18-27 - Part 2

There happened two good things in 2006 when I was 22. One, I found a proper job, a structured framework, an organization, sense of competition revoked, against my colleagues. This job returned a bit of my self-esteem. This also made me socialize though only a little bit and also made me feel competitive and needy to perform. I was the best performer as a trainee for two months as well as an employee once I hit the floor actually, for another two months. In these four months, with unrestricted internet access, I re-discovered my love for reading.

The first book I read then was- Gone with the wind in a total of 8 hours, skipping my breaks, requesting extra shift from my manager and what not. Then I read Jane Eyre and other books by the Bronte sisters. And by the time I was four month old in an organization, working on a salary of 10 K bucks and the youngest employee and also one of the best performers across the organization, I realized, this wasn’t where I belonged to.

I submitted my resignation which wasn't accepted. I waited two days, let my salary be credited, swiped my account clear and left the job, gone! Vanished, declared absconding (thankfully this doesn't cause ground for legal action in India). I came back home, got enrolled in an off-campus graduate program in humanities and against all odds and ends and voices of sanity chose philosophy, English literature and political science(for the lack of a better available third optional)

In the first year of my graduation I scored 75 percent marks in philosophy (something that had become for me a rare commodity). There were extra papers in environmental science, computers, compulsory English. I fared well in all of them. I managed a decent 60 something in English, 50 or something in political studies.

The second year was better, I went to Delhi again to work in a reputed MNC this time to earn enormous amounts as salary but four months later the job started taking heavy toll on me. What with 12 hours of days shift and 14 hours of night. No time to study, no leaves in the peripheral vision for examination. I quit, came back, studied for second year exams, and got 79 percent in Phil. and some average 50 percent something in English and Pol. Studies.

In the third and the final year, I joined a private Engineering college in my own town as a faculty for spoken English. The salary was a mere four thousand, but I was once again in my comfort zone. I was teaching again, content, happy, very much at peace with myself, at home within the campus and with the rest of the staff. I was the only female out there amidst all boys (students) and men (teachers). But six months later, we shifted our home to a place farther off. The change was welcome; I now had a room for myself. My personal space was better than earlier. I didn’t have to share a room with my younger brothers. But, I had to quit my job because my travel time increased to double and so did the fare.

It was also around this time, that I finally ended up in a long distance relationship with a Dominant Man in USA. And by the time the term ended, I was with an average of 83 in philosophy, and decent 60 something crossed in the other two subjects. I was happy, successful in terms of my degree and was a student of a very reputed institute, preparing for an MBA entrance exam, when I fell into my annual depression phase.

Once into it, I sat completely home locked, not wanting to go out anywhere, not wanting to do anything, not wanting to meet anyone. And then one fine day, I got a call from the institute and I was offered a trainer’s post there for communicative and spoken English. Once again, I was in my comfort zone. And then I was given the responsibility to teach the language section for the same exam that I was writing.

I was eventually given classes with the same batch as that of my fellow students and surprisingly they co-operated too well with me and it went fine. I was enrolled in an M.A. program and an executive MBA simultaneously. Eventually I discovered that I am not a corporate person and that it is only teaching that I have truly loved, after I gave up on trying being a doctor. So, I gave up on the MBA as well as the job and kept only to the MA degree. But two months before the exams I got cold feet and gave up on that too. So, one full year dropped again. I then finally stayed at home for another 8 months, working for small amounts, tit-bits, occasional classes, not studying, just thinking, making futile plans and doing nothing before I found some very supportive friends emotionally and morally and finally my current job.

It was also in these last four and a half years that I discovered lifestyle, could place my thoughts, orientations in place, get a perspective that whatever need for control I had in my routine life was not something weird but had a name for itself. It was in the last year that I also found a real group of people in India who follow different sorts of unconventional lifestyles and do not judge people. It was the past one year when I explored the possibilities of embracing my true nature as a person. It was however, around a month ago that I also found my mentor after a long series of faltering, failings, psycho-somatic illnesses, fractures and what not.

I know I have a whole life ahead of me. I also know I will fall, make mistakes, get hurt, but I also know I will survive, especially now that I have a strong support system.

© anu (Exploring Myself)

My years 0-9

I do not remember much of my very initial years. I do remember things from an age of 2.5/3 years though, I guess. My parents do tell me that I was a hyperactive child, multi-faceted, inquisitive, curious, talkative and impressively intelligent when I was a kid. When I was born, I had something that worried them. They took me to the doctors and different doctors way back then (around 84-87) told them that it could / might lead to a lot of medical complications, like cerebral membranes’ inflammation and other things like a swollen head.

I was very young when I started talking and my dad says I had the kind of precise grasp over pronunciation which is rare to find at that age. Father also tells me, that I would speak and recite tough to pronounce Sanskrit texts and verses behind Him when he would sit and do his rituals and worship every day. He tells me, I would imitate not just the words but also the tone and the voice modulation. I was 2.5 years old when someone recommended that dad should make me learn music.

Dad took the advice seriously because of two reasons he says: 1. He was obsessed with the possibilities of me being unwell on the basis of the medical problem and hence wanted to provide me the maximum time and effort and best things in life that he could. 2. He noticed that I was sharp, intelligent and keen. So, He finally devoted himself to my well being, growth and development.

I do not remember my dad ever spanking, slapping, chastising me. He’s perhaps the kindest and yet the most upright father there could be. He taught me throughout the importance of a decent touch and the importance of being vocal, communicative. He taught me to embrace who I was. He taught me strength was a good thing, but it had to be controlled. He also taught me that my strength came not from denying who I was, but from embracing.

I remember Him telling me that being a woman was not about being week. It had nothing to do with gender. Just like He could be all maternal while still being a male and my mom could be all robust, active and doing all the tasks that needed to be done, in spite of the fact that dad was the decision making authority.

I have faint memories of my daily routine like dad waking us early morning, massaging our limbs and back with oil and bathing us and getting us ready while mom would finish the kitchen work. Dad teaching us or helping us memorize some more Sanskrit texts, grammar, math, science concepts and/or prayers, poems.

We would then be sent to school, initially by dad on his cycle, then in the school bus by mom at times and at later times by the auto rickshaw that would pick us from home and drop us back after school. Back then, dad was posted locally, would be back by then (when he was on an early shift in school, he was just a teacher then, not a head ), so we’d change, eat, take an afternoon nap, wake up, do the homework, usually I’d manage myself. Then he’d take me to a music teacher, come back, teach me language, grammar, math, read stories with me, talk about the people in the stories, the values, the morals, the ethics everything.

This routine as I remember was my routine till I was 10 years old. I remember, my younger brother was born when I was around two and a half years old. My grandmother helped me change at home and when I asked about ma (I call my mother ma, though we called her mummy when we were young and my father papa), I was told she’s gone to hospital to bring my brother and would be back in a few hours. When I got up from the afternoon nap, my mom hadn’t yet come back and I started crying. I clearly remember my eldest uncle giving me a chocolate and talking to me about school and so many other things to distract me. We lived in a joint family then. My grandparents would spend some time at the pilgrim spots nearby and some home. My uncles (2 of the three) and aunt (1 of the two I had) used to stay in the same house.

If I started rambling, I could go on and on and on about my childhood, there’s just so much of it. But when my mom finally came home, she had a beautiful baby with her – my brother. I do not really remember how we were raised in His first few years, those memories are fuzzy in fact blank and I’m surprised why. I do remember that he started talking early too and was equally sharp. And I remember that whenever I’d take ages to drink milk, he’d say jiji (sister), hurry up, drink it fast!!! (in his stuttering, baby voice) and I’d be irritated like hell. He used to suckle his thumb, would dress just like me, but I’d sometimes bully him. We fought a lot, but we’d always share all the things. In fact my parents always brought two of everything they brought.

He started going to school and music class when he was 2.5/3 too, and at a young age he was diagnosed with hypermyopia. It was then I was diagnosed with the same too. We both looked very similar way back then and people often mistook us for twins, with similar clothes, similar heights, chubby round, beautiful faces and thick glasses :)

I remember I gave my first public speech addressing an audience of 500 at 3.5 again I was then covered in almost all local and a few national dailies. Sometimes big front pages, sometimes small columns. I wrote my first poem about my brother’s habit of suckling his thumb at 6, which my dad kept as a precious memory and then it got lost some years ago :)

The speeches, stage and music never stopped, nor did the reading. after those smaller versions of stories from scriptures, next came lives of religious devotees, then best classics of world translated to Hindi and abridged versions. Followed in translated Bengali literature, Gnanapitha award winning novels from Hindi and other regional languages. Debates, speeches and everything else would always be in HIndi, education, study and school in English. Mom working on spellings, math problems, practice papers as dad would guide her to make us do them :) We siblings fighting, pulling hair, biting, digging nails and then going out for sports on sundays, to the nearby garden, swings.

However, there’s one thing I prominently remember now. I had a doll, which often would be my mother and take me to an imaginary doctor. Sometimes, it was the daughter and I would take her to the doctor. The doctor would always be me. And I would talk myself to sleep. My brother and I would play a household and I’d ask Him to dictate dinner menus and I’d ask Him to do the masculine work and let me do the feminine tasks :)

I don’t remember having any friends. I was in a missionary girls’ school and I remember having loads of jealous girls and classmates who’d wonder why my parents, teachers, senior girls and even their parents lavished so much attention, awe and respect towards me. They were always willing to chuck me out of play groups, even when I tried to join in and after I got specs, it got all the more tough. I remember that I had lost control on urination once when I was 9.5 if I remember correctly, though there was a small course of medicine my parents got me and things were back to normal. But that might have been for other reasons now I think of it. But that’s another story. So, remaining for the next installment :)

© anu (Exploring Myself)

Vo Pandrah Din : Those Fifteen Days

I've been nostalgic and low last three - four days. Benn thinking about the worthless and unproductive life, I've led last few months. 7 months to be precise. But then I remembered those 15 days.

THOSE days, when I contributed to people's lives around me. Those days that were one of the darkest period in my life and yet the brightest. Darkest because life was a mess, while brightest because I taught the deprived kids what they wouldn't get in school. A bit of respect, a bit of English and a bit of math and multiplication. These were kids, who'd take my tantrums and yet laugh with me. Kids from not so well - to- do families. Kids who were willing to teach me as much as learn from me. Kids who taught me how to make photo frames, how to make a bunch of grapes from playing marbles,and kids who looked forward to English vocabulary.

Children who'd fight amongst themselves, who'd weep when I scolded, and who would be almost serenely happy when I smiled at them. Kids who'd try to make me happy by studying harder. These were kids who stayed around because THEY wanted to, not because their parents wanted to. Not because they were forced to.

Kids who made me feel wanted, who made me feel I was worth existing when nothing else was good enough. When my best friends were overwhelmed, not knowing how to handle me, these kids brought those smiles and those tears to my eyes.

I had kept the classes for 15 days only because I didn't want to teach for free, while the children wanted to come for more time, and I denied because I didn't know when I might snap at them. But today, I miss those 15 days.

Lord,

Grant me many more 15 days of this sort. Make my life useful to those around me.

Amen!

©2010 anu (Exploring Myself)