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…