The Sari and Bindi I Wore for You

I love looking at saris and admiring the saris that adorn women, but I have never felt comfortable in one. I could never see myself working around the house in one, and so have always kept it for special occasions like weddings, festivals or temple visits, all of which have become a rarity over the last few years. I have often felt like a decked up doll in a sari, imprisoned by the yards of cloth that bind me to some strange thoughts that I have about it. I have never bought myself a sari after my wedding. And all those that I have, rest in peace in a corner of my closet, reminding me off and on, about a part of me that I didn't feel comfortable with. I didn't realise until the day you left, which part of me that was.

You always loved me in a sari. You asked me to wear one more often. I didn't quite enjoy wearing one, but I wore one just for you, on that Diwali day. You were always particular about my wearing a bindi, even if I was in a pair of jeans, or just awake and in my sleepy nightie. I still wear a bindi with whatever outfit I choose to wear. I wear it for you, thinking of you. And I will continue to wear that for you.

I remember how we used to go together to shop for a sari for amma for her birthday. I remember how we used to spend hours choosing one for her, so scared about whether she would like it and whether she would want to exchange it. But we would buy one all the same, however scared we were of our choice. Yes, you loved looking at and buying saris for her, choosing the colours with love. I am going to miss those rendezvous with you.

I remember the first Diwali sari you bought me. I think I must have been eighteen. It was a simple mehendi green silk cotton one, with a thin red and yellow thread-work border and a pink brocade pallu. And when I wore it on that Diwali day, I remember how you hugged me as I sat on your lap, and told me how beautiful I looked. You called me a young woman for the first time. I don't think I felt like a woman, nor wanted to feel like one. I guess I just always wanted to be your little baby, your little daughter, who could always cuddle up to you and look up to you. I still have that sari. I don't wear it anymore. But I use it to cover the wooden steps that hold the dolls for Navaratri. I will think of you fondly as I look at that sari drape the wooden boards each year.

On the day you left, I wondered who would perform your last rites. Would I be allowed to? Being a woman? Would your son-in-law be allowed to? There were many thoughts and questions that coursed through me as I sat beside you that night, unable to sleep....watching over you as you lay still and at peace with yourself and the world. Where did my tears go, I wondered? They had dried up. Or perhaps frozen. And in their drying up, they got me in touch with that part of me that lay forgotten and buried deep inside. I now know that they had frozen or dried up for a reason. They made me feel the man sitting inside of me. The man that I didn't quite like. The man who made me feel uncomfortable. The man who wielded power....a power that I was too scared of owning.

That night something shifted inside of me. I felt full of something....as if I was giving birth to something....something raw and powerful and fearless and unstoppable. Perhaps I was giving birth to myself....that part of me that longed to come out and see the world. I suddenly 'knew' what I had to do. I told everyone how I would love to perform the last rites for you, if I was allowed to. I told them how I wanted to be the son that I could never be. And then what unfolded was simply amazing! We found a priest who was amenable and understood my pain and longing. He said to me that I was the son you didn't have and that I had all the rights to perform your last rites.

That day appa, I wore a sari again, for you. Yes, they did ask me to wear one as it was supposed to be done that way, according to the 'shastras'. But I didn't wear it only for them. I wore it for you. I wore it for that part of me that I was giving birth to. The funny thing about it is that everyone thought that I was wearing a sari because I was a woman who was going to perform the rites. Little did they know how I was feeling inside, and that I felt more like a man inside when I wore the sari that day! Yes, that seems to be the only story that feels right. The one I want to hold now. The one that makes me feel complete. And suddenly in that moment, I felt 'whole', 'centred' and 'grounded'. There was a pregnant, palpable calmness and stillness. I didn't know or understand what was happening. I still don't. But this is perhaps one way of making sense of it all.

So yes appa, I played the role of a son that day for you, and for myself. And I think I played it to perfection. I wore that sari, sat beside the priest; I chanted the mantras silently inside while Srinath chanted them aloud; I gave him the grass to perform the rites, I lit the fire that he poured the ghee into; and yes appa, I lit you up too. I set fire to your heart....to your human form. I still don't know how I did that, without tearing up or breaking down. I don't know how I stood motionless, watching you go into the fire that would transform you into ashes in no time.Tears welled up inside, but they didn't flow out. They fell back in. And I don't know why.

All I know is that something prepared me for every action, every step that I took that day. Something took hold of me and made me play that role to perfection. Something coursed through me and left me completely transformed. Yes appa, some part of me died along with you. Yet something else came alive. I don't know what it was, but I know that it must be to do with a fusion or fission of energies....because that is how it felt, inside.

So was I a man or a woman that day? Was I a daughter or son? Was I a human being or the devil or the divine? Was I a rebel or a person with integrity and passion? Was I a change-maker or a person simply surrendering to the flow of life? Was I a social outcast because of my actions, or the one standing on the edge of a world that is being birthed? I simply don't know....and I am happy to not know.....because that is such a beautiful place and space to be in....and to know that I was split so wide open, only so that I could not know who I was anymore....a moment where I completely disappeared....and there were simply no boundaries anymore....

And to think that it all flowed from the sari that I decided to wear that day for you! That was the Grace that flowed into my life that day. I made friends with that part of me that I had pushed away.....the man in me. And I could make friends with 'him' only by wearing a sari. Because that was what 'he' wanted to wear. For you. And the bindi? Well, that is always there. The speck of stardust from which all of us are born and return to. Everything and nothing.

I remember

I remember

those tiny notes

of love

from Jonathan Livingstone Seagull,

small squares

of white emptiness,

full of a few lines

drawn from the heart,

and a nondescript sketch

of a tiny bird

in a corner,

to where my eyes

wandered every time,

like a compass

at rest;

I remember how I loved

your writing –

how you made yourself small

through your word art,

and how you stood out

through your disappearance,

simplicity and austerity;

I remember so many things

of our times together,

and perhaps memories

are the simple ways

we remember

the changing

and the changeless

in each of us.

Saying Yes to Life!

Something makes me want to write this post....maybe it is for myself, and maybe it will also open up something for someone else. But I know I want to write this one. To share myself vulnerably yet again. Yeah, it's been a long time....and it's perhaps about time now to get writing again. So bear with me if you think this is too trite or silly, because this means a lot to me.

Well, it's only recently that I started saying or rather became aware of saying 'yes' to life....being more spontaneous in opening up myself to Life and what it had to offer me. Today, I can say with a little more confidence and a spring in my step, that I understand the value and joy in simply opening up to Life more and more. And by opening up to Life I don't mean going after my desires, or seeking only joy or fulfillment in a moment that is not there now...what it means to me is to simply welcome anything that comes up in my Life, without wishing it away.

About three weeks ago, I was at rock bottom low a couple of times.....yes, I felt completely worthless, unloved, used and down in the dumps. The trigger was something from outside that brought back some old painful memories.There was a lot of pain and grief that I realised I had never given vent to before, and had perhaps moved on from prematurely. Perhaps that was why it was coming up again. This time however, I allowed myself to feel it completely, without wishing it away. I opened myself up to what was flowing into my life at that point. I let the pain soak in and sting me as it needed to. I let the extreme hatred that I felt for myself and others fill up my every pore. I cried, I hurt, I bled inside, without wanting to suppress any of that. I felt waves of anger rise inside - anger for being treated like an outcast and a nobody by Life. I remembered how I had always identified with one of the songs we learned at school (Nobody's Child) which was how I felt for a long time about myself. And that feeling came back more strongly than ever. It was a deeply painful, challenging, yet most fulfilling journey within. For it was when I almost drowned that I realised how much I actually wanted to survive. I realised how I was waiting for others to see my worth and love me, and waiting for Life to say 'Yes' to me, instead of seeing my own worth and saying 'yes' to Life.

That was a huge turning point for me. There was a huge shift within....a swell of self-love, like I had never experienced before. It was like a breath of fresh air after being dunked in murky water up to the point of drowning. I could finally lift my head up with my chest puffed out and breathe free, look to the sky and into the blazing sun with my eyes open and say 'yes, I want to live and live the way I want to.' I felt like a bird who had just discovered that it had wings.... wings that would help me fly to worlds I had never experienced or dreamed of exploring before.

It was funny and strange how when I said 'yes' to Life, Life seemed to start saying 'yes' to me. Suddenly I saw the same people who I thought didn't value me, show their care and an understanding of my skills and contributions. Suddenly the way I saw these issues changed almost overnight; and I felt ready to be 'used' by Life to be of service to the larger community, for that was what I wanted to do anyways. Feeling 'used' didn't matter to me so much any more, because I started seeing it in a completely new way:

When you realise that you are but an instrument of the Universe, to be 'used' for the sole purpose of adding something to the larger whole, all your ideas of being 'used', 'misused' or rotting in 'disuse' are composted into something beautiful......your whole life becomes a sacred offering of devotion to the Universe.

And then came this casual chatty statement from my friend - "Come off ya!", when we were chatting on Facebook one day, about her going to volunteer at a Tibetan Village Children's School in Dharamsala. She was making a trip all the way from the U.S. for two weeks, just to volunteer there for the refugee children's winter break, as they had no 'home' to go away to. I have often felt that one of my greatest failings is that I take people and their words too seriously, and suffered because of that, because I often discovered later that most people do not really mean what they say. This time too as I usually do :), I took her seriously and started thinking more about her asking me to come. The only difference this time was that I was already in the groove of saying 'yes' to Life, and so there were no excuses and reasons I was coming up with to weigh against that desire to go. And it paid to take her words seriously, for a change!

I started doing some serious research about going - at first I planned to go alone, but my two loves seemed too keen to come too, and so we made plans to go together. And everything seemed to flow smoothly from then on. I could feel myself flowing effortlessly with life, and life opening up spaces where I thought there would be walls that stifled the flow.

My friend's words - "We live only once ya! Just come!..." tripped me wide awake. Yes, that was what Life was trying to tell me! I suddenly heard that loud and clear, and the way I saw everything turned on its head. And I could see how all the things that I thought were stumbling blocks, were actually stepping stones showing me the way. Life was talking to me and I was listening to her. You will see that perhaps, as you read on...

My son shared with me on his own, how he was okay for me to go alone too as he knew how much I needed that time with myself and my friends. He also said that if we went together, he would still give me that space to do what I wanted to, when I wanted to. His saying this and understanding this after all these years of my patient waiting and many a sacrifice of sorts, meant so much to me. He is my world and was showing me yet again what a beautiful world I have.

My husband as usual with his completely different take on money, made me see yet again for the nth time, that money is energy and that it has to flow. While I was worried as to how we would find and spend so much money on travel now (money that we didn't really have ready and stashed away in the bank), he made me see how we had so far always got whatever we needed without any struggle, and that we should have faith that Life would take care of us. And so we went, using some that we had and some that we used on credit, trusting that Life would show us the way and help us find a way to repay that.  We spent a lot of money on this trip, just for us to go. But we also let it flow on effortlessly in the things we bought as gifts for others, in the generous tips we gave to people, using it to contribute to the local culture and economy in our own small ways. That is how we see money as energy that needs to flow without getting stuck. And I must say that I am enjoying living like this more and more.

There is a sense of freedom of living free (in a manner of speaking) from the clutches of money , that is liberating in the moment. While I know that to the rest of the world this could seem like total irresponsibility, arrogance even and madness, as a person who is involved and a part of this whole experience with money in this way, I can only say how responsible, humble and free I feel to look at money in this way now. To the world it could seem like we are actually getting further enmeshed into the debt culture, digging our own graves in the quagmire from which there is no escape. But then what is freedom really? True freedom is in the moment isn't it? And about freeing the mind to re-imagine and rethink what we believe is our reality now? And everything feels different when you know deep down and feel it in your bones that Life is speaking to you and showing you the way. What happens to you and around you then becomes a part of the conversation that you are having with Life.

Yes, we live as much in the moment as we can. And that is also a way of saying 'yes' to Life, because you are then completely present with it as it is unfolding now to you and for you. To say 'yes' to Life is to have implicit trust in it and the way it works....and like a dear friend shared, when there is so much trust, there is no real need for courage. Courage just happens without any effort. Trust is the light and courage is the shadow of that light that we see. And my truest mirror is Life. I know when I am on the right track; for she gives me a nod - clear and loud, just like she did this time, and just like she has done in the past, countless times. Sometimes I wonder if I really need anyone else to show me the way or tell me how or where I am going wrong. To speak with Life is to look beyond the people who carry the messages that she sends ...it is to look straight into the white of her eye knowing how much she loves you and how she is giving you just what you need now.

So this trip was in many ways a huge learning for me on how to say 'Yes' to Life. It was a dream trip, because it is the first one in the 44 years that I have been on this planet, where I have gone to spend time with friends, without any other work or agenda, other than simply being. It was the first time also that a friend thought of calling me like this, and the first time I felt an urge to say 'yes' spontaneously. It was a dream trip because every person on that trip had dreams and most of them came true - from seeing the Taj Mahal, which we thought would not happen because Obama was visiting Agra around the same time (and then he cancelled at the last moment and we got to go!), to seeing snow and catching hail, to walk as it snowed, long walks with friends into serendipity, some simple all-girls' fun, watching the sunrise and sunset over the grand Himalayas, feeling the chills of stark winter, treks on mountain trails and much more.....What louder message could Life give to me than that, to tell me that I was on the right track?

And you know what? Up until then, I didn't think I deserved any of this. I felt like an outcast and that life was serving me left-overs. Until I began to see that what I saw as left-overs was all the food that I really needed. I didn't need a feast. But of course as a broken human, I was always asking for more, like poor little Oliver Twist. But what a change it was when I began to ignore that 'poor'-ness that I was feeling so strongly....ah yes, it has been a long flight of stairs up to the darkest room in the house to open the darkest of drawers in the chest that I always thought were empty...and then I discovered that there was no emptiness....the drawers were full of gifts waiting to be opened by me. And yes, the journey up that long flight of stairs has been a slow, painful and heart-breaking one for me.....and I have many more drawers to open.....

Although I have loved and still enjoy and need my solitude, for a large part of my life I have also yearned for friendship and intimacy where there is no effort needed on the part of anyone to really tend it or make it grow. That yearning has been deep. From when I was little, I remember how I never knew how to be a part of gangs naturally. I was never one who could just follow the crowd for the simple reason of feeling included. I valued myself too much for that and still do. Maybe I have a huge ego, or maybe you can also see it as self-respect. I am still figuring that out. And so I have had the opportunity to enjoy very very few friendships where I could simply be myself, without having to put on any airs or masks. I am grateful to those few spaces.

I also saw how Life had denied me some simple pleasures that I have seen and watched many others around me enjoy quite effortlessly... from when I was young, and then a teenager. The joy of a phone call just to check how I am doing, an impromptu visit home, the thrill of a sleepover or a trip somewhere together, or just hanging out somewhere together. I have had a very measly share of that. That was how I saw it. Perhaps that was my own making because of the kind of person I was. I don't know.  No one called just because they felt like calling me. And I didn't because of my extreme shyness and awkwardness. I always waited for others to initiate. I was not sure what to say or do and did not know how to too. I found it difficult to open up and speak, which made it all the more hard for me, and maybe them. And so I fell silent, hoping that someone would listen to that and bail me out. Some people did, but most never knew and never did. And I carried this pain with me all along, not knowing what to do with it or how to handle it. Finding a friend in my husband and in another, was a huge turning point. It cracked open the shell I used to hide in, slowly and surely and gently. But I still find it challenging to open up and speak, initiate and flow using words.I don't know if I will ever overcome that fully or even need to. But I know more now than before that I love that part of me - that silence, that shyness, that awkwardness. For I know that that is where my true voice is born.

Yes I have only now maybe started saying 'yes' to Life, more than I used to. This is a new-found joy and confidence that I am basking in. Yet some of that pain is still there inside - of not mattering to people and of not being loved for who I am.  It rears its head every now and then, as if to remind me of something. Perhaps to show me how much more I need to love myself, or how much more I have to feel comfortable in my own skin, or simply a reminder of something that I still don't know and have to figure out. The spark... the fire that drives me to enjoy the simple serendipity that is Life.

Old Things

I love old things -
milestones of moments
frozen
inside moments,
used, bruised,
knocked around -
stories of survival
and resolve,
that sit now
by themselves,
on freshly painted walls,
and slow rocking chairs,
pickled in air-tight chests,
or seasoned like old wine
in dark forgotten closets;
suspended in moments
of holding their breath,
for that quiet celebration
by little hands -
where the lines
of the heart
and life,
are still being drawn.

Memories

memories
orphaned, like
glistening sea shells
strewn
on a desolate beach,
washed ashore
anew
with every ebb
and flow;
some broken,
some opened,
some empty,
some intact;
a myriad colours
and forms,
each one holds
a different story
waiting to unfold;
as two tiny feet
upon the shifting sands,
stop awhile to gaze
and pick them up -
shards of an old
broken heart
and a blotted out world,
that long to find
a new home,
in her warm
precious folds;
reminders
of what it means
to be in touch
with what is
real,
broken,
human,
alive.

Memories

Some stand out
like bloodstains
on soft flannel -
unyielding
to repeated rinses.

Some others blend
into the warp and weft
of crumpled, sullied cotton -
stories woven,
aired and worn out.

Yet others stay
like watermarks
on crisp white silk -
they've soaked in
too long, to be forgotten.

Memories. Stay.
Even after a good rinse.

How to eat a Mango

How to Eat a Mango

Today I really enjoyed eating a mango after a long time! The reason is that I ate it whole, and not skinned and cut up into neat cubes, served in a bowl with a spoon....yeah...when you eat a mango, you must eat it "wild" It definitely tastes divine that way!

Many many years ago, when I was a little kid, I remember sitting down and watching my grandmother eat a mango, every single day, when mangoes were in season. It was a ritual of sorts with her. She would eat it whole and wild and that evoked a certain joy and mystery even for the little witness - me! I was fascinated to see how she would devour it whole, with a deftness that came with practice and enjoying the moment fully. She reminded me of a little squirrel enjoying a fruit from the tree.

She would keep one mango for dessert after every meal of the day. She would wash it thoroughly and keep it in a plate next to her, to eat after her meal. When she was ready, she would hold it in her hand, bite off a tiny part of the skin to make a hole in the fleshy fruit. She would then suck on the fruit through that hole, every now and then squeezing and pressing down the sides with the same hand, to get the juice and the flesh to move up slowly near the hole she had made. I still remember the joy on her face, and the enjoyment, almost a self-forgetting, when she ate a mango like this! She would often close her eyes, to probably get into the experience more completely. She would be totally lost to everything else around her. And that was how she patiently finished the entire fruit...just through that little hole. It was an amazing experience for me to watch her ! And she never got her hands messy after all that. If by chance some of the juice trickled down her palms and hand, she would gently lick it all up in one stroke of her tongue!

When she got down to the very end of the fruit, she would tear the skin open with her mouth, and get the seed out. She would then lick on the seed and strip it of all its flesh, until it was smooth and bald. Every part of the skin would be stripped of the tiniest bit of flesh, She would then wash the seed, dry it in the sun for a few days, and then plant it diligently, every single time, in the hope that one of those would become a tree. And that did happen! Two of the many seeds, sprouted and grew into two mango trees (Alphonso), that we had to leave behind for someone else to enjoy, as we had to move house

Today, as I ate a mango like she used to, I remembered her fondly. I also remembered how we were made to sit and eat mangoes as little kids, in our petticoats and sometimes even without that, simply because they didn't want us to get all messy and spoil our clothes!

Eating mangoes is fun when it is wild!
Wild= free = joy unlimited!
Try it and see for yourself

The Cardboard Box

a small cardboard box
filled with old dust -
I discover
sounds of laughter,
feelings engraved on paper,
a heart's outburst in words,
smells of tender moments,
of  wars, joys and tears,
birthday cards, love letters,
neatly folded notes,
roads not taken,
roads made or found,
and long-forgotten roads,
I grope around
to find my way
to rest a while,
on precious memories,
tucked into a little
cardboard box,
that speaks of trails
that lead to me.