Home - A Secret Wish

At 7, home meant the cozy, warm house where mother in her pink cotton saree would be preparing potato fritters while father, in his white kurta pyjama would be busy calculating the monthly expenses. While brother played with his 'hot wheels' in the living room, I would be watching the newly hatched baby sparrows on the electrical box at the verandah with dreamy eyes, fantasizing about a new home.

At 19, home was the shared hostel room where I would be lying inside a blanket, embraced by white noise created by the rain, reading the mushiest romantic novel of the time and fantasizing about a new home.

At 29, home was a cozy apartment, with a partner. A warm abode where school friends and family came over to play poker, and remember old days over a drink and a warm meal. Home was a space which was carefully created with a lot of love knitted into every corner. But this time, I did not fantasize about a new home.

At 37, when I handed the reins to the divine while I rested to heal; it took me to a new home, yet again. Home was stillness, but this time it was within me. Can I say I am finally home? Not yet. I wish for all of the above in this new abode. When I say all, it means the warm, fuzzy shared love, dreams and companionship, along with the stillness within.

One Step Closer

Life takes us to places that we never thought we could reach. A month back I had a perfect career; I had 6 months - 1 year - 5 years - 10 years plans around it. Today, I stand bare, watching the grains of those huge plans slipping out of my fist. Not that I believe it's a tragedy. On the contrary, I believe, I am being pushed to something greater. Something more aligned to my life purpose. I am a creature of delicate emotions. I thrive on affection and the dreamy promises of eternal love with a counterpart who would want me because that's his only natural state - in love, standing right next to me. The affection and promises do cross my path sometimes, but only to remind me that they hurt, by setting me on fire. They bring me to life only to kill me later. Oh, what wouldn't I have done of they came to stay! I will run away, yet again, for I have hoped for far too long. There is this constant dull ache. You see, grapes are sour.

Trauma

Imagine living with a ticking time bomb inside your body that might explode anytime. To that, add living alone in an unfriendly city with no friends because the introvert in you doesn't allow it. And then add being involved in a forbidden romance that pushed you to the disaster. Absolute disaster! Now imagine not being able to confide about it to anybody for one whole month. Imagine fighting the darkness all by yourself while toxins are being pushed into your body. Do you know what happens when you are in a constant state of agony? You get bored of it and are prepared for just any outcome whatsoever.

And they say, I shouldn't run away from reality! And they say, I am insane to contemplate leaving behind everything I know!

Her #4

She is tired of being called brave for fighting her battles alone. She no longer wants to do it. She no longer wants to entertain half-assed presence of people in life. She no longer wants to have secrets or be someone's secret. She is done. All she needs now is some plain, old-fashioned, 'till death do us part' kind of romance and a partner who would hold her hand (not just in the metaphysical realm) when she fights against all odds. She's exhausted. Maybe all this trauma is meant to bring into perspective what surrounds her in the name of love is not enough. Reality check!

One that escaped the subconscious prison...

Traveling is a pain because when I am shutting out the sea of strangers and thoughts of possible mishaps, a lot of unaddressed trauma, repressed memories come to the surface in quite an unexpected manner. People who know me know that I am an anti- natalist since forever. Well, I am what I am for reasons that make sense only to me perhaps. I do like children. Only when they belong to others. Back in 2018, for a small fraction of time, I did contemplate having one of my own with a man I loved. It was just before lightening struck our marriage and annihilated it. I envisioned having a perfect little daughter, calmer and stronger than me. A happy girl capable of being the brightest sunshine in whichever life she touched. I used to watch a lot of Murakami movies. They have an ethereal quality to them. One of such movies was called Ponyo. Ponyo means soft and squishy. Ponyo was the perfect little girl that I thought I wanted as a daughter. Bright sunshine, a beautiful empath. So, when I conceived late winter, within no time I planned a whole life around my Ponyo. I was ready for the leap of faith and for everything, good and bad that was to come along. Most importantly, I was ready to compromise on everything precious I ever held on to, including sleep, for the rest of my life. And sleep is the ikigai for me! I know it sounds strange. Anyway, getting back to the strand of memory, I lost her in early spring. When I began bleeding, the doctor said I'm having a miscarriage and asked me to take a painkiller. I refused. Despite my professional knowledge, I hoped for a miracle. I prayed to any power that might hear me, was even ready to sell my soul to the devil, to stop this devastation and bring everything back to normal. I kept hoping till I expelled her out completely. It was barely three months but I had formed one of the strongest spiritual bonds with the life growing within. I don't even know if it was a girl but that's one child I truly wanted. For the first and the last time. For the first time, I writhed and screamed in pain, crouched on the floor, bleeding profusely and did not let anyone come close. I have a good pain threshold but this wasn't the physical pain but the mental agony of something that meant the world to me, getting snatched from my closed fists by ruthless sharp claws. In this chaos, I saw how much my parents loved me. My mother is very intelligent, calm and logical. She expresses herself better through warm gestures rather than words. I saw her break down looking at my state. I saw her crying out my pain. Though he looked quite composed, my father stood there as a steady support, waiting for the storm to pass. It will be unfair to not mention the former partner. He was there too. A broken man who held my hand while I was inconsolable. He tried to be strong for as long as he could and once we got home, exhausted and empty, he cried. He held me and he cried. We mourned. Together. For the last time. After that, events followed which pulled everything apart. 

I am glad I got this off my chest. For years, I did not even acknowledge something like this had happened and that it almost killed me. I am no longer the same girl. This snippet of the time gone by was painful to address. But now it's just another event that has shaped my present self. The residues are some fragmented pieces of a narrative, some scattered, shapeless shadows and some life altering realizations. Most important of the realizations being, people come, people go, but there are some who stick along till the end. They are the ones life is worth living for. Sadly, they are also the ones who are taken for granted. So, as an apology, I send a warm energetic hug to all those who have lingered around. The next question is, do I feel sorry for myself? Absolutely not. I am exactly where I am supposed to be in life. It is better to let things unfold in their own time. I trust the Universe.

Her #3

He is beautiful. Even if his words have bruised her. Words implying there is no reciprocation of her tender emotions for him. She doesn't know how much of it was a reaction to past wounds and how much was the truth. But she has her own history of trauma which is why she would want to see it as the complete truth of the situation. He makes her feel cared for, valued, every single day. Yet she wants to believe him when he says he has no emotional attachment to her. That means she can no longer be emotionally vulnerable. Should she close up, play dead and let him have his way till it is time for her to leave? Maybe, yes. One-sided attachment is agonizing. To escape this agony, she must run away.

Her #2

Mo knows her well. Better than she herself does. 

She loves an emotionally unavailable man and has yielded to his condition of emotional detachment if they are to get involved. She thought it was a good arrangement to keep the heart away, yet have the opportunity to know him closely. He's a beautiful person afterall. When Mo got to know of this, she warned her saying it was against her nature to be friends with benefits. And eventually, she will get heartbroken and heartbreaks are extremely agonizing for her.

She told Mo, adequate safeguarding measures are in place. She is taking a few steps back on the emotional front. The rules now are: No unsolicited care, no initiation of a conversation, no usage of the word - love (written and verbal), and all of it needs to wind up in a year. She will leave and no question must be asked. Individual intentions have been conveyed to one another, quite lucidly.

Sad, right? The girl who wrote about tender romance, matured love, finding the one, eternal togetherness and many more such things has surrendered. Not really sad. She never was meant for those quixotic ideas. She was delusional and she has learnt it the hard way. The present situation is the best she can have. Transparency, and absolute autonomy!

The Retrograde Season

After ages of silence,  the devil tried, yet again, to corrode her light. The same pattern. The same sequence of using an innocent soul as the bait followed by a glimpse of his earthly appearance sans a soul. There was a time, she would forget all the torment he inflicted and fall at his feet so that he felt loved. But this time, she was out of his reach. If he elevates to where she is and touches her, he will lose his essence. He will no longer be the devil and that will go against the law of nature. She does not hate him. He just ceased to exist when she directed all the love she had to give inwards. She watched quietly as he walked away. Her light was painfully blinding for his darkness.

Mulling, yet again!

A couple of days back, I was asked if I sought a partner. I gave a vague answer because it's been ages since I thought about it at all. Two years back, the answer would have been a resounding yes. Not today though. I grew up with a dream to share myself with a like-minded individual who would understand me, support my dreams and be there unconditionally by my side. And vice versa. It never happened. Perhaps, I was too quirky for everyone. Men get smitten with my eccentricity; eventually it begins intimidating them. They then try changing me. Trust me, I have tried to help them in that quest too but you cannot draw a whole ocean into a 2 mL syringe, right? We would fail in the exercise and part ways. I got exhausted. Then came self-acceptance and self-love. And I stopped needing people exclusively. What would an additional person contribute to? I have everything I need including my nine hours of sleep, a happy heart and a calm mind. If we try looking for more, there is no end to it. I know some people, who even if I don't stay in touch with on a daily basis will drop everything and be by my side when needed. I would do the same for them. My space is absolutely sacred. I'm not sure if there is an individual who can treat me as good as I treat myself; getting treated better is way too far-fetched. I cannot go through more of emotional trauma as healing from it wastes a lot of tears and time. This is a state of equilibrium. It's going to take a lot for anyone to touch it. I have a plan for myself till the end of life and that doesn't involve a partner for sure.

Where Am I From?!

That is a frequently asked question. An easy one, yet, I don't have a proper answer to it. I keep saying things on my whims and fancies. Let me write down while I mull over it. India has 28 states and 8 union territories. Every state and union territory has its distinct culture and many have a unique language as well. When do you belong to a state? That's the confounding question here. Do I belong to the place where my forefathers lived? Do I belong to the place where I was born and brought up? Do I belong to the place where I earn my livelihood? Who decides? Is it subjective? I thought it was, but, people kept correcting me. Rather rejecting me. If I told that I belonged to the place where I was born, brought up, finished a major chunk of my education, spoke the language with the perfect accent, assimilated the culture and heritage to a T; many would cut me short saying, ''Pattanaik" doesn't belong here'. But that is just one kind of people I encountered there. Therefore, it is not the whole truth about how the so called 'people' of the land that I once, proudly called home, perceived me. For some, I was and still am more than family. They will always be treasured. However, being the sensitive being that I am, I decided to move out of my birthplace for good.

Then comes the place where my parents grew up. The language they speak is apparently, my mother-tongue. When I talk in my mother-tongue, a strange accent creeps in because of the other languages I have been speaking most of my life. My demeanor, attitude and thought process differ from the local inhabitants of the place. So, people out there, including some family members end up saying, 'you are not like us'. Fair enough! They don't understand me, I don't understand them. Unconditional acceptance is almost an impossibility, globally. Everybody keeps a score of similarities and dissimilarities. And that becomes the foundation of being human. Isn't it? The pathetic truth. This doesn't feel quite homely. I am glad that the Gen Z and beyond are doing much better in that domain.

Finally, let us talk about the place that where I completed my higher education and am earning my livelihood. A new region, new people. They often ask me, why haven't you learnt the language of the land? I jokingly answer, 'That way I'll not understand if you say something nasty to me. It's just a strategy to safeguard my peace'. The second part is true though. I do not wish to get attached to places (people?). Attachment brings in pain as evident by my experience in the first place I tried calling home. The next question put to me is, 'Are you planning to live here all your life?' 'Don't you wish to go back to your 'own people'?' The right answer is, 'I don't know because I have nowhere to go. I am without roots. A hippie by soul. So, I'll go wherever life takes me'. But what I tell them is, 'I will eventually move to the place where people with my surname have their roots'. This particular answer hits the nail on the head. They get their joy, and I retain my peace. For the sake of that peace, I will omit a few other things spoken around that make me realize, I am not welcome here. This is not my home.

Now, getting back to the original question? Where do I belong? Should I say I am just an Indian? But that's not the answer people look for when they ask about my roots. If I become philosophical, people get intimidated. Should I say, 'Nowhere'? That would make me sound arrogant. Though I have always been a quiet rebel, I no longer want to rub people the wrong way. Peace is precious. You appreciate it more and more as years get added to your life. Since there's still no answer to the question, let me continue honoring my whims and fancies! Anyway, who cares! The purpose of the question is just to propel the conversation forward. I appreciate all the fine people around and I do know, it's only a handful that hurt, and that too, perhaps, unknowingly. However, I cannot help being wary. Home should be a safe, comfortable and happy place. Though I don't find it in a land with boundaries, I do find it in some people. Again, that's not the answer expected of me! Sigh!

By the way, happy pana sankranti/ happy bihu/ happy ugadi!

Love #6

Love is not enough. It took me about 37 years to figure that out. Literature, cinema and even the well-meaning people with rich life experiences, very conveniently forget to mention that the perfect glue to relationships is something else. Definitely, not love. Love, perhaps is the icing on the cake but the very base is something else. We get so dazzled by the colorful, tempting sweet cream that we begin romanticizing about relishing it and forget about the sponge cake beneath. What happens when the sponge cake is too soggy? It breaks. The romance comes to a halt. I don't like eating a cake (icing? who cares!) with a bad texture. How about you?

Respect is the fundamental requirement for any sort of a relationship. That's the cake beneath the icing. If that's perfectly baked and is drizzled with the right amount of syrup, even with a bad topping it is quite edible. Remove the icing, and you shall still enjoy it.

Let me elaborate. Where does it fit? In every nook and corner. Respecting an individual means absolute acceptance of the good, the bad and the ugly that comes along. Respecting is non-maleficence if not beneficence. Respect doesn't waver; it is not fleeting. Respect is non-judgmental and empathetic.

It is the most precious gift that can be given or received. Autonomy is a beautiful thing and respect empowers you with it. Earn it, keep it and you'll know incredible peace. 

Respect is non-negotiable. 

How would these respect-infused relationships be? Cakewalk! 😉

(PS: Before you ask, lately, I did deliver a lecture on bioethics and had a piece of lousy cake)