Day 17: Sleep

Sleep has been the order of the day. And I have no idea where it came from. I had planned to get a massage in the afternoon, but something just told me not to, deep inside. Instead I went to my bed, and played around with my ukulele. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

I had a bunch of dreams, different people in different places, me biking down a steep hill in China, and then eating at a restaurant for a break. Being at a festival of some sort with some old teachers from music school. Meeting an old classmate from my first-ever school. There was celebration and adventure. Everything and everyone from different parts or stages of my life came together; I didn't know where to look. 

I woke up deeply rested, half surprised I even slept that long. To have this state of deep relaxation is a luxury and I am grateful for it. 

I started playing the bamboo flute my mother gifted me. It's hard because the holes aren't placed in a symmetrical fashion. They aren't meant to be. And my fingers aren't used to stretching that far to cover them. And a bansuri is harder than a recorder. You have to get just the right kind of lip pucker, if you know what I mean. My mother saw me struggle and said, "Start with one note." And so I did. 

I'm still adjusting to this week. Some plans are set in motion to help me get back on my feet. A routine is being put in place. Some help here, some medication there, some internal meditative work and some external physical discipline. They all sound like old friends I haven't met in a while and I'm wondering if they will remember me and still think I'm the same resourceful, independent, strong, innovative woman I think I am or used to be. Brief breaks can feel like an eternity, depending on the state of your mind. I'm apprehensive, but also excited. I know I have done this before. I know I have beat this before. I know how to succeed. I have succeeded before. It's been a hard fall, recently, but I know I can walk again. You don't just forget to walk, do you?

It helps, especially, when a guy tells you you're cute just for being you, too. Let's not pretend like that doesn't make a difference. (More on that, another time.)

For now, I'm going to focus on my breath. Breathing in, breathing out. And the gap of silence in between. Nothing more. Each day, one more breath. 

Motto: One step at a time. One day at a time. One single note at time. And sleep. Lots of sleep.

Day 16: Indulgence

Today was a day of total indulgence. After a reassuring session of therapy, I took my mother out for lunch to a little French creperie in the neighborhood -- one of the best that I've ever been to in Mumbai. We have so diligently been eating healthy, home food, that today's treat was precious and delectable. Feta cheese, buckwheat crepes, ratatouille, more cheese, salads (okay, it wasn't junk food, but it was more than we normally eat).  It was a sumptuous meal, and I felt grateful for the food, the exceptional service, the breezy outdoor weather and closeness my mother and I shared.

After 'the shift' within me yesterday, I have been pensive, concerned about how to manage different relationship dynamics especially with loved ones as I move forward in my journey in healing.

So today, my mother and I indulged each other. We ate, we shopped (she got me four pairs of shoes, for all of my eight feet), and we walked around the city like two girls in wonder of all the colors and shapes that shifted and glittered around us. We walked hand in hand, being constantly physically connected and exchanging warmth, as we moved forward through the day, knowing things will change soon and we may not get to spend as much time together.

I feel full. Not just in my stomach, but in my heart, arms, legs, shoulders, knees, toes and everywhere in between. There are mixed emotions. I feel somewhat stronger and hopeful. I also feel reluctant to grow up from being a 4-year-old who needs to hold my mother's hand tightly. I'm a little scared to take that leap, despite having done it so many times before. Maybe this leap is longer and higher. I feel overwhelmed with love and attachment to everyone who has shown me compassion. This is particularly hard to contain. And does it even need containment? I'm not sure yet. I suppose a few days of processing is likely and necessary.

But I got four pairs of shoes to wear, while I think it over. Not too shabby.

Day 12: One step forward

Today, after a long time, I felt an iota of improvement during my anxiety attack this evening.

I could feel it coming, as my mother was driving us home. I was filled with dread no matter how beautiful the lush green fields on either side of the road were, no matter the breeze from the sea nearby, no matter the peace and quiet of our neighbourhood. The dread reached the pit of my throat and began to expand dangerously. I could feel it and began to take deep breaths. I waited for my mother to park, bit could not leave the car immediately. I needed everything within and around me to be still, including my mother. 

I made small movements, like my therapist taught me, first with my toes, then my fingers. I couldn't breathe. I kept feeling like I'm being suffocated by invisible hands. Tears fell involuntarily from my eyes. But this time, I fought to breathe. I tried to sit up straight to give my lungs space. It didn't help. My arms and fingers tightened up. I didn't scream or cry openly this time. I was focused and determined to breathe. I crouched forward into my lap, folded my hands in prayer, with my thumbs to my forehead and said under my breath, "Help me".

A song started playing in my head. Then another. And I wanted more. I managed to mutter to my mother to sing for me. Anything. It didn't matter. Just sing. And so she did. And as her voice carried through the car and the light breeze passed through my window, my breathing stabilized. I slowly lifted my head from my lap. I looked in front of me and saw the cars dashboard. I focused on its color, shape and design. Somehow, my hand broke loose from it's frozen, contortion position and crawled up to the dashboard. I began to run my fingers along it and breathe better. I looked left and right and began to expand my view. My other hand began to move and I began to sit straighter. I forced myself to look at my surroundings and remind myself that I am *here* and nowhere else. That I am safe in this space. That I am in the present. That I can and will breathe. And so I did. 

As my mother finished singing, I was sitting upright, with my hands, relaxed in my lap. My body was completely exhausted, but that expanding lump in my throat had disappeared. 

I know I need more help, and I am going to seek it. 

But for the first time, I had some control over myself and it gave me hope. 

Also my mother has a beautiful voice and it can uplift the darkest spirit. 

Activity for the day: my mother introduced me to a photo-editing software app called SnapSeed. And I learnt how to use the double-exposure filter. I'm pretty excited about this, because I have a theme for my first music album and this works well within it. 

'Ajna'

Day 9: Remembrance

(This post is a day late because the Wi-Fi disconnected and I had to wait for it to get back, so technically this post was written on August 12, 2018)

Today it rained. Today it poured. Today, Mother Nature took a cloud and let it rip. And I finally got my period. I haven't ever been this happy to see blood. 

On our way to the clay modeling class, this evening, my mother and I encountered an accident on the road. While we couldn’t stop the car half way, I managed to get a good look. It was a dog who had been hit by a car or bike and was lying on the road, bleeding to death. I could see its head had suffered some serious injury and a puddle of bright red blood escaping it. His ears twitched and his eyes were closed. He was dying. A man, someone I assume to have known who this dog belonged to, was trying to figure out a way to help him. He poured a little water to cleared the blood. In the distance I saw another dog from the area rush to its side. 

I have never been this sad to see blood.

In this swift passing-by, I felt a pang so deep. Something in me connected with something within that dog. And I felt very sad. I felt powerless and immobilized. I could hear a voice in me telling the voice in him: “Shhhhhh… Shhhhhh… I know you are in pain. I’m sorry this happened. It will be over soon. Don’t be afraid. I love you and I will remember you in this life. I’m sorry this happened. Let go.” I wept in the car as we drove toward our class and prayed for forgiveness for his suffering. 

In class, today, we learnt a new technique called ‘slabbing’. This is literally flattening out a prepared piece of terra-cotta such that it is a flat slab, upon which we can either create a design, or imprint upon. My mother and I both chose to imprint leaves on our slabs. The instructor swiftly moved to the tree near by and plucked some giant leaves. It pinched me, when he plucked them, and the one I got was already dying. I was reminded of the dog and said a silent prayer for this leaf. He offered to give me a ‘fresher’, ‘prettier’ one. But this was the leaf I wanted work with. She was beautiful, half lush, half decaying. And I imprinted her onto my slab of clay, immortalizing her memory as she would eventually wilt away. 

Mom's tray

The purpose the slab is to create textures and designs for functional items (or just pieces of art). The instructor gave us several options - a tray, a pencil holder, strips of ribboned clay in an unusual design. My slab wasn’t ready to cooperate with these ideas. My mother made a beautiful tray with her slab, along with a leaf imprint. It had her trademark unconventional style of offbeat symmetry (if that makes sense). With mine, I chose to let my intuition take over. I let the edges fold in, without leveling them, without adding symmetry. In the remaining area aside from the leaf print, I made a round depression (where I had originally planned to add a mirrored glass) with a stencil. Everyone seemed to want to make it a tray for drinks and food. But I wanted it to be special. 

And then I remembered that I have been meaning to buy a sound bowl for meditation. This would be my platform to keep it. So that I may remember this leaf and the dog, and I may pray for their souls, for mine, and for the universal energy that brought us together. 

How it rained, today. 

Day 5 - Gettin' my hands dirty

I signed up for a clay modeling workshop at Carpe Diem, Majorda. It goes on for 5 turns and each turn is 2 hours of learning how to work with clay of different types, understanding techniques and glazing and firing my own clay masterpieces!

I'm always ready for any artistic activity that gets my hands dirty. Today, we worked with terracotta. It's not very different from regular (gray) clay, and is more budget-friendly. Our instructor, Ramdas, made all the kneading and fixing look so effortless, we were in for a surprise when he assigned us our own lumps of clay to prepare for modelling. There is an entire process that precedes the actual modeling part, which I didn't know about. Pretty interesting how even the smallest air bubble in a lump of clay could cause your clay model to explode inside the kiln. Pretty dramatic, how he described it, too. 

Our technique for the day was 'pinching'. We each had a round lump of clay to hollow out by pinching evenly at the sides. Once we hollowed it out into even pieces, we joined two halves back together to make a hollow circle. After smoothening it, we were ready to design our masterpieces.

I decided to make a baby owl, which I would use as a tea-light or baby candle lamp. It was quite an intricate process but I was too enamoured by all the tools, the unlimited clay, and the endorphins soaring through my body. My mother also participated and was making her Frida Kahlo Pig curio.

There was a third lady, who as soon as she joined the class began to whine about how she would have to cut her nails to continue the class, and how she didn't want to hollow the clay, or make simple animal designs. She was adamant in making a traditional diya (lamp) with atypical patterns. When she saw what my mother and I were making, she whined that she wanted to do what we were doing. She just wasn't satisfied. She kept eyeing my mother's clay model and at one point I was worried that she would walk over and just shove my mom's work off the table to sabotage it. There's always ONE diva in every class I've attended. It's inevitable. I felt sorry for her. She wasn't able to expand her mind beyond what is 'safe' and 'pretty'. We are so enslaved by our fear of failure or 'ugliness' that people can spend an entire life not taking a risk. Ugly isn't bad. Neither is failure. Like Ramdas said, "If you mess it up, just start over with another one." Simple.

Ramdas and the owner of the workshop, Daegal, were very happy with our progress and kept taking photos. I loved the entire property itself, which is an art gallery cum coffee shop cum gig venue cum workshop space. I love the name -- "Carpe Diem". I am so excited to go back for the remaining sessions. 

My father was the official photographer of the evening, and while he didn't want to get his hands dirty, he kept himself occupied by documenting our entire workshop with his camera. 

I appreciate how patient he was, while mum and I worked on our pieces. 

 

For dinner, we went to Da Tita, an Italian restaurant in Majorda, which is known for its clay-oven pizzas and authentic Italian cuisine. I have never eaten more delicious pizza, greens or pesto bruschettas anywhere outside of Italy. The parma ham and pepperoni pizza was delectable. Not to mention the panacotta and tiramisu for dessert. The owner of this restaurant is an old Italian chef, who trained a local chef to cook authentic Italian fare. He even flew her down to Italy several times to experience the tastes and flavors of local Italian cuisine. I could almost smell the olive trees and rosemary bushes in Sorrento and the cheese factory in Meta. The parma ham reminded me of Prosciutto e Melone.

I had woken up today with disturbing thoughts, tears-inducing pain in my abdomen and a general sadness that I've almost gotten used to by now. But I knew that things would be better as the day panned out. I've begun to believe that despite hardships, I can have a good day, create something beautiful, meet new people and share stories, and be loved. Knowing this gives me more strength to cope with pain.

Today was a very fulfilling day. I am excited and motivated to create more art. (Secretly hoping Daegal, the owner, likes my artwork and decides to display or sell it at his gallery).

Amen.

(To know more about Carpe Diem and their various workshops through the year, visit their website: http://www.carpediemgoa.com/ . There are some incredible pieces of art there, not to mention delicious coffee and friendly dogs)

Day 4 - The Driver's Seat

A woman's hormones are like a cat. Temperamental. Choosy. Will only play along if you pamper them and succumb to their every whim and wish. And even then, they might blow you off. Just because they don't feel like coming out to play. If you anger them, they will lash out in the worst way possible. Meowr! (I must add here that I think cats are very lovable creatures.)

I missed my period this month. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I don't have any disorder. They just haven't come yet. A major cause is stress. I've learnt this year (as if I didn't have any signals before, that I should have paid better attention to) that stress can screw up your body more than a car shredder can deface your car. I have had regular periods for pretty long, with only a couple of misses that I remember, once a decade, either due to under-eating or over-exercise. I have a Period App on my phone that logs my period cycle and reminds me when my next period is expected. It's very handy. I can even log in what pills I've taken, when I had sex and how I'm feeling emotionally.

My last three periods have been during very stressful times. I had to move houses twice, hauling tonnes of heavy luggage, with a bit of help, up and down flights of stairs. My last period was me running to catch a 22-hour flight from New York to India. This time around, my boyfriend and I broke up a few days before my period was due. I can safely say my ovaries have been sufficiently traumatized. 

This makes me sad. My body is tired and in pain and the medication I'm on is doing its best to get me back on track, but I feel weak, powerless, guilty and frustrated. So much that I find it hard sometimes to get up and sit down, or go up and down a flight of stairs. Of course, it hasn't stopped me, but I do take extra care not to push myself or fling my body around in over-enthusiasm. 

I really thought I'd get my period today. I've been cramping for weeks now, and my legs felt heavier. Let's put aside the moodiness because that's an everyday given. I'm still hopeful it'll come soon. But I have dark moments when I wonder what if they never will? I'm trying not to stay in that dark zone for very long.

Happy observation of the day: I've begun to look forward to the second half of the day. So far, every morning, I've been depressed, sluggish and brain dead. By the time I make my way downstairs for breakfast, I see my mom puttering about her plants and fixing me my morning mug of hot water and some fruits. She enthusiastically suggests activities we could do after breakfast, but I have no energy to do any at all. I am learning to forgive myself for lacking energy. By lunchtime, I gain some strength but am mentally still quite low. Mum goes up for her afternoon siesta and so do I. Normally I would never sleep in the afternoon, but for the past two days, I have enjoyed an hour of deep sleep. Once I wake up, I feel rested. When I go down, I'm raring for some activity. It's this second half of the day, when things begin to happen. And so they did, today.

I finally got to paint. My mom fixed me up with her stash of oil paints, some brushes and palette knives (my weapon of choice), turpentine and linseed oil, and a variety of canvases to choose from. I created a nook for myself under the stairs, where the books and my grandfather's old LPs are stored. It's cosy and private. I had a basic idea and just went for it. It was fun and illuminating. I enjoy painting because I never know how it's going to look in the end. By the end of the day, I was pretty happy with what I made. But I might tweak it tomorrow. 

We then decided to drive out to buy groceries. I haven't driven a car in 2 years, having lived in the US without a driver's license. But it didn't take much for me to get back into the driver's seat. And once I was in it, I just didn't want to stop driving. So we went to the vegatable market, fruit market and a plant nursery. We decided to drive to Johncy's for dinner at the beach. It was pouring and it was high tide. The sea was magnificent, with furious waves lashing at the shore and gusty winds sprinkling sea water on our faces. I could stare at the sea in the rain forever. It's peaceful and comforting, in any avatar. My mother and I walked along the shoreline after a delicious meal and gave thanks to the sea and the sand, for the peace we felt.

I wasn't ready to go home just yet. So we went on a long drive through the empty, dark roads of Goa at night. It was freeing. Mom went crazy taking pictures. Goa at night is just as gorgeous as day. I could have driven all night, all the way to the southernmost tip of Goa, if I could. But I made it to Cavellosim, and that was enough for the first day. 

Being able to drive a car, steadily on Indian roads (with Indian drivers and traffic), tells me I'm pretty stable and calm. It's reassuring. Even if I don't have control over my hormones, I have control of my driving skills and how I react to crazy drivers. This is a powerful feeling - being in the driver's seat (literally and metaphorically). I see myself driving out a lot more.

Looking forward to the second half of tomorrow. :)

Day 3 - Night

10:06pm

Papaya Seeds

Vanilla beans from
home-grown pods

Ate pizza for dinner. Immediately regretted it. Turns out cheese, flour and processed meat aren't the best food to eat when you've been on a healthy diet for very long. There's delivered fast-food pizza and then there's clay-oven-fired Italian pizzas. We need to be reminded of the difference every now and then.

The evening wasn't as dismal as the first half of the day. I went into my mother's garden and helped her plant seeds and trim her ferns. It is truly a magical place, especially because my mother loves gardening and always has oodles of information about any plant I would point to. This is her happy place, and it was a glowing green. Plants make me happy too. They're welcoming and lush. And I can get lost in them.

Maidenhair Fern
(Mum's favorite fern)

Afternoon stroll

Don't watch the film, Young Adult on Netflix. Although Charlize Theron performed well, the film was dark and depressing and non-conclusive. Definitely not what I was looking for. But I had to watch the whole thing because I expected something big to happen halfway through it. It didn't.


Three things I feel good about today:
1. I went up to 50 mid-air squats.
2. The 'Peeno Noir' song in The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (Season 1, I forget which episode).
3. Nature always accepts me with arms wide open.

Made it through today. Achievement unlocked.

Day 2: Just keep swim-ming

"Fear of loneliness is a powerful thing", said Kelsey Grammar as Harry Hamilton in the film, Like Father.  I saw it this afternoon on Netflix and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was cathartic, emotional, funny, real and ironic: everything that makes it a good film for me.

I believe that at any given point of time, people operate from either one of two things: love and fear. Think about it. Why did I keep going back to my boyfriend? Why did my parents shout at me as a child? Why do I fight with people close to me? Why do we put that extra effort into creating something for someone or even ourselves? Is it out of love or out of fear? Chances are, for every one of those questions, at different times in our lives, the answer could be love and fear. This made me go back and (hesitantly) think about what went wrong, what was right, and what couldn't be fixed. I couldn't go too deep into it, because the wound is fresh. But I'm opening up to the possibility that not everything we said or did was out of fear. And not every promise or plan we made was out of love. Which was which and when? I don't know. I don't know if I'm ready to face that yet. Maybe later.

Today was Spa Day. I put on a mud pack on my face (Multani mitti/clay in case you're wondering). I filled a small tub with epsom salt and hot water. And I soaked my feet in it, while my face got crackly and cool with the clay. This, while watching Like Father on Netflix. My mother, ever-ready for a spa day, joined me. We broke for lunch, which was THE most delicious coconut fish curry I've tasted in Goa, made by my father. I, then, experimented with the mango topping on my lemon bars. Not too shabby! The flavour of the lemon bars is a bit over powering so you want to check the ratio of lemon bar to mango slices based on your preference. But a really yummy combination! *Pat on back*

It's been cloudy today, with intermittent rain. Every few moments, I'll hear a gentle rush of raindrops outside my balcony, with a gush of wind entering my room. No city noise, no honking cars or shouting people, no pollution, no blaring radio on the sidewalk. Just the sound of rain, some birds, the jazz radio my mom's listening to downstairs while she has tea, and way in the background: the distant roar of the sea.

Every few moments, his face pops up in my head and I feel a pang so potent I want to split in half. I'll never see that face the way he looked at me again. He'll never smile for me again. I'll never get to bury my nose in his chest and melt into his warmth. Then I remember all the things I didn't like about him, and how I tried to move past them, but eventually couldn't. I'm left with a mixture of emotions: guilt, shame, disappointment, sadness, hurt, anger, resentment but also clarity on the fact that this was our last try and it's done.

I went up to the terrace, thinking I'd paint something, but I saw the pool outside our house: blue, empty, untouched, undisturbed, with light ripples made by the breeze. I had to be a part of it. So I went for a swim. I was pretty impressed with my enthusiasm. As I was getting ready to go in, I had a barrage of doubts: Am I fit enough? Will it be cold? Oh, I'm not ready to do this. Maybe I should wait another day before I get out and about, I'm too depressed. Oh, but the water doesn't seem too cold, it's pretty lukewarm; just right. Well, I'm already in halfway, might as well go all the way in.

Once I was in, there were no thoughts. My body knew what to do. And I swam. It was liberating. Reassuring. Effortless. Brilliant. All the things I feel when I make music, or when I excel at something. I always remember the feeling I get when I swim. Exhileration. Freedom. Strength. Infinity. Solitude. Peace. What I was born to do. I meditated as I glided underwater, remembering the space within me is just as infinite as the water I'm swimming in. The silence around me silenced the chatter inside me. My tired and sore body felt activated. I floated on the surface of the pool, feeling weightless. The hot shower after my swim was the best I've had in days.



I hope to do this more often. I hope I have the courage to move a step forward every day, however small. I hope to remember that I don't have to freeze when something bad happens. That I can wiggle my toes to start with and make my way up.

I hope.

Day 1: Bake a cake

Is it possible to feel opposing sensations at the same time?

I woke up feeling rested, but depressed. It was as though the 9-hour slumber had given me 9 hours of respite from the chaos in my mind, and while my body felt calm, the chaotic chatter switched back on, promptly as I woke up.  It was a beautiful, breezy, monsoon morning in the South of Goa. And I was raining tears in bed, going over every last detail of the fight that ended my last relationship. I couldn't stop the fighting voices in my head. His. Mine. It's painful just thinking about it.

The first half of the day involved the Bed, Netflix (That 70's Show), a couple of trips to the restroom, a banana, and crying. I managed to snooze in the afternoon, just by willing my mind to shut off for a couple of hours.

Post 5pm, my mother came into my room and let me cry with her (I'm so grateful for the space my family is giving me to feel everything). A cup of warm water later, my brain cells felt activated, in a good way. I wanted to eat something sweet, but for over a month have been off any sweets from outside, and off sugar unless its jaggery or fruits. I wanted something tangy and lemony.

So I decided to bake Lemon (or Lime) Bars. The idea itself woke me up more, and I decided to do it right away, before the zeal escaped me. I quickly changed out of my PJs, into jeans and a tee-shirt, and went out to buy ingredients. I was proud to use home-grown limes (five stars for my folks, who grow almost everything they need in their backyard). My father helped me make the base with butter and digestive biscuits, while my mother helped with the lime filling. We decided to use demerara sugar, so the end result was a brownish cake (Lime Bar masquerading as chocolate? Nobody had a problem with that!). Verdict? Delicious and totally worth the effort.

In case you ever want to make it, here's a quick recipe (not Masterchef quality, but damn it's delicious):

Ingredients:
Base (Mix together until evenly brittle):
1 cup cold butter (cut into small pieces)
1/2 cup sugar (I used demerara sugar, but you can use regular or even cane sugar)
2 cups flour (I used 1 1/2  packs of Nutri-Choice high-fiber digestive crackers instead, like Graham Crackers)

Filling (Whisk together):
1 1/2 cups sugar (Again, I used demerara. Also, you might want less or more, so trust your instincts)
5 Tbsp flour
4 Eggs
Lime Zest (I scraped about 2 1/2 to 3 limes for this)
Lime Juice (I used 5 limes. If you are using lemons instead, halve the amount I've used)

Directions:
Preheat the oven at 350 degrees F for about 15-20 minutes.

Prepare the base and press evenly into the bottom of a greased baking pan/tray. If you have butter paper, then lined the tray with that before you add the base.

Pour the filling onto the base, and put the tray in the oven for about 20-25 minutes. I kept checking every 10 minutes or so, with a knife, to see if it was done (it's been a while, since I baked anything). Normally, it doesn't take too long to bake. You could wait up to 30 minutes and get that crusty texture along the edges and the caramelised filling. I prefer it to be a little gooey on the inside.

Once you remove the tray (after checking with a knife, to see if it's done), let it just sit outside and cool for 15-20 minutes (or as long as you can keep your hands off of it).

(You could top it off with whipped cream, icing sugar or fruits. I had it neat. But I think I'm going to try fresh mango slices on top tomorrow.)

EAT!!