I have not given this year credit enough for being an important year of my life. In so many ways I am still stuck to the memories of my year in Boston and how wonderful it was. How it expanded my horizons, how it gave me friends who have become an important part of my life, how I got to know and understand people from different countries, continents and cultures, how I got to follow my passion for dance, etc.,etc. And in this process I have completely only blamed this year for being as hard as it has been health-wise. But the issues have also brought in a completely new wisdom about my body, what it can do and it can’t, what it can bear and it can’t, how I should treat it and how I can harm it. With that awareness has some a movement, a regular reminder of what my soul truly needs to be happy and free.
Keep walking is my theme for this year. Every step taken is a small success. Every time you move ahead do it with awareness. And that awareness is to be as simple as can be, live as simply as I can and to continually be in a space that brings me peace. This has been so much more easier and harder than I imagined. Imaging a path is the stuff dreams are made off. But walking the path of trust, knowing that life is giving me all that I need at that moment, believing the universe is sending me the very energies I need, allowing myself to love myself with my imperfections and most of all accepting that not money but it is the simple act of helping others and healing others gives me joy, these are the very things I have imagined doing and never allowed myself the time for.
I have renounced perfection and remind myself everyday to give up on perfection which I imagine others expect. I have accepted that I am doing my best each moment and even when I fail, there is a lesson to be learned. This faith is what keeps me alive and has kept me in a cocoon of trust. Everytime I or someone I love falls, the universe holds us and brings us back to our feet. All I need to do is keep walking ahead.
Walking ahead
Word Play
P surprises me endlessly these days with the way he uses and observes words. While channel surfing this evening, we chanced upon a soap which showed a woman being kidnapped. My 4-yr-old immediately quips. ” Why is it kid-nap? It should be elder-nap.” I patted him proudly on the head. I am such a Mom.
Rising from silence
I have been angry all week. I have been unwell this entire week. My brain is busy trying to reconcile with the innumerable rapes it reads about and ignores in the news everyday. My heart is busy trying to tell me that it cannot rage indefinitely against eve-teasing, rape and molestation. But all I want to do is sob or vent my anger on someone. All I want to do is believe that it will end.
I thought I had put it behind, but I cannot forget the coconut water vendor who entered my building, waiting for me in the stairways and groped by breast as I was returning to school. I cannot forget another man who tried to do the same thing, in the same location, a few months after. For years afterward, I ran up the stairs of my own building afraid I would encounter something similar. I cannot forget the boy who worked at the newspaper stand which delivered the newspaper to my house. For months, often in the night when I was sleeping alone in the living room, the tiny slot in the front-door from which the letters were dropped would open and someone would peep inside. The first time I saw it, I thought I imagined things. The next time it happened I was scared. I felt unsafe, violated in my own home. My grandma and Dad refused to believe me initially. Everyone was sure I was imaging things. It happened for months on end, till one day I asked some college friends to keep watch at night. They followed the person who came out of my building and told me who it was. Then it began to happen during the day. One day as soon as I saw the letter-slot open, I walked to the door opened it and saw someone run upstairs. I told my dad and he believed me. He found the boy crouching in the upper floor and yelled at him. But it continued. I would have nightmares, wake up scared. One day I covered the letter-slot from inside with a piece of cardboard . The peeping-tom eventually gave up but my nightmares never went away. Even now suddenly they reappear sometimes.
I cannot forgive the boy who as I walked down a deserted road at 6.30 in the morning for college, walked in front of me and groped my breasts. Nor can I forgive the men who have tried to feel me up in the bus nor the perverted masturbating nude man sitting inside a van who opened the door just as I and my friend passed by so we could see him. Don’t even get me started about the college boys who thought I was someone easy and available just because I spoke to boys and believed in dating.
Of all the wounds, the one that hurts the most is that inflicted by family. I cannot forgive my uncle who tried to kiss an adult me. I pushed him away, and he claimed he was always hugging his son and how even his son said kids our age don’t like it. He fumbled for words to cover his tracks but my mind flashed as I remembered how he would casually place his hands on my thigh when I wore shorts. I struggled with that silence for months knowing it would hurt my dad and family. When I did it to tell my patriarchal grandma ( who has cursed, been judgmental and treated me as a ‘girl’ child since birth), she blamed my modernism and clothes for her son’s behaviour.
For years I believed that these incidents were partly my fault. That as a woman who lives in a perverted world, you have to protect yourself. That as scarring as it was, being felt-up is part and parcel of being a girl. But now my mind screams and asks why should it be normal when it doesn’t feel normal. This isn’t life. Normal is not about a man thinking it is o.k. to touch a stranger’s body. It is not normal to treat a girl like she is responsible for everything that happens to her. Clothes don’t cause rape, a man’s mind causes it. Molestation happens when a man uses his might with a woman he knows is weaker. Such incidents happen because we live in a world where a woman is taught to live in silence because she is taught by her family that talking about such incidents disrupts their honour.
But today, I don’t want to be silent. I want things to change. I am happy with the mass public awakening in cities. But I am still afraid because I know things like rape, molestation, incest will continue in the small towns and big cities alike, because of men who are titillated by raunchy movie stars and woman who continue to be silent. I am afraid because I know people will continue to suppress their truths. As someone who has been eve-teased by local policemen, I am not confident better policing is the only solution. This movement needs to leave cities and move to all small towns. It needs to go to schools where children are taught openly about sex and anatomies, about respecting differences. This movement needs to find ways to address curiosity, provide outlets to vent frustrations, nip perversion in the bud, support women, apprehend criminals, enable social reforms if we as women are to live more freely. Till then all I can do is rise from my silence, speak and write about this, and try to raise my son to be someone who does not crack sexist jokes, does not eve-tease and respects women.
My random morning poem
I have decided,
to write for half an hour.
Let the unwashed clothes wait in a pile.
I’ll allow the rice to soak a little longer,
ignore the un-ironed clothes in the basket,
watch my mother-in-law mask her irritation.
Dust settles every second on every idle thing.
My mind, untouched for a year,
now has grime an inch thick.
Today, I will not look at the unwashed dishes in the sink
nor pause to put the newspapers in order
or clean up the little ones messy room
or put the unpaid bills in the folder.
I will escape into a room with no internet connection
and stare long at the white screen,
write nonsense into it,
use backspace as eraser, unashamedly.
Till I feel lighter in my head,
free of dusty inhibiting doubts,
use the half hour to free myself of guilt
and once it is done, go online, to facebook.
Oblique rants 2
At some moments, a greater intelligence speaks with urgency. Her voice tells me lessons that I have closed my worldly ears to. So she nudges my heart and asks it to set my mind free. Often she succeeds and then her wisdom lends itself to me. Like a road trodden by a million feet, my weary mind looks joyous at the possibility of repair. The holes and cracks are filled with the sweet hopes of awareness and your path once again promises new adventures if you tread on it with faith. To believe in myself and the universe is the hardest lesson I have been taught and re-taught in the past 14 years of spiritual practice. And it seems to be a lesson I forget the most. Today as I sit in the threshold of yet another transition, I am reminded of the importance to breathe, let go and simply accept all that is changing. In a universe that is as dynamic, it is silly to complain about the passing of the familiar. This too like all things shall pass and bring forth great joys, mighty sorrows and wondrous moments anew. Let me remember to watch it all go by with peace governing my heart and head.
Friendships, feelings and forgiveness
I have few close friends and even fewer people seem to get me. At first I thought there was something wrong with me. Then I felt that I didn’t communicate enough. With time I have realized that the problem is dual. First of all, I don’t speak too much about me. When I don’t speak so much about myself, people will not talk to me about themselves. And secondly, I don’t ask people too much about themselves. This is not a great thing socially since people perceive me to be someone who doesn’t care, doesn’t listen or doesn’t have empathy. But the truth is the few people who do know me know that I can be a fabulous friend. To me friendships matter more than the so called blood relatives and I am always wiling to give a friend their due respect and time.
Though I do care immensely about people, I realize I have become this way post my marriage. S is someone who doesn’t really indulge in people talk. Our conversations revolve around so-called things that matter. Life, society, situations, problems, etc. And so with time I find it very difficult to change gears and speak about everyday life. But this is something I have attempted to change this year and hope I do get better as the years pass. But I have also remembered another valuable lesson about friendship this year.
Swami Sukhbhodananda, one of my many gurus, once reminded me that though no human being has the power to choose relatives the power to choose friends lies with us. We accept whoever and whatever comes in the way of relatives, unable to choose what those relationships impose on us. And that was why it was very important to take the time to make the right friendships because friendships were our choice. Surround yourself with only those who make you feel alive, he said.
Despite this wisdom, many-a- times my choice of friendships has been determined not by choice but by circumstance. Though I am blessed and fortunate to have met people who have taught me valuable lessons:- Friends, who have held my hand as I cried, smacked me when it was time to stop grumbling and acted silly only so I could laugh; I have also made friends who over time have slowly passed on much pain, bitterness and grief my way either through their actions or through my dawning awareness of their real personalities.
It takes months before you begin to understand people. While the initial spark and circumstances that drew you close progresses to the routine of everyday conversations, you begin to look at people beyond their words. You begin to look at intent, you begin to observe actions. In the fresh fun of new friendships, we overlook their flaws. But with time their flaws and our flaws begin to clash. And if their personality differs from yours, we tend to get angry and withdraw suddenly or we forgive them their flaws.
Forgiving someone their flaws and forgiving yourself in choosing that friendship is the hardest thing of all. After all learning to unfriend someone is not easy and it is so hard to let go of an individual when you feel you have invested so much of time, energy and emotion in them. But two valuable lessons I have re-learnt this past year is that
1. That while your goodness might keep you investing in a friendship hoping for a change in your friend, it is important to also have the other person invest in you.
2. Not all friendships are meant to be forever.
3. I got this from a beautiful article by Rebecca Lammersen
“ Check in with yourself when you leave someone’s presence. Ask yourself, Do I feel uplifted and happy? Or, do I feel depleted and lethargic? If you feel uplifted, the person you were just with is a supporter, keep them around. If you feel depleted, the person you were with is an enemy to your heart, don’t associate with them and make no apologies,” she says.
When my vision in life is to be someone who brings joy, goodness and hope into other people’s lives, when my goal is to be spiritually aware and uplifted every moment, I cannot allow myself to be hurt by the words and actions of those who do not share the values as mine.
And so it is time for some goodbyes, it is time to un-friend and re-friend.
Rolling in the deep
Over a period of 6 years, I gave up most things that brought me joy. Why, I don’t know. I didn’t even notice it. Books slipped past me, music climbed charts and fell, steps disappeared from the feet. I lost joy in my work and it became more about money, I ignored my health so much that my body began to hurt me, I stopped meditation and it showed in an unrecognizable spirit. I lost joy in my family, my husband, my children and my life. Life was a series of overwhelming responsibilities and I focused solely on meeting them. And then the world collapsed around me. When I picked myself up, I realized I had to work on re-building my mind, body and soul. I had to do things differently. Then I came to the US.
Though I had the intent, little did I realize how much this year would end up meaning to me. I began dancing again. I took lessons, taught dance and remembered that few things in life make me as happy as dancing. Then music came my way. I re-discovered my camera and froze Boston in frames. Then came books with their hidden surprises and myriad lessons. After 32 years of dreaming about swimming, I took the plunge and jumped in. With my body moving, my mind seems to have shaken off its shackles. It began to learn afresh lessons of love. It drew me closer to my baby boy and my husband. My spirit felt ablaze with the newer perspectives and lessons that seemed to fly at me from all directions. My ideas were revived, my intellect honed and determination sharpened. Then the words arrived, laughing at my fear that they would never return. I hold them close, breathe their fragrance, hold their hand as they run amok and laugh.
But the most important re-discovery has been about the power of friendships. I have many acquaintances and few friends. And I never realized I had them till I was at the lowest point in my life. These handful of friends scolded me, motivated me, believed in me and helped me change my life. Then when I came to the US, friendships began to blossom. Soon I was amidst a garden with the most beautiful flowers from around the world. I have made deep lasting and sweet friendships with remarkable women from around the world which I want to carry forth with me this lifetime.
I feel blissful and blessed. I feel lucky and proud. I feel humbled and grateful. This awareness came as I was listening to Adele’s Rolling in the Deep for the first time last night. I was rolling in the deep for long and now there is a fire in my heart 
Inside you is an Ugly Betty
Inside you is an Ugly Betty, an Elle Woods or a Desperate Housewife. A flawed woman, an imperfect woman eager to make herself more perfect for someone else, to be what someone else thinks of them, someone who is sometimes overwhelmed by the things she doesn’t have but wants to live a happier life and feel more complete. So often as a woman we live our life constantly battling what is expected of us and what we expect of ourselves. But most of the times I have learnt to appreciate the imperfectness that makes me a woman. There is something raw, pure and sublime about accepting the flaws that make you who you are. But its even more empowering to stop trying to be perfect; to stop measuring yourself with the yardsticks of another woman’s beauty, body, success, fame, money, popularity or peace. Being an imperfect woman is living a full life, it is dipping your hands deep into the jar of life and licking each emotion off, one finger at a time. Its tolerating the taste of bitterness, savoring the flavor of peace, resisting the taste of jealousy, teasing yourself with the smells of success, relishing the bursts of selflessness, swallowing the seeds of fears, biting down the bits of impatience. I am an imperfect woman and I don’t always handle myself with aplomb. I err, I cry, I laugh and I fight and I am happy accepting that. Because its all these imperfections bundled together that makes me, the unique me.
Conversations with God
An excerpt from a conversation with my 2yr 8 month old :-
Me: You keep asking me why for every little thing Pranav. I don’t know everything!
Pranav: Why don’t you know everything?
Me: Because only God knows everything and I am not God.
Pranav: I know everything. I am God.
Me: Fine. You are God.
Pranav: Why?
……
First Draft
Has already been edited. Here is the second.
…….
The moon emerged from her mouth.
She swallowed the universe whole,
chewed on little planets,
pushed aside galaxies with her tongue
till comets came rushing out
Laughing, tumbling over each other
zooming away before they clash
into smoky nothingness.
Little asteroids falling out
burnt the moon’s ground.
Then she felt a black little hole
pulling on her insides
and she fell inwards
melting, dissipating.
Leaving behind a moon, proud.
