No situation in life is bigger than your fear of it.

Barring a very few enlightened souls, most of us, go through lives burdened by this immense baggage of our fears. What if I lose my job? What will people say? What if I never get married? With every new morning, we invent a new ‘what if’ that haunts us through the day.

Because our fears influence us so, we often refuse to take risks, and settle for much, much less than life would have happily given us.

One of the biggest and perhaps the most real fear amidst this never-ending list of fears is that of losing a loved one. Were we to lose a parent, a spouse, a child, we feel our own life would be over, nothing would ever be the same. In so many ways, these fears are true.

But equally true is the fact that life still goes on. That’s the beauty or the ugliness of it, depending upon how you want to see it.

I am writing to you from the other side of that fear.

Last year in August, my mom died after a prolonged and painful battle with metastatic breast cancer. For those unaware, MBC is basically a death sentence, with an extremely short life expectancy. The two-year period from her diagnosis to her death was the hardest time in my life.

But, I am not writing any of this for attention or sympathy. In today’s world, this situation is by no means unique or even overly tragic. So please bear with me for a moment.

If there is one thing my experience has taught me, it is that no situation is bigger than our fear of it. I repeat: No situation is bigger than our fear of it.

When mom was still alive, I used to fear the day that would actually be her last. I used to torment myself, staying up through the nights, playing that imagined moment when my mom would die, over and over and over in my head. It didn’t do me any good, didn’t make her any better, but just ensured I lived life as a nervous wreck for two long years.

That dreaded moment came when it was destined to. I cried, I broke down, I nearly died. But then it passed. And I lived to tell this story.

Don’t get me wrong, life is hard, very hard at times. I miss her all the time. There are days when getting out of the bed is a damn struggle, when I hate people just because they are alive when mom isn’t.

But then those moments too, pass. And I go to work at a job I still love. I play with the son who still needs me. I go on dates with a husband who is still my best friend. I try to be there for my Dad who now needs a companion in me.

In other words, when the worst is over, LIFE GOES ON. Good or bad, LIFE GOES ON. And it will, till the day you and I are alive. No matter how many loved ones we lose, how many illnesses or failures we have to face, no matter what other disasters may be written in our future.

What we often forget in all our fear mongering is that the human spirit is extremely resilient. Honed over countless generations, our strong survival instincts guide the flow of our lives. More so than anything else.

Whatever fears, big or small, that you face today; I assure you they have little bearing on how the actual situation will play out. By fearing the worse, obsessing about all that could go wrong; you merely weaken your mind, body and spirit. When in reality what will happen is that if pushed in a corner you will find a way to cope, to fight, to give it your best. Your instincts will guide you to a safe place.

And even if all you do is just put one step in front of the other, sooner or later you will be out on the other end. I PROMISE you. And it is only after you have lived these fears that your true strengths will emerge.

So while fear is natural, it is not really real. Tell me, wouldn’t it be a shame if you let a mere figment of your imagination, run or ruin your fabulous life?

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Dear Delhi Winter

I think it’s important to let you know how much I love you.

Over the last few years, it seems you have become ambivalent about our relationship. There was a time when the onset of the Diwali season was a sign of your imminent arrival. And now, Christmas comes and Christmas goes, without as much as a whiff of you in the air. Oh, you do tease us, with a chilly day or two, and a few foggy nights here and there. But just like the winter clothing hanging desolately at the back of our closets, we desperately wait to experience you in full bloom.

And this seemed particularly true for 2012. For a while there, it seemed like you will completely miss your date with us. Thankfully, 2013 forced your hand. But again, a couple of days and you have vanished…

Here’s the thing, you CANNOT abandon Delhi. Seriously. You are one of the last few good things left about us.

People may complain about the fog that cloaks the city with you around, but it only serves to blur some of its ugliness, keeps the grime hidden. Delhi looks softer, mysterious, and different. One may sulk about the blustery days, but truth is that its also a chance to snuggle under the quilts just a little while longer, hugging the spouse, or cuddling with the kid, or just for lying around by yourself. Hmmm, bliss…

In fact, I think that come winter months, families and friendships across the city become cozier; what with the endless rounds of adrak chai, mungfali, and other gastronomic delights partaken in, while cuddled close in a rajai, or lazing around in sunny verandahs.

Delhi is nicer, mellower in winters, in an old-worldly way. And YOU make this magic happen.

So, I guess what I am saying is, don’t mind the HATERS. They don’t know a good thing when they see one. Commit to us. Next year come sooner and stay longer. And in your full glory..

Of course, I remain forever devoted to you in a chilled to my bones kind of way.

Yours Truly.

He doesn’t write me love notes…

He doesn’t write me love notes, well except for one in 14 years.

He thinks flowers are a waste of money. He goes to movie halls with me to sleep. He refuses to put a picture of us on his phone, laptop or anywhere else. Says it’s too sappy and not “his style”.  He says mean things when he is angry, and takes his time to say sorry. He snores like a truck, at times forcing me out of the room if I want some sleep.

But he often cooks for me and sets a beautiful table. He still buys me those ‘waste-of-money’ flowers. He plans the most fantastic holidays that require me to not raise as much as a finger. He is my ‘foodie buddy’; always ready to seek out the next new thing we haven’t put in our mouths yet. And he can make me laugh; like really laugh  in a pee-in-my-pants, split my guts kind of a way. He does NOT look at our relationship with the lens of “being a man”.He is my rock whenever I am ready to melt like a puddle on the floor.

You know that light at the end of the tunnel? Well, he is mine.

On some days…

On some days, I am a raw, open, throbbing wound. On some days, I am a salve not the pain. On some days, I am a bright, piercing ray of the sun. On some days, I am the mellow, calm voice of inner strength. On some days, I am a melody, at the back of your mind but never forgotten. On some days, I am an overwhelming cacophony of an overripe city. On some days, I am a wild, bossy breeze, unfettered, unchecked. On some days, I am a quiet, confused mass of my complexes and biases.
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Phew!! It’s tiring, this Multiple Personality Disorder thing!!

An imperfect journey…

A big part of your journey as a mother is getting to share it with your own. Having those common references, getting parenting tips from her, handed down home remedies for your child’s small and big ailments, special family recipes, getting to ask her, “did I do that when I was his age?”, the shared understanding of what makes the littlest milestones so momentous and meaningful. As someone much, much ahead of you in this lifelong adventure; she is your guide, your accomplice, your champion, your resting spot, the shoulder to cry upon and your inspiration to go on.

A big part of your journey as a mother is getting to share it with your own.

Without her, in so many ways you will be a lone traveler on this journey, often fumbling through the unknown.

It is not us, it is YOU

I guess I should apologize for spasming out so early in the New Year. But I am angry, really angry at the conversations I hear around me all the time. About men, women and sexual harassment, especially since the Delhi gangrape incident, about how women do the provoking, about how women should dress better, about how men will be men/men are like dogs and women should know better…

EVEN IF a man was to start walking down the street buck naked, I can assure you that not a single woman will pounce on him. Even if he was to do so in so called “shady/sleazy areas”; even if he did it in the dead of the night, even if he was walking alone; we wouldn’t as much as lay a finger on him. We would consider him crazy for sure, but it will never even strike us to grab “his stuff”, or pinch his chest or slap his ass.

So, when it comes to women, it BLOWS MY MIND that I keep hearing the “clothing” and “behavior” excuse again and again and again like a broken record.

Because that is what it is, AN EXCUSE.

Because it is not US, it is YOU.

You would probably say that my argument ignores the basic differences between the physiology and psychology of men and women.  Or you would say that men and women are not geared to respond to “things” in the same manner, that these differences have been determined by centuries of social and biological conditioning.

But then, aren’t you just echoing my statement?

It is not US, it is YOU. It is time, all of us, men and women alike RECOGNIZE THAT.

As women, no matter how conservatively we start dressing, how protective we try to be of our personal space, such incidents will not stop happening. They may just change shape and form. Yeah, if women decide to always travel in packs, always accompanied by “our men folk” and always carry weapons, things may not always reach “the rarest of rare” proportions, but incidents of harassment and sexual subjugation will not stop. Not to mention the abuse that goes on (and will continue to), within the “safe” confines of homes and happy families.

Should I report it to the police if a professor merely lets his hand roam all over my back, while supposedly lauding me for good academic performance? Or an uncle’s touch lingers just a wee bit longer? What about the guy who “just stares” at me lecherously?

It is not US, it is YOU.

I was born in this city and have lived here most of my life.

I have been “harassed”, as a school girl returning from school, in broad daylight in buses, when I was traveling on a rickshaw with my mom, when I was at the trade fair with my entire family, when I was returning from work in my own car, when my boyfriend dropped me ten feet away from my house, heck when I was at a play-date at a friend’s house as a SIX YEAR old. Yeah, you don’t forget these things no matter how old you get…

I have been “harassed” in my school uniform, a “jeans”, a salwar kameez; everything but a burkha, which I don’t wear.

I have been “harassed” by middle class uncles, men as old as my grandpa, and boys my age and much younger.

So, uncles and aunties, and friends, brothers and sisters, and mums and dads, SHUT THE FUCK UP about it being about the way women dress or behave.

It’s about being a society where men think all women are fair game just because they can get away with it. It’s about being a society that is always eager to show these “modern”, “independent” women their goddamn place. It’s about being a society where women feel ashamed to report or even talk about incidents of harassment, while men feel so proud of committing rape that they videotape it for posterity and hope to “go viral”.

ONCE AND FOR ALL, get it straight.

I am the victim here, and I am the survivor; what I AM DEFINITELY NOT is the perpetrator or even the “provocateur”.

And shame on you for suggesting that…

Winds of Change

I thought the names were etched in stone.
But time passed, and they turned into sand
which blew in all directions,
with the winds of change.
And those names disappeared from my heart,
just like those people did from my life.

Here’s wishing that 2013 will be:

 

  

A year full of hope, not horror.

A year for faith, not fanaticism.

A year for living life, not lives lost.

A year for loving, not loathing “those others”.

A year to raise your voice, but not through violence.

A year to be human, not human-phobic.

A year to explore your own godliness,
and everyone else’s goodness.

A year for you to be you, and me to be me.

but
peacefully.

Have a ‘Hopeful’ New Year.

When…

When….

Keeping the good memories alive…

Keeping the good memories alive….