Author: Madhuri

Writer - Children's Fiction & Ghost Writer

The Illusion of a Snapshot

The grey wall in the photograph interested my fellow passenger and me. I took a few photographs. One photograph gave us another illusion—the blades seemed to be falling off the propeller. 

We were in a familiar and stable circumstance—in an aircraft with pilots at the helm on a sunlit day without turbulence. No impending catastrophe. No turmoil. We could bring curiosity and wonder into play at these unexpected illusions. 

We could see the wall for what it was. A play of light and cloud.  

We could see the blades weren’t falling off. Outside the camera, the propeller whirred.

Life brings us face-to-face with these surprising snapshots—except, these look like reality.  

Fulfilled expectations. Failed expectations. Windfalls. Catastrophes.  

Happy family. Unavailable love. Work pinnacle. Job failure. 

We are so focused on these snapshots that we can’t see the circumstance. We let panic, pain, pride, or entitled pleasure take hold of us. 

To be able to see the circumstance, we must step back from the snapshot. We can then see that when life takes away some stuff, it gives us other stuff—big-time. Vice versa too.

Respecting a Parent’s Space

Two very different ways of dealing with aging parents.

One, keeping them housebound to keep them safe. Another, making the arrangements for them to remain independent and lead the lives they want to lead.  

One, taking the decisions out of their hands. Another, nudging them along to take care of themselves, yet working with their wishes.  

One, harping on the fact that they aren’t doing what they’re told. Another, focusing on doing what you can to take care of the parent.   

The first is about control. The other is about respecting the parent’s space. 

The Goodness of Sharing

Property disputes constitute sixty-six percent of the cases before the Indian civil courts. Cases languish in courts well over a couple of decades. It seems you can’t escape them unless you step away from the dispute, which means you give up some or all your share.

Amidst these disputes, I’ve had the experience of uncle and dad who readily set up a share of their life’s work for their nieces. I could’ve thought I’m unlikely to experience it again.

Then I met a gentleman who combines his family’s share with the sibling’s and makes it halves even after he learns his family would lose in the bargain. Not once, but twice.

I’m grateful for knowing him and his family.

Nuance of Language 

After nearly 30 years, I’m back to speaking my mother tongue daily, and I find that I’m a stranger to the emotional nuance of English. 

Warm words resonate deeper in Telugu. So do the harsh ones. 

When I’m irritated or angry, Telugu words string themselves into harsh frames. I don’t seem to do that in English. I tried translating them into English and found that I was only forming statements without the harshness. Being surrounded by Telugu shows me a layer of anger I wasn’t aware of.

Similarly, the words my extended family uses in addressing me resonate with warmth the way the corresponding English terms (not just translations) don’t.

I believe what we experience in our childhood seeps in so much deeper. To me, Telugu is at once a cradle and a spitfire.

English is a clean slate. It has only surrounded my personal life after I’ve been an adult. I find living in English peaceful.

But Telugu gives me an insight into my childhood influences and the instincts that made me absorb these influences. It peels away the layers and shows me things I had been blind to. 

Across the Chasm 

She returned to the pasture 

carrying the baby  
she had all along. 

Out of the mist,  

a chasm appeared 

a cold wind blew 

a raucous call echoed 

narrow memory lanes kindled.

A darkness settled into her 

waking the baby never quite asleep 

dulling the whisper of her breath 

squalling fury alone in the desert.

A lullaby floated, 

the voice of love  

cloaked in needless words. 

A bridge stretched. 

Across the chasm 

stood a stranger 

with silver hair.

Words spinning themselves 

into cool cotton swaddles 

and warm calloused palms, 

the steadying rhythm 

of hearts beating with hers.

Her life’s longing, 

a warm whisper 

a wispy breath 

at once strange and familiar 

the language of warmth.

She crossed the chasm 

the stranger holding her gaze 

with warm, familiar eyes. 

It was her— 

the baby, she, the silver stranger. 

In trying to get my point across… 

…I’m learning to let go.

Stage one: I wanted people to accept my view. If they didn’t, my ego was hurt. That wasn’t a nice feeling at all.

Stage two: I can’t always get my point across. That used to be terribly frustrating.

Stage three: I needed the person to indicate they’ve heard me. People have their reasons for not always doing that. I think I’ve come some way in recognizing this fact and letting it be.

Stage four: The other person argues back, and the tone sounds like an attack on my viewpoint. The argument is meaningful sometimes, but I still find the tone hard to handle. When I respond to the tone, it leaves a residue.

Stage five: The person goes off on an argumentative tangent. I get carried away by the tone, my voice rises, and I’m responding to the tangent. By now, I want to have the last word as much as the other person wants to. The learning is to remain in the moment. Currently, I’m unable to do that. Typically, it happens with people with whom I have a history of such interactions.

In all these stages, it’s as if the self is already geared to respond in kind. What we call samskaras—psychological imprints. Crossing each stage is about erasing these imprints.

Winding Race

A water drop

came plinking down

to the barren earth.

 

Finding kin

and joining hands

in prideful glee

 

With muscle and nerve

from strength of clan—

Foaming and frothing

 

Pounding rock

Clearing way

Lord of the mountain pass.

 

Looking down its nose

at a nescient lake

and resting shallows.

 

Hurtling down

Mighty beast

Thundering bear

 

Gouging a hole

In the placid lake

that bound and held

 

till memory’s lost

of foam and roar

and might and rank.

 

Not glittering drop

but a random speck

on the rolling wheel

 

A heaving rasp

a winding run,

caught in a race

 

where there’s none,

deaf to the hum

of the silent core.

When it’s time to act in relationships

We look towards a partnership, a marriage, a relationship to enhance our lives. They enable us to do more than we could by ourselves. They stand with us to share a laugh or a cry. It’s great when that happens.

Sometimes, they offer very little. They’re just a habit that coasts along. No problem with that though. We can coast along with it, because change takes effort. And it should be worth the effort.

Sometimes, they cause slow harm. A business partner who doesn’t value our ideas, a client who goes back on a promise, a boss who burdens you every day, a spouse whom you can’t please, an employee who procrastinates… these diminish our lives.

They’re a burr in our minds, scraping against our peace and happiness. Over time, these scrapes cause a bleeding wound. Eventually, we do need to act on them, but the wait doesn’t cause irretrievable harm. Not always. And the action isn’t always to sever the relationship.

Sometimes though, our relationships wield a knife and slice through us. An abusive spouse, a business partner on the wrong side of the law, a client who blackens our name.

These kill us—some murder us, some kill our sanity, some, our financial stability. Many other ways, in fact.

With these relationships, we need to act immediately. We need to sever them.

Our story

The need to tell our story is nearly instinctive. It emerges from our need to be understood, to form psychological communities of our own.

Trouble is, communities form when we tell our story to ready listeners. Communities don’t form when we tell our stories to reluctant listeners.

Both these listeners have already formed their judgements. Your story merely reinforces their judgements of ‘Yes, I’m with you in this’ or ‘No, I’m not with you’.

What you receive after your narration is largely about them, not your narrative. Your narrative is merely the trigger for them to express themselves.

The neatest, least time-wasting, mind space-conserving way is to tell your story only when doing so can bring a real benefit. Not because you merely seek people’s understanding.