Big Me and Little Me

There is two of us

a big me and a little me

Big me tries to keep little me happy

Sometimes, big me succeeds, sometimes big me fails

When big me understands little me, we are happy

When big me does not, we are sad and angry

When little me understands big me, we are peaceful

When little me does not, we are sad and angry

So complex is this parenting

the bridging of the gap between big me and little me

Restless

My hands got to keep doing

My mouth got to keep chewing

My mind got to keep thinking

I try, so hard to be in the here and now

To soak in the air, flowers and the conversations

To let go - of this fiddling, chewing, thinking

And when that doesn't happen, which is frequent enough

I learn to soothe myself.

To say it is OK, its just me, that we shall begin again

But something, someone deep inside

Keeps bringing up a complaint, every now and then

That all is not OK - this book, this place, this milk shake.. something, anything.

Sometimes, I manage to say it is OK the way it is

The other times, I float into that world of "not OK"

I am a frequent visitor there

Got my own special VIP pass for the place.

The Echo

I had a vision in which I saw my Mom as my echo.  

If I said to her, 'I want to run away to a far away place where no one knows me, I knew she had the same to say to me.

If I said to her, I want to end all this, commit suicide, she would have the same to say to me.

If I said, I have done so much for you. Come such a long way. She had the same to say to me, for she has indeed come a long way in accepting my lifestyle choices. 

We are two women facing each other, holding hands but looking away from the other, torn between love and beliefs.

I knew whatever move I made, my reflection would simply emulate me. 

The only way to change my reflection is to change me. 

Fear

After all these years, I was full of hope; till once again you showed on the way

Fear I thought, I had conquered you, till you raised a different head

Feeling free, I was merrily hopping down the street, you showed up once again

I thought I left you far behind, you laughed at my ignorant ways

You changed forms, you changes shapes

Your job only to scare me from my way

But now I understand you better

And I walk through you with my head held high

For I know you are no more than a cloud of dust

Body

My heart beats in a rhythm

My lungs breathe in a rhythm

My body symmetrical

Eyes for seeing, nose for smelling

Ears for listening, tongue for tasting

Skin for feeling

Heart for pumping, lungs for breathing

Stomach for digesting, legs for standing

Millions of small cells doing their job without complaining

What a piece of art my body is!

What a fine miracle my body is!

Desire

Desire

I was born out of desire, the desire of two people

As a foetus, I had a desire, the desire to grow and survive

And then I had a desire, to see the world outside

The "silisila" of desire continued

As an infant I desired to be held, nurtured and loved

As a child, I desired to learn, explore and grow

The "silsila" of desire continued

Till someday, I heard, some of my desires were not OK

And then I learnt, to hide my desires for fear of being punished or ridicule

I also learnt of some other important desires that I "should" inculcate

I worked hard on the desires I should, in the process forgot about my own desires

All was OK in my world

Till one day, the suppressed voices of my own desires

Came to haunt me

We are your desire. We are your desire. They screamed

I was scared. I muffled these voices. I silenced them

I told them, "They were wrong. They were childish. They had no role in my life."

They refused to go. They continued to haunt me.

So I gave in. And I tried a desire.

For a while I felt good.

Till the voices came back once again to mock me

"Who are you fooling? That is not your desire."

"Go back to your childhood and dig deep. Dig those buried dreams."

Do you have the courage to follow that child's dreams?

To live a life of that child's dreams?

If not, we will continue to haunt you

And follow you till your last breath.

You will desire to be free of us

You will desire a peaceful death

But till you don't honor that child's desire

How do you expect

Born of desire, yet rejecting your desires

Desire

To wake up is a desire

To look good is a desire

To eat is a desire

To laugh is a desire

To connect with others is a desire

To see the beauty in the world is a desire

To love is a desire

To feel loved is a desire

To accomplish is a desire

To feel happy is a desire

To relax is a desire

To make love is a desire

To have children is a desire

To sleep is a desire

Can I then make desire the torch of my life

And stop questioning it every step of the way!

Death

Death, what is it?

I hear my grandpa's words in my head
I feel my father's art in my blood
I see my grandma's kindness in my hands
I sense my friend's spirit in my chest

I stretch out my hands in the air
And hear, see, feel, sense
All the joys and laments
Of all those before me and and after me

Death then what is it?

Age

I look at my face,
the first signs of wrinkles
the first strands of grey

I worry as to what is to happen
Till I sight the creases on my forehead
And I know, I am happier than ever!

Emptiness and Loneliness

Jung asked me to talk to my belly and my emptiness. I did. I spoke to my belly. What emerged was me at 3 years of age. I asked her what are you doing in the belly. She expanded and filled up my body and then shrunk back again. I asked her again. She said to me, " Pearl I am lonely and scared."

I said to her, 'But why are you always wanting to ingest something. All day, I am putting something in my mouth."

"Because I am lonely and scared."

"My sweetheart why? Everyone loves you so much."

"No no one loves me. Tathi has died. Papa and Mama are embroiled in their own adult affairs. Even Boba is caught in her struggles. "

"I am so sorry sweetheart."

"Everyone was so busy,  Whenever I went to Mama or Papa, they gave me an ice-cream or something else to eat. So did Nani. They all wanted me distracted so they didn't have to give me attention."

"And you are doing the same to me Pearl. Each time, I am feeling lonely or scared, you buy an ice-cream or give me some chai or smokes. Isn't it Pearl?"

"Oh my God. I am so sorry little one. I am so sorry."

"I also don't want to ingest so much stuff. For me too, it has become a habit. But between the two of us you are the more purer, stronger and wiser one. Guide me. Show me the way. Tell me what to do and how to respond when I feel the urge. Tell me. You are the one who can save me. Little One you are my Guardian Angel."

"Little one help me, save me. Help me listen to and heed to your advice. I have missed you so much sweetheart."

Then I had another conversation. This one was with the emptiness. It was hiding inside my chest. It had the form of big rock. I jumped inside the rock. It was dark except for one small ray of hope, which was coming from the small hole from where I jumped. Inside were caves, caverns and water bodies. I even saw a peacock. And then my emptiness spoke to me, "Welcome Pearl. It has been long since you have visited me."

"What is this place and who are you?"

'I am the storehouse of all the repressed anger, hate and resentments that you ahve dumped into me. Come I will take you on a tour. But let me keep you forewarned that I am quite vast."

I was surprised to see all the caverns, alleys , underground water bodies. I even took a splash inside a crystal clear green lake. There were beautiful gardens. And the the most horrifying and wonderful thing happened. There was this white angel and  a small fairy and a slightly bigger fairy than her. The small fairies held my hand while the adult fairy accompanied us.

And then the adult fairy told me that the little fairies were my lost unborn daughters. Oh my God, my heart burst

And she told me great writers visited this place often . Even J K Rowling had written her books under the roof of emptiness. There was no greater space for inspiration.

The emptiness angel told me I must come and spend time with her and loneliness and there would be many beautiful sights and answers for me.

Something is happening within me. Some major integration. I can feel it.

Why I am irritated with my Mom? Looking Inside the Sub Conscious

Mom has been sick for last two days, so she has been home. There have been tidbits of conversation, mostly about the challenges with her restaurant, and how she is feeling. She has been declining all good advice and offers of help from me. I felt irritated. She is never going to change.

Today I was enjoying my lunch while she stuck to a bowl of curd, she started sharing a piece of Hadees with me. I listened in patience. I am interested in religious lore, for it contains many psychic insights. Well, the moral of the story turned out to be the good old, "The person who respects and serves his mother will occupy the highest position in society." She had read this particular story that morning.

A newspaper story about a 87 year old woman living by herself had reminded her of that Hadees. The woman put out a white paper outside her door every evening and removed it in the morning to let her neighbors know she was alive. Now Mom was condemning the woman's only son who had abandoned her 3 years back.

I have grown on a palette of such moralizing stories and recently have heard numerous stories of people being abandoned by their children in old age, I have felt empathy and compassion for these old people. I have often wondered what I could do for them. At the same time, I have come to believe that it is the values people pass on their children that makes them abandon their parents. If you teach your child the values of love, compassion, family, it is likely that the child will not abandon you. But if you teach your child to prioritize values like competitiveness, selfishness and moving ahead at all costs, then the child may not think twice before abandoning you. It is a value game. Individuation to me is different from abandonment.

As I presented my viewpoint, Mom started getting defensive. She pointed out, "The Hadees does not mention what sort of parents, it includes all parents."

By now, I was extremely irritated. I wanted to say something but she wouldn't allow me to say anything more, saying it is Gunnah to say anything like that.

I went back into my room and shut the door. I wanted to understand the source of my own angry feelings. I took out the teddy bear and imagining it to be Mom screamed and cursed it. I even punched and kicked it. I vented out all the anger I felt, permissible and non-permissible.

"You bitch! You are never going to change. You are always going to be a deadwood tied to me bringing me down. Your poor choices ruined my life, ruined my career. Because of you I am still not married nor have stability. I have to carry you around. I have to bear with all your nuisance concepts, concepts that have only served to harm and hurt me. I forgave you for the past because you didn't know better. But what about today, you have a choice to learn and understand. What do you do? You still cling to these outdated philosophies. "

Finally spent, I lay on the bed lifeless and empty. A weight had been removed. This was however only the beginning of the surgery.

This is how I summarized it:
I feel I have to take responsibility for her health, happiness and well-being. Because she refuses to do it for herself. She is like an emotionally handicapped woman. And you have to take care of a handicapped person.

Where did I learn that she cannot take care of herself? Where did I learn to be irritated and angry with her? Where did I learn that she is a dead bag? Where did I learn to be angry with her because she wont change? 

Is it possible that it is I who refuses to change and am simply transferring my shadow on to her? Do I need to change? How? 

I wanted to make best use of this emotional state. I decided on applying my NLP skills. Taking deep breaths, I calmed myself down and located the emotion in my physical body. It was the heaviness in the middle of my chest. I imagined its shape and the first thing that popped up was a banana, a raw banana. It was a long, solid banana. A child's voice came from inside.

The child was me at 5-6 years of age. I asked the child,'What are you doing in there?" She replied, 'I am hiding. Mom is standing outside and is angry. I am hiding from her."

But aren't you feeling scared in there? Isn't it uncomfortable being inside this hard banana?

"It is uncomfortable. It is dark and scared. But I am afraid of Mom standing out there."

At that moment, an image of a cool, serene lake popped in my head. I asked the child whether she would like to take a dip in that beautiful lake.

"I would love to. But I am scared of Mom."

It was time to use time regression.

When was the last time, I had felt the burden of taking care of Mom? Today! I imagined the scene. I asked her about her health and offered some good suggestions but she ignored me. How heavy did it feel in my chest? 8/10

I went back into several other episodes finally reaching childhood.

Some experiences from childhood:

When Mom and Dad fought or Dad beat up Mom, Nani always asked me to take care of Mom - feed her, give her water and offer her comfort. Who else does your Mom have?

I had learnt then that I had to take care of my Mom. I was responsible for her emotional, mental and physical well-being. Your poor Mother, she has no one but you. She does everything for you. These had been the messages from almost everyone around. Somehow the little child had taken it upon herself - her mother's well being was her responsibility.

I wanted to change the script. I imagined, a mature Aunt in the picture. The Aunt comes right after a fight and tells me, 'Go and play. A little girl like you has no role to play here. I will take care of Mom. Don't you worry."

What a relief I felt! The heaviness in my chest was gone and I breathed deep. I saw myself playing happily with the other children.

I brought the imaginary Aunt to other memories where I had been asked to take care of my Mom, including the most recent one. Suddenly, the burden was no longer there.

A child has no role to play in adult dramas. It is evil to ask a child to support the adults emotionally because the child does not understand what is happening. A child assumes responsibility where it is not hers and it is too much of a burden on the delicate shoulders. All sorts of evil emerge from this act!

Today, I give myself permission to play and be happy. I am not responsible for anyone's well-being including my mother's. She is an adult. When I remove myself from the scene, she expands - she is compelled to find resources within and outside her to support her, giving her self-belief.

I repeated the same exercise with , 'When did I feel my Mom stopped me from doing things?"

I remembered so many experiences - career, marriage, etc etc... In each of these scenes , I created a counter scene where I saw the choices I had. I always had the choice to walk out, to follow my own volition. I was anyways a rebel. But I did not. Because fear and lack of self-belief kept me back. Then how was Mom to be blamed?

Some of the heaviness is gone but I can see there is more work to be done in this area!

Caresses

My hair caresses my neck
My smile caresses my lips
My heart beat caresses my chest
My pulse caresses my toes
My breath caresses my whole body

What need do I have for your caresses my love?
When all the caresses are within?

Heaven

I was in Heaven, all was light
The mountains and deserts were all bright
Even the deer I rode was pearly white

Though pretty as hell, I tired after a while
I called on the Angel and asked for my colorful delights
The colors returned, I found myself in my own earthly lights

Space

I am a tiny speck
in this limitless space

yet i carry the weight
of this limitless space

Breathe

I tell her Mama teach me to breathe
She teaches me about religion

I tell her Mama teach me to breathe
She teaches me about society

I tell her Mama teach me to breathe
She teaches me about education

Many years later, I am gasping for breath
Dying a slow death
Having learnt all about religion, society and education
But not a thing about breath

Jahanum

zindagi bhar jala jahanum ki aag mein
aakher rihayee mile aur janat mein pahunacha mein,
peechey sey awaazen ayi
"beta tumhey bhakaya jaaraha hai janat nahi dozakh hai yeh"

Last week
They laughed at me
Making fun of my wimpiness
I went home and weeped and weeped

This week
My wimpiness had the last laugh
as it refused to join the drunken drive
that led to the fatal accident

Thoughts

taken me a lifetime to discover my own innocence

taken me a lifetime to reclaim my own brilliance

Fear was my education

Shut my doors, lest someone may steal

Tune off my mind, lest someone may intervene

Close my heart lest someone may break it

A lifetime spent in wanting to belong

In wanting to look like you,

talk like you, walk like you

A lifetime spent in trying to be smart

To appear as the wise old man

So you could dole me some more respect

So you could give me some more attention?

Now finally as I face the mirror

As I remove the layers of wisdom

All I catch is a glimpse of the child's innocence?

hope glimmers, doubt persists

could it be, no it couldn't be

Just as the white light produces a multitude of colors

when passed through the prism;

the light of the human soul produces multifarious effects

when passed through the body

Searching for my own light, i traveled the world

I searched everywhere till i found it within

In forms multiple, in shapes diverse

 

Radiating my light in ways multiple - 

unknown to me, known to me

through my silence, through my action

through my anger, through my compassion

As I found my light, I found it reflected on all sides

In the maid silently sweeping the floor

In the old man looking out of his window

In the bird perched high on the tree

In the child gleefully breaking things

In the politician playing power games

All radiating their light in ways multiple, 

unknown to them, known to them

through their silence, through their action

through their anger, through their compassion

Insignificance is not a choice for me

I matter, unknown to me, known to me

Whether on the road or on facebook

My existence triggers thoughts and feelings

There is no way you can see me and ignore me

Inside and outside, I witness the matrix

- of experiences, feelings and beauty

I say a prayer for this body

For this body allows me to experience this matrix

New Connections

She was 35 years old now. Her mother had divorced her father when she had been barely 6 years old young. She had no recollection of her father. Just one or two faint, hazy memories. One of the memories was her father visiting her at school for a brief 5 minutes. Another memory was her father visiting her at her home when her mom had not been around. She had heard the doorbell ring. She had opened the door to find her father standing there with polythene bags full of knick knacks. He hugged her tight, planted kisses all over her face and handed over the bags full of knick knacks to her. He told her how much he loved her. And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived, fearing that her mother may return.

Many years later, she heard about her father's death from her cousin in school. No one at home discussed it. Her mother did not tell her about it.

All her life she had attempted to dig information from her mother, grandmother and her relatives about her father. But they had made excuses or offered tit-bits of information.

She knew her father was her mother's paternal cousin. That they had been married at a young age. He had been a brilliant engineer who had turned into an alcoholic, and had finally died of liver failure. She had also learnt that he had re-married.

And now at 35 years of age, she was itching to know more about her father. To connect the dots. To weave together the strands of history, to understand her own genes, background and childhood.

She wrote to her father's sister, and received a prompt response. After a few weeks, she flew down to her hometown to meet the sister. The sister was friendly and showered her with affection, telling her how much she had missed her. And then she handed over her father's few remaining belongings to her - some certificates, employment history, and her father's diaries. Her father had been a prolific writer and had maintained a daily record of his time.

The diaries were full of her father's expressions of love for her in addition to his daily recollections. And then she took out the diary from the last year of his life. He had been diagnosed with liver failure. Each page in that diary spoke of his pain due to liver failure, his incessant battle with alcohol, his pleas to Almighty to forgive him and help him. And then the pages became blank.

It took her a lot of courage and tears to absorb that.

She then visited her father's grave for the first time, and cried her heart out.

Next she went to meet her father's other siblings. He had a brother and four sisters. One of the sister's husband told her, 'Your father wanted to meet you on his dying bed. We tried talking to your mother. She refused to send you." It broke her heart to learn this.

Later when she confronted her mother with this, her mother told her, 'I was just trying to protect you from the pain and trauma."

Years later, she enjoys a great bond with her mother. Both mother and daughter have worked painstakingly hard to develop this bond. They have gradually learned to communicate - talk and discuss more openly and freely, accepting each other as they are. To unravel the past, and reinterpret it. It has been a continuous effort to try be honest and transparent with each other, to unlearn hiding things from each other and being afraid of each other's reactions.. The past has been dealt with. It no longer bothers. 

There is no end to the Pain

My feelings are more emphasized than before.. the urge to smoke, the desire to spit out venomous stuff, the anger at my mother, the immense irritation with her.. it is all back, the anger and hurt with someone, the feelings of victimization and loneliness are all underlined today. Gone is denial and my stark reality stares me in the face, and this time the reality is not about the environment or the characters that populate that, this reality is about the script that is playing in my head, this reality is about how I am chosing to look at life; the anger at myself, the pessimistic attitude towards others.. it is all coming out... the truth, my truth.

And the intense need for intimacy, and the question as to why I feel that need. Can I not feel the wind brushing against my cheeks, can I not feel the rising and falling of my own heartbeats, can I not hear the whispering of the birds in the trees; do I not wake up  inhaling the wonderful fragrance of my own skin; do I not see my mother looking at me lovingly while I am in deep sleep;  is it all not too intimate? or is it too intimidating?

Someone yells at me, someone cuts me in traffic, a mean child, an abusive boss, an unsympathetic friend, a detached partner or simply losing the car keys, or forgetting my mobile at home, or being late for an appointment... the reasons to be a victim and to feel victimized are many; the reasons to feel powerless, hopeless and trapped are too many. I don''t even have to look for them, they populate my world. When something does not work my way, it appears that suddenly nothing seems to be working my way; a bad day; a bad week - just acronyms for the lights turning off one after the other.. the vicious circle of life, the Domino effect.

I stare at myself in the mirror and smile at my own foolishness. I understand this truth about life, but day after day I invariably keep falling prey to it. Is it the pleasure of the game? Is it the comfort of its embrace? What is it that keeps me glued to it?

I write.. I write not because I want to write. I write not because I love to write. I write because I need to channelize these energies that have taken hold of my soul's fortress.. to keep them in check, to stop them from ruining me. I write. I write to save myself. I write to see the face of truth. I write to see me.

Lets play hide and seek. I think of this ridiculous situation that I find myself in . A part of me finds it hilarious. A part of me feels angry, hurt and irritated. Why the anger and hurt? Why? How does it matter if that person responds to me or not? Is that person important to me? Really Pearl? Think over it? Is he really important or is it just my ego that is clasping on to him. What is it? Do I want to get enmeshed in the situation or would I rather prefer to be the interested observer.. understanding, observing and watching at the ripples of emotions generated by this new tide. Do I want into the ocean and feel its freshness permeate my being, or do I sit by its side working out the equations of the tide

I keep shying away from the ugly face of my own truth but there is no denying its existence; it is there very much pronounced when I sit still in the shadows of my own existence.I miss him .. there is no denying that.. i miss his laughter and his touch. I miss feeling cocooned in his hug. I miss that..I miss him terribly. I have not grieved that. The tears are back rolling down my cheeks. The wounds are back to being green. I feel a victim again. I feel powerless again. Here was I a little child playing by the side of the brook and then the skies turned dark all over again.

Where is he/ What is he doing right now? Has he found someone? Is he lonely and broken hearted like me? Or is he happy being where he is in life. I want to know. I very much would like to know.

I Seek what I AM !!!

For most of my working life, I have been afraid of public speaking but three years of sabbatical spent on peace and introspection seem to have taken their toll on my ego.

Back at a job for the last six months, I have been catching myself feeling nervous and shaken when meeting new people, or in meetings of more than two people. While I give myself all kind of affirmations, and furnish my grey cells with historical evidence of my good work, the feelings of fear seem to gush forward from an unknown and irrational fountain. I seem to have no control over these feelings.

Filling me with panic, they threaten to diminish me to nothingness. I have done everything in my power to deal with them. Surrender to the feelings, change the script in my head, share with another person, say a Prayer and handover, write about it, ground myself, or turn the situation comical in my head. But the feelings return!!!

Last weekend as I was lying down, I caught glimpses of my ownself from the past – glimpses of me from my younger days – a confident, vibrant, dynamic, outspoken, rebellious person. It suddenly dawned upon me that I was already that person that I was seeking or wanting to be. I was that person, but the veneer of fear had stopped me from accessing that person. I decided to stick to that vision of myself, those glimpses of myself that reminded me of who I really am!!!

And it works ……………

Ode to The Date - Not of the Palm Tree

I was getting ready for a date after a men-sabbatical of two and half long years. My heart pumped bubbles of anticipation as I felt like a teenager going out to meet a boy for the first time in her college days.

To my dismay, there was a power cut just as I got back home from office, which meant that I had to continue being in my office attire.

To add to it, his good looks, money and age (younger than me) were perfect ingredients for diminishing my being to that of a 5 year old child. I grounded myself – reminding myself I am beautiful, successful, energetic, dynamic and a creative human being – and it would be an honor for anyone to spend time with me.

Stay Calm, you are just going out for dinner. And that is the end of it. However, stay Open. 

He picked me up from my home in his flashy C Series Mercedes. I bent down to adjust the seat, fumbling for the seat adjuster. When he pointed out the seat adjuster to me, I immediately retorted, “Thanks but I was just scratching my itchy leg. Do you have a handler for an itch?”

We drove down to Funky Monkey in Vasant Kunj. Now for the socially ignorant, Funky Monkey is ex-Sound of Music that happened to be a raving nightclub once upon a time. 

All the seats on Level I were taken, so we had to settle down for a table right in the center of the domed restaurant on a raised wooden platform – probably the ex-dance floor of the ex-nightclub.

He ordered beers, I ordered Red Bull. Over our drinks and amidst the loud music, we started discussing spirituality since both of us have a strong interest in the subject.

“We are not our feelings and thoughts” resonated during our conversation over beers and Red Bull. Our spiritual conversations were interjected by cracking of jokes and the loud laughter that ensued.

He shared his experiences with de-conditioning himself. As a biker, his rides took him into uncertainty and new experiences that forced him to overcome his fears and think fresh. He wanted to change his name as that was also part of his conditioning. I argued about life throwing new experiences and challenges at us serving the same purpose; that chasing these experiences was part of a craving and obsession process.

Half-way through the evening, it amused me to realize that we were both gently trying to convince each other about the righteousness of our beliefs.

In the middle of it all, I put a napkin on my head to test his embarrassment. He quoted from Carlos Castenada, I brought John Bradshaw''s Healing of the Shame into our world there.He told me about his father, I shared about my wild hippie days.

He had recently gotten his heart broken after being in a relationship for one and a half years, and I was coming out of my two and half years of self-imposed virginhood after breaking up with my 8 year old sweetheart and love.

Despite factors funny, I still could feel stars. Two hours later, I was done with the place, its boorish music and the idea of discussing my personal life and beliefs in the center of pandemonium. Luckily, by this time, we were in agreement over quite a few things, and the argument had transformed into communication and exchange.

Outside, we argued over whether it was the full moon. I felt like kissing him, but did not have the courage to ask him. We discussed Wicca instead.

Inside the car, he said the next meeting would not take so long (this dinner had been pending for over a year), and offered to take me on a long planned "Unplanned” ride on his BMW bike on coming Sunday. He promised me the seat of the bike offered comfort for long rides.

I waited all Sunday. There was no call or message. I was tempted to message him, but my wizened old friend warned me against it, saying “You don’t do that with a monied guy. They are used to having their way in life, and are insecure about people chasing them.”

I wondered to be spontaneous or not. 

I ended up spending time with my time-tested friend – my blog - relieved in the revelation of my heart’s secrets to it.