Day 27: Wheels on the Bus

The rain will lash

Markets crash

Dreams burn to the ground

In the flood

Face in the mud

But the wheels on the bus go 'round.

Gasp! A whore.

She's open for

Anyone around.

Noone sees

The Injuries.

And the wheels on the bus go 'round.

Colors aren't

For colouring now

They're the face with which you're found.

Children play

With hand grenades.

But the wheels of the bus go 'round

The pitied sighs,

Shallow eyes

Vanity astounds.

Clink the champagne glasses again.

The wheels on the bus go 'round.

Hope perhaps for

Better days.

Hands together

End the craze

No will to stop 

And save this town.

So the wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round.

The wheels on the bus go 'round.

Day 26: Bushido

I want to leave you with this thought today: 

"Hakuiki hitotsu ni mo seimei ga yadori" —

"Life in every breath."

Day 7: Letting Go

Why is 'letting go' such a battle? By 'letting go', I mean letting go of everything: hurt, betrayal, anger, pride, insecurity, past words, past relationships, anything and everything that no longer serves a purpose in my life and yet plays a front-and-center role in it. I think it goes deeper than just letting go of these things.

Letting go means letting go of familiarity. Even if they're yesterday's jeans, I've worn them enough times to know what they feel like and whether I consciously choose it or not, I'll be more comfortable wearing them than throwing them away and getting a new pair. I've already adjusted to their shape, to the torn pockets, to the tight buttoning and faulty zipper. I've found a way around them all, and have been able to coexist with the familiarity of old jeans. But the truth is, I've outgrown them and they no longer keep me warm or fit my body. Hard to part with old jeans. Now, imagine parting with old stories, old love, bitterness, unfinished romances, unsaid words, scars that have almost begun to define you, and so on. I mean, without these, I'm a blank slate. I have no beginning and no end. I have no story. And I'm left with now and here, and what I want to do with it. It's terrifying, letting go. Even though it is the ultimate goal. It's terrifying.

Who would I be then? The girl who met those people? The fighter who fought those battles? The woman who fell in love or out of it? The worker who never gave up? The body that did, when I pushed it over the edge? The heartbroken crumple who aches to be loved? The child who constantly wants to go home, but doesn't know where that is?

Letting go would mean I'm no longer any of these. I'd be me, plain and simple. And whatever I choose to be, henceforth. I think the stories that have accompanied us so far, become like companions, familiar shoes that we walk with every day, our favorite blanket to sleep with, our poison of choice, and our best friend. Remember, we also take pride in the things we've conquered/ accomplished/vanquished/rejected, however brutal the struggle was. Pride is a tough one to check and let go of. Oftentimes, we aren't even aware of how governed we are by our pride.

It's heartbreaking saying goodbye to the past. But that's exactly what will set us free from it. It is the eternal struggle we humans face in this limited period of time called life. We're moving uphill and our journey can  be either tougher or easier, depending on the amount of baggage we choose to accumulate along the way.

Operative word: "Choose"

Letting go also means no control. This is a big one. I can guarantee that 90% of whoever reads this post is terrified of losing control. No, I don't mean getting drunk at a party and dancing on the counter. Not that kind of losing control. I mean letting go of this idea that we have everything under control in the first place. That our lives will turn out the way we planned because of a series of actions we undertake in a calculated manner. Ha! The only thing that is guaranteed is that plans don't necessarily turn out the way they were meant to. That anything that can go wrong, just might. That you may find happiness where you least expect it. That your dreams may  cometrue but in the most horrific way possible. Change is constant and inevitable and if you don't catch that train, you'll be stuck on an empty station, until the station itself disappears and you have no ground underneath your feet. Nothing is in your control. Except the choice you make to cling to an illusion of control.

I'm afraid to let go. But I have moments when I can surrender myself to Nature and the Universe and I feel protected and secure, knowing they have my back. A year ago, I met someone special in a very unexpected place. We hit it off and there was a special energy between us. But in that time, we were both struggling with our own histories. And we couldn't get past them. I remember going to the beach one afternoon and going straight in to the Ocean and closing my eyes. I surrendered my heart, my fears, my desires, my everything, my whole being to Her. I prayed for support if he was someone who's meant to be in my life. And if he wasn't, I prayed to be released from the desire of him. And it helped me to cope with the changing situation at the time. It helped me to understand that nothing is in my control, so when I gave up the 'illusion of control' or my tendency to 'overthink' or 'micromanage' my feelings, I was a happier, freer person. I had all the space, time and freedom to love unconditionally, without desire, without expectation, without judgment. I still think fondly of him, grateful that we met, hoping he is happy wherever he is, irrespective of whether we see each other ever again.

But this hasn't been easy for me to practice regularly. I have had the opportunity to experience total surrender and its rewards, but it takes a lot out of me to actually do it all the time.

I guess it starts with asking myself: what is it that I want? Really?

I haven't thought of an answer yet. Not fully. There are words and ideas, but a full sentence, a full list of what I really want - I'm afraid to consider it. I'm afraid to manifest it, only to lose it.

I guess my fear is losing what matters to me most. Everything ends, doesn't it?

Haha!
As I write this, I'm reminded of a conversation with that same person I mentioned earlier.
We were discussing relationships and he said something along the lines of, "What's the point? Because all these relationships go away in the end."

And I said to him, "What's the point in living, then? We're all going to die anyway."
I also said (and I think this answers my question to myself), "... a month or so ago, I was dealing with unbearable pain caused by heartbreak. But even in that pain I knew that one day I will love again. Feeling love for someone is worth every trial and heartache. Love is the point of everything."

I don't have a conclusive end to this post, except that in remembering what I said to this person, I am reminded about what I seek and why I want to let go of all that baggage.

To make space for love, love, and more love.

Quando a mare baixar
Vai lhe-visitar
Vai fazer devocao
Vai lhe-presentiar
No mar
Mora Iemanja,
No Mar
Mora Iemanja
('Rainha do Mar' - Carolina Soares)

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 - Afternoon

2:05pm.

I'm lying in bed, feeling exhausted. I woke up pretty fresh but my legs feel like lead. Maybe it's all the swimming from yesterday. Maybe I'm cramping, because I'm expecting my period. Maybe I'm just weighed down mentally.

I made an eggy breakfast for my mother and myself around noon. Just a simple omelette withpotatoes, onions, a tomato, with rosemary and honey to top it off. It felt good and was filling.

My mother suggested we drive out and run some errands. But I have no energy, no will, no inclination. I feel broken and debilitated. Today, I haven't found the enthusiasm I usually muster up when I'm trying to look for distraction. I feel like an incapacitated mess.

The worst part of it all is: I'm not isolated. I know, I know. It sounds ungrateful. How can she complain about not being alone? Isn't that what she wants, anyway? Confused, selfish, picky woman. 

It's frustrating. To have a bed to lie in, but not feel rested. To be hugged and loved by my mother but still feel uncomfortable. To want to laugh at a joke my father cracked but it hurts to smile. To feel lonely in a room full of people. To have something to say but it tires me out to speak. To feel inadequate despite being talented, beautiful, smart and self-sufficient. To feel like a failure when I have enough experience under my belt to feel like I've achieved something . To feel like I'm worthless even when my ego is inflated enough to write about how awesome I am in this paragraph. To not want it, but feel totally sorry for myself. Why is that such a bad thing, damn it?

I know I'll have to pull myself out of it some day. But today, I just don't want to. Today I want to be so still that I evaporate. Or so still that I'm not really there. I'm just a bunch of molecules floating in the breeze. Or so silent that nobody that can hear me passing by, breathing or feeling.

All I want to hear is that bird chirping outside my balcony, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, frogs jumping in and out of the pond near my house, the flutter of wings and the fan whirring on my ceiling.

I think my achievement for the day would be to get through it.