ON A TRAIL
‘’Where is it?’’ He asks. They have just come back to land after a swim. Dripping wet, he is searching through his pockets. They were standing by the edge of the lake, and she is looking at her reflection in the moving water. A gentle breeze pushed along through the lake and ripples like tiny waves were forming and crashing at the edge.
‘’Look at our reflection. It’s like the ripple effect I used on one of the portrait edits a few days ago. I remember focusing very hard to get the curves to look realistic. Sorted through a lot of stock references too. I should have just come here earlier for inspiration.’’ She turns to look at him. He is looking down at the reflection. But his eyes seems to be further away. Beyond the reflection.
‘’It has to be down there. Did you pack the snorkels?’’ He turns to look at the car, parked a few feet away. ‘’I’m getting the snorkel.’’ He says, and begins walking towards the car.
She turns to look back at the reflection. She is now alone in it. She keeps looking at herself, her hair moving in the water. A lonely bird flies above her and she gasps ‘’A shooting star!’’
before she erupts into an uncontrollable giggle. ‘’Oh what would I do without you?’’ She says out loud, to no one in particular.
‘’Without who?’’ She hears his voice from behind her. She turns to see he is already gearing up with his mask, cleaning it with his spit before he smacks it tight on his face. ‘’Are you sure you want to do this? Really, it’s just a hotel key. I’m sure they have provisions for situations exactly like this one.’’ Her brows are gathered together in deep concern.
‘’I added the beacon to the key chain for this very purpose. It’s great, now I get a chance to test it out.’’ The mask is already securely fastened and his voice sounds different. She takes a moment to register the whole scene before she lets out a deep sigh.
‘’Is that why you paid no attention to me when I warned you thrice that you need to take the keys out from your pocket before you jump into the lake?’’
He looks at her blankly. ‘’What do you mean?’’
She studies his face quietly. He looks clueless. Perhaps, she was reading too much into it? He had been acting strange off late, but she had been having a few tough couple of weeks as well. Just as she decided to let it go, she notices the unmistakable slow gentle flare of his nostrils. He’s regulating his breath intentionally. He’s got a good poker face, but she has known him far too long. Over the years, she devised her own unique ways to cope with his unique behaviours. “You wanted to lose the keys”, she laughs as she picks up a pebble from the ground and throws it his way playfully. “Why didn’t you just throw it in the lake directly, if that was the case? Why go through all this deception?”
He relaxes and grins. “Where’s the fun in that? The whole point is that it has to feel organic.” His lips curl in a way which make her want to walk up to him, lean in and kiss him and then shake him silly till he is out of his head. But she holds herself back and watches him as he puts the fins on, one by one. After a pause, she quizzes him -
‘’How can it ever be organic if it’s made up?’’
He’s all geared up now, the mask, the fins, his navigation clock clasped firmly on his wrist while his fingers are busy fiddling with the beacon. He looks up at her, and seems to be pondering over the question before he blurts out suddenly, ‘’Don’t bug me. I’m going in to find it.’’
“OK. But please give up if you don’t succeed in 15 minutes? And don’t stay down there for too long a stretch? You always over estimate your limits. Just come up quicker than when you need to, you can always go back down again. ” She watches him flop towards the water, his ears tuned out from her words.
It’s a funny sight, she thinks, as he continues to wade through the water. She wants to laugh, but she has laughed this laugh too many times and adds stoically, “I’m not going to just sit here, waiting for you to finish your little game. I will leave if I start to get bored. I really want to check out that trail upstream, I can see some very pretty colours from here.”
He turns around and looks at her. “Is that so? Why didn’t you tell me that? I would have tied the beacon on your wrist instead!” And in a quick second, before she can respond, he reaches up, pinches his nose, lifts his weight up and dives backwards into the water, his finned legs, hanging in the air for a few seconds before he completely disappears. Instinctively, she looks at her phone. The time is 4:18 PM
She stands staring at the lake. Large ripples spread out from the spot he dived, like waves radiating out, spreading further and further, until they dissipate into a seemingly controlled stillness. The air feels cold and there is a light breeze. She can hear the birds chirping as well as the leaves rustling. She closes her eyes and tries to isolate them in her mind. A game she used to play as a child. The sound of the birds was melodic and it made her feel reassured. The sound of the rustle felt light and refreshing, but the more she focused on it, the colder she began to feel. The rustle began to evolve into whispers and she opened her eyes to look at her phone. 4:20 PM
No sign of him yet.
‘’I’ll have a quick smoke, and then head out on that trail,’’ She says out loud, to no one in particular.
LOVE & PATIENCE: THE BRIDGE I WON’T CROSS
I make a joke
But you don’t laugh
I cook a meal
But you don’t eat
I play a song
But you don’t dance
I write a poem
But you don’t read
So I take a walk-
Walk far away
Until I reach a bridge
Do I cross or do I turn back?
Ahead lies a mystery
Possibly more wondrous
Than the silence between our hearts
Yet I cannot cross today
A slight of hand
A knowing glance
And I hear the word
You fail to say
Love me still
Love me still
I’ll return soon one day.
TELL ME A STORY IN THREE PARTS
MEMORIES OF MOM : A 20 YEAR RETROSPECTIVE IN STORIES
This year marks 20 years to my mom’s death. I’ve started to pen down some stories in her memory. This one is called Tell Me a Story in Three Parts.
I
“Tell me a story from when I was young”
“Ok, which one?”
“The one where I would play with the glass and spoon”
“Ok. Come here.”
“When you were a baby, maybe 6 months old? You had learned how to sit up. Your great grandfather used to own a restaurant back then. Most of the food would come from there. So we only needed to make the basics at home.”
“What is basics?”
“Basics was rice, and pappadum. The sambar or rasam, and the upperi’s would come from the restaurant. So the women in the house did not have too much work in the afternoons. We would finish lunch ad then sit to play a few rounds of cards.”
“Who all were there?”
“Well, there was me, and your Velyammumma, Achamma and Akila and Bagyoppol and Geetammai.”
“And then what happened”
“You were the only baby in the house at the time. So we would put you next to us while we sat in the living room in a circle to play. You remember the living room of the Thirumangalam house?”
“Yes”
“That’s where we sat and played. It was the funniest thing. To keep you busy while we played, we would give you a steel spoon and a glass to play with.”
“Hehehe those were my toys?”
“Yes. Thats what was so funny to us. It was just a spoon and a glass. But you would get so excited playing with it. You would sit for hours, playing. First you would hit the glass with the spoon from one end then you would hit from another and be very amused when you would hear the sound it makes.”
“What is amused?”
“Amused is when you are excited and happy and laughy.”
“hehe. I was amused.”
“Yes. Then you would turn it around another way, hit it from there and hear the sound. You wouldn’t make noise or bang it in a disturbing way. You would enjoy playing. I couldn’t believe how you would not get bored, not disturb us, but just sit there and play with the spoon and the glass. And I could tell how much you enjoyed it. Every single day, you played with that glass and spoon with the same excitement.”
“I wouldn’t disturb you?”
“Not at all. You would play own your own, until we finished our game. I was so amazed. How can a baby be so happy playing with a spoon and glass everyday. Some days, we would give you a plate and you would be soooo happy, it was like you didn’t know what to do! How to contain your excitement. ”
“hehehe a plattteee??!”
“Yes! So now you had two things to hit with the spoon. And it was like you won a prize or something. It was so cute to watch.”
“hehehe so funny.”
“I thought it was so beautiful. Such a simple thing. A spoon and a glass. You know, today, you play with so many toys. Even then, you had toys. But to watch you play with so much happiness with just a simple spoon and glass, it was very beautiful. You would be lost in your game like it was the most fun thing to play with. I learned a lot from you.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes, I love you. So much!”
II
Mum, tell me a story.
Ok. Which story do you want to hear?
About how I don’t drink milk.
OK. When you were born, I was very young. Just barely 21. I knew nothing about how to take care of a baby. But I was lucky. When you were born, for the first two years, we lived with the whole family. There were more than 5 women in the house - your Ammumma, your Achamma, Akila Aunty, Geetammai, Baghyavelyamma were also there. And for 7 years, there had been no other baby in the house, so everyone happily wanted to take care of you.
There was just one problem. You didn’t like to drink milk.
I didn’t like milk! But all babies drink milk!
Yes. But not you. Of course, in the beginning, the first few months, you were so tiny and couldn’t understand anything. But the moment you started understanding what it meant when I latched you on my nipple, you refused to drink the milk. It was the most fascinating thing for me. A baby who is so tiny, doesn’t know anything, doesn’t even speak, but the moment the milk from my breast touched your mouth, you would just promptly turn your face away. Refusing to drink.
Hehehe. And then?
And then what? Everyone worried a lot. A baby who doesn’t drink milk!? They tried everything to make you drink milk, but you hated it. Initially, we forced you to have the milk, and eventually you would get hungry and give in and have the milk. But after a while, you would just not drink any milk. Then we thought, ok, maybe if not milk, curd? So we tried giving you some curd. That you didn’t have a problem, you ate it very happily. But it was still strange for everyone. A baby who doesn’t drink milk, may not grow well, may have some deficiencies.
What is deficiency?
Deficiency is when you don’t have enough of something. For example, everyone worried that if you don’t have enough milk, there will be a deficiency of all the healthy things in milk that help keep your body strong. But secretly, I was happy. Because you know, even I don’t drink milk. I have never liked it. I don’t drink coffee and tea because of that.
So I was like you!
Yes, you were like me. I was so happy. And I didn’t care that you didn’t like milk. I knew you would grow up and have lots of other things you will like and will be healthy. I remember when I was young, I was forced to drink milk until I got much older. I hated it. The smell used to make me want to vomit.
Yuckkk me too. I hate the smell of milk. We are same.
Yes, we are. It’s so yucky isn’t it? I don’t know how everyone drinks it.
Even I don’t know! Then what happens
Well so then, everyone was really worried you may not be as healthy. So just to be safe, we took yo upto a doctor and told him about it. Luckily, he said that it’s okay and if I’m having curd, that’s good. It shouldn’t be a problem. So since that day, you were excused from drinking milk.
And now we both don’t drink milk!
Yes, we both don’t drink milk. But we love Laban!
We love laban!
III
Mum, tell me a story.
Ok. Which one?
The one where you and dad were in the war.
Ok. So this was when you were three or four years ago. We were here, in Saudi. And the Gulf War broke out. We were both very scared. We didn’t know what was going to happen and whether we should get out or stay.
Wait! You didn’t tell about what the Gulf War was
Oh yes! I forgot. Sorry. So the Gulf War, was when two countries Iraq and Kuwait went to war. They’re both near Saudi Arabia, and everyone in the Middle East got involved. The United States, along with Saudi Arabia and a lot of other countries supported Kuwait. The US Army came into Saudi and set up bases to support Kuwait in the war. We didn’t know what was going to happen and whether we should get out or stay. Would the war reach where we were staying in Saudi Arabia? We weren’t sure. Should we leave and go back to India? A lot of people were doing it. But we decided to wait and see. And Akbar Uncle, Shameem Aunty, Raj Uncle, Jayanti Aunty, everyone was there too, and we decided to stay and hope for the best.
Were you scared?
Yes. Imagine, I was so far away from India, all our family was back there. And you were so small. Your dad would go to work in the morning and I would just watch TV and follow the news. That year was the first time in history that news channels like CNN and BBC started reporting Live. You remember what Live means?
Yes. They are talking about it when it’s happening.
That’s right. So we were being given information as as when they found out. A bomb has been dropped here. A missile has ben launched from there. There was shelling here. There is a threat of chemical weapons being used. You remember what chemical weapons are?
Yes. They mix the poison in the gas and they release it in the air.
Yes. So if you breathe that air, you will die. They gave us all gas masks. When your dad came back from the office, we would seal all the doors and windows. We would stuff clothes to cover all the corners and sides of the windows which would allow for air to enter. Then we would use masking tape it tight, one two times. This we would do every day. If they would ring the siren outside, it means, they think there could be a chemical weapon attack. So we all had to immediately wear our masks and run and go stand under the shower.
heheheh under the shower? With all our clothes on??
Yes, they said that if we were wearing the masks and standing under the shower, we had the best chance to survive if there was a chemical attack. And there was no time to think, k the moment you hear the siren, you had to leave everything, run, wear your masks and get under the shower. It was so difficult, because you were so small and scared of the mask. And who could blame you, it was all so scary. You hated to wear the mask and you would be scared and cry every time you saw one of us in it.
I’m still scared. The pictures of gas masks are so scary.
Yes, it’s not nice at all. But you don’t have to be scared now. That won’t happen again. You know, Najji was a baby at that time. He hadn’t even started sitting up. There were no masks for babies that small. So you know what they did? The gave him a special box inside which aunty and uncle would put him to be safe.
And then what happened?
Oh and then, the war went on. There was one day, you know, the scariest day, Your dad and I were sitting in front of the tv, we couldn't take our eyes off the news. They were showing us lives when and where a missile was launched from and where it would land. There would be a map and they would show the missile as a tiny drawn cartoon and when it was launched, they would show a path of where it will land and show it moving slowly on that path, and if the missile lands, they would show a cartoon explosion on the map. So then you know, that place is destroyed.
aaandd then…
And then, we saw, they have launched a missile, directly aimed at Aramco!
Nooooo.
Yes! Now do you know what happens at Aramco?
They dig for oil.
Yes. So when you bomb a place which has so much oil, not only that place but the whole area would have been destroyed in seconds. We were so scared. We couldn’t breathe. We were holding our breath and watching this missile, moving : blink blink blink on the screen.
Then…
Then we saw that there was a counter missile that was fired from Saudi. That’s how they would try to fight back. They would fire a missile back at the missile and make it explode in the air before it can destroy the land. So now there are two missiles on the screen : one missile coming towards us and another missile fired at the first missile and going towards it. And we kept watching. They showed them going towards each other and then just colliding and exploding on the screen.
And we were safe!
Yes, we were safe!
How did the war end?
Well, the war went on after this also. At one point it got too much, so Hadi Uncle sent all of the families of everyone working in the company to his hometown Najran. Your father and all the other uncles came for a while but had to go back when their work started again.
Were you scared when dad left?
In the beginning, yes, It’s a very small village, Najran. On the other side of the country, like the ones you see in the desert in those pictures about Saudi Arabia? We all stayed there till it was a safer to come back to the cities. Hadi Uncle’s family, they were very sweet and kind. It was so funny but, Najran was so far away, the people there didn’t even know that there was a war going on!
Hehehe they didn’t even know!! And then I ate Fish there? Tell me that story too!
Yes, you started eating fish there. You loved it so much, I didn’t feel like stopping you either. How much fish you ate there! But that story I’ll tell you later. Now it’s time to sleep.
THE END
DOUBLE BLOOM
This weekend, after we had our garden prepped for the coming monsoons, our landlord requested to borrow the water hose for one of her other properties. We didn’t have an issue, the garden really doesn’t require to be watered now that it’s raining more often. Except though, the lily pond, which we had grown used to watering using the hose.
“But that’s a small thing. We can always use a bucket instead.”, we rationalised.
Early this morning, I set out to do just the same. As I waited for the bucket to fill up, I remembered why we had stopped filling the pond this way and chose to use the hose instead - The hose allows for a regulated slow flow, thus keeping the mud from getting unsettled every time the pond is filled. After filling up the bucket, with a smile on my face for having remembered this tiny detail just in time, I propped it’s edge to the edge of the planter and began to slowly let the water flow in.
What the hose would do with such ease, the bucket demands your undivided attention. A little off balance and the water will just splash on to the planter disturbing the entire ecosystem, making it swirl in a muddy mess. So I pour it, ever so slowly, not taking my eyes off the flow, conscious breathing helping me to stay in the moment and not drift off into listing out the sequence of tasks I had to complete today or worse, unprocessed emotion from some latest conflict that always seems to surround everything these days.
Being completely mindful of the moment, my vision narrows to focus on just what’s in front of me - and I realise, if I push the bucket just a little bit more, I may be able to direct the flow to land on top of the leaf, thus breaking it’s fall into the planter and allowing the water to flow in more smoothly, with lesser effort. Lily leaves float and have a waxy coat on them, so my theory just might work. I nudge the bucket a little and test it, and lo and behold! The water is now flowing from the bucket on to the leaf, spreading all over the leaf and gently easing into the planter, filling it up evenly and silently. I still have to be mindful and not let my excitement ruin the show, so I continue my breathing. It’s takes about a couple of minutes, I cannot be sure, it felt as though time stood still, so I wouldn’t be able to say for sure. When it was done, it felt like all the dopamine and serotonin I needed this morning was rushing to my head. With it dawned many realisations, some of which I will list below :
Hey lily, if we could communicate, I would tell you, yay! Thanks for the helping hand; or in this case, leaf (lol) It’s so much more fun doing it together!
When we are mindful, even a small, seemingly insignificant activity is a creative endeavour.
No matter the weight I may have been carrying on my shoulders, all it took was taking out time to wholly give myself to watering a plant gently.
This is not the first time I’ve been here, in this position. I’ve been training myself to be mindful through my photography, especially my work with newborns, most of them as young as 3 or 4 days old for a very very long time (This is a story for another time)
Oh my, look at how many insights I’m getting, I must write them all before I forget.
Wow! What a great day this feels like it’s going to be, I say to myself. But then of course, there’s Murphy’s Law. And in an instant, another thought comes into my head, “Why does it matter so much that the water not get murky when you fill it?” Of course, one must not be callous and dislodge the plant, but what’s this need to fill the pond so to not allow for any murkiness to appear?
A frown begins to appear on my brow and it felt like the weather gods were listening in to my private thoughts, for suddenly, a thick gray cloud beings to pass over head, bringing a light shower. As I look up, trying to figure if it’s here to stay, I think about how I bog myself down expecting nothing but perfection (more so by my own standards, not anyone else’s) when completing even the simplest task.
The water must not be murky. It must be clear. Always. Says who? Conditioning probably, that equates clarity to be better than murkiness. In reality, the murkiness settles down soon enough to allow for clarity to show up. It is me who lacks the patience to wait till that happens on it’s own.
Not intending to further enable the over thinker in me this early, I look down at the lily pond and watch as the drops of rain that are falling on it start to become bigger, upsetting the clarity of the water and allowing for the murkiness to engulf it. The lily stands proud, and tall, having not noticed a thing.
Suddenly, it dawns on me. Yet another realisation.
‘Ah, a cheeky little one you are, I see.”, I tell the lily. You allowed me think that we were connected in our little interaction, but really, I don’t matter to you. I never did. You don’t care if I’m there or not, for clarity and murkiness have no meaning to you. You’ve got the clouds that shower you from the sky. That’s alright, I’m not offended. A little hurt, maybe. Feeling insignificant, even. But that’s ok. Wait till summer comes, I know you’ll want me to water you again. I hope I’m still here by then. Life can be so strange sometimes.”
In the image above, you see a rare double bloom that happened a couple of months ago - the first and only time I have witnessed it from this lily.
IN MEMORY OF JULIUS
The first time Julius called me was back in 2016, I curtly ended the call with a “not interested.” He was a wine advisor, calling to get me to join the Wine and Spirits Society of India. I didn’t have the time or patience to hear him out. But he was politely patient yet persistent. He called again a couple of weeks later. This time, the began his call a little different. “Hi Ma’am, I hope you’re well. This is Julius again, from the Wine & spirits society of India. I know you told me you weren’t interested last time I called you, but I was hoping you would at least listen to me before you decide. I won’t call back again, if you are really not interested.”
I was amused with his sales approach.
“Alright, Julius, tell me, what’s this wine & spirits society of India upto?”
That’s how we became friends. I say friends, because I wouldn’t feel right using any other word. Every few months, he’d help me pick the 6 wines that went into my case. After it was over, he’d call to have a chat about how I liked them. Pretty standard, but for the fact that Julius, really took an interest at his job. He’d craft a small story about each wine; little bits of trivia. Now, I wasn’t particularly gaga about wine. Ofcourse, I’ve always enjoyed it, but I was a more whiskey or beer person. But after years of living alone, I had learned something about myself : I don’t turn down a good conversation. No matter where it came from. Also, I’m a sucker for trivia.
The first thing I told him was, no reds. I cannot stand red wine. Too dry. But like I mentioned earlier, he’s patient. And he’s persistent. So soon we figured out, It’s not that I don’t enjoy dry wines, I don’t enjoy the tannic ones. And reds are more tannic than whites. Before Julius, the answer to why I don’t enjoy red wine would be, “it’s dry and tastes weird in my mouth” I love the sweet ones but I really enjoy a hint of pepper or spice. I told him full of amusement that it tasted a little like capsicum. He laughed and told me about pyrazines. He knew I preferred ordering 2 or 3 different wines in one go rather than 6 different ones because I always shared with my friends. Once he called me excitedly and said, “Maa’m I’ve got something which I’m sure you’re going to have fun with. A Prosecco Rose. It’s light, it’s floral and it’s bubbly.” He was right, and from then on, we knew we needed to pick just 2 more options for every case. Sometimes, when I wanted a case in shorter notice, he would personally get their closest wine store partners to keep a case ready for me to pick up immediately. When I was getting married, he apologised profusely for not being able to provide a delivery option in Kerala. But he made sure for 6 months, before I went home for wedding prep, I would have a few bottles to carry back each month.
After the wedding, everything became a blur, and I left Bombay soon after. I never told him I was leaving. I still remember when he called me a year later, wondering where I had disappeared. I apologised and told him it’s been a maddening year, and I’ve left Bombay.
“I’m in Goa now.”, I told him.
“Ahh well, at least you’ll keep drinking wine”, he said. “Stay in touch, and let me know if you move back to Bombay.” I didn’t. On both accounts.
He called me again once after COVID struck, we spoke briefly.
“How are you doing, Maa’m? Hope you and the family are safe in the middle of all this.”, he enquired
We spoke for a bit, I told him I was still in Goa. I joked about how it might be a good time for his commissions, now that everyone is at home and drinking a lot. He didn’t really respond, he just laughed. I asked him if I can order a case for him & his family to enjoy, just, you know. Ofcourse, I knew what his answer would be. I told him I’d be in Bombay at some point, I’ll call him and we could pick some new wines again, one more time before we hung up.
Today, I woke up after my nap in the afternoon, reached out for my phone and saw a message from his colleague, informing me of the “unfortunate and untimely death of Mr. Julius D.” Call me naive, but it broke my heart. How can I explain to anyone why? Who can I share this with who will understand my pain? He was a friend. That’s all I can say.
Life is richer when we share our joys and struggles with others. Even strangers can become friends.
You will be missed and remembered fondly, Julius. Thank you for the conversations.
MASHED POTATOES WITH CHEESE
I love potatoes. So I made some mash. Then I shared it with my friends. Some loved it, and asked me to call them when I cook next time.
Some people apparently hated the concept of mash. They kept staring at it like zombies, but refused to taste the mash and instead, indirectly and directly communicated on how wedges are better than mash and that I should make those instead. Some sent recipes. Two people even sent me pictures of themselves standing proudly on a big potato wedge. One cried about how potato wedges are fading out of reality and I must prioritise them.
Now I don’t have a problem with wedges, I make those also on some days. Today I made some mash. What’s the big deal? I was stumped by some reactions. So bizzare.
I should have just stopped at that. But I’m an over thinker. So I went insane analysing the different sides of this situation till my brain became a mash. So I offered everyone some brain mash. Obviously that was not well received either. Except some who tried a spoon.
‘’Are you crazy??’’ I asked them,
‘’That was part joke/part annoyance at others. Why did you try the brain mash??’’
‘’hahaha yes we know!’’ They replied. ‘’It wasn’t the best, but we know you to be mostly a good cook. So we wanted to taste nevertheless.’’
Suddenly, it dawned on me. My kitchen is currently being treated like an à la carte system, where people think they can order what they want when they want. What silly fools, they don’t know me well enough to know that I’ve always enjoyed a buffet - and buffets are all about variety!
So I started a new kitchen. Why not remodel the old? I tried but then I came up with a better idea. A Decoy.
Because if there’s one thing I learned in all my years of cooking, it’s that when you cook, you need to cook with love in your heart. Not fear, not anger, not doubt. LOVE.
LOVE cannot be controlled. It is meant to be limitless.
Enjoy.
THE DETAILS
Last evening, I had a chat with a friend I haven’t spoken to in years. Yet, there was a warmth and familiarity that made it so easy to just flow with the conversation. Apart from the joy of reconnecting with an old friend, it helped me defog a few mixed emotions I hadn’t taken the time out to articulate off late.
Authentic connection is a two way street.
It is a feeling experienced only when both parties come together voluntarily and with raw honesty choose to share context. Without context, the image of ourselves we show the world through our actions and words is like an intricate veil covering the beauty of our face, like heavy shiny earrings that appear to glitter on the outside, but silently cause a world of pain to the earlobes, or worse, like fries without a dip.
A genuine interest in context is an act of love and courage. When we share or attempt to understand another’s context, we are in fact engaging in a sacred act that can feel synonymous to when we don’t hesitate to visit a friend at their home on a day they’re not at their best, haven’t managed to clean up and there’s nothing to eat in the refrigerator, yet you both have a good time and chill out.
Context allows for a person to be a witness to your whole experience and not just the pretty solutions and conclusions you managed to gather after your ego has been put back together into a respectable image. Sharing context reminds us that we are already united in our experience of being human and that any ‘separateness’ or ‘imperfections’ that we see can be equally beautiful if we can abandon our need to constantly try to fix ourselves in order to spend time or communicate with others.
When you make space for an authentic conversation, it opens the gates to embrace creative thought, thus boosting one’s ability to rise above the chains of the skewed perceptions we have of the self and the other. It allows us to love and be loved.
When I experience an authentic connection with another person, I am reminded of the joy I used to feel attending birthday parties from when I was a little kid. You give someone a gift to appreciate them on their special day, but they give you a return gift and suddenly it’s everyone’s special day!
Authentic conversations have a way of triggering memories of events, experiences and emotions you may have forgotten, denied yourself or couldn’t express.
Authentic connections, once experienced, can be forgotten, but never lost. For it is an unsaid bond where you exchange little bits of each other’s soul to carry with you on your journey as a reminder that together, you created and shared a sacred space once. And that space is always there waiting for when you both want to share context again.
TOUCH-ME-NOT, I'M ANXIOUS.
My first fascination with the plant kingdom began with the Mimosa Pudica, or fondly referred to as the ‘touch-me-not’. A trail near my mother’s house was lined with them and as a little kid, I spent many hours interacting with them.
The leaves of this ‘sensitive’ plant close when stimulated and then re-open a few minutes later. This reflex may have evolved as a defence mechanism to disincentives predators, or alternatively to shade the plant in order to reduce water loss due to evaporation . There are other species in the same genus, like the mimosa hostilus, that visually appear to be extremely similar, except for this tiny detail. Very often, while clinging on to the larger picture, the tiny details can be missed and this causes a world of a difference in your perception and experience of reality.
Anxiety is a very important emotion that helps protect you from harm. In our Hunter gatherer ancestors, this was short lived and beneficial as it would kick in the fight or flight response at the sign of an external threat to their survival.
In modern times though, most of the threats are not immediate nor are they threatening our physical existence at every single moment. They are mostly percieved threats, mostly more psychological than physiological in nature; fears and worries of the past (what happened earlier that could happen again) or future (what might happen tomorrow) that threaten the image or ego we have painstakingly built up to maintain our perception of reality and continue functioning in society. As a result, anxiety causes this quick and simple threat detection system to become hypersensitive, changing the behaviour of the attentional spotlight in a way that does harm. We lose track of our focus and begin to be affected by anything that shows even the slightest form of threat. When one is only focused on threat for an extended period of time, it can affect the the information processed by our consciousness, flooding it with extreme, unfavourable and unhealthy perceptions.
The interesting detail is that though our definitions of threat have evolved from that of our ancestors, the physiological response remains the same. When you perceive the existence of a threat, there is an increase in cortisol in your bloodstream, which in turn goes and sits in your serotonin receptors, thus creating an imbalance in your serotonin production. Serotonin is your mood stabilising hormone. Increased levels of cortisol in your blood stream over extended periods of time will eventually lead to many further complications that affect both your perception and processing of reality. If that’s not enough, prolonged periods of anxiety leads to increased inflammation that can eventually end up compromising your over worked and over tired immune system, opening the floodgates to a swarm of physical symptoms and further complications.
Understanding this little detail helps me in may quest to change my relationship with anxiety drastically. It’s not a form of avoidance or denial of the threat, but rather, an awareness of entering into the fight or flight mode. With such an awareness I am motivated to work with tools and practices that complement the lowering of my cortisol levels and regaining balance of my serotonin levels. It can make a world of a difference to understanding my intensity of my perceived threats and have better control over my responses. By becoming self-aware of my anxiety, I am able to influence my attention and focus, I work towards preventing a distortion of my reality, understanding my fears better and upholding my belief structures in a healthier manner.
Effective & safe use of tools like yoga, breathing, meditation, mindfulness practices, artistic expression, CBT Training, a walk in nature, a swim in the sea, any form of active meditation, certain kinds of foods, a conversation with a trusted friend or family member, listening to music or watching content that reminds you of happier and less anxious times, can all help reduce cortisol levels and up your serotonin, thus helping you get back to your centre and reopen in a short while, just like the mimosa pudica.
Legally approved psychedelic research also suggests that safe, informed, appropriate and/or monitored use of psychedelics like MDMA and psilocybin (Psychedelics are illegal in certain countries. The benefits of Marijuana in working with, understanding and managing states of anxiety have also been widely written about and documented. The cannabinoid properties in Cannabis has also been used since ancient times (the Ayurvedic name for the same is Vijaya) as it has proven to have anti-inflammatory and anxiety relieving properties among various other benefits. However, psychedelic substances are not legal in many countries so do research the legality of the same in yours if you choose to work with them in managing your anxieties.
In conclusion, we go back to the Touch-me-not plant for inspiration. The specimens of Mimosa residing in Kew Gardens were observed and it was noted that they no longer curl up to the nudging fingers of countless human visitors that enter it’s space everyday. As expected, they have been touching these plants to see them perform their trick, and over a period of time, the plants have ceased to respond. It would seem to me that the Mimosa plants have learned that being touched repeatedly is a disturbance, yes, but one with no life-threatening consequences and therefore requiring no reaction.
Looks like this inconspicuous plant continues to teach me lessons even after all these years.
This write up is dedicated to my younger sister. Growing up, she was nicknamed “Thotta-Vaadi”, the Malayalam term for the “touch-me-not” plant, primarily because she was very sensitive and would cry at the drop of a hat. While that was true, I enjoyed calling her the name for very different reasons. After 5 years of being the only child, her arrival was very special for me. A friend for life, and one who happened to remind me of my first friend from the plant kingdom.
THE REFRIGERATOR NEEDS TO BE EMPTIED
Every couple of weeks, one of us takes up the task of clearing the refrigerator. Neither of us enjoy doing it. Today is that day. It usually comes the day after one of us mutters in frustration during the post dinner clean up “Where are all the bloody boxes to store food? Do we have absolutely none left?”
“It’s all in the refrigerator. Storing food.”, the other will snap back, like clockwork.
That’s our cue, and we know, one of us will have to lift the load the next day.
Today it was me.
As I open the refrigerator door, I see them all staring back at me, overflowing in their racks. I begin to take them out one by one.
A tiny container with remains of the Avial I made. I remember the day I made it, a large pot of warm coconut goodness, mixed with the colourful and eclectic combination of veggies only it can own. A dish that reminds me of home. Prepared with a lot of love. I had savoured it for 3 consecutive days during the previous week when I felt utterly homesick. 2 ladles of Avail remained after the homesickness faded away, and I had swiftly stuck it in the box and shoved it in, promising myself I would finish it, but now it’s too late. I have to throw it out. There is no other option. Out it goes.
The leftover chicken pulao from the day Mohit was sick of eating vegetarian food and decided to order in. After one serving, he was unable to digest any more of it, and in it went, until now. I have to throw it out. There is no other option. Out it goes.
The greasy oil laden egg burji from when a friend had dropped in to stay and ordered something familiar after two days into our healthy diet at home. Turns out, it wasn’t as familiar as he hoped it would be, and he stuck it in the refrigerator. I have to throw it out. There is no other option. Out it goes.
The veggies my maid chopped, boxed and shoved right at the back end of the refrigerator and forgot to tell me about. A slight miscommunication between us, happens often, and the consequence - it’s too late. the veggies are rotten now. I have to throw it out. There is no other option. Out it goes.
A tub of hummus, and some bottled pesto, both emptied, but not put out for a wash yet, 3 packets of almost empty dahi, save a teaspoon or two. I never understood why they get saved. Tiny boxes of forgotten condiments that get delivered when we decide to order in. Just like the forgotten lone roti that gets stashed but never reheated. Some pieces of wilted fruit, an egg yolk, and other little bits the optimistic hoarder in us couldn’t throw away in case we get a chance to use it later instead of wasting it. But it’s too late now. It gets wasted anyway. I have to throw it all out eventually. There is no other option. Out it goes.
The heaviness begins to weigh me down with each box I empty from my refrigerator. Yes, I hate wasting food. “For every grain of rice you waste, you will spend 9 days hungry” was burned into my brain by my mom. Back then, my response would be swift, “Who decides the ratio? Also, is it not a bit too unfair? A single grain amounts to 9 whole days? Also, who will go hungry? - the kid or the parent who has served the kid? So does this mean the kids in Africa today who are hungry and suffering wasted food in the past? Do they deserve it?” Cheeky responses like this no longer bring me peace.
Wasting food as an adult is no longer about wasting food anymore, I’ve realised. It’s much bigger than that. Cleaning out an overflowing refrigerator is a larger reflection of the state of my mind these days- packing in too many loose ends in little boxes, compartmentalised, stored for a later moment to get around to. Tasks, Expectations, Conversations, Goals, Desires, Promises - all once put together with love and intention but now unfinished, waiting for the loop to be closed one day, have gone rotten and have no other fate but to be thrown away. And the heavy heart that feels crushed each time something has to be thrown out. The existential crisis begins to surface. What has happened to my life? Years of discipline, dedication, training, practice, effort, all to keep my mind and body healthy and balanced and have that reflect in my actions. Then life throws you a curve ball - in an instant it can be taken away and before you know it, you’re left with an overflowing refrigerator every two weeks.
Life is funny that way. The problems are in the head and the consequences appear in reality. Before you know it, your present beckons you, demanding your attention and theres nothing you can do to run away from it.
So I throw it all out, all that old food; and put the empty boxes for a wash. I look at the refrigerator, now neatly rearranged, and my mind, like the refrigerator suddenly feels empty. The heaviness begins to lift.
I remember to be thankful that at least theres a silver lining - it can all go into the ground as fertiliser. Unlike all the junk that fills my head every once in a while.
I pause. Unless…
Unless, I can find a way to churn them out into a metaphorical fertiliser somehow. The heaviness instantly transformed into a cheekiness.
I make a mental note and put in in a corner of my brain - where it says “Things to figure out one day”
THE THREE LEGGED RACE
As children, we used to take part in the three legged race. Each team has 2 players who tie together a leg each : one person their left and the other their right as one. So there is a total of three legs. And then you run as a single unit.
This game is a lot more complex than you think. Even before you can begin to think about winning strategies, you must first build synergy with your partner. When running together, individual speed doesn’t matter. In fact, at times, it can even act as a barrier. Theres always that team where one person feels they can run faster than their team mate and carry more load and get to the finish line faster. This happens especially if one person likes winning more. What it usually results in is that the slower team mate falls flat on their face and gets dragged for a few brief mini seconds until the faster team mate comes crashing too. It’s fun for the audience to watch and laugh but never fun for the 2 teammates.
There is a way to train though. First you begin walking slowly. Practise that long enough until it really does feel like your “common third leg” is functioning as a single unit and not two units breaking out from a forceful tie. Once you’ve mastered that, it’s time to up the speed to a brisk walk. This will be a little more challenging than the first and will require a tad bit more practice. Mix it up with some slow jogging when it gets boring. Once you’ve been through all these steps, you can then attempt a short sprint. Practice the sprint long enough, and you’re all prepped for the race. Now, based on your strengths and weaknesses as a team, you can begin to build your game strategy. How fast do you need to train to be at which point in the race. Are you a team that likes to cover as much distance as quickly as possible in the beginning and the take a breather for a while, or would you like to pace yourself at a uniform momentum through the entire race? Would you like to start slow initially and then pick up the pace as you get to the finish line or have you managed to practice so efficiently that generate a high level of synergy that your bodies communicate and move together without the need to use words to formulate a racing strategy? The last kind is extremely rare to find, and are mostly people who seem to be disproportionately passionate about the sport that they wish to master it to a level of perfection. It’s a lot of time & commitment to practice for a race that’s held just once a year and gets over in a short 1-2 minutes. Yet, every once in a rare while, there comes such a team. While it’s not my cup of tea, it’s absolutely thrilling to watch.
Relationships are like three legged races. You partner up and run, but very few prioritise taking the time to train together or strategise together. Life is full of little tragedies like this. Love slips away, like the ribbon tied around your legs, and all of a sudden you are bruised and empty.