Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series - 4 - Zen looks like this

 

Hello my dearest Reader,

The last month had been hectic. My house was full, so was my heart. As if that is not enough my work front kept my plate overflowing too.

My boys and I spent quiet time together as family. Weekend trips, breakfast dates, coffee with Mithai (our four legged grandson) it was as if we were weaving something special out of moments which seemed quite ordinary. The Saturday night ordering in, the family recipes repeated during Sunday cookout and new ones that we tried kept our bellies happy and our souls satisfied. We enjoyed the rains, the swims, the walks and the doing nothings on the weekends. The free flowing hugs and bubbling laughter echoed through my house. The ritual fire and the prayers enhanced the energy of space around us.

Weekdays was an exact turncoat of how our weekends were. The early morning started with regimented routine of meditation, breathing exercises, visualisation, work outs, journaling and reading. This was followed by clearing of emails before actual work day kicked in. The only saving grace was an hour of bonding and conversation with my 19 year old before I headed for work. The minute I stepped into my work place, I was swept by the flow. The day just flew by. Minutes rolled into hours without any cognition.

I had read somewhere that zen is when you are naturally and effortlessly without fixation. When you go with the flow, without trying to change anything. I’d not go so far as to say that the last month I attained the calm of the perched master on top of  the tree (see pic) but I could catch the flow of life - effortless and without fixation. It was not peaceful all through , but the anxiety, the frustration or anger did flow through like a river, unhindered and without any clinging. I’m not particularly partial to the heavier emotions, I experienced the same with joy, love and warmth. They seeped through me and emptied into nothingness.

In a very lay man’s term, when you start living your hundred percent without the burden of performance pressure, or expectations of the desired outcomes, you probably touch the hem of that state. The last month was zen like. The furious pace juxtaposed with the islands of peace and strangely both were tied to the same fluidity. In that lucidity , dreams took shape, roots anchored deep, compassion blossomed and nonchalance winked back. I could literally take a cat nap amidst a storm. 

I realised when you embody peace and detachment, you see vividly the insecurities, the ignorance and the ego grasping that surrounds you and surfaces in you.  The only thing that you feel at that point is compassion for yourself and for all those who walk your world. We like everyone else often have our views muddied. We cling to success and disappointments equally tight. Unfortunately neither stays. And that is the fact of life.

I learnt in the last few days, to love because I want to, to work because I love it, to stretch because I care and to let go when it’s meant to be.The world gives you masters in all shapes and forms. The little master who brazenly decided to let the world flow by as he perched on the top of a tree trunk meditating and watching the meaningless pursuits of human kind, taught me zen in it’s simplest form. Be the flow.

My dearest reader, I hope you find your own flow. And someday your life will touch banks of those beautiful but ordinary moments which are waiting to unfold. Till we connect again, leaving you all with zen like Purr!

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 4 - Unapologetic

 Hello Dearest Reader,

Half of this year has now settled down in our memories. Time, I have heard, is relative but then it has a tendency to unabashedly fly past us in jet set speed. I hope you had loads of amazing adventures while the sun was swooning over the northern hemisphere. I on the other hand took a journey inward. Let’s call it growing into being. 

It was a slow month for me. Summer was harsh and I was literally counting days for the first rains to soak my soul. My boy was back with us to spend his summer break before he starts his sophomore year at college. My work kept me reasonably occupied and my man was neck deep under his share of load. I had long chats with my girlfriends and was able to spend some quality time with family. To sum it up all, it was low key, winding and routine June days. But the most of my doze of adventures came while I looked inward and watched my health with keen curiosity.

As I stepped into my perimenopause I realised my body and mind are both shifting gears. Life has been extremely kind to turn me health conscious. As a woman (a realisation which came in pretty late in life) I should have been more vain about my external appearances but I felt the first changes in my bones, literally. My joints creaked and moaned as I went along my day. My work out which always felt a drag, had become a necessity. It helped me move through the day with ease. My last meal is now around sun set. Late night meals don’t make me feel happy. My love for has intensified but portion size has taken a downward dip. Too much coffee near to sundown keeps me owl eyed. Alcohol has become synonymous to poison. Oily & spicy food I love but my capacity to consume chillies has taken a drastic hit. My hots for pickles now contribute to my bloating and has taken space back of the shelf. 

I watched as my hair thinned and streaks of  grey shone through. My skin turned patchy. Nails got brittler and my veins surfaced like tribal art. My sleep became my vitamin. Post 10.30 pm, it felt criminal to keep my body awake. After 8.30 pm my eyes put on a dead man gaze and I looked like an avatar straight from hell. My night skin routine (I hate it) has become integral to my life. The dark circles and drooping laughter lines have embraced me as their own. Aches from head to toe surfaces unwanted and uncalled without any reason or rhyme. But no complaints. Ageing gracefully,  I learnt needs effort and gritted teeth as you sail towards you sunset years. I want to be fashionably old with red lipstick, high heels and a sassier smile.

But what was more drastic & dramatic was the metamorphosis that occurred internally. I stopped holding space for those who didn’t have any space for me in their lives. I decided not to walk through doors where I’m not valued. I drew my boundaries without raising voice. I learnt to say “No” without guilt. I emotionally distanced myself from relationships which exploited me.Invested my time in pursuits that fed my soul. I took ownership of my dreams and started dreaming unapologetically. I stopped chasing either fame or power. I nourished myself by helping folks irrespective of whether they realised it or not but stopped when I was taken for granted. I am becoming kinder and more patient but I have stopped giving into toxic dramas. My peace of mind is my holy grail which I am not compromising at any cost. I voice my irritation consciously without remorse and withdraw from situations which adds no value. I am at that phase of my life where my plants, my dog, my books, my morning coffee and my prayers top my priority list.

I guess age does that to you. You finally arrive! As I healed - my equations with my inner circle changed. I have started cherishing my time with my parents, knowing I may not have many more years with them. My son is slowly turning into a person who I rely on and solicit advice. I’m coming in terms to having differences of opinion with him and respecting that. I’m finding a friend in my husband and soulmates in my friends. But the most surreal change which I noticed was I being at ease with myself and finding solace in solitude.

My dearest reader I hope at some point in your life you would realise that you probably would not have all that you wanted and that your wants would also change with time. However whoever has touched you in this life has been precious and very yours. You can walk ahead with gratitude and humility knowing that the journey has probably given you way beyond what you’ve ever dreamt of and taken from you what’s irreplaceable. But then that’s what life is all about!

You take care. Till we meet again with another story.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 4 - Womaniya

 Hello Dearest Reader,

We are done with May.The heat gave us no respite but as is human nature, I found a few things endearing about it.The Krisnachura or the Flame tree dotting Arey (open land just behind our society) turned blood red with blooms. It almost seems that the trees converted the raging sun rays into vermilion flowers. Swimming in the pool have become an indulgence for the soul. On a lonely summer afternoon cooing cuckoos evoke nostalgia of long gone summer holidays of our growing up years. Summer also brings our kids back home for their break. The walls which had turned meditative in their absence suddenly starts echoing with laughter and chatter. So summer is not all that bad. There are pockets of joy amidst the blaze.

I started the month in Kolkata, my home town. The state election was the hottest topic that rocked the country.Hotter than this sweltering summer. I went there to fulfil my duty as a citizen and cast my vote. As I contemplated on the frenzy around the event, I realised that I was born when the State was ruled by Red, spent my youth when it turned Green and that I’m nearing my middle age, it has turned Saffron. Significant colour change if we co-relate with life. Whichever colour it turned, it was always ruled by inhabitants of the state. And my only prayer is that whoever sits on that chair, focuses on giving back to the land and its people. It’s time when we should be able say that the Government “Of the people, By the people and For the people”. Last one being the show clincher..

After my return to Mumbai, a half baked idea started playing in mind. I always enjoy company of people. However very rarely my crazy work schedule allows me to indulge in such get togethers. Our society harbours gorgeous women, fabulous in their own rights. Superlative professionals to fitness enthusiasts, musical talents to artists, we have it all. And like our childhood days of evening adda (chat sessions) I opened my doors to usher in whoever could make it, to an evening of shared bonhomie. And by Jove, what a laughter and song filled evening we spent together. From cooking to fitness tips, from meditation to beautiful renditions of Rabindrasangeet (it was the Bard’s birthday that day ), the time spent was a celebration of spontaneous joys of life. It was so heartwarming to hear stories from the bunch of lovely ladies, their insecurities and struggles, how they managed empty nests to how they managed their children, aging parents, healing bodies and the recipes, it was a kaleidoscope of colourful memories. We were from different age groups but a common thread tied us all together. 

As a tribe we traversed life and picked up pebbles of lessons. Like a tribe we exchanged them so that each one of us could go back enriched. With jhalmuri (bhel) and singara (samosas), with chai and sherbet and cold coffee, the evening packed in so much of fun, that I’m seriously contemplating doing a monsoon special. May reminded me of meye bela (girlhood day) in a beautiful way. I really feel this camaraderie and warmth is what sustains us women. Each one of us, like Hercules shoulders so much weight, it probably is comforting to lay down the burden and share it with compatriots. Not to judge but to tell each other that you are not alone. 

There comes brutal moments when you realise there was never a place for you in someone’s life. You can explain it away, be mature about it, tell yourself it makes sense - but it still guts you to know that they don’t even have a room for your shadow in their minds. And then, you seek out your tribe. Seek out people who let you be. Sit with you to share a cup of tea and some laughter without any questions.I feel blessed to have experienced that warmth.

My dearest reader, I hope the coming month treats you well. If are in the South Asian subcontinent, then may the rains soak you till you feel alive. Find your tribe, find folks with whom you can have “nirbhejal adda” (undiluted conversation). When you’re lost or tired, they will look out for you.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 4 - Benarasia

 Dearest Reader,

Hope you’re in swell of a mood. In my part of the world sweltering heat has shrouded our souls. They are talking about a super El Nino effect. I know for sure that we’re going to melt soon,  if there’s no respite. Air conditioners are operating in full blast generating even more heat. The summer breeze is laced with fire even during early mornings or late evenings. For a change office seems like a safe space and sane too with the central air conditioning. Though to reach that haven you have to travel through hell realms of pollution, humidity and blaze. You can imagine I’m writing with angst in my soul as I’m navigating the hallowed Indian summer. My generally optimistic and happy self has taken a back seat.

But then I couldn’t possibly let April flow by me without adding some memories to my repertoire. During the long weekend of Good Friday, me and my (longtime) husband decided to visit Varanasi (Benaras/Kashi). The place is currently the rage of the season. Everyone knows everything about it through social media and the net. These days your feelings when you visit a new place gets curated. So much of content is out there, that every thing seems like a déjà vu. Hence I’ve decided I’d share a personal story from the trip, which may resonate with you.

Earlier in the year my solo trip to Vrindavan showed me love, a sense of belonging and complete surrender. To each to their own, but Vrindavan to me was pure romance. Every nook and cranny will remind you of unconditional love, unspoken passion, secret tryst and faith - that love is universal. The emotion is sublime and constant, possibly does not need reciprocation or recognition. Does it exude pain or loneliness - maybe, but it holds in itself every other emotion attached to it like energy filament. You may be lonely at times but never alone.

Benaras, on the other hand juxtaposed the other constant of life and slammed it at my face. The place is all about impermanence, about death being a constant and of stillness. The city itself rejoices in life. There’s food for the stomach and faith for the soul. The kachoris, lassis and chats can make you fall in love. The galore of temples and the experience you’d have in each would load you with stories that would last a lifetime. And the sarees…., the Benarasi Katans and Tanchoi, the myriad glass bangles of different hues, the sound and the noise reminded me that the city holds as much a feminine energy as it’s famous for its divine masculine. There’s as much Parvati in Kashi as there is Shiva. And when I roamed the Ganga on a quaint little boat, the ghats opened their secrets for me. There was praying in one, splashing boys in another. I saw death and cremation in Manikarnika and lovers entangled in Harishchandra Ghat. Dashashwamedh was crowded where as Assi was a systematic calm. And as I swept past the Chaurasi Ghats (84 Ghats) it dawned upon me, that the only constants in life is love and death. 

The trip was such a refreshing break for both me and my man that we still are nurturing a hangover of that trip. 20 years of marriage gives you a routine but also it throws a number of questions. Why I’m in it? Is it comfort? Is it love? Is it society or responsibility? Should I be in it? Is my identity intertwined with my marriage? Who am I? And you may think I’m being philosophical or may be plunging into mid life crisis, but it’s necessary that we all spend some time knowing ourselves before trying to know others. Varanasi gave me all the answers. You have different souls thrown at your path. Some nurtures you, some nurse you, some triggers you and some holds a mirror to show you, yourself. Then there are some who holds space for you. They are constant, and embody a stillness which allows you to be the storm. They let you be. They are never a part of your flow but integral to it. These souls do not sweep you off your path, they walk with you….watching and being there. And my marriage rests on such shoulders. Being there is an ask, when it’s unconditional. It’s as much an ask as it is when you love unconditionally. The previous needs more effort, cause it’s not always fuelled by love. 

So between me and my man, we walked the streets, roamed in Totos, cruised the river, indulged in tongue tingling chats, visited temples and shopped to our heart’s content. For two office goers who rarely have a breather in the first quarter of the year, it was like a breath of fresh air. An untimely splash of the afternoon rain brought down temperatures as we walked the streets of a city which has lasted eons and has reference in mythology.

My dearest reader, i hope you have enough questions which leads you to self discovery and enough places to travel to, so that you can hunt down answers. If you do not have a travel companion, go solo. It’s equally fun and may land you with experiences which is much deeper. Till we meet again, be well.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series - 4 - The clan

 Hello dearest Reader,

March is marching past us briskly. The festival which is closest to my heart splashed us with colours and euphoria. India, at least the northern parts celebrated Holi with joy under the blazing sun. Heat is at a different level this time of the year. At least Mumbai was reeling under it’s assault.

 I on the other hand played Holi early this year - in Feb, when I visited Barsana. When the actual day of festivities arrived in March, I was down with a severe viral infection. Cough, cold, antibiotics and deadly weakness stopped me from playing with colours the way I do. I had an inkling in Barsana, that this year I would be usurped by the One who coloured me first and He will ensure that I play with no one else. I restricted myself to my home and played with flower petals with my folks. One two legged and the other four. Sneezing and sniffling.

But March was also about family reunion. We had a marriage in the house. And the family I got married to, gathered together in Kolkata to celebrate the newest union. My Thakurpo (brother-in-law) got hitched and our women clan got another of their kind. It was such fun to meet everyone, gorge on Bengali traditional delicacies and deck up like a chandelier in its full glow. Every thing was over the top but it was the vibe of the occasion. The saree I wore, was the one I wore when I got married to the House of Hariths (Gotro-clan). It evoked nostalgia, reminded me of decisions taken decades back and made me misty to see another girl walking the same path.

 You know these are occasions where you think of the roads not taken, but also are reminded of the beauty of the journey undertaken. The lessons learnt, the relationships forged, the tears shed and the laughters shared. It reminds you of the responsibilities you shoulder, and those that you pass on. The family stories that were shared with you, the recipes which were handed over, family gossips, and the hallowed family legends - grandmother in laws and grand pa in laws and their chronicles. It was like a gossamer thread binding us all. 

If you see the picture above, you’d see it’s all the women who got married to this family and some born to this but got married to others (or will be) in one frame. It was a surreal feeling to see that all these ladies nurtured this family as their own. Traditions were woven and facts became lores as these women passed on the baton of values and the essence of this clan to every new entrant.

 New relationships were formed. First time my newest sister in law called me Boro boudi (eldest sister in law), and I realised that I have become a part of the fabric of this clan in the last twenty years. My aunts in laws, my sister in laws, my mother in law ( how much I missed the presence of Thama, Kutti Thama and Chini Thama - grandma in laws) a merry jumble in this delicious concoction. And I realised how women not only stand as pillars of the past, they shoulder the present and nurture the future. And I somehow have become a part of this huge jigsaw - married to the eldest of the eldest, becoming boro bou of a generation.As I returned back to Mumbai, I was filled to the brim with joy and love.

Ending this letter with a lore from Vrindavan It is said, when you’re coloured in black (the colour of Krishna) no other colour can touch you. I have started understanding the truest essence of that expression. I am no super human. There are times I feel tired, exhausted to the bone, worried sick, or outright lazy. But something is shifting within. A love of a deeper kind, a joy which is not skin deep but soaks your soul, an urge which shakes your existence - is slowly creeping and often catching me unaware. I am watching it as stealthily as it is approaching me. I’m waiting patiently for it’s embrace.

Wishing that all the colours of this world grace your life. May you feel the completeness of being part of the larger fabric of the universe . Till another story….good bye.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

-Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series - 4 - Finding myself

 Hello dearest Reader,

Another month flew past. The northern hemisphere is still under a cold spell. I keep hearing of sub-zero temperatures and snowstorms. This time around I have keener interest on the intensity of the cold because my son is spending his winter semester far away from me, bracing temperatures which he’s not used to. But like every other teenager who has left home and feels that they can conquer the world, nothing seems to dampen his spirits. However, a mother’s worry is perennial. The slightest of things and we start to hyper ventilate. The number of times I checked on his warm clothes and shoes made me laugh at my own idiosyncrasies.

But this letter is not about the weather or about a mother’s heart. It’s about how the cat stopped crouching and stretched. Remember I told you that I simply observed the world like a crouching cat in January. This month I started clawing at the fog around my existence. February had been kind to me professionally. Physically too. I regained my strength and got back to my regular work out schedule. I focused on what I’m eating but most of all, I observed my mind. And as I dived deep, I noticed a few things.

Those that were driving forces in my life have shifted. A career high no more gave me joy. I was perplexed. Throughout out my life I was told I’m ambitious (not always with a positive connotation to it) and that I can push myself to the brink to reach my goals. But then surprisingly the career high was no more a goal that enchanted me. I was rather depressed and it seemed a waste of time on meaningless pursuit. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my job and am blessed with great co-workers. The motivators were there, the motivation was missing.

The travelling which enamoured me, the joy of visiting a new place that would always keep me moving -  seemed to have subsided. Exotic places and foreign locales did not pull in a way it used to. I found joys in small towns of my country, the mustard fields yellow with flowers, the boat ride on a lonely river where our captain was a visually impaired man, the green ‘gulal’ put lovingly on my cheeks by a young kid or the dare devilry of a bike ride through the lanes of Barsana to the top of mountain. Seeing the temples crowded with people but being able to find the quiet amidst all, was divine. There was a shift. I could sense it, but couldn’t quite fathom.

The woman who always planned the “what next” was actually tired of planning. I had started cherishing the quiet moments, with a cup of coffee and doing nothing. Curling up with a book on an oft used sofa, which knows the curves of my body, was pure bliss. I breathed in lungs full of morning air and listened to the swish of the leaves or a faraway cuckoo cooing sadly calling for lightness of spring. Nothing glamorous, nothing breathtaking, but simplicity of the lull became precious.

As I watched myself patiently, It dawned on me that I had stopped nurturing my feminine side in all its authenticity when I had stepped into my 30s. Not that I didn’t play my role, but it was solely role playing rather than living it. Like, it was more about how a wife should be rather than what kind of a wife I am. The benchmark of being the “kind” of daughter or daughter in law or for that matter mother was what drove me. In my head I was ticking boxes. To me that was sure shot way to ensure affection, to command respect, to get the love and most of all to have that the seal of approval. It was not my reality, and even if it was, I didn’t recognise it as such. Hence I lived it like a task instead of embracing it.

Looking back, I gathered, that you cannot be loved unless you love yourself completely. A complete sense of surrender to the Universe is thousand times better than surrendering to another person. This time around when I visited Vrindavan, I felt the presence, the show of love and acceptance crystal clear. I think when humanity fails, divinity steps in. When you feel unseen, untouched and unloved then I guess you expand yourself to experience the beyond. It was imperative that my body listened to my mind and I had to ensure that my mind is not enduring trash. Healing happens when you heal from within. The subconscious wounds we carry, the burden of expectations we shoulder, the betrayals, or the unrequited love turns ugly when suppressed and rears head as diseases. Diseases are nothing but lack of ease - of body & mind.

So throughout February I clawed my way through the mental fog and physical weakness. I worked on the debris of my cluttered mind. I accepted life as is, without trying to change. But I changed my focus. I loved but not with a desperate longing. I worked but not as if life depended on its success. I worked out cause I enjoyed it. I ate right cause it made me feel good. I meditated cause I could sink in the calm. I dressed up because I felt beautiful. Sometimes you hold so many scars in your body that you fear that no one on earth will ever be able to love your physicality. But then there would always be you for YOURSELF. 

My dearest reader, be that person who anchors your own existence. Be the best version of your own body and your own mind. Do things which makes living life worth the while. Not to tick some strange box in your head, but just because life is beautiful and you deserve to blossom into what you’re meant to be.

 

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 4 - Pause & Reflect

 Hello Dearest Reader,

Almost a month has passed us by in this brand new year. Can you imagine before we could actually begin, we are left with just eleven more months instead of twelve. I’m fond of the number 11. It seems there’s a special connection with this number and me. My organs seem to check into an operation theatre on this date and come out safe and sound. Either replaced or repaired. One happened on 11th of August and the other on 29th of November and you see how the numbers played their game. 29 reduces itself to 11. Funny if you watch them and fancy the coincidence. Theatrics aside this letter is neither about numerology nor about medical shenanigans. I wanted to write to you about how I spent the first month of this year!

The month tested my patience and gave enough opportunity to spike my anxiety. My son flew back to resume his winter semester. And how eventful was the flight! Snow causing delay in Munich, almost a missed flight in Atlanta and his luggage not reaching his University town with him. As he navigated travel fiascos alone for the first time, I realised as parents you helplessly live through your child’s ordeal without being able to do much barring being available for him to take a download of his frustrations. It was a new experience. To be a mother of a young adult was very different from mothering a baby boy. You have to let him navigate life, face its waves yet you can see how the strings of attachment impact your emotions as he traverses this labyrinth. You can’t do much. You watch, you pause, you feel and you reflect. Hoping desperately that years of raising him was good enough to ready him for facing his life. I traveled with him in my mind sitting in Mumbai through time zones watching him move mile by mile away from me.

If that’s not enough, the exercise to update your name in the election commission list unfolded in our country. Stuck to Mumbai with a recovering heart, I couldn’t travel  to my home town for the formalities. But I dare say the lady officer in charge, who was responsible for my constituency was efficient, compassionate and exceptionally competent. She called me a number of times, understood my situation and provided solutions to get things resolved. It brought back faith in the system when I saw her managing the situation. I feel, for such individuals in our government, we still are able to run the public machinery catering to the humongous population of our country.

A old skirmish on road caused us more headaches than required and we had to invest time and connections on it. But most disappointing thing this month was to realise we have to do a femoral head ostectomy for Mithai,  our pet Retriever - as his hips were both in very poor condition. Poor boy stopped playing and running though his enthusiasm was always sky high. Any exertion would cause him to limp. We would close this month with his surgery.

You can imagine January was trying and I decided to go slow, watch and reflect. At times the only option you have is to crouch like the cat in the sun. Just be! Breathe, pause and breathe again. Let the sun shine on you, let the chilly wind freeze your bones and snooze whenever life and circumstances allow you to. So I slowly without much ado, resumed life as best as I could. I gradually eased into my old clothes. Believe me a chest cut wide open is not a very pleasant condition to allow clothes to glide over it. You learn with practice and patience, what possibly you can wear and finally heal enough to go back to your regular wardrobe. I learned how to walk. Slowly first, then getting back to my original speed. I went back to my workout with my very patient trainer. Realised two pounds can be an effort and letting my body adapt to the move back to normalcy. I changed what I ate, how much I ate and when I ate. Simple things but a battle I had to fight silently. 

I decided to be like the cats. Slow but sure in its movement. Watching and being. These cats gave me company and hope. Always appearing in my line of vision. Teaching me patience and curiosity at the same time. So taken was I with my feline companions that I decided to dedicate the first month to them. Watch out for a photo dump on my Gram. Hopefully each month of this year will inspire me differently and I’m looking forward to sharing them with you.

I hope your first month was better than mine in more ways than one. I’m not complaining. Life is like that and you live it with grace. Wishing you sun and warmth. May you have the purr alive always!

Always yours,

Pocket full of life