For the first time in my life yesterday, I felt an urge, a need arise in me to speak in
front of a large group of people. The last time I did that was at the
convocation ceremony of the teachers' training course that Vidya Sagar
was running, where I had to speak as coordinator of the course. That was more than a decade ago.
A few weeks ago, a dear family friend of ours for about five decades, took on the task of organising a memorial gathering for my father. As they were drawing out a list of speakers which consisted of friends through the years, fellow activists, bureaucrats, colleagues etc., he asked me and my mother to speak as part of the family. There was a hesitation which came up, and yet, there was a more overpowering impulse that wanted me to do that. But I did not follow that. I let it go. And after that no one pursued the idea of my talking. I was scared and felt uncomfortable to ask again. There were no words that were coming too to my mind, for me to share something about my father, and so I let it all go.
Day before yesterday, while I was sitting at my computer, late at night, all of a sudden, there was a sudden dam burst of thoughts and words that simply flowed and flooded me. I followed the flow of that, and started typing everything that came to my mind. It was exactly how my poetry flows....from that space that I don't know about....when something else takes control of me and flows through me. There was absolutely no editing or re-wording that I needed to do. It all simply flowed. After a long time since my dear father passed away, I cried that night. And strangely, the start of the text was as if I was standing before an audience and speaking.
The next morning, on the day of the function, I sat with my tea to open my laptop, and I went through the text again. I felt an impulse to share what I had written with Srinath. He started reading it, and asked me if I was going to speak that evening. I said no and that no one had asked me to after the initial discussion.. He finished reading what I had written, and said that I should speak. I smiled and told him how I had wanted to initially, but that there was a hesitation, and so I had not pursued it at all. He asked me if I still felt like speaking. I said yes. He immediately picked up the phone and spoke to my mother. She said she would speak to our friend who was organising it all. They were all very happy that I had agreed to speak. And so I did.
Later during the day, I called my mother to clarify some things and asked her if she had read what I had sent her - the text of my talk. She said she had and broke down. "You are very brave," she told me. I did not understand why she said that, nor did I want to. I was simply trying to understand myself. "I am not brave.....I am filled with fear", is what I told her. For that was how I was feeling. I told her that she should not hold herself back that evening and that it is was okay for her to cry; that we were there for her and with her. And that's what she did.....she broke down as she spoke that evening.....she let it all flow. And I wonder now if what I had written and wanted to speak, was simply for the three of us - myself, my father and my mother. Was there a reason that it flowed the way it did....a reason that I don't know and perhaps will never know?
I remember now how terrified I was of speaking in front of a crowd. I remember how I was asked to speak as coordinator of the course, more than ten years ago. I remember how I told my mentor that I was terrified, and how she had held me with love. I remember how she told me that I could do it my way if I liked - that I could take printouts of my talk and pass it along for people to read, instead of speaking on stage. I remember how just her saying that and her willingness to be open to doing things differently, gave me a little confidence to speak. And I did, standing there on stage in front of a large crowd, including students who were looking up to me, and read out my speech, my whole body trembling. That was the first and last time that I had ever spoken in front of a crowd. Until yesterday, ofcourse.
So yesterday, all these memories came back....old stories of fear and feeling unworthy and inadequate. But those stories did not hold any ground. They simply came and went. There was something else more powerful that was perhaps taking root inside of me, or trying to come out. I could feel it inside. There was a little anxiety about it all, but there was no chaos and confusion and conflict that ruled me. As I sat there, listening to all the speakers, I found myself enjoying every one of them. In between, sudden spasms of anxiety would come up, but die down just as quickly as they arose.
And then, just before the last speaker went on stage (it was my turn after that), I found myself being tested by life. Raghav suddenly decided to come and sit next to me. He was playing on his iPad with his headphones on. All of a sudden, he started getting upset and irritated. I asked him if he was getting hungry. He said that he wanted to eat a particular thing, which I did not have and could not possibly give him then. We spoke about it softly and he finally agreed to go out and eat another snack that I had brought for him.
Soon he came back all satisfied, and sat down next to me. A few minutes later, he showed signs of irritation and being upset again. This time, he started stomping his feet, punching the air with his fists, putting down his iPad hard on the seat, and silently screamed (his whole body was contorted as if he was screaming, but there was hardly any sound coming out, except for a whine). I felt the anxiety rise in me again...a fear of what he was going to do, whether he would actually scream, how people would react to that and so on. But what I did simply did not reflect that anxiety at all. I calmly and softly whispered to him that he couldn't scream in there, and that he could go back and sit with his father or outside if he was agitated, and tried to hold him when he let me do that. He resisted doing anything for a while and then just as suddenly as this had come up, he simply walked away with his dad outside. I don't know what happened after that.
Soon, it was my turn to speak. There must have been around 50 people or so in the audience, many well-known people - the elite of Chennai, and many who were not well-known but did their work with passion and quietly. As I heard my name being called, I got up with a smile, took of my slippers and went up on stage. The rest of it was like a movie that was being played out in front of me. I simply watched myself speak my heart through what I had written the previous night. There were no butterflies in my tummy, no pounding heartbeats, no hesitation or fumbling with words. A couple of times, I found tears welling up and a lump rising up in my throat as I spoke, but a deep breath, and all was well. Yes, I simply read out what I had written from my heart. That's what my dear husband told me after. But to me, for the first time, it simply did not matter what anyone thought about what I said. I was doing it all for myself and for my dear father. That was all that mattered. It was for me as if I was speaking for him to listen to me, and for me to hear myself speak. And that's what I did. That's what Life let me do. It was all about me, and yet nothing about me.
After I had spoken, many people came and held my hand, some hugged me, some had tears in their eyes as they told me how well they thought I had spoken and from my heart. None of that mattered. And yet, it did. I felt alone and connected....to myself and to all of them. For I know that I did not speak for them....I had simply spoken for myself. I hadn't stood up for anything or anyone. I had simply stood up for myself. That was all that mattered.
I have many people to thank for for this unfolding.....my dear mentor - Usha Ramakrishnan, who was the first one who truly understood my fear of speaking to an audience and made space for me to find other ways of doing that; my dear husband Srinath who has always seen me in my highest light, for taking a peek into my heart on his own and being a catalyst to make this happen yesterday; my dear friend Biren who made me see my fear and squirm time and again in my discomfort of having to speak, pushing me to explore myself beyond my comfort zone, and yet making space and holding my hand through it all with care and gentleness; my dearest father who in his absence, filled me with his presence and was the greatest inspiration for me to speak my heart and face my fear of doing that head on; my dear son for being the still lake where I can see my own reflection ever so clearly as he brings up and reflects all my fears through his sheer presence; my own self for showing me the grit and love that I am capable of for myself; and Life for showing me what a great artist it is as it choreographed all this to perfection! What can I ever want more of, but Life!
And to add to this beautiful choreography, I find this beautiful piece on anxiety, written by Matt Licata, that spoke to me this morning as I opened Facebook....here is a little extract from it.....
"...What if anxiety were a very legitimate and valid experience, in fact a harbinger of integration? And what if the freedom and the aliveness you are longing for will never be found in understanding, 'transforming,' or even 'healing' it, but by entering into relationship with it? By practicing kindness toward it? By daring to be intimate with it? By becoming curious about it, dropping underneath the very compelling narratives spinning around it, descending into the very alive, underlying energy of the body and its vast intelligence and creativity? For this energy is longing for just one moment of your tender presence, for your full participation, and for your commitment to no longer abandon the life that is moving in you now.
What if anxiety was a messenger sent by some part of you that was longing to be met, finally arising into the light of your awareness to be integrated into the wholeness that you are?
What have you abandoned in yourself—turned from out of shame, grief, despair, or fear?
Something is knocking at the door of your heart. What is it?"
And here is the text of my speech from last evening's memorial function....
A few weeks ago, a dear family friend of ours for about five decades, took on the task of organising a memorial gathering for my father. As they were drawing out a list of speakers which consisted of friends through the years, fellow activists, bureaucrats, colleagues etc., he asked me and my mother to speak as part of the family. There was a hesitation which came up, and yet, there was a more overpowering impulse that wanted me to do that. But I did not follow that. I let it go. And after that no one pursued the idea of my talking. I was scared and felt uncomfortable to ask again. There were no words that were coming too to my mind, for me to share something about my father, and so I let it all go.
Day before yesterday, while I was sitting at my computer, late at night, all of a sudden, there was a sudden dam burst of thoughts and words that simply flowed and flooded me. I followed the flow of that, and started typing everything that came to my mind. It was exactly how my poetry flows....from that space that I don't know about....when something else takes control of me and flows through me. There was absolutely no editing or re-wording that I needed to do. It all simply flowed. After a long time since my dear father passed away, I cried that night. And strangely, the start of the text was as if I was standing before an audience and speaking.
The next morning, on the day of the function, I sat with my tea to open my laptop, and I went through the text again. I felt an impulse to share what I had written with Srinath. He started reading it, and asked me if I was going to speak that evening. I said no and that no one had asked me to after the initial discussion.. He finished reading what I had written, and said that I should speak. I smiled and told him how I had wanted to initially, but that there was a hesitation, and so I had not pursued it at all. He asked me if I still felt like speaking. I said yes. He immediately picked up the phone and spoke to my mother. She said she would speak to our friend who was organising it all. They were all very happy that I had agreed to speak. And so I did.
Later during the day, I called my mother to clarify some things and asked her if she had read what I had sent her - the text of my talk. She said she had and broke down. "You are very brave," she told me. I did not understand why she said that, nor did I want to. I was simply trying to understand myself. "I am not brave.....I am filled with fear", is what I told her. For that was how I was feeling. I told her that she should not hold herself back that evening and that it is was okay for her to cry; that we were there for her and with her. And that's what she did.....she broke down as she spoke that evening.....she let it all flow. And I wonder now if what I had written and wanted to speak, was simply for the three of us - myself, my father and my mother. Was there a reason that it flowed the way it did....a reason that I don't know and perhaps will never know?
I remember now how terrified I was of speaking in front of a crowd. I remember how I was asked to speak as coordinator of the course, more than ten years ago. I remember how I told my mentor that I was terrified, and how she had held me with love. I remember how she told me that I could do it my way if I liked - that I could take printouts of my talk and pass it along for people to read, instead of speaking on stage. I remember how just her saying that and her willingness to be open to doing things differently, gave me a little confidence to speak. And I did, standing there on stage in front of a large crowd, including students who were looking up to me, and read out my speech, my whole body trembling. That was the first and last time that I had ever spoken in front of a crowd. Until yesterday, ofcourse.
So yesterday, all these memories came back....old stories of fear and feeling unworthy and inadequate. But those stories did not hold any ground. They simply came and went. There was something else more powerful that was perhaps taking root inside of me, or trying to come out. I could feel it inside. There was a little anxiety about it all, but there was no chaos and confusion and conflict that ruled me. As I sat there, listening to all the speakers, I found myself enjoying every one of them. In between, sudden spasms of anxiety would come up, but die down just as quickly as they arose.
And then, just before the last speaker went on stage (it was my turn after that), I found myself being tested by life. Raghav suddenly decided to come and sit next to me. He was playing on his iPad with his headphones on. All of a sudden, he started getting upset and irritated. I asked him if he was getting hungry. He said that he wanted to eat a particular thing, which I did not have and could not possibly give him then. We spoke about it softly and he finally agreed to go out and eat another snack that I had brought for him.
Soon he came back all satisfied, and sat down next to me. A few minutes later, he showed signs of irritation and being upset again. This time, he started stomping his feet, punching the air with his fists, putting down his iPad hard on the seat, and silently screamed (his whole body was contorted as if he was screaming, but there was hardly any sound coming out, except for a whine). I felt the anxiety rise in me again...a fear of what he was going to do, whether he would actually scream, how people would react to that and so on. But what I did simply did not reflect that anxiety at all. I calmly and softly whispered to him that he couldn't scream in there, and that he could go back and sit with his father or outside if he was agitated, and tried to hold him when he let me do that. He resisted doing anything for a while and then just as suddenly as this had come up, he simply walked away with his dad outside. I don't know what happened after that.
Soon, it was my turn to speak. There must have been around 50 people or so in the audience, many well-known people - the elite of Chennai, and many who were not well-known but did their work with passion and quietly. As I heard my name being called, I got up with a smile, took of my slippers and went up on stage. The rest of it was like a movie that was being played out in front of me. I simply watched myself speak my heart through what I had written the previous night. There were no butterflies in my tummy, no pounding heartbeats, no hesitation or fumbling with words. A couple of times, I found tears welling up and a lump rising up in my throat as I spoke, but a deep breath, and all was well. Yes, I simply read out what I had written from my heart. That's what my dear husband told me after. But to me, for the first time, it simply did not matter what anyone thought about what I said. I was doing it all for myself and for my dear father. That was all that mattered. It was for me as if I was speaking for him to listen to me, and for me to hear myself speak. And that's what I did. That's what Life let me do. It was all about me, and yet nothing about me.
After I had spoken, many people came and held my hand, some hugged me, some had tears in their eyes as they told me how well they thought I had spoken and from my heart. None of that mattered. And yet, it did. I felt alone and connected....to myself and to all of them. For I know that I did not speak for them....I had simply spoken for myself. I hadn't stood up for anything or anyone. I had simply stood up for myself. That was all that mattered.
I have many people to thank for for this unfolding.....my dear mentor - Usha Ramakrishnan, who was the first one who truly understood my fear of speaking to an audience and made space for me to find other ways of doing that; my dear husband Srinath who has always seen me in my highest light, for taking a peek into my heart on his own and being a catalyst to make this happen yesterday; my dear friend Biren who made me see my fear and squirm time and again in my discomfort of having to speak, pushing me to explore myself beyond my comfort zone, and yet making space and holding my hand through it all with care and gentleness; my dearest father who in his absence, filled me with his presence and was the greatest inspiration for me to speak my heart and face my fear of doing that head on; my dear son for being the still lake where I can see my own reflection ever so clearly as he brings up and reflects all my fears through his sheer presence; my own self for showing me the grit and love that I am capable of for myself; and Life for showing me what a great artist it is as it choreographed all this to perfection! What can I ever want more of, but Life!
And to add to this beautiful choreography, I find this beautiful piece on anxiety, written by Matt Licata, that spoke to me this morning as I opened Facebook....here is a little extract from it.....
"...What if anxiety were a very legitimate and valid experience, in fact a harbinger of integration? And what if the freedom and the aliveness you are longing for will never be found in understanding, 'transforming,' or even 'healing' it, but by entering into relationship with it? By practicing kindness toward it? By daring to be intimate with it? By becoming curious about it, dropping underneath the very compelling narratives spinning around it, descending into the very alive, underlying energy of the body and its vast intelligence and creativity? For this energy is longing for just one moment of your tender presence, for your full participation, and for your commitment to no longer abandon the life that is moving in you now.
What if anxiety was a messenger sent by some part of you that was longing to be met, finally arising into the light of your awareness to be integrated into the wholeness that you are?
What have you abandoned in yourself—turned from out of shame, grief, despair, or fear?
Something is knocking at the door of your heart. What is it?"
***********************
And here is the text of my speech from last evening's memorial function....
Today I am here to speak about a man, a human being, who is
very very dear to me....he was my world, my go to place for everything. A place
where I was loved unconditionally. A place where I could be myself without fear
or shame. A place like the sky.....vast, open and always simply there. And I
never in my wildest of dreams imagined that I would stand up one day to
reminisce about him, and speak about him, without him being around in the
audience listening to me. I have a feeling that he is here somewhere,
eavesdropping on all of this and laughing at the cosmic joke that this is. For
how can a man who managed to secure a place in so many hearts, ever die?
Appa was not an extraordinary person. He was an ordinary
human being with his own share of failings and challenges like you and me. An
ordinary soul with an extraordinary will and self-belief. He never saw
challenges as things to be dealt with. To him, they were always opportunities
waiting to be used fully. They were
gifts waiting to be opened. He didn’t
just survive them, he thrived on them.
He was an incorrigible dreamer and optimist. And what drove
him to do extraordinary things were his passion and persistence to dream big
and the unflinching faith and devotion to chase his dreams, no matter what. He
believed that everything that came his way, and in the way, was a part of the
way. Such was his trust and deep surrender to life.
The world saw his extra-ordinariness, while I, as his
daughter, was privileged to see his ordinariness.....the soft, pliable, earthy
clay that he was made of....the same clay that we are all made of. I will
always cherish the many long, deep conversations that we had about life....like
two friends looking up at the stars on a dark night, sharing their hearts with
one another, listening to one another.
For a long time, I held a grudge against appa, for not
spending enough time with us as a family. But he flipped everything on its
head; even the idea that ‘charity begins at home’. Some years ago, an elderly
man from a village, who had come to meet him at home about some consumer
related issue, told me this as he was leaving: “Thank you for giving us, and the
world, your father.” That was the day I understood that charity begins at home
only for someone who considers only his family as his world. Not to someone who
considered the whole world as his family. That day I forgave myself and my
father for the time that we hardly ever spent together as family. That day I
realised that my father did not belong to us, but to the world and the cause
that drove him to touch the lives of countless people from all walks of life......On
that day I realised that charity begins out there in the world, for that is
where he truly belonged, that was his home. I feel privileged to have been able
to share my appa with all of you.
So yes, to the world he was a fierce activist, and a great
soul, who not only dreamed of an impossible world but also believed that that
was possible, and dedicated his life towards making that possible. Yes, he was
different things to different people whose lives he touched.....a friend,
philosopher, guide, mentor and more. But to me, he was and will always be appa
- my dearest appa.
A few days before he was in hospital for the last time, as
the doctors were considering a bypass surgery in his leg, I overheard him
telling someone on the phone....”Don’t worry. I will be back skipping, not
walking!” That was his spirit...rooted in the present, but always looking
beyond with a beaming smile. That is how I will always remember
him.....celebrating life in all its myriad hues....and always
walking....walking on....
For you did not give up,
you did not walk away,
you lived life,
and you walked on....appa...
you did not walk away,
you lived life,
and you walked on....appa...
And I wish to thank you all....every one of you....for
walking this journey with him, and with us.
***************
Very very touching Priya!!!
ReplyDelete