Purple Crocus!

Right in the middle of the sidewalk, upon a strip of soil forgotten to be paved, I saw a purple crocus peeking from the ground, lifting its challis like mouth to drink in sunshine! It was a cold morning, yet orange sunlight poured in from the open blinds painting stripes of umber and red upon the old oriental carpet! I sat by the window hoping to catch more glimmers of the arrival of spring as the buds that had fought through the sleepy night waved upon branches of Cherry Blossom!

My spirit felt magnanimous, I was ready to grant an old wish and heal a wounded heart! So I did! Soaring upon the open wings of this beautiful day, I set out to accomplish what is impossible - changing the course of life!  This life has been very kind and yet this was not how I dreamt of doing my part a long, long time back! I started off sure that I was to be loved by all!

Some choices are not choices that are yours. Rather they are fences laid out by those that wish to keep you on the other side. Today my shield was down and my arms were laid yet the fence remained! Scabs fall of, an old wound that remains unhealed! It has been hard to know that some hearts will never find in them love for you. Why not? Is it because they cannot, they will not, they do not? Who knows? Time that's lost can never be found!

The gorgeous morning was waiting patiently for me to return, even as I sat waiting for dead bulbs by the window sill to come awake. I sighed as I retreated, my shield is down, my arms are laid, but these fences they are mine now! The boundary has been drawn to protect myself from unnecessary pain!

I whisper at sunset the words etched in my mind, meta meditation for kindness, may they be peaceful, may they be happy, may they know the beauty of their own true nature! And then I bless myself! "May I be happy, may I be peaceful, may I know the beauty of my own true nature and please may I allow these fences to remain!"

And thank you for this magnificent day!

Once upon a time….

Once upon a time I tried my hand in a culture of passive existence. Here I was taught that it is noble to be submitting, illustrious to be complacent and living meant to sacrifice the self. But my dreams were lofty and I quickly became inept at non-living my life! Thus I did not belong!

Once upon a time I tried my hand in a culture of pretense. Here I was taught to mascaraed in costumes of an era that was gone, to sing hymns to Gods that I hid in my home, to live as a fish on land and attempt to climb a tree. But my heart that remained transparent protested and I quickly grew to despise me! And so I did not belong!

Once upon a time I tried my hand in a culture that allowed me to pick and choose. Here I was taught that I could enmesh opposites, blend in my difference, befriend those unlike me and live as if this life was the best. But now my soul got weary and sunk into the darkest of depths! Therefore I never belonged!

Time was of essence! The depths that I sunk into were deeper at the end! Masks had been blown off! What I saw was unpleasant! I feared! I panicked! I prayed!

Then I heard a voice that was clear- it said- why not you try and belong to yourself?

The options were none, companions not one, the path unheard of and the destination unknown! So I set out on a journey knowing that I may never come back home! There I belonged!

Along the path without a map, I discovered my self, my traits, my quirks, my passions and the richness within my soul! Now I was content within myself and it was safe to come back to my home. Surprisingly it was the very home I had carried with me everywhere! Here I belonged!

Once upon a time I succeeded in belonging to myself! Here I was taught that I was no different than anyone else, I suffer and I cause suffering, I heal and I’m a cause of healing, I laugh and cause laughter, I cry and I cause others to cry! So now I belong everywhere!

The Self-Portrait!

As the train buzzed through the tunnel, I stopped breathing momentarily! I had spent the previous night sitting up anxious about the train-ride! The anxiety had felt unconquerable!

 I planned and rehearsed within the limited space of my un-anxious mind, where I would park, which hand of mine would hold my bag and which hand would hold the exact fare, I memorized the steps involved in purchasing the ticket from the machine, I marked out the safest carriage to travel in, I decided to sit by the window, I would get off at the very last station and walk to art school! The amount of precision in my planning felt inadequate. There remained several what-if's?

What if the traffic was bad getting to the station? What if there was no parking available? What if the ticketing machine messed up? What if I got off at the wrong station? What if a tattooed dude with cigarette breath asked me for change? What if the doors closed on me just as I was stepping out? And several others…

The fact that I was a mother returning to school to study fine art after spending years caring for my children, the certainty that I would be the oldest student in class, the discomfort of being in a class with college age kids that I could have easily birthed, the leap of faith with which I was attempting my hand at something I had zero training for - these things were inconsequential! On the other hand, the train ride that would take me to school felt paralyzing! 

For those of us suffering with anxiety, this is common! The big things are relatively easy; it’s always the tiny mechanics of everyday living that gets to us!

Anyway, most didn't expect that I would survive school; in fact I didn't expect to survive school either! But I was overcome by desire, a desire so strong that all obstacles felt meager and beatable. 

My first class was drawing, I had never taken a class in drawing before, and I sucked! The professor was surprised, that I returned to class the next week! Even I don't know why I returned - I was simply hopeless! We were standing in the cast hall amidst sculptures that felt alien to me, David, Nike of Samothrace, Dying Slave, La Lagoon, bust of Socrates and several others that I did not know about! 

Sweat dripped down my back, my heart beat faster and my face was flush with shame and anxiety when I was asked if I had ever drawn before. I softly confessed that I had not. The professor did his best and gave me a few pointers. I felt humbled! The kids in my class were brilliant! They drew effortlessly! I took a deep breath and returned to my easel, with a piece of charcoal to draw with. 

Just like that, I cut out all the noise around me! I stopped looking at the work of others! I forgot myself as I felt and could only feel the burning desire to draw to the best of my ability. I was determined! '‘No, no, try again, want it, want this thing to work, make it happen, harder, work harder!', a voice from inside pushed me and I obeyed quietly! By the end of the class I was surprised! My drawing was not exact but it had improved! 

Soon, I would tackle one of the hardest drawings with architectural accuracy; my professor shook my hand as he whispered congratulations! 

The train ride got easier; I befriended several drivers and chatted with them casually! I loved my classes! I felt more alive that I ever did before! 

Today I painted a self-portrait! Who could have imagined?

Spring is in the air….

The warm weather is finally in, warming my spirit and rushing my life into frenzied action. The deck needs to be swept and decked with potted flowers, kites need to be bought to fly against the clear blue skies on a lazy afternoon, the perfect picture of Popeye popping a bubble needs to be taken and windows have to be opened to allow fresh air into stale rooms.

I cannot wait any longer, its time for the buds to sprout, the leaves to break open, the last rock of hardened snow to melt away and take winter along with it. On the first warm day, which was yesterday, I ran out and bought a beach ball, bubble wands, colored chalk and fresh flowers, claiming they were for my children.

Some days are just perfect! On such days, I don’t try to hide the kitchen table, colored in with crayons, with a table cloth, I don’t care if the rose bud is placated beside the full blossom to balance the arrangement, I don’t need any music or different lighting! Dinner, prepared with love is enjoyed in cozy pajamas and the chatter is about a million nothings!

 I had trouble writing earlier, as the inner critic was on and relentless, she begged me to produce perfection! But today is different! I feel like I woke up smaller than my regular size this morning and it feels wonderful! My heart wishes to write today and I have gently abided, my spirit feels free and the heavy critic has dropped off my aching back! 

Today I can write, stories without morals, essays about candy wrappers, I can choose to produce a sonnet with just fifty words or I can go off the path and yonder. When did she leave - the inner critic? Don't ask me, I don’t know! Perhaps it’s got something to do with the wee brown bird that sat upon the fence and peered at me through the window!

Somehow the day feels flighty and there is simply no need for heavy preponderance. I must have turned around and decided to write in some sleeping moment, a soft thought to not be shy and walk into the woods bare footed like the breeze!

The house is still and quiet. A shoe- box sits on the coffee table and newspapers lie scattered everywhere. There is a painted pinecone and a giant sombrero sitting upon the chair. There is not a soul, none other than my own and I am alone! And yet, I have my words, these words that are setting me free!

India's Daughter

I was thirteen and was done with my eight grade final examination! A few of my friends and I decided to celebrate by going out to a movie. We decided to watch a matinee just so that we would all be back home before dark. As we all stepped out of the theatre after the movie was done, we laughed and joked around as youngsters typically do.

The crowds outside the theatre were massive. Suddenly out of nowhere I felt a hand creep up and grab me. I was shocked, I could not trace the hand back to the face of the person who had dared to touch me and as such I could not slap him as hard as my skinny thirteen-year-old hands could. 

I felt deeply ashamed and somehow violated! I felt reluctant to speak about the incident with my friends feeling that I might be judged. Neither could I speak about it with my mother, as I feared that she would curtail my already scanty freedom.  Somehow I bore the blame! I was angry with myself for not being careful enough. I was pissed at myself for allowing myself to be distracted. Then again this would not be the first time such episodes were to happen. 

As I got older I grew wiser, I was always acutely aware of my surroundings, I avoided streets that were vacant at all times of the day, I paid close attention to my instincts and always obeyed them, I was forever prepared to push back or hit back offenders and in heavy crowds I used safety pins to make sure that no one came too near. 

It was burdensome! Being a woman in India is not easy and it never was!  The prevalent mind-set is sickening! More episodes are hushed and silenced than brought out into the open because if something is wrong then the blame gets easily shifted onto the woman. What saddens me the most is that the culture encourages such silence. A woman with a voice is and has always been unwelcome, provocative, controversial and shamelessly bold be it inside or outside the house. 

There are several suggestions on how we can mitigate such problems and opinions are aplenty. But how is a dialogue possible without honesty, without admitting even to our own selves that we have a problem that needs to be dealt with. If we are to go about our lives pretending not to notice the elephant in the room, then how are we to even imagine sitting down with an open heart for a conversation. 

My own child turned thirteen yesterday and I sure hope that she will have the opportunity to live in a more safer world than I did!

Defiance

"Sister Jane, please sing for us!” we chanted with pleading faces. We were in seventh grade.  All of our brains had stepped into puberty even if our bodies hadn't. We were no longer gullible children nor were we full fledged adults ready to take on the world. Living somewhere in between these two worlds we had started to think for ourselves and formulate an identity.

The layout of all the classrooms in the Catholic school was the same. The blackboard was located in the center of the room, the teacher's desk on one side of the blackboard, the entrance to the classroom on the other side, a cupboard before you hit the entrance, a trash can in one corner, a poor box that collected coins donated to the poor by the poor, rows or neatly arranged tables and chairs for us students, a area to place lunch carriers and that's about it I guess!

Anyway, our brains had started to think! That was simply dangerous! While we could be coerced into behaving a certain way, our unbending spirits had started to become a problem. Favoritism openly practiced by the teachers, a long time suffering for the good majority of us, was making us angry. Disparity in our homes and economic status was becoming apparent. No longer aiming to please constantly we hated those teachers who hated us and loved those from whom we felt love.

So sister Jane, a young nun, was not a particularly favorite one. She was mild tempered and spoke about kindness during moral science but unlike the others nuns her aggression was passive. She pretended that she did not see you if you raised your hand, she had the quick tempered principal to do the yelling for her, made horrifyingly humiliating comments without raising her voice and pretended to be unaware of being partial to a select few.

So she sang a song from a movie, in a nasal voice that could definitely not hold a tune. 'Daddy daddy…… oh! my daddy……' she sang, gazing at her desk and smiling softly in hindsight she was probably thinking about her daddy! Anyway, I could not hold in my giggle, her voice was simply hilarious. My face turned red, my eyes were fixed upon the floor and yet my body was shaking with internalized laughter violently! Now laughter, it is contagious, soon the majority of us were giggling! Then we started to laugh! Loud uncontrollable laughter! If we were to be crucified, so be it, we would die laughing!

Boy! That was such a release! Release from our powerlessness in the hands of wicked teachers, release from our hidden anger, release from the humiliation we suffered daily and a release for all those uncontrollable hormones that we had to put a lid on!

Sister Jane cried, she ran from the class room, there was a teacher's meeting, announcements were made in the school assembly, we were asked to write out our apologies, our half-assed apologies were disliked, we were asked to write about what we thought of our teachers, our candid opinions were too revealing, the principal came in and yelled in great fury, she wanted it righted, the situation needed to be made right somehow but it was impossible!

Our laughter had sounded around the universe and can still be heard! The bottled spirits were released and they refused to grant wishes! I still think about that episode in passing, it was my moment of defiance and ever since then my spirit has been free.