I can see… through every fake smile and dishonest hug. I have smelt… the fragrance of pure love. I relish the taste… of a good laugh. I treasure the touch… of my mother’s fond glance. I don’t always speak… what I feel, but I’d like to. I would give anything to hear… the sound of truth.
I’ve discovered a magic therapy. Of late, many times (if not most of the times), I have seen and experienced it working wonderfully on myself. And I believe it has got to be effective if it can help someone with symptoms of hereditary Clinical Depression.
That reminds me. Over two years ago, when I was visiting a psychologist regularly for my certifications, she had told me quite clearly that I had a tendency to develop a mild Clinical Depression, especially since it has been being passed on, on my mother’s side, particularly amongst the women. She had advised me to keep psychiatric help accessible, especially through the most important forthcoming period of 3-4 years in my life. A lot was going to happen and even though it was all for the good, there was no guarantee of the period itself being good.
And surely, there were times when I would wish to skip life on particular days. I’d be desperate to find a way to just jump to the next day, or to somehow discover an Invisibility Cloak and simply carry on with life without having to undergo the pressure of being SEEN. How I wished that nobody would see me, nobody would look at me, that people could just see past me, like I was nothing but a molecule of air.
Today, however, I don’t see the point in thinking or talking about those days. Yes, they made me stronger, braver and all that, but today, I also wish I had tried the magic therapy in those days. But then, I didn’t know about it then. Well, actually, perhaps I did. Perhaps all of us do, because it is one of the earliest story lessons of our lives, but we forget about it. We grow up seeing most of the people around us complaining, cribbing and self-pitying; and somewhere along the way, we unknowingly learn it and make it our way of life too.
It’s simple. It’s the lesson we all learnt from the story of the poor man who didn’t have shoes, who went to the church to complain to God, and there, saw a man who was thanking God, even though he did not have legs.
About a month back, on NDTV, I happened to watch a special report on a 2 feet tall man, who was born without legs, without arms, without speech and hearing abilities. All you could see was a tiny torso and a little face. But what was most striking about that face was an absolute absence of complaint on it. The report showed the man going through all his daily activities by himself without any help whatsoever. And I found myself wondering whether it was right of me to make myself hopeless and helpless when there is such a vast landscape of hope and possibility in the world.
These days, when I am morose and basically carrying out an eternal crib-fest, I try to remember this man’s courage in the face of the cruel fate meted out to him by nature. And invariably, I find myself feeling guilty for not thinking above just my own self.
It is not always possible to think of another, when you’re busy thinking of the ‘unfairness’ of life you’re dealing with. It is only possible when there is that little spark existent somewhere deep inside you – the spark of a genuine desire to rid yourself off pain, the desire to be happy. I have a feeling that I just might be igniting that tiny spark inside me these days, that I might be succeeding in letting it prevail…
This spark which is gradually making me believe that despite all the flaws that I might be made up of, I’m likeable… because I like myself, I love myself, I want myself to be happy, and not on the parameters of the world, but on the scales of happiness that I have to define for my own self.
I wake up early and confirm to myself the plans for the day, plans – that I have been making since yesterday – will go shopping today, will meet Massi today, will watch a new movie today! Finally, a day when I’m not going to work and not even stay at home!
A nice long soothing wonderful shower starts the day. I wash my hair at length and pamper them with the lovely mint-flavoured conditioner I have recently discovered at my aunt’s!
With luxurious applications of a world of body lotions – varying from Peach to Plum to even Tea-flavoured – I let myself smell like an orchard, and revel in the concoction of fragrances that I have become.
Mmm… It’s just 10 am… A little too early to step out. Besides, my hair is wet. I’ll let it dry and catch a little nap right under the fan, wake up in an hour and by then, it would be the perfect time to start with the PLANS!
I spread the wet minted-hair on the bed, cover myself with the blanket and shut my eyes, loving the bundle of fragrances the blanket has become, thanks to me!
I half wake up, take my hand out of the blanket, touch my hair and realize that it is still moist. It can’t have been long since I slept. The hand comes back into the blanket and I go back into my fragrant sleep.
I half wake up, and begin to take my hand out of the blanket to touch my hair again, but vaguely realize that it seems to be going towards my tummy instead. “Grumble”, says the stomach, and I wake up with a start. The aromas seem distant and dying.
I push the blanket away to look at the clock. 3.30, it says! I’ve been sleeping for 5 hours! My hair is all dry and crumpled. Thankfully, it does still smell of mint. I don’t smell of fruits and orchards though. I just smell of sleep. My face is inflated and distorted. My plans are deflated and distorted.
I’m hungry – extremely hungry!! I haven’t eaten a thing since dinner last night, and there’s nothing cooked at home right now. I pick up one of the only two options available, and finish the half-eaten packet of Haldiram’s Kaju mixture. Clean!
“Grumble”, my stomach still says. Hence, I pick up the second option – the pack of Hide-and-Seek biscuits – and finish it clean too, while watching crap after crap on TV.
5 pm – Should I go out now? Should I not? I can’t meet Massi or go for a film alone now – it would get too late to come back alone. I can still go shopping though. And I can get myself some nice inexpensive dinner packed while coming back. Should I? Should I not?...... Doorbell!
Of all the options of days available in the week, the maid has chosen this particular day to perform her weekly duties towards this house. And so, for the next hour or so, as she cleans every nook and corner with utmost dedication, I carry on watching crap after crap on TV, including a film which has a younger-looking Akshaye Khanna with some hair still intact on his head repeating every 10 minutes of the film, “Agar mere dil mein eeshvar hai, agar mere dil mein sachchai hai, to woh mere paas zaroor aayegi”. I watch and hear him say that every time until the end when… surprise surprise! Ms. Aishwarya Rai does goes back running to him after all!
As I say Bye to the maid at the door, I can see that the world outside the door is getting dark already. I can’t go shopping.
Now? I can go take a walk in the Botanical Garden in the vicinity. While coming back, I can go to the market and pick up a packet of Maggi noodles.
I step out and head towards the garden. I can’t believe how totally dark it has become in the 5 minutes I took to struggle with my messy hair before coming out. I’m not accustomed to this area, and the absolute absence of human beings on the long stretch of the dimly lit road makes me unnerved. It doesn’t help that within 2 minutes, three different automobiles with three different sets of men in them pass by me and slow down right next to me to take a good look.
I turn back and head towards the house. On my way, I call up Domino’s and ask them for their cheapest pizza option available. I keep sitting on a slab outside the house waiting for the promised Pizza and counting the minutes, since it is Domino’s.
30 minutes have elapsed, and I don’t know whether to feel happy or sad that the Delivery boy is still not here. It means I am getting the pizza free. I do wish I had placed a big order and included Garlic Breadsticks and the Cheesy Dip and all the other yummy side-dishes. But I am not sure whether I should ask for the pizza free. I have been told that the delivery boys, when they’re late, start begging you to pay them, else the money would be deducted from their salary. If he does that, there’s no way I can’t not pay him. So, I call up the Domino’s number again to tell them directly that their delivery is late. I am told that there is no guarantee of 30 minutes in my area! It makes no difference to me… I say, “Oh, okay… May be you should have told me that at the time of taking the order.”
The delivery comes 40 minutes after this. I make the payment, take the Cheese & Tomato Regular Pizza, go inside the house, turn on the TV, realize that both the Oregano Seasoning packets are torn and empty and eat the bland cold Pizza while watching some more crap on TV.
The pizza over, I take my pills, change the channel, watch the entire length of one of the really cheap and funny multi-starrer Hindi films released of late and find myself laughing…
The cellphone hasn’t buzzed much all day. Not many people in the world needed me today, except yes, two friends - one of them calling to let me talk, and the other calling to talk. I talked in one call and listened in the other, although I don't think I remember much of either.
Now, the cellphone buzzes. An SMS. I reply, turn off the lights and turn myself into the blanket. A distant ghost of the ‘orchard’ engulfs me and I shut my mind before I shut my eyes. Thinking is not allowed… Sleep, Sleep, Sleep, Don’t think, Just Sleep… Don’t think… Just sleep, sleep… Just…
Days, Weeks, Months, Years… It’s so easy to get entangled in units of time. So easy to forget the fluidity of Life.
When too much is happening, it’s so easy to forget companions of the times when nothing much was happening.
And when one comes across those companions again, it’s so easy to decide to break the ice, another time.
So much Life has passed in the middle… It’s so easy to avoid the decision of what to tell, how to tell, how much to tell.
It’s so easy to make it a pattern… To avoid. To ignore. To turn away. To forget.
What is difficult is to say to them, “I missed you. Yes, I could manage… and manage well, perhaps. But I missed you, and I realize it more today when I’m meeting you after so long”
What is difficult is to acknowledge that you’re actually saying this to a beautiful part of YOU, that you have left with this companion – a part without which you would always be incomplete.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I missed you… and I realize it more today when I’m meeting you after so long.
I should have been irked, but I smirked. I should have got mad, but I was glad. You would have sure lost it, if not forced it. I should have been riled, but I smiled.
I could have been miffed, but It was a gift. I could have made a face, but I loved the phrase. You would have no sense, of how much it meant. I could have sure told you, but for this cold you!
And if you ask me, they’re not wrong! But then, am I the right person to decide? My opinion could be biased because my expectations have almost always led me to pain. But then, there are those in the world too, who know the recipe to make Happiness, with just the correct amount of Expectation and the accurate amount of Commitment. (If you happen to be one of them, please do share the recipe for the benefit of those who are hopelessly starved)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Before M painted my world red, I had actually never expected anything like that to happen in my life. I never thought it was possible, given my circumstances. And yet, when he came, I surprised myself with the realization that I had waited for it all along. There he was – an impossible dream that became my reality; but even before I could get a hang of the new wings my life had given me, he had turned back into a dream, more impossible than ever before. I had expected too much, asked for too much, and life had shown me where I belonged.
Night after day after night after day, I used to wait to treasure each syllable uttered by him for me, wait to capture each glance he would be kind enough to throw my way, wait to cherish every little touch of his on my skin. Yes, I was hopeless, I was helpless. I had completely lost myself in that waiting game, so much so, that I didn’t even realize that soon, I was the only one playing the game. The waits had slowly become longer, and eventually, turned endless.
A little part of me, perhaps, still plays that game, and I wish I could, but I just don’t have the heart to kill that part. I heard this somewhere… and I know how true it is:
“The most difficult to do in the world is not killing a man, but killing your dream”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
VS was not a dream. Nothing after M was. Whether anything or anybody could ever be, remains to be seen.
VS was a fantasy though. A passionate fantasy. When I look back at it today, I can remember almost nothing. It has all turned smoky, almost as if it had happened in a faraway place to somebody I don’t know. In fact, I might even be able to make myself believe that it had never happened at all, were it not for the potholes it has left for me on the road to Trust. I do often find myself analyzing those potholes and waiting for answers to pop out of them, even though I know that those answers will change nothing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Waiting is a game. It comes packed with excitement, frustration, anticipation, joy, sorrow – every damn thing you look forward to in a sport. And hence, there have to be rules for the Waiting Game.
But I don’t know what they are, or whatever I do know are the wrong ones, for I have certainly always found myself at the losing end of the game… I seem to always start as the one who is waited for, and end as the one who waits. It makes me edgy if I know that someone I care for is WAITING for me. I almost look at it as a punishment to them, and can’t relax until I have ended it for them. And yet, season after season, I find myself serving the very punishment I hate.
There is something certainly wrong somewhere. Is it that I expect too much? Can you be happy if you don’t expect? Can you be human if you don’t expect? If expectation is the root of pain, is it not the source of happiness too? Must I know the rules of this game, to stop losing?
I want to stop Waiting… I’m tired of this game… And there are two ways for my being able to STOP the game… One of them is not in my hands, though… And the one that is, might be just as painful as the game. Yet… I’m sick and tired of this game.
“Ooooh my God! That’s so cool Monsoon! I mean… that is PSYCHO! But it’s so cool!I just can’t get over it! Not that I’m in lack of compassion for you right now, but just how did you do it man? It’s like one of those challenging scenes for the actresses. Laughing laughing laughing… and then, suddenly break into crying! WOW! Tell me how DID you do it… I’m fascinated!”
Late last night, as I sat doing the usual… G-talking with "My First Visitor", I blurted something that has been playing my irritant ever since. Something to the effect of –
When we finally meet, you’ll be glad we remained “just friends”.
I was immediately snubbed by this somebody who could only have been a true friend.
What if I said you’re better off without seeing me or meeting me? How would you feel?
And that was the second when it hit me like a bullet. I realized that I would have probably run away from such a person. Who wants to know somebody that has no sense of self-worth? And even if I had stuck around, it would perhaps be more out of pity than willingness.
As the dismay of cutting out such a sorry figure gave way to some deep thinking through yesterday night and today, I’m finding myself face to face with perhaps the biggest reality of my existence.
I’ve always always tried to make up for my internal demons with external laurels.
I’ve always tried to find happiness in the world outside me… thinking that if this or that were to happen to me, then I’d be happy for good. Clearly, it hasn’t worked. Because despite the most extraordinary changes in my external world, my insides are still waiting for their dawn. Only now, the hope of a ray has got tied around a new pillar of expectation from the universe… yet again.
Somewhere along the hours of self-analysis, I vaguely remembered a term that has now found its way to the title of this post. EFT. I didn’t know what it meant. I just had a hazy memory that during my visits to a psychologist 2 years ago (in pursuit of happiness!), I had been advised to start using EFT on myself. “It can work wonders”, she had said, “and I just know that you would not find any way until you work upon yourself with EFT”. For various reasons, I had discontinued those visits, the major one being a belief that once I had achieved this bodily change I had been pining for, all would be sorted – without AND within. EFT or no EFT.
So, 2 years from then, today, I typed into Google Search – E F T, and discovered that it expands to – Emotional Freedom Technique – a therapy that involves two important things. Specific Acupuncture points on one’s body which are to be tapped with one’s finger tips. And an Affirmation statement, which has to be spoken aloud as one does this tapping.
Honestly, it looks quite silly to start with. And I now remembered that I had written it off as silly even 2 years back. But today, somehow, I am ready to have faith… What got me hooked was the fact that EFT is supposed to be self-healing; and it’s about healing self.
The Acupuncture points are technicalities (that is not to say that they’re not significant). The Affirmation, on the other hand, involves the creative writing of a statement through which one acknowledges one’s flaws in the first phrase, and then, goes on to announce self-love despite all those flaws, in the concluding phrase. The ‘flaw’ doesn’t need to fall under any defined brackets. It could range from a physical ailment to a psychological stress to even issues of weight. The idea is to basically work on a person’s self-image and ingrain self-love in them.
An example would be: Even though I think I’m fat and ugly, I choose to deeply and completely love and accept myself (or… I choose to feel beautiful and loved).
The technique is supposed to aid in discovering and tackling the deep dark issues that lie buried in the roots of these superficial problems. It forms a way to unravel these layers one by one, and eventually helps one love and accept oneself despite every ‘shortcoming’.
No. I’m not an ambassador of EFT. At least not just yet. But in the coming few days, weeks, or maybe, months, I’ll keep updating this space with my experiences through this seemingly remarkable therapy.
EFT: Day 1
Yes, I gave it a try today. The first statement I felt I needed was this:
Even though I feel EFT will not be able to help me without a therapist, I choose to help EFT work on me.
Actually, I feared that all my attempts might be in vain without a professional EFT therapist around. And interestingly, this first round did help me allay those concerns to some extent. [I was quite loud and passionate as I spoke that sentence]
As I tried to form the next Affirmation in my mind, the words started to prick my eyes. I couldn’t believe that I was hurting already…
To acknowledge pain and the source of it is a huge step towards inner peace. EFT experts claim that the therapy is all about accepting yourself as a whole, the pain, the bruises all included.
I don’t know what the tears meant, and I won’t let my mind run to conclusions, lest I should end up speaking too soon.
But yeah, the name sounds just right to me – Emotional Freedom! I think that’s one wish we must all add to the list of wishes we send out on birthdays, anniversaries and all those happy day celebrations!
It’s amazing! This world of blogging! Too bad, I’ve remained unknown to it for so long. But then, I’ve remained unknown to many wonderful things in the world. Books, to start with. World cinema (Terrible, Monsoon! Terrible! Terrible!) And… Dates (;_;).
My mother just came in and we had this little dialogue…
Mamma: What do you keep doing on computer all day? Don’t you get tired? Monsoon: (lost in a wonderful blog) Hmmm…? Mamma: What’re you doing? Monsoon: (still lost; mumbles) Nothing.
Mother goes away.
I didn’t quite get to notice her expression as she left, but I bet you can imagine it, just as I can. Of course, I don’t keep doing blogs all day [as you would know if you’ve read my previous post]! But for the most part of today, I have. And oh my! There’re so many brilliant writers out there. And most have been blogging for over 3 years! I seriously have a lot of catching up to do.
Of late, however, I’ve found myself wondering just how much or how little of myself must I pour into my blog. Who am I writing it for? Who SHOULD I write it for? Myself, right? But then, isn’t the whole thing about a blog to let others read you? Why WOULD they want to do that, unless of course, they happen to be my friends, lovers, family, or random people I’ve bribed? Or… unless if I write well enough? OR… if there’s something extraordinary about this blog or this blogger?
Which is where my next dilemma begins. How right or wrong is it to flash your extraordinariness to increase your number of hits per day? Would it have been better if the likes of Aamir Khan and Amitabh Bachchan had not projected their true identities along with their blogs? [Oh by the way… hehehe… If you’re trying to read between the lines… THIS blogger is not a celebrity!] Yeah, I know, I know! They want to reach out to the public at large and all that. But just how many of the actual number of ‘public’ can they reach through a high-tech thing (it still IS one in India, if you ask me) like a blog?
Well, I haven’t visited any of the celebrity blogs myself. Even from a distance, they somehow smell fake… And much like KG, ‘fake’ is my turn-off.
Coming back to the dilemma of this freshly-baked blogger… How much of me should go into my blog? And how much of my blog should occupy me?
Expert suggestions… opinions… experiences… Welcome! The door to the Comments room is right below!
I’ve realized that I write mostly when I’m in one of those down-and-out kind of states. Too bad! I must be fair to all my moods… Agreed, the sullen ones happen to be a bit too regular with me, but then, sometimes, I think I tend to be a bit partial towards them too. They think they’re going to be welcomed anytime they decide to drop in… And I’ve given them every reason to feel that way.
But you know what? I’m going to change that now! I’m happy today… and I’m going to make a big deal out of it! Because hey! “Happy” deserves better… She’s a rare occurrence around the world anyway, like one of the migratory birds, and if we do not give her special treatment… forget special treatment! If we do not give her at least equal treatment as “Sad”, the everyday sparrow, then she might decide to fly away altogether… and leave the barren lands of our souls to be inhabited by her nemesis for all times to come! And that’ll be Sad (;_;)
So, while I feed my Happy Bird and make her a better friend, the Sad Bird can try and go hungry for a while… a long while actually, if the friendship develops into love. Now, I do love my Sad Bird too, because she makes me kind-of more realistic about my life, but I’ve realized that she has a way of finding food even when I try to starve her. And more often than not, the Ugh!-thing returns stronger than ever!!! Let’s see what she does this time… and meanwhile, I’m going to tap my feet to the song of Happy (^_^)
Monsoon is the most beautiful of all weathers, and yet, it could be the most devastating.
I have just about stepped out of the scorching Summer, and am all set to discover the many shades in the rainbow, this Monsoon of my life.
In hope of merry winds, clear waters and limitless lush green valleys...
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