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…

Quiet mornings

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

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

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

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

My Vishu

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not enough time...

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

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

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

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