Some time back, an acquaintaince I had once helped in her time of need took a vicious potshot at me.I should have dismissed it as the desperate whiplash of a soul tormented by jealousy and frustration, but the poisonous shaft struck a raw nerve. And the pain was augmented by a sense of betrayal.
Tempestous rage welled in my heart and rose to my lips as bitter invectives.I desperately wanted to tear her to bits and expose her for the pathetic sham that she was. For days, I raved and ranted to my intimates, most of whom listened patiently and doled out generous amounts of sympathy. Some were outraged. Others asked me to forget the ingrate and get on with my life. But, forgiveness was easier said than done. The hurt had eaten into my being like an infectious canker and no matter how hard I tried to forget, I was unable to get over the feeling of having been taken advantage of.
I wasn't sure if retailation would quell the rage within, but every cell in my body wanted to hit back as viciously.I was convinced that nothing but the sight of my enemy fallen low would assuage the pain inside. Although in reality, anger and my thirst for revenge would have only ravaged my spirit and in all probability, derailed my life. For pain like fire can either consume or temper. It can bequeath us with humility, grace and an appreciation for the blessings in our lives and spur us on to achieve greatness. Or it can erode the largess of the spirit within, sap it of passion and destroy our ability to dream.
Fortunately for me,after my umpteenth crib session, a good friend sensed that I was getting a little obsessive and sat me down for some plain speaking. She did not ask me to forgive nor did she urge me to move on. But instead, she drew upon facts to sketch for me an image of a desperately unhappy person, who was hitting out because she wanted so much from life but had not the faculties to realise her dreams.
And then, she posed a few questions to me:
What could one possibly expect from a bitter, envious soul than anger and venom?
Why transform myself into a spitting image of this unhappy virago, when I had so much more to look forward to?
And most importantly, how much of my time and energy was I squandering in dreaming of ways and means of retaliation?
She got her points through loud and clear. And the reality check was just what was needed to bring me back to earth with a bump.
At the end of our intense conversation, my anger miraculously faded away leaving in its wake, pity and a sense of immense relief.My walk in the shoes of the offender brought home a clear understanding of the environment she came from, its impact on her psyche and granted me greater insights into the cankers of her soul. It also freed my heart of its burden,ironed the frowns from my brow and set my spirit free to once again roam through green pastures in pursuit of its dreams.
As someone once said, the greater your capacity to love, the greater is your capacity to feel pain but while pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Princess Dreams
All her life, people told her to rise above her circumstances and work at achieving everything she went without while growing up - security, self sufficiency, confidence, happiness, the education she wanted, but over and above all, a stable home of her own. She owned these dreams with every fibre of her being but without a trusty mentor or a manual for life, what she missed was the path.
She was just 11 when her world came crashing down. One sultry night, she awoke to the screams of her brother begging her to wake up because "daddy was killing mummy". Rushing down the stairway of their plush mansion, she faced a sight which, with minor variations, was to become an integral part of her existence for the next 8 years.
Her mother lay curled on the ground, arms pressed against her mouth to muffle the cries of pain as she was beaten and kicked mercilessly. She ran down with tears of shock streaming down her cheeks and tried to wedge herself between her parents, all the while begging her father to stop. Eventually, her father did stop and lurched away to sleep off the noxious fumes that enveloped his brains, oblivious to the tears and terror of his family.
With daylight came the realisation that the life she had hitherto taken for granted was nothing but a farce. Despite his fortune, her father was fast becoming a notorious drunk who evoked sneers and ridicule behind polite masks and her genteel mother, an object of contempt, speculation and pity suppressed behind a facade of solicitiousness.
The carpet had been rudely pulled from beneath her feet and as she struggled to regain her balance in a crumbling home marked by a temperamental drunk and domestic violence, society reared its ugly head. First came the hushed whispers,sniggers and giggles at school, for little ears stretch a long way and children are often not well versed in the art of deception as their parents are. It seemed that, all at once, the teachers were a wee bit more watchful of her work and horror of horrors, she began to recognise pity in the indulgent tones of elders. Emotionally bereft and bewildered, she sought refuge behind the only weapon in her armour - indifference, reserving her tears for private.
As the years went by, the violence progressed from bad to worse. Money was in short supply. Friends & relatives came to help - some sympathised & berated her father, some viciously watched the fun, further fuelling the hyperactive rumour mills. And she withdrew more into herself, allowing none to look past the carefully cultivated mask. People marvelled at the strength of this teenager...pushed her...judged her...but never saw the pain within or offered her a lifeline to cling to.
When her father pushed their family beyond the boundaries of safety and sanity, her mother did the unthinkable and filed for divorce. The society feigned shock. Her father played the role of a martyr to the hilt. And what ensued was a filthy free-for-all, with her mother being subject to crude speculation and allegations. She longed to run away from it all, but couldn't bring herself to abandon the sinking ship like her sibling who went away under the pretext of higher studies.
When the court finally granted her parents their divorce, she packed her bags and left for the big city, determined to put the past behind her and make a new life for herself. Life was tough for the lone single girl but she gritted her teeth and slogged. And then one day, suddenly, it seemed that life took a turn for the better. A boy she knew professed romantic interest in her, wooed her with roses and sweet nothings, offered kleenex as she sobbed her woes out and even better..his family readily took her into its bosom treating her as royalty. It was a dream come true. She hungrily lapped up the affection they offered and greedily wanting more, accepted his family's proposal of marriage.
In a fairy tale, this is where the 'And They Lived Happily Ever After' comes in. But, life does not always take after fairy tales and in a matter of time, our Princess came back with earth with a rude bump.
In her new life, she discovered that her Prince Charming was not the person she thought him to be...he was a college drop out, seemed to think that marriage entitled him to live off her money and was all too willing to leave the handling of life's greater responsibilities to her. As she struggled to make the best of her circumstances, she also realised that Prince Charming nursed a strong oedipus complex, never having cut the emotional umbilical chord from his mother. And how did mommy dearest take to the new entrant in their lives? When the song, dance and festivities ended, she woke up to the fact that there was competition at hand and had age to her advantage. It was the mother's nightmare come true and she rose to the occassion, becomming a psychotic virago while fiercely defending her rights. So began a life of emotional abuse from the mother and son, which thankfully for her was short lived. Why you may ask? Well, it wasn't because the mother or son had a very bollywoodesque change of heart. Her husband, egged by his mother, walked out on her one morning and before she knew it, she was back in the divorce courts with the shards of her dreams around her.
For some time, she was angry at the raw deal life dealt. At other times,anger gave way to sorrow as she wondered if she was jinxed. She probably would have gone through life, alternating between anger and sadness, if her friend hadn't suggested that she meet a psychoanalyst.
The demons she exorcised through therapy are not important, but what is, is that all of us who are units in this almighty society never seem to really see or understand the pain, trauma and loneliness of such victims of abuse. But instead, there are those of us who seem to find perverse pleasure in harassing these desperate souls.
No matter what the abuse is - abandonment, domestic violence,rape,sexual harassment or a dysfunctional parent- the emotional trauma caused is not easy to surmount. Every victim of abuse has a closet full of skeletons clamouring to be let out. Their souls bear painful scars which throb and fester, infecting their present and future with anger, hatred, sorrow, despair, resignation and hopelessness. And all the while, we the society watch with indifference or malicious amusement, not realising that our love, patience and the generous giving of our strength would make a difference to these lives.
As for the Princess of our story, well, she kicked the impostor prince out and embraced life with a better understanding of herself and her emotions. The blue spells haven't entirely vanished but she is at peace.
She was just 11 when her world came crashing down. One sultry night, she awoke to the screams of her brother begging her to wake up because "daddy was killing mummy". Rushing down the stairway of their plush mansion, she faced a sight which, with minor variations, was to become an integral part of her existence for the next 8 years.
Her mother lay curled on the ground, arms pressed against her mouth to muffle the cries of pain as she was beaten and kicked mercilessly. She ran down with tears of shock streaming down her cheeks and tried to wedge herself between her parents, all the while begging her father to stop. Eventually, her father did stop and lurched away to sleep off the noxious fumes that enveloped his brains, oblivious to the tears and terror of his family.
With daylight came the realisation that the life she had hitherto taken for granted was nothing but a farce. Despite his fortune, her father was fast becoming a notorious drunk who evoked sneers and ridicule behind polite masks and her genteel mother, an object of contempt, speculation and pity suppressed behind a facade of solicitiousness.
The carpet had been rudely pulled from beneath her feet and as she struggled to regain her balance in a crumbling home marked by a temperamental drunk and domestic violence, society reared its ugly head. First came the hushed whispers,sniggers and giggles at school, for little ears stretch a long way and children are often not well versed in the art of deception as their parents are. It seemed that, all at once, the teachers were a wee bit more watchful of her work and horror of horrors, she began to recognise pity in the indulgent tones of elders. Emotionally bereft and bewildered, she sought refuge behind the only weapon in her armour - indifference, reserving her tears for private.
As the years went by, the violence progressed from bad to worse. Money was in short supply. Friends & relatives came to help - some sympathised & berated her father, some viciously watched the fun, further fuelling the hyperactive rumour mills. And she withdrew more into herself, allowing none to look past the carefully cultivated mask. People marvelled at the strength of this teenager...pushed her...judged her...but never saw the pain within or offered her a lifeline to cling to.
When her father pushed their family beyond the boundaries of safety and sanity, her mother did the unthinkable and filed for divorce. The society feigned shock. Her father played the role of a martyr to the hilt. And what ensued was a filthy free-for-all, with her mother being subject to crude speculation and allegations. She longed to run away from it all, but couldn't bring herself to abandon the sinking ship like her sibling who went away under the pretext of higher studies.
When the court finally granted her parents their divorce, she packed her bags and left for the big city, determined to put the past behind her and make a new life for herself. Life was tough for the lone single girl but she gritted her teeth and slogged. And then one day, suddenly, it seemed that life took a turn for the better. A boy she knew professed romantic interest in her, wooed her with roses and sweet nothings, offered kleenex as she sobbed her woes out and even better..his family readily took her into its bosom treating her as royalty. It was a dream come true. She hungrily lapped up the affection they offered and greedily wanting more, accepted his family's proposal of marriage.
In a fairy tale, this is where the 'And They Lived Happily Ever After' comes in. But, life does not always take after fairy tales and in a matter of time, our Princess came back with earth with a rude bump.
In her new life, she discovered that her Prince Charming was not the person she thought him to be...he was a college drop out, seemed to think that marriage entitled him to live off her money and was all too willing to leave the handling of life's greater responsibilities to her. As she struggled to make the best of her circumstances, she also realised that Prince Charming nursed a strong oedipus complex, never having cut the emotional umbilical chord from his mother. And how did mommy dearest take to the new entrant in their lives? When the song, dance and festivities ended, she woke up to the fact that there was competition at hand and had age to her advantage. It was the mother's nightmare come true and she rose to the occassion, becomming a psychotic virago while fiercely defending her rights. So began a life of emotional abuse from the mother and son, which thankfully for her was short lived. Why you may ask? Well, it wasn't because the mother or son had a very bollywoodesque change of heart. Her husband, egged by his mother, walked out on her one morning and before she knew it, she was back in the divorce courts with the shards of her dreams around her.
For some time, she was angry at the raw deal life dealt. At other times,anger gave way to sorrow as she wondered if she was jinxed. She probably would have gone through life, alternating between anger and sadness, if her friend hadn't suggested that she meet a psychoanalyst.
The demons she exorcised through therapy are not important, but what is, is that all of us who are units in this almighty society never seem to really see or understand the pain, trauma and loneliness of such victims of abuse. But instead, there are those of us who seem to find perverse pleasure in harassing these desperate souls.
No matter what the abuse is - abandonment, domestic violence,rape,sexual harassment or a dysfunctional parent- the emotional trauma caused is not easy to surmount. Every victim of abuse has a closet full of skeletons clamouring to be let out. Their souls bear painful scars which throb and fester, infecting their present and future with anger, hatred, sorrow, despair, resignation and hopelessness. And all the while, we the society watch with indifference or malicious amusement, not realising that our love, patience and the generous giving of our strength would make a difference to these lives.
As for the Princess of our story, well, she kicked the impostor prince out and embraced life with a better understanding of herself and her emotions. The blue spells haven't entirely vanished but she is at peace.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Fun At Games....Why Not?
The cricket fever is back and India is, once again, a nation possessed!!!
Night after night, people remain glued to their television sets cheering their favourite teams on and devoting great chunks of their time to an analysis of past games and what one can expect in the next. Be it the on-field drama or the emotional histrionics of Sreesanth and Harbajan, the titilating cheerleaders or the glamorous SRK & Zinta shaking a leg to urge their teams to victory..IPL has, with quite a bit of help from Bollywood and the corporate world, glamorised and reinvigorated cricket as never before, seducing even the not so avid fans like me!!
I personally think the IPL is a brilliant concept. And when I say this, I am looking past the glitz, the drama and referring to the idea of mixing nationalities to creating racially diverse, multi-cultural heterogeneous teams.
There comes a time in any entity's growth when, to avoid stagnation, it has to heed the cry for departure from the tried and tested and infuse fresh blood, ideas and energy into its existence. And how better to achieve this, than to wed the known with the relative unknown? Of course, such a marriage can result in utter disaster but then, as long as survival remains a basic tenet of life, there often emerges a new, stronger order. I suspect this will be the case with our cricketers. After all, strength does lie in differences rather than in similarities. Playing as a single team, alongside professionals from all over the world hitherto viewed as opponents, should raise the learning curve of our cricketers.
And it should have taught us, as a country, a little more about the spirit of sportsmanship. While our cricketers hone their skills, it appears that the IPL has done very little to infuse a change in the sportive spirit of our viewing public.
Let's face it. Indians generally make rather fanatic cricket fans, with successes and failures being taken very personally. While these sentiments are understandable to an extent in an inter-nation or an inter-state tournament, I have been struggling to come to terms with the empty stadiums in the wake of a "home team's" loss and the rather fierce expressions of joy and sorrow churned up by the victories and losses of Chennai or Bangalore or Punjab. Surely, all of us know that there is no way that teams like the Deccan Chargers or the Rajasthan Royals which boast of names like Warne, Afridi, Gilchrist,Symonds, Vaas, Smith, etc. can be representative of Indian cities or regions, regardless of the ownership. So how is it that these matches, which are played by mixed medley of players from all over, are internalised by the viewers and metamorphosise into much fiercer battles with regional overtones like Chennai vs. Bangalore and Delhi vs. Mumbai?
To my mind, the IPL matches need to be viewed for what they are: Fun, Games, Glamour,A lot of Noise and almost zilch sentimental baggage. After all, its not the glitz of the uniform that matters, but the spirit that shines within it.
Night after night, people remain glued to their television sets cheering their favourite teams on and devoting great chunks of their time to an analysis of past games and what one can expect in the next. Be it the on-field drama or the emotional histrionics of Sreesanth and Harbajan, the titilating cheerleaders or the glamorous SRK & Zinta shaking a leg to urge their teams to victory..IPL has, with quite a bit of help from Bollywood and the corporate world, glamorised and reinvigorated cricket as never before, seducing even the not so avid fans like me!!
I personally think the IPL is a brilliant concept. And when I say this, I am looking past the glitz, the drama and referring to the idea of mixing nationalities to creating racially diverse, multi-cultural heterogeneous teams.
There comes a time in any entity's growth when, to avoid stagnation, it has to heed the cry for departure from the tried and tested and infuse fresh blood, ideas and energy into its existence. And how better to achieve this, than to wed the known with the relative unknown? Of course, such a marriage can result in utter disaster but then, as long as survival remains a basic tenet of life, there often emerges a new, stronger order. I suspect this will be the case with our cricketers. After all, strength does lie in differences rather than in similarities. Playing as a single team, alongside professionals from all over the world hitherto viewed as opponents, should raise the learning curve of our cricketers.
And it should have taught us, as a country, a little more about the spirit of sportsmanship. While our cricketers hone their skills, it appears that the IPL has done very little to infuse a change in the sportive spirit of our viewing public.
Let's face it. Indians generally make rather fanatic cricket fans, with successes and failures being taken very personally. While these sentiments are understandable to an extent in an inter-nation or an inter-state tournament, I have been struggling to come to terms with the empty stadiums in the wake of a "home team's" loss and the rather fierce expressions of joy and sorrow churned up by the victories and losses of Chennai or Bangalore or Punjab. Surely, all of us know that there is no way that teams like the Deccan Chargers or the Rajasthan Royals which boast of names like Warne, Afridi, Gilchrist,Symonds, Vaas, Smith, etc. can be representative of Indian cities or regions, regardless of the ownership. So how is it that these matches, which are played by mixed medley of players from all over, are internalised by the viewers and metamorphosise into much fiercer battles with regional overtones like Chennai vs. Bangalore and Delhi vs. Mumbai?
To my mind, the IPL matches need to be viewed for what they are: Fun, Games, Glamour,A lot of Noise and almost zilch sentimental baggage. After all, its not the glitz of the uniform that matters, but the spirit that shines within it.
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