Knowing when to Move On.

Ria closed her eyes, feeling the breeze.  Squeezing her eye lids tightly, she wondered - if closing them so tight would erase the things she saw, things she said, things she should have never seen or said.  Would the breeze take them with it?  Would it erase everything, take every thing back to the beginning...The beginning when they stood seeing each other.  To the time when words said had no history to bank on, when the way their eyes, mouth, and gestures looked were just the way they were.  Nothing meant, seemed or assumed.  That time, when every cell of theirs was new to the other and so, observed, cause that was the only thing they could do. No record of what the cell was in its original form or shape or voice or thought. No memories of wrongs, said and done, but a curious intention of wanting to know, accept and understand.  The concept completely forgotten once they were together.

With closed eyes she felt her loose, old blouse stick to her body, caressing her.  She felt envious of it, for it had no memory of caressing her or of getting dirty or of being washed.  Unlike her, who remembered every single thing about the Love Close to her, muddied with the thoughts, words and actions over time. As much as she loathed the thought, she knew no amount of washing could ever remove the gunk  settled on their persons.  It felt heavy and dark, like the grease collected over time at the Fryers, that has no choice but to catch fire, only to leave the remains of what was, what has been.  Such is Life...She sighed and opened her eyes.

Just a Cup of Tea

It is just a cup of tea. It would remain just a cup of tea, if we didn’t ask any questions or ponder the expressions of those sipping from the cup.  In a world where only the practical matter, it would be, Just a cup of Tea. But it wasn’t so in Ria’s world.  In Ria’s world, a cup of tea had its own personality. It became a different character, depending on the type of tea, the people involved in making and drinking the tea. It created an ambience of its own. It had its own vocabulary, diction and dictionary, albeit without words. It had meanings which, outside world hadn’t yet grasped and probably never will.

As a child, tea meant the arrival of a guest. Usually an honored guest she hasn’t seen in a while; a guest, valued above her own family. Her family drank coffee, which at the time was the most common beverage of the South.  Preparation of tea in the house meant the guest was of a higher socio-economic stratum than herself.  Tea meant the royals have arrived. Everyone was in their best garb and behavior.  There will be no raised voices, or un-necessary laughter. Just dignified conversation, with formal words, some so formal that Ria never knew their meaning.  There will be the faint hint of perfume, lingering after the guest leaves and a wish that lingers in Ria’s heart that they would visit again so she could watch and imprint the mannerism of the royals. Of course, that was the excuse. The real reason was, to look upon the Handsome Prince in that family of Royals.

Over time, Ria understood that Tea had a versatile personality. As she entered her teens, tea meant an announcement of great importance, like India winning the cricket match or a marriage or birth announcement in the family.  Her first cup of tea, meant she was now an adult. The presence of tea bound her to her classmates at the college cafeteria. It meant being able to talk to Professors and Lecturers in a cloak of maturity.  Tea was the silent witness to meetings, peace makings and deal breakings. Sometimes the silence of the tea acted as the symbol for the silence of un-uttered words between people. Words like “Ah! It feels warm” that seemed too obvious to say on a cold rainy day; or  “I hope you know I care” that is difficult to say to people whose ego comes in the way of humane interactions.

Serving tea was a means to sharing with people. At least until the tea is drunk, they will stay and spend time with you.  Hopefully, share and exchange ideas and parts of themselves.  Hot milky sweet tea early in the morning, iced lemon and ginger tea on hot afternoons, mint tea after dinner, shared with loved ones, neighbours, friends and family, in quiet togetherness.  It was important to feel that human touch for however small a while, however shy you were and tea, was a perfect excuse, an asking and giving of ourselves without making it obvious. 

Her wish for the visiting Royals was answered many times over.  She continued to look upon the Prince hoping he would look upon her the way she did. The Prince maintained Princely dignity.  He was polite, friendly and civil but kept an ambiguous distance.  It was never lost upon her, that he was from a long line of tea drinkers and she was a common coffee drinker.  The distance between tea drinkers and coffee drinkers, was the same as the distance between collective tradition and individual ambition. In communities like the one Ria lived in, what was expected and what she expected were never same. And she knew it well. 

It was 4 pm the last time the Prince drank tea with her.  It was the only time she ever met the Prince alone. Tea eased the awkwardness of that situation.  It was then that Ria knew that the Prince was assigned his Princess.  He spoke to her as he always did, in a friendly voice that did not betray that he knew of the pain that she felt except when he said with a faltering, trailing “If only you were a tea drinker….”.  That was enough for Ria. She needed no elaboration from him.  “Would you like some tea?” She asked.  He looked up at her with eyes that hoped she understood, wished there was another way, wanted time to stop here and softly said “yes”. She made the tea and served it in silence.  In their minds, their wordless thoughts overlapped each other. Their soul hands reach out to hold each other in a hug, the kind that didn’t let go. Their unseen tears mingled with each other, each heard the other sob and they comforted each other with sips of tea in silence. Outside their minds, calm reigned, all was in order, none wiser, conventions were in their place, protocols were followed and decorum maintained. 

For the last two decades since that day, without fail, how ever busy the day was, at 4 pm every evening, the Prince drank tea alone in his study. It was protocol to let him be alone. With each sip of tea, he remembered Ria’s smile, her eyes and imagined conversations with her.   While Ria served tea to her now husband at around the same time…wondering if the Prince still drank tea, and if he did, did it remind the Prince of her the way it reminds her of him? After all these years, one can't tell she isn’t royalty, for she drank tea, walked with an aura of dignity, spoke softly with formal words and never laughed unnecessarily, yet there was a feeling of something missing - The Prince by her side.

The Prince and Ria sip on the tea, enjoying their moment together, each day, unbeknownst to others around them.  They were never apart.

          

Somewhere within or without

Ria walks through the Bazaar.  Amidst all the busy-ness of doing that needs to be done in a day, there is a vision of clarity. The times when we just Know without any proof, when we just Understand without any thesis, when we recognize the parts and its whole and BE. As she walked outside, the Ria within walks to meet her Self.

 

As she listens, somewhere within her, a warrior rumbles. The one that stands by the right, does the right thing, is fair and benevolent.

 

Somewhere within her, a saint awakes, knowing all is well. All will be as it is always intended. All will be as she wants it to be, shaping her reality without being aware of her creating.

 

Somewhere within a mother nurtures the children, born and those yet to be born.  Lovingly she scolds, coaxes, sings and soothes them as they get through childhood.  She cries when no one sees, hiding all her doubts and appearing brave while wondering – am I doing right by my kids, are they going to be alright as they grow?

 

Somewhere within a wife and lover does the only thing she knows how - to love this Person who shares her life.  In her waking hours she thinks of him with a silly smile on her face. In her sleep she snuggles up to him.

 

Somewhere within a Teacher serves Truth, sweeping out ignorance within, helping learn about Self, building an understanding of wholeness.

 

Somewhere within a Student sees light, begins to understand and journeys towards Knowing the Truth.

 

Somewhere within an eternal child is curiously joyful. The child watches the butterflies sit and the hummingbird sip and the raven build its twiggy nest. The child listens to the owl hoot, the eagle screech as it glides, feels the grainy sand, touches the tadpoles in the pond and marvels at the wonderful world of slush and worms. In that child, time, lost its significance.

 

On the pavement along the busy streets filled with vendors, wares, colour and shoppers, a baby sleeps, in spite of the din around it.  As Ria walks past staring at the peaceful baby, she sees that place within her, where peace exists.

 

She smiles in understanding, while the Saint looks on Peace, the Warrior stands alongside Right, the Merchant trades his wares and the Artiste plays different roles - mother, wife, teacher, student and child.  Within all those space is She, the quiet Witness, watching, not judging;  knowing, not influenced or influencing.  She, is Light within this form, a Constant, Eternally in existence.

Creative Challenge #144 - Ponderings Forever and a Day

Ria tries to keep her umbrella steady in the wind as she walks home from work in the rain.  Monsoons arrived a bit early this year in her nook of the world. In the past week it has rained continuously due to a depression in the close by sea. Very apt name she thinks as she acknowledges the “not wanting to do anything” feeling she has been having the last couple of days.  But nothing lasts forever, counters a voice in her head.  How long is forever? She wonders. How much time does Forever hold? Does it mean from the time we become aware of time to the time we aren’t aware of time anymore?  Are forever’s of different quantities for different people?  Could Forever be Infinity? The Isha Upanishad has a verse describing Infinity - if we added or subtracted a part from infinity it would still remain infinity. If we added a day to the forever, we would still say Forever, never forever and a day. Forever must be the everyday word for the mathematical Infinity, Ria decides.

She smiles as she remembers the conversation she had with her friend Shrey who said “Just help me out this one time, and I will love you forever” and Ria replied “You said the same thing the last time you wanted me to cover for you”. And Shrey, the smart ass said “Ok, I will love you forever and a Day. So Please HELP!”. Of course, they laughed about it and she worked longer to help out anyway.

As she gets to bed that night, she wonders if she could sleep forever in One Night. And if she did, would the Night be longer than other nights?

Tour Creative challenge # 144

Creative Challenge #124 - Trickle Down.

Ria is glad to be home.  There is something about the country of birth that she cant quite put her finger on.  She wonders why the phrase has always been "put a finger on" cant it be "put a toe on" or any other appendage? Never mind, She was glad to be home. 

Early next morning she takes her camera and goes out for a walk.  Its been five years since she was last here.  Five years since she walked these streets or saw so many people of the same hair, eye and skin colour as her own. Five years since she walked to get milk or groceries. Five years since she heard the Koyal's call or saw street dogs and cows roam free.  Five years since she saw autorickshaws, heard the temple bells ring or the call to Azaan.  She soaked all the sounds and sights to her minds saturation as she clicked what she knows she maynot see again once she leaves here.  It felt so good. The roads, the stores, the vegetables, fruits and people seem to have shrunk.  She smiles as it occurs to her that she now has a new frame of reference through which she is viewing what she once knew. She titles it "The US lens".  In the past five years, she got accustomed to 4-6 laned roads with traffic following the rules, people who are on an average taller and bigger than the puny Indian she is, stores that are huge that she needed a map to navigate through, grocery just left for our picking, a life lived Kingsize or in her instance, Queensize.

She looks across the Main road that marks the boundary of the neighbourhood where she lives and notices the small make shift cardboard and tarp shelters that have cropped up. "Oh a Slum so close?"  She wonders if no Minister of the Parliament lived close by. If he/she did, slums wouldnt dare crop up in the locality.  She sees that the Old Fair Price Depot has moved to a bigger lot, yet the queue is long for kerosene.  She remembers her childhood when she stood in those queues waiting in line for the ration of sugar, rice, palm-oil and wheat. It felt like so long ago yet the sight brought back the same sense of lack she felt as a child, a sense of inadequacy, of knowing only the lower rungs of the ladder of wealth and a sense of Having Not. Ironic she thinks...when you read about all the "progress and industry" , "India Shining" slogans, the "Emerging Superpowers of India and China" headlines along with the "trickle down" effects of economy that the media outside India, churns out. Yes she thinks as she returns from her walk, whatever Trickled Down probably never touched the ones who lived on the Floor.

Tour the Creative Challenge #124

Creative Challenge #103 - Dreams in the Blue.

I did crop the picture

Dreaming, isnt a unique trait.  Everyone dreams when they are asleep. Some wake up and remember what they dreamed, some dont remember having dreamed at all and some wake up feeling like they forgot something, yet dont quite know what it was.  There are some who dream during the Day. Its easy to recognize them.  They have a perpetual lost looks on their faces when they temporarily wake up in the middle of a meeting or a conversation.  The others around them are usually annoyed 'cause the dreamers werent paying attention to what the others considered important. Dreamers dont satisfy the others need to feel important.  Dreamers go to places which arent on a map.  They arent aware of  the almost drowning in the deep waters, or the almost falling off the cliffs, or that walk through the hot lava, or those thorns that tore their soles but couldnt touch their souls.  I envy them the most, for they know where they want to go even without the Knowing. They have a glimpse of being more than their bodies and the material realities around them.

If anyone asked Ria what she wanted to be when she grows up. she would probably shrug her shoulders and think(not say) "A dreamer?"  Her favorite things to do were - being lost in thoughts, listening to stories and songs from grandma, and sleeping.  She never understood, why everyone got mad at her without her doing anything, literally.  Her parents would ask her to repeat the instructions they give and Ria would think "Why?  I heard it already", while repeating word for word.  She gets them right everytime but when she does, the instructions get forgotten... Not intentionally, for somewhere in the doing, her mind took flight into the open sky and she wasnt aware of it.  She would soar in the Blue like the Eagles she watched from her 3rd grade classroom window. Flap her mighty wings and glide through the air, looking down, enjoying the miniature view from above.  She would imagine these mini houses, animals, people in her doll house, so colourful, pretty, happy.  Her teachers would come up to her desk and tap with the foot long wooden ruler for every word "Ria, Pay Attention to the Lesson".  The noise of the ruler intrudes on her thoughts and the eagle suddenly fell to the ground and the doll house exploded.  Her teachers would send a note to the parents asking them to help her focus, concentrate on her work, maybe take her to a psychiatrist as she probably has a mental problem.  Ria tried her best to not make the teachers mad.  She is quiet in class, she isnt disruptive, she does her homework on time, doesnt fail her exams or tests, her parents help her with their constant reminding.  Yet her inattention during class, her lack of focus, her easily being lost annoyed most of her teachers.

Her parents were worried.  When no one was watching, her mother would sigh, look up at the imaginary blue like as if Her God sat in that expanse, listening and ask in a murmur "what will become of her?" Her father would console her mother with the words "Dont worry, it will get better as she grows, we need to be patient."  Her classmates knew "She's always like that, she'll join when she wants to".  Funnily they were the youngest of all the groups of people she was seen with yet they knew how to treat her well. Her Grandmother, was the only one, whose very thought, filled Ria with warmth, from her hugs, her talking, her sweet songs, her beautiful stories of Kings, Queens, Heroes and adventures. Grandmother was the one person who Ria loved deeply, from who she felt the kind of love she needed.  A beautiful smile would break out on Ria's face at the thought of Grandmother.

Ria loved the nights, as it meant she could dream uninterrupted for those hours.  She dreamed of beautiful places. Places with people who arent mad at her, with children who are laughing and playing.  A place which had no concept of school, homework, exams, scoldings, hurry, worry, sighs or cries. Places with coloured sand and colourful waters, and when she looks up, inspite of the fact that it is night where she is, the Sky is Blue, a light, Light Blue. And she sees herself stand there on the hill's top blending with that Blue, becoming a speck of light.  Nobody around, No body to restrict her floating in this Blue to her hearts content. In this Blue, Ria was happy being Ria.

Tour Creative Challenge #103 - Blue

 

Creative Challenge and Writer's Block Challenge

This week I am combining the creative challenge and the writer's block.  I thought they went well together, complement each other.. Hope you enjoy this read. The picture below was part of the Writer's Challenge. It was taken by Scott Neighbour and titled - Clayburn.

Her reflection in the mirror as she enters her home, doesnt look bad, yet Ria wonders, is this all?  She had a perfectly productive day yet she has a nagging feeling that she cant seem to satisfy. Definitely there has to be more to life, she thinks, else she would not feel this thirst that has been building over time.  No, not thirsty for water, that she has plenty. But a thirst for what she expects life to be.  Her thoughts continue their rant - If I could figure a way to receive his love,  if I could get my mentor to give me her approval, if that ad I have made is received with a good rating, if I could get that promotion, if the money I saved would be enough to buy that house..if.. Life would be so Fantastic and I would be so Content. 

As these if's floated their excuses for why she couldnt be happy right now, she remembers the words she heard from her grandfather - "You have to die the old you to become the New You".   Transformation of life, doesnt happen from the outside in, it starts with the inside out. It starts with an awareness of our wants and needs, we need to quench.  Life becomes what it is and has meaning only because of our search for the metaphoric water, as we are dying of thirst.  This Thirst is a shape-shifting Thirst, for it comes in many forms - an expectation, an acceptance, a realization, a destination, a journey.  We must feel ourselves dying with this thirst, only then would we reach for it like we would water.  Yes, its the dying that makes living worthwhile.. Irony? It does seem to be, yet it is a perfect example of life's duality.

To have, we must Let Go of what we are holding, cause we cant have more when our hands are full ; To Receive you must Give, cause you cant receive with arrogance, the water pot needs to be lowered to fill up water; To become All of You, you need the events that carve your parts.  Its that quiet thirst that drives us to seek quenching. Each time we quench we receive a Brick, like a badge of honour to build our foundation and walls.  We could receive whole bricks or chunks of broken ones, all of that adds to quality, beauty and spirit of the structure we become.  Yes, its my thirst that drives me, thinks Ria, as she sighs and climbs into her bed.  Tomorrow is a new day, with new pathways, all I have to do is build my thirst and lay the bricks.  Sleep claims her tired eyes, as she sinks into her dreams.

Entries for Creative Challenge #85

Entries for Writer's block

There is Always Something...to life

Putting down the book, Ria turns off the lights and pulls the covers. Its that time of the night she enjoys most, going over her day and the things she has to do the next. Most of all she likes to let her mind wander on stuff that is rarely talked off in her daily interactions. Reminding herself that tomorrow is a long day, she yawns as she closes her eyes.

There is always something to do, especially on days when all she wanted to do was go away to some place, where she can feel the sand beneath her feet, didnt matter if she didnt eat, or if she remained at her seat, or if she was beat...something in a day always needs to be done. Work to keep the hands and mind busy.

There is always someone to meet, especially when all she wanted was a quiet day of solitude, meandering through her past where the memories bring joy, envision the future, be but not bother so much about the present, the numerous "responsibilities" or the people to answer to...

There is always something that goes against the plan, especially when all she wanted was a day where the smile hovered in her soul, when the flowers bloomed and fragrances spilled and the butterflies floated along with the petals of the cherry blossoms but on this particular day she had her aaachooo's.

There is always a way to get to the place of acceptance, when things don't go according to plan. Memories and experiences guide the way to a knowing that this doesn't last for all Time. Time isn't linear, time isn't cyclic, time is just a construct we have so that we can make sense with a past, present and a future. For some who like to stand in the center and view, time is a cycle, for others who like to hold its end, time is linear, for some like her, who know not what they want, Time is like an Ocean that she is dipped into... its all around her and she experiences it as snippets of experiences, sometimes understood, sometimes not Or as deep or shallow emotions and sensing senses that sometims do not make any sense.

There is always Remembrance, the kind that you cant really tell when it happened, was it really these many years ago or last month or last week...when was it that she felt that coming out of the Dark into the Light, crying, cause it hurt her eyes. There was the feel of motherly arms wrapped around her or was it many mothers holding her? That feel of the deep gruff yet soothing voice giving her the strength to stay alive in the knowledge that she was loved. How did she come to this knowledge? She doesn't know that yet... That's the Irony of life - never Knowing when we came to KNOW but once we Know, there is no way to UNKNOW it.

There always Love, that love that picks us up in our darkest hours. During times when we have fallen and feel like we could never get up, it was that love that lends its strength. All this time she had always received love cause that's what you do when you exist, or so she thought. We are born and we assume that we automatically love our parents, our siblings and family simply because it is done so. She never answered the question "Do you love your parents?" with a straight answer but with a counter question "Do you need to ask?" We go through life assuming that we didnt have a choice about who our parents or relatives are and that love, honour and loyalty to the family is an unquestioned thing. Somewhere in Ria, she knew that this was a choice too although it might seem impossible to have made. Its a choice our spirit makes out of an obligation to evolving from where or what we are at that time. All these seemingly choiceless people in our lives help us grow.

There is always that very first time, when an event makes our existence became more tangible. For Ria, it was when she gave her Love, a love she didnt think exists in her. All she knew was it wasnt the Love that Poets talk about and Psychologists say has to be unconditional. The Love that she first thought was lust, when it hit her so hard that it made breathing difficult. But over time come to realize, Yes, this is LOVE, the Love of her Life. This Man, that she lives with, sleeps and eats with. This Man, who she stares at, and caresses his cheek, while hes asleep next to her. In the beginning, she thought it was merely lust. She didnt want the Lust to complicate her path to achievement, that place she wanted to get to in her life.

There was always Ambition, a place to get to in Life. That place where she was sure of her Place cause it was ALL hers. Where she earned the Respect that was her due. You see, it wasn't the Money she was after, it was Proof that she was of value and that value to her, was Respect that was unasked for, not because she was born to a particular clan or due to the Heirarchy of birth or association with someone or some how entitled to receive but that Respect that another feels free to give.

Yet, Loving became more important than Respect. So Love she did give and it felt like the single most accomplishment of great importance. Its been years now yet, when she thinks of this Man, she sighs contently.

There is always Dreams. Some dreamed as we do things in our lives, some dreamed as a daydream, some in our sleep and some in our sleep walking through life. Yet they are dreams. The ones we pay attention to with consistency become our reality, the ones we waver on are the ones we were in doubt about or it wasn't important enough to pay constant attention to or persevere towards making a reality. Sometimes we go back remembering and rekindle the attention to a particular dream, while those that we don't, turn to dust.

There is always Death. Sometimes its of people in our lives, or of dreams or aspirations or of thoughts or of things we trust. It could be our own mortality that we are unable to accept and try hard to keep at bay, with dyes to colour our silver hair, or cosmetics to cover those wrinkles or mustaches, or those endless trips to the plastic surgeon for a tuck here or there. All these to keep what is natural as far removed from us as we possibly can. In death we think there is a finality. But Ria, knows different, Death is a mere change, like a change in attitude or a way we do things or a change in the direction of life. Death to Ria, means more lifetimes of a different kind.. Death isn't really the End, but its just the end of a chapter.

As Ria, drifts into her dreamful sleep, I can no longer tell you the things I know, the things I could affirm, you Know. Ria will know through her dreams and the voices in her dreams and as it is the nature of things, she may not remember when she wakes.

Creative Challenge # 56 : Fortitude

Ria sat there, quietly listening to his tirade while her mind wandered over the events these 5 years.  He ranted on how she was to blame for the mess their marriage is.  How she never had any qualities of a woman or wife or mother... She wanted to ask - If she was so devoid of any femininity, why had he not refused to marry her in the first place. It was a matter of his choice... but she didnt.  She wanted to ask - If she wasnt wifely enough, why did he comply to having children. It was a matter of his choice... but she didnt.  She wanted to ask - If she was such a lousy mother, why did he not fight harder to win custody of the children... but she didnt.  

Somewhere inside her, she was completely aware, her mind saw clearly in spite of the chaos outside.  -  She will be alright. His opinion has nothing to do with who she is.  He never really saw her for who she is.  You dont blame a Blind man for knocking into a another who can see... Do you?

He stood there spent from his rant.. Somewhere inside him, without his awareness, his mind admired her poised form -  She is calm even now.  I wish she'd scream and yell at me. The children are better off with her.  I better keep my end of the settlement and be a good father to them.  

Fortitude smiled, enveloping her within while opening the door for him.

Creative Challenge #56 Tour

Freedom

Late nights in the dark, sprawled in bed alone, is a time for Thoughts withheld in the light of the day.  In the darkness, there is no one who will look at Ria, except for herself.  In the darkness,  she takes a leisurely stroll through the labyrinth of mazes in her mind without the fear of being Lost.  Darkness, for her is a blanket of warmth. If I were to judge her, I would say - what a cold night when there's no one to hold you. But I am her conscience, so Truth be told,  when she was held, she was a caged bird that couldn't sing. It wasn't cold, yet she breathed in shallow breaths.

Ria lets her thoughts a free reign - Everyone around me Pity me, I see it in their eyes, in their voices as they talk to me. I wish they didn't. I do not pity me.  I couldn't, nay I wouldn't explain, for then they would put it down to being Bereaved and in Grief.. which I am not. I am glad, so much glad that I feel guilty for feeling so happy.  The one I love left me for a Younger, supposedly more Beautiful woman. I should be feeling angry at the unfairness of life, sad at the betrayal of my trust and loyalty, pitiful for spending the best part of my years on someone who knew nothing about me, and all those emotions that people say I should feel but all I feel is a breath of Fresh Air and I am glad for it.  For the first time in so many years, I feel Alive. I feel Possibilities.  I feel Happy.  I know reality is  Harsh, I couldn't stay Alive on that Feeling of Fresh Air. Fresh Air doesn't feed, clothe or shelter Me. There are also other aspects - how could I justify my life for the past 20 years to my large clan, to them I owe an explanation, where would the money come from for continuing life as I know it, how would I live,  what explanation could I give to my kids ?  Yes, there are these difficult questions.  I will cross those bridges when I get to them.

From one of my numerous escapes into the World of Words, a quote about being FREE, comes to my mind- "The whole secret of existence is to have no Fear.  Never fear what will become of you, depend on no-one. Only the moment you reject all help are you free"  This rings true. I can see now, why I felt stifled.  I had too much help.   I had help from everyone around me regarding everything, from how a girl should be, what a girl should know and learn and do well, how a girl should talk, what a girl should think, what a wife should be like, what a mother should be like, who I should have for friends, what rituals to follow and numerous other details in life. 

I know all will not be well if I didn't have any help,  that the world of Individuality has its pitfalls too.  For I have observed, when we are free to make our own choices, we tend to hold ourselves to lower standards of achievement, behaviour and growth.  We tend to justify our choices even when we know its not the best we could.  We do tend to lie to ourselves more. We do tend to let ourselves off the hook easily, when we dont try hard enough.  We do tend to find excuses for all the things we didnt do.  It is a very rare person who is Self-motivated enough to hold themselves to High Standards and pushing themselves steadily to achieve the growth that they are capable of.  I know that not living like an Island is what Drives Men to Achievement. Its in the looking both ways - inside and outside, that helps our growing.  I don't wish for absolute individuality nor for absolutely mapped out lives. What I would consider freedom, is to have a Life in Balance. Individuality within the Map's boundaries and A map of how life could be, within Individuality.

I have to thank the One I love - (Yes I still do love him, as sick as that might seem)  for setting me free. I don't think I would have left him even if I could - I think its a touch of that thing they call the Stockholm Syndrome.  He has Character, for he did let me Know when he Knew. He did not abuse me in all our time living together.   Only, I did not choose to be FREE.  I presumed I was Free to have chosen not be Free.  Convoluted Logic isn't it?

Ria sighs as sleep tugs her senses...Tomorrow is a new Day with new Beginnings and I stand watch as she sleeps.

P. S.  Friday was Indian Independence day... I had started to write on the topic of Freedom but couldnt put words.   This morning I read my friend Leverett's blog on Discovery... and the words took form.  Thank you Jackie, for being a Muse in more ways than I can list :).

The Last Gift -short story

With the children and school and husband at work, Ria sits by the window enjoying the sunlight. This is something she does for herself. Its her time to Bask, like a seal on a rock, doing nothing. For the next thirty minutes or so, she will not move from her chair except for sipping her coffee.

She wonders if she should let her husband and family know what the doctor has said. Dr. Gupta was surprised that Ria took the news so well. She was quiet for a moment after she had heard the prognosis and asked "How much time do I have?". "About 9 months" Dr. Gupta said. "Exactly the amount of time to prepare for one life, guess thats a good amount of time to prepare for one death" She thought silently.

Her thoughts go to the time her grandmother was ill and in the hospital. What did grandmother feel? Was she in pain? Did she want to die? Did she will herself to live? Did she blame God for the pain? She remembered being 14, sitting by her grandmom's bed. There was only steady breathing that she had heard. Once in a while she heard grandmom groan in her sleep, its the only times she heard anything akin to complain. Her grandmom had passed peacefully after having a really good day. On that day, all her children, grandchildren and her childhood friend had come to meet her during the day. She was so upbeat and smiling, like as if she had beat the cancer and the pain had been less. That evening after all had left for the night, she passed away in her sleep. It was like dying was a job she wanted to do alone, without anyone seeing her do it.

Ria wonders if she is like her grandmom, does everyone feel the same way when they die? Do we fight against dying or would we just accept it? Does it matter either way, fight or accept? After all Die, we will, no matter what. Shes always been curious about death. Death is such an unbiased thing. It arrives at our doors once life is done, never asking whether you lived well, healthy, wealthy or poor. Nothing that you did or said or felt or experienced is going to make any difference to death. After a while nothing about you really matters to those you left behind, except for memories.

Her husband was someone who spoke very little. Their conversations were mostly about what needs to be done or about the kids and other kind of formalities. In the begining, she had such grandiose ideas about Marriage and Husband and How families are supposed to be. But 5 years into the marriage, her ideas succumbed to the reality of life. She learned that Nothing really happens like the stories in the Romance Novels. She became a silent spectator of her own life, watched the death of her Ideas of life as she put them on the pyre one by one. Life was tough and she got used to it. "Whats the use of complaining?" thought Ria, "Either I should do something about it or I should learn to accept what is". She chose the path of least resistence, Acceptance. Now she wonders, would he miss her when she dies? If he did, would he tell anyone?

Two years into the marriage, the kids came and the chores increased. She watched the kids, their chatter, their loving arms, their silly stories, their laughter, she let them be for the most part. Disciplining them fell to her list of things to do, and so she did it. She smiled at the memory of defiance from the kids and then compliance. She hoped they would some day look back and say "I am glad mom did what she did". She wouldnt be there to hear it, would she now? Memories are funny things, they pop up without warning, they can make a perfect smile, tearful or a tearful face, break into a smile. Memories understand Irony perfectly. Leaving my children, thats more painful than dying, she thinks.

She wonders why she isnt raving and ranting at the prospect of dying. Why she doesnt feel very sad about it? But she isnt happy about it either. Is this what impeding death feels like? Total Numbness? Is something wrong with me? I am 40 years old, I should be living at least until 60, she thinks, yet I am not miffed at the loss of 20 years? She says to herself - I have done what needs doing until now and I only know that things need to get done before I go...Somehow along the path of life, she Understood Life to be Duty. Everything has a duty, the sun has to rise and set to bring in day and night, the earth has to rotate and revolve heralding the seasons, the water has to either flow or stay stagnant each serving its purpose, the wind has to blow or stay calm, the fire has to put forth warmth or burn, each in its station, each with a duty to perform, each has a purpose. So do animals, insects, soil and human beings. She wonders if she has served her purpose, and she quietly decides, she has, else she wouldnt be dying would she?

Basking done, she gets ready for the chores of the day. The family need not know, until they need to know. That way there is less brooding, less focus on her being sick, less of sadness and pity fests. Thats her last gift to the ones she loves, happiness with everything in its place as long as she can give it to them. She will continue with getting things done until she cant get them done anymore and then they would know. A sigh escapes her lips as she washes her empty cup at the sink.

Short story- Perfection

Lying on the bed, thinking in the darkness. "Forty years of living, or should I say dying. Another day and another 'Hunting for a job' process. How many times do I have to do this? Why is it that nothing in my life so far has given me a sense of constant, of being in control?"

Ria had loved this previous job very much, working as a research assistant for a writer. She loved reading but this was a job that took the cake nay! Butterscotch Ice-cream. She came across so many interesting facts, stories and legends. Stories she didn't know existed. Ah! The irony, although a Hindu, she hardly knew any of the scriptures, epics or the legends well. But this job was an education in Hinduism, its subtleties and its depth. Through reading them she was in a different world. A world all her own, with the feel real yet in the past heroes and events. But she always had to wake up at the end of the read. After all she had to do the things that mean living, like- take a bath, eat some food, get some sleep. That's what her life entailed for the most part.

At the end of the day, she wonders what she has gained in life, comparing herself with her peers and those around her. While everyone of her peers now have chauffer driven cars, husbands who seemingly loved them, kids that are growing up, beautiful homes of their own and a few rented out, a standing in their society, someone some others looked up to. She was out of place, she didn't belong with them. She was a ship without a rudder or a map. She floated through, which ever way the wind blew. Every now and then there are a few from her past who come to her, mostly when they needed a ear to be listened to. Most never returned her favour, but that didn't matter to her. Some did what she suggested and got good results but never credited her, but that didn't matter either. What did I gain? she concludes - NOT MUCH, except for the pounds of fat over the years.

40 years and no stable job, never built a career, married but never had kids, married but not married anymore, no parents, being the only child no relatives that matter either, the job brought her many acquaintances but not friends, no one waited long enough to be her friend or anything else. She did blame herself for her reluctance to open up to people quickly. She was like a slow fire, that takes a while to catch on but when it burns, it will burn forever. "I am lonely" she admits to herself "but logically lonely" she consoles herself.  She knew of those others who had lives with lots of people they seemingly cared about, with lots of wealth they seemingly needed, with good health that they were seemingly blessed with but in spite of all the seeming fullness they were empty. She on the other hand, had nothing and hence was empty, perfectly logical.

Her thoughts go to Yesterday, "Good work" her client said after she read the material Ria had submitted. She had researched on the classical Hindu Philosophy, the translated versions of the Vedas, the epics and the puranas. While she had researched, she yearned for some of the things of the by gone era. She labeled Draupadi the Lucky One when it came to choice of husband(s). Imagine having Five husbands each with a quality that any woman would look for in a husband, instead of having the ONE that isn't anywhere near what she had dreamed. It makes perfect sense, have one of all the kinds you want. Perfect happiness.

Duryodhana the Pompous one. He could put the peacock to shame with all his ego strutting around. The Pandavas were considered the righteous ones. She wonders were they righteous, when they wagered Draupadi in the game of dice? She loved the character of Karna, his sense of loyalty, stoicism, friendship and justice. He would have made a perfect husband she thinks-Hmm. And Krishna what are people thinking when they worship him as a GOD. The thief, the womanizer, the cheater, the cunning fox, the devilish charmer, yet, she liked his character(is it any wonder?), his mischief as a kid, his seeming charisma as he got older, he was what we would today call a go-getter. Was she biased? Being from that culture?

Moving on to Sita, the most unlucky one, a perfect martyr, a Perfect loser. She knew not where she came from, followed Rama under the umbrella of duty and what did she get, Perfect abandonment? And Rama, really what was he thinking, if he thought at all - A perfect Son/Prince? Nonsense! He was an example of perfect Avoidance of responsibility. Jump at the opportunity to go to the forest, so that he doesn't have to be responsible for the on goings of his Nation. When he got back, he realized that he couldn't satisfy his wife and the nation at the same time so jumped at the opportunity to abandon his wife, that way he doesn't have to take care of her needs. Oh yes!! Maryada Purushotam(Perfect Man). She sneers at the idea.

"There I go" she thinks again "with that word". Rationally she knew perfection is just another word for things that live up to her expectation. She knew she was setting herself up for disappointment, Perfectly. A perfect life would be a happy life. Wont it? A Happy life, hmm...she never knew what makes her happy. And if she caught some of the things that made her happy, it was so fleeting, just for a second or less. Does life appear like this for all? Do they always wonder and never know about what makes them happy? If she could just have a peep into other minds regarding their questions on happiness, maybe she could figure out what makes her happy. And Life would Be PERFECT.

Different era's, different perfections, different perceptions. She smiles in the dark. This is the first time, she felt glad that she lived alone and no one could judge her thoughts. If she had any of the elders around her listening to her thoughts right now, she would be judged a Charvaka(a materialist/existentialist) and probably reprimanded her for thinking the way she did about Rama and Krishna.

For now, she needed to sleep, maybe dream a little and be happy within that dream, if it wasn't too much to ask.

Perfection- the sleep that's kissing her eyes and Ria, perfectly unaware of it.