My road

The road before me is full of twists and turns. It is inviting at times being surrounded by lush green and shaded at spots by the overhanging boughs of flowering trees. The river runs by it for long stretches occasionally swelling to a mighty roar and at other times dwindling into a merry bubbling stream. And yet some portions of the road are hard to traverse - steep uphill climbs with no way to see what follows every crazy bend. On some days I have to forge my own road for there is none in front of me or else the one that was there has eroded to no more than a faint memory. And yet again there are days when I am so far off the beaten track, all I see is wilderness around me.

When everything is fine and there is a sense of complacency about my actions, the road ahead is smooth and without surprises – it is also boring and lulls me to sleep. That is when I am least productive for none of my senses are energized since I have nothing to focus on. But its also the time I can dream and lose myself in an array of thoughts both bewildering and fascinating. I have realized that it is that facet of my nature that helps me create new paths when I need it and focus hard on my next steps when I absolutely have to.

The nasty twisted treacherous parts of the road build character. Yes its hard but then it simply has to be accepted. It has to be survived and I have always grown stronger after traversing those parts of my life road that seemed cruelly tortuous at the time. Surrendering to the fact that sometimes the road is nearly impassable and yet taking it all in one’s stride requires not a little strength but then the sense of accomplishment at successfully journeying through such stretches is immense.

At times when there are no roads or markers for me to follow, the only way out is to listen to my heart and heed its urging. Could I be making a terrible mistake? Many a times I certainly have. Could there also be a possibility of discovering something so breathtakingly wonderful that it beggars even my rather fertile imagination? Yes, that too has happened. So of all the paths I have trodden, the ones I love most are the ones where I followed no one else.

Gradually I have realized that my road with all its ups and downs has something to teach me every step of the way. The good days are when I husband my strength. The hard days are when I live off those resources I have built up during the good days. The adventurous days are when I throw caution to the wind and laugh and go crazy like a child – when I receive with both hands the beautiful yet ephemeral gifts that make life so blessed.

There are days when I feel the overwhelming need to step backward to see a bit more clearly the nature of the path before me. It is merely to ascertain what I need to do to tackle more effectively an unfamiliar path or one that looks hostile almost as if overgrown with thorny thickets. Sometimes it is also to see just how beautiful the road is for oftentimes in our journey through life, we forget to appreciate the path we have chosen to traverse it. We can scarce remember our beginning and we know not our ending but the time in between is something that we can celebrate ...and so I walk upon my chosen path learning every day and growing stronger – sometimes I even laugh out loud...

Black and White

Life is rarely simple. It can be of course, but most of us do not find it so. What makes life so complicated for us? Why are there so many things to balance? How did we reach a stage where we each give ourselves an endless list of achievements to be successfully attained before we are a certain age? The constant drain on one’s energy to be all you can be is probably one of the major reasons why stress eats its way into our lives leaving us far less capable of dealing with emotional conflicts.

When I was a child, things were very clearly either black or white. There was never any room for greys. I did not do my thinking on my own for I was told what was right and what was wrong. There was no scope for improvisation and no flexibility in interpreting situations as falling into neither category. You were good or bad. A good girl did only the following things. A bad girl was anyone who missed out on an item in the list. Even happiness and sadness were clear cut- one couldn’t indulge in both at the same time.

And yet even at the age of seven, I knew inexplicable moments of sadness and periods of detachment. I could view my family as from the outside and wonder how I even fit in. The curious mix of love and hate that exists among siblings was perhaps what made me first question whether a simple one-dimensional answer could suffice as an explanation. The blacks were less black and the whites not quite so pristine by the time I left to stay in various hostels but I continued to be judgmental for many years after.

It took many more years before the greys began seeping into my life. I did not know what constituted right anymore. For I had always been ‘good’ and yet life got more difficult as I grew older and I often felt singled out for punishment from some unseen power. Then why be good? Pristine living didn’t ensure that divine wrath would be eternally deflected. I railed against a God who could make my father go through his painful degeneration due to terminal cancer and eventual death. I could not understand why a sweet child like my son should have to go through endless tough times while I could only stand by and watch helplessly. So there crept in large grey areas of faithlessness into my formerly believing self.

Gradually I have stopped believing in either black or white. Nothing is as it seems. The love you see today may turn to vitriolic hate tomorrow. The sadness you go through can instantly be converted into joy. Life is full of colour if you see it without judgement and live your life as if only the moment matters. And even grey is a beautiful colour – it is the colour of acceptance without judgement...

Of silence

I sit propped against the pillows, idly surfing the net or if I feel too tired, just reading a book. I don’t want to lie down because of the slight wheezing that makes lying down rather uncomfortable. So I sit still listening to music or occasionally chatting to a friend who might find me online. I haven’t said a word since morning – it helps my badly infected throat to be quiet. The thoughts still buzz around my head like a swarm of angry bees. I am a chatterbox most of the time according to everyone who knows me but when alone I can only be pensive. Being completely quiet has had a different effect on me - its kind of calming to be quiet externally and after a few hours of it even the thoughts inside my head quieten down and desist from their normal frenetic buzzing.

I now have the time to examine each thought as it swishes by slowly and I also have the liberty to choose whether I wish to articulate it or not. Of late I have learnt that any word I say could be interpreted in a million ways and most of them in ways I may have never even thought about. It is but natural that one grows to communicate in a certain way attuned to those nuances that cause no annoyance to your loved ones. That others might see meaning unintended in one’s words is something that probably we all know but fail to realize in any depth. Therefore being quiet has a lot of benefits – for one it teaches you that silence has many merits. Being silent on things that you need not absolutely talk about saves you from the rather difficult task of backtracking and explaining why you used that particular set of words instead of some other.

Being silent also gives you the time you need to really choose those words that you will eventually say. Does this reduce the spontaneity in a conversation? Of course it does but if you consider the alternative which involves unnecessary recriminations, then a loss of spontaneity does not seem like such a sacrifice to keep a valued relationship going. People focus on words a lot more than on the person who says them – the same words said by different people mean different things and its harder to take back words than to simply keep one’s mouth shut.

As a medium of communication, talking is fraught with danger. How imperfectly can words convey feelings that fill you with happiness or despair! I can say I feel joyful but the words are so tame compared to the way my heart sings when I am happy. When something terribly hard to handle hits me, the words I use to describe the situation may sound more like a complaint and nowhere near the echo of the devastating feeling that is within me. If instead I just remain quiet and glory in my joy or accept my despair, then no one need judge me on my expression of these feelings.

Therefore I have come to appreciate silence for its innumerable merits. I will of course continue to be verbose whenever I get a chance. I won’t keep quiet if I see someone doing something wrong either. And to imagine I will keep quiet during a particularly lousy movie is really too far out. But I will keep quiet more often from now on – it distances me from situations and brings a level of detachment that serves as a buffer against too much pain and too much pleasure. I find that I am able to concur with Rumi who says “Let silence take you to the core of life”...