Evaluation

By Shevlin Sebastian 

A memory came 

Of many years ago.

I must have been in 

Class 7 or 8.

I was lying in bed 

In the ancestral home at Changanacherry,

Had come there from Kolkata 

for my summer vacation. 

In the next room, 

My mother and several sisters-in-law

Were chatting. 

About their children

The chatter woke me up. 

My mother said, “My son is quiet and well-behaved.” 

Another woman said, “My son is the opposite.

Restless and mischievous.”

The other mothers joined in. 

Talking about their daughters and sons.  

Today, when I remember this, 

I think to myself, 

From the time we are born, 

Till the day we die 

And even after,

People are always evaluating you. 

First, it is our parents, 

Then our siblings, friends and relatives. 

Teachers and classmates. 

This carries on 

In college, 

Professors and fellow students, 

The University Board

All measuring your performance, 

Ready to congratulate or condemn you

When you go to work. 

Bosses, colleagues, subordinates,

The management

All assessing your work, 

And your character

From morning to night. 

And now since it is work from home, 

From night to morning, too. 

In the meantime, 

Your wife and children 

Are also evaluating you. 

In this pandemic world, 

They think: does the old man have the cash 

To meet our expenses?  

You go to the hospital, 

The doctor evaluates you

Not to forget, 

At different times, 

The dentist, the ophthalmologist, 

The dermatologist, 

The gastroenterologist

The cardiologist. 

Depending on which part has broken down. 

You feel like screaming 

God, is there a single moment when I am 

Not being assessed.

God is the wrong person to ask.  

Because He is the master of 

The appraisal. 

When you die, he is busy peering into your soul.

Is he a good or a bad guy? 

Should I send him to heaven or hell? 

And then you resign yourself 

To the fact. 

The appraisal will never stop. 

And when there is an unnatural death, 

Then it is the turn of

Human beings to cut open your body 

And poke about, 

Looking for this and that. 

A post-mortem. 

Ha, ha, no respite at all!

(Published in HelloPoetry.com)