Gabriel Cornelius von Max (1840-1915)
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It’s. Been. So. Long. So. Damn. Long. Since. I. Wrote. Something. So, before indulging in reminiscence – not to relive but to appreciate the days I spent at a place I have come to revere – I want to apologise to myself and everyone who has ever waited for anything on my blog (assuming you exist).
I’ve been writing in copious amounts for academia but not otherwise, except dumping bits and pieces of crap that came to my mind on Twitter only to delete later. Now, I am back home from my supercalifragilisticexpialidocious stint in Scotland, contrary to what my initial plans were. As always, nothing went as per my will but this time there was not even an iota of discontent while witnessing the destiny unfold itself. I was a mute spectator and rightly so. The painting shared above is one of my favourites for I see all my 99 million personalities judging the canvas of my life with utter confusion and sometimes, disdain. The canvas I have no right to paint but just marvel at and accept despite. Some of it is pre-drawn while some changes to what it is meant to be. Either way, I am not under control and I am glad about it. It gives me one less thing to worry about, my life for starters ;P.
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ghar mein bechaini ho to agle safar ki sochna
phir safar naakaam ho jaaye to ghar ki sochna
Shuja Khaavar
Translation:
If you feel anxious in the home, think of the next journey
And then if the journey is unsuccessful, think of home again
Shuja Khaavar
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Watercolour on Handmade Paper (14.8cm X 21cm, 300gsm)
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I do think about what my life would’ve been had I accepted that job offer, given that other interview, searched for more jobs or stayed there anyway. But not even once did I feel internally that it would’ve been the right thing to do or something I would’ve been happy with. When I was here, because of my prolonged isolation, going out was all I wanted but while I was away, coming back home was all I ever needed. That need to travel and explore should arise to not dwell but be in the flow constantly. When we move with the intention to stagnate, at least for me, it only breeds angst. I was extremely unhealthy by the time I came back, hence my father – for more reasons than one – heaved a sigh of relief as I touched down our homeland.
As humans, we have an innate tendency to assert control over whatever we can to feel fulfilled. With things going our own way, a subtle ego arises with a sense of satisfaction that somehow we have an agency over our life. This delulu becomes the solulu as the present generation calls it, and leads to midlife crisis when faced with the unknown and rendered unchecked. For some it might work, but for me, it’s always been about surrendering to the ever flowing life. If I don’t, I am deliberately made so uneasy (by the universe) that the only thing I have under my control is surrendering even if it means with half a heart which eventually turns into unconditional surrender & the perfect manure for harvesting what’s best for me. My conviction that all that is rightfully yours comes to you with ease has only grown stronger with time whether it’s in a relationship, job, family, or anything else. The real path of least resistance so to speak is the path which reveals itself moment to moment and you decide to walk on it anyway. This opportunity presented itself when I had lost all hope for whatever reasons & became a shell of myself. Everything was new. It was as if my world had suddenly expanded beyond my little mind’s wildest comprehension.
When I was having my first meal at the bistro in my dorm (which would later become a collective spot to unwind during breakfast and dinner), I wrote my mother one of the first messages I sent to her after reaching there. I was sobbing at the sight of people from different countries, ages, and cultures sitting together to eat and chat. I was overcome by the beauty. That’s when Rumi’s adage about those who don’t travel reading only one page of a book began to make sense. I met wonderful people from all parts of the world, had some of them wrongly guess the country of my origin (it’s India not Brazil or Turkey but I like them too), learnt cooking & stocking up groceries even if half dead with fever (because food at the bistro was inedible 90/100 times), mustered courage to unapologetically ask for help which I otherwise always found ways around, watched one Tamil and one Hindi movie alternatively almost every other day with my only Indian flatmate in our kitchen (even though I’m not a movie buff), learnt managing finances and worked on my relationship with money, hosted my friends every now and then for a mediocre masala cardamom tea I make & unending Indian snacks no tongue can resist, fangirled South Indians (as humans), visited dense forests, churches, and beaches of St.A for meditations and respite from work I took too seriously (which now I’ve learnt not to) or for banter with friends (as we all crave sometimes). I danced in my room to tacky but upbeat songs to relieve myself, overslept at odd hours in the day despite adhering to the 8 hour sleep schedule, pulled all nighters, learnt forgiving the free riders disguised as group mates who pushed me to a nervous breakdown because of work load, had a chance to understand archetypes I had only read books about, see aurora lights, shooting stars, untimely twilight, and moonrise at the sea. Most importantly, I learnt to live alone which is something everyone should experience at least for a while in their lifetime, when they are completely by themselves.
Regardless of their tenure in my life, I’ll always have a special place for each one of my friends who became a part of my world & allowed me to permeate into theirs. Walking almost everyday (all day) healed me more than I can put to words, the unrest and pulsation in my aching body after those walks ended – sometimes unwanted and forced as those to Tesco or Morrisons (duh!) – ironically emptied my heart of any ache it carried. My mind went blank. The sound of a million seagulls, crashing waves, rustling leaves, sounds from houses which can only come from inside the houses -utensils clanking, cooking, washing, cleaning etc. – were music to my ears during those walks. St. Andrews looks like the smallest side compartment in huge pockets of the world but the land has an intricately rich history, some of which I had the privilege to know about. Being one of the oldest universities in the world, the university was spread across almost entire town with steps as warm for new entrants like us, as it must’ve been for those who graced it since the year 1413. Every road had a unique story, every place – its own ritual, and as long as the university exists (which I pray is forever), my soul will cherish having frequented them.
The pier walks, May Dip, Soakings, Raisin and other ‘events’ which I’ve either forgotten or don’t know about at all keep St.A alive. When I look back, I don’t feel angry at ostentatiously pricey eateries claiming to serve “authentic Indian food” actually managed by immigrants from neighbouring countries or expensive, low-quality products literally everywhere in the town, as I once did. The chefs at Shawarma House and Big Boss are an uncomfortably extrovert breed found only in St.A. When I went there for two days for my graduation, my heart yearned for two more days to swear at things I abhorred but this time, out of pure love, to see the places I never did during the year and bid an unhurried farewell (as a student). I couldn’t visit Lade Braes, my favourite haunt or the pier which after hundreds of years was under construction because of a storm. I dream of going there with my husband and children, lend my eyes to them for a moment and have glimpses into a past that changed their wife and mother respectively into a better version of herself. Healing is sexy and by that measure, I find myself to be the sexiest person alive this year. For the first time after so many years, I don’t have my fists clenched with anger, malice and self pity but wide open in receptivity or folded in prayer and gratitude. While walking by the ever flowing stream with semblance of my consciousness, I realised a lot of things I carried within me – dreams, patterns, memories, emotions, habits, and illusions – didn’t deserve even a store room in my head yet I had built them a multi-storey penthouse. This one year at St.A helped me disembody them layer by layer. Oh how difficult it is to face oneself! But staying put in my room despite the world around me wanting otherwise at times helped me understand why mirrors are called the portals. It helped me bask in the sun inside myself which illumines everything within and without. You too have it, search and you shall find.
As I write this in our new home, I am back to the no-thingness, to myself, albeit in anticipation of the next stepping stone on the path to emerge. That’s how Zen GPS works. Until then, the journey of healing the minutes of my being from this life & the ones I’ve lived, continues. I hope I do not forget the lessons I’ve learnt in 2023 because they were way too many. In 2024, if we don’t have hope, I pray that we will try to be patient for a moment, followed by another moment. Create a chain out of these tiny moments of hope and surrender, and allow it to serve as our anchor. I hope 2024 aligns us with our best version. May we never forget how powerful prayers are and how wonderful it is to sit in prayer to express our vulnerable selves. How soothing it is to seek nothing but endurance, faith, wisdom, and pursue universe’s reason for our existence: to love as mother earth loves – truly, madly, deeply and IMPARTIALLY.
Love,
P
Happiest New Year, my love! May this year be the best you’ve ever had yet.
🎵: Today’s Strings Attached
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