lifelessons

Overcoming Fear: A Personal Journey

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What is it about fear that is so paralysing? It could be something like a spider or cockroach, or fear of someone or a situation. Whatever it may be, for people living with fear, there is nothing small about it.

All it takes is a mention and it’ll cause your hearts to start beating so erratically, just like they do when you see someone to whom your heart belongs to, but this is the exact opposite. There’s sweat and palpitations too, but nothing feels romantic. It’s debilitating to the point that either you freeze in your place, or run far far away in the opposite direction so that it doesn’t catch up to you!

I had such debilitating fear of people who birthed me until recently. That is 36 years of me trembling in my boot straps and girding my loins to face them, even for a voice call. My husband of 8 years has supported me no matter what, even though he tried to get me to understand that they no longer have any power over me, I refused to listen to him or understand; I could barely stand him talking to me about them, such was my fear and disgust.

A year ago, I had a breakthrough; an epiphany if you will. I finally realized (about time) that these idiots have no power over me; not any longer, that whatever power they had, had been broken off a long time ago.

By this time, my long suffering husband, had quite given up explaining and being understanding. During the realization, I had a word vomit conversation, where all he said at the end of it was “Thank you God!. You truly are remarkable”. He was growing weary of propping me up at the most inconvenient times, times when he required me to be a little bit stronger. In no way was he getting tired of me or thought I was weak, not at all. But I think there are times when the other half in a relationship requires and expects a little more strength from their partner.

There have been setbacks where I thought it would be a cakewalk, like having a realization was enough for me to break free. I was sorely mistaken. There was an incident this year, where during a family members wedding, I watched the brides family, especially her mom dote and pamper and the family come together in harmony and love to celebrate their child. I swear, my heart broke again. Where I had been sure of being on the path of healing, this one incident pulled me back from the progress I was sure to have made… everything in me just splintered. I had a severe crisis of faith and in my self in identity. I wallowed in it for months.

Who am I?

Who AM I?

I have never felt more like an orphan than I do now.

Now, again, I’ve taught myself that the fault was never in me. It is a lacking in them. It was never me. I had never given them a reason to hate me. Never. In fact, I bent over backwards, made myself more invisible and only did what they told me to do. I thought and hoped, maybe, just maybe, if I did everything just the way they wanted, I would be loved. Such was my greed to be accepted.

Thank God they don’t love me. Because now, I know what love is. Love of parents; my friends’ mothers’, my wonderful in laws. They have shown me what an elders love is and it definitely isn’t fear inducing.

As I write this, I write with hope and prayers that this will reach the people who needs to hear this, those who are lonely, alone, hurt, abandoned, abused… you were never the problem.

And I also want this will be a reminder for those who have overcome such fears, Bravo!! You are all heroes!

Remember, no fear is too big or too small.

Until the next time…

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

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This is one of my favourite books, and like all bookworms, I think most books I’ve read are awesome; there are very few books I’ve read that I do not like at all.

This treasure was found in a book fair in Dubai around 10-11 years ago. My friend recommended it to me thinking I would like the narration, and she was right! The story-telling was unique to me; I had never read a book where majority of the narrative was in the form of letters.

I enjoyed reading the writing style we rarely indulge in nowadays.

Situated in the aftermath of WW2, the protagonist, Juliet Ashton (a writer herself), slightly off track in life receives a letter from Dawsey Adams, a resident of the island of Guernsey informing her as being the new owner of one of her books. What started as a hello, quickly morphs into story telling sessions between Juliet and various other residents of the same island; about life under the German occupation, what they did to survive and how they came to form the reading club.

This book is extremely small, but packed quite an effect. It reflects on quiet strength people are forced to draw upon when faced with scarcity of basic human needs; food, shelter, safety.

Though this book was written on a slightly cheery note, it struck a chord with me. It forced me to think how people are forced to survive in war times, which is more common now than it was before. The impoverishment; the fear; the uncertainty; the fight for survival by any means possible.

Has anybody else read this book? Are there any other books like these which you think should be read?

I’ll leave you all here, my tea and book wait for me…

When proximity = Unwanted familiarity

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I don’t understand human nature… are we always selfish and gossipy and judgmental? Why? Like what pleasures do we derive from this? Not that I haven’t gossiped or bitched! Of course I have! But I hope and I try to remember the good deeds they’ve performed and always, always try to give them the benefit of the doubt before I try to say something negative about them.

I had stayed with my in laws for a couple of months last year. My sister in law was about to give birth and asked for my emotional support, to which I readily agreed to (she’s my friend too). I knew what she was about to go through; the sheer physical and mental exhaustion; alongside the people who would come with a whole lot of unwanted and useless (at that time) advices and critiquing the methods of parenting, yada yada (you know what I am talking about).

So the baby was born, named and brought home. We tried to support her the best we could; staying up nights, waking up early, the endless diapers, the hormonal meltdowns, the feedings, we helped as much as we could while also paying attention to my 4 year old.

Three months later, thankfully, my sis in law had recovered quite well from the birthing journey and had been managing the baby quite well when the above mentioned crap starts! Not from her at all! She’s a sweetie! But, from other people, about my own parenting.

A little back story; my kid is extremely active. Like he’s an energizer bunny who’s sweet, naughty, intelligent, caring and kind. My in laws are slightly elderly people who can’t keep up with him. So in the initial times after the birth of the baby, I used to put him in front of the phone to distract him after I played and gave him attention and all. In the beginning when I was fully involved in helping out, nobody said anything. Then came the lashings, apparently he’s in front of the phone too much (not true); I am not feeding him properly (not true again); he just doesn’t like to eat rice and curry all the time, and fruits have become a picky contest. He loves his fresh juices though. He just doesn’t want to chew them. And I am spoiling him by not feeding him fish, spices or variety. Oh and my personal favourite, he’s too malnourished!!! Again not true, his paediatrician is quite happy with his growth and (let’s knock on a lot of wood) he’s a healthy child! On and on the hamster wheel had started to run.

Nobody tells you that the hardest part of parenting is not the child themselves, it’s the other people and their unsolicited advices; the judgment! Why can’t people just shut their traps? Why can’t they leave you alone? When does it stop? Why did it start? Who thought dissing parents was fun?

Am I being too sensitive or has it become normal that people don’t even recognize how much of a bad behaviour this is?

Freedom of Rights

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Quite some time ago I saw a short of a south Indian serial/telenovela on YouTube during the mindless browsing, post bedtime rituals. There, two individuals were discussing the freedoms “given” to women, and I paraphrase; Individual B told Individual A that he has given enough freedom to his partner to do whatever she wants! A scoffs and asks “what do you mean you’ve given enough freedom? When did she give you her freedom/rights, that you can pinch it off but by bit and present it to her whenever you think it is right to do so? Freedom is an individuals birth right. It cannot and shouldn’t be given or taken away as and when required. 95% of the men think like this and then wonder why are our woman not happy!”

It stayed with me. I’ve never come across that short again, and though I know the name of the show, it would’ve been too much of a hassle to comb through 300+ episodes to find 2 mins of this.

This is a statement I grew up with; “I’ve given you enough freedom, don’t cross/misuse it!” Like what?! I used to question these statements before I was broken down and preferred to shut up and put up for my own mental health. But I realized that I was just one of the millions of women who face this dilemma, not just in India but worldwide! We are taught from birth that our rights and freedom belong to a third person! It belongs to our fathers, mothers, families, teachers, bosses, in laws, husbands, kids, etc. Why? Why? How do we have such extremes in a scale from having woman who have broken the patriarchy chains in our country, like Kiran Bedi, Indira Gandhi, Sudha Murthy, Helen, Mithali Raj on one side to women being chained by such baseless “traditions” on the other?

We need permission to be born; to grow; go have friends; to go out and play; to wear certain types of clothes; to be educated; to wear or cut our hair a certain style; to be able to chose our subjects for higher studies; to choose the colleges we go to; to go away from home; to choose work over marriage or higher studies; to choose our careers; to choose type of work; to accept a promotion; to choose between kids or careers, the list is never ending!

Each and every decision is taken by everyone else other than the woman who wants to take it! Why? The most common answer I’ve received is so that we don’t go out of hand, and bring shame to the family. Why is the honour of a family only the burden of the women? Why are men not given equal responsibilities of this crown? Why are men not taught to respect and honour a woman’s wishes? But that’s another topic for another day!

Women who have actually gotten their education and reached top positions make up probably 1% of all the women work force, may be worldwide. But those women who are working “menial jobs” like vendors, farmers, food stalls, transporting etc. make up almost 99%. Then there’s the housewives who are told that they do nothing, “you’re just sitting at home and enjoying free time”. These women, who, labour quietly without expecting any return, any paid salaries, nor given any recognition or awards and don’t even get praises for making houses homes, how will they reach anywhere? They don’t even expect the right of a day off, just because they don’t go to office to work!

Everybody loves giving big talks about deciding your own destiny and fate, but when push comes to shove, these very “advisors” will pull others back from the precipice of greatness! They will say, be careful, don’t aim too high, you may get burned; or what about your family/kids? what will happen to them? yada yada!

It frustrates me!

Granted, there are not many opportunities for women to prove themselves (thank you patriarchy), but even if they did come across one, the chains of fear, disapproval, failure and resulting taunts, lack of confidence always is a road block. What if women were told that they are capable, they can do it, their rights exercised, or even given the opening, imagine where they would reach!

So people, let the women in your lives the right to choose the opportunity! Even if it them wanting to start her own dhaba, or wanting to continue their education, going away for a job, starting a venture, anything, let them fly. Their freedom is their own. Let them decide if they want to shove those doors and windows open or close. Forget what society is going to say! The women in your lives come first. If they’re flying, they’ll take you along for the ride. And when they return, make sure they have a safe place to land. They would definitely do the same for you!

Be happy for them, don’t be insecure and jealous. Just accept the fact that they probably can do so many things better than the you. You can advice them, you can teach them, you can guide them, but they’re allowed to have their own thoughts, they have the right to take your advice or leave it. But don’t just encourage them with words, give them the support by taking up the chores they usually do around the house, be their village. Light up the path to their dreams, clear it of roadblocks and objections. Let them be!

Their freedom is their own. It does not belong to anyone else!

What are we waiting for?

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Like all kids of the yester years, we were lead to believe that women had to wait for prince charming to come and rescue you. All we had to do was wait and pass time. I now know that we, (women or men), can and need to rescue ourselves first. We need to write the plans and follow the road to our own destinies and goals.

We need to stop waiting! Waiting for acceptance, for love, for opportunities; for approvals; for doors to be opened for us! We need to break out of the bonds society has caged us in; break down doors and windows; tear up the boxes we’ve been put in! We need stop following examples (or take the best from it) and be the example. Make your own paths!

We can listen to advices and hints and outright judgments, but we should decide which ones will help us grow and which to ignore. Stop thinking what others have taught us to think and do it ourselves, because when we think like how we’ve been taught to think, there are always limitations. We have been given our own brains and minds so that we can be our own individuals with our own thoughts and goals and wishes and dreams.

Push through the barnacles and thorns and choking weeds; prove our worth to ourselves then to others.

There may be detours, road blocks or even outright dead ends and cliff drops but, keep going, keep growing, keep learning! Listen, look and learn. Never ever stop learning or growing. Decide our own destination. Work hard! And cut out those who keep pulling us down or keeping us chained up.

Value oneself first, be kind to yourself; respect yourself and expect no less from anyone else. Remember that respect is a two way street; treat others how you would like to be treated.

Strive to achieve you goals and dreams but don’t step on others. Lend a hand, an ear or a shoulder. Find good mentors, be a good mentor. Know when to be rigid and stick to what you know and when to be flexible so that you can seek or learn something new.

Dreams and goals are not confined to any religion, caste, tradition, country, age or gender. Every one us has the right and freedom to be whatever we want to be and do what ever good we want to do.

What are we waiting for? Make the universe our goal, not the stars!

Wannabe Parenting…?

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What is being tough?

My sperm and egg donor recently advised me to be more “soft” with my child. All he saw was me being firm and telling him no. They haven’t seen the hours or the days, where I have sat with my baby and negotiated or pleaded and begged and cried with him because he doesn’t understand what he wants and how to express it. All he saw were the times I raised my voice, or yelled because of the endless whining and screaming, and there’s only so much my ears could take before they bled out! They never saw the self-recrimination nor the guilt and resulting tears that had me questioning my own worth as a good parent. Never!

I wanted to ask them, what is soft? What do you know of speaking softly to your children? Or even listening to them, no matter how trivial the matter seems to you?

Was it soft whenever you taunted my existence, and being the cause of your financial constrains?

Was it soft when you would beat me black and blue for being a child?

Was it soft when you always pitted me against your son, the heir to your fortune?

Was it soft when I used to cry in pain after hearing you berate me for being stupid or god knows what, and you told me to stop shedding crocodile tears?

Was it soft that when I was 14, the tutor you appointed started making sexual comments towards me, but I couldn’t tell you anything because a) I didn’t exactly understand why his comments made me uncomfortable as nothing was said outright and b) you would say that I encouraged it?

Was it soft when I was 17 and some perv, made aggressive sexual advances towards me, walking home from my friends place, and tried to grab my hand! And when I built up the courage to tell you both about it, you said I imagined it?

Was it soft when you would allow anybody and everybody to comment on my “average looks, my pathetic body, and under average intelligence”?

Was it soft when you told me I couldn’t pursue my higher studies because I had to get married alleviate your burden and people’s questions?

Was it soft when you started blaming me for your “ideal proposals” rejection of me?

Was it soft when you tried to force me to marry 2 assholes one after the other even though they didn’t like me at all and went on to malign my character and my morality?

Was it soft when you mentally and emotionally abused me, and didn’t stop even when I shut down to the point I wouldn’t leave my room?

Was it soft that even I was at sitting in your house and you accused me of bringing shame to “the family”?

Was it soft when my egg donor decided she was going to “expose” my reason for refusing to marry said assholes, was my “relatioinship” with one of my bff who happened to be a male?

Was it soft when finally God gave me a good partner and family, you still tried to continue to bring me down from afar?

If that is soft, then I am extremely happy that I am not. I am glad that my experiences with you, taught me how not to be parents like you? I am happy I am not soft.

Not that your opinions on my life and my decisions are my problems any more, but you don’t see how my child calls or looks upto me.

You don’t see the love or the trust in his eyes. You will never, ever see him flinch when raise my hand to cup his tiny little face.

You will never him hesitate to ask for anything and everything, and though he may throw tantrums, (he’s 3!), when refused, he’ll never stop asking or hoping, because he knows, his freedom to do so will never be snuffed out!

He will understand when he’s a little older that boundaries and rules are there for his safety, till he can navigate this world by himself. That disciplines are enforced so that he’ll learn how to behave and act and still have fun, but not at someone’s expense. And that kindness and empathy and support should be given to himself first and others later. And through all this, that our words and actions and thoughts have consequences, good or bad; that our steps, even if you can’t help someone, should never bring harm.

I’ll be the parent you never were. I’ll be his rock, his foundation, his pillar, his gate, his shield, his wailing wall, his trampoline, his guiding light, his home, his embrace, his ears, his lighthouse, his anchor, his compassion, his kindness, his protector, his bulletproof glass, as long as I have breath in my body. And that, you pathetic, washed up excuses for parents, will never ever take that away from us! God willing, ever!

What if…?

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What if my parents had been accepting of me, and not just my brother?

What would have happened if my first memory at the age of 4 hadn’t been about how expensive I was, what a financial burden I had become? Would I have been happy to come home if I hadn’t seen my mother’s lips pinch, in disapproval, every time I displaced an eraser or came from school with soiled clothes?

Would I have pursued art as my career if I had heard words of love and encouragement when I showed them my drawings and paintings rather than comparison with other kids of my age, how they did stuff better?

Would I have learned how to take care of myself better if they had held me tight and given me tips and guided me through my acne prone, painful high school years instead of hearing how ugly I was, and how disgusting I looked compared to clear skinned girls of the same age?

Would I have been proud of my chocolate-coloured skin if they had helped me accept my it instead of berating me for playing too long in the sun?

Would I learned to choose better styles if they had helped me accept my body instead of shaming me for my curves so that I would develop the habit of hiding my body in oversized, frumpy clothes and developed a slouch so that I could be invisible.

Would I have learned to be more compassionate towards them if they had protected me from themselves and against those who voiced their meanness to me and adding things to laugh about me, in my face?

Would I have been successful in something if they hadn’t repeatedly told me I would be nothing?

What if?

What if?

Disclaimer: Not a spoilt brat writing! My parents are very well off, these instances always applied to me, not to my brother.

Persuading him

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“Please try to persuade him to come, for my sake”, pleads my mother.

“Do you really think Hrishi will set his foot where the presence of your wonderful husband is guaranteed?” I asked incredulously.

“This is your father we’re talking about!!”, she cries.

“Sperm donor, you mean?”, my voice hardening. “Nothing this man has done or said in our entire lives screams ‘father of the year’. He has always complained about how we have ruined his life; about how expensive we are, we were just a financial burden!! And, moreover, do you really think that we are willing to be in the same room as him, let alone exchange words of any kind, after what happened two years ago?”

“He says he’s willing to forgive and forget?”, she informs me.

“Forgive and forget?”, I scoff. Forgive and forget what exactly, mother dear??? What is it about our actions that he has to ‘forgive and forget’??”

“You all started it!! We were having a good time. With the baby’s birth and us being together during the initial lock down, we were happy altogether”.

“Are you delusional?!” I exclaimed. “Did you suffer from any kind of head trauma in the couple of months since I last saw you?? He was absolutely out of control!! He slammed the door shut on your son’s hand! Just because he dared to question him about scheduling home repairs after we came home from the hospital!! What does that tell you?!”

She didn’t say anything. I should have known. I shouldn’t have been surprised. My mother, the Queen forgive and forget, but only when it suited her the best. How could I have ever believed that she would ever start supporting her own kids and not that monster wearing human skin!! Ugh! I was so done with this conversation; anymore, and I knew I would need a couple of shots of tequila or a whole bottle of wine. Since I was still breastfeeding my baby, that option was moot.

“You know what, I am done! Done! You can continue your wifely duties, just leave me out of your drama. I neither have the time nor the inclination to be involved in this farce.”

“Farce? How can me talking about getting your brother back to the family be called a farce?! You’re so selfish!! How can you not understand how much I am suffering?” she moaned.

“You’re suffering? How? He beat you? Raise his hand? His voice? No, that was reserved for us; you? he just commands and you scurry around obeying his every command without uttering a sound in protest. And then you take out your frustrations on me. Not even your son, but me. Well, I am done being your punching bag. Call me when you come back to your senses. Or don’t, either way I don’t care!”

I cut the call. Hung up my phone, delicately, with an eye on my husband who was rocking our son. At his nod of reassurance, I walked away quietly, found a pillow and screamed into it till I found a semblance of control.

I knew this wouldn’t be the last time she would put me through this. So, I would spend the time till the next call, finding the strength to shore up my defenses against her thoughtless words, actions and efforts. I would find the strength; I couldn’t do anything less. For my husband, for our son, I would face whatever was thrown in my path; I would fight my demons, all day, every day, till the next time. I will fight! I would fight!

Dear Mrs. Nabee

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We all have that one adult in our life, teacher or friend, who looks deeper than others do; who sees potential where others see trouble. My 4th grade English teacher Mrs. Nabee was that adult in my life. Being a little troubled and absent-minded, she realized that writing was one of my greatest interests and pushed me into the universe of books. Ma’am, if you ever come across this article, Thank you!. You opened up worlds’ that would have otherwise been ignored forever.

It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with books and decide that English was my favourite subject. The first book we read in her class was Pinocchio and reading out loud in class became a lot more fun. She never once made any of us feel stupid or silly, especially if we mispronounced or didn’t know the meaning of any word. She had a way of explaining that made us visualize the words in our minds. I have now come to know that is a power very few teachers possess or even have half a tumbler of talent for. I can’t imagine the amount of homework she must have assigned to herself to make sure our minds remained in her class, all through the year. My favourite project in her class was when she had us all make caterpilars with chart papers, to be stuck on our class notice boards. We had to cut out circles and each circle would contain the name of a book we had finished, which when put together would become a caterpilar. The student with the longest caterpillar, at the end of a term was given a reward; a sweet treat and a smile or a pat on the back… But boy, did we all wait for that smile!!! One that acknowledged pride in us.

At the end of that year, we had a ‘class party’; translation – free for all junk food she sponsored and a music system blasting out the latest tunes through cassettes. (Do I feel old now!!). The last thing thoughtful, loving act she did for us that year was to draw a tree full of leaves on the blackboard. Each leaf contained the name of a student in that class. She took the extra effort to make us feel special. Any other teacher would have popped in and then waltzed out within 5 minutes, not Mrs. Nabee.

So Mrs. Nabee, I hope you’ve fulfilled whatever you wanted out of life and it is still full of happiness. I really hope we will met once more in this life so that I can give you what I couldn’t so many years ago; a heartfelt thanks and a big hug!!

Sincerely

Miss Absent-mind from the Class of 98′-99′

Under the Microscope

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I was born and brought up in Dubai. Being a NRI (non-resident Indian) is quite the experience. Being a woman and NRI is out of the world. Here are a few things I’ve learnt, on my own or through my friends…

  1. Girls should not hug male members in public, even though they may your grandfather, brother or husband.
  2. Do not wear shorts, including knee length ones. Even if your parents and immediate family members are cool with it, the mauhalle waale (neighbours etc.) definitely will have problems. Not to mention the stares and whispers.
  3. Never question religious rituals. I once made the “mistake” of asking my mother why they waste litres of milk by pouring it on a stone idol flowing into the drain, when lots of destitute people, including young children are waiting outside the temples walls? Wouldn’t it e beneficial to give it to them; their stomachs would be relieved from the hunger pains for at least a while, right? Believe me when I say the expressions of horror would have burnt me had they had the power, and gasps of exclamation would have been heard throughout the city that day. Plus the lectures about respecting the Gods, and how I would have to ask for God’s forgiveness, failing which I would incur untold wrath. Since I am writing about this 2 years later, guess God thought my point valid.
  4. Girls should not talk or laugh out loud. Apparently doing so is considered as uncouth or disrespectful, God forbid. I still have no idea how that one works.
  5. We should never reveal the fact that we do not know cooking, or that we hate household chores. Or that we drink (BIG no-no); or have boys as friends, so on and so forth, you all get the idea.
  6. Be prepared for the assumptions that since you’ve been brought up outside, you don’t speak the mother tongue, eat the native dishes, and voicing your opinions on a subject is considered as being spoilt.
  7. Relatives will have an opinion about everything you do or want to do in life; education, clothing, how you behave, work etc.. Be prepared with PPTs if you decide to challenge said views or hold your silence forever.

I could go on and on about what’s wrong with people’s attitude. Thankfully people have started questioning the rigid thinking, so it is getting better.

Change is slow, yes?