One moment in time...

“Give me one moment in time, when I am racing with destiny ...”

I love that line. It captures the hunger to be all that you can be – the desire to go all the way, to feel like you are at least for that one moment, fulfilling your purpose of existence. I am yet to feel that way. I have this overwhelming need to be whatever I can be but somewhere somehow I hold myself back from immersing myself in the pursuit of that dream.

I can make any number of excuses. The kids. My husband. The house. A million routine chores that leave me deadened to inspiration. Lack of exposure. I have not led an interesting life, what could I possibly have to write that anyone would want to read? But then that’s not the point. I want to write despite all that is holding me back. My worst enemy never came from outside. Its always been myself. Everyone I know tells me I can write. Everyone I respect tells me I waste my potential by not writing that longed-for book. Why do I appear to self-sabotage myself each time I attempt to pen down the words then? I don’t know.

People have given me various ideas. Many friends tell me I have to write for a certain amount of time everyday regardless of mood or creative inspiration. Others tell me I have read too many good books and beat myself up unnecessarily for not being perfect. Yet others like my husband tell me I am merely making excuses and there was absolutely no reason I couldn’t write a book in three months. I listen and feel frustrated. I imagine that there’s this wall around me that I cannot get through. I feel choked with the bitter bile of failure before even an attempt at success. Why? Again, I don’t know.

My brother has a theory. He says there is something painful inside me that if I do not write about, I will not get over the block. To avoid writing about it, I stop myself from writing at all is what he believes. His other point was that it did not matter if my story wasn’t new or appeared to be boring or uninteresting since it was not the story as much as how I told it that would make a difference. He might be right. Some things you cannot write about and yet if you don’t you aren’t being true to yourself at all. Perhaps I have kept a part of me locked up that needs to be let out.

Whatever be the reason, I long for that one moment in time when I am more than I ever thought I could be...

Unconditional.

Why do I feel like writing about acceptance today? Its not a new train of thought and the idea of the importance of acceptance is not one that grew on me overnight but currently it is swirling about in my mind and if I do not set it down, it will only distract me from the rest of my work.

Acceptance must be unconditional for it to be effective. It sounds too much like a declaration but then in a way it is one. I don’t believe that you can accept only parts of a person or a situation. I know that there are people who routinely do so but then they miss the picture and focus only on little things. If you cannot see the wood for the trees, you miss the beauty of the forest entirely.

Every person is a mix of desirable and undesirable characteristics. The nature of the desirability is purely subjective. I won’t like a particular trait in anyone and yet there are others who may find that very trait endearing or at least, attractive. If the balance is tilted towards more characteristics that I do not like, I do not accept the entire person. I may tolerate them but there will be nothing more than a veneer of politeness in my interactions with them. Others see me in the same way too I am sure.

If, however I love someone be it in any capacity – either friend or spouse or child, then my acceptance is total. It does not matter that there are traits I dislike or find it difficult to tolerate because the person involved has other traits that I cherish and it is in the balance of different characteristics that the beauty of their character is revealed. I do not tarnish this beauty with a judgemental view. It is my strong belief that no one can judge someone they are close to truly because one is never free from the taint of perceptions coloured by wishes rather than facts. Objectivity can arise only from a distance and if judge we must, then it can only be related to persons or situations with which we have no direct engagement.

Unconditional acceptance enriches both the giver and the receiver. The idea that one does not need to be perfect to merit love and acceptance is a great liberator – the idea that one can love someone else warts and all gives you the power to transcend the ordinary and reach a completely different level of feeling for your loved one. But to even comprehend that, you must leave all thoughts of yourself or your ego behind – in the deepest kind of love, there is no place for ego and it is that alone that comes in the way of total acceptance.

Have you experienced the love of a child? One cannot get anything more unconditional than that – the love that a child shows his or her mother is not based on anything at all – not how good the mother looks, whether she is perfectly happy always or whether she is capable of being the best mother – a child is a fount for forgiveness and an unending source of love that lifts you up. If you can learn to love and accept like that, you become truly blessed.

In the case of situations, there are many times when we are faced with instances when it is impossible to see the good in something traumatic but it will still be there. To reject something as painful and to attempt to delete it completely will give it the power to endure in your mind. But if you accept the situation as a whole and believe that you can yet learn something from it – that there is a gift in it somewhere inside the pain. Accept it in totality and you are empowered. Think fractionally and it will break you...

Awakenings.

The mornings are chilly in January. The kids sleep all cocooned in their comforters oblivious of the noises emanating from the kitchen. They can sleep through anything. I wake up at the slightest noise so I marvel at their ability to sleep in bliss. My husband can also sleep through anything, including, or so I am told, earthquakes. So I am the guardian in the night , the one who sleeps with one ear open and who once awake, finds a return to slumber as elusive as stardust.

The hardest part of the morning is to wake the little one up. She sleeps in an awkward pose with her long legs tangled up in the quilt and her head almost on her brother’s shoulder while her toes are at the diagonally opposite end leaving him with just a narrow strip of bed to lie on. He lies on his tummy breathing loudly like his dad. They both have the softest faces while at rest.

She is easy to rouse while he resists with all his might. But its harder for me to wake her up because she still looks like a baby and she never complains about the hour but instead responds instantly in a daze stumbling about blind till the foot of the staircase. Appu is a lazy creature. He gets angry when woken up unless we are travelling in which case he won’t sleep at night and is up before everyone else , wild with excitement and bubbling with enthusiasm which is not entirely welcome at four in the morning!

Mahi’s face is always tiny when sleeping – her eyelids appear bowed under the weight of dreams. She is a quiet sleeper way unlike her waking self. Appu is just the opposite – noisier when asleep than awake and so lost in deep sleep that waking him is a laborious and painful effort. He does not tell me of his dreams. He doesn’t appreciate being woken up however gently and I find it easier just to be brusque and get it over with. No fun starting the day that way but every mother’s morning is so crazy that she must draw the line somewhere.

I don’t even like waking my husband who if left to himself would probably sleep way past eight in the morning. I let everyone sleep in on the weekends when I am up early and out walking. Weekend mornings are gentle unwindings – unhurried starts to days that don’t have the rigours of fixed schedules. Mornings where I can smile indulgently when the kids wake on their own accord way after their usual time. Mornings when I can take an hour to browse through the papers with music of my choice playing in the background. Mornings when I actually take the time appreciate the beauty of everything around me.

The harshness of weekday mornings when I am in a state and trying to do too many things at the same time grates on me and everyone else in the family as well. I am always yelling at the children to hurry. Sometimes it worries me that their start to the day is not one designed to ensure that the rest of their day is enjoyable. No wonder the children do not like to wake up to another morning of rushing to meet the day instead of being gently led into it. This new year at least I have made a start in that direction in the hopes that easier mornings lead to happier days ...

On the new year...

I have this overriding dislike for the New Year and its attendant celebrations. It does sound sort of morose and negative, does it not? But then that is not how I meant it. I have nothing against any new year coming along. It is part of life. My main issue is with the unrelenting reminders of bring out the old, bring in the new or the exhortations to make resolutions, to become a better person – do the thing you want to do the most and so on. To me it all seems like too much pressure. Sometimes it is nice to feel that your life as it is, is fine and needs no drastic changes to fit into the shiny New Year.

So every December 31st I find myself getting annoyed at the endless articles in print and online about the easiest ways to change, to turn over a new leaf, to move into the next year in a blaze of glory. For some reason, I can never get excited about a date. I don’t get especially worked up over my birthday except perhaps hoping to get a bit pampered on that one day. My anniversary also doesn’t get me into spasms of ecstasy. I remember and am thankful for the presence of my calm and collected husband in my life for without him I would be utterly anchorless. In the same way I am grateful for the chance to see the beginning of another year and am also glad that I have gotten through both the joys and sorrows of the previous year. This gratitude is not one I would choose to advertise through either booze or fireworks. A simple moment of quiet reflection suffices.

There is always a gnawing sense of disquiet about entering the New Year. I feel rather guilty about the fact that I am not yet in that particular place in my life where I want to be. Thinking back, the past year has been both good and difficult. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I feel utterly comfortable with who I am physically and mentally. I have gained a measure of confidence which was formerly inconceivable to me. I sleep better; I often wake up with anticipation. I believe I write better than before.

I am, however not proud of the fact that there have been instances when I have behaved in ways I have regretted later on. I have spoken when silence would’ve been the better option. I have given in when resisting might have proven more desirable in the long run. I have not been as patient with my children as I should have. I have not yet managed to psyche myself out of the mental block that keeps me from writing my dream book or indeed any book at all. I have let myself be hurt by people whom I am better off ignoring.

But the good and bad are part of everyone’s life. I like to reflect frequently instead of merely once a year – keeping track of how one has grown and changed is important. If you don’t know where you are, how will you know how to get to where you want to go? The sloughing off of old debts, pains and mistakes needs to be a constant process so that one is ever renewed and refreshed leading to a happier every day instead – what better way to ensure a more fulfilling year ahead?

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”...