Loving My Body - The Journey Within - Part 2 - Nude

We were at a small sea-side town called Borgarnes in Iceland. We had been told about the geothermal pools there that we should go to. We were all excited, but I was filled with fear as well, although I had promised my son that I would give it a try. I have never been in a large pool before.

I have this extreme fear of being in large expanses of water. I love the sea, the rivers, ponds, waterfalls, etc. But I am equally terrified of them. Yes, I feel terror and the beauty in each. Equally. I have shared this great fear of mine with my son, who has always listened and gently nudged me in his own ways to step into those fears by simply trying. Something that I have not been able to do. But this time, there was some shift which happened within me during the retreat that I was in in Romania. At least that is what I think. And there was this urge to give it a shot....to simply try.

My friend had told us before the trip, how the most 'Icelandic' thing to do was to drive around and keep dipping into the geothermal pools along the way :). I had smiled to myself when she told me this, telling her how I didn't think I would ever do that. 'You must', she said and we left it at that. Some unconscious part of me must have been at work while we packed for the trip, because I packed an ancient swim suit that my dear son and husband had made me buy on a holiday, just to get into a private jacuzzi. That was the largest expanse of water I had been in and just once!

So yeah, we were at Borgarnes, at the place where the pool was. We paid the money and were given 'strict' instructions on what to do. Raghav and my husband went together into the men's room, while I tiptoed timidly into the women's room, my stomach churning and fluttering, filled with the fear of exploring the unknown. I sat down on the bench, took off my socks and shoes, put them away and took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I was shit scared.

I stepped in gingerly into the space where women and kids were dressing, undressing, showering etc. Each one was in a different state of undress! And I was simply shocked! Never before had I seen so many people in the nude, leave alone women. And never before had I been in a situation where I had to be nude too! 'Could I just leave right now? I don't want to get into this!' I said to myself. But I couldn't leave. Perhaps I didn't want to. And of course, my son and husband would not know I had changed my mind....I had no way of telling them too, until I got to the pool! I was stuck! I felt trapped......by my own fears.

It was not a fear of just being nude. It was a fear of being nude in the midst of people I didn't know at all. It was a fear of being judged and rejected for who I was in my body, my form. 'What will people think of me?'

I ogled at the women with shock, disbelief and then a sheepish curiosity. Some older with huge, sagging breasts, some fat with heavy thighs, some skinny, some graceful, some stiff, some middle-aged and younger with pubic hair, some clean and hairless, some with skin bruises, some with scars and blemishes. Yes, that's where my eyes went......to all those parts that I had seen in myself with dislike and shame and lack. Parts that I had begun to love slowly and gently. And suddenly something shifted inside and I realised that we were all the same. And beautiful. It was a warm, happy feeling and I suddenly felt a little more at ease and safe. Yes, it was so important to feel safe. Safe in the body.

None of the women even seemed to care or even saw me ogling at their bodies. They just carried on doing their own thing as if nothing else mattered. Phew! That was what made me relax actually. I found my locker and carefully and slowly started undressing. I asked a lady if we could take the towel to the shower. She smiled, shook her head and pointed to the towel racks near the showers. "Keep your stuff there, take a shower and then wear your suit," she said and turned away to carry on showering. Yes, we had to strip down to our skin and in front of everybody. There were no private showers. No doors to close and hide behind.

I shivered a little as I walked nude to the shower from the locker. It was just a few feet. But I felt like a streaker, walking a ramp across the whole world. I felt as if a million eyes were following me. I heard voices yell out: "How can you do this?", "You shameless creature!", "You know you can walk out if you want....you don't have to do this." I felt something pulling me back. Yet, I walked on. Shamelessly. Into the shower. It was all over in a few minutes. The flow of water started and stopped automatically. I went to the rack and took out my swimsuit. I put it on with a sense of both relief and liberation. As if I had walked through the fire that I needed to walk through. And no one was watching me. No one but myself.

When I walked out the other side to the hot pool with the steam inviting me in on a bitterly cold day, the smile on my son's face was something that I could have died for! He hugged me and thanked me later for what I had done for him. A moment and a hug that I will always cherish. A hug that was for me, a celebration of a liberation that I had longed for, and realised how much I had longed for, only when I experienced it.....experiencing my fear fully. And yes, I enjoyed being in the little hot pools of water, holding on to the walls, leaning back and enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and wetness and warmth soak me up like I had never experienced before. Bliss.

A week later, the day before we left Iceland, we went to another geothermal pool. This one was much bigger and more crowded, more touristy. There were similar rules. But this time, that part was almost a breeze. Yes, I was terrified of letting go in the pool. It was large and much deeper than the other one. I felt like a toad would perhaps, in the sea. I held my husband or my son's hand tightly all the time. That was the way I could enjoy the experience. And yes, it was beautiful in its own way, as we held each other and moved across the water in search of warmer waters, as our faces were doused with freezing cold rain and wind! What an experience!

So yes, all this could have happened with none of this drama and heartache perhaps, back in India, where there is no need to strip or be nude before you get into a pool. It could have been much easier and more enjoyable. But that simply wasn't to be for me. This seems to be the fire I needed to walk through to journey into my body even deeper than before. And I am happy that I could open myself up to life to work on me in the best way possible.....for me.

Here is a poem that flowed through me later that night as I sat alone in the cottage, saying a quiet thank you to Life for bringing me all that I had ever needed on this great pilgrimage, and for choreographing it all to perfection .....

Broken Waters

and as I stepped out
from your womb,
my fears held safe
in your depths
all these years,
I felt the smelting
of heavy chains,
of unspoken terror
leaving me,
and I looked up
to the winter sun,
filled with a lightness
of a heart and body
that's finally learned
to feel and cherish
the wetness
and freshness
of broken waters,
given birth
to a sacred life,
waiting to be held
and worn.

~~~~~~ 

Here is a lovely film that came up today in my news feed and was the trigger that got me writing this post.....

https://vimeo.com/125692953?ref=fb-share

'You are Here'

There is something about us humans and our affinity for maps, lodestones, landmarks and guides (both animate and inanimate). But even that does not seem enough! No, just a random map would not do, it would not serve any purpose. We just have to know where we are, and where we have to go, don't we?. We panic when we feel lost. We are too scared to die into insignificance.....to become a black speck in the inky darkness that we find ourselves in every now and then. And so we come back to holding on to ourselves over and over again....the 'You are Here' spot, which fills us with a balmy warmth, from where we can breathe again more freely. But where are we really? What is that spot where we think we are? Do we even know? Would we? If we were not followers but explorers?

After two weeks of intense yet relaxing traveling, I am back home.....to what I think and feel is home now....after finding and living in many homes over the last few weeks.....homes in beautiful countries, homes in beautiful hearts. As I stepped in, I felt a wave rise and wash over me, taking me along...to a space where there was only darkness - not a darkness that often presupposes 'a lack', but a darkness that exudes mystery....and I found myself in the very same space that I had been all along, for many years, and more ...that space of not knowing where I truly belong.....of feeling like I belong everywhere, and so nowhere,.... or belonging nowhere, and so everywhere. And suddenly, I feel no need for a map like I used to. Or maybe the map has changed. Or I am exploring uncharted territory and so drawing the map as I go along. And so, yes, I feel lost. But it's a happy kind of lost.

On the 27th of June, I was talking to a dear friend on the phone and shared how I was going through something...and feeling lost.....because I did not know where I belonged. I hung up and went to see my father who had been a little sick for the last few days. I don't know why, but when I saw him and he started speaking to me, I hugged him and broke down. I shared with him what I had been feeling deeply.....that I didn't know what 'family' meant anymore, that I didn't know where I belonged, that I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. And he hugged me tight and cried with me too, telling me how much he loved me. A few hours later, he took in his last breath and let go of that last breath in that human form. Perhaps we shared our angst of not knowing where we belonged, in those few moments. But I will never know. What became clear to me in that moment and later was this - that I was no longer as worried about where I was, where I belonged or did not belong.

Today, as I entered the house after being in so many different places, all those moments flashed past my eyes, and the inside of my throat lumped up. I missed you, appa. I remembered you, appa. For I am still there - lost.....not knowing where I belong. But there is no sadness about that this time. The sadness that is there is that you are not here. Otherwise, it's different. There is a peace and a freedom of simply being.....being me....happily walking that uncertain, intangible, fuzzy edge of not knowing where I am and where I belong.

And yet, I can also see how a part of me clings to a story....one tentacle grabbing onto something to survive, to thrive, for now....for as long as I need to. And so I hold on to the grief of losing you and the joy of receiving your blessing - the last blessing that we were graced with as you closed your eyes. Yes, you told us how much you loved us. You told me how special I was. You wished the best for us three, asking us to mark your words.....that we would go places. I believe it is a blessing we were so privileged to receive.

Yet, I missed you for being the only one I knew of, who was always a partaker in my joy, with no agenda, with no feeling of lack, and so being able to receive it fully and openly. Today, I am so happy. Happy with my life and where it has taken me. I am happy and grateful to all that has come my way in the form of opportunities, people, places, wealth, art, experiences and much much more. Yes, I am so happy appa. But you were not there physically present to feel this with me, like I knew you would have, if you were alive and in a body. I miss touching and feeling you. I miss your hug, your laughter, your presence. And yet, you are very much there in me. I can feel it, sense it, hear it, even though it is not the same. And so I imagined you calling me and asking about our trip. I heard the conversation so clearly.....the tone of your voice, the words, your smile through the phone....all pointing to the happiness you were feeling just knowing that I was happy and listening to the story of the magic and how it all unfolded. I yearn to share joy like that with people.

So yeah, that's where I am. In a space of ease and lightness.....of being happy with not belonging anywhere, and so belonging everywhere.....to be able to walk along the fringes when needed so I can jump into anything I want to that draws me in, whenever I feel like it. To respond to life. To wait to be invited to the party. And to simply invite myself by telling life that I am ready to be invited....that I am here!

And that changes the way I look at the 'You are here' spot on the map that is forming now. While I saw it earlier as a place on an already charted map, showing me where I could go, which direction I could head in, I am now seeing it very differently.....I see it as a beautiful spot in an unexplored land, where I can simply stand, marveling at the beauty of the landscape, and tell life loudly and clearly.....that I am ready and here for it to take me where it wants to take me, and where I need to go!

To just know that 'You are here'! Ah! What freedom!

The Fear of Not Having Enough

I was at the organic store today...a place that I frequent now only when I can, with no compulsion to buy only organic, or only from that shop anymore. I feel free inside living this way. Free because I saw the wall that I had myself erected about living this way. When I bumped against that wall, I saw that what I had been following was out of a subtle fear of what would happen if I didn’t eat organic food. And when I saw that clearly, I saw that all food was a blessing....that I had more access to more food choices because of my lifestyle than most other people on this planet. It suddenly didn’t make any sense to me to be fanatic about my food choices. Some of them at least. For I cannot in my wildest of dreams imagine foregoing my need to be a vegetarian! So when I saw the number of choices I had with just food, I realised that I had way too more than just ‘enough’. And I was willing to let go of some choices because I was grateful for what I had access to.

So today, I had an interesting experience at the store. We were there pretty early for the first time, and I was hanging around talking to one of the staff and some others there. The veggie bazaar begins at 2pm, not before that. So people were gathering and looking around, keeping their hands off the veggies until 2 o’clock! :) Just before 2pm, when one of the staff brought out the bags that we need to use to pick the veggies, and I was still ambling along to the place, I saw most people taking their positions in front of the rows of veggies....much like soldiers on the battlefield....each one knew exactly what they had to do, exactly what they wanted to pick! I was amused. And it suddenly hit me that they were all perhaps reflecting our collective fear of not having enough. That was the fear which was driving them to stand near the veggies that they most wanted!....too scared that there might not be enough if they stood elsewhere! But I wonder if they realised that they couldn’t possibly stand everywhere and that they had already made a choice of what was it that they really wanted! 

And then a little later, we were standing in the line for the veggies to be weighed and billed. One lady left her bags in the line, told the woman standing behind her that she would be back in a few minutes and disappeared. The woman behind her waited for some minutes, looking out for the lady, and then decided to move ahead as she was nowhere around. Very soon, that lady arrived and was upset that the staff was billing another person, when she had left her bags in the queue.

“I had gone inside to get oil. I had told her and gone. How can you bill someone else?”, she argued.

“Because you had gone off somewhere inside and we didn’t know where you were...”, said the staff, gently.

“You can’t do this. I have been waiting so long. I don’t want to raise my voice,” she threatened.

“Ok, so what do you want me to do?”, the young man asked her, calm and composed.

“II want you to bill this first. I can’t wait. I am already late. I need to go to work”, she replied with a smile breaking into her face.

He obliged. And she walked away. I loved the manner in which he had dealt with the situation and diffused the anger. An irritation and anger that stemmed out of the same fear that ‘I don’t have enough’. A valuable little lesson for me.... A lesson that a pause and connecting with ourselves, brings us back to the state or feeling that we always have enough.

A little later, after I had finished billing the veggies I had picked and went inside the store to pay for it, I saw the same lady talking to another person there. She didn’t seem in a hurry then! She was looking at something and standing there asking a whole lot of questions...and she was still around after I had finished paying up and left! Suddenly, she seemed to have ‘enough’....all the time in the world! 

And I realised how I am that way too. I certainly have a long way to go too. This fear comes up in me so many times also. And all that I can do is to see it, watch it as many times that I can catch it. I still buy veggies for the week and hoard it in my fridge, because I am worried that I may not be able to step out of the house at will. 

What is it about ourselves that makes us feel that we are never enough; that we never have enough, I wonder? Will we ever get out of this survival mentality and learn how to thrive instead in life? I am learning by slowing down when I can. Perhaps that is a good place to start.

The Sacred is in Me

Many years ago, we converted to eating organic food as a family, because of an impulsive decision we took as a family, led by our dear son. We simply trusted him and decided to change our lifestyle. Then it became a way of life.....something that I held on to more and more because I thought that my body was sacred and that I was abusing it by not giving it the best, most natural food possible. I saw that feeling of sacredness as love.....a deep love for my body. And I didn’t realise until a week or so ago, that what I considered a healthy 'alternative' lifestyle was actually becoming a lifestyle that I was on the verge of becoming fanatic about. It was no longer just another 'alternative'; it was 'the' alternative. I would drive more than 15km one way to go and get organic food from the store that I still love and consider a temple. I would get anxious and urge my son to get ready faster than usual so we could be there on time. Getting ready was something he has always had trouble with. But I did not give up. I was fighting two fears by doing what I did - the fear of losing control (to my son) and the fear of dying into an identity that I believed defined me. And in that not dying to both, I found myself holding on to both more tightly.

Last week, for some reason, I could not go to the organic store and so decided to get veggies from the man who sells veggies inside our community. I had a magical, beautiful experience that day, which broke open my heart, when I felt and saw the love, enjoyment and stillness with which he was doing his 'stressful' job of handling so many people single-handedly. That day, I suddenly saw this subtle fear (of losing control and dying) loom large.....and I realised that what I held as sacred was merely this fear disguised as love. And that was it....suddenly the need to hold on to one way of living just didn’t make sense or seem to matter so much. There was a loosening of the grip immediately. And then of course, I forgot about it.

Yesterday, I was again downstairs, picking some veggies, as both my son and I decided that we didn’t feel like going all the way to the organic store. My friend who was also there saw me and asked: "How come you are here today? Didn’t you go to .....to pick up veggies today?” It was then that I realised that I had already started walking a new path, without really knowing that in my head. I smiled and shook my head. There was no longer just one way.....there was no longer a need to follow just one way ...

I realised then how tightly I had been holding on to something which I believed was my path....and a sacred, sustainable, alternative path at that. I had thought that considering something sacred was about being committed to it, no matter what, and that somewhere the commitment that had come up in the moment, had taken on a new avatar when the moment then stretched to something more than just the moment. That is when it perhaps became bound to time and therefore tinged with fear....something that I was not even aware of.

A similar thing happened to me about ten days ago, when I was struggling to read things on the computer and in books with my glasses on (I have worn spectacles since I was 20 years old). My old self would have immediately fixed an appointment to go see the optometrist and get my eyes checked again, worried if there could be a change in power.....But on that day I simply decided to give this a try - to carry on without glasses for as long as possible and also to be open to wearing them if needed....That was it. No more thinking. On an impulse, I took off my spectacles and didn’t feel like wearing them again! I had a headache for a few days which I simply stayed with, and then haven't felt the need to wear them at all, except for one time. That was when the fear came up again while I was speaking to a large audience...On that day, I looked away from this fear, while facing the bigger one of speaking in front of a crowd :)....because it was too much for me to tackle both at one shot!

So what is sacredness all about? Is it revering something no matter what? Is it about being blind to everything else that one feels is 'not sacred'? Or is it about seeing everything as sacred.....seeing how everything is minutely and magically connected to everything else, and every time? Is it about seeing oneself as a 'special' individual and identifying with that completely, or is it about seeing the larger picture and the vastness and sacredness of that?

When these questions came up for me, I realised that it was as important for me to build up an identity for myself before being in a space (that life brought me to through experiences) where I simply felt like dying to that identity. And in that sense, death brings up an image of vastness and expansiveness that holds more and more and nourishes more and more inside of me. That for me is what sacredness is about. It is about a continuous dying instead of a wanting to survive and thrive, because it is in the dying that one really survives and thrives.....with a 'lightness' of being that cannot happen otherwise.

So sacredness is not always commitment. Not like I thought it was. It could be an over-commitment to a cycle that has reached its end or is taking a different turn. Commitment (as we often see it and speak about) is often a bending over backwards to follow a path like a horse with blinders on. Blinders have their own purpose and value. But the horse is larger than its blinders. Every horse also needs some space to think and feel and be without those blinders on, cavorting upon the wild green under an open blue sky! Commitment I feel has to be of, for and in the moment...a commitment to that inner guidance that is always showing me the way ‘to’ myself, not ‘away from’ myself....because my 'self' is always changing and growing and dying.....

So here are some more questions that came up for me as I stayed with these two experiences:

Is feeling sacredness about something making me wall myself in with my beliefs?

Or is sacredness something that draws me to trust life more and more, to lay out there in the open, for the wildness and wilderness to take care of me? Because there is something that is larger than me?

Which would make me feel light, open, airy, expansive and free?
Can I remember this and feel this every moment?
Can I see when even this way of being is walling me in in some ways?
Do I have that kind of commitment?

The key I guess is in dying to myself and what I believe and think is me.

 “She is free in her wildness, she is a wanderess, a drop of free water. 

She knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules or customs. 

 'Time' for her isn’t something to fight against. 

Her life flows clean, with passion, like fresh water."

~ Roman Payne 

The day I stood up and spoke... for myself......

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?"

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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...

And I wish to thank you all....every one of you....for walking this journey with him, and with us.

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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.