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...
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
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...
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...
Saturday, December 3, 2011
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”...
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”...
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Pranayam
It is not often that a movie is both lyrical and thought-provoking but the one I was watching last afternoon happened to fit the description perfectly. I am not sure if it is because of the changes that my way of thinking has undergone in the past few years that made me so susceptible to every nuance in the movie but I think not – even if I had watched the movie as a youngster, it would probably have left an impact.
‘Pranayam’ is a Malayalam movie that stars Anupam Kher, Jayaprada and Mohanlal. It is not a conventional movie by any standards. I would think most people would be bored by the idea of love at a mature age and possibly even embarrassed at the very thought. But the director Blessy has handled the topic with sensitivity and delicacy. Anupam Kher’s excellent acting was let down by some really awful dubbing in the voice of a man who is well known for having some of the worst dialogue-delivery capabilities in the Malayalam film industry. The last forty minutes could have done with some crisper editing but even that is just an opinion – I loved the movie and enjoyed watching it thoroughly.
The basic storyline is simple. Anupam Kher’s character Achutha Menon is a 67 year old who survived his first heart attack and stays at his son’s flat in Kochi. The affectionate son Suresh, played brilliantly by Anoop Menon, is away in Sharjah and the daughter-in-law is none too pleased about having to take care of an old man while keeping track of a teenage daughter as well as holding down a 9 to 5 job. He is therefore a bit lonely and resents his status as a burden borne most unwillingly.
As a young and dashing football player Achu (as the younger avatar of Achutha Menon is called) falls in love with Grace and they elope to get married. Having gone against both families, they find themselves alone and not carefree either. Achu sacrifices his state football team selection to help his wife during the last stages of her pregnancy and for reasons unspecified they go their separate ways when their son Suresh is two and a half years old. To make things easier on the child, Achu tells him that his mother is dead.
Grace remarries within her community the second time and learns to love Mathew with all her heart and soul. Achutha Menon meets Grace (now played by Jayaprada) unexpectedly in the lift of the building where they both stay in their children’s flats and has a second heart attack right in front of her. Grace is frantic and manages to get help to admit him in the hospital just in time. She waits till his daughter-in-law and granddaughter take over and then leaves. Back home, a wheelchair-bound Mathew (played impeccably by Mohanlal) immediately senses something amiss. His right side is paralysed due to a stroke and his words are not often intelligible. His mind however is sharp and his thoughts as clear as ever. Eventually Grace breaks down and tells him of the day’s incidents and he consoles her.
The relationship between Grace and Mathew is one of intense love and mutual dependence. He is beholden to her for everything physical. She has to feed him, bathe him and dress him. He in turn is her rock – always cheerful and possessing a world view that is so refreshing and positive that to be around him brings joy. They stay with their daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. The son-in-law has a wandering eye and the daughter is both judgemental and smug quite unlike her parents.
Meanwhile Achutha Menon gets a new lease of life. He is grateful to God to be given the chance to see the love of his life again after more than forty years. He had never remarried after their divorce and instead spent years in different towns with his small son in a bid to escape his feelings as well as to show his ex-wife how capable he was of handling everything. When he finally realized he was merely fooling himself and returned to Kerala, he finds that Grace is already remarried. He vows not to miss the chance of reconnecting with Grace this time. He has changed and learnt a lot since their last parting. And yet his love for her had not ebbed for even a moment all those years.
Mathew is aware of his wife’s turmoil and is extremely understanding. In one scene he tells her “It is not possible for you to forget him or be indifferent to his pain – he had possessed your heart and body before me – it is only natural but ultimately all love is selfish and so is mine.” Even though he is a great lover of romance and was generous hearted, his physical incapacity and dependence on his wife had created a glimmer of insecurity as evinced by his overly physical displays of affection to Grace when he first meets Achutha Menon.
And yet after the first few moments, his attitude changes and he genuinely likes Achutha Menon. They become good friends despite the disapproval of both families. Grace’s daughter and son-in-law accuse her of running around with two men and they decide to leave. Achutha Menon’s daughter-in-law is no better. Suresh rushes back from Sharjah to be with his dad and is incensed to find that he has a living mother who he believes, abandoned him so many years ago.
The three old friends decide to go away together by themselves possibly to Achutha Menon’s native village. They have the time of their life making the trip. Mathew is ecstatic at having the chance to feel alive again. The other two revel in his joy and they all feel young and carefree right up to the moment on the beach when Mathew collapses. More scenes in the hospital follow where Mathew is shown as recovering slowly while Grace and Achutha Menon share what happened to them all those years ago. She now understood why her son hated her and refused to let her into his life. He had no idea that his father took him away without his mother’s knowledge because of his selfish need. She confesses that she remarried only because her father threatened to kill himself. She also forgives him for poisoning her son’s mind against her albeit unintentionally.
Everything goes smoothly after that and Suresh calls from the airport to beg his mother’s forgiveness and extract a promise from her that the next time he comes home, he be allowed to stay with her too. She is so full of happiness at the moment that she doesn’t hear Achutha Menon’s happy chatter and when he smilingly hugs her in celebration of that perfect moment, she gasps and collapses in his arms. The doctor pronounces her dead much to the shock of the two sick men. They turn to each other for comfort. The last scene is one where Mathew places flowers at her gravestone and Achutha Menon helps him and finally wheels him away off somewhere where one hopes the two friends have comfort and companionship for the rest of their years.
The story was not unusual but the treatment of it was simply superb. I particularly relished one scene where a distraught Grace and an unusually depressed Mathew meet Achutha Menon at the pier’s edge which is their favourite spot. They were explaining how their daughter felt they were an embarrassment and how she was afraid they would spoil her pristine reputation. He in return was telling them how his days there were numbered because his son had requested he return to the village (on his wife’s incessant nagging). He then throws one shell into the sea and sees how far it goes. He picks up a second one and throws it – to his delight, it goes much farther than the first. He turns around and asks “Tell me Grace, why you think my second throw was more successful?” She smiles and replies that he just managed to do a better job. He turns to Mathew and explains “The second time around I was more focused – I knew what I wanted and I knew just a bit better how to get there and so I was closer to my aim...Why can’t we all look at this situation as our second chance in life?” He then makes Mathew throw shell after shell into the waters and they all laugh like happy children.
That is when they decide to run off together and grab a few moments of joy unfettered by the admonishing of their children and their small-minded disapproval. There was also an implicit admission in his statement of the far deeper bond Grace shares with Mathew than she perhaps ever had with him. And yet the simplest message of them all was that one should never stop striving for happiness.
The movie has far too many layers for me to present one view and expect it to be the right one. I took away from the watching of it a beautiful feeling of being closer to understanding something about the nature of love. If you truly love someone, you do not hesitate to let him or her free. The total acceptance and joy in another being opens you up to give and receive even more love. Not all love is the same and there need not be a name for relationships of the heart. Watch the movie for a fine story and masterful performances but take away from it something far more enduring – a new understanding of love and relationships...
‘Pranayam’ is a Malayalam movie that stars Anupam Kher, Jayaprada and Mohanlal. It is not a conventional movie by any standards. I would think most people would be bored by the idea of love at a mature age and possibly even embarrassed at the very thought. But the director Blessy has handled the topic with sensitivity and delicacy. Anupam Kher’s excellent acting was let down by some really awful dubbing in the voice of a man who is well known for having some of the worst dialogue-delivery capabilities in the Malayalam film industry. The last forty minutes could have done with some crisper editing but even that is just an opinion – I loved the movie and enjoyed watching it thoroughly.
The basic storyline is simple. Anupam Kher’s character Achutha Menon is a 67 year old who survived his first heart attack and stays at his son’s flat in Kochi. The affectionate son Suresh, played brilliantly by Anoop Menon, is away in Sharjah and the daughter-in-law is none too pleased about having to take care of an old man while keeping track of a teenage daughter as well as holding down a 9 to 5 job. He is therefore a bit lonely and resents his status as a burden borne most unwillingly.
As a young and dashing football player Achu (as the younger avatar of Achutha Menon is called) falls in love with Grace and they elope to get married. Having gone against both families, they find themselves alone and not carefree either. Achu sacrifices his state football team selection to help his wife during the last stages of her pregnancy and for reasons unspecified they go their separate ways when their son Suresh is two and a half years old. To make things easier on the child, Achu tells him that his mother is dead.
Grace remarries within her community the second time and learns to love Mathew with all her heart and soul. Achutha Menon meets Grace (now played by Jayaprada) unexpectedly in the lift of the building where they both stay in their children’s flats and has a second heart attack right in front of her. Grace is frantic and manages to get help to admit him in the hospital just in time. She waits till his daughter-in-law and granddaughter take over and then leaves. Back home, a wheelchair-bound Mathew (played impeccably by Mohanlal) immediately senses something amiss. His right side is paralysed due to a stroke and his words are not often intelligible. His mind however is sharp and his thoughts as clear as ever. Eventually Grace breaks down and tells him of the day’s incidents and he consoles her.
The relationship between Grace and Mathew is one of intense love and mutual dependence. He is beholden to her for everything physical. She has to feed him, bathe him and dress him. He in turn is her rock – always cheerful and possessing a world view that is so refreshing and positive that to be around him brings joy. They stay with their daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. The son-in-law has a wandering eye and the daughter is both judgemental and smug quite unlike her parents.
Meanwhile Achutha Menon gets a new lease of life. He is grateful to God to be given the chance to see the love of his life again after more than forty years. He had never remarried after their divorce and instead spent years in different towns with his small son in a bid to escape his feelings as well as to show his ex-wife how capable he was of handling everything. When he finally realized he was merely fooling himself and returned to Kerala, he finds that Grace is already remarried. He vows not to miss the chance of reconnecting with Grace this time. He has changed and learnt a lot since their last parting. And yet his love for her had not ebbed for even a moment all those years.
Mathew is aware of his wife’s turmoil and is extremely understanding. In one scene he tells her “It is not possible for you to forget him or be indifferent to his pain – he had possessed your heart and body before me – it is only natural but ultimately all love is selfish and so is mine.” Even though he is a great lover of romance and was generous hearted, his physical incapacity and dependence on his wife had created a glimmer of insecurity as evinced by his overly physical displays of affection to Grace when he first meets Achutha Menon.
And yet after the first few moments, his attitude changes and he genuinely likes Achutha Menon. They become good friends despite the disapproval of both families. Grace’s daughter and son-in-law accuse her of running around with two men and they decide to leave. Achutha Menon’s daughter-in-law is no better. Suresh rushes back from Sharjah to be with his dad and is incensed to find that he has a living mother who he believes, abandoned him so many years ago.
The three old friends decide to go away together by themselves possibly to Achutha Menon’s native village. They have the time of their life making the trip. Mathew is ecstatic at having the chance to feel alive again. The other two revel in his joy and they all feel young and carefree right up to the moment on the beach when Mathew collapses. More scenes in the hospital follow where Mathew is shown as recovering slowly while Grace and Achutha Menon share what happened to them all those years ago. She now understood why her son hated her and refused to let her into his life. He had no idea that his father took him away without his mother’s knowledge because of his selfish need. She confesses that she remarried only because her father threatened to kill himself. She also forgives him for poisoning her son’s mind against her albeit unintentionally.
Everything goes smoothly after that and Suresh calls from the airport to beg his mother’s forgiveness and extract a promise from her that the next time he comes home, he be allowed to stay with her too. She is so full of happiness at the moment that she doesn’t hear Achutha Menon’s happy chatter and when he smilingly hugs her in celebration of that perfect moment, she gasps and collapses in his arms. The doctor pronounces her dead much to the shock of the two sick men. They turn to each other for comfort. The last scene is one where Mathew places flowers at her gravestone and Achutha Menon helps him and finally wheels him away off somewhere where one hopes the two friends have comfort and companionship for the rest of their years.
The story was not unusual but the treatment of it was simply superb. I particularly relished one scene where a distraught Grace and an unusually depressed Mathew meet Achutha Menon at the pier’s edge which is their favourite spot. They were explaining how their daughter felt they were an embarrassment and how she was afraid they would spoil her pristine reputation. He in return was telling them how his days there were numbered because his son had requested he return to the village (on his wife’s incessant nagging). He then throws one shell into the sea and sees how far it goes. He picks up a second one and throws it – to his delight, it goes much farther than the first. He turns around and asks “Tell me Grace, why you think my second throw was more successful?” She smiles and replies that he just managed to do a better job. He turns to Mathew and explains “The second time around I was more focused – I knew what I wanted and I knew just a bit better how to get there and so I was closer to my aim...Why can’t we all look at this situation as our second chance in life?” He then makes Mathew throw shell after shell into the waters and they all laugh like happy children.
That is when they decide to run off together and grab a few moments of joy unfettered by the admonishing of their children and their small-minded disapproval. There was also an implicit admission in his statement of the far deeper bond Grace shares with Mathew than she perhaps ever had with him. And yet the simplest message of them all was that one should never stop striving for happiness.
The movie has far too many layers for me to present one view and expect it to be the right one. I took away from the watching of it a beautiful feeling of being closer to understanding something about the nature of love. If you truly love someone, you do not hesitate to let him or her free. The total acceptance and joy in another being opens you up to give and receive even more love. Not all love is the same and there need not be a name for relationships of the heart. Watch the movie for a fine story and masterful performances but take away from it something far more enduring – a new understanding of love and relationships...
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Joyful
A change has come over me slowly but surely. I think it may have been years in the making but the effects seem very sudden when the gestation is hidden. So, lately my thinking appears to have undergone a sea-change when all along all I lacked was the unwillingness to let my true nature reveal itself. I have finally decided that its okay to be a little selfish – to love myself and to pursue my happiness as an actual goal.
My unhappy self-sacrificing nature did not fill either me or my family with joy. I stumbled along for years in an existence that was pretty much like anyone else’s except for the fact that all along I knew there had to be more. There had to be some room for joy in one’s life – what was the point of living otherwise? And opening your mind to happiness automatically brings joy into your life. You attract it and it flows in. This does not mean that you are constantly roaming around with a beatific expression or in perennial bliss. Ups and downs happen as before but whereas it previously dragged you down terribly, now you have enough promise for future happiness that you get through a bad patch seeing it as a temporary setback and not as some terrible all-encompassing tragedy.
It helps too if you can laugh at yourself and with yourself. It helps if you can be child-like in your approach to life. You hear music you like? Then go ahead and dance. You see rain cooling down a hot day? Go and soak in it if you want. You want to go out and just be by yourself for a while? Indulge in it. Its okay to be happy with little things. You don’t need that BMW to get a smile on your face. If it makes you happy to spend an evening listening to your spouse tell you the same story he or she has related a million times before while you sit together in cosy comfort, then that’s nothing trivial. Happiness is not something you can price no matter what the advertisements say. And you can never be truly happy by following someone else’s idea of happiness.
I am happy when I write – when the ideas flow from my mind through my fingers and on to the screen that had only a blank document displayed on it a few seconds before. I am happy when I see my glorious African Tulip tree in full bloom with its flaming orange blossoms. I am happy when I wake early enough to walk with a solitary kite and assorted other birds for company. I am happy when I hear an old favourite song and it rekindles memories worth reliving over and over again. I am happy when the kids go ‘yum’ at something that I have cooked. I am happy when I see my husband’s wonderful smile – the one that lights up his eyes and transforms his face totally. I am happy when I watch the rain. I am happy when a friend goes out of his way to show how much he cares. I have so many things to be happy about – so does everyone but how seldom do we realize the joy that is in us and seek endlessly for an ephemeral joy that is dictated by what the world desires...
My unhappy self-sacrificing nature did not fill either me or my family with joy. I stumbled along for years in an existence that was pretty much like anyone else’s except for the fact that all along I knew there had to be more. There had to be some room for joy in one’s life – what was the point of living otherwise? And opening your mind to happiness automatically brings joy into your life. You attract it and it flows in. This does not mean that you are constantly roaming around with a beatific expression or in perennial bliss. Ups and downs happen as before but whereas it previously dragged you down terribly, now you have enough promise for future happiness that you get through a bad patch seeing it as a temporary setback and not as some terrible all-encompassing tragedy.
It helps too if you can laugh at yourself and with yourself. It helps if you can be child-like in your approach to life. You hear music you like? Then go ahead and dance. You see rain cooling down a hot day? Go and soak in it if you want. You want to go out and just be by yourself for a while? Indulge in it. Its okay to be happy with little things. You don’t need that BMW to get a smile on your face. If it makes you happy to spend an evening listening to your spouse tell you the same story he or she has related a million times before while you sit together in cosy comfort, then that’s nothing trivial. Happiness is not something you can price no matter what the advertisements say. And you can never be truly happy by following someone else’s idea of happiness.
I am happy when I write – when the ideas flow from my mind through my fingers and on to the screen that had only a blank document displayed on it a few seconds before. I am happy when I see my glorious African Tulip tree in full bloom with its flaming orange blossoms. I am happy when I wake early enough to walk with a solitary kite and assorted other birds for company. I am happy when I hear an old favourite song and it rekindles memories worth reliving over and over again. I am happy when the kids go ‘yum’ at something that I have cooked. I am happy when I see my husband’s wonderful smile – the one that lights up his eyes and transforms his face totally. I am happy when I watch the rain. I am happy when a friend goes out of his way to show how much he cares. I have so many things to be happy about – so does everyone but how seldom do we realize the joy that is in us and seek endlessly for an ephemeral joy that is dictated by what the world desires...
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Handling death
One lives through many life-changing events in a single lifetime. It is immaterial whether they are good or bad, what is all-important is the way you handle them. I did not handle my father’s death very well. I did not handle living very well either. No one is equipped by birth to handle trauma such as death with a calm demeanour and spirit and yet I was more devastated than I thought possible. It was an expected death not the kind that takes you by surprise like a flash of lightning. And yet I ended up missing the chance to say farewell to a much-loved father.
He was a six foot tall, unrelentingly cheerful figure who weighed a hundred kilos before he was diagnosed with terminal prostate cancer. Prostate cancer by itself is one of the most successfully treatable forms of cancer but in his case it had spread to the spinal cord by the time he was diagnosed and he was already partially paralyzed. The first emergency procedure offered some relief and the tumours were on the wane for a while. He had limited mobility and looked like a shadow of his former self. Mortality was a constant threat to the man who believed in living life to the fullest. Yet he was happy enough in the company of his daughters, son and the grandchildren who had no inkling of the sombre feelings that lay just below a brittle veneer of cheer.
A few months later however the cancer hit back with a vengeance and a second and more serious operation did not help. He lay paralyzed totally from the waist down and was brought to Bangalore where I lived so I could take care of him. Initially I had hopes that he would recover at least partial mobility but as the days passed and he himself realized that there was no possible progress to be made, the house became like a funeral home. I had a one year old son whose colic kept me up every single day from 12 to 3 in the morning. I had to cope with watching the strongest figure in my life, the one who made lifting any burden look easy, struggle with pain and the shame and indignity of dependence on the rest of us for his most personal tasks.
I regret beyond words not being able to support him mentally during that time. I had visibly given up hope. After six months of taking care of him, I was a wreck myself. My elder sister lived abroad and my younger brother was still in college. My mother would sit and cry most of the time. I had no emotional reserves left and yet I could’ve been softer towards the gaunt figure who lay on his bed, turning partially so he could look out the window as the world went by without a second thought.
I cannot turn back time and make his last days relatively happy. He was very proud of me and kept insisting that of all his children only I could face difficult situations head-on and yet deep inside I knew I had let him down by losing faith. For more than my father’s death, what changed my life was the complete loss of the faith I felt in God whom I had been brought up since infancy to believe in. My father was an ardent devotee of our Ashram and guru and he took solace from the fact that his faith would protect him. I, who till then had the faith to close my eyes and agree to marry a guy I had never seen just because of my guru’s assurance had completely changed into a cynic who refused to think that any God could justify inflicting so much pain on a good human being.
I have never fully regained the faith I lost when my father passed away back in his own house in Kerala three days after he left my house and before I could say goodbye. Death takes its toll and the accompanying grief itself is difficult to bear but to completely lose faith in the way of life that I was brought up with was perhaps the bigger loss. All the years since my father’s death, I have lived with eroded faith and no belief that things will turn out well – a fear has since then found its way to my heart – that anything could at any moment be snatched away from me and I will yet again not have a chance to say goodbye.
He was a six foot tall, unrelentingly cheerful figure who weighed a hundred kilos before he was diagnosed with terminal prostate cancer. Prostate cancer by itself is one of the most successfully treatable forms of cancer but in his case it had spread to the spinal cord by the time he was diagnosed and he was already partially paralyzed. The first emergency procedure offered some relief and the tumours were on the wane for a while. He had limited mobility and looked like a shadow of his former self. Mortality was a constant threat to the man who believed in living life to the fullest. Yet he was happy enough in the company of his daughters, son and the grandchildren who had no inkling of the sombre feelings that lay just below a brittle veneer of cheer.
A few months later however the cancer hit back with a vengeance and a second and more serious operation did not help. He lay paralyzed totally from the waist down and was brought to Bangalore where I lived so I could take care of him. Initially I had hopes that he would recover at least partial mobility but as the days passed and he himself realized that there was no possible progress to be made, the house became like a funeral home. I had a one year old son whose colic kept me up every single day from 12 to 3 in the morning. I had to cope with watching the strongest figure in my life, the one who made lifting any burden look easy, struggle with pain and the shame and indignity of dependence on the rest of us for his most personal tasks.
I regret beyond words not being able to support him mentally during that time. I had visibly given up hope. After six months of taking care of him, I was a wreck myself. My elder sister lived abroad and my younger brother was still in college. My mother would sit and cry most of the time. I had no emotional reserves left and yet I could’ve been softer towards the gaunt figure who lay on his bed, turning partially so he could look out the window as the world went by without a second thought.
I cannot turn back time and make his last days relatively happy. He was very proud of me and kept insisting that of all his children only I could face difficult situations head-on and yet deep inside I knew I had let him down by losing faith. For more than my father’s death, what changed my life was the complete loss of the faith I felt in God whom I had been brought up since infancy to believe in. My father was an ardent devotee of our Ashram and guru and he took solace from the fact that his faith would protect him. I, who till then had the faith to close my eyes and agree to marry a guy I had never seen just because of my guru’s assurance had completely changed into a cynic who refused to think that any God could justify inflicting so much pain on a good human being.
I have never fully regained the faith I lost when my father passed away back in his own house in Kerala three days after he left my house and before I could say goodbye. Death takes its toll and the accompanying grief itself is difficult to bear but to completely lose faith in the way of life that I was brought up with was perhaps the bigger loss. All the years since my father’s death, I have lived with eroded faith and no belief that things will turn out well – a fear has since then found its way to my heart – that anything could at any moment be snatched away from me and I will yet again not have a chance to say goodbye.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Unhappy minds...
I woke up feeling inexplicably sad today. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. True, the last few days have been somewhat difficult but I generally bounce back quickly and therefore found it hard to believe that a few more kicks when I am down would actually get me feeling that low. Somehow I don’t think that was the reason for the overwhelming feeling of sorrow that seemed to have pervaded my being. The sorrow was not invasive though – it seemed to presage some inevitability that I had no control over but must grieve for nevertheless.
Is man’s mind while at rest, happy? Mine never is – it tends to sit quiet and pensive thinking over the nature of things instead of simply relaxing. Can any thinking being be truly happy? I somehow doubt that – one is so busy ruminating on consequences and second-guesses that the moment of living is past before one knows it and one has neither relaxed nor enjoyed the present moment before it has moved on to the past. Maybe the key is to set a goal of making your mind live in the present for just that one moment and no more – gradually it will find itself not bogged down by too many thoughts perhaps.
I have never actively tried it since I am used to the buzz and traffic of too many thoughts in an overheated brain. I also wonder whether being quiet and happy for the most part will be conducive for a writer’s imagination anyway. I mean the periods when I am relatively content, I have no urge to write whatsoever. However when I am sad, angry, frustrated or ridiculously irritated, then the words seem to flow effortlessly. Am I like the oyster that needs to be uncomfortable and in pain to be creative? I don’t imagine satisfied, eternally happy, irritation-free oysters are capable of producing pearls.
So there may be a role for the forever-restless minded like myself to play in the vast production that is day to day life in the universe. It may be that some of the finest inventions were born of restless inquiry and not of content contemplation. It may be that intense feelings of sorrow can prompt an outpouring of creativity that boggles the mind. I don’t know for sure but I am certain of one thing – unhappy minds need to be celebrated too...
Is man’s mind while at rest, happy? Mine never is – it tends to sit quiet and pensive thinking over the nature of things instead of simply relaxing. Can any thinking being be truly happy? I somehow doubt that – one is so busy ruminating on consequences and second-guesses that the moment of living is past before one knows it and one has neither relaxed nor enjoyed the present moment before it has moved on to the past. Maybe the key is to set a goal of making your mind live in the present for just that one moment and no more – gradually it will find itself not bogged down by too many thoughts perhaps.
I have never actively tried it since I am used to the buzz and traffic of too many thoughts in an overheated brain. I also wonder whether being quiet and happy for the most part will be conducive for a writer’s imagination anyway. I mean the periods when I am relatively content, I have no urge to write whatsoever. However when I am sad, angry, frustrated or ridiculously irritated, then the words seem to flow effortlessly. Am I like the oyster that needs to be uncomfortable and in pain to be creative? I don’t imagine satisfied, eternally happy, irritation-free oysters are capable of producing pearls.
So there may be a role for the forever-restless minded like myself to play in the vast production that is day to day life in the universe. It may be that some of the finest inventions were born of restless inquiry and not of content contemplation. It may be that intense feelings of sorrow can prompt an outpouring of creativity that boggles the mind. I don’t know for sure but I am certain of one thing – unhappy minds need to be celebrated too...
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