Nature does not give a damn!

I woke up to the chirping of birds today morning. Which was surprising as I live in a large upscale apartment block - which means it has humans living in building surrounded by manicured lawns, artistically cut trees, pleasant smelling flowers and pretty looking bushes, all designed to please the human senses. None of which attract too many birds, though several pigeons flap around all day.

But today was different. It was a janata curfew day to fight the COVID19 disease, and human activity was ordered to a grinding halt with humans being ordered to strictly stay indoors. The past few days had seen the traffic come down to a trickle, and raucous noises of kids and adults had quitened down to being just twittering of smiles and squeals.

And today, the birds were chirping. Not just chirping, I think some of them were screaming their tiny lungs out. I had forgotten how noisy birds could be, familiar as my ears had become to honks, screeching of tyres and elevator messages.

I found myself involuntarily smiling and luxuriating in their sounds. Birdsong is soothing. Reminded me of my younger days, when I woke up at peacocks screaming and streets smelling of bird shit. And then I remembered why there was the curfew and the dread of COVID-19 came and hit me on the chest, a body blow of dread and foreboding.

The birds are singing because we, the humans, have quietened down. This song is not for soothing me. This is their triumph. They are immune to this obnoxious virus, but it is our mortal enemy. I feel cheated - how can the birds chirp and sing lustily when we are cowering in fear? Do we not feed them? Do we not keep seeds out for them to eat on the bird basins which build? Do we not stitch together their wings when they are injured? And look at them now, singing in abandon, mocking us!

The birds flew past me as I stood in the balcony. It caused a flutter loud enough to snap me out of my lazy thoughts and sleep. I saw them make a graceful curve and settle down on the champa tree. Then, the chirping began again.

Then, it hit me. They are happy this is happening to us. They are happy they can reclaim the sound waves. They are happy that there are no noxious fumes in the air. They are happy there are no people shooing them away. They are just nestling back into mother natures lap, and expressing delight in their moment. We humans have robbed them of so much, so so much. And we expect them to think of us as their friends just because we give them seeds? Ha, of course they won't!

The Champa tree though was just there the way it always is. Graceful and fragrant as always. It does not care about the birds sitting on its branches, it does not care that its flowers are fragrant to us. It just is. It does not seem to be affected by our cowering down. It is just the way it always is. It is just being itself.

That itself is just plain old nature. Mother Nature really does not care, does she, about us humans? Whether we respect her or not, whether we exploit her, or mine her, or rape her or harvest food for us out of her. Whether we are living or dying. Whether there is a virus that is killing us. She just is. Nature does not give a damn!

Overwhelmed...

The past week, or rather past one month, has been overwhelming to say the least.

The first was the spat about moving the work space. Which brought me eye to eye on the work situation and made me see the situation as it actually was. Not with hope, not with despondency, but just what it was. And it wasn't pretty. Not just in terms of work that remains to be done, but also in terms of when one could hope to complete it, with the current state, current team and present state of mind of all concerned. Pretty pretty grim.The decision is still WIP, but it needs to be done. '

Then, there was the issue of facing up to the domestic tyrant, and having a youngster face up to it, rather than me. Again, a day of rude awakening, to see the writing on the wall, and my having a complete meltdown about it. I was surprised by the meltdown, I hadnt expected to feel the anger I felt, the despondency I felt and the sense of having let it all go. But then, the tyrant woke up and saw for itself the situation, gave assurances with concrete action that would be taken, with immediate changes, and somehow the crisis passed. I was close to throwing in the towel, I must say that though.

Then, the case of tax terrorism and returning from the brink of it, so much so that one had to return after completing half a leg of the journey. Consulting the laws on the run and deciding to come back. Brinkmanship. But looking back today, perhaps a good decision. Though only time will tell.

And then the pandemic that is sweeping the world, carona virus. The anxiety to beat other anxieties. More so because of my health condition. And now, the continuing house-stay due to it. And reading the news of death, of risk and of impunities taken by others due to ignorance or callousness.

The last straw being the discussion today about the psychosis and the need to get a loved one admitted to a hospital to treat it. Mind numbing. I am at the ropes, barely standing.

I want this week to end. And end well. But it won't. The worst is yet to come. Have no more strength to even brace myself. I shudder to think what the next hour will bring.

And I think of a few more times when I was in a situation like this. At a desk, at a hospital. At a NICU ward.I am beginning to panic....Save me, please. Someone save me.

Anxiety stumps reason

When dealing with an anxious person, a reasonable person has to give in and agree to what the anxious person wants to do. Anxiety and fear wins, reason fails. And then whatever harm comes due to the actions flowing from anxiety, the anxious person and the reasonable person both have to deal with it, as devastating it may be..

The other alternative is move away, phusically and emotionally from the anxious person.

No third way. 

The importance of Touch

Touch. Skin.

Seldom discussed, but a very important aspect of personal and intimate relationships. Words and thoughts fall short when you need comfort, security, nurturing and love. All it needs is the comfort of a familiar cuddle, a brush on the arm, a kiss, a pat on the head, a light caress on the cheek, a warm caccoon of a hug, sometimes just a piece of grass thrown towards you.

Ah, the bliss of a touch....

Life Risk Matrix

Life risks that we routinely take
1. Money - Better to lose money than to lose time over something/someone. Money lost can always be earned with skill and hard work. Plus money risked and lost will teach you how to treat and respect money, so some early losses can help you grounded and teach you the skill of making peace with some risked-and-lost money.

2. Time - Better to lose time and money than to lose sleep being disturbed over someone/something. Time once lost will never come back, but you will learn the skill of not risking too much time over something that you are not getting better at.

3. Emotion - Better to lose emotional attachment towards someone than to lose your own health. There is enough kindness and love out there in the world. You can build relationships with other people, if one goes bad, with honesty, integrity, care and love.

4. Health - Never risk health and well being over anything for a long term. A slightly damaged health can be recouped back with some solid work on body and mind. Not so for long term risks such as long term smoking, drinking, gluttony, laziness, work-alcoholism and substance abuse.

5. Reputation - Never risk reputation as it severely damages your social presence, much more than the harm done. Also, once damaged, your social connections will always remember that and you will never be able to walk away from that narrative. The narrative itself will paint the act with 10 times more ferocity than the act itself. This risk is also the most insidious of it all, as it would spew out from thousand mouths, behind your back and hidden by social banalities. This is also the one risk that is most difficult to salvage. Stay away from dubious people, un-ethical ventures and unscrupulous people.

These are learnings from my own life.

As I look back at my own life and my own decisions regarding life risk, I find that I have :

1. Fretted the most about money decisions, been penny wise and pound foolish several times.
2. Been reckless with my time, spending it on tasks that gave me no pleasure and added no skill.
3. Tolerated toxic emotions too long due to stupid social norms such as "What-would-people-think" and soul-deadening thoughts such as "I-am-not-good-enough-to-come-first"
4. Been careless about health by being lazy and indisciplined about my eating, exercising and sleep habits, taking my body for granted, beautiful though it is.
5. Have ignored the attacks made on my reputation, choosing to not standing up for myself, and avoiding the unpleasant dirty insinuations, as the slander came from once-loved people.

So, be careful of what you do and with whom, be careful to rest well and eat well, be mindful about your own interests and passions, be aware of how you spend your time and build skills and relationships with it, and do risk some money for buying whatever money can buy - experiences, hire people and buy things that give you pleasure.

Papa and his love lives on in my heart

Papas passing away was the largest impact event of my life. My life today would have been in a different trajectory if he was not snatched away so cruelly. I miss him terribly every single day, and strive to be a daughter that he would have been proud of.

At this moment, I look at my daughter and have only one thought. Papa passed away due to an accident, something he could not help, but my daughter should not have to go through this pain. Each of us, when we become a parent, have the responsibility of being as healthy and as careful as we can, so that we are not snatched away from our children due to our avoidable irresponsibility. It's a sacred relationship, that of a parent with a child. Whatever the age of the child, whatever worldly success, whatever other significant relationships - a parent loves like no other, is needed like no other, at ALL stage of life.

I am grateful for Papas love. He stayed too less, but his love has illuminated every second of my life. His love fuels me everyday, every hour. His absence feels like a physical pain to me, and will probably be so, till the time I live.

I miss you, papa...

Delusions, Delusions, Delusions

The world is a delusion. Or maybe it is not. Who knows?

For me, I am increasingly fighting to keep my sanity, as I clutch my delusions close....

That I am an innovator entrepreneur and that I am building something that will see the light of the day and that it would make money, and that the world at large,including customers and self, will care.

That I am a significant human being and that I will leave some impact on something in this world.

That I matter to other people, and that they care about what happens to me.

That family consists of bonds forged by blood and togetherness, and that it is all worth it the long run.

That as a mother, I will have an impact on my childs life beyond my sojourn on this earth.

That as a wife, I have a role to play in my husbands life journey.

That as a daughter, my mother cares for me beyond her sustenance and upkeep.

That as a sister, my brothers care about the nurturing and love I offer them.

That as a member of my in-laws family, I exist, beyond the family member who got me in.

That as a friend, my friends want to see me and laugh with me often.

That I like the world, and that I like the people in it.

That I enjoy reading and music and meeting friends and travelling to see places and enjoy food.

That I matter, even to myself.

Delusions, delusions and delusions. If I let go of them, would I even know who I am and whether I should live?

But, the reality is much bigger than my delusions. Reality bites. Just no one really cares. Or matters. Not even I care about myself for too long.

Heck, not even this world will survive time. Not even this world matters. Impervious, non-caring, cold, no-impacting, useless. There is no God. There is no benign presence. There is no purpose. The world will come to its end some day. In the fullness of time, the sun will stop shining, the earth will stop spinning, and it will not matter to the universe. It will go on expanding as it always has been. Nature and existence are impervious.

Why worry about just me being worthless, of not being of consequence? So is the world, the sun, the moon and all the beautiful sensation causing sights, smells and touches. Its all delusional. It will all turn to dust. And to being non-consequential.

But ah, the last delusion of mine is not delusional. Of course, I matter to myself. Till the time I live, I matter to myself. I am of consequence to myself. I care about myself. That is all. It should be all.

But it isn't. It freaking isn't.

The naming of the Ex'es

I am wondering - why is it that an ex-husband is called so, and the same does not apply to an ex-sister, or an ex-son?

In life, there are times when people move on beyond the blood relations that they have, and become strangers to their brothers and sisters, and sometimes to even their parents. People often times don't talk to their parents anymore, or don't meet their brother for years, or disinherit their son for some misdemeanor, and so on.

Blood will be blood, people say, but I haven't found it to be so. People can and do drift apart, sometimes they push people violently away from them, despite being bound by bonds of blood. I know of so many like that.

Just like marriages and loves, people do move beyond the ties of blood, and become ex'es, Why are they not called "ex" too?

Uncle Vanya - By Anton Chekov

Read the play Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekhov, and followed that up by watching a BBC production on the same. Superlative experiences both.

The play is set in Russia, in an estate. It has a Professor, his young wife, his ex-wifes brother, who is the Uncle Vanya, his ex-mother-in-law, his daughter, a country doctor and an old nanny (not the professors). Its a story of delusion and love, of wasted time and of youth and beauty.

If I were to name the play differently, I would rename it to be 'Feet of Clay".

So many of us are deluded about people. Young love, is mostly delusional. Young devotion is also so. Young people are so impressionable, naive and so deficient in the knowledge of the ways of the world, that they tend to take the opinions and thoughts of people older and beloved to them as their own. They also take mature people to be what they say they are. Young people do not know about illusions that mature people have about themselves, and also about how crafty seemingly mature people can be. They do not know that they can be devoured by the self absorbed older people, who do not hesitate to use their aura, and the young people's vulnerability and ignorance to take advantage of them, sometimes even their entire lives.

Uncle Vanya is man who is 47 now, took his sisters and mothers opinion, both beloved to him, when he was younger, and spent his lifetime serving his brother-in-law, the Professor. It took him 20 years and some to realize that the Professor is an imposter, his erudition false and his mind petty. But of course, by then, it was already the autumn of his life. He also sees other victims of the Professor - his beloved niece (The professors and his sisters daughter), the second wife of the Professor and his own mother - and has to deal with the fact that while he may have realized his mistake, others haven't, and that he would have to make peace with that. He is horrified with the fact that he has consistently undervalued himself, and has accepted somebody else' opinion on him to be the true one.

To me, the one line where the Professor exclaims, "Ivan Petrovich, how could I know? I am not a businessman, I don't understand these things. You could have increased it (salary) anytime you wanted." is the curve where the perception of one man converts another mans life to a lifetime of servitude and ignominy. Not only does the Professor do the damage by his perception, he even washed his hands off of his own responsibility of the affair, and turns it on the victims shoulder!

As happens with great stories and writers, Uncle Vanya touched a chord. Its easy to recognize phases of my own life where I was Vanya, the hero worshipper, the looking-to-worship kind of soul, the kind who took peoples words to be the true, not realizing that behind those words are insecurities and vanities, and sometimes even predatory emotions. I also remember the utter chaos of the moment, when one realizes that the idol one has worshipped, decked out in ones heart and given years of life to, has feet of clay. The frustration that one then battles with oneself, the loss of faith in ones own judgement, and the regret of the years gone by, along with the desperate taking of courage of accepting ones mistake, and deciding to move on. And the sheer anger of watching the false idol, the emotional vampire, still being strong and capable of claiming its next victim.

As I take stock, I can still sense some of those people around. Worse, I can sense the falsies in me, as I have grown older, and I recognize that I could be tempted to play the same trick on some young people. May I never find myself desperate to do that, and may the young people around me never fall for that trick, if I do play it.

Here is the link to watch the play. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfH14h2-1Mg

Its kickin' in again!

It has started again. The kicking in of restlessness and wanderlust. I feel as if I am under house arrest, confined in the walls that I have constructed to live in. It seems as if I am in a jail.

I thought I had finally put down roots. Maybe there are no roots for me.

I yearn for another place, another set of faces, another set of skies, another set of thoughts to sustain me. I need to go and run outta here. Its not that I have nothing that interests me - everything interests me, but I am impatient to my interests. They don't hold me anymore.

No reason. I am just done here.

Cause and Effect

And then there are times when you meet people and they tell you about the impact you have had on their lives. And it strikes you about how you were completely unaware of this impact.

And you think about the long lasting effects of the impact. Then it becomes scary.

Identity Cr(ie)sis

I am a Jain. By birth.

By choice, I am a agnostic. By the way, as Jainism is based on the philosophy of Anekantvad - which essentially means "Each to his own", being a agnostic is not being non-jain. I am also a vegetarian by choice, though I do not differentiate between types of plant food or dairy products. I am aware and mindful of the violence humanity inflicts on the earth and its co-dwellers - and on my part try to minimize it as much as possible, without being fanatic about it. Which essentially means I am a happy middle-of-the-road person. My way of life will be frowned upon by ritualistic Jains, and will be frowned upon by hedonistic friends. So be it.

This past week has been one of Paryushan, the Jain festival of fasting and spiritual practice.

For my family, paryushan is business as usual. There are no changes in our routine, except that we sometimes go to Jain temple on the Samvatsari day, the day that most Jains fast, without partaking any food or water. I do not fast. For most Jains, paryushan is a period of spiritual practices, of fasting, of pratikaman, going to Vyakhan, and doing samayik. I do not do any of that. Nor does anyone else in my family.

This was not true with my parents. My father used to recite Bhaktamar every day of his normal life - all 48 shlokas, taking about one hour of his time, and would do it with joy and abandon. One of my favorite memories of him is him chanting the Bhaktamar with sheer joy and bliss. My mother, in my growing up years, used to do a full fast on every Panchami, and every paryushan was a time of spiritual activities. She knew the pratikaman by-heart, and used to lead several jain ladies in the practice. My husbands family are also passionate jains - with my mother-in-law visiting the Jain temple every day, before her meals, doing ekasana for the entire paryushan, and being a stoic jain in spirit and principle. My father in law, though did not follow Jainism's ritualistic ways of living, and though he was also a vegetarian by choice, there was little else he did by way of being a Jain.

This long explanation is just to make it known that whatever we follow in our family, has got nothing to do with my or my husbands parents. This is our way of life by choice. That being said, it is not that our family is a rebel. Most Jains my age are like us.

Till this time, this week, I have never had to think about the fact that I was born into a Jain family, or about Paryushan, and never had to defend it to myself or friends of mine.

The events in the last week, however, have changed that. Ban on sale of meat in several states in India, including Maharashtra, the state I call as my second home, along with a ban at Rajasthan, my birth state, presumably to respect the religious sentiments of jains, during our festival, Paryushan. Telling people that they should turn vegetarians because we Jains are observing days of spiritual practice is conceptually abhorrent and too invasive to me, even though I firmly believe that being vegetarian is a more humane way of life.

The social network and TV has been full of people condemning Jains. Some political leaders have spoken badly about Jains and asked them to leave "their" state. Jains, even Jain sadhus, have reiterated, some with disdain and some with harsh words towards the people who do not want to follow the meat ban. Celebrities have come out to oppose the ban and so on - the circus continues.

For the first time, I have had people ask me - Oh, so you are a Jain too, right? You do not want me to eat meat, right? And when I have responded that I really think that the decision of what anyone wants to eat today and any other day is theirs to take, I am asked again with an amused smile - Oh, so you are not a "real" jain....

All this has made me think about my identity. Yes, I am a Jain, as I was born as one. But I am not a meat-banning-and-forcing-peoples-choices kind of Jain. Yes, I believe is being compassionate towards animals and towards all humanity, but I don't think its any of my business to ask anyone else to also be the same. Its an individual choice, and a good one, in my considered view. However, I don't think this is the only way to be non-violent. There are other violent ways - avarice, dishonesty, laziness, materialism etc. Maybe I am violent in some other ways, which could be considered wrong by several other people of different faiths, but I don't accept anyone's right to force me to be how to be any other way than just what I am. I am willing to be persuaded, reasoned, but forced, no!

I am completely ok with people deciding to eat meat or any other thing during paryushan, indeed on any other day, if they are not persuaded that being vegetarian is not a good thing for them. I also believe and know that most Jains are like me. Each one to his own, is a most prevalent way of thinking, for most professional educated Jains.

I must speak up and say so. If I don't, then others who do not know what I think, will think I too want to force them as I am a Jain. My saying this publicly will make my Jain relatives and friends doubt me. It will make my non-Jain friends doubt me. Let them.

Wait - let me think some more. Am I sufficiently Jain? Am I willing to stand on the podium and support people who are opposing the meat ban?

Yes, I am.

Yes, I am a believer in live-and-let-live.

Yes, I need to let people know that there are tolerant, not-forcing-upon-other-people types of Jains too.

Yes, I will stand up and make my opinion known.

But wait - would I be ostracized by my extended family if I did that? My extended family knows what type of practicing Jain I am. Indeed, many of my cousins and their children are like me. However, what would be looked at askance would be about how I did not stand up for the jain point of view of vegetarianism at this time of so called crisis on the Jain community. How could I agree with the people who did not want the meat ban?

And, what about my mother, what would she say? my masi? my chacha? my mama? My mother would definitely be disappointed in my public tolerance of all things not jain, though not disapprove. My mother-in-law would chastise me and my husband and links with my husbands family would become even more tenuous. And my mama would definitely definitely disapprove. Next time when I meet these elders, I would be given a thorough talking to. I would be subjected to a lot of "Oh, how could you...?" - even by people who are like me in practicing jainism. And oh, does that mean no jain would marry my daughter? Oh My God......

Standing up for my convictions, I realize, will not be easy. Let me think again. Does this matter really matter? Would it really matter if I keep my opinion to myself and not subject myself to the necessary doubts?

Ok. decision time. I will keep quiet. Yes, given everything else, this is a sensible choice. And this is what I will do. Let the political parties and the gurus and the samaj ke thekedars sort this thing out. I have to live my life, take care of my business and take care of my daughter. These are things that are more important. Yes.

Anycase, maybe this will simply die its own death. The paryushan will get over in 2 days, and then we will be the same set of people who always were. The wealthy, unobtrusive, look-similar-to-Hindus types. Decision taken, dilemma resolved, I am at peace.

But I am not really. I am now worried more than ever on reflection. This is exactly how most middle-of-the-road minority people think when the fringe extreme elements of their religion start making extravagant, intolerant demands upon the others in name of religious identity. Most people simply choose to keep quiet, just like I am wont to. Most minorities consequently stand the risk of being identified by the religious intolerant actions, and several times, the price is high. Muslims have faced this for years and years, not just in India but at other places also. Recently, a muslim youngster in the US was accused of creating a bomb when all he was did was creating a home made clock.

Do I want my daughter to be forced to defend her identity like this innocent curious young boy? No. A thousand times No.

For the first time, I think about my identity, and how it affects me and others around me. Till now, I was always a part of the majority, and I never needed to think about it, but this time, I have walked in the minority shoes and realized how it exactly feels. It is not nice. Not nice at all.

I need to think again. And so do millions of other moderate Jains need to, too. Not just moderate Jains, all moderate muslims, all moderate human beings, who just want to let people be, to let people make their own choices. Moderate people who do not want their identities to become contaminated by the people who want to force other people to be like them.

Just what can we do to keep our identities intact and let them not be hijacked by others of our faith?

Losing of self

Every loss of mine has robbed me of a critical essence of mine. That part of me has gone with the loss and never come back. I have managed to live, but not whole. Its a shot-through-with-holes kind of life. I look around and find people around me struggling through the same deprecation of self. I am not the only one struggling.

I remember that when my losses were recent, I would stare at others and wonder if they knew how I was bleeding and lacerated inside. I would wonder about how they would react if they knew. I would think - maybe there are others who are equally adept at hiding their losses and wounds, and would take solace in the grim silent companionship that provided. I am not the only person in the world who had had losses, I would tell myself, and reassure myself, the world with its thousands of people has coped with losses, and has continued to smile. I would cope too, I would tell myself - it just needs more time. Time being a great healer and all that.

But time really isn't a healer. It hasn't healed, and I doubt it has healed others. We have just become better with time in faking our wholeness- made easier by the fact that our bodies show no scars of our losses. Our body appears whole, shiny and well fed.

Eyes give the game away at times. Eyes that lingers at new born babies, father and daughter walking together, young lovers, friends smiling at each other coffee, and then look away, unable to deal with the images of the previous self that it conjures up. Yes, I have caught memories of losses in eyes, mine and of others.

There are days that I am unable to live with the diminished self I have become. And it is those days that I yell, I criticize, I lash out, I rant and then after having gone through every coping mechanism, just hide myself in a room and ululate.

“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.”
— Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

Not willing to settle

We have this favorite place that we all want to be. We want to "settle down". It implies peace, calm and repose.

Parents urge their children to settle down. Young adults talk about settling down, after a bout of flings. Young kids are told to settle down and take a professional interest after they are done dabbling with many subjects. It is by and large expected that once people 'settle down', they will be happier.

For some reason, I hate that world. It seems to me that settling down is like a closing of hope, along with a refusal to look at opportunities of improvement. I have chosen to settle down at times when I found myself with people or places where I really wanted to be, and sure that this is what matched my desires and wants in every way.

I have somehow not managed to settle down for things in life, simply because it was time for me to settle down. It had to be just so. Not just because the time was ripe. When I have found myself at places which are not good enough. They are okay, not uncomfortable, but it does not match my desirability or quality bar. And when I am not settled down, I am restless, out of sorts, irritable and constantly pecking away at the situation so that it ups itself and gets to be where I want it to be. My friends tell me that the situation is good enough, and most people do not have the good fortune of having even half of what I have. But I am not willing to settle at half measures, and lower my bar. It can be the way I like it, and I will not rest till it is. Of course, often times, this is not in my control and I can only try, but I will be damned if I don't try till I have a breath in my body.

It is so so hard for me to give up. If it matters to me, I find it hard, very hard to admit that it isn't working out, close my options and walk out.

I drive myself nuts being this way. Stupidly persevering, when it is obvious to me that it would not work out. Stubborn and mulish.

Oh, why can't i just settle down? Accept things the way they are. Tell myself that this is exactly how God intended it best for me - and other such positive statements.

Its killing me, this not willing to settle.

Lately I am struggling between my past self and my future self. My past self wants me to continue on the road she has taken and plough on.

My future self says she is tired of waiting her turn. She is different from the past one, radically different, and she wonders if she waits longer, she may never get a opportunity to exist.

And I, the present one, am torn between the two. I am not at peace. I am impatient with both of them. For my past one for holding on to me, and making me her commitment device, and for the future one for despairing.

I think my future self will win. Not time for her yet - but will soon be.

Price

Never ever compare yourself with anyone else. Never envy anyone.

You have no idea of the price they have paid to be where they are.

There is always more than what meets the eye. You only see what they have become today, but have no idea of the price that has been paid by them in the process of becoming. The inner outcome of paying the price is hidden, known only to the person who paid. You, being what you are, may have never agreed to pay that price.

The hardest thing...

The hardest thing to kill is Hope.

Like life, it springs eternal in the human heart.

Grief

It is that day of the year again. The day the reminds me of what I have lost.

Not that it needs reminding. I remember it every day. And yet, yet, I have managed to live on. I have managed to smile and laugh and dream. There is not a day when I don't grieve, but I have coped, have moved on.

Have I really?

I remember the time when I lost. I felt as if my being was shattered in thousand pieces, with each sinew of mine shredded. As if every nerve of mine sat up on its haunches and let out a piercing yell of pain. And then, sat down with its head down and wept and wept and wept. And then, when the flood of tears abated, I came back to consciousness, and saw that I was still whole. My fingers were intact, my hair was still in place, my stomach still growled with hunger - all of this while the sinews inside were still facing the skies and continuing to bawl with a deafening sound. My hurt self was angry, sad, desolate and in throes of despair, but my living self wanted to move, eat, defecate and yes, even smile. I hated myself that day. Hated myself for being a part of my living self, and hated being a part of my hurt self.

And then came the others. Others who came because they heard of my loss, and wanted to comfort me. I looked at them, and told them about my yelling and screaming sinews. But they wanted me to think about food, about what to wear for the funeral, about how I wanted to dress her. They wanted me to be one with them. But I wanted to go with her. I wasn't for the world. My world was gone, did they not know that? And yet, they persisted. They put food in front of me. My stomach growled and kicked me. I gave in, and ate a morsel of food, and then another, and then another and then a whole meal. My stomach smiled. The others who brought me food smiled too. The sound from my sinews raised its level, and wanted to be heard again. I started to tell the others, but they hurried on, not meeting my eyes, and distracting me by telling me about the funeral. I realized then, they don't want me to tell them about my anger and hurt and desolation.

I remember saying that I wanted to see her. They said I could not. She was taken away to the mortuary, they said. They then pushed me home. Home to where her bed was, her clothes, her pillows and her toys. And the pain returned thousand fold. I could not bear it. I wanted to die as I yelled again. There was no one to hear me. They could not bear to be with me, I think. They could not even look at me in the face, afraid to see the hurt bawling out. They were not with me. Would never be. They perhaps had hurts of their own, and my hurt and loss reminded them of their own.

Days passed and I was left with myself. The hurt self and the self that was living. The only way the living self could live was by ignoring the other self. By letting her cry, letting her beat her head against the wall, letting her tear herself down. I hated myself being the living self on days. Those days I would starve the living self. And on other days, my hurt self would come out and bawl. She would take me near railway tracks and invite me to try coming between the wheels and the tracks. She would make me want to drown myself in the sea and make me walk along the shore for hours, waiting for the tide to come in and claim me. How can you live and eat without her, she would ask me. I had no answers. Often times I agreed with her. The others cheered the living one, and ignored the hurt one. I began to hide the hurt one from others, she really had no other companion than me, so why bother having her out with others, I reasoned.

Its been years now. My hurt self lies crumpled within me, lurking behind every smile of mine. I have chosen to hide her, but she is a huge part of me. She comes out and stares at me from mirrors, and when watching a very young baby, thwacks her head against the wall.

But on days like today, I let her come out in the open, and grieve and be angry. Angry at the so called Gods, angry at doctors, angry at everyone who could have helped her baby, but did not. And sad for her baby, who got nothing, nothing from the world. Nothing but pain and illness. On days like today, I allow myself the luxury of becoming one with my hurt self, and suspend living for a while.

Tomorrow, however, is another day. She will have to hide again. No one, not even myself, can bear to be with her. She needs care and comfort, but I can't give it to her - I simply don't have the amount she needs.

TOTD: Insignificance

It is not annihilation that I am terrified about. It is insignificance.