To be free...

It rained last night. It rained all evening and late into the night today as well. Rains either bring out the romance in my soul or intensify the brooding nature of the thoughts that wind its way through my mind. Either way, I love to hear and see, touch and smell the unexpected summer showers that bring with them some relief from the heat. Today I just let my thoughts play with each other while I worked. So many things go on in the background of my mind that its quite interesting just to observe the collisions between various trains of thoughts, the cyclical nature of some worries, the deeply dug-in roots of certain attachments one must evict mercilessly, even violently , in order to heal and move on.

We all hold on to so many things that might not do us any good – phantoms from the past that threaten our balanced view of a difficult situation now, annoyance at people who misunderstand us wilfully or at others who simply take our plentiful caring with both hands and are too busy to give us but grudging moments of attention in return, frustration at a crisis that seems to require more patience than we can spare. Holding on to feelings that bring us down no matter what the cause, is akin to sitting in the train with our baggage on our heads – its an unnecessary burden and not only makes us look stupid, it also stresses us out beyond tolerable limits.

I looked around at the ‘special-needs’ children in the centre. Whether it’s the dude who refuses to talk by choice and whose face lights up when I stop by to talk to him or the permanently happy fellow who only needs an airtight schedule to feel content or the charming manipulator who attempts to get out of doing his work any which way he can, they all take things in their stride as much as possible. It is only an odd creature like myself who is beset with thoughts and worries over a future I have no control over – the children I work with are always only concerned with today and the present. They don’t hold grudges either. And they all smile with more heart than those of us who are simply too preoccupied to stop and appreciate what we have. I think they know the secret of detachment better than anyone else.

I have always been afraid of letting go, of forgetting – every moment and emotion is carefully stored and relived when I am in the mood to do so. Memories are important to me and I cannot save them selectively. This is why the hurt remains a hurt far longer than necessary and some trauma in childhood takes over and colours situations so many years later. But it is also why I can see so very clearly in my mind the moments of utter joy that I have had the luck to experience – it is also why I can surprise the people I love with exact descriptions and word-pictures of how they mean so much to me that I don’t forget even a throwaway snippet of conversation that has been shared. The trick perhaps is to leave memories be and accept that while they are a part of me, they have had their time and do not need to influence my actions or emotions today. Those that bring relief like these summer showers can be treasured and those that bring back pain need to be acknowledged and released into the passing winds. If I can do that much, I can perhaps be truly free…

Quiet mornings

The house is still quiet at 8:30 in the morning. S is away. The kids are sleeping. I should wake them and give them their breakfast but their completely abandoned repose stops me. I smile at the sight my two children make as they lie sprawled on their beds lost in their dreams and far away from my world. 

One child looks like the sun – so bright and beautiful it hurts to look at him. Not a spot mars the angelic perfection of his face. But every time I see him, the smile on my face has an inherent sadness that I shall probably never overcome. He has a long way to go to – every day is such a struggle for him – if I could take away all the things that confuse him, hurt him, scare him, I would a thousand times over. The one thing I would never change about my son is his ability to love and be generous. He will share his every possession. He would even go hungry if his last bit of bread will feed someone else. I learn the lessons of the heart from my son. His lips are mine, so is the chin – he looks more like me than his father. His excellent memory and ability to give more love than he receives are also from me. But his quiet nature, intense focus and facility with technology are from his father. And his father is his world for him – I am required to be there of course but his father is his star always. 

The other one is quite the opposite - all arms and legs with a tiny face and perfectly proportioned symmetrical features. She will be stunning when she grows into her own – for now her personality is bigger than her physical self. This is the child that fills me with ceaseless wonder. Her clarity of thought and logic, her ability to think differently from everyone, her capacity for concentration and independent initiative – they are all rare qualities indeed. Some of them she gets from me and some from her father. It is a genuine pleasure to be able to see oneself in one’s child – her very phrases echo my words – her raised eyebrow and intolerance for bad jokes, her talkativeness, her love of reading, her too easily broken heart – she gets it all from me. The logic and focus are her father’s - so is the spreading joy on her face when she sees a loved one, the lack of all artifice, the ability to smile completely and without sadness in her eyes. What a curious mixture of parents is the child!

I am early today – I have done all my chores, finished my walk and watered and weeded the lawns to the backdrop of my favourite Malayalam songs. Now I must wake the twosome and start the day in earnest. Sometimes utter quiet has a more healing effect on the soul than any words you come up with. Sometimes spending a morning with oneself is the best way to start the day…

My Vishu

Yesterday was Vishu, the Malayali New Year. For some reason I felt disinclined to celebrate this time. Usually I love the whole rite of preparation that goes into Vishu. I love staying up late and setting out the ‘kani’ for the next day. I love the gorgeous golden konna flowers which symbolize both beauty and prosperity – may you have a golden year ahead, the profuse bunches seem to whisper as they adorn the ‘kani’. The vast array of fruits, vegetables, grains, pulses that are arranged in front of the Lord Krishna, the mirror that reflects back bounty, the gold jewellery and crisp notes for the ‘kaineettam’ arranged artfully on a silver platter – all need to be displayed just right so that when you bring the children to see the Vishu kani in the wee hours of the morning, the first sight that greets their sleep-laden eyes is this beautiful plethora of riches softly illuminated by the lit brass lamps. We then bless them with rice grains and place money in their little hands. The firecrackers are burst shortly afterwards and the children usually (at least mine!) run back to get some more sleep.

I found myself unable to summon the energy to look forward to Vishu this year. Perhaps it was the double drain of our getting two organizations to some sort of stable state financially. Perhaps it was the all-encompassing heat which rendered me tired even before the day began. Perhaps it was the fact that we usually go to Kerala to celebrate Vishu and I can feel like a child again for a while when there are elders around – here S and I have to be the ones giving the ‘kaineettam’ and  organizing the ‘kani’ – in Kerala, we would only help and we would start the day with blessings and best wishes heaped on us – the little grains of blessings would be in my hair for hours serving as a tangible reminder of the wishes and prayers that accompanied us albeit unexpressed for the most part on other days and at other times.

I told S I would not make a feast, I would not invite friends as was my wont when not in Kerala for Vishu because I was simply worn out and did not have any kind of inclination for celebration. He insisted we should do something for the kids so I agreed. Two days before the big day, we had an invite from an older couple to celebrate with a few families. I thought it was a good idea. We each had to bring a few dishes and we could relax and enjoy the banter and the great food. I felt better after the plan was in place but still found myself low on energy. We put together a rather lackadaisical ‘kani’ but perked it up with flowers and lit lamps so that the children could enjoy the sight. We went through the ritual of giving them their ‘kaineettam’ and then went back to our usual routine of morning walks and breakfasts. 

After preparing the dishes, we went to our gathering and instantly felt better for sharing the day with friends. Vishu was never about celebrating alone. Family is the biggest part of this festival and not having any family around who cared enough to come and spend the day with us was a big blow for me. I tried not to show the sadness but my husband could see it in my eyes whenever I sat quiet. He told me very clearly that everyone had a choice, for us it would always be each other and the children, together for the highs and lows. I was not to feel low but rather be grateful for what we had together. We would celebrate our special days with people who wanted to be with us, not with those who felt obliged to do so out of a sense of duty that carried no real feeling. 

The day went beautifully with laughter and lots of food. The children were doted upon for there were no others for them to compete with. We all exchanged wishes. We all sat together and served each other the ‘sadhya’. It was a lovely feeling to spend the day as part of a large family. I could see that everyone was lonely in their own way whether it was the generous couple who opened their home and hearts to us or the mother and daughter who were used to spending their festivals with only each other for company since the father worked abroad and could visit only a few times a year or the other couple whose only child was now married and living in the Gulf. The magic of being in a group cheered everyone and we all agreed that the day was a great success.

Getting home in the evening, we felt replete with the wonderful food and the heartfelt wishes. This year’s Vishu surprised me with its beauty – it felt like there was someone looking out for me, and it filled me with renewed hope and anticipation for the year ahead. Here’s to more Vishus filled with joy and harmony…

Not enough time...

There will never be enough time to do all that we want to do in this life. Or at least, that is how most people see it. They always insist they want to do something else with their life much like I insist I want to write my book, but do nothing towards actually getting there. I keep telling myself I will find the time for that dream but I never do. People are always so busy being busy  they rarely realize at the end of it all that some vital parts end up missing in their lives. 

I have a few friends who are so stressed out at the kind of work hours they have to put in, they simply cannot cope with even minor ups and downs in their personal life. Every avoidable, almost insignificant issue assumes huge proportions because they have no emotional resources left to find any balance. And yet one cannot go around pointing it out because then flow the explanations of financial expectations and certain lifestyle aspirations that simply must be met. I wonder whether after all that they will still find the time to be content. I don’t think that each and every box on the wish-list needs to be ticked in order to find that elusive happiness or perfect state of mind. Time together is what is crucial for any relationship but unfortunately that is exactly what so many choose to put on the back burner. By the time they get that promotion and that raise or that fancy car or house, they would have forgotten how to be happy or lost entirely the ones whom they had planned to be happy with!

I don’t understand when people I care about do not bother to stay in contact for long periods together. When friends forget to call you or even send you a line on your birthday, you wonder whether even that once a year effort is too much for them. When those you consider important in your life do not respond to your consistent attempts at keeping in touch, you realize that its only because they take you for granted and see you as a low-priority task to be dealt with when they have nothing else to do.  It is then that you need to open your eyes and acknowledge that you are in fact doing nothing more than setting yourself up for unnecessary hurt.

On the other hand I am blessed to have a handful of friends who respond to my call or mail immediately – who make the time for me just because I matter to them. Everyone has the same amount of time. If I write or call or take the time to find out how you are, its not because I have more time than you, its because my time is the most valuable gift I can give someone who is important to me.  Ultimately the lesson is simplicity itself – spend more time doing things you love with the people you love and care for and you will never find yourself too busy for happiness…

April Showers

The showers hit just when the heat had gotten intolerable. After spending a series of days in sweaty torment I immersed myself in feeling the blessed relief of the cool rain. Always when you think you cannot handle anymore, you gain that much-needed reprieve. As is it is with Nature, so it is with life itself. I have often felt that days of what appear to be insurmountable difficulties suddenly give way to a time when all seems well or at least a lot more bearable.

The rain softened the hot dry earth. It washed away the dullness of the trees and plants. It cleansed the air and scented my little world with that unique wet earth fragrance that I love so much. I walked out the next morning to a sight that made my heart sing. The brightest greens vied for my attention with the rich russets of the earth. The striking red of the hibiscus, the sunny yellow of the trumpet shaped blooms whose name I do not know, the sparkling white flowers of a super-abundant bougainvillea adorning a neighbour’s pergola – all called out for my appreciation. I gave each sight its proper due, smiling like a child at the simple pleasure of a morning walk in the glory of a freshly washed day.

I watched all the little birds that serenaded the day from the ever so tiny sunbird that flitted from treetop to bush, to the ubiquitous bulbul with its jaunty hat and the spotted splendour of a pigeon-like creature that walked sedately on the paving stones. They all looked especially cheery to me – all out to celebrate the day with a song on their lips and a skip in their step. I could but envy their ability to look as jolly as I could only feel. 

Every day one goes out into the world to meet new challenges and seek new joys. Some days are harder than others. Some phases in life seem so tough that you grow weary of looking for that one bright spot on the horizon. Days when problems follow one after the other, never letting you catch your breath are not uncommon. And yet there always arrives a moment or a day when things get better. It is important to remember those moments when things are at their lowest. Just as we know that April showers will eventually turn up to help us beat the heat when the summer seems to have an implacable hold on the land, so we realize that if we brave the darker times, a lighter dawn awaits not far away. Till then we live each day as best as we possibly can always remembering to rejoice in the little blessings that come our way when we least expect it...