Letting Go

The Pursuit of Happyness

If there is one thing that all humans have in common, it is the desire for happiness. We are all, each one of us, in the never ending pursuit of this most coveted state of being. 

But happiness is an elusive mistress. Always just beyond grasp. At any point of time, there is always that one object, event or person that seems to hold the key to happiness. If only that one thing could be attained, you could be happy. Many never make a serious attempt to pursue happiness.However, there are few who chase after their chance to be happy with everything they've got, not resting till they have it in their hands.

And the moment the finishing line is crossed, the mountain is scaled or the trophy lifted, you are rewarded with a flood of endorphins in your brain. Every nerve ending is tickled. You are happy. Completely, truly happy. The ecstasy is however, criminally short lived. Soon the high ebbs. The object of happiness loses its ability to make you feel singularly alive. It becomes part of your life's narrative and you land squarely back on earth. We are subconsciously aware of the slippery nature of happiness. This is probably why  we tear up or feel melancholic when experiencing immense happiness. Even in the moment, we are aware of how it's slipping through our fingers.

So the moment passes and before you know it, you feel listless, empty. Much like a bride does, the day after the wedding. You neither feel the rush of adrenaline that you often experience while chasing a goal nor the ecstasy of wish fulfillment. You will search for an unfulfilled desire or another goal to fixate on. May be you will obsess over a problem you are currently facing and decide that your nirvana lies in finding its solution. Just one more thing and then you can be happy. Right?

Happiness maybe fleeting and transient but negative emotions stick. Like glue. Dissatisfaction, boredom, disappointment, hurt, guilt, longing, regret and so many more demons are always lurking in the corner waiting to barge in through the tiniest of cracks. And once they are in, they stay. For days, sometimes weeks. 

I guess as humans we are programmed to cling to negative emotions. Feelings of dissatisfaction, insecurity and fear are probably responsible for the survival of the human race. If our ancestors were a perfectly happy, content and complacent lot, none of us would have been here. 

Clearly, the odds are stacked against us. So easy to slip into despair, so difficult to be happy. Just like every other person who is not fighting for his or her life, dealing with abject poverty or some other extreme adversity, I have pondered deeply on this existential problem.

More and more I am beginning to believe, gratitude is the key to enduring happiness. Sure, it's not glamorous or path breaking but it works. At least, for me, it does. Whenever, I feel the blues coming on, I force myself to think of something I am grateful for. Thinking of simple things to be grateful for such as being alive, being healthy- physically and mentally, food in the fridge or half a bar of chocolate in the drawer, makes me feel better. Focusing on how much I have rather than what I don't, gives me perspective. It doesn't make me feel on top of the world but it makes me happy in a quiet way. It makes me happy enough.

How Politics Changed My Life

I sailed through school without having any serious life plans. Like most children I oscillated between being dead sure about wanting to become a doctor to being certain that I was meant to be a lawyer.

My medical ambitions got quietly sidelined when I realized that I had very little aptitude for science and almost none for maths. My interest lay in the humanities. I loved studying languages and history. This meant that I could be a lawyer, if I wanted. I was just not sure if I wanted that. But I decided that I will not rack my brain about this before I really had to. I had figured out my short term plan - Clear 10th standard board exams with above average marks and apply to a decent college to pursue a degree in humanities. What I would do with my life once I got my degree, I didn’t know. Making life defining decisions hurt my brain; made me nervous and restless. I wanted to leave such decisions to a vague future time and just continue living in my dream world where anything was possible. Even then, I was not big fan of pushing myself too hard. I was already showing a preference for sauntering through life without putting in serious effort, risking much, taking tough decisions or setting difficult goals. I was happy keeping up the general appearance of being on track. It was a track that led nowhere in particular.

During my school career, I was always better in my head than I was in reality. I was an above average student. Every year, there would be an occasional spark of brilliance but for most part I was a lazy student who, thanks to a serious fear of disapprobation, just focused on staying out of trouble. For me, this meant, being in the top 20 in a class of 60. At my lowest, I slipped into the 40s; at my best I just stopped short of being in the top 10.

I lacked discipline, ambition and the willingness to work hard. I didn't have what it took to excel. At the same time, I refused to be a failure. Comfortably cushioned between the bright sparks and the dull laggards, I found my place. I was shockingly poor at sports. If there was no way I could slip out of a race, you could bet your bottom dollar, I would place last. I had no musical or dancing talent. However, I had some flair for languages and a modicum of writing talent.

All in all I was a regular kid. No worrisome troubles but no star quality either. But this was not how I saw myself. I always thought of myself as special; bursting with undiscovered talent. I felt this burning light inside me that was just beyond grasp. I was convinced that I was far from mediocre. It was just that my teachers and fellow students were unable to recognise my brilliance. My mother played her part in feeding my delusions of grandeur.

I spent those pre-teen years living inside my head and between pages of books. I was trudging along robed in my cloak of invisibility, waiting for my destiny to reveal itself, when life took a sudden turn. For the first time in my school career, the spotlight shone on me.

In my school, in the higher classes, choosing a class monitor or leader was a democratic process. It was a given that only kids blessed with both-an impressive academic record and a confident demeanour would stand for these elections and one or the other would win the mandate to rule over us lesser mortals for the remainder of the year.

Two or three usual suspects would offer their candidature each time and would more or less take turns in being class monitor owing to a strong anti-incumbency sentiment in my class. However, this scheme of things made class elections an extremely boring, routine affair.

One day things changed and would never be the same again. It was the start of the 8th academic year and class elections were announced as usual. N & T volunteered as candidates, same as every year.

I am still unsure of what the trigger was but some inexplicable current of courage surged through me and I stood up to offer my candidature. As my fellow students turned to look at me, their expressions were far from encouraging. A few sniggered, some looked embarrassed on my behalf, and others were just surprised with this sudden, unexpected development.

As I stood with the other two, I was shaking. My heart was pounding so fast, I was certain, the whole class could hear. I decided to calm down, and steel myself for certain and crashing defeat. However, as luck would have it, things were not as straight as they seemed. There was a subtle anti-elitist undercurrent in the class that none had caught. On a whim, the class decided to rout the long rule of the chosen few and hand the reins to a commoner. My fellow students collectively decided to reward my courage in challenging the entitled. Of course, a few were unhappy with an utterly unaccomplished and undistinguished colleague being chosen as their leader. But more or less, most people were enthusiastic about the change in command.

I won’t waste too many words in describing how absolutely thrilled I was. I was unable to contain my excitement even on reaching home. I spent a restless night, tossing and turning in bed, deliberating on my approach to leadership and power wielding. I was aware that I was undeserving of the honour bestowed on me and felt a deep gratitude towards my fellow classmates for giving me an opportunity to be rid of the curse of obscurity. This sense of gratitude pushed me towards a populist approach to governance. This appeared to be a wise strategy as it could result in a total routing of the authoritarian manner of leadership adopted by the elitists, thereby improving my chances as a career leader for the rest of my school years.

I went back to school the next day as a new person. I had a goal, a plan and direction. I shed my introverted demeanour and confidently interacted with my class mates in a polite, friendly yet firm manner. I smiled more, spoke more, and was funny and witty. I intervened as a negotiator to resolve conflicts; I was just, impartial, soft spoken, respectful, humble and kind. I am unsure of whether these were qualities I always possessed that surfaced when I gained some confidence and an audience or if it was a persona I adopted because I figured it would work best for me. What I do know is that the transformation happened naturally and I was comfortable in my new skin. Not surprisingly, I gained wide acceptance and soon became the most popular girl in class. Even the snooty elitists with their iron fenced cliques were angling to befriend me. However, I was already thinking like a seasoned politician and knew that while I should be friendly towards all, I should never alienate or displease my core support base.

I was firmly ensconced in my role as the undisputed class leader. With time my fame grew beyond the classroom and soon I was recognised as a confident, friendly, smart student and a part of the ruling class. Those were the happiest days of my school career. Very few joys compare to the one we experience when an opportunity presents itself and we are able to make the best of it.

The attention I received as a class leader also resulted in attention of another kind. Boys started to take notice of me for the first time in my life. Thankfully I was not overwhelmed or led astray by it and handled the attention with surprising coolness and dignity. I was very clear that I was to steer clear from any romantic entanglements. The idea that boyfriends spelled doom for many a promising girl was firmly planted in my head. I had good reason to believe this too. I knew of way too many brilliant girls lose focus and topple down the ladder of academic achievement once they had a boyfriend. Boys seemed to possess the magical ability to make girls throw caution to the wind and adopt a devil may care attitude towards their future. I refused to succumb to such a fate. Also, I did not have the courage or capacity to pull off the kind of manipulation it would require at home, if I had a boyfriend. Besides I had to focus on my new responsibilities.

So there I was, sashaying along, basking in my new found glory, when a sudden twist shifted things into 5th gear.

A new student, who was admitted to our class well into the academic year, took a special interest in me. He was tall and quite cute by teenage boy standards. It was obvious that he had absolutely no interest in academics and was a big believer in taking it easy. In fact I strongly suspected that he was thrown out of his previous school for either being totally dim-witted or worse still, expelled for a serious misdemeanour. However, amongst the teenage kids in my school being a academic failure was no disqualification for a boy. In fact if a boy was decent looking and confident, it somewhat added to his charms. I guess women are drawn towards rebels, bad boys and dead beats early on in life.

So this boy diligently ticked off all the items on the list of ‘things to do to woo a girl’. He spent entire school days staring at me unblinkingly. I think I caught his eyes tearing up a couple of times. He unfailingly stalked me whenever I stepped out of the class during recess or on my walk to the school bus at the end of the school day. 

He wrote my name with chalk on every inch of available space on his desk. This annoyed his bench mate no end as all his books were coated with fine white dust. But he had no choice but to co-operate in this boy’s quest for love as non co-operation in romantic endeavours was a serious offence that could result in social boycott. 

When I ignored these subtle hints with stoic determination, he decided to adopt a more direct approach. One day, I got delayed in class for some reason and was last to leave the classroom after the school bell rang. Just as I was about to exit the class, I was accosted by two of my male classmates who were waiting for me at the door. These two were close friends of my prospective lover and I knew that this encounter had something to do with him. Without beating around the bush, they informed me that had been given the lofty responsibility of making me a proposal on behalf of their dear friend who was much too shy to do it himself. This came as somewhat of a surprise to me as my suitor had not exhibited a smidgen of coyness when he brazenly stared at me or stalked me. I politely declined citing my inflexible policy against having a boyfriend. I was careful to mention that the decision was not personal and it was not about him, it was about me.

My refusal acted as fuel that transformed a glowing ember into raging flames. This is when I learnt my second valuable lesson in love – There is nothing a man finds more attractive than a woman who doesn’t give a damn. For the next two years he pursued me with singled minded obsession and the whole school came to know of the epic love story of a brave heart lover and the stone hearted object of his affection.

The ripple effects of this development catapulted me to near stardom. The combination of political power and the attention of a popular boy made me an enviable ‘It’ girl. I went from being a plain girl invisible to most, to a beautiful girl people couldn’t avert their eyes from. School mates would smile at me appreciatively as I walked past and not a day went by without compliments being showered on my eyes, smile, hair and various other body parts. Some observed that my voice was musical; others that I moved with the grace of a danseuse.

I was wonderstruck at this sweeping change in people’s perception of me. It was a phenomenon that was not within my capacity to fully understand. I looked in the mirror and the saw the reflection of the same plain, ordinary girl. I was the same person I was a year ago when most people who now claimed to be my friends didn’t even bother speaking to me. Sure, I was more confident, outspoken and assertive. But there was no change in me to warrant the kind of popularity I enjoyed. I was not a better student; I had not developed new skills or talents; I had not blossomed into a young beauty. While I remained the same, one small shift namely standing for class elections had changed my universe.

I went on to become a school prefect in my final year and served on other positions of power and responsibility. Those last few years of school were some of the happiest years of my life. More importantly, it taught me many valuable lessons that would serve me for the rest of my days.

I learned that belief in oneself and courage has the power to change one’s life. I learned that other people’s opinion is a fickle thing and can dramatically change with minimum impetus and so it should never dictate one’s decisions or choices.

Nearly two decades have passed since I stepped out of school doors and into the real world. I find myself faced with challenges that seem overwhelming. It is time to remember the lessons I learnt as a young person in school. Once again, my universe is in need of a change.

Touch Me Not.

An important person in my life has embarked on a journey of self discovery. He is seeking help to introspect and find answers to internal conflicts he has struggled with for most of his life. We spoke about his experience so far and he told me, he was trying to get to the root of his mood swings. We recalled instances of the so called mood swings and how over time we have developed a mechanism to manage ‘episodes’ with minimal damage.

This conversation got me thinking about how I behave in relationships that most matter to me.

I am an introvert and find it difficult to befriend people and even more difficult to develop open, trusting and meaningful relationships. But I pride myself on the fact that the ones I have formed have been most fulfilling and have lasted a lifetime.

However, I am not exactly an easy person to love. I am oversensitive. The slightest perceived neglect, callousness, indifference, rudeness or animosity has the potential to crush me. In the blink of an eye I withdraw into a shell much like a tortoise. On most days, the people I am closest to can’t get me to shut up. In fact N loves to mimic how verbose and dramatic I am, when in my element. However, when I feel slighted, irrespective of whether the feeling is warranted or not, I find it near impossible to find words. Sometimes, I am acutely aware that the situation does not merit the emotions. Unfortunately, the awareness does not help quell the negative feelings. They take on a life of their own and refuse to be reasoned with. The words that desert me are replaced by an impenetrable silence. My vulnerable, sensitive self is quickly locked down and a fake, hard persona comes to the fore. This usually heralds the beginnings of passive aggressive behavior directed at the ‘offender’ that at times exceeds all decent limits and gains monstrous proportions. I believe, I have hurt more with my silence than my words. 

I wish I was able to just sit a person down and say these words, “You have hurt me.” Instead, I’ll pull way and act cold and indifferent. I think, more than trying to show the other person that I don’t care, I am trying to convince myself of this. Somewhere down the line, I started to believe that instead of demanding the attention, affection and sensitivity I need and deserve, I should stop needing them. I lost the ability to show vulnerability and slowly started becoming someone that believed in stripping people of the power to affect me. I much rather clamp down than risk the lump in my throat transforming into tears that well up in my eyes, blinding me, as I try to put feelings into words. 

I’ve struggled with this weakness all my life. I have tested the sanity of loved ones with my special brand of neurosis. I’ve been lucky to have people in my life, who have been patient and have over a period of time understood that what appears as arrogant indifference is actually a self defense mechanism and method of self healing. I am indebted to those who instead of following their natural instinct of trying to convince me of how unreasonable and touchy I am being, have in their own quiet way shown me how much I am loved. To these people, I owe a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid.

Over the past few years, I have made a conscious effort to change. I try to be rational and make a serious attempt to not be oversensitive when an offence was not meant or was inadvertent. I have off late started attempting honest, open conversations when I feel like I am not being treated right. I have slowly begun to overcome my fear of being perceived as oversensitive and irrational. In the process, I have learnt, when people are made aware of their power to affect you, they behave responsibly. At least the good ones do.

It is going to be a long and arduous journey. I know, I am more likely to fail than succeed till I learn to master my emotions. But I am aware of how important this is to my growth as a person and the health of my relationships.

To those who have walked along with me so far, I am grateful. To those who will continue with me on this journey and to those who I am yet to meet along the way, I wish you patience, luck and a killer sense of humour.

"It is in the moments of emotional crisis that human beings reveal themselves most accurately."~ Anais Nin

Last night, in a moment of deep vulnerability, when I was wearing my skin inside out, I came face to face with an ugly, rank, rotten part of my inner self. In the interest of self preservation, it was buried in a crevice far beyond the reach of my consciousness; it was never meant to float to the surface; it was never meant to pollute the clear waters of self perception. I stumbled upon it by accident, at a time when I was more breakable than the finest glass. I wanted to run away, faster than thought; but how do I escape myself? how do I hide from me? I spent most of the night tethered on the edge of sanity and eventually fell into exhausted sleep.

When I opened my eyes in the light of day, I found to my relief that feelings of hatred and revulsion had not survived the night. I felt sympathy and compassion for that diseased part of myself that had spent all this time hiding in darkness, too ashamed to be seen. While I slept, my mind had gathered the strength to accept this undesirable patch on my soul. I curled into foetal position and held myself close while memories of fear, insecurities and acidic experiences accumulated since early childhood slowly and noiselessly seeped out of me. I became aware of how this shadow had fallen. A rush of endless, unconditional love for my battered soul filled me.

It was time to lick my wounds. It was time to wake up and face another day.It was time to walk again.

A Piece of My Heart

You came into my life, wrenched my heart open and made it your home.

You showed me what it means to love and be loved; no holds barred. 

Two months ago, you left me, forever; taking a piece of my heart with you.

I've been waiting for my heart to mend. I now know, it never will. 

That piece of my heart belongs to you, and is yours to keep.

Yours unwhole,

S. 

2013: The Year of Murakami

2013 is the year I discovered Haruki Murakami.

I read Norwegian Wood cover to cover on a Sunday in March. The words left the pages, seeped into my skin and sunk into my heart. I became obsessed with his writing. I wanted to devour every word he ever wrote and I couldn’t do it fast enough. Immediately after Norwegian Wood, I read Kafka on the Shore, followed by Sputnik Sweetheart, South of the Border West of the Sun, Windup Bird Chronicle and 1Q84. It was only after I finished the mammoth 1Q84 that I was somewhat satiated and ready to take a break. 

I've been a voracious reader since the age of 10. In my extremely satisfying journey as an ardent book lover, I have discovered and loved many writers. But none so far have had the overwhelming impact that Murakami’s work has had on me. 

In a very difficult phase of my life, I felt like someone had glimpsed the very depths of my soul and given words to my longing, loneliness, existential angst and inexplicable sorrow. Of course, I am not alone in feeling this way about his work; he is popular primarily because millions across the world feel exactly the same way I do. And this once, I don’t mind being one among multitudes.

I've found that reading a Murakami book can feel like lying on cool grass, on a warm full moon night and having a conversation with a soul mate. You know that feeling, when you finally gather the courage to open up about your deepest, darkest fears to a close friend and the infinite joy you experience when you find the other person echoing the same emotions? Through his books, Murakami reaches out to you and soothingly whispers, “I know how you feel; I feel the same way. You are not alone.”

And it’s not just the emotional quotient of his books that appeal to me, the fantastical elements too, blew me away. Almost all his novels except one or two push the boundaries of reality. His books are full of alternate universes, flying fish, talking cats and more. He incorporates these into the regular narrative in such a way that there is no way of knowing what is real and what is not. It is as if, in Murakami’s world anything is possible. Who says cats can’t talk and fish can’t fly? He is like a child who is yet to learn the truths of our world; doodling flying cars and dancing animals completely ignorant that his imagination is out of sync with the boundaries of reality. He doesn’t think out of the box; he refuses to acknowledge the existence of the box. As a reader, to step into his world and experience such freewheeling imagination is exhilarating.

I was lost in Murakami’s world for months, much to the chagrin of my loved ones. One day, when my brother found me completely engrossed in one of his books, yet again, he said, “What will you do if this man stops writing?” I felt his words like a punch in my gut. I shot back at him, “He will never stop writing”. In my head I think of him as a magical weaver, sitting at his spindle and loom, endlessly weaving words, forever more. Remember, in Murakami’s world anything is possible :)