Dreams Unlimited

Today I have been pondering the feasibility of following a dream. A dream is not a joke – it requires passion, dedication and above all sacrifice in its successful pursuit. Very few people are lucky enough to have a real dream; fewer are lucky enough to obtain chances to follow it; even fewer make a success out of their dreams. I am not talking about the usual ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ kind of dreams. Those are not really dreams – those are just objectives which are accessible to anyone with a decent salary. They require no great courage. They require no sacrifice at all. They don’t even require passion. They just require you to follow a formula for how many ever years it takes to get that second house or third car or fifth elephant. 

I am talking about the kind of dream that keeps you awake at night – the kind that you picture in your mind every single day because the very thought of it brings you happiness. It is a bit like love itself – always demanding, taking you to the brink of delirious joy and plumbing you to the depths of despair. And like the best kind of love, it is about giving it your all without once thinking of what you get in return. The joy of fulfilment is enough – you don’t keep score in love and you don’t keep score when it comes to the effort involved in realizing your dream. Dreams too are labelled selfish; dreams too ask for sacrifice and dreams too make life worth living.

The main obstacle to my putting everything else on the backburner and burying myself in my writing is the sheer scale of the responsibilities I carry on rather slender shoulders. I am sure no one is indispensable and indeed no one should be but it is hard to walk away from what I have been doing for so long, even if it is for a few weeks or months. Family always came first in my book even at the cost of giving up every chance of an ambitious career. Now the centre is like my third baby. I find it all very satisfying and incredibly challenging.  And yet, ever since I can remember, there has been a part of me that has known that my truest love was and always will be the written word.

The dilemma therefore is the feeling that it would be selfish to follow my dream when I have so many promises to keep, when I have known first-hand the consequences of a dream followed too long and with too much sacrifice expected from those around you, when I owe it to my beautiful son to try my best to help him get to a level that would put us at rest about his future and make it easier on his little sister for she has had to grow up far too early to be the elder one in spirit. How could I possibly allow myself to dream when life itself takes me on roads so bumpy I can hardly catch my breath? I have no patience with people who give up in life and I never give up – ever. Perhaps the road will smoothen out  in a while. Perhaps the bumpy road will fill me up inside with the words that will find their way out when the time is right. Perhaps the dream itself will change in this short life – who knows…but till the dream leaves me, I will continue to hold it close to my heart.

Monday Morning...

Blogging at eight in the morning on a Monday speaks volumes about the new me – after all, my normal practice on any week day morning is to run about doing my incomparable headless-chicken routine and collapse exhausted for a few minutes before hitting the shower and getting on with the rest of the day. To be honest, its not the new me, but rather the new S that has given me this extra half hour in the mornings, to do as I wish. For some reason this past week, my husband has actually been waking up earlier than me and making that all important first cup of tea and might I say, making it pretty well. It took him about fifteen years to perfect the art of making tea but for me, its an incomparable luxury to walk down the stairs and be asked to sit and sip away contentedly for a few minutes. It changes your perspective. I start relaxed instead of rushed and go about relatively mellow for the rest of the day. Believe me, that does make quite a difference.

One of the things we tend to forget very easily is the power of small changes in our life. They could be anything from getting up a little earlier each morning to promising yourself that you will not let certain people and their actions bother you to remembering to listen and engage totally when your child is telling you a long-winded utterly boring story that nevertheless mattered intensely to her. Life’s bigger realizations may come from going through hardships or through honest introspection but the little lessons that one picks up along the way, come from everyday life. The trick is to be able see them as lessons and not flick them away as inconsequential occurrences.

Most of the things we take for granted are actually our greatest blessings. My family is the most important part of my life. My friends are always there whenever I want to chat or hang out or even keep quiet with. I may have only a handful of friends but they are all very precious indeed. My work at the centre is something I cannot write about without getting emotional – to be given the opportunity to make a difference is rare and truly special. But one of my greatest blessings is perhaps the one I ignore the most – my ability to write. I am frequently told I must do more with it and yet I brush it under the carpet or put it on the back-burner of my life because I never think that my writing is more than just this jotting down of thoughts as a method to find clarity or escape. What fills my heart and runs over, what hurts and tears me inside, what I know needs to be fought for, finds its way into my words. And therefore, I think my writing merely natural and not wonderful. Yes I want to write that book because in me are stories waiting to be set free. But somewhere even I don’t believe that I will do it and that is only because I take it for granted always.

Maybe these relaxed mornings will bring in the change I have been looking for – the few extra minutes needed to find my inner voice in the ceaseless din of roaring thoughts that have a permanent existence in my mind. Whatever be the result, I certainly relish this new-found calm in the middle of a busy Monday morning….

The Mayflower Tree

The evening was a fine one – typical of a June evening in Bangalore. The lawns in front of the houses looked lush and invitingly green. The sky was an ominous grey when I started walking. The wind was stiff and I was sure the clouds would move away before long. But they amassed in greater numbers till the sky darkened to a smoky twilight. My favourite sight as I walked about was the perky green of the Mayflower leaves vying for attention with the glorious orange-red blossoms set against the dull grey of a monsoon sky. The combination of bright green, glowing orange and heavy grey was stunning – the visual leaving behind a vivid image in my mind long after my walk was done.

I had started walking that evening feeling low, burdened by a deep sense of loss and the feeling of being particularly unsuccessful in life. Most of us over-thinkers have this problem I am sure. Difficult phases bring out my fighting side but it also means a constant struggle against giving into that too easy downward spiral of despair. Some days I win. Some days I lose.  I try to keep my head high through it all however. I do not know if I am successful at that either.

Looking at the Mayflower tree that appeared so cheery in the gloom of a drizzly evening, I marvelled at nature. How much more beautiful did the colourful tree appear poised as it was against a background of depressing grey! I am sure that I would not have been able to appreciate its beauty on a sunny day simply because the other flowering trees and plants would have appeared equally if not more beautiful. The happy yellow blossoms that littered the path along with the blinding white bougainvillea and the scarlet hibiscus blooms that abounded would all overshadow the Mayflower tree on a bright and sunny day. But none of them could match its beauty when the light faded and the atmosphere grew dark presaging bouts of rain.

It seemed to me that true beauty and strength of character shone through even when the light of ease and success faded – in fact, it appeared even more beauteous as storms threatened. An easy life can make anyone bloom and look lovely. A difficult phase has too many people either giving up or turning to self-destructive measures because they cannot take it a moment longer. I am weary of reading the endless stories in the newspapers of young mothers or students or betrayed lovers taking their lives or the lives of their children because they were unhappy. If they could but hold on a moment longer, they would see that those phases they could not bear were just temporary – everything would pass given enough time. The superficially cheery yellow blooms in the gardens around me could never face a storm and appear renewed although on good days they appeared indescribably lovely . It requires immense depth of character to hang on when there seems very little reason to and more importantly, to bloom and spread happiness when it is so very hard to shake away the clouds of uncertainty and remember to be grateful.

I returned home walking in the rain, smiling like a child at the feel of the cool drops against my warm skin. I turned my face to the rain and laughed at the sight of S running off home because he hates walking in the rain but would spend hours perched on a chair watching the rain from the warmth of our home. I walked slowly not bothering that my hair was beaded with raindrops. I still had the Mayflower tree pictured in my mind. And when I got home, I was smiling…

For a daughter...

Her eyes were luminous with sorrow. Not the ‘I wish I could go to that happening party’ kind of sorrow, but rather the kind that comes out of living with a deep and ever-present pain. I listened quietly as she spoke of growing up with the shadow of a mother who died when she was a few days old and a father who had decided he did not want anything to do with a tiny baby girl who would stand in the way of his moving on. He had remarried within a month of losing his wife. She was left in an orphanage till her maternal grandmother searched her out and got her back home to her mother’s family.

She grew up with no resentment towards her absent father but rather with the abiding hope that he would one day come for her; that he would one day want his daughter in his life. She built for herself an entire fantasy world where she too had a father who cared for her as she saw her friends’ fathers care for their daughters. He would be kind and loving. He would make her laugh. He would smooth away all her insecurities and fears. He would definitely be proud of her; the girl who tried so hard to be good so that she could make him want her back.

She told me of the time when she finally got to meet him and he told her in no uncertain terms that his responsibility was only to his current wife and daughters. She had to continue as she always had. He had his priorities straight and saw no place for her in his life. The fragile net of interwoven illusions came apart in moments and she went back with nothing more to hope for, with the burden of rejection weighing her down, with the despair of being an orphan while yet having a living parent.

I told her gently that one cannot force another to love. He wasn’t worth her tears. He was not worth her desire to be loved. You can, if you really want, continue to love someone who will not give you any room in their shallow, self-obsessed hearts but truly its better to get rid of them from your life entirely. He was her father by an accident of birth alone and her wanting his affection would only hurt her further.

S was sitting by me quietly. Suddenly he spoke up softly, “I do not know your father but I have a daughter. The moment I held her in my hands, I lost my heart to her. I love my son of course but my daughter  is the one who makes my life so very joyous.No man who can disown a daughter deserves the warmth and unconditional love that only girls can shower you with. How could he give away his little girl?.”

I had no words to console the young woman. She wasn’t looking for consolation. Perhaps all she wanted was to share her story like the rest of us were sharing ours. I felt respect for someone who could grow up wanting to help others even while struggling with a life that was far from easy. I look around at the young group we have at our centre for special needs children and always ask myself why each one was there. I was motivated by Appu, my partner was motivated by her fiery  passion, another girl was volunteering because she wanted to be able to help her brother – the others however were simply blessed with a generous nature that made them work hard at such adifficult job day in and day out.  It dawns on me that pain can ennoble you; it can make you a better person; it can make you more sensitive to another’s hurt and it makes you go out and do something about alleviating others’ pain. Maybe that’s what got us all together in one place – the common thread of sorrow overlaid with the determination to do the best we can. I hope my young friend makes her peace with herself – she has a long life ahead and I pray it be both intensely courageous and unabashedly joyous….

The Happiness Habit

The other night I had a talk with a friend who is probably one of the smartest women I have ever met. She called to say that she could see me going down a path which was clearly the wrong one. She asked me a few simple questions. She pointed out a few hard truths. She told me a story of courage and positivity and then she apologized for taking the liberty to preach to me. I appreciated all she had said – I appreciated the candour as well as the spirit of actually caring enough to tell me what she did.

The first question she asked me was why I did not let the past stay in the past. The second was why I simply did not love myself at all? She knows about most of my good and bad phases and is perfectly right in saying that I took comfort in unhappiness – that it had become my default state because I had been so since a child. She thought an intelligent woman should be able to take charge of her life to the extent that she chooses to be happy every single day no matter what. True, life was never easy for anyone and I had more than enough on my plate – not many people would be able to manage the way I have. But that was the catch; I managed to get by – I did not strive or choose to be happy every single day. The problem with not loving my very own self was that I tended to let myself be walked over, blamed and in general, saddled with others’ guilt, often for actions that were not mine. I also tended to back off from any arguments and allow people to have their way even when I was in the right. But most importantly I simply labelled myself as a person who had to put in too much effort to be happy when it wasn’t, according to my friend, actually hard at all.

I have seen enough people around me who seem to have it easy and I have felt somewhat resentful that only a chosen few go through tough times over and over again whereas others are lucky enough to go through a hard phase perhaps once or twice in their lifetime. But I realize that it is not for me to know that. S has pointed out to me more than once that everyone has their own issues – it matters not how it appears or what sort of an act is put on for the world, people have problems of some magnitude or the other. It is up to each one to take things in their stride as best as they can. It is up to every individual to decide to hold on to happiness instead of giving in to despair. I thought of another friend of ours whose life has been riddled with difficulties that made me break down when I heard of it. Yet another pal is perhaps the most positive person I have ever met – he can smile despite going through phases that would pull down another man. No one can ever gauge the depth of another’s pain or difficulty. No one should trivialize someone else’s emotions. No one should assume that you can truly understand – the best someone who cares can offer is empathy and maybe a heartfelt hug.

I am still not quite sure how one manages to hold on to happiness when things go wrong continuously but a sense of gratitude is great to obtain perspective. No matter how dark things appear, there will be a few things you can be thankful for – one of those things should be yourself. I have vowed to myself that I will make happiness as much of a habit as I can. Knowing me there will be days when I forget that but it never hurts to try and it truly never hurts to find some space in your heart for yourself.

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…