Quest

I glimpse a yearning in her eyes. A sense of unhurried grace to her step. I notice that ever so slight distance in her smile. Time to step back, I say to myself. She needs her space. I know she is fighting life and seeking her answers.

In her quest, I am comfortable at most times. But there are those brief moments when I know I have crossed a barrier and just then I lose her. To her little fortressed world, so ferociously guarded that I am at a loss. I know by gently excluding me, all she wishes for is to protect me from the dark space that speaks of her vulnerable self. She dislikes feeling fragile even with me.

These days she lives in a space far removed from the world she has always known. It is a world of white walls and sanitized rooms, of innumerable therapies whose names perplex us, of efficient and clinical oncologists and health care staff. A world where losing her hair has made her see how beautiful she is even without it. A world where she knows she does not have the gift of time.

Her eyes however continue to radiate hope, her face, a glow and there is an inner spark which I hope never dims.

She seeks guidance and reads books that speak to her about acceptance and mindfulness. She seeks a quickening in her spirit, to regain a sense of balance to living (it seems so far away now). She seeks the crisp air and the beauty of changing leaves. She seeks the familiar loop of the known where everything is just the way it was. She seeks laughter and music. Along with solitude and answers too.

I know all of this not because she tells me. My understanding of her is so deep that I know what she seeks. I know she is tired of being tired. I know she doesn’t want pain to be part of her passing. I know she hates to leave people but when her chapter ends she will go with the flow with sheer grace and courage.

And then she asks with a childlike curiosity laced with her unique wisdom, “Am I going to actually find what I want in this unfamiliar place with its lingering smell of fear? Is it here that I will unlock the mysteries of birth and death and everything in between”?

And I,

I tell her what comes to my mind,” Slay these demons of yours and make them your friend”. The oddest reply to a profound question perhaps but then how else does one answer this question?

I don’t wish to lose her and even when I do, until then I wish she treasures the life she leads and makes the most of it. This is what I seek for her. For her to embrace 

uncertainty and bravely slay her inner demons. For her to find the answers she seeks.

I sit by her side holding her hand silently just being with her grace and innocence.

 (A piece of fiction written for The Great Shakes writers group for a theme on Quest)

Tradition

Every birthday eve, I tell my daughters the story of their birth. Or more specifically, what happened on the day prior to their birth, what I ate to how I felt, to what happened at the hospital, to who was with me……there is so much to tell. Somewhere the memories that have been stored away just seem to flow into words naturally on those 2 days of every year-June 6th and Oct 29th. .


Somehow, without my knowledge it seems to have become a tradition. This stepping back into the past, the narration of those eventful days of my life when my children hadn’t been born yet and I was awaiting their coming into this world eagerly…this tradition seems to continue with each passing year .I tend to forget that so much time has lapsed since their birth and it all seems new. Even if I forget or think they are saturated with the story of their respective birthdate stories am taken by surprise by the fact that they never tire of hearing it again and again.

May those memories never fade for me and for them, ever...

Raising you

Raising you in your infancy-early childhood was a cakewalk. I must admit that.As a first time mother I never really felt at a loss or helpless at any point of time.You listened, you rebelled, you threw tantrums, you screamed and yelled when things didn’t work your way and you were a stubborn baby. But yet it was a cakewalk. As a first time mother, I had to rely on only one strength of mine in raising you-- my intuition. No Dr Spock could teach me that. It was innate and I relied on it as a natural process...


I won’t get into the clichéd phrase of ‘how time flies’. It does and we know it especially when one has children.

Now you are 15,.I do get nostalgic about the way you have blossomed in to a beautiful (within and without) young lady with a mind of her own. You have strengths that I lack, that of making friends, of confidence, of being immensely mentally organized and yes a beautiful blend of logic and emotion.


Why is it that with time I have stopped using my intuition in understanding you? Is it because I know and sense you have grown up and are less dependant on me in many ways. Why do I forget that like babies, even teens are vulnerable and emotionally ultra sensitive?

Why has my confidence as a mother been replaced with helplessness now? I feel at a loss at handling your emotions. In the peak of the moment, I fail to be objective. I react rather than observe. And I forget to listen.

I forget to listen when you ask me how am I to discover my passion in life...

I react when you speak to me about your friends, some of whom I have distaste for…

And then the damn maternal guilt springs up unknowingly.Its rather strange how it always lurks under the surface.



Your growing up didn’t happen overnight did it? My realization was late. Realization of the fact that hugs just don’t work for a 15 year old like it did when you were younger.Listening, just listening quietly, giving you my undivided non judgmental attention works. No sermons, no patronizing, no exclaiming-“when I was your age”!



I think the beautiful part of parenting you is understanding my own self in a way I have never understood before. I have always wondered, is it that I resent your growing up and your desire to find your wings? Is it the regret of all the mistakes I have made while raising you—the dos and the don’ts, the perfectionist streak that overwhelmed my early parenting days…

Or is it that I am just setting such high standards for myself as a parent? As your mother? Some part of me craves for you to understand what I experience as well and at the peak of the moment; I actually forget you are 15 and not older.



There has been a letting go on my part that was not there earlier. The struggle within me was about letting go of you and a refusal to accept that you have an independent mind of your own. Now that you are away at camp, there is emptiness, yet a sense of appreciation of what you bring into my life each moment that you are with me. There is also a strange sense of relief in knowing that I have grown up as a parent and no longer wish to play a control-game with you.

Love you my teen.

Setting goals

I never knew setting a goal for myself would be such a challenging process. I don’t mean just any goal but a goal which fitted into the parameters of Specific-Measurable-Ambitious-Realistic-Timebound-Ethical-Relevant.In short I had to set a SMARTER goal for myself. I could not say creating a better life for myself was my goal because it wasn’t specific enough. Soon I understood that most of what I wished for myself wasn’t a goal in the true sense of the word. And soon enough I also realized that among my group of 50, I was the only one floundering with setting a goal.

I tried it this way. Started from scratch. I wrote down my interests and my passions (!), what excited me, what drove me but by the end of it I was more confused. I asked A, asked friends and still nothing was clear. Everything I did and felt passionate about was to do with my children especially D.I could not imagine a goal that did not involve her. I ultimately realized that I had to work towards a goal that did not necessarily exclude her. I had to take care of her needs along with my own needs as an individual. Being a parent was just one part of me. (As if I didn’t know it). Maybe over the last 8 years, I had relegated all other parts to the background...

Why set a goal for myself at 42? Was it a mid life crisis or just a need to discover my lost identity? Or plain boredom? I don’t know. But I do know that the last 3 months of 2008 for me was a period of soul searching. I had plenty of questions for myself as to where I was heading as an individual. Some part of me also understood that I had to feed my inner self so that I could take care of others around me effortlessly. And the timing seemed right. I had the time, I had the energy and I had the willingness to learn and create an identity for myself.

Along the way of questioning, I interacted with few friends who were already doing something they loved. I asked them how they had discovered their passion. No one really went about discovering their passions, I understood then. It just happened along the way.
So I decided to let things be, gave up the mental struggle allowing things to simply happen and unfold.

And they have. And once I decided on a goal for myself, from that very moment, new doors are opening to lead me towards it. I find it an amazing journey so far.

Questions! Do we have the answers?

All of us seem to be experiencing anger and a sheer sense of outrage at the recent Mumbai blasts. Anger at the senseless killing, anger at the inefficacy of the system and anger at our own helplessness. Anger is natural but when used with care it can be a tremendous source of power and influence.

What do I feel post the blasts? I feel detached yet there is an anger that stems from sheer helplessness about the situation, an anger that spills over into my normal life unsuspectingly. I cannot imagine that someone can wreak violence to this extent. To stealthily snatch away the lives of hundreds of people who they didn’t even know or have a personal vendetta against. At the same time it doesn’t make sense to expect others to think the way we do. Each one of us is so different and motivated by different goals in our lives. So were the killers. They killed; they achieved their goal and what they had set out to do. But they were not there to see the aftermath of their gruesome act.

What do I want? Do I want my city/country to never ever face terrorist attacks? Do I want to experience this same of detachment when I read about the loss of lives, lives that should never have been lost in the first place? Do I want to feel that sense of grief and anxiety that those families experienced when they had no clue about the whereabouts of their loved ones? Do I want to be insensitive and feel that it cannot ever happen to me, it happens only to others? Deep within I know what I want-peace, simply peace. So that nothing can tear the fabric of our city and of our souls. I want to see my city bustling and vibrant yes but also clean, with open spaces. Spaces free of ugly monstrous buildings and accumulated garbage. And I don’t want to just sit and grumble about civic authorities and about the sheer indifference of the Government? I want to do something, to start somewhere...
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I listen to stories from friends who have had narrow escapes, hear about acquaintances who lost their family members; read the newspapers that continue to carry stories of those who died, of lucky survivors, of post trauma stress disorder, of depression and of burying the unidentified. We may declare that our spirit is indefatigable, we bounce back quickly and we are an intrepid lot just because life resumed the very next day. It did resume yes but did we really penetrate that masked front and ask anyone how their spirit was and how they really felt?

There is no question of winning as a city and as people. Some view it as battle to be fought. But it cannot be fought with a festering anger that has no focus or direction. It can be fought only with a clear mind. The journey against terrorism has always been there. Each one of these shocking experiences enable us travel it step by step. Let the breaks in the journey not disillusion us and make us feel vulnerable to those whose job is all about destruction and death. Alternatively, let it create and foster in us a sense of unity, endless hope, faith and strength that no outside influence can ever dissolve or shatter.

Essence

I cannot always be like a flower,
I have a lot of garbage as well.