Your Circle of People = Your Sphere of Life

The beauty of life is in the fact that it makes you experience breath, growth and evolution. Had it been a string of standstill and solitude moments, it would lose much of its charm and magic. People are at the heart of our world who define the sphere of our character and lives. Travel, art, literature, sports, economy, wars, conquests, all happen because people inspire and influence each other constantly. Nature in its benign calm is soothing, in its wrath is demonic and in its functioning is mysterious; but it is people like us who give each other the high of relevance and relations, an awareness of the head and the heart.

As we came into the world, our family was the opening scene to make and understand bonds. Gradually we stepped out; the circle of interactions grew, first slowly then rapidly as we turned into adults. We found people and they found us. Of all these familiar bonds made, we of course know which ones are fake, formed for mutual favours and manipulations. Of the rest, some exist with indifference; others are for mutual fun, good times and hallelujah. But there are those genuine ones, winnowed and chafed from the clutter which we foster, nurture and treasure. If these connections are destined or chanced is really irrelevant. Because whatever be the genesis, it is time, trust and a tacit acceptance of each other which takes them to the next level.

The remarkable part of these genuine relationships is that they can be numerous and each will be very distinct from the other. With some you just laugh your heart out, do crazy stuff, with others you simply sit and talk, talk from dusk to dawn about life, love, lust and everything in between, with others you share your secrets and fears, from some you seek advice and guidance, others are your fall back cushion, you know they’ll watch your back always, somebody makes your heart throb instead of just beat, and with somebody you just melt away being yourself. Of course in some relationships the dynamics are overlapping. That one single connection takes care of a lot of variables but never all. You will find yourself sharing specific things with specific people. We unconsciously compartmentalize and sync our emotions with various individuals. For every need there is someone different. And this is the largess of our lives, a boon. A circle that has no sharp corners.

This circle interestingly explains that you and I as individuals are extremely complex and have layers of varied personalities and characteristics within ourselves. We aren’t apparently aware of these multiple wavelength needs but somehow fulfill it very well. When you experience a particular emotion – could be joy, fear, excitement, success, depression, anything, you exactly know the first person to call up. And this selection happens naturally, spontaneously, seamlessly with time. But the variables of any relationship are extremely bustling and active. They are ever changing, either flourishing or withering. So it is very naive of us to assume or say that this one particular relationship of mine will be unchanged or unscathed forever. The circle of people alters and evolves.

Every kind of relationship needs time, tender care, effort and proximity. And when one or the other changes in the wrong ratio, the bond begins to wilt away quietly. Sometimes it doesn’t die or disconnect just reinvents in a different or less intimate way. New buddies take the place of old chums, best friends become lets-catch-up-someday pals, more than friends become just friends, companions become acquaintances. That’s life, you move on. You sometimes sit back and reflect, even rue but you don’t recriminate.

When I started writing this piece, I had no inkling that it would veer to this question, but somehow it just occurred and seems fitting to put across now. We can comprehend and digest the fact that we are evolving individuals who change their relationship equations and wavelengths with time, and consequently make new connections and unmake previous ones. This is absolutely alright, no gossip, no taboo and no shame. Just natural circulation of people in our lives. But in the course of time if we might outgrow the bond with our spouse, may not share the same companionship, and might not find each other in a common head space; should it be such an outrageous affair? After all we are the same evolving individuals of flesh, blood and grey matter. So why is this such an outlawed and disgraceful possibility? I am not imposing my opinion here, just stating matter of factly.

Patience, tolerance, honesty are the keep stones of any strong and sustainable relationship. However, some relationships are blood relationships having slightly different fundamentals and when not working we distance ourselves from them not necessarily disconnect. With friends, if it isn’t working we never mutually acknowledge and decide to cut off, just the closeness dissipates and we find new ones. But only in the case of spouse does it get so difficult. This is a chosen relationship but over time might become passive and nonviable like any other, but unlike friends where you can keep piling on new ones without cutting out the old, you ideally have only one spouse. And when it isn’t thriving enough you need to acknowledge and address it. But if it’s beyond repair, you want to move on which needs severing the existing bond completely. This total split gives it the unholy, unnatural, atrocious character. Almost criminal in our local societies. Logically and rationally, it’s not villainous to step out of marriage if it serves only to stifle a person. No wonder, generations after mine and my own consider marriage an overrated and over-hyped phenomenon because there are no exit gates, not without inviting a lot of uncalled for labeling or slandering.

However, I might go back to the original happy idea of this post, it is people and people alone who colour our lives in beautiful and countless ways with their vibes. They make life pleasurable, memorable, cherishable, but above all they collectively give us something so extraordinary and exquisite that we are scared stiff to lose them and shot to pieces at the thought of losing our own life. These genuine connections, no wonder are proven essential for your well being. I read a beautiful quote somewhere, “I just want to be a happy vibe” and that’s what our inner circle of relationships are just a very happy vibe. And to go thankless for them would be a crime indeed.

THE THINKING ME

Who are you really? Forget the Given name, Surname, Maiden name, Profession and all external paraphernalia defining you. When you strip yourself naked of it, who you are is essentially your thoughts and notions. Part of these notions have been drilled and conditioned into your brain which you begin to consider true. However, thankfully a good chunk of your thoughts surmising you are organically the result of your experiences. I read this fantastic book called “The Brain – the story about you” by David Eagleman and for the first time I could truly appreciate the splendour of the human brain. Thank God the brain is so blithely dynamic and flexible that every experience you have can modify its neural activity for better or worse. Imagine if it wasn’t for this “liveware” of brain and its stupendous ability to edit its connections, you might be stuck with someone else’s prejudices and principles for the rest of your life. And it would be such a defeating existence.

Considering an average life span of 80 years and by having spent about 40% of it, you come to believe that you know yourself damn well. Apart from the conditioning around, you write your own ideals, goals and ideologies in life and vouch for them as mostly unchangeable henceforth, because of your strong faith in yourself. I believed so myself and was headstrong about it. Only to realize that your belief system is not foolproof, it’s fickle. And it’s not unbecoming of you to modify it, only natural. As you experience the world, its people, things, cultures, nature, settings, your thoughts undergo a million revisions and it sticks with a particular idea until a newer experience challenges it. And these experiences are not always life defining or life changing moments, they are simply perspective changing, most cleverly unearthing your hidden facets you didn’t even know existed within you. This is exactly who you are, discovering yourself anew every time. You never know yourself enough.

On a personal level, life for me was pretty much in black or white. However, as years passed by, as my repository of experiences enriched, as I saw more of the world, I perceived the myriad shades of gray in between. I want to refrain from saying rights and wrongs, they are merely shades and you find yourself switching sometimes from dark to light or light to dark. I have internally realized that as you experience more, you judge less. And when you relieve yourself of judging others, you also release yourself from your own judging eye and it is liberating. Sometimes you are so hooked on to your own code of conduct that it’s almost criminal to violate it. However, accept it or not, newer experiences make way for newer connections and newer value and belief systems. Difficult as it might initially seem to let go of your principles, the transition becomes very fluid when you stop making judgements.

Let’s put it this way, you might be a doting parent but you have surely lost all patience more than once with your kid and whacked or wanted to whack him. I have given in to such instincts at times, and sometimes I have overcome them. But the point is, not being a parent and looking from a neutral aspect I would paint a very dark tinted image of such aggressive parents. However, having been there personally I empathize with you and do not judge you or myself. I discount my behaviour as acceptable. So what’s right or wrong here? Nothing. There’s only my hostile neural activity and experience which helps me relate to other such parents. This was a simplistic example; however life has more to offer in terms of complexity.

As ordinary humans you and I face more implicit, tabooed and precarious dilemmas. You might have been so enraged to punch somebody right in the eye, you might have urged to know the psychedelic trance effect of a weed joint with your peers, and you might have desired to be flirted upon or dally with another attractive man or woman. May I say there might be more “scandalous” situations and choices that you might find yourself in. Curious instincts and urges have found their way to us at some point and it would be very hypocritical to deny their presence. I recently learnt that every slight decision that you make, takes into account your past and future. The brain with its exponential and infinitesimal speed and prowess of the unconscious substrata processes your past memories and future consequences with reference to the present situation and then takes a decision. So what you do with your instincts is a personal choice based on your evaluation. But because you have an evolved and intelligent consciousness, it is your decision to either surrender to immediate gratification or hold on to your will power. As simple as you might devour a chocolate here and now or forego it in the interest of your weight loss.

Whatever you choose to do, I might differ from you but I do not want to condemn you. Your right is different from my right but if at all I find myself in your shoes someday, I might understand your right better. Very often, you will find expressing yourself most honestly, frankly, boldly and uninhibitedly in the company of your most trusted mates because you do not fear being judged. It is a refreshing freedom to be you. Also very often, you look at others through filters of relationship roles and models. You might approve of something as a woman but not as a wife. You might indulge in something as a bachelor but not as a family man. Interestingly, despite everything, there’s still a YOU within you who craves for things beyond your socially conditioned periphery. And it’s very alluring to just be YOU sometimes. I am not suggesting any depravity, insouciance or recklessness in the popular sense here. I am only being audacious to acknowledge the instincts and not be judged for who I am.

I was born a daughter, years later I added wife and daughter-in-law to the repertoire and a few years down I collected another tag as a mother. But these are parts of me, I am not whole unless including my individual self. The great Rene Descartes very intuitively said, “I think; therefore I am.” And the fact that I am considering and writing this makes me sure that I really am. And it’s absolutely heady to feel yourself alive and thinking. 

You are Born to Live, And You Live to Age

This week started for me with my birthday... which one? I am not giving it away just yet. The first thing that springs to my mind with birthdays are gifts and wishes and I got them both abundant, especially wishes.  And yes, it felt wonderfully nice, affectionate and special when so many of my family and friends called up, texted, messaged and posted to wish me. In essence, it meant so many of them thought about me for that moment, spared a minute or more to send me their best wishes.

But the funny part of this birthday was that whoever called, asked me my plan for the day. To which I didn’t know where to start from. To begin with it was a Monday morning with all its blues deepened by the hubbub of the school and office routine, next it was my car pool turn for both the kids’ pick up who come at different times. So the morning till late noon was taken care of. My son’s physiotherapy session took care of the evening and if all looked well, a family dinner was definitely on the card, where I would carry my younger one’s paratha from home feeding her on the way and keep nudging my son to stay up till we reach the restaurant and he eat his dinner. However, I didn’t have to go through the last bit since due to certain circumstances we didn’t go out and ordered a home delivery instead.

The most amusing thing about my birthday was that my kids were feeling sad for me and I was feeling strange. My son just couldn’t understand why his mom didn’t want a theme party, why was there no fancy, elaborate cake (though there was a yummy chocolate cake baked by my co-sister) and no friends coming over? And my daughter felt so concerned that she asked me, “Birthday hai na? To friends ko bulao.” But since I was making no calls to invite anyone, she picked up her toy phone calling every friend of mine she knows and reciting, “Today is Radhika aunty’s birthday so please come to our house.” While her drama was hilarious, their concern and care for my fun was adorable.

As for my strange melancholic emotions, let me reveal that I am right at edge of crossing over into the wrong side of thirties. It was my 35^th birthday. As I spoke to my mom that day, I told her I remember celebrating my birthday as a daughter, but celebrating it as a mother of two doesn’t seem exciting. I somehow find it difficult to let go of my image of early twenties, the 23-24 years old. I’ll admit I’m appearance conscious but I am really not that vain to not accept the aging changes. I have visible gray strands of hair now, my once naturally silky mane is now dry and frizzy, my freckles are more prominent and a night cream is now inevitable. But it is not the younger physical image of me that I am holding unto. Nor did I ever have a very indulgent, swashbuckling lifestyle or celebrations that I miss. For some unclear reason, my mind quavers from registering the lapse of 12 years of my life from twenty three to thirty five. It seems it just happened out of nowhere. I lead an above average happy, healthy and satisfied life even today and yet I lament.

I think it is the change in roles, the addition of responsibilities and the challenges of relationships that I lament. Oh no please don’t assume, I am not depressed or in denial of my age. I am not enclosed in the house or tied down with chores. I do hang out, I have fun and I love my family. I still come across as a reasonably pleasant looking, sensible and self confident woman. But I do miss my younger self. I miss the carefreeness. And it just so happens that birthdays accentuate that journey of age rather consciously and glaringly.  

Not all days you halt to look back at the distance covered in your life’s journey. But a birthday is a milestone that unwittingly reminds you how far you have come. And then you realize you had been so preoccupied while driving all along that you reached so far almost in a haze. As I write, I wonder if it serves any purpose of putting my dichotomy into words, of acknowledging my bemused state of mind. Serves none actually. I miss my past but I don’t pine for it, I am restless in my present but clueless of the future. Where does this leave me? It leaves me exactly at 35. 

Being thirty five is not embarrassing; it is living thirty five which is exhausting. I finally get it, I basically want to retreat from my responsibilities and so my mind chose the relatively more exciting and sorted age of twenty three to revert to. Poor thing, it doesn’t know such option doesn’t exist. Good news is a friend consoled me that forties is the new twenties for women with added value and charm for aged maturity just like wine. Sounds promising and sparkling. Five more years and I will know... not that I am in any hurry anyway.

What does a Marriage Need? Apartness in Togetherness...

Lyrical yet profound, concise yet conclusive, Khalil Gibran’s poetic prose on Marriage in “The Prophet” is timeless and ageless in its essence. Every word allegorical in its meaning resonates with the spirit of lasting joy in a marriage. As a reader, I find it beautiful but as a follower I find it difficult. It is most natural for two individuals to contradict, conflict and misunderstand each other especially when they are bound in a rather complex and conditioned relationship of a marriage. But living together while sharing every part of you with the other gives rise to mundane and petty differences, where we haven’t even touched upon the bigger issues yet. And it is thus that Khalil Gibran writes, “Let there be spaces in your togetherness.”

Look at it this way, when a guest overstays at your place, his presence begins to cram in your routine, space and life. For the first few days you are happy to divert and deviate from your routine to accommodate his interests, food choices and likes but over that you are waiting for his return flight. And this primarily happens because your personal space gets constricted with the guest’s presence, not deliberately though. Initially you want to make him feel comfortable and special, a few days past it is an obligation and if he is still around, all the frills and fancy get replaced by the ordinary.

But the quandary is your spouse is no guest. Nobody gets married with a return ticket in mind. You are each a permanent fixture in the other’s space and it needs enough room around the fixture to navigate through it comfortably. But addressing your spouse, a vital part of your life, as a fixture is rather derogatory. I might rephrase that we are such sparks in our husbands’ lives that blow up their fuses, while they are such high voltage live wires that can cause a short circuit in our brain wiring. Given that we aren’t guests in each other’s life and wreck much disagreement in thoughts, opinions and lifestyle, it is only sensible that we leave enough space between each other to crease out and sync our differences while amble delectably through our togetherness. If you aren’t true to yourself, you cannot be true to the other.

Initially the need for space in a relationship isn’t much because there’s this dazzling excitement and novelty in the new found togetherness and proximity. Gradually, over a couple of years the sheen begins to wane, there is a desire to go back to your original ways and character and usually just then the children step in the picture, and this ricochets the scenario to a great extent.  Let me elaborate, I pester my husband to switch off the T.V. every night not because I have anything against it but because the kids keep popping their eyes open every few minutes to catch a glimpse. Same, he complains that I wake him up every morning, while in truth I am trying to wake up my son but just that my screaming wakes up the wrong guy. All I imply is that though I have no intention or inclination to encroach his space, time or pleasure, I end up doing it. This is the kind of personal invasion that happens in your life with time and children. And it is then when the need for personal space is most pronounced.

I love family holidays, couple holidays but it is a different enjoyment altogether to be on your own as an individual without the attachments of your spouse or kids. And I don’t see anything wrong or shameful in admitting this. Doing things or not doing them at all, ticking at your pace without others bearing upon you is refreshingly liberating. I made a trip to Jaipur earlier this year for the Jaipur Literature Festival and I didn’t know a soul there in that prodigious festival. But I felt so alive and thrilled to be absolutely on my own after a long time. Similarly, my husband routinely goes for his birding and wildlife trips with co-naturalists without me breathing down his neck or the kids demanding his time or patience. And I totally realize how much good it does to his spirit. These personal narratives are not for my endorsement but only for perspective.

However, giving space in a relationship shouldn’t be confused with fulfillment or non-fulfillment of expectations because the truth is no one lives upto the other’s expectations anyway. The chase of expectations takes the form of a dust cloud speckled with complaints but the concept of space is a path that you mutually walk to grow rather than confine.  This space is so crucial after a few years in a marriage because your roles and responsibilities have multiplied manifold and you need to hold on to something for the love of your individuality. This “me time” unshackles you mentally and emotionally before you might sit down to rue your relationship status. The space is not essentially about making single trips or outings, or doing things separately though in my opinion it has its own healing alchemy. It is about cohesive coexistence, just letting your spouse or partner be. Period. Let me go back to the guest analogy, when the guest has a long stay scheduled, after a week the formality of his stay and your need to attend him at all times will start vaporizing. While you still care for him, you no longer fret about his dinner or entertainment plans. And this letting go of your preoccupation with him in a good way rather eases him better in the setup. He enjoys being himself in the awareness that you are still a caring and dependable host, and you relieve in reclaiming your shared space.  

The same goes for lifelong stays where each partner plays the dual role of guest and host. Where silences are sprinkled with words and conversations are smattered with silences. Apartness in togetherness is the quintessence of a breathing relationship. Dutiful but uninspired partners make for a burdened marriage under whose weight your spirit dies. A companionable partner will not let his/her partner’s spirit fade away. And I am fortunate to have married one.

Nothing concludes this better than quoting from “The Prophet” again: “And stand together yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress tree grow not in each other’s shadow.”

“Love You Ma”, “Love You Baby”- Six Words that Spin Your World

It began when I read a friend’s comment on her face book page.  It was her birthday and she posted a lovely card made by her little daughter. It was indeed pretty however one sentence on the card overjoyed my friend. It read, “Ma, you are the best cook in the world” and my friend commented how special and extraordinary it felt to get that title from her. That’s when it occurred to me how, very subconsciously, we are looking for our children’s approval in our lives no matter how young they are.  Apparently and consciously it is only our kids who come to us for approval or admiration. A painting they made, a clay dough they moulded, a room they tidied or even a lemonade they stirred. Any activity or task invariably ends with the same question “Mum or Dad how is it?” There is such an excited and heightened anticipation of being accepted, admired and liked that no matter what and how they have done you just got to hug them for their enthusiasm and effort. 

In truth, as adults we too look forward to the same emotions of acknowledgement, acceptance and admiration from others around us.  What we never realize is that we are also very subtly and unconsciously seeking a sort of approval from our kids. Almost as if asking them, “Are we good enough?” When my son beams, “Mummy the cheese wrap was so yum!” I despite knowing that the others also enjoyed it confirm with him, “Really Aman did you like it very much?” And his affirming nod so boosts me up.  When I paint along with him, he is totally surprised at times and exclaims, “Wow mom, you know to paint well!” And I for no reason or some reason feel so delighted at his remark. Not that it makes me anymore skilled but just the fact that he thinks something worthy of me is unexpectedly reassuring.  

This mutual need for acceptance made me realize the very symbiotic relationship between parents and their children.  I have two adorable kids who without fail, make sure I lose my mind every single day on hourly basis. However, every Parent-Teacher Meeting that I have attended over the years for my son, the teachers have generously praised him. Every time he has a play date at any of his friends’ homes, he always returns with compliments of how good, calm and well behaved he is. Of course I feel great and so proud of him. However, his story at our home is quite contrary. Recently, I left both my kids back home while I was away on a two week trip. And before leaving I pleaded with my son not to trouble his grandparents while getting ready for school. Trust me, I literally drag him to the bathroom and shove him into the shower on atleast four out of five school days. Usually I have one lucky day when he is more cooperative.  So I was stunned when my in-laws told me that they never had to wake him up for the two weeks. He was up at 6 on his own and ready before time without any fuss whatsoever.  This made me reproach him, “What is it about me Aman that you decide to be so difficult with everything when it comes to me?” Of course he didn’t reply. But I tried deciphering the answer myself.

A couple of years back, I was at my mom’s place and my niece had a phase of frequent crying episodes for no real reasons or unreasonable ones. I am accustomed to such episodes because of my own kids. However, I could comfort my niece with ease. I tackled her gently and intelligently and she would normalize. My mother was watching me from a distance and later she commented, “How come you are so patient and composed with your niece and nephew but always screaming at your own kids?” The truth and validity of her remark struck me. My mother’s words have stayed with me ever since but sadly haven’t changed me any better. Over time similar situations have occurred and I have reacted the same way. For instance, when I drop my daughter and her friends to school there is a very delightful ruckus in the car with singing, teasing and playing but in the midst of this delight there’s also screaming and jumping which needs my intervention. And I have repeatedly seen that when Amaya jumps, hits and screams I am very stern, threatening and furious with her but when her friends do the same I am soft and polite though tactful and firm.

You see there is such a strong reflexive behavioural disorder between our children and us. We clearly take each other for granted to a considerable extent. Somewhere deep in the subconscious they have come to believe that it’s alright to misbehave, throw a tantrum, make a fuss, be stubborn and demanding when they are with their parents. Same as we think it is fine to be fuming, shouting, yanking and threatening our own child. But as soon as we both are in others company; children with other elders or guardians and we with other kids, both their attitude and our approach are drastically changed.  

Of course there’s no dismissing the fact that we are dealing with other kids and they are dealing with other elders for very limited and brief periods where it is easier for all to maintain the facade of politeness and goodness. But when it comes to constant haggling with our own kids and for them constant nagging by their parents all manners, all patience, all calm just fly out of the window. Basically we have taken a few liberties with each other. We would shout at our own child but not at another’s because who wants to hear, “You are such a bad aunty. I don’t want to come with you again”. We would slap our child in private but not in the midst of guests for we might be termed insensitive and impatient parents. And maybe the child goes through a similar psychology, someone else branding him as “You are being a monster and driving me mad” or intimidating him, “We are sending you to a hostel” might hurt him much worse and disturb him much deeper. And so rather innocently he tries to contain or restrict such situations.

 But what makes this symbiotic relationship so resilient and strong is the unique layer of parent-child reconciliatory bond. No matter how much we may complain, haul, punish, and get frustrated with our children, at the end of the day we cuddle against them to coo “I love you my little lamb and I am sorry to have screamed”. We want to go back to those little benign beings and nurture them. And no matter how many times they feel offended and bang the doors, sometimes even hit us or say bad mummy or daddy, they come back running to find comfort in our arms. This mutual need, faith, and sort of non-egoistic love is the basis of the most fragile, sensitive yet the strongest symbiotic relationship of a parent and child. 

I hope to grow up to be a parent whose symbiosis with her growing bunnies gets stronger with their every birthday. And maybe on some odd birthday of mine, I might earn the title, “Ma, you are the best.”  

From Paris to Provence – A Second Love Affair

You often fall in love with a person but sometimes it’s a place. I felt smitten with Avignon - a lovely urban town in the Provence region of France. Well, recalling my very first experience in the city didn’t do anything to evoke the love rather left us almost high and dry. We arrived by train and went around looking for public transport information to get to our hotel. Considerable sweating and scurrying around in the hot sun lead us to an unaware security guard who guided us to a wrong bus stop where we waited and waited but no bus arrived. After a frustrating hour or more we finally took a cab. So the well intentioned guard’s misinformation cost us 40 Euros where we should have reached in 8 Euros. But the ordeal was far from over.

Upon reaching the B&B in the town’s suburb, we were welcomed by a locked door. We rung the bell and hence began a faceless communication with the lady on the other side who asked for our hotel’s confirmation voucher number. On having provided it, she gave us a code to punch in the security key board which would let us in. However, upon typing the code, the security equipment lighted with the following message, “Access denied, Make Payment”. We looked dumbstruck at each other for a long moment then at the faceless communicator trying to explain that we had paid in full and the Reservation Voucher read the same. But she wouldn’t budge, as long as her system didn’t show it she wouldn’t unlock the door or let us in and so we sat there on our luggage fuming both physically and mentally trying to sort out the glitch. The guy at the booking website’s call centre thankfully confirmed that it was a fully paid reservation and kept us on hold for 15 whole minutes on an international call. This was insanely exasperating and irritating. We gritted our teeth in the scorching sun (yes it was as bad as in Chennai) till he rectified the technical anomaly in the system and sent the confirmation to the hotel. And the faceless lady finally agreed to give us another code which worked and the door clicked open. It wasn’t merely relief, it was a deliverance.

The opening scene in Avignon left me cantankerous but all that followed soon only deepened the affliction of the French romance. Fragrant Purple Earth is what remains etched in my mind. Gazing at those expanses of lavender fields took me to a land of antiquity where I, a peasant girl sauntered unbridled and amok in the French countryside carrying my parasol. The beautiful and imperial lavender is sometimes juxtaposed with vibrant green and at other places with golden swaying hay. It is one of the most magnificent sights to behold. And with a little rub between the palms the lavender buds exude the most sensational aroma. Inviting villages of Sault, Gordes, Rousillon beckoned us with their tamed rusticity but natural charm.  Unspoilt and elegant in appearance but bucolic at its heart is how I would define these little towns dotting the landscape of Provence with its gorgeous purple bounty.

After basking in the countryside and seeing, smelling, touching and tasting (lavender ice cream) lavender it was time to explore the city of Avignon the next day. And as we made our way to the city centre by evening, it was oozing with voltaic excitement.  The side cafes packed with people, the streets a live performing stage and the air just electric with energy and vibrancy. By sheer luck and chance, our travel plans coincided with Avignon’s Cultural and Theatre Festival. And for anybody who has the slightest interest in art will be over the moon to witness this absolutely rocking festival. It is a world renowned event where artists and spectators from around the globe come together to thrive in its glory.

As we were ambling along, I realized the main street had been almost cordoned off for performers and crowds. I cannot truly capture the essence of that sight in words though I am living it in my mind several times while writing this. I have personally never seen such a culmination of artistic effervescence. The entire area was a live stage with street artists and performances every few hundred meters. From hip hop to tango, from guitarists to avant gard instruments; from acrobatics to actors it was all happening right in the streets and by lanes of the city centre with crowds circling around each performance. A particular guitarist’s soulful music still resonates in my mind and his calm and joyous expression clearly showed how much he loved his work. There was another band called the Nomad Men who caught my fancy for more than one reason, of course there music was tantalizingly upbeat and foot tapping, but one of the instruments was so novel like a ten feet wooden saxophone and the whole band was setup so inventively on a refurbished bike not to forget the pair of drummers who were such a good looking sight! However, what surprised me was that almost every musician here had his own recorded CD which he was selling as well as using to promote himself. They are both involved and serious about their pursuit. Further down, there were pumping dance routines one after the other with escalating energy. The love affair that began in Paris overflowed in Avignon only this time the medium had changed.

Theatre is another huge aspect of this festival and though I couldn’t see any they all being in French and sold out, the glimpses of it were all around us. The actors market their play on the streets in a very characteristic style. With painted faces and elaborate costumes they are doing the rounds on the street in their character’s get up delivering catchy dialogues on the way. It is not only eye catching but very new and interesting. Classics, comedy, satire, drama it’s all there to entertain every mental palate. Performers gather from far flung places for the love of their work and of course opportunities to come in the public eye. They live frugal lives, almost depending on their patrons’ generosity, but they still love what they do and this simple fact makes every challenge worthwhile. They are basically proud of their choices. This sort of acceptance, love and joy in the pursuit of art seemed to me like a Sufi connection and some of them did appear like dervishes completely lost in the music and dance of their spirit.

Such sights made me question and wonder if it is alright in life to say enough. Is it okay to be happy with limited resources and avenues? Or is every human bound to strive for peaking progress and growth? A growth which the world can define and translate into countable units. Let me put it this way a musician who has the potential to become the next Lionel Richie but is content in playing by the street side, watching the world go by, while some in the crowd stand mesmerized and congratulate him. Is his chosen life an atrophy of his talents? Is he stunting his personal progress? A progress that in time might stunt the very joy from his music. Is it not a personal choice then than who are we to judge his aspirations and success by our personal barometer? The margin of error in being complacent and satisfied is rather very narrow. As long as a person still wakes up looking forward to his vocation or profession, derives joy from it and earns enough to lead a self reliant life I guess he is doing very well for himself.

What I also wonder is why we as a community and society in our country never encouraged a heartfelt alternative career quest. Potential artists forced into a rut which didn’t make sense to them or pushed blindly into an academic race they had no inclination to run? The movie ‘Tamasha’ rightly put it across. Most importantly why does it not register with us that some people choose not to run the race not because they are complacent, lazy or incompetent but simply the joy from their art or vocation is enough for them.  Thankfully there is eventually a visible shift in our mindset. There is a growing tribe of explorers and artists in all fields who are boldly breaking the stereotype and fighting the antagonism to find their footing in the academic loving society.

Drifting back to Avignon, well all I can say is that it was a celebration of intellectual, creative and artistic sensibilities revelled against the most picturesque purple fragrant lavender fields, a sight and experience that will stay with me for a long long time to come till I fall in love with another place. 

Love Affair in Paris

Why are holidays so desirable? Because they snap you out from the monotony of the alarm clock routine and aspire you to rekindle your senses. I did exactly that for two weeks while soaking up the French air. To recount the exhilaration of this trip, a travelogue just wouldn’t suffice. After all a Paris itinerary is indeed so predictable - the colossal Eiffel Tower, the grand Louvre, the opulent Palace of Versailles and the ancient Notre Dame. But it is not so much about the sights than the feelings and flavours they evoked which I wish to capture here.

"The Kiss" - by Rodin

I might begin with the most evident statement that the grandeur and scale of their art and architecture is timeless and absolutely astounding. And the beauty of it is in its constant preservation, restoration and upkeep. My art affair began with one of the greatest sculptor’s of all times Auguste Rodin. His masterpieces “The Kiss”, “The Gates of Hell”, “The Thinker” and such other larger than life sculptures embellish the museum’s rooms and gardens. And so does the Louvre house breathtakingly brilliant and lofty sculptures under its magnanimous roof. A lot of these sculptures are nude inspired from the Greek and Roman mythology. But it was refreshing to see that people there do not find it amusing or embarrassing. They just admire the perfection in its composition, scale, posture and detailing and move ahead. Families with motley of age groups visit and all are perfectly at ease with the concept of nudity. After all it is just a human body. I might be wrong but I think a society which isn’t sexually repressed looks at human body in its rather natural and biological form. So the artists or the admirers might not be so avant garde than merely instinctive. More so the sculpting of every curve and sinew including the slightness of toenails is so extraordinary that it just makes for spontaneous admiration.  

"Coronation of Bonaparte"

"Wedding Feast at Cana"

Next when I set my eyes on the painting section of the Louvre or the ones in the churches, it took my breath away. You just gape in disbelief at the sheer size of the canvas and its vividness. To put it in perspective, some of the canvas sizes are larger than a 2bhk flat in Mumbai. Beautiful art is one which transcends cultural or communal sensibilities, which makes you halt and notice. And it did exactly so. This phenomenal and staggering collection of art across Europe was accomplished during the Renaissance period almost 300 years ago and looks as radiant as commissioned yesterday. They are both symbolic and realist in their reproduction of events which are mainly historical or ecclesiastical in genre. And good Lord the detailing will almost knock you over with a feather. Some of the ones that completely awed me at the Louvre are the “Coronation of Bonaparte”, “The Raft of Medusa” and the “Wedding Feast at Cana”. They are so incredibly dramatic and engaging in their representation, almost life like. I am no historian, or an art critique or a curator and yet as a laywoman I felt so privileged to have seen some of greatest works of the master artists like Michelangelo, Raphael, Leonardo Da Vinci, Rodin, Bernini and others.

However, the ornate opulence of the High Renaissance Age can get overwhelming in time.  And so the prospect of another museum can be a bit exhausting. But my chance visit to the Musee de Orsay turned my art affair into almost a love affair. Just a little tip here, Musee de Orsay has a concessional entry ticket at 4.30 p.m. onwards. And to save 3 Euros per head we waited for an entire hour and half outside the museum. Idling time under the warm Parisian sun with lovely trumpet music in the air was actually delightful for us the unhurried travellers. And we thought we might have an extra cappuccino with those saved Euros. At the cost of sounding cheapskate let me tell you such antics just add a very tangy flavour to your memories one you will savour and laugh about. 

   

"Luncheon at the Grass" - by Monet

Once inside, we marvelled at the magnificent railway station converted art museum. Of course we had had enough Renaissance art by then, so headed straight for the Impressionist Art Galleries. Oh! And its first glimpse was like a soft and gentle breeze caressing my ocular senses. I hadn’t had any clue about the Impressionist style of painting till then apart from the fact that I had heard and read about it in novels and movies where they forge or steal a Van Gogh or Renoir worth millions of bucks. But standing in front of these very original and real ones was quite exciting. I googled impressionism that very moment to understand what was I admiring after all. It was a nouveau art trend started by a handful of artists in Paris in the 19^th century which redefined the use of light and shade to capture movement and life as it was.

"Blue Water Lillies" - by Monet

The first words that raced to my mind seeing those paintings were “motion in stillness”. It is sheer genius that some deft fingers can reproduce every slight movement of life on mute, inanimate canvasses. Those still paintings are brimming with glorious life. The strokes and shades depict every nuance of motion from the ripple of a lake, to the sweeping autumn leaves in the wind, the rising of smoke and to the twirling of hair in the breeze. It is unimaginable until you behold it with your own eyes. Their dexterity is beyond compare, such that reveals if the subject is wearing chiffon or silk gauze.  The play of colours is so magical and profound that it even captures the succulence of the grapes through its translucent skin. Standing there under the splendour of Claude Monet, Edgar Degas, Camille Pissaro, Alfred Sisley, Van Gogh, Eduord Manet and the likes washed me with inspiration and exquisite delight. Their art is so compelling and moving both literally and metaphorically that it makes a commentator out of a clueless nonentity like me as well.  

Artists at work at the Montmartre Square

The aesthetic and artistic experience of this classic city only keeps getting better. At the apogee of art, it is like elixir for art lovers. Sainte Chapelle Gothic Church has the finest stained glass paintings in the world. The fifteen glass windows cover the entire perimeter of the church with minimum stone work and its intricate filigree like artwork is a kaleidoscopic burst of colours in the straining sunlight. It is quite a fascinating sight. The Montmartre is a bustling square of artists and cafes. Dozens of them with their easels and palettes are working on the canvasses with live subjects. I had seen such artistic romanticism only in Hollywood movies so far, but standing there in midst of it felt all the more surreal. It was tantalizing my creative urge. For a brief moment, I wished I didn’t have to return home and could stay there penning my stories sipping cappuccino in my own side cafe.

However, my Parisian reverie was short lived but the creative propensity continued as I went to the Sacre Coeur church in Montmartre. We were lucky to hear a parishioner’s recital there. There was no choir, yet a single parishioner’s orchestrated voice echoed through the enormous church. Such exemplary was its acoustics and organ system, a rich and unexpected aural treat. As we went around the altars, I saw a hunched figure looking fixedly at the wall and then at the floor repeatedly.  Being curious I inched closer and realized she was an art student, sketching a sculpture that caught her fancy. And I genuinely wondered why hadn’t I ever seen such ubiquitous creative revelry and passion in my native surroundings.

Paris is called the City of Love, and it showed on its streets. Apart from all the art and beauty that stoked my senses, the presence of love touched my heart. I am no anthropologist or have any knowledge as a social or cultural researcher. What I write here is simply an understanding and interpretation of life as a layperson.  In the course of soaking up the city I observed that couples, who might be locales or other western travellers married or otherwise, were very expressive about their affection to their partners. And what gladdened me more was that it included couples of all ages, the very young and passionate, the middle aged ones with teenage kids and even the elderly with probably grandchildren at home. We in our society are so averse to the idea of public display of affection to our partner that it was refreshing to see them. And what we might consider cheap, embarrassing or even indecent looked to me just a very loving gesture of care. Imagine you are waiting in the queue or strolling the park with your kids and suddenly you get a peck on the cheek from your partner or a gentle squeeze on your arm or a warm hug at the dinner table. It looked beautiful so I am sure it must feel better. I don’t know their cultural back stories, neither the success of their interpersonal relationships nor am I making cultural comparisons but to my eyes it only seemed that after years of rut and a general condescending familiarity they still didn’t take each other for granted. They meant something to each other and they showed it not for the world to see but for the joy of that moment’s togetherness.

The City of Lights and Love

I guess the French air did get to me for what started as an art affair is rightfully ending as a love affair in Paris. I will sum it up in a paradox, while Paris filled me with everything beautiful it opened me for so much more.

Teachers Taught... but Somehow I Forgot

Sometimes there happen fireworks in the mind that take you up to the dazzling embers in the sky one moment and the next bring you down like a diffused damp cracker. These fireworks are of thoughts and more thoughts. I have had a chain of such pyrotechnic thoughts display lately. But I am pretty clueless of putting them into words at this point but since I enjoy it and it gives a kind of perspective to my intellect and emotions, I will attempt it nevertheless.   

To begin with, my daughter started her new and mainstream school recently and as expected she and most of her peers in different sections were plunged into a roaring sea of insecurity and weeping sense of loss. The initial couple of days in school were utterly chaotic and overwhelming to say the least. And honestly it is still quite clamorous after two weeks. Howling kids dragged by determined parents isn’t entirely uncommon. But all the parents present there, immediately noticed that one particular class out of the four had settled rather well and with ease by the third day. Luckily, my daughter belongs to this class. So what was their secret? Of course the kids in this class are no more mature, independent or grown up than the rest. And there are no magic tricks. Then obviously it is most definitely the teachers’ credit. These two particular teachers could manage to calm and comfort their disconsolate wards rather effectively and make them listen as well. And it dawned on me that they are exemplary human resource managers with tremendous skills. It takes paramount patience, practice, trust and a gentle authority to rein in a class full of absolute rookie toddler students.

 So then I wondered why is the profession of teaching always underscored? Let’s admit it we never look upon teachers as professionals in the same esteemed category as doctors, lawyers, engineers or MBA holders when their role is no less important. Talking of their role, I am reminded of my class XII English teacher, Sister Anita. We live in the Wikipedia age today where every iota of information is at our fingertips or command of our voice. But eighteen years ago, my world was not so savvy or informed. I was still flipping the dictionary and atlas, so back then when Sister Anita introduced us to the amazing compilation called Roget’s Thesaurus, I was simply astounded. I might sound oh so obtuse but I didn’t even know that such a thing existed. However, in my modest convent schooling of Jamnagar, Sister Anita and the thesaurus made a huge impact on me. She introduced me to the vastness, richness, preciseness and beauty of language. It motivated me to write differently with better vocabulary. And her appreciation of my every attempt was very gratifying and encouraging. 

When I look back at my teachers, there are some who really mattered for their attitude and approach and they did make a difference. When I look ahead at my kids’ teachers, I am ever so concerned about how they will mould and influence the kids. We are constantly harping about how the children spend more time in proximity with their teachers than with us and how the teachers can ignite their minds with encouragement, guidance and enthusiasm. Of course all teachers, like in any profession, aren’t in the same calibre. Some are especially skilled and equipped at their job and we do admire them in our conversations feeling relieved that our kids are under their aegis. Yet, despite its significance teaching is not the champion of professions. I have forever heard parents coaxing their children to become tennis players or surgeons or anything but never by exception, especially in the upper middle class, have I heard any parent provide teaching as a preferred career option. It is the last resort for anybody, if nothing works out get your B.Ed and become a teacher. No wonder there is such a dearth of qualified and capable teachers because the experienced ones are retiring without a matching influx of competent younger ones. And it is not about money alone, it is much more about mindset. It is not elite enough for us.

We do not admire the fact that teaching as a profession requires intelligence and a very special mental aptitude and attitude to be able to deal with dozens of very different minds. They are the fountain heads through which springs of knowledge might sprout up and once up they might channel it into infinite possibilities. It is not about honoring or deifying the teachers, it is about giving them their due prestige as professionals. Realize it or not but proficient teachers do a lot of value addition not to corporate houses or products but real and living people.

Well, this was just one of my thought sparks which in the course of elaboration does make me respect the teachers more. But when I think of a profession which is incessantly physically demanding, emotionally draining and mentally challenging, there’s none other than Motherhood. It is absolutely one of its kinds.  Hope to lengthen on it soon. Till then hats off to teachers and salutations to mothers. 

Lessons from the Flight AI-648

The attitude you wear on your sleeve has a very uncanny influence on turning around situations and other’s attitude to it, so much as from indignation to admiration. And I so witnessed it on my Air India flight AI-648 from Jamnagar to Mumbai. Frankly speaking, the Air India staff needs special training in crisis management of annoyed passengers because they face such mobs with consistent regularity in the course of their service. But they seem to have grown very accustomed to these disgruntled eruptions because they are least ruffled by it and carry on casually. However, I choose to be unbiased here and might add that sometimes the crew and the staff are really helpless and at other times they can do better.

Having said that let me recount my recent experience. The Indian summer really saps you of any cool-headedness you might otherwise demonstrate. And so it did with its stifling air inside the aircraft of AI-648 parked at the tarmac of the unassuming Jamnagar airport. It takes considerable amount of time from the boarding of the passengers to the flight’s takeoff; it’s a standard and expected norm. And so we boarded, took our seats and the crew went about their technical and official formalities. In about seven minutes post boarding we were panting inside the aircraft. The nasty heat of 14.00 hrs scorching the fuselage of the aircraft with around 70-80 passengers further contributing their body heat can be almost strangulating in the month of May when the air conditioning of the aircraft is off. It was just the blower circulating the prickly stale and warm air inside. In such conditions, those usual 15-20 minutes can be very dehydrating both mentally and physically.

By the ninth minute, I could sense the general unease of people and the first of the agitated passengers gasping and heaving including myself. The eleventh minute, a steward happened to pass the aisle and the gentleman in front of me was quite petulant by then. He let off his steam aloud, “Why are the passengers being tortured here? Why don’t you turn on the air conditioning?” The steward with a nonchalant face consoled, “Okay Sir, I shall look into it” and scurried lest other irritated passengers like me stopped him and rebuffed. For the next five minutes the steward looked into what, I really don’t know because nothing happened. We were still enjoying the tender blasts of very tepid air from the blowers.

The sixteenth minute another steward, young and smiling (that’s surprising in Air India I know!), came past us. And while she was still at row no. 8, I at row no. 12 was mentally ready with my tirade to lash out at her. But again, the now totally irked gentleman at row no. 11, lashed out before me, “Don’t you people realize we are sweating like crazy here? What sort of service is this and why don’t you turn on the damn A.C.?” He seethed with sweat and anger.

“Sir” she said coolly, “this is an old aircraft. The air conditioning turns on only when the engine is started and we cannot keep the engine running on a parked...”

“But don’t you see we are soaking in sweat and suffocating” he cut her short shaking his collar to get some air.

“Sir, my colleagues and I are also soaked in sweat” she interjected empathetically.

“Then do something about the bloody A.C.”, the gentleman rebuked still grouchy.

“This is an old aircraft sir. There’s really nothing I can do about it or the A.C. I am sorry” she said earnestly then pointed to the folded newspaper in the seat pocket, “Why don’t you use it to fan till we take off” she added with a wry smile and walked ahead.

   

The gentleman was finally subdued. More so what could he counter or add any further to such a quip. And I sat there looking at her in a whole new light of admiration, my discomfort still very persistent but anger all dissipated. I thought that’s the kind of attitude that changes situations and people, an attitude that oozes grace with authority. She wasn’t cowed down by the passenger, embarrassed of the situation or evasive of the solution. She was just honest even humorous. What stood out for me personally was that she wasn’t servile or fawning to the passenger and she had the ability to make light of things. She kept her professional honour intact and won a personal battle too not to forget an admirer, all in good time.

Does it take too much to flaunt that kind of attitude up your sleeve or plain ego keeps it rolled and scrunched inside?

I Chose to be a Parent, Now I am Learning to be One

Let me begin by a frank admission that I think I taught my children to scream by screaming at them first.

“To kill a mockingbird”, I happened to read this brilliant book only recently and am completely enthralled by the profound simplicity and gravity of this book. I can’t add much to the already exalting praise of the author or her writing except that it is one of the most beautiful literary amalgams of thought, creativity and craft that I have come across. But what truly touched me in the book is Mr. Atticus Finch, the lawyer, the father and sole parent of the two central characters Jem and Scout. Why Atticus alluded me so much is in the fact that I attended a ten session workshop called “Parenting Matters” and every time I was reading the book he seemed to be gently reminding me of all that I had learnt there but was failing to implement.

 Mr. Finch is a man of lofty character and benign understanding. At the same time he is a man of tacit and stoic demeanor and maintains the same with his kids as well. He is a detached individual but a compassionate father; he is a disciplinarian but with brimming empathy. He embodies everything that an enlightened parent stands for. I have deliberately chosen the word “enlightened” instead of “good” because every parent is good, in fact they are doing or trying to do their best for their kids, out of ignorance or awareness is another thing. In fact while Atticus’s character unfolded with every passing page, I increasingly felt that Harper Lee modelled him based on the workshop’s knowledge blended with perfect realism.  

Parenting is a tough call, raising another individual to become a worthy, self respecting and humane being is by no measure a clear cut task. Our changed lifestyles and family set ups with an exodus of parenting information only add to making it a highly emotionally draining activity. However, my newly acquired knowledge on parenting made me appreciate the complexity of my job and understand it as a science as much as an art. Our parents did the best for us, gave us values, discipline, confidence and a sense of self worth. However, in the course of this upbringing we were often disapproved, labelled, criticized, not understood and whacked. We regularly do the same to our toddler, young, adolescent and grown up kids and at times with teeth clenching intensity. Yet, by and large all of us have turned out fine, and are doing pretty well for ourselves. Not to mention that we love and respect our parents. So most likely our kids too will turn out reasonably alright OR nurse faint scars forever.

During one the sessions, we traced back into our childhood memories and all of us came up with varied emotions some were bright and happy others dark and cynical, which only showed that even after years we still felt the burning and hurtful twinge of those disconnected emotions somewhere deep. And our own upbringing very stealthily influences us in the way we deal with our children. I was sort of petrified of my parents’ maybe I still am, but my elder brother was relatively not, so he became my support system. A kind of disaster management control which was available every time I was in a coup. This in turn nurtured a very trusting, secure and special bond between him and me which I still share. I also never talked back or argued with my parents, so I realized when my son talks back to me it really antagonizes and upsets me. I cannot accept it because I was never allowed to do it. More so, when my husband and I planned to start our own family, I was very adamant that I wanted two kids, preferring an elder son and a younger daughter because subconsciously I was longing to see a continuity of my own sibling bond in them. How much we carry from our own past experiences is unbelievable.

These realizations are sensitively crucial when we are talking about parenting. Understanding our own back stories and belief systems can open a lot of closed doors of connection. It gives us an unbiased window to look at matters, with much needed empathy, trust and open mindedness. And Mr. Atticus Finch does all of it so effortlessly. I might sum it up as he respects his children as equals. And as a parent I wish to emulate him. Enlightened parenting isn’t about garnering your kids’ co-operation to get things done, it is about connecting. It is about responding rather than reacting. And despite my new knowledge and Mr. Finch’s admirable inspiration, I completely fail as a parent at times and I am not embarrassed to admit it. Accepting yourself and others is the first and simplest step to progress. And I am glad to be honestly trying.

But some days they manage to drive you crazy without concession. Hence, I have cleverly shifted the onus of being an empathetic and stable parent on them. Every time they get onto my nerves I tell them, “Look I am trying real hard to be a good parent so please behave yourself and don’t make me scream and shout because if I get angry now, the blame is on you.” Jokes apart, I have consciously understood that empathy and respect for your child irrespective of his age is the cornerstone of a strong and sound parent-child connection.

So What’s Your EQ? (Excitement Quotient)

It was a usual morning, nothing extraordinary about it unless I say that I woke up alive another day with all my beloveds still very much around me, running about their lives just the way I go about mine. In that sense I should rephrase it as a blessed morning. So on this gifted day, I was returning after dropping my little girl to school and was taking in of the morning humdrum on the road when a particular girl of about 22-24 years caught my attention for a fleeting moment. She looked so happy to be there in that moment, going about in that self assured and satisfying gait. There was something to look forward to in her life on that particular day; I could sense that from my car’s rolled up windows.  Maybe a date with someone special or a first day at her choicest job or a fat bonus? Or maybe nothing. Is that a possibility, to be happy without an apparent reason? Maybe...

However, after that happy-go-lucky girl’s glimpsing encounter, I got curious for some more people watching on the way. I kept my gaze attentively on the road and observed at least ten more people’s expressions. I wasn’t expecting what I saw. Most of them, read 80%, literally had frowning creases on their forehead be it women standing at the bus stop, men simply ambling around, another one buying a smoke, or someone sweeping his shop front. They all had a very uneasy expression of ennui and boredom. That cheerful girl was an exception. And it didn’t require face reading skills to decipher this. The experience stayed with me throughout the day so I repeated the exercise the next day. And the observation wasn’t any jovial, the same frowning lines on the forehead. For a moment I thought it might be the notorious Chennai heat making them squint and frown in the sun. But it wasn’t so.

The whole picture didn’t sadden me but bothered me. Not that I am bubbling with exuberance all morning or all day but that kind of disenchantment on people’s faces on a fresh bright morning set me to write. Yes, people have real problems in their lives, terrible issues to tackle and several ends to meet. Days are distressed and strife ridden at times which causes grief, anxiety and anger. But what I saw was clearly not these; it was a kind of resignation of life like there was nothing more to be excited about. There is something amiss as basic as the delight of life itself. The very element of being alive is a drudgery heightened by the roles and responsibilities of the world they inhabit. 

Life is mundane, surely not about big events because they happen seldom yet it is all about celebration. Celebrating a beautiful book you read, a movie that touched you, a corn you shared with your child at the beach, the cool breeze that stroked you on the morning walk, the flowers you saw blossom in your balcony, a new recipe you tried, an excursion you made... there is so much to look forward to, to feel good about if we wish to. The joys are in the simplest of things which form the very rut of our lives. The saddest or most regrettable thing is that most people don’t even realize that there is something missing from their lives. And unless you know about the ‘missing’ part how do you even set about to find it.

Anita Moorjani, is a cancer survivor who slipped into coma and then had a near death out of body experience. She says this phenomenon changed her life forever for good. Today, she is full of life both literally and metaphorically. I happened to see her online interview and what inspired me the most was when she stated that as a free spirit detached from her body, she could see life in its truest form which is a beautiful gift to be celebrated. And I thought why risk slipping into coma to realize and verify this fact, I might as well take her word for that. Ever since then I have been repeating it to myself every morning.  It eases the creases from the forehead.

I sincerely wish that all the people out there despite their struggles will see a reason to restore the lost and missing passion in their lives. Why should anybody be sapped of their most delicious life juices and be left with roughage alone? I mean who would be so crazy to chew on just the fibres of an orange while leaving the luscious segments away. It’s a crime and you cannot commit it unto yourself. 

When Your Past Impinges the Present...

45 years... that’s a dauntingly long time of togetherness especially when you have spent it with someone in closest proximity say marriage. When you have literally grown old together loving, bickering and depending on each other. When you are planning to celebrate your 45^th wedding anniversary.  Then a letter arrives bearing news of someone you knew more than 45 years ago. The letter ruffles you up in subtle yet discordant ways, challenging your sensibilities between the past and the present. This is the premise of a beautiful movie titled “45 years”. A very nuanced, restrained and skilled depiction of how emotions and relationships can betray our prudence and poise. And this betrayal cuts through uncomfortable conversations.

The most fantastic thing about life is its unpredictability, the surprise of people, places and moments. You just chance upon meeting someone not knowing that they might colour the entire canvas of your life absolutely differently. You meet them and part from them but they never leave. You move on in life but they stay surreptitiously forever in a corner of your being etched in those few moments. And that’s exactly what the husband goes through in the film; his deepest memories of her and their time together 45 years earlier come to the surface from the depths of his soul which he didn’t think still existed. Those faded memories in sepia colours suddenly look bright tugging at his heart and gnawing his wife’s.

The very underlying emotion in the movie as in real life is that people are genuinely happy and in love with their spouses. But there might be some profound and hidden feelings tucked away in their heart for that special person they met in the journey long ago. No spouse can be expected to understand this sort of duality if I may say that, not even a spouse of 45 happy years. And as expected the wife snaps under the weight of her husband’s lingering romance. It’s of course understandable that any spouse be offended or hurt to find that your partner hasn’t gotten over someone in all those years while professing his love for you. (I have continued using the pronoun ‘he’ for lucidity and generalization)

 But a little shift in perspective might be introspective here. The spouse with his lingering past doesn’t clearly intend upon cheating his partner so to speak. There is no physicality of the person involved here or its desire. And there are absolutely no promiscuous yearnings but a much unblemished connection which refuses to die. The person doesn’t make efforts to remember those moments, but they are simply unforgettable. He doesn’t hover around those memories constantly just cherishes them in some hidden crevices of his life. And while all this is true for him, the greater truth is his spouse whom he loves honestly and respects immensely.  A spouse who is indispensable in his life and is the one to share his every victory and fall. His feelings for both his past and his present are true but very distinct. They do not overlap or intersect.

But you might say it is still a transgression of a sacred relationship. Yes it is. But is it blasphemous. Maybe not. Feelings are a language of the heart and soul. They come naturally in currents of love, affection and admiration and no matter how strong and rational his mind is it cannot restrain the flow. He can very well deny it to the world but cannot cower from it himself. It would be extremely self defeating. However, the intellect knows that life is played by certain rules and when we stretch the rules too far, it is a game changer. And nobody wants a game changer. All he wants is to cherish that inexplicable yet extraordinary and immaculate bond while he lives and celebrates his beautiful life with a wonderful spouse.

It is complicated, incomprehensible but it is true for some. And they are not looking for validation, in fact they are wary of being judged, they only want that their precious connection with the past not be ruptured as a threat to their present.  

A Mother and Child’s Dialogue on Death

Life in its meandering course of time influences, changes, ignites and reaffirms many a thought. When these thoughts are comfortably soaked up in our mind space they become precious belief systems through which we then filter and witness our life. I have one such belief system which is shared by a considerable population on earth. I believe in reincarnation, law of karma and the cycle of life and death. It stands strong on both the grounds of logic and mystic and explains a whole lot of events in our personal life which otherwise have no explanation.

 In the process of upbringing, we pass on so much subtly and unwittingly to our off springs.  And quite unintentionally I passed on this belief system to my little son. He is a curious and sharp child all of five years. Sitting with his great grandmother one evening, he suddenly asked me the whereabouts of my grandmother. So I told him she was now in heaven with God. It didn’t end there; rather irked his inquisitive mind. Next he asked me about my maternal grandmother. To which I informed that she lived in Delhi and he quickly recalled meeting her once.

But the next question stumped me. He matter-of-factly stated, “She looks quite old mom.” I acquiesced. “So how come she is still here and your dadi (paternal grandmother) has already gone to heaven?”

 I was quite zapped at his innocent logic but he demanded a reasonable reply. So I told him gently that God decides everybody’s stay on earth and when that time is over they have to go to heaven. I thought the topic was over but it just got trickier.

His alert mind countered back,   “So does it mean anybody goes to heaven at anytime not just old people?” he paused only to make it difficult, “even young people and kids?” I couldn’t deny the truth of life no matter how harsh it seemed to his tender being. I just nodded and turned away.

But he wouldn’t stop; it seemed he was on a quest of reality. The next sentence however shook me out of my wits.

“If young children can go to heaven, I might also go?” he asked simply looking puzzled and anxious. I caught a note of fear in his voice, “But mummy I don’t want to go to heaven. I love the earth. I want to be here with everybody and all my friends.”

When your child talks about the morbidity of death and includes himself in it, it can unnerve you like nothing else. But I wanted to comfort him, allay his fears and doubts. I stroked him and said, “Aman, you don’t have to think about all this. I am very sure God wants you to be on Earth for a very long time like a hundred years to enjoy.”

 He looked relieved and pleased, the conversation would have ended there. But just out of nowhere or my belief system I blurted, “And people who go to heaven they all come back on earth anyway”. I thought he would be totally assured now. But contrary to my assumed reaction my last piece of information though made him chuckle, added more doubts.

So now his next concern was, “Oh that’s good Mamma, but tell me when I come back on earth would you be my mom again?”

“I don’t know darling. I can’t say that.” I could only add so much to ease his whirring mind. I didn’t want to give him some pleasant sounding but misleading or false notions.

But he insisted, “But I want the same mummy and papa.” Along with the insistence there was another worry, “Okay tell me when I come back on earth, will I be a baby again?” “Of course yes” I responded.

“I don’t want to become a baby again. It is too boring to keep lying in one place.” he whined grumpily.

I had to eventually call it quits and divert him to another conversation because I had no more answers to his prolonged inquiry on the uncomfortable topic of mortality. I realized that forever we have been scared and intimidated by the concept of death no matter it being the most inevitable and undeniable truth of our life. And this fear is also a part of our belief system which we have inherited and will pass onto our next generation. It is a hushed topic especially in front of our kids because we want to protect them from the harsh and unpleasant side of life.

 But when I had this conversation with my son it dawned on me that naturally no one at any age will be fully emotionally equipped to handle the loss of their loved ones. But the minds of our little ones are more malleable and logical than we assume. They also comprehend and assimilate the physical phenomenon of life, death and life after death (as in my case) with a bit of childlike detachment. It is this skill of looking at life through the window pane, where you see the rain coming down and kissing the earth, streaming through its life the same rain goes back to a dark cloud up in the heaven and comes down again unknown at another time and place on earth. 

Sleeping with the Enemy on a Ticking Bomb

Over a span of just a few months, I read about the war torn Syrians desperately fleeing their country and taking refuge in Cyprus and Greece, then came the headlines about the terror attacks in France, next was the shooting down of a Russian jet by a Turkish Fighter jet, soon after I read a book titled “Confessions of a Terrorist”, a few days hence the Pathankot Airbase was breached, a week later I read Samhita Arni’s column of her nightmarish trauma post her work experience in Afghanistan. And between the lag of penning and posting this piece of writing, there occurred the appalling attack at Burkina Faso killing many and maiming more.  Reading these blood stained callous stories suffocates my lungs, freezes my limbs in ennui and shuts down my mind in dread. My world is reeling in horrific and harrowing by-lanes of intolerance and savagery.

Terror attacks are the most insensitive, depraved and abhorrent of human acts but what would you call the incessant air strikes and mindless bombings of state militaries that have wiped almost whole populations of countries and left them absolutely barren. I have been very fortunate not to have the slightest experience of a war zone or its cruelties, my knowledge and opinion of the world and its condition is shaped and influenced by what I read and hear. It is clear to me that the world is in insufferable state but what caused it to come to this tipping point is highly debatable. “Confessions of a Terrorist” by Richard Jackson gave me a very different perspective on terrorism as a person. It delves into the mind of a terrorist to understand why he does what he does. Of course there is no condoning or justifying their despicable acts but understanding their thought process equips you better to comprehend the harsh and ruthless reality and history of our world and its leaders.

I haven’t suffered any personal loss in the hateful conflicts between nations and their militant enemies. But lakhs of unknown and innocent families have lost and are constantly losing their loved ones in the scorching inferno of war for no apparent reason. This absolutely hopeless and tragic life of millions makes the enjoyment of the simplest of pleasures guilt ridden and sufferable sometimes. There is a trailing fear that while I dress up my kids and kiss them good bye for school, hundreds of them were mercilessly murdered in Peshawar. While I take my kids to the sand and splashes of a beach, the tiny corpse of Syria’s Aylan Kurdi washed ashore on a Turkish beach.

   

You must wonder who am I to write and talk about such issues I have not had to grapple and deal with. I am just a troubled soul who wonders for how long is my family and I secure in our cities, malls, stadiums, theatres, schools or holiday destinations? I cannot pretend to be naive anymore and believe that terrorist strikes and counter terrorism strikes happen in some faraway remote lands. No, it might happen on the next flight my husband takes to return home or the exotic holiday resort I plan to take my family to.

The vicious cycle of horrific wars is unabating and who started it is immaterial now. Though I pretty much believe that it was brought to fore and syndicated for the ulterior motives of the developed states of this world. The looming question is who will end it or maybe it might coincide with the apocalypse of this world. Terrorists are striking us ubiquitously, persistently and more fiercely.  Millions of dollars, think tanks of intellectuals, arsenals of ammunition and well trained military forces in place are yet not able to contain them or forge effective counter terrorism policies. It totally baffles me. It only goes to show that there is something fundamentally wrong with our governments and their abilities or more bluntly put, it has a lot to do with genuine intentions.

A concrete and sustained effort to assimilate the differences and redress grievances, an honest motive of fairness in the policies and just abandoning some greed and power hungriness can change a lot in our world. If an ordinary citizen like me can think of it, I am sure those adorning positions and medals can do much better. Then why isn’t it happening? Why are all the peace talks yielding no results at all? Maybe, because the governments don’t really want it and more importantly the talks are held between irrelevant parties. Why haven’t the country heads made any effort to involve various militant outfits in the process of peace talks?  Isn’t that the most obvious thing to do if we wish to resolve the conflicts?

We have such hatred and notions of inhumanity frothing for the terrorists that it is now a social taboo to even listen to their side of story lest involve them in a dialogue. The sad part is that our politicians do not want to end the war, they want to win it. A war whose agenda is writ with ambiguity, corruption and a desire for superiority. This agenda is then cleverly twisted and marketed in the name of religion which instigates the mind like bottle rockets. How ironic it is that God made man, Man made religion and religion kills them both.

What can I do to change this catastrophic condition of our world? I really do not know. But if there is indeed a Collective Consciousness of the planet at work and I truly wish it is, our collective inclination, vibes and energy for a peaceful world might just tilt the balance towards a more liveable and likeable tomorrow. Amen...