The Colour Purple

It's been a hot minute since I last wrote a blog. Inspiration was a aplenty, but the desire to pen it down was lacking. So, I decided to get back on the wagon, with a development that has been keeping me quite preoccupied.

I've been seeing a lot of the colour purple lately. Being the curious spiritual being that I am, I decided to explore the significance of this colour, and figure out how it places in my life at the moment.

To my surprise, purple is associated to spirituality, to the sacred and higher self, to passion, to the third eye, fulfillment, and vitality. Purple helps align oneself with the whole of the universe. (source: https://www.bourncreative.com/meaning-of-the-color-purple/ ).

With the pandemic being relentless and draining on our emotional health, especially the second wave, I've been feeling a spiritual awakening, perhaps stemming from a need to make sense of all the chaos and finding my own grounding.

Taking a lesson from Paulo Cohelo's "The Alchemist", I've been paying astute attention to the signs around me. A slight clarification- I'm not consciously seeking out these signs; instead, the signs are an extension to thoughts/questions/musings already existing and merely affirming them.

It's difficult to convey the sheer coincidences of these thoughts without freaking myself out, but I'm going to try. An easy one to talk about- when I'm thinking of someone, they either end up reaching out to me, or interacting with me either on social media, or pop-up as one of those memories on Facebook or Instagram. It's eerie how in tune that event turns out. It's not everyday I'm thinking of someone in particular, but I've noticed that when they become a singular thought with a specific recollected memory, it is then when the alignment occurs.

That's just one small example, and it's enough for me to recognize that there's power in our thoughts and energies we exude.

Even though I'm constantly evolving myself to be a better version, this realization has lead me to overhaul some perspectives and reevaluate how I approach different relationships in my life. Over time, I had developed crippling anxiety that was causing a lot of turbulence in not only relationships, but my behaviour as well. I was getting angrier, impatient, losing hope even; and all that combined wasn't making me feel good, especially when I started lashing out at the people I Iove.

Perhaps the pandemic was taking a toll and causing a bad bout of cabin fever. But the realization that I alone hold the keys to my thoughts and actions, and can control them, was the kick in the butt I desperately needed for the healing to begin. It was a conscious choice to evolve,and there's power in that.

I'm working everyday on being open-minded, more empathetic, patient. And I choose all this for my own sanity, my growth, my inner peace.

The painting created by me above was inspired by our trip to Provence, France,in 2013. The endless rows of fragrant lavender fields is all I can think of, and oddly enough, smell too.

I'm well aware that what I'm speaking of here isn't new. But it certainly feels new when one's exploring and living in the words that made no sense, until now. It's fascinating, and liberating too.

I invite you all to find the power we hold within ourselves and open our thoughts to the limitless possibilities that we can manifest our words, energies and beliefs into.

Stay safe & healthy.

A Fantastic Woman

Yesterday I had a delightful conversation with my friend Anamika. I haven’t met her in a while and since she’s now moved to my side of the hood, catching up over coffee and soul food is going to be mandatory. In the midst of discussing life and other disasters, she said something that struck a chord with me. 

While talking about feminism, what it means to be a woman and sharing our unfortunate experiences of just being a woman, she brought up the Hindi song “Kuch Toh Log Kahenge” from the 1971 film Amar Prem, starring Sharmila Tagore and the late Rajesh Khanna. If you need a translation to the lyrics, click here.

She continued to remind me of the lyrics. The chorus translates to “people will say something, it’s their job to talk about or have an opinion on something”. But, more specifically, she brought me to the line- “tu kaun hai tera naam hai kya sita bhi yahaan badnaam huyi”, which literally means to- “You're a nobody here, even (the goddess) Sita was slandered here”. 

Context to the slandering- according to the Ramayana, written by Valmiki, when Goddess Sita was finally rescued from the clutches of the demon-king Raavana and brought back to Lord Ram, her chastity was questioned. 

I started pondering- here’s a woman who was kidnapped, incarcerated and possibly made to go through hell in captivity. And if stories of women being in captivity have taught us anything, she possibly underwent abuse of many kinds. 

But what does she endure upon her return to her husband? She’s questioned on her purity. On whether she saved herself for her husband and not be scarred by her captor. And the best part? She was questioned by the same people she loved, and who adored her back.

So, like any other woman who has to prove herself and not just say it with words, she agreed to an ‘Agni Parkisha’, or a ‘Test by Fire’, which stated that if she walked through fire and came out unscathed, she’s been untouched by any other man. She’s pure. If not, well, she burns to her ashes, without even getting a dang hug upon her return from torment. 

Obviously, she passed the test. She’s a

goddess after all. But nonetheless, had to prove her sincerity and loyalty. 

While writing this, I had so many questions. So much anger. And exasperation. 

And it got me thinking further. This

piece of our religion is a testament to how women are treated, not just in our culture, but across the world. 

In Christianity, Mother Mary is a virgin. Mary had a husband. And she conceived a child, the Messiah, and still remained a virgin. A miraculous bestowing by God, as opposed to a medically induced one, which I may add, would still be more believable. Also would be the plot of the sitcom Jane the Virgin.

If you visit the Vatican, there’s a beautiful statue of Mother Mary holding a dead Jesus on her lap after his crucifixion. It’s called The Pieta by Michelangelo Buonarroti. Visibly she’s sculpted much smaller than her son she’s holding because prominence is to be given to the saviour. Up close, you’ll notice her face looks much younger than that of her son’s. And it’s been done on purpose. To show her innocence, her flower still intact. Her purity personified. Her purpose being reduced to nothing but a life-giver to the man who was their saviour. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not mocking any of this. But I AM questioning it. 

We give so much prevalence to goddesses, but fail to respect their stories, their contributions. No matter how epic their powers and thoughts, they’ll always be second fiddle to the almighty man. Never equals. 

So how can we expect society to treat mortal women with integrity and humility? 

It’s women’s day today, and we’re living in times where a hashtag is given more prominence than reality. Where we have to campaign to get our voices heard for respect, integrity, equality. Where an extreme incident leads to candle marches, debates and rallies. Where some women themselves are guilty of promoting archaic beliefs and keeping themselves unliberated from the shackles of societal conditioning.

I’m asking for a world where this shouldn’t even be something to fight for. Where treating women fairly, justly and respectfully should be ingrained in our principles, our thinking.

Life starts with us, in us. But, we deserve so much more than just being vessels of mortality. We are more than our bodies. We are more than your perceptions. 

So while you're figuring out how to treat a woman with dignity, save your contrived, misogynistic opinions dripping with patriarchy, and let us live our lives as unabashedly and unapologetically as men do.

Till then, here's to all the fantastic women I have the pleasure of knowing. May you continue to inspire, nurture, achieve, believe and love.

No apologies. No regrets. No prisoners.

Image courtesy: Sarika Joshi

The Show Must Go On

Today as the world welcomes a brand new year, our family welcomed a new chapter to our lives too.

My brother and his family moved to greener pastures.

So with a start, came a goodbye.

Not forever of course, but it was a brief period when the family stayed together after years, with our little bundle of joy recently added to the mix.

The little tyke was just getting his bearings. From being a bag of cuteness to absorbing knowledge like a sponge, he’s at the most amusing stage of his being. His curiosity boundless.

Everything is awe-inspiring and must be ‘tasted’ or chewed to satiate the agony his teething’s causing him.

The last few days the brother and his family shacked it up with my parents and I at our place. There were suitcases, toys, humans all over the house.

While everyone else was cool, my own compulsion to keep the house clean soon lead to a truce between my tired body and my nephew’s insistence to give me a challenge.

Plus, everything was covered in drool. Puddles were left behind when something was left alone post the saliva mauling.

I’d rather leave certain things alone. Small sacrifices.

While observing and absorbing every bit of the munchkin, it started to sink in that the joy of having him around is going to be rationed.

But that’s another small sacrifice for the long run, the bigger picture. That of my brother grabbing an opportunity for the better.

Also, technology to the rescue. They’re going to be bombarded with a fusillade of FaceTimes and other video chats. Can’t miss on to his formative years, can we?

This morning the atmosphere was somber. Not in a perpetual state, but surges of the emotion were definitely felt. The dark and gloomy rainy weather was the perfect backdrop to the setting.

The nephew of course was unaware of the developments, although he could sense something stirring.

We had our duties divided. While the brother and sister in law were in the final stages of wrapping up, mom and dad were on grandparent duty. I took over the job of feeding the grownups and keeping the areas tidy, only to make room for a more organised mess to be created. That was the idea anyway.

My parents and I decided not to overwhelm the process by not heading to the airport. Plus, the travellers had a first class adventure they wanted to enjoy, which starts the second you arrive at the airport.

Post a hearty breakfast of Indian masala omelettes, toast with Kissan mixed fruit jam, and coffee, it was time for the final stages, mostly to organise the baby’s food and diaper bag for the journey.

A shower, a nap and a feed later, it was time to finally leave for the airport.

I remember watching my maternal grandmother (nani) blessing people for a journey with a tilak (a smearing of red paste on the forehead) some sweets, a token of love and flowers to throw behind. I simply had to recreate this symbolic gesture. Perhaps as an ode to my nani’s traditions. Or perhaps I’m just a little too dramatic. Either ways, the elders bless them.

Once the ritual concluded, we took a bit of a breather, while waiting for a cab.

And then, the moment we had been anxiously dreading. A bittersweet memory in the making.

11 suitcases, a baby stroller, 2 very anxious humans, a happy and oblivious baby, a bit heartbroken set of parents and me; all were put into two elevators, to head to the cab.

With each bag the car was loaded with, a baggage of emotions was unloaded by us.

Our final hugs were surreal. And as a natural transition from being just an aunt to a responsible aunt, I leaned in to my nephew seated in his car seat on the stroller and said, “be good, be happy, be kind, be loving.”

He looked coyly at me with his innocent eyes and fluttering lashes. And all I could ask him for was a kiss, which he readily obliged. Such a sweetheart.

And then they were all in the car, and my parents and I were left behind, waving, momentarily watching our souls driving away.

We are a dramatic bunch.

The ride up the elevator to our home four stories up felt like the longest ride ever.

While the parents headed straight to their room to brood, I went right to sprucing things up. Clearly we deal with sadness differently.

Once done, I went to check on them, and found them snuggled up with each other, comforting one another.

They see me, break apart, inviting me to join the family snuggle in the middle.

Felt poetic, with me, their other spawn, to fill in the void.

Through this all, we reminded ourselves that it’s a small sacrifice. And a change that’s not permanent.

New year, new life.

New challenges, new chances.

The show must go on. And it will.