You lose hope, you lose it all

However hard I try to steel myself, there are some things which pierce the armour I am trying to build about me. Like today. Went in the morning to the hospital and brought the physiotherapist home. She tried so hard to cajole Ajja into doing some exercises , and, to try and make him sit up. He was stubbornly non-cooperative. Refused to open his eyes and look at her. No amount of coaxing from us could get him to open an eye, utter a word or move a limb. He lay - passive, non responsive, non cooperative. As tough he couldn't hear us. Or may be, he didn't want to hear us.

He's been so since Sunday. Till then, in spite of the fall, in spite of the operation- he was communicative, responsive. Always talking - sometimes coherently, sometimes incoherently. But, when he wasn't sleeping, he would at least be awake - with eyes open. Since Sunday, it is as though he has given up. He is slowly shutting himself out. Sometimes, when I repeatedly call out to him, he opens his eyes for a second - and, I find a pair of grayish blue eyes staring bleakly into mine. The gaze is scary - scary because there is no hope in those eyes. No zest for life, no emotion - except, at times, while we struggle with the duties like cleaning him, clothing him etc, I see a glimmer - is it Pain? Am I imagining it? It feels as though he is mutely asking me - "I've given up. Why wont you refuse to let go? Why do you coax me to eat and exercise? Leave me".

But, Ajja, you should understand. We can't let go. Even if you have given up, we can't. We have to keep doing all that is humanely possible to keep you comfortable, and, try and improve your condition as much as possible. We have to keep on fighting, even if you have decided that the battle is lost. We cant give up on Hope, cause it is the only thing that is keeping us going. Maybe one day you will shake off this stupor, and may be our Hope will rub off onto you. Maybe you will start fighting again. With that hope, we will go on.

Catharsis

Ajja [Grandpa, in Konkani] fell down and broke his femur head [hip joint]. He had to be operated. Now he is still bedridden - a complete dependent. Weak in both body and mind. Wanting to walk again but unable to walk, unable to strengthen his mind to overcome the pain experienced while trying to walk with his reconstructed limb. He aches. I ached, looking at him facing this hardship at such an advanced age. I worried about where this would lead, how this would affect my parents. I cried, helpless, unable to alleviate Ajja's pain or to allay my parent's fears about the complications that might arise, if he remained bedridden. I was confused, a continual drone within my head, where thoughts tried to sort themselves out. I tried to look into the hazy future, and saw no solutions to my questions. I called Prati, to talk to her. She said - "It is all in the mind. Your pain, your confusion. Your helplessness arises out of ego. It is because you think that YOU can help, that the fact that you actually can't, frustrates you." I asked her "Why this pain? Why this illness?" She said "Pain is catharsis. You learn from pain, from treating loved ones in pain. You grow from such nursing". I almost laughed - at the absurdity of the statement. I wanted to believe her, to put my mind at rest, but, couldn't bring myself to accept the veracity of her statements.

But, a week later, I guess, I am beginning to understand. I learnt how to stay unaffected, yet care with all your heart. Earlier, I had a misconception. That to care, one must genuinely feel what the other is going through. But now, I realise that this would just wreck your mind and cause havoc within you. Then, you would need caring as well! In fact, one can care better if one can stay detached.

I learnt not to peer into the future, or ponder over the past. Some questions shall remain unanswered. Maybe, because it is better not to have them answered, or, even more so, because their being answered isn't necessary. To be in the present, to concentrate on the need of the hour - is highly soothing.

Above all, I learnt to love my Ajja again. Over the last couple of years, Ajja had grown slightly senile. He would keep repeating himself, asking the same questions over and over again. I know it is despicable, but, I developed a growing sense of irritation about him and his ways. Now, all my childhood memories come rushing back to me. About how he used to brush my teeth, how he would carry me around to the temple, how he would read out stories to me, give me hand-made cards on my birthday, taught me how to write letters, how to draw maps, nurtured in me this love for English, realised each of my whims, doted on me, treated me like a princess. I learnt to love him again. I realised that I can't make him walk, I can't take away his pain, I can't make him recover miraculously - but I could love him. Give him all my love - and that, I am doing. I now , therefore, feel that taking care of him - feeding, bathing, cleaning up - isn't a chore. He did the same for me when I was small, and was unable to do them myself. Now the roles are reversed. But, the drive to do these things, isn't a misplaced sense of duty. It is love. And, it makes it all worthwhile and bearable.

Now, I can understand why Prati said that the experience is cathartic. It gave me back an important part of myself which had been suppressed in the past few years. It cleansed me.

Eleven minutes

In these holidays, I’ve been indulging myself – no, I don’t mean “binge eating” :D . I mean to say, I’ve been indulging in one of my passions – Reading. Finished a few books – ‘The Namesake’ [just ok, nothing extraordinary, usual NRI-identity crisis stuff], ‘The Sleepers’ [damn good, hard-hitting], some novel by Rosamund Pilcher [crappy sloppy love story :D], ‘A town like Alice’ [really good, and again, hard-hitting, but felt it slightly dragging and, in places, wandering away from the main focus, which slackens the grip it has on the reader].

Now, reading this really awesome book called “Eleven minutes” by Paulo Cohelo. One of the best books I’ve read in recent times, and, after a really long time, it’s been one book which got me so involved that I could almost feel the protagonist’s emotions as I went through the book. The protagonist is a prostitute and the book speaks about sex [“Eleven minutes is all it takes” to quote Maria, the protagonist]. But, there’s none of the taboo that generally accompanies it. Usually, the books which speak about sex – project it as either sinful [esp. religious texts do so], else, in a technical manner [as in all the “guide” books], or concentrate just on it, missing out on other accompanying emotions [as in the M&Bs]. Here, the treatment of the subject is entirely different. It is a male author, speaking through a women protagonist, so, I guess, both men and women can relate to the book. Maria is portrayed as a really strong woman. Her very positive attitude towards life strikes you as you go through the book. It is all about where life leads her. Her quest for love, the repeated disappointments, her utter frankness [and lack of shame] about getting into her profession for the money and the adventure, the occasional qualms she has – all have been brought about in a simple yet touching manner by the author. Though she is business like, and very professional in her attitude, there’s a woman within her who is a romantic and hopes to find the “Love of her life”. Though she faces hardships, she takes them positively, takes home lessons from them, and moves on. It portrays her journey, her growth as a person, her views on sex and love, and how these vary with her experiences and as she grows as a person. Here’s an excerpt from one of her accounts about love :

“All my life, I thought of love as some kind of voluntary enslavement. Well, that is a lie: freedom only exists when love is present. The person who gives him or herself wholly, the person who feels freest, is the person who loves most wholeheartedly.

And, the person who loves wholeheartedly, feels free.

That is why, regardless of what I might experience, do or learn; nothing makes sense. I hope this time passes quickly, so that I can resume my search for myself – in the form of a man who understands me and does not make me suffer.

But what am I saying? In love, no one can harm anyone else; we are each of us responsible for our own feelings and cannot blame someone else for what we feel

It hurt when I lost each of the various men I fell in love with. Now, though, I am convinced that no one loses anyone, because no one owns anyone.

That is the true experience of freedom: having the most important thing in the world without owning it.”

Whom do you trust?

What do you do when there’s a clash of thoughts between you and those of people who are really close to you? When your judgment of people or situations differs from those whose opinion you really value? When your close friends’ advise you, wishing well for you, but, somehow your gut feeling and your beliefs tell you otherwise? When you are in quandary, unable to decide which path to take, the one you would want to, the one you’ve believed in, or the one that people who are older, more mature and considerably “more experienced” are asking you to take? You would surely want to stick to your decisions, but a doubt arises, as to whether you are doing the right thing? Whether you should, instead, sit back and objectively think about the advice that’s been given to you? What if, inspite of that, you want to continue with your decisions? If you still stick to your decisions, you must be brave enough to face the repercussions, if any, take whole responsibility for your actions and above all, never look back and blame yourself. Are you “man” enough [such a MCP phrase! :D] to do that? What if you later on realize your judgment was “wrong”, that what you had believed in all along was “wrong”? Scary thought, isn’t it? But faced with such a situation, I would still go by what I believe in. All the advice that people give me is no doubt well-meaning. Maybe I am being foolhardy. But, I prefer to trust my judgment, my point of view over others'. And, regarding “right” and “wrong”, I would take a leaf out of Prati’s book and say there’s nothing “right” or “wrong”. Things are not always black and white. The opposite of one truth is, very often, another truth. Right and wrong is all depending upon where the observer is standing. And, to transcend right and wrong, to look beyond that, is the greatest achievement that one can have. It is best not to classify, to just experience, and, to move on. That is the highest state one can achieve, and, I shall aim for that.

Role Playing

Contemplation seems to be the key word for me these days :D As I was mentioning in my last post, some words, some sentences have a way of coming back to me.. and, each time they do, I find myself interpreting them differently, finding a greater depth to those words. Such is the case with these words uttered by my English teacher in my 2nd BSc. We had to study the play Macbeth as part of the English course and we had the good fortune of having a lady called Sukanya to teach us. She was simply splendid, and, through her, the play nearly came to life. We could feel the transformation of Macbeth, from a consentitious soldier to a ruthless tyrant, the slow degeneration of his relation with Lady Macbeth, the way they go from being husband-wife, to partners in a crime, to the point where the mere sight of the other reminded them of the sin they had committed. Sukanya ma’am taught the play amazingly well. In this course, she brought up a few topics which were pretty unsettling.

One of them was the fact about role playing. She was asking us, “when are you truly you?” or rather, ‘who is the true you? Does the true ‘you’ ever surface?’ At college, we play the role of a teacher/student, outside, we are friends of someone, even at home, we do not stop playing the role of a dutiful daughter, a spouse, a parent etc. So, eventually, in solitude, do we relax completely? Or, are we so used to role playing, that even in solitude, we can’t stop? Do we subconsciously assume the role of the kind of individual we/others want us to be? These words were hard hitting and disconcerting at the same time.

At IIT, in a course called Environmental Science, in the module handled by Prof. Asolekar, one of the exercises was “role playing”. Here, all the students had to assume different roles in a given situation and argue for the cause from the point of view of the person whose role they were assuming. The debate was about banning motor vehicles in the whole of IITB. The Prof. took on the role of the director of the insti, while we students took on the roles of student bodies, mess workers, cleaners, faculty members, environmental activitists and similar groups that might be affected by such a ban. We girls together formed a women’s group [representing the wives of the profs] and we opposed the ban saying that such a thing would hinder all our day to day activities which involved bringing in groceries and stuff, also with dropping kids off at school and picking them up etc. Though our argument wasn’t really strong, we built upon it steadily, and managed to put across a strong view, stating inconvenience and also, safety as our main points. The point is that as we got caught up with role playing, I was getting more and more convinced about our role, and, also that if such a ban were to happen, the women would seriously be terribly inconvenienced!!

Both these things, what Sukanya ma’am said about role playing and also this activity that we had done at IIT came back to me in the weekend. And, I wondered – Isn’t it true? Role playing is so dangerous! The more you assume a role, the more you start thinking like a person, and the deeper you get into it, the more firmly you start adopting the beliefs of the character whose role you are assuming, And, after a certain point, your ‘astitva’ is lost. You no longer have an existence beyond the role. I have seen this happen to several women. They end up being daughters, wives, mothers, sisters of so-and-so and the person that they are totally loses existence! Such a scary thought! I don’t want to lose my identity ever and will stirve to maintain it !!

I am mine

If I had to name the people who have had a major influence on the way I think and who have helped to shape me into the person I am now, it would be Prati, Akka, Ram, Rash n Sume. But sometimes, some conversations I have had with others, some words uttered, have a way of coming back and making me think. This is one such conversation

I had heard of Priyadarshan Sahasrabuddhe [more popularly PD], heard him sing in Surbahar etc, but got to know him personally after the inter-hostel classical music competition in Jan this year. Soon after that, I bumped into him one day morn, in the SAC grounds. Somehow we got talking and talked for nearly an hour. He told me about the time he spent with tribal people in Maharashtra, as a part of the SEARCH program organized by Abhay and Rani Bang. This couple, both doctors, did their PG from Johns Hopkins. They began this movement called SEARCH in India, where they encouraged people to contribute towards the benefit of the society in general. They advocate that contributions to the society need not be monetary alone, or to bring about welfare of the under privileged, one need not give up one’s career and go and join an NGO. By doing what ever we are doing, be it science, business, medicine or industry, we still can use our skills for the betterment of the masses. And how to do so, is what they tell in their program. As a part of the seven day program that PD attended, one day was spent in contemplation. They were asked to ponder over questions like “Who am I?” and “Whose am I?” The latter question seemed poignant to me at that time, but I did not feel its full impact back then. Surprisingly, after that day, I never got to talk to PD at that length again. It might be over-inference, but, somehow I am inclined to believe that that particular conversation had some significance, some purpose, and was meant to have an effect in my life. Which is why it happened in a totally unexpected fashion, from a totally unexpected source!!

Anyway, coming back to the point, during the weekend, the question “Whose am I?” returned to me. Whose am I? Do I belong to my parents? Am I here to satisfy their desires? To fulfill my duties as a daughter to the T and give them all possible happiness? Am I indebted to my nation? Is it my duty to serve the people in my nation alone, to utilize all my skills to the maximum possible extent for the betterment of “My” people? Or, looking at the bigger picture, am I a part of the world? The world, where the division into countries is man-made, and where people are just the same all over? Is it wrong on my part to work for Science as a passion, irrespective of the place I was living? Felt my thoughts straying to the Pearl Jam song … “I only own my mind, I am mine..” Yes, I belonged to myself. I was here to live my life the way I wanted to. To fulfill my wishes and my desires primarily. I did not have the power to give anybody else happiness, because Happiness is just a state of mind, and unless someone opens themselves to Joy, no amount of effort on others’ behalf can make them happy. But I could make myself happy, by doing what gave me maximum satisfaction. As much as I had a responsibility to my family, I had a responsibility to myself as well. To try and realize my dreams and not let them get squashed, subdued and forgotten, only to go deep in my heart and stay there as bitterness. It was my duty to myself to try and make my dreams come true. If circumstances willed otherwise, atleast I would have the satisfaction of having tried. I might err, I may make rash decisions or judgments at times, but the mistakes would be mine, and I would have the satisfaction of trying to do what I wanted to do. Yes, I was mine. I belonged to me.

Return to Innocence

Went to Prati’s place over the weekend. For those of you who don’t know, Prati is a very dear friend of mine, almost like a sister to me. She and her family are the most “real” people I have met, who give two hoots about the society, live life the way they want to, without the trappings of the niceties that have to be observed with so-called “relatives”. For all those who are scared that if you are radical, you would be friendless, these people are like eye-openers. They have an extraordinarily large circle of like-minded friends, all interesting people, a mere talk with whom leaves one with the feeling of having learnt something! Prati’s family lives in a farm in the outskirts of Bangalore, their home a beautiful combination of the old and the new. The house is aesthetically designed, situated at one end of a huge [nearly 20 acres] farm, built with eco friendly materials and methods, having a lovely “totti” [an open quadrangle] in the centre, stone pillars, red-oxide flooring, tiled roof – at the same time, equipped with all the modern appliances you would expect to find in a sophisticated place in the heart of the city! The house is very well designed, and, this together with the surrounding environment , make it very pleasant to stay, without any fans, even on the hottest summer days! And, in such a beautiful place, live Prati, her sister, her father and four lovely dogs!

From before, whenever I am very confused, I turn to Prati. She helps me see sense. She doesn’t advise much, just asks me the right kind of questions which help clear my mind, and sets me thinking in the right direction, so that eventually, I come up with the answer and set right the mess in my head. The previous week had been pretty tough for me, with few emotional scenes at home regarding my future career plans. My parents were confused and I felt all the more so. So, when Prati invited me over, I just went.

It was catharsis. We talked a lot- Prati and I – and, as usual, it helped. But, what I really carried back with me this time – was the solitude. The vast sky, the lack of any traffic, the jhoola [swing] on the trees – where one could swing till you felt your feet touched the clouds, the fields, the mogra plants teeming with fragrant flowers, the mango trees with fruit hanging so low that you could just reach out and pluck it off, the serenity of the place…. I spent a lot of time by myself.. just absorbing the feel of the place, till my mind felt devoid of any thought. Last evening, we just sat and watched the onset of the monsoon – the black clouds gathering in the horizon, their approach towards us, the distant thunder, the dazzling flashes of lightening – and then the downpour! Watched the plants rejoicing as it rained. Heard the soothing gurgles made by the water as it came into the house, into the stone paved totti . We just sat. We dint talk – there was no pressure to keep a conversation going, the silence was both comfortable and comforting. I was reminded a James Herriot story, where he spoke of these people who lived in this really remote farm. He spoke of observing them just sitting, Not watching the telly, not even conversing, but just sitting. We did just that yesterday. It was something I had forgotten. To be comfortable with myself. To be quiet – without any activity. To just be. The silence around slowly percolates within to create a general feeling of calmness. This wasn’t the kind of happiness you got in any group activity, This was an inner joy, which was longer lasting. I remembered the Enigma song “…look into your heart, my friend, that will be the return to yourself, the return to innocence” . That’s what it was. A return – to nature – to one’s roots – to one’s true self.