Of Knowing

What is the nature of epiphanies? It is definitely not a thunderbolt strike out of nowhere. It is there in the consciousness, building up slowly, gaining momentum, and when all that you know meets all that is now before you, an epiphany happens. It’s a clarifying moment when facts meet and match perception.

Like when you have always wondered about a relationship that seemed precious yet bothered you as pretentious but you could never pinpoint anything. Of course there was the care, the concern, the love, the admiration and the perceived 'specialness' but you were not convinced that it was yours exclusively.  Then, one day, you see it happen before you. Some other people, but mirroring your situation, and you know it instantly. You’ve had your epiphany.

Today, I've had my moment of clarity. Of knowing that I could resist. You. Even if it was temporary.

Reading and Writing

I’ve always been a reader. My friends identify me as a reader. I have tons of books—I’m proud of my collection and every time I buy a new one, I’m pleased with myself. The only problem is, I haven’t read any book for a long, long time. 2013 saw me read three books. Three books! Not only is this appalling, it is downright shameful not to mention worrying. I’m now worried whether I have lost the knack of reading. Is that even possible? Can a person’s reading skills get rusted?

This is not something I can afford. I am a reader dammit! (J, this is a nod to you-know-who).

And I know what’s to be blamed for this abysmal performance in the reading department — TV series. There’s too many of them! Keeping a tab on Hindi and English shows can be quite the task. I have a Post-it on my wall to help me keep tab of what serial runs when. I kid you not!

Having decided to be a better reader, I am already one book down. Actually three, if you consider historical romances as reading. (I read those too, so what?) And I’ve moved onto my next reads as well—Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg and The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. So far, so good.

Plus, I have my writing to get back to. I have been negligent of that as well.

So, Gods of Reading and Writing, inspire me and give me the strength to stay committed. (But Banshee has just started, and Hannibal and Game of Thrones will begin in April. Sigh! I am doomed.)

A thank you of sorts

It’s been that kind of a year. A year that I would most fervently wish hadn’t happened and also a year that, because it happened, made me stronger in a way, made me realise my strengths (though it still hasn’t fixed my inability to spell strength without it getting autocorrected).

A year that was filled with moments of almost joy, of pure happiness and unadulterated delight and then suddenly one that seemed to descend into a darkness none of us wanted.

This year took away the one person whom I adored with all my heart. My dancing partner, my carom cheater king and my accomplice in beating around mom’s strict rules.

As difficult as it was to watch dad go, I was happy to see an end to his torment. No one deserves to linger in pain, and God was merciful and kind in that sense. The void is there. It’ll be foolish to pretend otherwise but what made this loss bearable was the comfort and support of friends and neighbours. And every time we were at out wit’s end about how to proceed from another obstacle, somebody came forward to clear the way.

His loss made me realise that I can be strong, that I can be relied on, and that I have the ability to persevere. Caring for him in his last days was strenuous, frustrating and heartbreaking, but I did it. We all did.

And as a friend wrote “For no matter the outcome, you have emerged a stronger, more loving person than you may realise. And that's something both you and your father can be proud of.”

So a thank you to all the people who touched our lives this year, for all your prayers, your comforting words and presence.  

Without you

It’s Christmas next week, and for the first time I will be celebrating it without my father. It is difficult no doubt, but I try to look beyond the emptiness and focus on all the fond memories I have of the many Christmases we had together.

I particularly missed setting up the Christmas crib, and so when my landlord told me he was participating in a crib competition, I jumped at the opportunity to help him. This was a God-sent opportunity, and as I slogged through the evenings getting creative with mountains, boulders, trees and stars and the hundreds of tiny things that go into making a decent, competition-worthy nativity scene, I couldn’t help reminisce about the times my father would come and pause and watch me work. Often he would suggest changes to be made, help me around with sourcing stuff; he would also grumble about the mess I would make (more because my work space reduced his walk space) and the time and effort I would put into this.

So this one is for you dad.

Epiphany

She sat in her favourite corner, knees bent, coffee within reach, notepad and pencil ready, with serenity on her face.

“Today, I set you free. And in doing so, I set myself free.

I am clear now in my head of where I am and where I want to be. I certainly do not want to be tied to you and definitely do not want you to feel obliged to me.

Today, I put to rest all the fallacies I believed in, the made-up life in my head, the slights and faults that were mine, the concern and understanding that were yours.

I chose you to love, but you weren’t in that relation; you knew where you stood. I was the one who chose to hope.

Today, I have clarity. Today, when my mind is open and free of illusions, let me do the needful and cast aside all the wishful thinking I have been indulging in.

This is what it is, and whatever ‘this’ is, is all that will ever be. You never claimed to offer more, you will do nothing to change it and I would certainly not allow anything to happen. Cowards never thrive.

I have taken off the rainbow glasses that magnified everything you did and have begun to view them practically, untainted, without prejudice. And then they seem harmless, ordinary, very everyday.  

So, why dwell in misery and wonder about all the has beens that could have been and all the maybes that never will be.

You are precious, but you are not the reason I live. And now that I know where to fit you in, I carry no burden.

I set you free.

I set myself free.”    

Another death

Another death, another abandonment. Maybe having her sister around had kept Lena rooted for life. Now she was drifting, making even more bad choices and not bothering to rectify them. She was living with the consequences of her bad actions.

What was the use? Every attempt she made at change backfired sooner or later. If making an effort brought her no results, took her inevitably back from where she was trying to emerge, why then should she have to suffer through the false sense of hope and empowerment that the transitory period brought?

Lena was damaged. She was falling apart. There was no healing even in her pain. At each tragic junction of her life, she found herself standing outside Chloe’s door. Shattered, ruined, troubled or looking for solace, Chloe was her answer. Chloe always knew what to do. Even as a child, Lena always felt protected, not so much because of her parents or her other siblings, but because of her sister who was ever ready to bail her out of trouble. It felt weird not having her around. It was disconcerting because even with their differences, Chloe was the only one who sought after her. For most of her life, she felt that suffocating hold that belonging to a family of successful people brought. She resented it even—and for all her rebelliousness, her reveling in her ordinariness and her troubles with the law, being with Chloe meant breathing in a space that was not tinctured with judgement, disapproval or even expectation.

Which is why being a disappointment was easy. At least to the rest of the world. But Chloe represented something more to Lena. She was her lodestar, the constant, the only person who held on to her simply because she was family. Being the cause for Chloe’s troubles always hurt but who else would take her in, feed her, pay off her bills and then some more, who else would let her sleep in their lap and run their fingers in her hair and tell her that she was loved, she was precious, she was wanted? Older siblings were meant to be a role model, but it was Chloe who took on that role—of being older than her years and more of a role model.

As far as she could remember, her sister was the reason she even made an attempt to get her life in some kind of order. She was the only person Lena could claim to have loved honestly, the only person she never wanted to let go. There were so many people who claimed to love her, understand her but they all easily gave up on her. Not that Lena made it easy for them to trust her. She tried their patience and she tried them some more. And the ones who somehow made it through her troubles with her, she walked out on them. It was an old tale. Acceptance begets love, love begets expectation, expectation begets disappointment, disappointment begets hate.

But not Chloe; she knew what Lena was trying to do and somehow went through it all. And now there was no Chloe and she was to blame. The family was right—there was no sense in pitying her. Lena certainly did not pity herself. Her sister died trying to sort out her mess and how did she repay that unquestioning love? So souped up was she in the deadly cocktail of drugs, drinks and pills that she did not even make it for the funeral. Chloe would have forgiven her, would have welcomed her but she wasn’t here now, was she? There was no reason to even try.

Now as she stood at the tombstone that marked where her guardian angel slept, she didn’t even have tears to give to someone who gave her her all. 

A familiar longing

It had been too long since she felt like this. An overpowering urge to hold on to him and never let go. To let him in and keep him there. With her. Forever.

Every time she looked at him, she felt it. She had no idea what she was looking for. But it was something. Something that would fulfil this terrible need within her. It was something that chanted Mine. Mine. Mine to her all the time, whenever he was around, asking her to take that leap, to break free from whatever bonds were holding her back. What they had now was incredible, but not enough. Even with the mixed signals, by turns hot, dismissive and then nothing. Even with the arguments, the stand-offs and the fury at each other. It was there – that tug to see where it would lead, even if it did not fit the neat little boxes she had made of her life.

The thought of distance, of loneliness, of regret – something had suddenly snapped within, letting all the pent-up frustration come rushing out.

He was right there, just within her grasp. All she needed to do was reach out and he would respond. She could see it in his eyes. She needed to shut out caution, for just this one instance – to voice out aloud a simple Yes. Please.