Finding a voice

I approached A, rather tentatively, on the subject of the "self". I've always wanted to listen and infuse within me the other side of others- the hardly spoken side of others.

 Some hesitate and don't give in too soon, some just need a slight coaxing and others only need a question to spill themselves all over the place. I find these revelations rather liberating, like unlocking a secret. It brings a sense of connectedness in a way I never knew existed. Probably, they too are finding themselves in the process as much as I am.

"You haven't changed very much in these many years." I told her.

I know what I just remarked sounded false, even to my ears, even to those who didn't know A. Who doesn't go through change anyhow?!

We've known each other vaguely for the past eight years. We are the wives of two really close friends. While the friends meet regularly- which is part of their whole business set up, we hadn't seen each other in a very long time.

 And yet, facebook bridged that gap between us in a strange way. We didn't have to start from level one on ourselves at this juncture. But there are some things facebook can't do. And that's when the real story begins.

She belongs to a conservative Muslim family which can be placed on the Malabar side of Kerala. Although, that does say something about her, I must confess what I deeply admire in her may have nothing to do with the 'Muslim upbringing' or may have everything to do with it.

What struck me as a blow was her display of a cool attitude to matters that surrounded her immediate concerns. It was that impression she left on me when I last saw her as a new mother to a 10 month old girl and which still looks the same, seven years later, with the addition of another child.

She is an earnest care-giver and nurturer and knew exactly when to not take things too hard on her self. She is a provider in her own way and seemed never to tire out of it. Before you could even utter what it was that you needed from her, it will be right before you in no time. 

Yes, her work was the invisible work most women do. Work that goes unnoticed. But I have also heard women (including myself) grouse a lot around it but make no mistake, she wasn't that kind. It was admirable then and now that I decided to allow my very marrow to suck every bit of it ever since I'd recognised it first in her.

"You know,  I did change after D was born and more so after our younger one joined the family. It was hard in a strange way. The expectations that needed to be met was grinding me on the inside, especially since the second child came out. I began to lose temper all too soon and on trivial matters that too. I would berate D for having gotten a wrong answer in a homework assignment. 

Sitara, you know? I was angry at my husband and even my mother on these occasions. Have you ever felt that? 

And it all took a while for me to get a grip on reality. I wrapped my head around the fact that I'm a grown woman with two kids and husband and that only our immediate families can be concerned about them. They have all the right, so, why should I stop them from using that right?'

We hold on to a lot of things that cannot be mended. It is these stories and many others that we carry inside of us- some that are our own to keep, others that we share- that build us. 

We're, thus, created. 

'It was hard for me to stay calm and patient while dealing with my children. But I've finally arrived at a point where providing empathy for them all has become easier.'

Combine her generous heart with a regard of utter nonchalance to matters that would have bothered other women; she made a splendid host to us when we lodged ourselves at her place for the weekend.

"What persona!", I often wondered watching her slither her way among us like a cool breeze.

She didn't give away a lot on personal, familial issues. We didn't need those details. 

We don't always need to spell everything about ourselves to others. Sometimes, all they just need is a sense of who you are. And it is this subtlety that we both needed then.

Whatever she generously divulged touched a common core in me. A locus point, I identified, that arose my sense of belonging with her. I understood she graced upon points in her life as touchstones of growth and learning. She spoke of only what matters to her now, what prompts her to search within and enables her to grow. And she laid them out to me in her usual open, naive kind of a manner.

A mother to a six year old girl myself, I could immediately relate patterns here, on psychological and emotional contexts. But I must say her story found a common chord to mine not just after we became mothers; although it is largely the reason, but also because we were vastly innocent and gullible as daughters and daughters-in-law and that our eyes opened to a lot of things at some point there.

A lot of things that seemed like the ugly truth then but now, to us, doesn't have to necessarily remain 'the truth'. It helped us focus on the sides of others we sought to inspire and to get inspired.

Most of what we have to deal with when being part of a family and a society at large is present under the skin. And we cut through most of it only over a walk or a cup of tea or in this case, beside the kitchen stove top while making Neer Dosa. Ergo, her story spilled forth!

With every word she spoke; despite the different upbringings, circumstances and experiences, I was glad to discover that we're on the same road here. We've both been nursing ourselves, our psyche, our thinking and our very deep conviction of being to a more positive, coherent and approachable attitude to life.

"I've arrived at a point where I've learned to accept a lot of things around me. I've been through bitter tears and anger modes a lot often in the past. I'm more determined to raise my kids kindly, trying to understand them and everything that surrounds us"

And thus, she's arriving.

We're all containing multitudes inside of us. It is these confided stories of shared learnings, atonement, growth and love that bring a universal camarderie into the tapestry of our very being. 

We each seek ourselves, every day, in whatever form we choose, amidst all the life we face. This is our beauty. This is where we belong.

Resurrecting the soul of a girl

"You know why I like playing teacher-teacher? Because there is no angriness!"
But you do raise your voice and get angry? Oh! And some of the lines you use?!
"Yes, Amma. But there is no real angriness!"

This is coming from a Phoenix of a girl who had risen out of the ashes only two months ago. A girl, very much back on her track to being self driven, self taught although my direction she seeks at times and well motivated in her learning. And I mean learning with a capital L.
No studying in my home. I have consciously discouraged it. It'll be so out of character for the both of us.

I was talking of a 'Learning' you acquire out of mindful and mindless activities. Art, dance, reading, make believe, movies, theatre have always revolved our lives, indoors. Outdoors brought a whole new pandora's box of learning. And she oscillated between the two effortlessly. It defined the very rhythm of her day. I go about doing the things I love and she gets about with hers. Our sanctorium of a place turns into a haven of an incubator for creativity, quiet learning and fun. Or so I think is what seems to be churning here. It is a slow burner of a lifestyle that found us ages ago. And we're happy being together and being apart at the same time. Eclectically, speaking.

But only two months ago, July, to be precise, things took a not-so-good turn after a month at school. A transition was underway. And we all knew this was coming. After all, Grade I is a big deal for a not-so-old kindergartner. And she was riding the waves as they came. Boldly and confidently. Until.
"Why do they yell at us so much? It is so painful, it hurts my body!"
Are they yelling at you?
"No, the entire class!"

I gave her a side of what the teachers were going through. Particularly, the class assistant teacher who seemed to be notoriously topping the list of never-ending yell abuse.
Dealing with 40 odd children for 5-6 hrs is no small feat, I answered. She took my point and said nothing then.

But the story was the same the next day and the day after and the day after that. I soon discovered I was losing her in a strange way. Like as if, she were fading or turning grey. As much as I tried to acknowledge this ongoing unfairness with her, things stayed pretty much the same for her. I ardently avoided feeling corny around her.

"You know? I have a magic pixie, a male, who says you got someone laughing very hard today."
We're swinging at the park after school. She continued to swing as she listened.
"And that someone's name begins with a M."
"No, Amma. It begins with a K. It was Kapila. She was laughing hard at my joke".
And there, we broke the ice for the day. Every day of July was a series of luxuriously crafted stories of conversation starters.

I never in my life imagined creating so many stories to extract some information from a little big girl. And it worked miraculously!

Our conversations were meticulously spaced. It could be while swinging in the park after school or during lunch or as a bedtime conversation after a read-aloud/oral story narrations we do as parents of our childhood stories to the girl or during our mini walks in our beautiful residential society.

And soon enough, she began to volunteer snippets of her days. Highlights that her rainbow heart held ever dearly. She cracked open and started spilling beans.

It was a conscious, rigourous grind to get her back to her original, spirited, opinionated, confident self.
Since, she never had trouble getting up in the morning ( except to go to school), I awoke her on school days at her usual 6:10 and encouraged her to play, draw or whatever her heart desired then. She had close to an hour to warm up to the idea of a bath later and the "getting ready to school" part which she did willingly on most days.
Today I even had time to spare to read her a story in the morning !

By the mid of August, I saw her heart going all rainbowy and glorious again. She no longer wants me hanging about the park. Atleast, not in a clingy way she did in the month of July when this was eating the both of us from the inside. She lost that sulky attitude she had for her friends when we waited at the bus pick up point. Now that was a good sign! She even came home most days very much chirpy.
She restored her ability to feel vital and capable. She was replenished by a kind of invisible support she received from us as parents.
She grew out of her ashes, only more boldly, more compassionately and more deeply enlivened as a person. Her soul was revived thus. It is as if she is blazing in her usual techno colour we hadn't seen for an entire month.

"I will see if I can talk to your class teacher about the yelling problem. We need to know the teacher's side of things as well. Right?".

She nodded quietly, very assured, in her signature understanding way.