Happy holi Pinky! Dhum macha rahee ke nahin? Ever since you’ve passed over to the other side, I’ve decided to celebrate everything with aplomb. How much you missed celebrations! I wish we would have quit behaving like the world has come to an end and shared the enthusiasm you had on your ‘high days’, your joie de vivre.
Unfortunately, holi can’t be big this year, due to the pandemic but let this thing get over and we’re going to paaarrtyyyy, baby! New trip in life is, mauj kar! That’s what I tell myself all the time, ‘enjoy! Life ain’t going to get any easier, so you make hay while the sun shines!’ The self hypnosis is helping me deal with the breaking into cold sweat in the middle of the night, the anxiety which has now started giving me palpitations, the absolute paralysing fear that grips my heart about the future. I know, I need help but one is not open to the idea of a conversation. If I go to a shrink, it just might trigger something else, all together, which one is not emotionally equipped to handle right, now. So, for now, it’s mauj kar, which kind of works.
Some nights, one longs to hear, ‘ don’t worry I got you. This too shall pass and I’ll be by your side as this rips you apart.’ Then one remembers, one is trying so hard to be one’s own hero! But old habits, die hard!
The Father, goes on and on about dying and mostly one lets it pass but these days, the humour is lost on me. ‘Find yourself a boy before I do!’ he says. ‘ If God wanted me to stay with one man, why has he made so many?’ I reply. The joke ( truth) doesn’t land well. ‘ I have you to fight with, what do I need a man for?’ this he gets.
The favourite topic of discussion, in our house of course has always been dying. So, a list of instructions are yelled at me, ‘ If I fall ill, hire a male attendant. You aren’t going to take me to the toilet. Don’t come to the hospital, you have to run my factory. Don’t do this pakhaand baazi when I die, no kirtan and all for me. Throw a party!’ It goes on and on, without a thought, about how I will manage. But, I’m superwoman, you see.
I saw the Meghan Markle interview and realized that, my whining must sound like that to people. Of course your feelings are valid but when you’re privileged, your issues seem rather superficial to people who are trying to make ends meet, especially at this time. Not to discount my feelings or hers but we live in a world, where materialistic comfort tops everything else and if you have it, you have to at some point learn to suck it up. ‘How’s are you?’ should be replied with ‘Great!’ and ‘how are things?’ with ‘ just peaches’. While the world sleeps, the fortress can turn into a home, the quills can be removed and masks can slowly be taken off, albeit for a little while.
Have you noticed how some people occupy a place in your heart akin to the thirty year old sofa that’s plonked itself in the drawing room? Or like the rickety dinning table with broken chairs, that your grandmother gave to her daughter, which you look at everyday and think you got to get rid off but somehow just can’t? Some people become like that, constant fixtures you don’t pay attention to anymore, till someone wants to come and sweep under them. Then you realize the size and the weight of what’s taking up so much space. I wonder sometimes, what would it be like to have an empty room?
Kai log aap ke dil mein aise baste he, jaise woh tees baras purana sofa, jo kissi tarah se ek kamre mein bas gaya he. Jaise woh purana mez aur tuti, futi kursiya, jo nani ne ma ko di thi, jinhe dekh har roz khayaal aata he, ke aaj inhe bedakhal kar diya jay, magar kabhi ho nahi pata. Kai log, waise hi, jagah mal lete he. Kitni jagah le li tab pata lagta he, jab koi hatane ki koshish karta he. Kabhi, kabhi mere dil mein ye khyaal aata he, ki khali kamra hota, ek khali dil hota, to kaisa hota?