where I taught, I was often reminded by my colleagues,  “It is time to go to parlour. Go get yourself waxed, your eye brows shaped etc.”

I am not particularly keen to be dolled up always. I might sometimes indulge myself but otherwise, I am ok being the way I am.

My friend today was talking about the scars  laid deep onto her soul. ” I cry when I pray, no body gets to know what I feel. I feel so lonely and life looks meaningless to me.”

It is not just the physical objects that we want to maintain scar-free even the heart, but is it even feasible?

Those who talk to me are sometimes taken aback when I say what is as it is. Perhaps they regret starting off a conversation with me,later.

Knowing that life is not blemish free for any single person, why should we be shy of saying what we feel? Why should we feel the need to suppress the truth instead of saying it as it is?