My family, especially my mom, always thought I was a dreamer and told me I needed to keep my feet on the ground. I never understood the harm in escaping into a dream world filled with possibilities, where you can neatly avoid ever being hurt, disappointed or have your spirit annihilated. But the danger - I am discovering - is when you come back into reality and you no longer have the invisible sheild and you are only fragile flesh and blood again. Your pain has the advantage then of sneaking up and surprising you.
When it seemed to take forever to arrive at this milestone that my life is crossing, I assumed it had to be because something extra special was waiting for me at the end of the long, hard road. And I'd had my head up in the clouds for so long I guess my vision was still misty. I came to the crossroads and one path seemed perfect, ordained, God's special gift for His whiny daughter who'd waited so long for her happily ever after. So I smiled and spread my imaginary wings and flew happily in that direction.

Over the course of my long career as an insecure, lonely, overweight woman - I had collected many scars and fissures on my soul from injuries inflicted both carelessly and deliberately. I'd survived them all because I had conjured an ending to my ordeal that would make up for all the bruising and the slow stewing pain in a brand new beginning to the rest of my life. And for a short while down my chosen path, it seemed like my magic was strong - that the path I had chosen did indeed have the power to seal those cracks, heal the scars and make me whole.

Since then the mists have cleared and I have fought again and again to breathe life into the vision of my rosiest dreams of being accepted, loved, cherished forever exactly how I am.
Instead I think the combined weight of my expectations and my desperation squeezed out the last of the pink mists shrouding my reality. In a short time I have learned the urgent need to shut the door on the alluring alternate world where somebody like me gets something simply by wanting it bad enough. I chose this path when it was shrouded in sparkling visions of perfection and now that my rose colored glasses have been broken, I see that its going to be hard going from here on out. Ironically, it might even be harder than the draining trek I made to get this far!

But this is not really a bad situation. Seeing clearly has many more advantages than the false promises of the land of mists. Perhaps I have finally finally grown up. I think this because I realize two things - one that this is a dry eyed revelation and two - I know now what was wrong with the rosy picture I had pinned all my hopes on. So far I had not expected to need to actually DO anything to get to a point of poise, comfort, acceptance and love. And I acknowledge - perhaps for the first time in my life - that the reason my life, my road has not improved is because I have been waiting for the world around me to get gentler, grow a heart, be less shallow, love me without conditions. I have woken up to the fact that the world is NEVER going to change, not even the most beloved parts of it. The only changes I can affect are changes I make to myself. And when I have grown, changed, transformed enough to satisfy myself, I think I might be ok if the rest of the world didnt share my view.

Until then, I thank God for the new lessons I have learned - that there is liberation in being grounded, there is a joy that I can count on which comes from within myself and that the secret to having everything you want is to only want what you can get for yourself.

I returned from a month-long trip home on Thursday, and am still wading through the sleepy mist of jetlag and homesickness. The uncertainty of knee-jerk changes and choppy execution at work is so exactly as it was before I left on my 5 week vacation that I am for the first time comforted by the familiar absolute lack of stability. It isn't that I once more report to a new manager and belong to a new department (this has happened to me now 4 times in 3 years of employment - no big whoopie) - actually its not work at all that has me riding the waves and crests of my meandering mind. I find that rather than solidifying my beleifs that had emerged from long years of experience as a woman, a daughter and an Indian - this trip home has tossed out all my pre-conceived notions and put the onus of my decision-making process squarely on the shoulders of my own intellect. For all my posturing as an intelligent, largely self-sufficient, emancipated woman of the here and now -I find myself terrified without the crutches of culture, tradition and ritual to back me up or conveniently hold me back from decisions I didnt want to face. The time-tested scapegoat of duty and sacrifice have deserted me and I learn that I knew nothing of my own insecurities and strengths until those trappings had been stripped away. In the long hours of exhausted sleep this weekend, my sub-conscious mind only conjured up torturous and inventive scenarios of regret. Surely it is not a divine warning but only my simply mind that communicates using such unsophisticated signs and obvious symbols.
At this juncture in my life when I have been handed everything I had asked for, whined about, made a production of sacrificing - I have to grit my teeth against turning tail and running from the reality of my desires. Not only is its beauty terrible - but like the heart of roaring flame, or the savage crashing of ocean waves, it is also mesmerizing in its potential for destruction. I am not afraid that it will go away - I cannot imagine not being releived to be released from its strange hypnosis. What I am afraid of is that it will consume me and everyone I have always wanted to protect and spit out the bones of my mistakes. I feel prickly will my doubts sticking like needles into my loved ones' contentedness and hardwon peace of mind. I have not mastered the art of turning those needles inwards and never allowing the bruises to show - but I am learning to everyday.

I just started reading Jhumpa Lahiri's "Unaccustomed Earth" and before I started on it, I had made myself beleive that it was only "The Namesake" that was so immeasurably depressing. But I see now that it was perhaps her earlier work "The Interpreter of Maladies" that was relatively uncharacteristic. Don't get me wrong - her portrayal of the second generation Indian is accurate - perhaps too accurate to make for comfortable reading. And there are some works like that - intended to make you hot under the collar, intended to prod your conscience into perhaps inspiring a change - if atleast for the first few fired up moments before the inertia of convenience or habit forces things back to how they used to be. But in JL's book, I feel no such uplifting motive. Rather I feel resentment that she is offloading her underlying personal sense of guilt (the legacy of all second-generation Indians in America) on the readers by brutally honest insights into the minds of her main characters. I think she makes their flaws and weaknesses larger than life so that she (and her reader) can feel comforted that they are better by comparison. Note that this tirade is far from well-researched or backed by any fact - so if it turns out JL is a model daughter and was raised exclusively in India, and her uncanny insight into the minds of her American-born-or-raised characters is pure creative genius - then don't hurl brickbats at me. Regardless of the veracity of my resentment, I do think her first generation Indians are often plastic beings - infused with just enough life and thought to influence the story in the direction it needs to take. There is only strife in the differences, no glory, no growth, no revelation. And yet her title was chosen from words that extolled the virtues of transplanting generations onto new lands!
Perhaps this tirade is not so much against JL's storytelling that evokes all that is melancholy and challenging about being rooted in unaccustomed earth - because after all, it is her enormous talent that forces opinion and painful truths to the surface for her reader. Its perhaps resistance at being self-labelled along with some of her characters as self-centered, individualistic, lacking in true depth of emotion for anyone outside of the self and what is gratifying to the self in the fleeting present. It is perhaps denial that 40 years of marriage and family could've yeilded less true love for a couple than a fleeting summer romance with a stranger. It is perhaps guilt, that while not as abandoned as her characters, I too am nurturing neglect and shame wrapped in defensive individualism.

An old friend - once a very close friend - dropped me a line today that set me to thinking about my life - yesterday, today and tomorrow. It brought to mind many conundrums I have mulled over before like the nature versus nurture question, about what ingredients in a woman's personality drives her decision-making process.
I have always attributed my own choices to circumstance. Amma often says that feeling responsible for my family was only a convenient scapegoat for my own ambitions. Perhaps she is right to some extent - couldn't I have done my duty towards them without leaving India, without choosing to pursue years of expensive education, without claiming complete independence? I could have I suppose - but in my defense I was genuinely impatient to begin contributing. I didn't see myself as ever being more than a burden with an arts degree and some teaching job waiting for me that paid exactly as much as Amma was getting paid. I couldn't wait until a marriage Amma had financed came to fruition to explore opportunities for a lucrative career, for the possibility of earning in a currency that could convert into enough Rupees to wipe that perpetual look of worry on Amma's face. Besides - I was 19! Only the most grandiose schemes occur to one when one is 19! I would never have thought of a ladder where an elephant could take me to new heights. You know what I mean?
Whether it was selfish ambition or age and circumstance - where it took me was a life of perpetual challenges, uphill climbs and the constant struggle to stay afloat. I take pride in the fight it put in me - though when people talk about strife building character, I wonder if that is necessarily true in my case. I have not visibly improved much -but I have learned to curb an acid tongue and hair-trigger anger. Having many roomates who dont speak your language can help you do that. I am still irresponsible and do most hair-raisingly important things at the last minute - but now I have the resourcefullness to correct my own mistakes. Almost having to go home mid-way through your precious education because you forgot to fill out a form will do that. But in true qualities that define character - honesty, sacrifice, kindness, generosity, fairness, dependability, strength of mind - I do not beleive I have changed for the better. Rather - I am more ruthless in acheiving an end, more cautious in trusting others, more focused on protecting myself and my assets, less open with every thought and desire. I even feel less guilty when I prioritize myself or my need over someone else's - I am more easily convinced that after so many lonely hard years, I deserve to take care of myself.
Apparently flying without a safety net for many years enhances those qualities in me that sent me soaring off on my own in the first place. I must then conclude that circumstances have nurtured in me only that which my nature possessed in the first place - selfishness and ambition.

I just saw Jodhaa Akbar on one of those wonderful sites where you probably just handed over your identity to be stolen and your credit to be looted - but how well worth it for the free movies!
I loved the movie - not because I take Ashutosh Gowariker's romantic spin on the most renowned Mughal ruler and his still foggy relationship with a Rajput princess at his word. But because it was wonderful to suspend intellect for a while and not think about the books I'd read about Jodhaa actually being Akbar's daughter-in-law. I also firmly suppressed the niggling thought that Akbar had a harem full of many wives and concubies who would've shared his affections along with Jodhaa if she had indeed been his wife. Instead I chose to buy into the beautiful tale of true love and secularism that the movie told and I was well rewarded for it.
The story-telling was so comfortingly without bells and whistles, that it was refreshingly absorbing. The events unfolded like your grandmother would've told it to you right before you fell asleep. The love embellishments to the story satisfied even my romantic streak and it helps that the beauty of both Akbar and Jodhaa and the splendid palaces surpassed what even the most exacting imagination would've dreamed up.
Aishwarya captivated only with her beauty - her Rajput princess lacked the fire that would've enslaved a great Emperor. But Hrithik more than made up for her mask-like perfection by becoming, embodying, channelling Akbar. I will never think of that historical giant without seeing the actor's beautiful face. The movie shouldve been named Akbar Jodhaa - because it was Akbar who shone brightly troughout the movie. Every emotion - anger, arrogance, intrigue, desire,devotion - lived in Hrithik's acting so intensely that I quite forgot he is a flesh and blood man of today and not the mythical prince of fairy tales. I have not lost myself in a story so much in a long time.
Never fear - I have not turned into a self proclaimed film critic. I simply lack desi kindred spirits to bore with these thoughts :). Let me know what you thought of the movie too if you've seen it.
Have a wonderful weekend folks!

The Banyan Tree

She stands alone in the rain glancing off her immense form
Splashing into dirty pools at her feet and running away in rivulets
Even as the life giving moisture seeped into her
She felt defeated by the outpour that drenched and humiliated her
Mocking her empty shade and wasted haven.
She can remember a time when she was proud
Of her intense green that protected the stranded and weary
Enfolding them in a gentle shade when the sun beat down
Or blanketing them in relative dryness from which to see
The rain wash away all restraint and oldness from the world.
She remembers cradling boys and monkeys in her boughs
With the same sturdy care and firm support
Thrilling with the birds making families within her
Sighing with the lovers who carved painful love into her.
But once the rain stopped, once the sun lost its heat
They all walked away to their own worlds
Boys grew up, monkeys moved to the hills
Baby birds learned to fly off into the blinding blue
And the lovers danced into their futures hand in hand
Or quarelled, shed tears and went their separate ways
While she remained scarred by signs of their love forever.
Always she was left behind - welcoming more needy under her leaves
By the side of the road that seemed to take everyone but her
Around the bend and into a future full of promise
While she waited alone for her roots to become wings.

Excerpts from an interview with my father:

Me: Acha kutta - you look great! I see you haven't changed any from the day you...well..you know. If anything you look younger. Your dimples are deeper, your smile is more mesmerizing. Your voice reverbates in my chest like my own heartbeat and your eyes are sharper than ever behind your glasses. Is this what heaven does for you?

Achan: You see me as your heart wants to remember me mole - I will probably only get better looking every time we do this. (smiling lovingly)

Me: So down to the real business of this interview - I dont know how much more time we have and I dont want to waste a second of it. (deep breath) How does it feel...after so long? 17 years Acha! How do I look?

Achan: How does it feel? Like I never left, I stayed every minute watching over you. Thats what you wanted remember? Its what your mother wants - you know she always gets what she wants. (smiling again) How do you look? As beautiful as only my flesh and blood can look to my eyes. Remember - I saw you every day... but now with you sitting across from me, looking so earnest in your stylish clothes and impeccable make up...I see my little girl looks just the same. Eyes full of unquestioning devotion, a constant question on her lips, the same plump little arms always reaching out to hold on to me. You are still my little beauty - my kochu sundari.

Me: Acha - I am taller than you now you know. I think weigh twice as much as you ever did and I am so much older now. What do you think of the woman I have become?

Achan: Thats too broad - ask me specifically what you want to know.

Me: Ok - fine. (wrinkling nose) What do you think of the choices I have made so far?

Achan: You are a child my dear - you have made all the mistakes I knew you would make. And you have learned from them I hope. Always hold on to God's hand so He can lead you to the right decisions and choices every time and you cannot go wrong.

Me: What of my regrets Acha - will you forgive me? Can you forgive me?

Achan: I cannot forgive you your consequences - you dont deserve that, do you? But prayer works miracles - keep praying.

Me: I cry so many nights - I still cry myself to sleep. And the loneliness of my soul cripples me. Why dont you ever help me? Why don't you show me signs that are easier to read? Why dont you steer me away from the path that is going to lead me to pain and regret?

Achan: Are you interviewing me or God? Am I the keeper of your soul or are you? If you expect to grow from the spiritual seed that you are now, how can you continue to not take responsibility for your actions, your thoughts and succumbing to your desires?

Me: Ok - we wont go there then. I dont want you angry with me...smile Acha...please? Remember that night you were so mad at me because I wouldnt pronounce succumb correctly? I still LOVE that word Acha.

Achan: (Smiling) Idiot

Me: (Smiling as well) I feel much better now Acha kutta. So how do you like the new music these days? I think about coming home to you in a parallel universe and playing you my latest favorites, sitting in the dark in the drawing room with a drink in your hand and me at your feet getting your opinion on my musical tastes.

Achan: I think I would've been too grouchy to listen with any patience to ALL your favorites. But now - there are some songs that I can see why you like them as much as you do. I would much prefer sitting in the living room in the dark listening to you singing to me - in that parallel universe of yours.

Me: (Smiling widely) You know I got laryngitis soon after you...you know. I dont sing that much anymore Daddy dearest. If I had sung for you would you have called me your "little lady"?

Achan: You sing your little heart out in the shower though dont you? I hear you all the time!(winking). But I had no idea you wanted me to call you "little lady" mole

Me: Well you would call all my grown up cousins that when you were laughing with them or teasing them. I wanted so bad for you to look at me with that same smile in your eyes. I couldn't wait to grow up so you could treat me like a little lady.

Achan: (Sighing) I didn't think I would still have lingering bitterness about not staying with you all after so long, but sometimes the sorrow is as fresh as if it was November 1990 all over again.

Me: (blinking back tears) So do you miss us Acha? As much as we missed you?

Achan: I think I miss touching you all the most - feeling your mother's palm when I ache to hold her hand, the curve of your cheek when I want to soothe away a tear, Achu's stubbly new beard when he is looking in the mirror willing it to grow. You have held on to each other in your sorrow mole - I watched alone, always close but just far enough away to never be with you again.

Me: (Crying) Can you forgive us for living, loving, laughing without you for so long Acha? How do you bear it - knowing I actively think about you only once a day when I pray in the morning? How do you not want to scoop Amma up in your arms and protect her from all the sorrow and pain she is facing alone?

Achan: (eyes glittering with tears) Its what I wanted - to hear myself in every laugh, in every tired joke you all kept repeating. I stayed with you in every silly, important, funny, sad, painful, scary moment that you lived through - I don't - would never want your hearts to have stopped with mine.

Me: You know we have wished we could have all just gone with you? We wanted nothing more than to see you, kiss your cheeks, smell your unique fragrance of incense and cigarettes, hear your soft laugh, hear your teasing, even sit through your sulky silences. We wanted it with every particle of our souls Acha. Poor Achu - he perhaps is the unluckiest of us all - to have so little of you in his head and his memories.

Achan: When he would make up stories of things he and I did together or muddle up one of your tales of me in the retelling..remember that?...that would break my heart all over again. You must love him enough for me as well. Your Amma is fragile - she needs you and so does your brother, your duty is always to them first. You must do what I would have done for them as much as you can. It is not just your duty, it was what you were born to do.

Me: How can I fill your shoes?? How do I even dream of doing what you could have done? I am only a shadow of you, a weak imitation. Acha - I am a candle to your sun - you expect more than I am capable of being!!

Achan: But you have me silly! - always in your heart. I am the whisper of conscience in your soul. I am the smile on your sleeping face, I am the slight movement you feel in your heart when you hear your mother laugh. I am the sharp hunger you feel when you think of India. I am the anger that whips you when you fall down in your esteem. I am the quiet strength that seems to seep in from nowhere when you think you are up against a wall. I am in you Muthe - where do you think I have been so long? Always remember - inside of you, in your heart and soul - thats where you should search to find me.

Me:Inside me? All along Acha? Wait....dont leave Acha - are you leaving? Was that goodbye? When will we talk again? When do I get another chance like this Acha....please dont go yet! We have a little more time dont we? Why is your image fading on the edges Acha - why is your voice starting to sound only like my own? No - I wasnt finished, I have so much more to ask you, so much more to tell you. Please....