Restless Routine

Riverscapes

A river flows some little way out from my home. At least- I call it a river. After each dam that blocks her way has claimed a part of her for itself, she is little more than a trickle by the time she finds her path to freedom. Some have even taken to calling her a stream... or ‘Naalaah’. (But we meander… and we will go far afield if we do! :) )

It is to this river I often head when I’m seeking a quiet evening to myself. My usual trajectory takes me up one side of the river, across the bridge, and down the other bank. The river is always playing witness to a diaspora of human emotion and conversation. All along the bridge are faces as similar and as distinct as pebbles on the river bank.

Walking along, I catch snippets of conversation… glimpses of a familiar emotion on an unknown face. It is strange how we reveal a little bit of our deepest emotions to an unknown pedestrian, simply through the connection of being human. A couple seated on the stony steps- her head bowed; he seated next to her… ready to comfort her, yet giving her the space to recover her strength. I walk on in haste lest I intrude into a private moment; but the briefest picture reveals the entire story.

Groups of youngsters animatedly discuss the day’s events. It is quite entertaining how each of us imagines that all that we think, feel, experience is brand new and unique to us! It is- in a way. So when a 19 year old holds forth eloquently on her life plans and sees no possibility of them not working out, the confidence is only slightly amusing and a lot more inspiring. For that moment, a fresh energy surges through the mind cleaning the slate for some brand new drawings! For a moment one becomes 19 again, forgets the exhaustion and disappointments and smiles a real smile.

Looking away, my eyes rest briefly on a mother and daughter in earnest conversation. The words are few, the emotions many. The young age of the girl, the flowers in her hair, the shiny new Mangalsutra (Hindu equivalent of a wedding ring), and the expression on her mother’s face make for a poignant picture. Youth bubbled over to express itself; Age looked on with patience - recognizing similarities, noticing differences, and coming to terms with a growing, independent reality. Such a moment -what more could one ask for in one's pursuit of the picturesque on the banal landscape of routine.

And yet, the river flows on. She doesn't pause to eavesdrop. She doesn't whisper her own advice. She does not mock the futility of it all.  Somewhere along its banks lovers whisper… somewhere a debate flares… somewhere two friends enjoy a dialogue of perfect silence… and somewhere a lonely heart tells the universe its sorrows. Next time I visit my river, I shall listen closely- for I might hear an unexpected gurgle of mirth… I shall look closely, for I might just discern two recently shed tears joining the tide.

Turning pages..

It is not every day that we come across a creation that completely engrosses us, cuts away every thought and makes us inhabit a different world - or perhaps I am hard to please. But I take heart in the fact that at least every once in a while, this does happen.

As recently as last week, I think I ran into my book equivalent of a soul-mate. While Ayn Rand has been a consistent love in my life, and Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters have been like-minded friends; somehow nothing had ever resonated so closely as did Mr. Julian Barnes’ words in ‘Sense of an Ending’. Perhaps, these are the workings of time. At the point when I read this book, it was like meeting the little person who lives inside my head. It also made me wonder if those are the books we like most- the ones that make us feel, ‘if I wrote, this is how I’d sound’. This was a book where I savoured each idea, each word- and comprehended each as clearly as if it were my own. Does that happen to you? Does it happen that for once, you are not eager to force your eyes and mind to run through the words because you can’t wait to see where they take you; instead- you wish to amble, retrace, loiter. The author’s ideas of life, art, history- I wish I could have them all by heart to cite at every appropriate instance (while we’re wishing- I wish I’d written them!). The book has several intertwined threads of separate lives wound around the recurring themes of philosophy, history and their relationship with reality – which, when woven together, wrap one is a blanket of seamless beauty. There are some works of art you can reach out and touch, and then there are some that envelope you with their many, many dimensions! Just as meeting your soulmate makes you wonder about all the past worthy and unworthy dalliances you've had, so did I find myself reflecting on my reading choices over the years.

Every book has a personality; it is like meeting a person – oddly enough, a personality born of the reader’s perception, and not the author’s! In effect, every book is a rendezvous. There are some narratives that are familiar as an old friend – thoughts heard once before; in fact, hasn’t it happened to you that you can almost hear an entire narrative in a dear friend’s voice! Then there are those pacy, whirlwind affairs that we rush into, where logic takes a back seat and it’s a pure head rush. Remember Perry Mason? And of course, almost all of us have gone through a 'Sidney Sheldon phase'! My favourites over time have been those books that are like friendly banter on a lazy afternoon… words that swing you on a hammock with sunshine and good cheer for company. A languid Summer’s day that seems like it’d go on forever, yet, all too soon is over- but not without leaving a lingering warmth. That’s how I feel when I am idling on Corfu with Gerald Durrell or taking my imagination for a stroll at Blandings Castle. :) Some other books I’ve ‘met’ are enigmatic and wary… they reveal themselves slowly- and so do they exert their power. It is not until you’ve reached midway that you realise you’re inextricably hooked. Sartre’s Nausea did that to me – I was labouring through word by word, digesting each idea, wondering if I really had the appetite – and then suddenly at some point, there was a connection. This is the love we savour slowly – a love that almost wasn’t to be; but is

Some books, or entire genres, are so unlike ourselves that we really don’t expect to like them. Biographies – Auto or otherwise- was a genre I had stayed away from, on these very grounds. Why should I be interested in someone else’s real life? My own life as a protected and pampered child was sailing so smoothly, that I could only turn to fiction to learn of its vicissitudes. I hardly expected any person’s real life to match, let alone surpass, the romance and adventure of fiction! In fact, I recall I once took up Feynman and did not get beyond page 20. Shocking, I know. But you see, back then- I read about the radios, and I thought- “This is just mechanics!”. Today, I can see a curious mind, a passion for the world we live in and above all- the zest to experience Life! I was always an avid reader, but my poison was the classics! It took me a couple of heartbreaks, struggle for  acceptance and a taste of the real world to begin relating to stories of other peoples’ lives - to appreciate that truth is indeed stranger than fiction! That’s when I started appreciating Biographies. That's also when I realised, whether you're reading a book or writing one, empathy is perhaps the most important constituent. When they speak of the ‘pain’ you need to create beautiful art, they speak of experiencing battle, emerging with war wounds and painting the epic for the world to see. Your paint may be pigment, your brush may be words, your strokes may be dance- but the life in your art is always that unspent anger, unspilled joy, that resonates within you and everyone who has experienced Life!

I am Special

Are you at some chronological point between 25 and 35, at a financial place we like to call ‘upper middle class’, and in a state of dissatisfaction?

I know I am- most of the time- dissatisfied that is; the age and economics are pretty much stable! And sometimes by myself, sometimes in cahoots with similarly oppressed friends, I try to find out the root cause of this unnecessary, inexplicable distress.

Based on my own judgment of my life thus far, some thoughts have evolved.Sharing my ideas with you good people in the hope of a better understanding of this non-dilemma!

I am including pretty much everyone between 25 and 35 in this group. Given that the gaps between generations keep getting deeper and closer together, I am not sure how right this is. But based on purely subjective experience, I am going to continue with the same demographic sample.

Most of us in our late twenties are either single children, or one of a pair. As such- we have received more than our fair share of attention. While a good education was ours by right, most conveniences too were only an ask away. Not all of us were the best of students, but then the alternative areas of achievement were many. Some played badminton, some danced, some swam, some sang- most of us did more than one of these! It was basically very doable- thanks to a mixture of comparative affluence, perceived ability, and of course- peer pressure! So what I’m driving at is- we’re quite an ‘accomplished’ generation. All of us have had a growing up phase liberally sprinkled with achievements - a district tournament here, a music award there. And since parents had only one or two children to focus on, the appreciation was abundant too.

And then we grew up.

Where once we were a ‘superstar’ for every 50/50 in Maths, small appreciations became hard to come by. I guess we assumed adult life would be an extension of the individuality we had always enjoyed. Each of us stood out from our peers in some way or another, and it was only natural to assume that the ‘individual identity’ would continue. However, as adults, we found ourselves working at something a thousand others do, struggling through courtship and marriage like everyone does, getting caught in traffic with a hundred others.

Nobody’s special.

I wonder if that's the reason we're seldom 'mad-happy' in adult life. We have taken our ‘awesomeness’ for granted and assumed others would see it too. Well, I’m sure each of us is very special in some way, but not enough to set us apart the way a ‘1^st prize in athletics’ did in school!

Perhaps we miss that.

And we look for it in the minor victories that life has to offer.

But it’s just not the same, is it?

A richer solace...

This piece is a penning of some of my thoughts and perceptions on God, Religion, Spirituality, and such. It is quite possible I see a fractional picture from my chosen promontory, but I put it in words- such as it appears to my mind. While I do this I wish to state, nay insist, that I have no intention of judging or belittling anyone's faith.

I have never really thought a whole lot about the God question. For the greater portion of my life thus far, He has pretty much let me be and I have done the same. You might ask me - Are you agnostic then? Or plain atheist? If I say- I believe in God but not in religion- what does that make me? Call me that.

Living in India and enjoying the culture, it is fairly impossible to stay disconnected from religion - especially during festivals. Festivals in India bring out the maximum expression of colour, sound, and of course- faith! We dress up in our finery, cook the choicest sweetmeats, and directly head to God's doorstep to thank Him for the bounty - or at least that's the purpose I've always perceived. This year, the spirit of the season took quite a grip on me and I felt a strong urge to visit the most popular Ganesh Temple in the city! In my college days, I remember I'd be there on Padwa Pahaat - dawn of the New Year. I must confess, what brought me to the temple that day was equal parts nostalgia and curiosity. Curiosity- because I don't know what one calls that feeling of 'exploration' one has... an attempt to understand what it is that drives so many but eludes me!

With a scrubbed face and shining spirit, I reached the temple. Temple- God's abode- full of riches and pleasures; what I met with though- was poverty. It begins at the first step and continues right to the altar- that slow whine, that suffocating stench of poverty. I speak not of financial dearth (though I am sure it plays a role). I refer to the poverty of spirit - so much more disheartening. Call me an idealist (we're looking for adjectives anyway!) - But I firmly believe that God is where I find peace and satisfaction. What I saw all around me was 'want'. People queuing up to bribe the Lord. Promises and Threats. I had hoped to see joyful faces - I saw instead, hasty greetings, perfunctory courtesies and a task struck off the day's checklist. I saw beggars turning peoples' fears and insecurities into capital. I saw all that was weak and depraved in human nature. Everything that shouldn't belong in a place of worship. There was pain and there was dissatisfaction. The God here seemed distant, faraway... disappointed.

I do understand that many people have real and great sorrows in life and they will turn to God for solace. What I complain of though is the 'business' of God. The 'let's be done with this' sentiment. Visitors of the almighty were in such a rush to say hello and get back to their festivities that they had not a moment to sit or to say a simple sorry to the fellow they had had just nudged past. Does praying once a day, excuse us from common courtesy to a fellow human being?  The vendors refused to return a greeting, unless you were bringing business! Even the donation box seemed to look accusing if one failed to give it its due coinage.

I sat a distance away from the hustle-bustle of the crowd in a somewhat pensive mood. And my mind drifted back to an afternoon a long, long time ago- somewhere in Konkan. We were traveling with family friends and stumbled upon an old Shiva temple. A beautiful stone structure with no one but a solitary Brahmin to keep the God company. We washed our feet and settled down on the temple steps absorbing the peace and quiet. And then arose a tune- my uncle, a classical singer. He took in my surprise, and said- "It is a temple. This is Saadhana (worship)." For I don't know how long after that, he sang Raaga after Raaga... friends and family offered their share of talent... and the afternoon was a symphony of love, gratitude and camaraderie! This was our offering to the Lord- a fraction of all that He'd blessed us with. This was Peace. This was Joy. This was the presence of God.

For me, He resides in Art. Others perhaps see His presence through formal prayer. Whatever the form one's Faith takes, I wish it'd be wholehearted and sincere. Whatever form your God takes, I do believe He shouldn't be the in the shape of a Need, a Fear, a Routine. May He be all that is the richest and finest in us. It is with this prayer that I left the temple that day.

The Window

Standing patiently outside my window- he waits.
His silvery caresses enter my room,
But he watches from afar-
Ever patient; ever pleasant;
Expecting nothing.

And I wait impatiently;
Trapped within my window.
Someday he will demand I bring him in…
Someday he will grow impatient like me…

I wait that someday he may want more than this fraction;
I wait that someday he may wish to see me whole.
But he makes no demands.
Tomorrow, he will come again.
Unfailingly.
And he will stand outside.
Unattachedly.

I know that the day he enters- he will fill up my existence-
Suffocate me even.
But I invite the encroachment.
For then, he will be mine.
The weight of expectations is much easier to balance
Than the suspended state of artificial equilibrium.

It's fairly simple, Freud!

What women want is a mystery it seems. Freud started this sham. How convenient!

Who, irrespective of gender, does know their mind? And again, irrespective of gender, who really wants anything outside of the usual- love, respect, and good humour!

Recently, I witnessed / heard some stories of men who may or may not have read Freud. But who have definitely gotten it right as far as knowing ‘what their woman wants’ goes! (While I see these stories from a woman’s perspective, they can just as well be read as beautiful examples of companionship! :)) 

Couple of months back, we went to see the famed Flamingos of Bhigwan. Rather atypical of a tourist spot, upon setting foot in Bhigwan, one is not thronged by dozens of touts, each pushing his boats merits in your face. It is quiet and one or 2 fishermen will calmly approach you and ask if you wish to hire a boat. The negotiations are friendly and usually end on an agreeable note. In our case, we were approached by a fisherwoman. As is expected for a woman of her limited means, she was lean; but her eyes shone with keen intelligence. The usual negotiations regarding price and distance took place and a mutually agreeable arrangement was reached.

Since it was somewhat late in the day, we had to go quite a way out. On the way, we met a returning boat full of people, and our boatwoman introduced the boatman of the other boat as her husband. Then she went on to tell us how she usually did not take up boat-rides by herself, but had him by her side. With her stories and ours, we continued to float in pursuit of the elusive Flamingos. The pleasantly warm morning started to turn into a scorching afternoon, and as the sun rose we started to feel increasingly concerned about our boat-lady who was beginning to look rather weak. We turned around and started making for the shore, expressing the concern we felt; unfortunately, there wasn’t much we could do to help. Turned out there was someone who could though... and he did too! Just a little distance on our return route, sat the lady’s husband- waiting for us! Once we got closer, he swiftly jumped aboard and took over the oars from her. His care for his wife had brought him all that way out walking- after depositing his customers back to the shore! The relief that flooded the woman’s face on seeing him was more beautiful than any poem or love ballad ever written!

That’s something a woman wants- someone who understands the unspoken.

A little while after this incident occurred, I was narrating the story to my aunt; and she had her own little story displaying how without ‘higher’ education or culture-conditioning some people just instinctively get it right! They are sensitive enough to see, and brave enough to give, exactly what the other person wants.

This aunt of mine is a doctor by profession, and at present is a full-time counselor at a rural hospital in Alandi. She has consciously chosen this profile to fulfill what she sees as her commitment to society and her profession. She began to tell me about a couple who walked in for a pregnancy check-up. The woman naturally gave her case history, at which time, the first thing she mentioned was- she was HIV +ve (she did not have AIDS; she was HIV +ve). Naturally, the obvious sequence of questions followed- Did you know before the pregnancy? Was your husband aware of this? And, turns out- he was! She was HIV +ve due to breastfeeding from her HIV +ve mother. This man- her husband- was not HIV +ve; he was healthy in every way. He knew her history, her medical condition, and still wanted to be her life-partner! And now, they were having a baby- and both of them were doing all they could to keep it from inheriting this terrible legacy.

That’s something a woman wants- someone who stands by her.

The narrative left me speechless. My aunt is quite a creature. She told this story to me, and within minutes, she herself became a story in this same stream. As we rose from our tea and chat session, she happened to mention how she was looking up references and cases of HIV +ve couples so she could help this duo and then added- your uncle and I will be discussing it tonight. My uncle- her husband- is a doctor himself; yet, I found this rapport a bit surprising and said so as well- ‘You have conversations like that? Where you actually sit down and discuss?’… I could hear in her words and voice of her answer that yes- they not only spoke, but they shared the same language! How many couples, in this day and age, set aside an evening to have a quiet meaningful discussion- that doesn’t pertain to kids, money, family! It wasn’t surprising, of course, that they talk or discuss things… but they were actually taking out time to exchange ideas, share perspectives over something that was not strictly ‘personal’, but which she cared about – and hence, he cared about!

That’s something a woman wants- someone who listens.