My Short Little Random Muses of U-N-D-O Growing U-P

I have this funny weird problem of not remembering things in a normal sense. As like when you are asked to do something, you just remember it to do it or you may write it down somewhere so that you remember it later. However, with me, it never worked like that, because I found it boring. I found this whole process of remembering boring and dead. Therefore, in my childhood what I did was to just make up random stories of everything I see, I heard or when others spoke so that I could remember. So naturally, alphabets were easy to learn. It sounded like poetry to me. I can manipulate the alphabets to words to sentence to paragraph to an essay and eventually to stories. I found this whole process fascinating. It was a different world together; just me and my alphabets. The problem was always with Maths. Till date, I can never understand numbers, why the number 1 is 1, I mean how do I manipulate it. How do I create stories around it? No matter what story I create, it is always being 1 apple or 1 pencil or 1 car. Well, there were geniuses like Pythagoras a revered mathematician and philosopher for who mathematics was music and poetry. Each one has their capacity. And perhaps I chose not be a genius. This may sound arrogant but again the term genius is defined in a small box, too narrow to fit in people like me. Most of the genius work has never been visible, unheard, unknown, unsung, unspoken and in fact never noticed and realized. Something like Sun, I am not getting into the technicality of our huge fireball. But all those never-ending sun-rise and sun-sets which may look like monotonous process, but then it does such miracles from a simple peeking and spreading of its blanket of its rays of aura and fuelling the humanity with silver light of hope. The melting of our emotions at sunset and rising of humane spirit with every sunrise. The solace one could feel while sitting in a park during the cold shivery winter seasons, the sweet innocent nap during the winter noon’s lap. The blooming of flower with such beautiful accents of elegance, heart filled hues of orange, pink, red and blues, draped in the layers of its velvet pleats, the buds blossoming with such pride. Aren’t those simple invocations of emotions a genius’s work? Well, then who really cares about simple sentiments as long as it doesn’t involve complicated technicality.

Anyway, coming back to my beautiful elusive mind, so I used to create stories for remembering things. And that further pushed my imagination for every random thing.  Once long time back I remember trying hard to sleep in the night, but the sleep refused to comply. So I wondered if I had to visualize sleep, what sleep would look like. Na, I cannot imagine someone sleeping in her or his bed. But literally, I wanted to visualize ‘sleep’. Is it just about being dark like when we close our eyes? But then we see dream too, we still can see dreams with closed eyes. So how would I visualize Sleep? Perhaps, entering a dark room with this huge torch or a flickering torch? However, here is a twist may be entering the room with this life-size torch and a vulture clutching me in his claws and while I dangle from its claws and may be floating, who knows? Yes, it can be vultures. The only thing we notice is vultures are flesh eater.  Well, of course, they do eat flesh, it is their food. Besides that, let us also notice the heart it has which lab dabs like for us. Let us notice the power, strength, the beautiful sharp curve of its beak, a swan-like neck of it and lastly the beautiful round restless eyes of it. So that’s how I imagined sleep then. And I went on making stories out of stories until the sleep caught hold of me. 

And about remembering things. Once. my dad when asked me to get some stuff from the market. Knowing me, he specifically gave me a list of things written down on a piece of paper to be bought. But then what is the fun in remembering things that way. So I created a story out of this. The list contained detergent powder, deodorant, shaving kit and a body lotion. So here goes the story of these combinations: Once the detergent and deodorant both went to take a photo as they were the best buddies. They tagged the photo as “Before Wash and After Wash”. When the Shaving kit and body lotion heard about their photos together, they both felt jealous for being the left out ones. When once detergent and deodorant were sleeping, the body lotion squeezed out the bit of its lotion and mixed it with the detergent and so the detergent became unusable. The shaving kit took out a blade from its kit and cut out the knob of the deodorant and thus the deodorant also couldn’t be used again. And so the story served the purpose for remembering what I had to buy- detergent powder, deodorant, shaving kit and a body lotion. The story was fun too.

I already see and hear the weird looks and sounds from you. But then this is how my stories and I are wired. Once my elder sister asked me to buy her a long earring for a function that was coming up in our house. She said, “Strange, you better remember this, buy me a dangling earring and not a small ear stud. The small ear stud makes me look fatter”. Before I get into that, yes my name is Strange, why can’t this be a name. People have been calling me strange since my childhood. I told myself this is such a perfect name, it sounds sharp, crisp and short. So my name at home is Strange. I insisted on changing my name to Strange officially, but then I could only negotiate for calling me Strange only inside the walls of our home. So now back to my sister’s earring. It is beyond my comprehension how an ear stud can make anyone look fatter. Neither I have ever understood why when we grow up getting chubbier become a taboo. I remember when babies or little girls or boys were chubby, people literally drool over their absolute cuteness, but then the very same term becomes obsolete when we grow up. I guess when we grow up we cling to more confirmed and accepted terms of ‘slim, thin, beautiful, sexy, slender, fair’ so on and so forth. Suddenly the term, ‘cute’ confuses us. I have often heard from my sister, now what does cute mean? Is it being chubby or slender, beautiful or just some looks? And I have no answers for it either. And anyway no one ever understood my views as I was the Strange one. So the earring story was; this pair of earring, absolutely adored each other. They loved to be in each other’s company always. It was more as if they were inseparable. They always dangled and sang in a tone of more like squeaking. Once this disturbed a sleeping witch. However, she was a sweet witch. The witch lightly cursed them, “Thou shall be inseparable, ironically the beholder’s beauty would separate thou. Once one is lost, the other one will always be abandoned for eternity”. This curse doomed the entire earrings. Therefore, it lies with the one who is using the earrings, once they lose one of it, the other one can never be used again. Again, I have never understood why the earring cannot be worn only in one ear. These days we see this fashion trend famous among men than women. The earrings too assumed gender roles. Therefore, that’s how I remember getting the danglers for my sister.

So I was gradually growing up (only in terms of number as in age), with such imaginations. And along with these fascinations, I began writing. As I could only talk out my imagination to a piece of paper and now to my Khayal my beautiful red laptop. Khayal is the Urdu word, which means, thoughts and imaginations. She is always ready to cater and feed my imaginations. So I have been writing for living my life. Please note I said Live and not Survive. Again if I visualize to Live and to Survive I ended up writing this poem for a magazine:

What' s the time, I peeked

to return back on the mundane lane.

I wondered how can I sneak

into the Alice in Wonderland?

The rabbits are not like white rabbits,

they don't seem to get late ever.

whether is there any such land,

where one can ponder and wonder?

Will it be splendid to walk miles or

To fall in the rabbit hole or 

walk through a wall or door, and

find a world with different paradigm?

Where there is no perception,

no misconception, no beauty, no ugly,

no woman, no man, no night, no day, 

no light and no dark.

Coffee with the fairies in the woods,

served honey by the bees, and

brunch with the elephants,

dinner under the wisps of stars

Talking through silence, 

if only the bibbity, bobbity, boo,

and abraka dabra, works

if only the clock never strikes 12.

Alas! the clock did strike,

not midnight 12 but 5 in the dawn,

holding the mane, sun in the vain.

Oh, returning back to the mundane lane! 

My mundanity never existed, this is what I believed. But then over the next years, I was bitten by this bug called growing up and without me realizing it the monster mundanity like a snake sneaked into my life. When if sometimes I felt overwhelmed with all this grown-up stuff, I find a bizarre sense of serenity while sitting under the tree shade in an utterly sunny day. The sun looked so heartless, literally burning out with full force. Likewise, I would fume too. Today in the morning, I carried my laptop Khayal and my diary, banged the door shut and dashed out of the house. I have this deadline tomorrow to submit a writing piece. I guess I am going through that what people call it as ‘writer’s block’. This creativity breakdown was getting on my nerves; why am I so blocked. The left-brain seems to over-dominate the right brain, it seems to in fact outgrow the right one, saying, “who is the king, baby”.

I lied on the pricking and chilling grass, the trees and its lanky huge branch, lazily dangling leaves, brightly lit flowers seemed bending over me and felt like looking inside my head. The filtering of the sun rays through the gaps of the branches and leaves felt like sugar-coated chili on my skin. The squirrels mindless chasing of each other, the gingerly pecking sound of wood by the woodpecker and the ants gently crawling through the slim branch of tree diverted me for few minutes. One particular ant was carrying this huge leaf for its tiny size, slipping away after every few inches and still, it tenaciously kept dragging the leaves. My mind wondered what the heck is this writer’s block, a blank space or carton or … and with that last thought the long pending nap overtook me.

I happen to wake up in this dark place. Oh, is it already night? Nope it isn’t, it seems to be pitch dark and I don’t feel the grass, rather it is a chilly floor below me. Oh no, have I been kidnapped? Where the hell I am. I tried recollecting and like a flash I remembered about the sun, tree, flowers, leaves, squirrel, the sound of pecking and the ant and yeah I was on writer's block phase. “Damn, woman, open your damn eyes. It is not dark; you are dreaming with your eyes closed”. At that moment, I don’t know why I remembered my childhood imagination of ‘Sleeping’ and ‘Dreaming’.

I jerked out with that voice. Oh, yeah how stupid of me, I rubbed my eyes and now I see the light. “Who the hell is it and where am I?” I screamed out of fear.  “Finally, you woke up from your deep slumber. I am your Block, the Writer’s Block, now help me to unblock you”. I squeaked, “what”? I couldn’t believe what I am hearing. “who are you kidding with”. The Writer’s Block had a smirk and said “LOLed”. I asked again “what”? “Well,” it said, “I just laughed out loud, so LOL, this is what you guys call right. Now listen Missy, I don’t have the whole day with you. It was you who asked what the heck is this writer's block, so here I am to show writer's block”. My mind went blank, is Alice in Wonderland happening to me? Did I fell inside a rabbit’s hole? Oh my, I need to write it down later and I heard it “Yeah you can do it later” My heart skipped a beat. I heard it again. I thought my imagination and fascination is on fire today.

I looked around, it was a weird place with unusual lightings and a broad lane with a decent view. The lane was not a smooth, but rickety one. A huge leaf of life-size was falling down; I ran like crazy. The writer’s block looked back and said “do yourself a favor. Stop overthinking, that’s a tiny leaf”. And it was right indeed, the leaf looked tiny.  I wondered, is something wrong with my vision?” and damn Writers Block seems to read my mind, it replied, “no, you just over think”. I cleared my throat and asked, “so what do I unblock, as I don’t see any block here?”. It replied, “keep walking”. I rolled my eyes, how bossy of it to talk to me like that. We kept walking for a long time. And sometime later, I see us entering in this huge pipe, I wondered oh it looks like I need to unblock this pipe and then I can start writing. I happily stepped in as I thought we are closer to the end of this weird Alice in Wonderland ordeal. While walking inside this huge drainage sort of pipe, at one point my mouth dropped. Because I was seeing these alphabets and words all leaning lazily against the wall of the pipe, like standing in some sort of queue. I rubbed my eyes again, oh dear these are real alphabets grown with eyes, nose, and mouth. I hear them saying, “shh shhh, oh here she is. Dude listen up can you just write down quickly I am really tired of standing here.” I stepped back and bumped into this weird words, “AAAHHHHH”, I shrieked, I spelled those words F-E-A-R, P-A-N-I-C”. Wow, the word FEAR PANIC we believe is such a distress but when seen alive looks damn funny, it is literally holding itself together very hard so that it doesn’t disintegrate. It was looking so funny that I couldn’t hold my laughter and I was rolling down laughing.  In fact, soon I see it vaporizing and vanished into thin air.

It again went dark and I felt something sticking into my nose, pricking my eyes and mouth. I took it in my mouth and it tasted so raw or maybe grass. Is it grass? Why on earth I am chewing grass. I tried looking around for Writers Block which was leading my way and all those alphabets. But again it was all dark, I thought oh wait a minute am I closing my eyes? Indeed, I was. I opened my eyes only to find white and yellowish blanket blinding my eyes. I rubbed my eyes only to realize that was the burning sun. I lied down there for some time chewing a strand of grass in my mouth and reminiscing what I saw whether a dream or my imagination. So that’s what Writers Block looked like. There was literally nothing to unblock. Last I saw two words of F-E-A-R and P-A-N-I-C. I laughed so hard that I scared away a flock of birds sitting on the branches and a dog almost choked on the water he was licking. Well, I don’t know if it choked, but what is the harm in imagining that. And that moment I chose to go back to my roots and write down my musings, imaginations, and thoughts into stories as a process of U-n-d-o Growing Up .

Inspired by the Story The Little Prince

Dear Me...

It is a weird day. I feel so out of place, so out of context about my own life. I wanted to do something, but it turned out to be something else. I fought with my family to take up this course. In fact, I am good at this. Then on the way, I do not know what happened. Nothing turned out to be as I thought. I lost my faith. I am not even sure if I really want to do this now. I thought I have sorted it out, but when I see people around me settling down, I am wondering maybe I should do the same.  Sitting near my window, with my camera I tried to focus nowhere, the dark grey cloud and my mood and thoughts along with my black coffee looked perfect partner in crime. I flushed the black coffee in my kitchen sink, as that is the only thing I could throw away. Wish I could flush all my thoughts, forget everything, and go back to where I started. Declutter, yes that is what I used to do earlier, when I am not sure what I want to do. So, I went cleaned my room, book shelf, wardrobe, kitchen and store room. And, I had a surprise in my store room. As I was cleaning the shelves, a box fell on my head. I almost shrieked and felt that the sky above me telling, "None of this will work, lady". I shouted, "shut-up". However, when I looked for that stupid thing which fell on my head, I was intrigued with that box, as I noticed it does not belong to me. I stay alone in this apartment, though my family and friends visit me sometime. But, none of them carried this kind of box. Who is it then? When I sat down to open this, I saw lot of photos, film negatives and a note with a tinge of yellowish, brownish coloured. Evidently, all these contents are very very old. Perhaps, belongs to the owner of the house? I was absolutely thrilled. I know it is not my box, but I convinced myself that this the most eventful thing happening in my life at this moment. So I need to open it and go through the contents. I took the box, made myself hot chocolate and sat on couch with this treasure box. I kept the film negatives safely, which I thought that, I will develop these, first thing tomorrow in the morning. This person seemed to be a photographer or at least someone interested in photography. I thought, ‘what a coincidence’. Then I opened the note, which read:

You see, what I have being wanting do is something totally out of the context of the world I belong to. I was expected to get the degree, get a job, which is by the way is equivalent to settling down in career, and then of course get married and have children, which is equivalent to settling down in life. To have a partner was important so that we do not feel lonely in our old age. I do not know about what they said, but I was sure I could not settle down with such notion. I have a different version of settling down. For me to be on move is settling, I am a gypsy at heart. I keep moving and steering through various emotions within me and of course people around me. I always liked to put myself out of that comfort zone. Frankly, at first, it was unsettling but then I got addicted to that pattern. I pushed myself to be stranded in the middle and find my way out. I surely knew that what exactly I do not want in life and that in fact made my life simple. You see directly to ask whether I know, what we want in life is much more complex. However, knowing what we do not want is quiet easy. I cannot promise I will succeed; I may fail again and again. That is ‘failed’ is what we are made to see, but for me, I succeeded in finding one more opportunity for myself. This was all so against to my social context, I never thought of leading someone or something. I never had a desire to keep building up and sustain it. My idea has always been to document and document whatever I come across in some or the other form and pass it on to everyone. And once people get it, it doesn't belong to me anymore. It belong to people, the world, to universe.. They all will sustain it. I consciously avoided the 'I' in all what I did. It will be, always will be We. What is ironic is when 'We' start working, we first realize our I.                                                                                                          --To Dear Me

The grey cloud almost went black now and the dusk creeped in. Holding this letter in my hand, I felt the other Me in the parallel world just wrote this letter to me. Or, that Me few years back who was so passionate about the life she wanted to create. How is that one failure can define me. Perhaps, I documented that one phase and may be it is the next journey with new documentations at hand. I just could not contain myself anymore. From that Me, I have a journey to fulfil with the I. The realization of the ‘I’!

Mithiya

Mithiya while lying in the bed, he smelled his whole house with those beautiful memories. For last eighty years, he is living in the same house, earlier with his parents, grandparents, cousins and later with his wife and an old aunt and now it is just Mithiya living in the house. In fact, today, either the old neighbors have left or most of them have passed away. His family technically withered away like the leaves during the autumn and by winter burned in the bonfire, their reminisces trailing away in smoke, however, by the time of spring it grew back with memories hanging like fresh new flowers and leaves from the tree. They left their marks and footprints for all seasons in all time and space for Mithiya. He could smell the pillow, mattress, curtains, furniture and every nook and corner of the house of memories with all the members of his life. He has always been a homely body like his father. His father loved to sow a seed, nurture it and see it grow all his life. He was proud of his family home, which he built it up along with a backyard with a kitchen garden, where he used to grow vegetables and fruits, and till date Mithiya maintains it. His mother was a free soul who could not bind herself to one place for a long time. Although for some time, she did for her family. His father knew about this, in awe of his mother’s free spirit he often took her for short and long trips and later in life, his father fulfilled his mother's wish to live by the sea where she could hear the waves crashing on the stones, feel the piercing breeze, smell the sultry salty sand of the beach. And his father was happy holding his mother’s hand while walking alongside the beach. Mithiya carried his mother’s free spirit as told by his wife, in a sense of holding and giving as much space to everyone in heart and home. The day before he thought of this girl as his partner in crime, she commented, “you are just like your mother, an independent, free soul”, he was surprised, thinking, “She doesn’t know me at all”. His wife was this hippy as he used to call her; she did her studies and internship from different countries as well as continents. He loved to hear all the different stories and perspectives from her. “What you don’t agree”, she asked. “This is the first time someone said, otherwise I agree with people who often say that I am more like my father, as I am more bound to home rather than get up and look for another space”. He still smiled thinking of that day, she laughed saying, “You silly, why an independent free soul cannot stay all their life in one place? For me, an independent, free soul is someone who has a huge space in one’s heart and mind”. For the first time, he learned to see the other side, perspective and what followed next was the girl becoming his girlfriend forever.

“Thud”, he heard the noise of the garbage van pull up, he thought now it is time to wake up! The garbage van has been his alarm clock for almost last fifty years. He is so used to his neighborhood that he does not need a clock to look at the time. The sound of neighborhood’s daily activities helped to manifest his own daily chores. While brushing his teeth, he smiled thinking, “Come on, Mithiya, this eavesdropping”, his wife would say. “Tring”, Mithiya went out to collect the newspaper, he can hear the young boy’s cycle from next lane “Good morning Mr.Mithiya, as always on time”, the boy flipped the newspaper while cycling. “Careful”, Mithiya told the boy, “yes Mr.Mithiya, as always”, he waved back. He checked his post box, as he forgot to check for last two days. He found two letters from Tang in China and Orisis from Dublin, “here our children write again” he thought with a huge smile. He prepared the coffee and one toast to go with reading the letters and newspaper. Earlier he used to have cake too, his wife loved this little morning session with him. He would lovingly prepare the coffee and a toast. He has always been the first one wake up before his wife. Even during his childhood days, he used to wake up before his parents. He would go out to their backyard garden and pluck the flowers and some fruits. He would then neatly arrange flowers in the vase for his mother; fruits freshly washed and laid down in the basket. Then he would rush to get ready for school and came down smelling the fresh brewed coffee and breakfast and the cake prepared by his mother. He loved sharing his cake with his imaginary friend that his mother too respected, who suddenly disappeared in his backyard garden while Mithiya waved to his friend. Perhaps, a childhood illusions he thought. “You have to stop taking the cake Mithiya, you know your sugar level, don’t you?”, his wife used to tell him. Sometimes he promised to take half and most of the time his wife used to snatch away from him. “You should not have learned baking cake from your mom and Milton too spoiled you”, she would say. Today, he stopped having cake, as there was none to remind him about his health. Thinking about those days, he wondered maybe he loved his wife lovingly chided for the cake, he loved hearing the concerned voice of her. His breakfast and newspaper sessions used to be a great start for the day. They both could hold the conversation about every issue in the newspaper for hours. Every time he loved listening to some passionate views and arguments of his wife on some of the issues. Once he remembered, there was an opinion piece, which did a sting operation sort of a thing, about how many libraries a locality has which had a large number of people turning up for a library, but very less issuing of books. One of the reasons they see is that most people end up watching movies on their laptops, instead of reading books and some plan to meet their friends in the library. It did some calculation and laid out that only about thirty to thirty-five percent people used the library. The piece questioned the need for funds for the public library for every locality. “Oh, well”, his wife, commented, “And how can they say they are only watching movies, it could be documentaries and those people might be discussing books, movies, and so many other stuff. “Of course, it is the State’s responsibility to provide a place like a library even if it is to cater only ten percent of people. Those ten percent may inspire the rest of the ninety percent in some way”.

“Come on, come on”, snapped from his daydreaming, he heard the distinct voice of parents and grandparents rushing the children to the school, his next alarm for, “Ah, walk time”! He took his hat gifted to him by his wife’s parents for his promotion in office. Taking his walking stick, he went out to stroll. “Good morning Mr.Mithiya, the bread loaf is ready”, his usual bakery shop boy Milton waved. “Also your children from India, Vietnam, and Cambodia have emailed you. I have taken the printouts of the letter”. “Wonderful! Thanks, dear” Mithiya replied. Sweet boy, he remembered Milton as a young guy, who hated studying. He was adopted by his friend, the owner of the once small Bakery store, but loved spending time in experimenting with new recipes to bake cakes and bread. His friend wanted him to study and get himself a job. Once such a bad argument ensued between the two that the young boy left the house. Once Mithiya and his wife got to know, they looked for him along with his friend. After three days, around 11:30 pm, the boy knocked on Mithiya’s door. His wife rushed to prepare dinner for him first and next morning both of them sat down to speak to him. There seem to be some study course in a bakery, which he wanted to join and his father did not allow him. His wife took the initiative to loan him money for the course and both of them let him live in a small room in their backyard, of course after speaking to his father. His father refused to let him stay with him. During his free time, he helped Mithiya’s family with cleaning the backyard and gardening. And, when Mithiya’s parents visited him, he would come around help them with driving to a nearby place. Sometimes he would quietly sneak a slice of cake to Mithiya, a little secret that they shared. Soon Milton moved out, opened his small bakery store just like his father, and soon it became the talk of the town for his excellent savory of bakery stuff. People later talked about how it is because of Mithiya’s family that Milton could do well. However, for his family it was no big deal, they believe it is our duty to be there for each other, to open up once heart. That is what he saw his parents doing for people who were in genuine need and that’s what Milton did for a young girl who needed financial support for education. He felt this chain reaction when someone is been helped. That time, the couple decided not have children of their own. His wife who had been to many parts of the world suggested him about sponsoring children in different countries for their education or for some start up job. They both decided to sponsor as many children as they want from all over the world. All those children until date have been in touch with Mithiya. Few of them came to attend the funeral services of Mithiya’s wife. He remembered his wife’s funeral services were, in fact, a joyous one. While walking he remembered the number of letters which came by from other children who had written a heartfelt gratitude and that they were there for him.

Aah! Autumn time as he saw the clear sky, flowers, and leaves lazily hanging, standing on the edge of a lake. Nature as if waking up, stretching every limb of its body, idly splashing yellow and orange hue at the sky, Mithiya always smelled the certain kind of freshness of newness during autumn. Some may feel the ushering in of rigid cold sheet of the season in coming months, but for Mithiya it is as if the earth and sun made a pact to tilt on its axis to let the South Pole get some sun. That is what his parents told the children in the family when his cousins used to visit their place long time back. Mithiya and his cousins did not prefer the cold winter, whenever autumn arrived it reminded of the wintertime. “Uncle, autumns, and winters are so depressing time, look those trees, stripped of their leaves”, the sun is so late in rising, and this is so depressing. Then Mithiya’s parents explained about the sun and the earth’s pact. Mithiya almost had a smile; he could almost see and hear such age-old conversation. “Horn, Horn” almost made him jump, the dairy van was here for the supply in the nearby grocery store and his alarm clock to get back home.  He reminded himself to save up some woods he may need during the winters. He went back home, not forgetting to buy his freshly baked bread by Milton. After showering he got back to his routine of cleaning his backyard, checking on the fruits and vegetables, checking on the bird’s water pot and finally sat down in his small library space to go through books. He heard a sound of a creek, “Aah, it must be 1 pm, seems like Mrs.M, has opened her windows shutter for sunlight and thus my lunchtime”, yes this was his another alarm clock which called for his lunch. Mithiya just loved this synchrony. He would always say, ‘I am in verse with the Universe, in rhyme with Mundanity”, he found such a solace with nature as well as human nature’s prose with daily life. He was at a stage of life, where he was wholly content and happy. Although most of the neighbor thought that, he was a lonely man who always seemed to smile without reason. Some commented, “What a sad life to live alone”. Mrs.M thought, “poor guy, I have seen him growing up, they decided not have children which we advised him was a wrong decision, all his family died, now look at him living all alone”. Except for Milton, no one really knew Mithiya or his family. Milton and his family would visit him some time for lunch or dinner. “Creek”, Mrs.M must have closed the window and yes it was 7 pm, dinner time. Milton with his family visited him that night for dinner. Pasta with meatball, Milton’s children jumped on Mithiya, screaming joyously about their favorite dish for dinner. “Mrs.Mithiya (M) taught me this dish, remember uncle Mithiya,” said Sarah, Milton’s wife. They all had a hearty laugh while the two children animatedly talked about their lessons in the school. Milton asked, “Don’t you miss, Mrs.M uncle Mithiya, why don’t you come and live with us for some time? For which Mithiya just smiled. Milton continued, “Well, the other Mrs.M seems to worry about you for being lonely”, Mithiya replied, “Really?” Sara replied, “Well what does she know that uncle Mithiya’s lunch and dinner depends on her opening of the window, they all laughed after few seconds of silence. “Yes, I do miss my wife and family, but I remember all of them and all the moments with so much of happiness. I see all of them through your love and affection and through the letters/emails sent by other children. Just imagine how many of you remember us each day. I consider myself so fortunate”. Milton and Sarah smiled, “that’s true uncle Mithiya”. Sarah continued, “We live in a strange world, you know. Our neighborhood thinks you are the loneliest man here, but one can feel lonely even with ten people around”. That night Mithiya looked outside his huge French style window that his wife designed it, for the view of the sky, especially at the night. He imagined each star as his family members and thanked each of them for leading him to live such a purposeful life. The moon, which initially seemed to be hiding away in clouds, as if in agreement waved to him riding in the clouds.

“Thud”, Mithiya heard the garbage van, his alarm clock to wake up. He felt his heart to be light and uplifted with such peace that he failed to describe it in words. He felt like a long dream, he thought that last night he felt strange, he saw the full moon beaming luminous light after a hide and seek with the clouds; the stars too came too close. The curtain seemed to be drawn over the French style windows. He got up to brushed his teeth and smelled the freshly brewed coffee, toast, and cake. It smelled so similar to his mother’s cake, “Ah, Milton must be here, can’t believe he has become so good with baking cake” he smiled. Sometime Milton would come over to his place early in the morning to help Mithiya prepare breakfast. As he strides towards the kitchen, he got a shock when a strange little boy jumped, “mom, my friend has finally woke up, pls give him your delicious cake”. The mother replied, “Yes dear, this is for your imaginary friend”. Mithiya wondered about these strange people in his house. “My house? Everything looks different here, he saw two more people in his living room. He was so confused and worried more, as no one seems to notice him. The doorbell rang, the man in the house opened the door, and Mithiya followed him. “Here are some letters for Mr.Mithiya, Milton. People from all around the world have written for him. He seemed to be a good human being that we missed to meet him”. Milton replied with a smile, “Yes, he and his family took care of everyone”, Milton continued, “With your permission can I plant this small plant in the backyard garden, Mr.Mithiya wanted this plant in his garden”. The man replied, “Of course, do come in and don’t you worry we will take care of the garden very well. We will maintain exactly how Mr.Mithiya maintained it”. “The backyard garden” Mithiya remembered, he rushed, only to relieve to see all his vegetable, fruits, tree plantation intact. He sat down near the tree, which looked in the direction of his dining space window. He saw the little boy happily waving at him. “Indeed, you seem to have led a meaningful life”, he heard his wife and mom saying together, standing behind him. That moment Mithiya realized, after all, the imaginary friend was real indeed. He waved back at the little boy, giving him a flying kiss and turned back to his mom and wife.

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/