Once Upon A Time

Parting, Separation, and Loss is something part and parcel of life. This is something that we go through gradually almost every day. Not all of us sit and reflect about it. There are moments of stillness, often I used to wonder would things ever change? But, every second, things are in a process of change. Time spent with people who passed on, now, when looked back looks like a different paradigm, a dream, an illusion. All that time now look like a fairy tale. Once upon a time and that time was just ‘Once’, but back then it looked like a prolonged conflict and confrontation against the time and space. I often go into this mode of introspection, how this lane will be after twenty years. Perhaps the grocery store may turn into a big mall. That corner where this beggar used to sit with a dog. What happened to that beggar, could he manage to sustain all his life begging? Was anyone there when he passed away? What happened to that Dog?

Just a few weeks back when I went for a walk in the park behind my house, I saw this sudden emptiness. To my horror, I saw this huge thick tree went missing. I stood for a minute on the spot looking for traces of the tree. Apparently, the resident welfare association had to cut it because the branches were growing inside the house. The reason which never made sense to cut off the whole tree. Unbelievable! This tree now has become ‘Once Upon A Time’. Right in front of me the once upon a time came to exist. That huge tree which witnessed the history of that place passing through for more than 100 years. We have let go of the archived material of our history by cutting down the tree.  Ah! But all these thoughts would sound all cliché. They must have sowed seeds in the huge park to compensate the loss. How do you compensate something which used to be a treasure house of all those time and space? What could tree give, wood, oxygen, shade, and houses for birds, squirrels? Who cares about the history of few 100 years. In the place of trees, these days lie nothing more than a heap of trash. On which the cats and dogs take a nap during winters.

Far Side of the Moon

Then came the sun light, oh! it is the last light of the day. 

Ah the Moon! what whims and fancies it has got,

Some days it will choose to blind me with its unabashed brightness;

its naked glow drenching me,

and some days it has the choice of sheepishly not been seen;

soaking me in its utter silence.

I scribbled it as the bus moved closer to my hometown. The Moon today was too luminous for me. I wanted to hide in its far side, which I believe will be more soothing in dark. I wondered whether Do I have a choice like the Moon, fading in and out? With all its blemish spots, the Moon is admired for its beauty and elegance. Well, how do I compare myself with Moon. Moon has its lunar cycle and so do we all have. I was nervous wondering with all my flaws, will I be ever accepted back? I froze on the spot when I reached my hometown. Chill rose up my spine just thinking about it. I am returning after more than a decade carrying my backpack, which have exactly two pair of clothing, my documents and along with it my only precious thing, My Faith.  At this moment all I can remember what my father used to say, “Life is a Treasure Hunt. It is more fun to find the clues and follow the lead, instead of giving road maps and leading a safe life”. Indeed, I have been playing quite a safe game. The road map that I gave myself was an easy maze for treasure hunt. I got inside from one end and it was pretty easy to get out from the other end as I was carrying the blueprint of it. Perhaps, I should have given myself a Labyrinth model for the treasure hunt. It would have been one single pathway, venturing and returning through same way would have been more challenging. Well, why would I want challenging task when I was safe with the blueprint of the maze.

So it was quiet easy for me to get through one of the best university of the world as I believed that I am naturally intelligent and fetched the highest grades. I abandoned my dream and goal of pursuing higher studies, as I saw my peers doing well with a good package and incentives. Eventually, as I believed ‘eventually’, getting the highest position sounded more easy and took no time to grab the opportunity. I was so used to being at heights, that was my comfort zone. Well, yes there is nothing wrong in such pursuits, it was just that I forgot about the Balance. I just gave myself that one maze for my voyage and lost the sense of treasure hunt. And later I got carried away and took the ‘high’ in literal sense and to feel more high I got into drugs. Yeah, I know such a cliché life.

With a shivering hand, I called up my parents. I didn't know if they would like to have me home. I heard my mom's shrilled voice exactly after nine years. Last time apparently she called me to wish me on my birthday which went to my voice mail as I was busy celebrating my birthday and never thought of calling her back. She wrote many letters too, which remained unopened and eventually I left it all when I was shifting to my palatial house. The letters stopped coming as I did not share the address with my parents. So when I heard her voice, I choked and felt breathless. And my mom being my mom just recognized the scuffled breath, she screamed out of happiness.

Back in my bedroom, I managed to fit myself in my old bed. It is going bit high and low, but the rehab is working. This time I chose labyrinth instead of maze for my new treasure hunt. A Unicursal; single pathway. I am dwelling into the deepest and darkest places within me. Exploring my other and far side which I acknowledge is bit complicated now. I started believing in my instincts as it prompts me to pick up the clues in leading my way. The acceptance by my parents was more than smooth, but overall with twists and turns and living up to the acceptance is the biggest challenge. Trekking and hiking, hitting the low and high and eventually journeying through the Center of my Self. At the end, the insight doesn’t lie in getting the treasure but the entire passage of the journey to reach to that goal. 

I closed my eyes and sensed the radiance blinding me. I felt the white rays peeking with a knowing smirk through the curtains, seeking me. I replied;

The light of the Night, Ah! the Moon,

the shining Armour grooving with;

smooth craters and rickety path throughout.

Still choose to go with the Cycle and the Flow.

The Far Side of You, often seemed hidden;

construed as dark or perhaps black or just pale.

I chose to Seek and Scratch into that dark of Unknown;

like You, I am glowing with radiance from the creeks of my Flaws.

-----Both our rays seeped and joined together, 

enveloping in the cradle of the Universe. 

The Sound Of The Heart

Since my childhood, I was fascinated seeing and using the ‘stethoscope’. I used to wait for the day to meet Dr. Mayee for my monthly check up, who I remember was such a delightful and kind lady. As a reward for the proper behaviour other children waited to put their hands inside the candy jar. But Dr.Mayee knew that, I will wait for something different, yes the ‘stethoscope’. The whole process of plugging it in my ears and listening to the internal sounds of my body, especially the heart, thrilled me so much. “Now, do you hear the sound “lab, dub” asked Dr.Mayee, I replied, ‘nope, this time I hear ‘burp, murp, bit different from last time”. She smiled and asked “And what was that you heard last time?” I replied “hop-cop hop -cop”. Dr. Mayee and my mum had a good laugh that left me baffled because I did hear burp murp, hop-cop. “Your kido is very creative, she might become a writer, painter or…..” said Dr. Mayee. But my mother vehemently protested, “No, Dr.Mayee, she is definitely going to be a doctor”. I heard the “lub dub, lub dub” sound at that moment. It was weird that I would hear “lub dub” sound whenever I am caught red handed by my parents for licking ice cream from the fridge or when I took chocolates without my parent’s permission. So, I had a deal with my heart that when I do something not right, it should “lub dub” me, just as Dr. Mayee and mother said. That was way back when I was 5-year-old. Well I was just 5 and I had a liberty to imagine the most impossible thing, somehow, we lose that liberty and rationalise (I would say condition) our thoughts when we grow up. So, I was never a naughty kid and have been an obedient child to my parents. I have always listened to my parents, my teachers and my mentors and always got A’s in my school and college projects. My teachers and mentors till date remember me as a hardworking, determined, sincere and honest student.

When I was in fifth grade, my grandmother took me to children’s home and old age home to spend some quality time during my holidays or sometimes even during weekends. My grandma is an open-minded person who has always encouraged me to stand up with my opinions. She was my best buddy. We used to have endless talks about any random things. My grandma knew that I used to hate movies. ‘It is full of drama, grandma. I would have ended the story in a different way’ I used to tell her. Once she laughed and said “well, why don’t, you be the director of the movie then”. Whenever I watched movies, I always used to get frustrated that why the certain character or protagonist is over analysing or over dramatizing the situation. As my grandmother used to tell me, ‘you hate it because you detach from dramas, you don’t like complications and you like to keep it simple’. I used to ask her during those stressful years I was at loggerhead with my parents to choose my subjects in college and university, “whether life can be simple and less complicated too” and she would reply, “why not, if you choose to keep it simple and listen to your heart, who will stop you”. It was my grandma who encouraged me to search for that element within me, which I belonged to.

As a social service project in school I started reading out or did storytelling session with children and old age people in these homes where my grandma took me during the holidays. What started as a mere school project to get better grades, later, had become my obsession. I developed an inkling for storytelling. In each storytelling session, I could hear my heart’s frequency in line with that of an acoustic guitar. For me the sessions were like the sound of the guitar’s strings when plucked, I can feel the sound reverberates and is transmitted in the surrounding and produces a vibration in alignment with my body; right from my head to toe. Sometime hitting a low note of 27.5 Hz and the highest vibration at 4,186 Hz of piano, as I have heard from the musicians. I survived my teenage years with extra pocket money as I managed to get part time job with my skill in the neighbourhood libraries or in some kid’s birthday parties. I kept my passion alive throughout. Indeed, I had become the director of my stories. It was only later in my life that I realized that the element within me which I belonged to is the Storyteller!

Even during the off days, I would carve out an hour or so for the story telling session. Sometime I used to feel that I am the Doctor with a specialization in storytelling. I strongly felt that my storytelling session transmitted healing vibes to the patients; by listening to my stories, seeing and feeling my facial expression, gesture of hands, the modulation in my tone and voice. At that moment, it all made sense to me on why I heard “burp, murp or hop cop”, because I heard and imagined story in the flow and rhythm of my body, be it my heart beat, or my pulse or flipping of my eye lashes while blinking my eyes or my fingers while curving it to write, or my wavy movement of my hair or tinkling of my earrings in my ears, the pace of my breathe, my heart beating with the tunes of stories… Each movement whether internally or externally created a story for me. I have often wondered just like the expressive therapy of music and dance can there also be story telling therapy? 

So, by so-called marriageable age, my family worried and prayed that its time I should find someone and get married. Which didn’t happen for some time, however eventually it happened and I got married. It was a great occasion with usual fun and frolic, with “aww” and “ooh” about our “made for each other pair". Of course, life did change drastically, to live and share the room, bed and cupboard with a man. The timings of my duty changed and often shifted. The night shift was abandoned forever. My story telling sessions decreased and some days I would have to rush home without the storytelling session. I can see in the kids and older people with a longing in their eyes that how they missed my antiques of storytelling. Older people, well they understood that now my life is different after marriage, with kids, of course it was bit tough. Sometimes the kids would not let me leave without making me tell at least one story. My husband initially wondered if I am really a doctor. My husband to start with, is generally an understanding person (or maybe I convinced myself that he is an understanding person), but he was not sure what I mean by storytelling person. Well, it was embarrassing for me to express what it meant and what made it more hard to express was neither had he ever asked me what I mean. The answer would simply be “well, why don’t you be like other normal doctors”.

And this week he added, “Anyway, make sure you don’t indulge in such activities from next week”. Our parents are coming to visit us for some time”. Maybe he doesn’t has to understand, but his way of not even trying to hear me out about what and why I do, made me hear the tremor in my heart. I told myself, “It doesn’t matter, it is not necessary we all will share the same wavelength”. So, I chose to ignore his constant pinching and manipulative opinions and talks. However, little did I know that I was muting the sound of my heart, gradually?

My husband parents are very kind and it was pleasure to spend time with them. But that means my duty time at the Hospital will be cut down and although my husband was somehow convinced that he can maintain his standard time. Even the dinner outing with his colleagues was justified as it was part of his network building. Honestly, I missed my job. Unconsciously, I was becoming stranger to myself; I had become deaf to the flow and rhythm of my body. However, the daily chores of my life kept me so busy that I had stopped hearing what my heart sounded like anymore. My husband after few days decided to take a half day holiday from work and asked me to do the same, as his parents and my parents and other family members would be around. He decided to take them for some recreational activity. That particular day was important for me to be around in the hospital as it was one of our elderly patient, Mr. Dabby’s birthday. Mr.Dabby has been suffering from cancer for the last 5 years. With chemotherapy, he did manage to sustain, however he was aware that it will not last long. His family had been planning his birthday party since last month and I was the highlight of the party as a story teller. He would always laugh lovingly with his skin drooping from his neck, “Oh, it is your story telling therapy on which I am sustaining”. He loved me so much and I could really see a spark in his eyes, and undoubtedly, I was his favourite. I thought “aah, it doesn’t matter I can still do it before I call my day off in the hospital”. So the day started as usual. I finished my shift with all my patients. And after that I helped decorating Mr.Dabby’s room and helped wrapping the gifts with the children. Everything was going as any mundane day, however suddenly I felt the “lub dub” sound that was strange because today since morning I was hearing it “dab bday, dab bday”. In fact, after many years I was hearing ‘lub dub’. Suddenly my childhood nervousness came rushing. I went out to distract myself. I see a nurse came rushing teary eyed, rambling that Mr.Dabby’s daughter in law had met with an accident when she tried to save her daughter while crossing the road, when the family was arriving at the hospital to celebrate Mr.Dabby’s birthday. The doctors rushed the lady to the operation theatre immediately. I quickly texted my husband about the emergency at the hospital. I rushed to Mr.Dabby’s 5 year old grand-daughter who was weeping constantly.

I took her in my arms and went to Mr. Dabby’s room and I sat on his arm chair with his grand-daughter. I was consoling her that her mommy will be okay. Seeing her condition Mr. Dabby composed himself and tried to talk to her animatedly. The nurse kept updating us about the mother’s condition. Meanwhile, I was trying to distract the little girl with the story of a 'mother cat who tried over-protecting her kitten which always ended up in a trouble, however in the end the kitten after rescuing himself from a problem earned his mother’s trust with a promise he will obey and listen to his mom'. The little girl suddenly leaped with excitement, “Oh, I get it now. Thank you doctor, you solved the problem. Just like the kitten I have to earn my mother’s trust”. Both, Mr. Dabby and I had confused smiles. The little girl closed her eyes and prayed, “Mum, I promise to you that I will obey and listen to you”. At that moment, I saw the nurse hopping in with a smile that the mother is stable now. The girl hugged me, “you saved my mom. Thank you for telling me the story. You are the best story teller”. Obviously, my story telling has nothing to do with the mother’s stable condition. The credit goes to the doctors who performed the operation. But I was thrilled that my storytelling had created a ray of hope for the little girl. By the end of the day, it was a happy story. Mr.Dabby’s family profusely thanked me for taking care of their child and appreciated me for distracting their daughter with my storytelling skills. We did manage to celebrate Mr.Dabby’s birthday and of course my storytelling was the best gift I could give to Mr.Dabby, as told by him.

I was feeling content and happily walked drenched in the rain to reach home. Heard splashing of rain along with my foot tapping and my heart singing, hitting the highest note this time. I suddenly remembered, “Meddah”, yes, I felt like Meddah. The Meddah were the public storytellers in Turkey. They used to educate and entertain in markets, coffeehouses, mosques whose main aim was to bequeath morals and ethics to public through the art of storytelling. I was so excited to tell my family about today’s episode. I ran through our main gate and entered my house. I saw my family sitting in couch, I had a huge smile, “You know, guess what happened today” my husband replied, “So, another storytelling session of yours, definitely not a eureka guess that I have made”. Out of excitement I almost missed the layers of sarcasm in his tone, “oh yes, how you know that”. Then I heard my family, including all my cousins, broke into riots of laughter. That hit me so hard in the chest that I could feel the heat travelling from my chest to my ears. One of my cousin said, “he was just telling us about your storytelling session” and my other cousin was surprised, “you still do that?” I saw my husband’s face slapped with a smirk and that was followed by another round of laughter. My throat dried up and my heart sounded, “nope, nope, nope, nope”. I went to my room to change my drenched clothes. My husband followed me and added indignantly that he is reconsidering to have children as he is not sure if I can take care of a child or the family as I am too busy most of the time with the unproductive activity other than my job. The second hit me right into my stomach. He was mad at me for been late for the family get to together.

I stood under the shower with tears running down my face feeling unconvincingly guilty for not being there for my family. At one hand was Mr.Dabby’s family and their daughter, who I could not have left in that kind of situation. I was appreciated in the hospital for been kind to help them through their difficult time by just being there with them. On the other hand is my family who had been waiting for me to spend time with me. My today’s act made me a heartless woman for my husband who doesn’t want to have children with me. Who could I have chosen at that moment?

On one hand I was this perfect human being for Mr.Dabby’s family but for my family I was the joke who indulged in unproductive activities. I wondered, when did life get so complicated? I kept my hand over my breast to hear my heart. It was definitely not saying “lub dub, lub dub” and suddenly it dawned to me. It’s a sound from my heart that I am not listening to my heart. The deal I had with it in my childhood, but then what is it saying? I tried to calm down and hear “Meddah, Meddah, Meddah. Tears of happiness rinsed my face and my emotions. I remembered my grandma’s words, life can be simple if ‘I Chose It’.

While sipping a mug of coffee and hearing the parent’s advices and vices, my cousins gossips about recent crushes and affair, my husband’s skill of intelligent (as he thought so) manipulated sarcastic talks, why, my own observations of people in the room showed me characters and roles performed by all us. I realized I have been striving hard to perform a role by being perfect to everyone; I had become doctor because my parents wanted. Well, not that I hated being a doctor. I absolutely love my job. But, if I had introspected bit during my university days, maybe I would have preferred studying literature and folktales.

I got married to fulfill the societal norms, because everyone believed that this is what is expected. I tried to be the perfect wife that my husband wanted to be. In this process, I realized where am “I”? I didn’t want to disappoint anyone and then complicate my life. Little did I know this is exactly what was complicating my life! When did I last hear my heart, which whispered stories to me, instead now I let it chew the story? I realized ‘the journey of self-discovery is what will lead to the “I am”.

The stethoscope that I was fascinated since my childhood was an instrument to hear my heart out. I was told and often laughed at for not believing that the sound of the heart is “lub dub, lub dub”. I realized that, what I was hearing “burp, murp”, “hop, cop”, “Meddah, Meddah” is the conversation that I have with my heart. The lub dub is the norm set by the conventions. And I chose to look beyond the lub dub. For me, the very emotion that is produced in the process of storytelling is fascinating. All of us create and carry story every day, each minute and each second. Each storytelling process whether reading out or writing speaks a story itself about the person who is listening, reading or writing. Doesn’t it push us to dream beyond our illusion of limitations and inspires us to reach for being oneself? Doesn’t it show us the human value? My brother in law \rupted my thoughts and asked, “so what is the next plan for you guys” obviously hinting at family planning. “Well……” my husband started. I kept my coffee mug down on the table and cut him in, I smiled and said “I” Plan to be a Meddah”, confusing everyone for next one year. However, I did liberate myself eventually.

By the way my name is Ms. May, a Meddah by profession. I remember the famous quote though I will paraphrase it bit “I hear” my heart and therefore ‘“I am” Ms. May’ and this is my Story!

 Published in Art Parasites 

http://www.artparasites.com/this-is-the-real-power-of-storytelling-healing-solace-and-bringing-people-home/