Where to from here?

Where to from here?

Is this the world I want to live in, she wondered. Is this the kind of life she wanted to lead? She wasn't sure. Somehow things just flowed into right now. They just unfolded the way seasons quietly open up into the other. She didn't mind it, but she did wonder if she could turn it into an intentional journey, shedding unwanted burden,and people along the way. And doing more of what she guessed she would like.

She was often told that life's irksome aspects held wisdom and truth about self. She wanted to accept that and sit with the irksome so that she could open her heart out to it. All she could do was, however, learn that she had strong likes and dislikes about a variety of things, that the irksome things were things she just didn't like, period. Why didn't she like some things and some people? Did it mirror a part of her she did not accept yet? Maybe, but do we ever fully love and accept ourselves? Is that even recommended?

Looking out the window, she stills during the moments of watching yellow, dried leaves float down onto the ground. She stills at the sight of light shining upon the naked tree while creating a shadow all around it. Gosh the vagrant mind, never settling into anything important and always wondering what to take seriously.

She often contemplated about where it was all going, not that it took her anywhere. She always wanted to be more driven, passionate and meaningful and she was able to be all that in bursts and flows. She knew that accepting what is passively always brought her back into an ebb. Daily life ordinary dissociation, she said to herself and accepted it as acceptable. Sometimes, there is no better way to live through a situation than to just live through it. Hopefully, action will present itself. It always does. Such is life, she sighed, with lifts into aha's coming ever so unexpectedly, perhaps when we open up in ways that defies logic or explanations.

As for now, she waits and watches her life unfurl, depressing her and causing joy, her life, this life. Expressing strong dislikes and accepting some with a heavy heart. Yes, she will push and pull pain and pleasure and there is no other way out till the heart is ready, is there?

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For those new to this third person narrative, there is a thread present in my blog that has stories in the third person narrative. This is just a part of that. I write in this form when a certain feeling dawns in me, its a feeling before the dawn of some clarity, that is what I have observed. For more stories on third person narratives on this blog click here, here, and here.




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Goodbye Tatha

He always played the crocodile while I was the monkey that sat high on a tree and was real clever. Maybe we played the game because it was straight forward, playable; or maybe I learnt from it that I was smart, witty and clever. Every time I outsmarted the crocodile he would smile at me with pride and playfulness and then I would believe that I really was cool. When I look at his picture on my desktop today, I can't believe that he really is gone, but my gandpa is really gone. I even touched him and tried waking him up to make sure he was not just asleep. He was stone as ice and I knew he was gone indeed.

I was the first grandchild of the family so I got lucky, I got the most of him, you see. His love was special for, I am not sure he ever had the time for the rest of my siblings. We travelled in trains, ambassadors and tata estates and we lived in a palace. I would cook up stories of being richer and more famous at school and I think I thought we were indeed all that. When we moved in to the palace of a home, he had made me a room that was especially for me- my study room. He had put a blackboard in there for me and the first two words we wrote on a still wet board were "srinivasan" and "aarathi". Even today I dream of that home, my study room and playing with granpa.

He flew to London, Singapore and everywhere and I would wait eagerly for him to come back with my gifts. He had an eye for fashion, my granpa. He would buy me short skirts when I was still shy to show my legs off. I was the first one at school to wear that fashionable shirt that would knot at my waist. I do think sometimes he thought I was skinner than I looked because some clothes just wouldn't fit. I remember a time when he had jaundice and was all yellow. I wanted to see him but he was always in that room of his drinking yellow milk. He was surrounded by newspapers and business magazines on weekends and his office space was no different. He would reward me and my siblings with “killu mutha” literally the “pinch kiss” when he came home from a long days work. He had a knack for rhyming our names with funny things and I was christened “aarat raja thangam” and “aarat, carrot, beetroot”.
He was my mom’s father-replacement and my dad’s boss father. He was quite the fighter with my granma and they lived many years separated from each other. I remember the first time I witnessed a fight he had with my granma and I remember my heart freezing in fright. There was so much function and dysfunction, I cannot help but be awed by human nature.

Our family is a representation of this wonderful and flawed man. I am a representation of this wonderful and flawed man. I am workaholic almost like him. I strive to attain mastery over what I know in work, I can’t imagine losing it all and often fear I would become heartbroken like him if I did. It’s easy to run like him, away from family’s love and towards work. His grandchildren and children alike, shake their legs with incomprehensible speed, when restless. Our knack for wit, his gift again.

Sadly, as years flew by he moved further and further away from us. He moved back to the village he was born in. He moved closer to his roots, I think. I chose to stop thinking about him and maybe he did the same thing back or maybe not. I am not sure I understand his motive when he built and christened “humanity home” and moved there to live with scores of children that were not his family, but then again, I am not sure I understand my granpa entirely.

When he died, there were a spectrum of people that came that day . His brothers, his nephews, his nieces and his workers, his sons, daughter-in-laws, uncles and aunts, his grandchildren , his wife and everyone else were present. He was all this and more and it made me happy that he was not just a granpa or a workaholic. Today, March 31st 2010, marks 10 days of his departure. I am not sure where he is and I am not sure if he is with us. But I have few pictures of him, his genetic inheritance too and a few of his oddities that make his family unique. Best of all ofcourse is that I have my dad, his son, you see. My granpa leaves me behind thankful for his life and grateful for mine.

I love you tatha.

The splinters of an unbreakable glass...

I couldn't breathe. A huge chimerian boulder sat on my chest. I gasped for air and wondered what it was about. Ive suffered many physical shortcomings and instantly diagnosing it hasn't ever been trouble. But this was something else. My rational mind had surfaced, to protect me from it. "Life is about moving on, we live fully if we can take things in our stride and head on" it said to me. So,I sat there, watching the landscape pass me by. It seemed rather perfect, moving-on in a moving train, speeding across a splendid landscape. Only getting a glimpse of the beauty it held, I was able to train my mind to skim just the surface. I prayed the train wouldn't stop.

Squirming, I hoped the boulder would move. "take a breath, breathe deeply and you'll be fine" my insane rational mind told me. I squirmed a little more as tears began to well. I was gripped with breathlessness, i couldnt breathe, i couldnt breathe with this sharp pain stabbing at my chest. Its easier to cry with physical pain you see. But ofcourse, it was then that the part of me that wanted to cry found its release regardless of reason. It was as if the train had stopped. I was pulled into the midst of this world whose periphery I had only caressed. My physical pain found new layers. Sadness, and angst flooded my chest melting the boulder. "not the best thing to happen" cried my rationale that had been pleading for ever so long to just stay above the surface. I could only smile. Smile for the Chimera had transformed into a beautiful child. A child that needed comfort. A child that had spent several sad moments like this and had only learned to take the train and flee.

Why, I do thank my protective rationale. Without it I may just as well be a broken glass, sending splinters across the road i lay, but I thank the vulnerability that is present in every part of my pore as well. For without it, I wouldn't have noticed this crying child in the costume of a Chimera. I carry her with me, this child. I am her and she is me. We smile and cry as we move on in this train that thinks it can take us and leave this never ending landscape of love, joy, regret, sadness and agony. Ha!

Letting go

The soft wind teased her tresses to play with his face as they walked close to one another by the shore, their very own turquoise backyard. 'It still works!' he thought as he let her soft hair tickle his anger and bring a smile back to his minds eye. He glibly brought his little finger to hook in with hers and it was her turn. Facing him, she smiled with her eyes and that's all they needed to quench this burning fury into roars of laughter. Letting go had become that simple.

No, letting go was not simple. It needed practice. The wheels of identity often needed oiling from the rust of habit, ownership and personal propriety that they had learn to nurture all their single lives. Is there room for more? implored the heart but the monkey mind with all its memories of life's hurt, its lows and tugs did not want to give. Clouded in this smoke of illusion, to increase pleasure and avoid pain the mind lost any logic between what caused pain and what pleasure. Their loving heart could discern if only it could find a way to unshackle itself from the tyranny of a restless mind and an overpowering ego.

He took her hand into his with new and inspired courage and placed it at his heart. Willing the heart to choose once again. To give space for one more. Becoming one was not simple and yet it was not a task that could be worked upon. Love, yes, love was supreme and it could fill the ocean they stood there watching. But did this love also have courage, peace, kindness, compassion, individuality, strength all encompassed within it? What they knew was that their love was slowly learning to be this encompassing.

The messages from the world around didn't matter when they were standing here alone and together. But the messages of the world was within them nonetheless.'What would it be like to shed the armor of safety, my love? what am I afraid of?' She asked him without having to speak. As they stood there watching the sun dip into the ocean blue leaving a crimson sky and a soothing moon behind, he kissed her on her forehead sealing a promise of everlasting discoveries in this lap of love their shared.

Taking home with me

I sit on the porch at the front of my great grandmother's house in the village where my mother grew up. Staring at the intricate and multicolored Kolam my grandmother made this morning with rice flour and turmeric, I wonder where this is all going. My search for the woman I am today has taken a long, exhausting route. Yet,running amok between the chores of the summer and the stories i heard during its warm nights, I learned how my mother was a reflection of this life I had come to love. Severed from her as a newborn I found her love waiting for me in her village, in the arms of her loved ones and finally in myself.

Stepping into the heart of this home I saw no patriarchal or matriarchal head. There was an assumed air of Being where one could just as easily transform into her masculine persona or her feminine one. Strength was defined by what was needed moment by moment and the actual men were quiet souls living as partners with their women. It was frightening because this home was an island deeply removed from the life i knew so far. This village embodied the home i had come to live in this one summer but outside of here was a world I already knew. I came in here, a wounded soldier, deprived of love, safety and identity. Like my grandmother,I had learned to conjure the tough part of me when I was broken,but unlike her, I had never learned to carry it under my skin, like it was me.

My grandmother, this strong beautiful woman lost her husband when she was thirty six. To stand for herself and her children was a necessity than a choice really, but it eventually shaped her into a fiercely independent woman.She will give even if she doesn't have enough for herself and at the same time she knows where to draw the line. I have never been able to see through that strong exterior as a child. But walking as we did a few evenings ago, on the shores of Cuddalor, I saw a different woman. It seemed that the Tsunami that hit her town three years ago triggered it all and that hard exterior had been scraped away and the soreness of the raw pain became available for me to dip in. She quickly took the place of a mother, i truly yearned for. Why do we take lifetimes to understand the ones we love?

My great grandmother on the other hand was not maternal. Boisterous, loud and threatening she certainly was. When I asked her about the Tsunami and what it had done to people around her she shrugged and said that it was about time we love the present for what is. She was refreshingly bold and I wondered if it would take me longer to really know her. But instantaneously i saw the bond this mother-daughter duo shared. They were the yin and yang, supporting and mirroring what was not really on the surface of the other.

Our trips to the temple every evening to listen to the beautiful Vasantha raga played by our lovely Geetha enchanted me. Our daily morning sessions to teach me all about Pulli Kolam perplexed me. But I knew that even the painful process of washing clothes by the stone especially built for the purpose or drying rice crispy's on the verandah out front were all initiations to welcome me into a family I yearned to be a part of. Words dont say it with the same power as small acts of love does, and in time, I was one with everything and everyone around me.

I had come upon a sisterhood this summer and in the midst of it all I found myself. The healing I needed and deprived myself of until now found its way through the crevices of my heart. I began to see life's drama unfold and saw the beauty in it for once. There is magic amidst a group of women who love unconditionally and I found myself led into this sorority. My great grandmothers perfect rejection of all things sorrowful and her acute ability to see that shining layer of contentment in it all helped me manifold. She told me that life was after all lived over time and that sorrows were a mere result of this long life, just as much as joy was. The deep acceptance of this verity shone upon me each day this summer. The presence of perfection in the midst of a world I knew made everything that much better.

While staring at the kolam and watching the rooster conduct its proud walk across from me, the fear of departing gripped my heart and squeezed my insides. I allowed a drop of tear find its way to sides of my mouth. As I hear my great grandmother yell at her youngest sister to start her chores with the laundry and cleaning, I laugh at the reality that I am forced to see. I resolve to take this safe place with me, in my heart and my being. I realize that reality is a lived experience, strangely, different for everyone. My great grandmother would like it if I would just give up this search for who I am and just go on Being instead. And while thats exactly what I seek for myself, for now, I feel like a better woman and a better human being, for seeking out and sharing a part of me with these women who defined my mother and shaped me by their Being.

Noisy Silence

She dimmed the lights, warmed her hands with her cup of cocoa and walked to her most comfortable couch in the house. She settled down, down into the low couch feeling as always, as if she was going into her sheltered cocoon. She sighed deeply and looked on the outside sensing a deep sense of gratitude for the momentary quietude everyone around acknowledged and left her with.

Her toes began to feel icy reminding her that she left her throw on the couch by the tv last night, she sighed again, this time irate that moments like these are never as perfect as her novels say they might be.

Placing her cocoa by the couch she runs to fetch her throw, she comes back to her couch hoping to begin anew. She settles down into her couch again and stretches her feet on the ottoman she'd come to love. She remembered the day her husband brought it in and the dread with which she looked at it. It was a complete mismatch to the decor of the house, it stood out like a sore toe, and each time she came in to her parlor she had to avert her eyes and learn the art of selective attention until the day she began to associate the ottoman with her love for her dearest she missed so deeply.

She pulled her mind away from her feet and her thoughts. Taking a sip of the steaming cocoa she burnt her tongue and groaned at her fate. Placing the cup far away from herself,as an act of revolt against spoilers like this, she accepted with consternation that her life was essentially rigged and that no amount of reading or watching idealistic movies can ever fix that.

With that acceptance, she finally began to unwind as well as she knew how. She felt the ache around the muscles of her shoulders and her back and wondered what these muscles were called. While making a mental note to google that, she silently scowled at her million different diversions and she brought herself back to the ache she was feeling, she tried to visualize the pain turn into vapor and suddenly remembered that her friend, the scientist, might ridicule her for visualizing pain as vapor but then she knew that it worked for her to visualize, fantasize and will her pain away. This time around she smiled at her thought and found comfort in the diversion as well. She thought about her friends.

Summoning memories to the fore has always been a bitter sweet process; for, along with heartfelt happiness also came the sense of loss she didn't care to think about just yet. Memories have this enormous ability to bring upon us reality checks we cant seem to handle and at the same time they are so deeply tainted by our feelings about events that we do recall. She wondered if we ever truly Know.

The susurrus of her mind never seemed to cease, she pleaded with her mind to stop and immediately plunged, helplessly, into it to ponder out loud if she was really free, if freedom was nothing but an illusion. Her thoughts ran wild, what was love, what of the loneliness that came creeping in every now and then, what of the future. She grew so knotted in her thoughts that her body seemed to knot along, her shoulders tightened and her toes froze despite the warm throw she covered herself with, her cocoa had become cold enough to gulp down.

Unable to appreciate the quiet on the outside she stood up, changed into her running shoes and decided instead to enjoy the warm day outside, hoping that running hard enough might silence her mind atleast this once.