Folklore Retold

<Inspired by a true incident>



August 15th , 2017. "Dry day in all senses - blistering weather outside and no scope of buying my booze for the night. How will I live through another night without my placebo boosters? Why did I not think of stocking up?", thought Aman - furious at his own callousness.

He looked at his watch - FitBit Charge - given by his sister on Rakhi, to mark yet another year of the virtuous cycle of sibling rivalry. Aman's sister, Preeti, of a calm mind and a calmer disposition - had got it together early in life. Signs of her life's stability, had been evidenced early in their teenage years, through the cleverly organized desk. Her life redefined and justified her nomenclature.

On the other hand, Aman's life was very distant from the true meaning of his name. "How ironic!" he used to think, sarcastically to himself - on moments when after 3 pegs of his favorite Scotch liquor, he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity. He did so, also to escape the daily nightmares of murder and deceit that he kept seeing - of faceless strangers, yet so familiar.

It was 5 mins past 6 am, when Aman had looked into his watch and thought that surprisingly he had woken up before his alarm, scheduled at 6.30 am. Nowadays, he had a motivational podcast as his alarm. His FitBit flashed a notification of the workshop he was due to attend - Family Constellation - as suggested by one of his office peers, to bring some "aman" into his life.

When Aman walked into the workshop venue, he was greeted by an eclectic mix of attendees. All seemed nervous - as if scared about what could be revealed. More women than men - not surprising again, Aman thought. Men may think this is too sissy.

The moderators had arrived and were helping to introduce the group to one another. That done, the overarching premise of Family Constellation was explained graphically and the possible impact discussed at great length.

Volunteers were called forth. Aman raised his hand - he liked being the first at most things in his life.
Confident in his stride, he walked over to the moderators and articulated his 'issue'.

"I am here as I seek to understand how to belong. I often find myself misplaced - or as a misfit in my family. Sometimes not loved enough, not respected enough or seen as a black sheep for the anarchic choices I may have made that had caused a rift in my family. Today, I want to understand what really has triggered this slight animosity towards me by my family members - for no fault of mine. Even though I am unfailingly courteous to everyone - even Tiny the Shi Tzu pup that my sister has adopted!"

Moderator 1 - "Aman, pick people whom you feel, can best represent you and your family members"

Aman selected 3 amongst the audience. The role play began - with dialogues flying back and forth.
Aman was close to his father but felt neglected by his mother. His parents' perfect harmony served as an anxiety to him - as it was unveiled that he himself wasnt able to hang on to his partner.

Aman sat at the corner - watching the role-play. His curiosity was abound - his eyes had a peculiar look. Suddenly from the audience, a woman stood up - "I feel wronged. I belong here. But I have been abused. I feel wronged. I need my justice!"

Silence descended in the room - like a heavy drape that dumbfounded the passive spectators. The woman got up - she was one among the group attending the workshop - however, the energy shift in the room affected her to play a different persona.

Moderator 2 asked her to take a position in the constellation formed. She went behind the man playing Aman and stood - clutching on to him. "This boy is mine!" she proclaimed. He gives me voice. He will avenge me.

Stunned, the real Aman looked on. "What was this folklore unfolding? Who is she?" he thought. Exact thoughts percolated the mind-spaces of all involved.

The woman then dragged the man playing Aman to behind his 'parents' - indicating that she was from a generation too many apart.

"I was abused here. No-one gave me my right. No-one claimed me. No-one made me feel belonged. I was murdered. I was hidden. My child taken away. My body thrown into the sea." the woman continued in a ghostly whisper - while the on-lookers peered on, at the spectacle unfolding - aghast at the possibility of a ghost's voice descending in the room.

It was spooky and yet riveting. It was like a Bollywood film - only too real to be ignored. Aman was stricken as a horrible thought struck him. "Is it...?" he kept thinking, frantically.

Suddenly another gentleman of medium build and a red face with teary eyes stood up. His tears streaked down his salt and pepper beard and matted the hair that lay plastered to his cheeks. He gave loud sniffs and quietly stole up beside the woman - again generations beyond.

"I am sorry. I had wronged you. I had to let you go. No-one knew about us. Yet I had so wanted others to know our love story." the sobbing man continued.

"Why?!" the woman screamed out. "Why was I the victim of your hypocrisy then? Why not Sharda? Why not your younger brother, Suman?" she railed.

"Oh my god. It's true!" Aman thought. "The family folklore was true. There really was a second marriage and a murder in my family!"

The sobbing man continued to beg forgiveness. "I am sorry, my love. It wasn't meant to be this way. I had to keep you a secret. We married when we were young and then you had a bonny boy. But I never had the courage to defy my Babuji, who already had selected a bride for me. I had to marry her. Sharda was very innocent. Your boy..our boy .. now is a grown up man with his own family. A grandfather too. I watch over him...he had to go.. he was the symbol of our secret.."

"Why did you murder me? Why did you take my child away?" the woman screamed - her agony apparent.

The real Aman, sitting in the audience, marveled at the participant's enactment. It wasn't acting - he was sure. These were quiet and buried family secrets - never to see the daylight.

"I did not. My brother did... he had to protect the family honor.." the man, whispered.

Moderator 1 stepped in. "I think its clear what is happening..her soul needs to be honored.. " So let's all pray ....

"Wow" thought Aman. "What was she trying to tell me all this while then? She was then never truly at peace. She wanted me to enable her to hear a confession - that she deserved. Did she get her peace? The adage is so true - "age deserves honor!" ...

And suddenly Aman felt that a great weight shifted from his shoulders. He felt lighter - the everyday headache that he grown immune too - suddenly disappeared. He felt a hand caress his head lovingly - and the woman beside him enacting the aggrieved soul - whispering to him -"darling boy.. thank-you. I had known that you would help me. You are free now. Go live your life. I'll watch over you.."

CANDLES

This is Eva Mozes Kors. She was one of the Auschwitz twins, who survived the Holocaust and the twin experiments by Mengele. I had read about her earlier, when she gave an impassioned speech , as CANDLES founder - where she preached on the value of love and kindness out-witting human folly of hatred, negativity and treachery. Now she is dead - but her legacy lives on. 

I had first read about the twins experiment in a Mauve Binchy's book - the gruesome details shocked, saddened and yet enraptured. Mainly because the details seemed so inhuman. Nazism and I suppose other forms of insanity the world over - are quite the permanent and ever growing footprints of human inhumanity. 

Eva had written and spoken extensively  about , how she had been taken captive by the Nazis on the basis of the Jew bias - her family, sans her twin, were put into gas chambers. She and her twin, Miriam, suffered the brutality of the experiments - where they were injected different germs and hormones as Nazis sought to 'create' the superior race in the world. 

Luckily, one night both escaped - as the camp was liberated by the Soviet army. Her mothers friend helped take charge of both - finally enabling them to live a 'normal' life. 

Miriam however, was in Austria, while Eva had to make the long journey to USA - where she made her new life. Later in life, Eva suffered numerous miscarriages as a result of her treatment in the camp. When she did have a child, she developed cancer. She also developed tuberculosis. Miriam had kidney problems because her kidneys never fully developed. Eva gave one of her kidneys to Miriam, saying: "I have one sister and two kidneys". Miriam died of kidney cancer.

It was in 1984, that Eva founded CANDLES - where she helped bring to light the gruesome experiments. Till then, the knowledge had not been out in the open / accepted by people the world over. With that she proclaimed, that even when she was tortured, she kept the values of forgiveness, love and kindness, at heart - beseeching the Nazi guards who even injected her arm full of unknown elements. 

CANDLES became the hallmark of a virtuous cycle - to forgive and understand. That was Eva's legacy. 

Very few of us, practice this. There is an inherent quality in most, to negate, resist and attempt to fade out the 'goodness' of life. 

Even in our day to day dealings with people, where most of us are so pathetically transactional - we forget that one day - way back in the past - we must have been taught these values in school. When and where did we lose touch and sight of these values - is unbeknownst and a shame!

Today, Eva came to my mind. Today, my best birthday present from my SO was realization of the lost values and the need to refresh my belief system too - along the way. 

In our struggle to live a 'normal' life - we forget the core / root / base that anchors us. We look at the green vales, blue skies and the gold of the luxurious life - forgetting the labor of love, that went behind such creation. 

Its funny - how in our mundane relationships- we forget the smallest of smiles - as a token of appreciation, value and love. We are perhaps, scared to show the love to others - which we know we have, locked deep in our hearts - afraid to let that shine out. We disarm love to be defenceless, powerless and therefore fruitless. 

I believe, that every day, we must make that attempt to simply smile. At others who smile at us. Thank others who help us. Be empathetic to people who may not seem to have heard us.  And above all, love the real people in our lives with the integral values of love, kindness, respect and unconditionality.

Hail eva!!

Umut

Lately, I am quite addicted to Turkish Dramas. It all started with Fatmagul. The next one to stir my conscience was Kordugum - Turkish for "Intersection"



Predictable yet unpredictable in its flow and plot -  Intersection gave me sleepless nights, puffy eyes and red eyes - as each episode kept me up till late nights.

It all starts with a marriage on the rocks and the woman fatefully meets Ali Nejat. Love does not have its usual trajectory - there is no high point of passion shown : rather the delectable and shadowy bonds of the human mind.

At the heart of the plot is a little boy, who's destiny lets him to leads him to tread un-chartered waters everyday - as he tries to make sense of his reality. The drama unfolds the bond of a new father with a son he had been unaware of - as well as explore the intricacies of the human expectations across relationships.

Why this particular piece is titled Umut is because the character seemed very similar to a personal episode. Umut is a typical man we may come across everyday - seemingly frustrated with the lack of direction in his own life, perpetrator of a rocky marriage, suspicious and jealous of his partner. Interestingly Umut is Turkish for "hope" - however, life paints him quite, hopeless.

He comes across as a personality who keeps shouting, throwing things around, being volatile and the kind who fails to use his ears properly. He is the victim of his own insensibility.

In the end, the protagonist decides to leave him - as he with one blow ends their "hopes" for a future (Naz has a miscarriage, following a fight with Umut when he pushes her and she falls losing her balance).

To me the series was an epiphany - a particular toxicity lives, witnessed live on screen. I have realized, no matter how "open", progressive or broad minded men could be about many spheres of life - yet, when it comes to the fundamentals of a relationship, roots speak for themselves. A tier 2 man will forever be stuck in his origin story.

Despite the professional or corporate progressive attitude, if the mind of the man is stuck behind - "who is she talking to, she is a slut, she cannot be trusted.." - sadly, it speaks of the regressive character and mindset behind that so-called evolved mental make-up.

A man like this believes that 'slut shaming' would somehow be destructive and even moralistic - may also stretch his imagination to believe that the upbringing was faulty or the school lacked suitable moral science lectures. So this kind of a man- spearheads mankind - in his dexterous and arduous attempt at correction and correlation.

A man like this would also love to blame the woman for everything - feeding off on her insecurity and elevating it to a fever pitch so that she coils around him. And when the coil becomes a recoil - he automatically moves on to the offensive - attacking with spite and a few chosen words that enact his chiseled intelligence.

Take for instance, a particular issue the woman might seek his guidance on or merely a listener-ship if nothing else. The man is the self-appointed ruler of the moralistic kingdom and instead of being a friend becomes the soothsayer - all eventualities pointing unfairly and unfavorably in the woman's direction.

This kind of a man comes from his own set of superiority values - he believes he is above all though he lives under his own faux pas of inequality. Specially in a relationship, this man becomes the God - worships his own way of the world and seeks deference or fear in place of unrequited love.

Wonder what is really the "Umut" for such Umuts?!

The Show Must Go On..

Gnarly and twisted concepts filled my head as I looked at my phone and booked the much anticipated movie - Bohemian Rhapsody. Over the course of the last few days, I had been battling with the concepts of love, family, friendship, exclusivity and future. All are interlinked and ladder onto the final benefit of happiness - itself an illusive realm.

Somewhere down the road, life tells you that expectations are always meant to be unmet - or be un-mated. Convergence of hopes, dreams and expectations for the future are a folly - a mere futility.

As I made my way to the movie theater, my fevered body processed the slight nip in the wind with alarming degrees. Seemed to corroborate to the overall mood and myopia.

The 2 hours of magical spell left me breathless. From start to end, I devoured every scene - like the hungry teen who has been left  bereft of Freddie's shadow. Unbeknownst, I realized, in one way or the way, Queen had its heart-prints imprinted all over my life. I have grown up with this music, with this school of thought and with this wonder.

The film starts first and foremost with the quest and question of BELONGING. Home by default is the belonging zone for many - but for a few, its a jail where you feel like a misfit. ESCAPE then becomes the only and lonely adventure to thrust the vagrant spirit into carving out a niche for itself.

Freddie never belonged - the feeling of void alone the stoke for his creative fire where he let loose his ire. He found a home in Mary - but the next question of SEXUALITY stole his nest.

Yet, he found a cocoon by way of GOOD FRIENDS in Mary along with his band members. The film then moves down the trajectory of discovering GOOD vs BAD FRIENDS.

The question of IDENTITY soon looms larger than life - all consuming in its flame, as Freddie grapples with time-lines, emotions, sexual borders and fleeting people to make sense of his own reality. What must be created, what already exists and what must be projected - the myriad questions hover around his own self-denial / acceptance of himself.

Here I take recourse to my own  mind meanderings - highlighted by certain facets in the movie. Jim Hutton tells Freddie - to be loved, one has to love himself. True. Often we find ourselves hurtling down paths laid down by others - understanding the pathos of our own loss of control over our own reality but we are forced to live / re-live the compromise. We make believe that the fantasy world we are led through by the alpha wolf, is a beta war-path : our own emblazoned love beating in our hearts, a self-effacing war-cry.

In our lifetimes, we often meet people - God fearing themselves but unafraid to play God-men. They cheat themselves of the epithet of a Rainmaker - true. They make hay while the rain pours - from another's eyes.

The concept of friendship is either transient or transparent to the point of being non-existent. As I have grown older, not only has my friends circle shrunk to a miserable threesome - but within that too, I sense distance, malice and truancy. Or, is it all my imagination? See - we all fight with the quest for identity - closely linked with our immediate circles - real or virtual.

You keep questioning - who is there for you truly? Who is the real friend - not always in need or deed but just someone who respects the "being" in and of time?

Belonging - we yearn for that perfect home to enconsce ourselves - leaving our conscience behind. The mighty Almighty question of home is plighty - is it a person, a place or a combination of both? What if, the person you thought as home disappears - does the structure you return back from work to, cease to be your home or shelter? Does it not wrap you up in its essence - envelope you in its warmth? Was it not a home you'd once created too - with the departed soul before the latter became a soul-less ghoul?

In the tide of times, where do we begin and end? What makes us be us and to what extent are we really in control of our own lives? What makes us happy these days or is sadness the predominant emotion that engulfs as it separates reality from fantasy?


Yet we trudge on. Darkened by the darkness - set alight by the brightness of our own innate being-ness. The Show Must Go On.

The unknown companion.....

Midnight is not exactly anyone’s dream hour to be behind the wheels trying to juggle two seemingly contrasting jobs at the same time - driving and sleeping.  However as history has it (at least since automobiles were introduced), every once in a while, a true braveheart must undertake this hypnotic act and literally live to tell the tale.

This past weekend destiny (read my Travel Plans) decided to hand me this task and judge if I could live up to its daunting challenges.  Like every Don Quixote  who has had that “one for the road” extra drink, I decided to take up the challenge and considered it an act of weakness to succumb to the somnolent desires. So at midnight, here I was zipping and swirling through the “video game like” labyrinth of Interstate Highways and Freeways of Texas while Hypnos the God of Sleep and his half brother Thanatos the God of Death ferociously fought over who should get my final “custody”.  Fortunately for me and unfortunately for many of you, Thanatos and MS Dhoni both were later found drinking at the same bar and licking their failure wounds as I lived on…..

So, on this entrancing ride to the Beaver Bend State Park as I was juggling with my cell phone, my GPS (which refuses to form a bond with the dashboard), and a water bottle ---  at one enlightening moment, I realized that after a long time in my driving career, I was the only “one” on the road. This was a single lane state highway, with no lights, large fields bordering it on both sides and no one in sight. I quickly glanced around and looked in all mirrors to spot some signs of human existence, but all in vain. This gave me a glimpse of how Mars Rover might be feeling every day. However even Rovers has the excitement of unpaved roads and a distant communicative companion(s) in “Houston”.  I did not have that luxury !!

A moment after I realized my lonely existence, the ubiquitous sadist in me quizzed me in a Rapid fire round……

Do you have fuel in the car?...

Is it enough?..............

Do you have Cash in your pocket?.........

When did you last check the air pressure?....

 Why did you not get the “Check Engine” light checked?….

Did you renew your AAA membership? …..

Is your insurance card updated?............

Does your cell phone have coverage? ….

What if your car breaks down here?........

Where is the damn flashlight?......

What about the dead body in the boot?.... ok maybe that was in some movie…. But the others rang loud and clear in a few seconds.

Now as I tried to appease the sadist in me and convince him that “Aaalll izzz well”, I stopped juggling with my electronics and also instinctively took my foot off the gas pedal. My convincing of the inner voices might not have been that effective as some sense of insecurity still loomed in the mind. I obviously kept on driving confused if I should attempt to enjoy the serenity or hope that none of the fears actually come true. As I have trained myself to do over the years, I went through a series of “What ifs?” and realized that even if the car was to suddenly come to a screeching halt in the middle of this lonely road at this unearthly hour, I would be able to manage the “disaster”. That helped a little to calm down and keep driving, ----- not that stopping was an alternative in any case.

I must have driven a few miles in that confused state of mind, not realizing fully that this had actually helped me become fully awake and aware.  As I went downhill on the road, I saw a set of headlights appear on the horizon of my rear view mirror. In the otherwise pitch darkness they were hard to miss, rising from behind the hill – sunrise of a different kind! And suddenly I had company…. a fellow traveler, a mile away from me. Weirdly enough, I suddenly felt not only some relief but also a strange connection. I slowed down enough so that the car catches up and stays in my rear view mirror as I continued my drive to into the darkness, with a liberated sense that up close and behind I now have a companion…. I kept driving at a speed to ensure that we are in each other’s sight. Every time I felt that the distance is increasing I consciously slowed and sped up every time I thought that we are too close (lest the car overtakes). This slow waltz of ours continued for eighty odd miles, with me taking the lead. Then as we approached a town interestingly named “Paris” in Texas, we parted ways as I could see the car turn left  driving into oblivion. Now why did I feel a sense of desolation as I watched the lights disappear from my rear view mirror?

Nowhere in this entire drive did I ever figure out any details about the car – what make was it? What was its color? Was it even a car or a small pickup truck? Who was driving it? Were there others in that car? Was the master of the car equally relieved to see me drive ahead? Did he (or was it she) also make an attempt to stay close? But there it was – not just a “light” at the end of a seemingly dark tunnel but also a companion of sorts in those eighty miles.

How many times in our lives too we have such markers or milestone people who we don’t know well enough but do expect them to be “there”. How often do we then notice them only when they actually disappear?  A cobbler at the corner of a road who you never will go to but someone who you see daily working diligently head down – making someone’s life better? Someone sitting in a cubicle close to the elevator who you see daily and maybe occasionally smile at too but never even bother to read the name plate. A neighbor who you never get introduced to, but with whom you share the exact office time and see him backing out his car while you alight from the stairs. These seemingly meaningless relationships too I guess have some meaning because you do feel a sense of loss (however fleeting it may be) when that milestone ceases to exist…….

Our Inner Child

Today I read a report on a German striker - fondly called The Kaiser after Beckenbaur- who never kicked a football in his life but was avidly celebrated the world over - and sought after for International Club sign-ups/ sponsorship. In his celebrated career of 14 years, he never managed to score a single goal - always faking an injury or a death in the family as powerful excuses. Yet his popularity reigned - paid popularity. He paid to have fans scream his name, he doctored videos of famous goals proclaiming he scored them and even tricked major football leagues to fall for his fallacy of Greatness.

You could read about him here - https://www.telegraph.co.uk/football/2018/07/25/kaiser-greatest-footballer-never-play-football-meet-legendary/


When probed on his deception in his senior years, he blamed his adoptive mother to hurt his inner child and mar childhood. At merely 10 days, his adoptive mother stole him from his own mother. When he was 10 years old, she put him in a football school to enable him to pick up the beautiful game.

She may have wanted him to learn an "extracurricular activity" as we Bengalis are so fond of picking up or may have felt the sport would help him grow up to be a more competitive human being kindred on ethics of team spirit.

However, "we see what we want to see"

Kaiser, perceived his adoptive mother to "torture" him, and put him in a sport for which he had no love. He felt at that time, it was his own mother who had wanted him to learn football in order to leverage it for commercial means.

When he realized the truth, he felt traded off - the truth of his "abduction" sat sorely in him for which he quickly made himself believe that his purity at formative years had been compromised with.

He started avoiding football and his deception soon became a skill set which he capitalized on to make his mark as a celebrated player - but in reality was just a successful ruse.




Another event I want to note down which happened in synchronicity was watching Kaarwaan. Most of the underplayed Hindi movies are usually better than the A-listers. After long, a movie had a story - clearly relate-able and enjoyable.

The story had a son as the protagonist who had been informed of his father's sudden demise in an accident. Normally Bollywood reveres emotions - melt downs, break downs and drama are celebrated hallmarks of acting. Here, lay a refreshing tale of a son, who was perfunctory about his duty towards last rites for his father - but the emotional attachment was completely amiss. There was no sign of grief - much less a tear : such a treat! On the other hand, while crossing South India on a dead body exchange trip he comes across a "loose" carefree teenage girl who lived by ethics of a cool mom and grand-mom.

I found both these instances very striking. And since I attracted these thoughts, I found more articles and books referring to the same lack of emotional attachment with parents.

Perhaps now, a new normal is okay to admit that you may have less emotions with parents. Its okay to understand the weight of scars thrust onto your childhood by your educated parents - with their bickerings, negativity or simply denial. Its okay to understand that you grew up to be a different and  a distinct breed of an adult compared to your parents - your parents are not the hallmarks of ethics, love, value and respect. You have your own definitions - un-prescribed by societal expectations and are on the journey to heal or simply reverse damages to your inner child caused by our elders.

Many a times, we are numb-dumb to what goes on around us. We are spectators of our own lives - mainly because we are too scared to admit what we feel inside or even venture out of our comfort zones to know more.

When we retrospect, many a times, we are scared to humanize our parents from the demi God status society has prevailed upon to accept unquestionably.

Its when we do that we realize the fallacy - the bubble bursts. What we choose to do with our emotions then must solely be upon us to decide on - society, relatives or even parents cannot ever impede or impose their own understanding.

Is it a discrepancy of cultural understanding or merely understanding the power of formative years? We have known always how important childhood is to enable us to grow up into value led , ethical champions of our tradition. But what about our E.Q,? If not in childhood then when?

Kaiser may have misconstrued what his adoptive mother had intended. But, when he felt his root was shaken, he too easily fell apart - as his foundation may not have been based on "softer emotions". Just a conjecture - but he did resort back to the "hurt" of his childhood to turn out the cheat he reared himself to be.

"Take care" should be our mantra now. Take care of our souls, our innocence, our inner child which we today as adults have access to (for any repair or simply nourishment) and mainly of us as we perceive / chart ourselves to be. We go back to go forward - progress now must take into account the power of healing.

Duty vs Love?

I had shelved this topic to be written for when I have time. And I do have time now.

In "The Affair" there is a powerful dialogue Helen tells her mother - "all my life, I have listened to you. And you have spoken and spoken till all that you say was drilled inside and your voice was all that I heard while the rest drowned."



The line reverberated in my head like a cranial echo - it brought back all memories that lie dormant. Sometimes, pushed away - locked into deep recesses of the brain where even I cannot recall. But that forced me to.

Looking back I would not call my childhood particularly happy. It was a very functional childhood with functional parents. The term fun in functional seems quite a rhetoric.


If you ask my parents they'll tell they've given me everything. That in itself is a statement that places the parent child relationship on the pedestal of a barter exchange. It was a comfortable life - devoid of meaning.

Its true we do remember or see reality as we wish too. Our narratives of the past seems lacquered with assumptions, own emotional filters of judgment and our own sensory evaluation of what had happened vs how we felt about it.


I have always found both my parents out of sync with each other and thereby me. My mother has always struck me as high-strung - I found her faltering me for any thing I did or felt. Every opinion I expressed was seen as "boka boka" - Bengali for dumb. It led to 2 things - it dumbed me down to mute where I preferred silence as my friend and it also dumbed me down to stupid.  It killed my self confidence - I started seeking validation from others. Many a times, she had let known her latent or innate need for a son. She may have been wanting to secure her future with a son whom she felt would stand by her. Instead I was a storm.


I am everything my father never wanted in his daughter - by design, choice and voice. My hair was rarely oiled and tied back, I spoke English as my mother tongue that seemed alienating to him, I did not like singing or dancing the way Bengali kids do or basically intrinsically never liked anything about my origin led identity. An ego blow for sure.


I don't ever remember a time when he and I spent together - no walks, no talks, no memorable moments. Instead everytime we were together, my mother decided to pounce in on our space - probably dying of FOMO. Or, my father never had the time.


I found a deep negativity in my house - seeped into the walls. Most moments, I found uneven war of words going back and forth with my mother spewing out  venomous  language at every opportunity. I tried reasoning - was it age, flagging energy, helplessness of her fate or simply the powerless insecurity of someone who could not change her own narrative. I found me and my father mostly shut away in our rooms - which served as fish bowls or islands.


It suffocated and made breathing difficult. It extinguished the meaning of a "home". I remember in college  (with a little more freedom compared to school) I started coming back home later and later - had no wish to return back to a somber place. I was an innately happy child - needed a happy place full of sunshine. Instead the drapes were grey.


I started entering into relationships with boys back then - to only get a sense of a "home" or a family. I started planting myself as an unwanted seed in their houses - absorbing their dynamics with their parents and insinuating myself for such similar simulated rapports. I literally tried adopting families.


The only thing I dreamt of was to escape and how to escape. I made no definite route for a career - my only goal was to leave. Which thereby affected my career. Today I realize my own folly in handling my life - but there was a reason. I had to run.


A child needs emotional support. Different children have different needs - its upto parents to understand the child. Children are born with old souls or new souls. Mine perhaps was an old one - that needed a deep emotional connect. Instead I was shown dilution.


I had realized early on I was different - not from where I was born at. I had known the presence of a Higher Self - unaware of the existence of the term - and it always make me feel an anomaly.


Today, I realize, being an anomaly is no crime. My parents always made me feel otherwise and them victimized.


As kids, good and able parentage was defined by the child's obedience. Child's success at school always equaled a parent's hard labor. Set rules to be followed, set practice codes to be rigidly adhered to and preset expectations always acting as the fulcrum of life and its many shades.


Parents lived by a performance. Parentage a theatrical role lived, conversations recited across generations and the gaps mainly blamed on the emergence of deviance.


Parents of earlier generation  - my own parents' generation - focused on the trophies a child would bring home. Their social currency was equal to the respect a child bestowed on them in society via their own achievements. Pride was mainly materialistic - setting in motion the materialistic parlance of the give and take relative to love.


In "The Affair" Vik's parents are apathetic to him being a man with his own mind. They are regardless of his choices in life and lived in denial. Vik, an Indian immigrant in USA, is shown to have lived his life with the mission of making his parents happy - in the end, all he got was no word of love or affection instead a duty led responsibility on either side.




What I have realized sans empathy in the formative years and later on, the basic foundation of adulthood is shallow and shaky. Parents have an enormous task of creating a good human being - not just a "nice person". A nice person may just follow social prescriptions - a good person may be led by intentions but may also choose to decide on his own.


Is it a collaborative society like ours that merely teaches submission and obedience as pillars of love? Is love not about candid expressions, free spirit and passion - where did that go amiss. Is a collaborative society too controlling as a corollary?


Going back to Vik's story, there were uncanny parallels to mine.I come from an abusive household where domestic abuse was rampant. My childhood is marred by screams, shouts and fights between family members. The trauma still lives on - today if anyone shouts or even strikes out, it immediately leads to a "fight or flight response"


It impacted my academics. I remember freezing for an hour almost during my class 10 boards as I could not get past the horrifics of the night before.


It impacted my own relations. Maybe bred in too deep an insecurity and a fear of being too close to anyone - I don't want the same outcome.


It made me question definition of a man. And a father. Till date I have found none.


What irked me was my family's unique ability to brush it all under the carpet and carry on unfettered. I tried seeking justice - instead was ostracized.

Even today, the objectification carries over to future mile stones. Talks of marriage is mainly equated with a social stamp - feeding the faceless and formless relatives who pop in the picture as levers of social sanction. Its as if parents seek permission from them to celebrate or simply be happy. Which brings me to my other question - is happiness society led for them? How are they happy? What are the constituents of happiness for them? How is it that the very definition of happiness has evolved for me to only be individualistic or privacy dominated?

Templation runs in our society - its footprints in all households. There is no celebration of fairness, love and ownership of one's actions. Instead Indians (most of them) may choose an Ostrich akin lifestyle - head burrowed, eyes blinkered.


As I introspect, I find my inability to love my parents, not my fault. I do care - mainly duty led. But I do not love them. There is no positive memory structure to inspire the softer emotions. We are always taught that not to love our parents is a sin. Maybe its time to rethink. Maybe its time to really tell the true feelings. There can be co-existence without love. Maybe its also time to absolve ourselves of the wrong notions of bond - we must learn to differentiate between love, duty, responsibility and care - and distill actions to emotions.


A sensitive child like me needed strong hands to hold - not wrong hands to lead astray.

The grown up in  me now celebrated the child that I was and am - perhaps now trying to retrace back to the childhood memories and be the parent that I never had.

Right or Wrong? Left or Right?

I write a lot many reviews and I strongly feel Netflix should pay me my dues. Jokes apart, Netflix content does spark up my imagination and thought buds. Recently, is the series called "The Affair"

I started watching relapsing back to my Experiencing Self with the purpose of binge-watching through yet another series. I treat seasons as pop-corn.



 Instead I came across a very intense series that was extremely thought provocative. Initially I felt it could be another plan Jane series - The nomenclature was quite denotative. Ironically, while it did lay out the foundation of the plot premise, it did open my eyes to layers of emotions, reasons, treason and basically human behavior.

Let's hit the bull's eye first when we discuss the core plot - The Affair.
Man meets Woman - both realize their latent loneliness, fall in love, leave their partners and start their own chapter. There are falls, follies and firsts - each with its multiple versions and metaphors.

However, what struck me was the core need to "stray". In our society we condemn any man or woman being an infidel. We brand, we label and we discriminate. We charge, rant and discharge - venom spewing forth hotly and brightly in its ugly green shade. 

But do we ever stop to wonder why this may happen or look in the mirror at our own selves? We all have been through relationships - some broken, some mended and some pushed to Neverland. Yet through the  scars and smiles do we remember the lesson of the miles walked - solitary or hand in hand? 

We may enter marriage - a binary contract - never to fade. Never to break the bond or walk away - no-one starts out with the intent of having to end it. While every end is bitter, it also is a passage to a new story that one must open the chapter to. However, purpose of a strong relationship is never to walk on broken glass pieces or pay the price for it either.


The partners we chose, whom we loved once, we fell out of it. Maybe, it was a wrong choice - you fell in love with an image in your head. After all, love is about projection - you project the desired "buttons" and you got your prey. You may have fallen in love with a dimension of self within that passage of life - the partner portraying the self you would have liked to become then - the dreams you had behind your mind's eye, your partner may have lived them and hence it was a borrowed presence.


When we fall out of love, is it really falling out of or simply waking up to realizing what you don't need in your life anymore. Maybe that sense of self has passed replaced by an evolved dream and hence an evolved need? Maybe, the imagery has been shattered by the shackles the partner's person-hood imposed? Maybe its about realizing what drags your drivers - what deters your evolution.


Contrary to many agape, at the sound of a breaking relationship, I am not averse to those who choose to walk away. After all, life is about multiple experiences and realizations and each has its own time.  I am not averse to another who has "strayed" - behind every action point is an ocean of reflections, of latent needs, feelings unexpressed and cravings unsaid. Your mind or conscience decides much ahead your body demands the action point. Your Higher Self knows the inevitable.


There is an intrinsic need for all to feel pampered and special in a relationship. Many a times the initial fire mellows down to a more caring phase.


As I thought about it deeply, drawing patterns and parallels to my own life, I realized the paradigm of relationships is much in line with our own inherent biological natures that have long remain unchanged. Our untamed emotions soon get the better of us - become our Higher Selves. Emotions may have roots in collective consciousness.


Biologically speaking women are nurturers and men are producers. That carries on to the gendered roles and expectations at household too. Coupled with modern life stress, women seem to balance multiple dimensions of success, lust, love, sexiness and nurturance. Many a times, all roles boil down to a pulpy mess of "care and nurturance" which is intrinsic. I say this for most women - not all. There are many of us who can balance all roles evenly and I salute such fabulous ladies. However, nurturance as a role, is a comfort zone - care deemed to be emotional becomes quite functional - a chore , task and a job to do.


Therein starts the fault lines of a relationship. When passion is replaced by care.


Of course, it is not only women's faults. Men remain the human pups they were born to be - many a times, men shackled by the societal dogmatic roles forced on them crave for one space to be treated as puppies. Women on the other hand, may want men to act like men - however, men want that woman, who treats them with the love, devotion and pamper - as how a dog mother would with her own pup.


What I realized is that men are good at compartmentalizing emotions + roles - for his mom he has a set of practices to follow and a self to be - likewise at office, with friends and with kids etc. With his partner maybe, he just wants to be - not a man, maybe a boy. Its when the partner starts expecting the man instead of a boy that the pressure cooker starts boiling. Men cannot reconcile that difference and slowly slip into duty mode. For the woman, care is not a duty. Care engulfs all their emotions at a centrifugal force which leaves them feeling spent. But for men, care is a duty - their need from partner is different.

Sarah Tree, EP of the series says - "One of the lines in the book that I put on the top of our white board in the writers' room [was] something like, 'Oftentimes people don't have affairs because they're unhappy with their spouses, they have affairs because they're unhappy with themselves. That's kind of the operating principle that we were using to rationalize the affair. It was never supposed to be anybody's fault. It was supposed to be about a man who just wasn't where he thought he was going to be at this point in his life."

I have known of women leaving their very macho and uber masculine men to be with men who are sensitive and deep. Women may crave for connect at a very deep emotional level to completely open up - blossom. Many a times, unknowing of alternatives, women succumb to a "dad's version of a man in their lives" - maybe later they realize their own independent need for the type of partner who'll "feel" them.


It is this feeling to feel special, craving for attention and synchronicity of maturity levels that finally leads one to "stray" - man or woman. Now, there is no difference as core need maybe the same. It is also a need to reinstate one's identity in one's eyes - be a success in one's own eyes that necessitates the change of partner : as you no longer feel appreciated by him /her. You look for your value in another's eyes.


This post is not a celebration of celibacy / infidelity/ commitment - its a highlighter of a new normal where walking out of a suffocating relationship that does not bring you up to your best version. After all every end is a new beginning. And in The Affair - there are always 2 stories flowing in tandem : everyone has their own version. Blame game is never the solution - its acceptance and understanding of the transient need states of every evolving human in any relationship. Question is - can your relationship keep pace with you?

The Rewarding Self

I had read somewhere of an interesting theory that struck a chord with me. In fact even aligned with a discussion I had a peer soon after. Our observations were in the line of how humans were constantly becoming dumber. It is true, when you think about it.



One of my personal hypothesis is that the Phone definitely makes you dumber. So, you might be using a smart phone but with its you are getting dumber. One coerced pathway your phone is making you dumber is by rooting you to the present moment - the Now.

Living the Now by your Phone is a double edged sword :

1) The most obvious is the positive side of it : living in the moment. With YOLO being a narrative of life today and the multiple videos of quitting jobs and traveling the world floating about - we make ourselves believe that planning for tomorrow or future proofing a life strategy is an old man's game. The young live now. And life should be made as experential and memorable as it can be. Hence the greater push for an "EMI" lifestyle.


2) You're constantly fame hungry. The photos you upload on Insta / FB / SC, the videos you shoot to tell your tale or the comments you make / statuses you write : you are hungry and searching for acknowledgements. You wonder if you are a recall factor - what others think about you NOW, how you appear NOW, are you cool / hot NOW - the NOW factor is a constant fight - a friction point that robs you of an action point with a positive outcome of living in the moment or simply feeling the life in a moment.

Being forced to live in the now makes you less imaginative, less creative, less focused and less proactive. In fact you may become less reactive to situations around you. Maybe less empathetic to others and play multiple roles which earlier you could, because you no longer are capable of finding that moment for yourself - that space of time to think for self and for others. To feel and to be at one with the events pertaining to that moment. Instead, you're glued to the screen - looking out for a sign of life in the digital albeit faceless world, where you en-cash all your needs of connect, affiliation and esteem.

The less time we spend to think, the lesser are the times, do we feel intelligent. We mayhaps become thick skinned too, along the way.


It makes sense when you now link it to the theory I started telling you about - its called "The Experiencing Self vs Remembering Self vs Rewarding Self" by Linda Graham, who had taken it from Kahneman's theory earlier (Thinking Fast Thinking Slow)



 The 3 sides of self - 

Experiencing self - mainly in leisure space. For instance, watching movies / playing on PS4 or chatting on phone. In many ways this space of self is termed as "spare time" - rather it is a time marked with minimal  thought level or the capacity of reasoning and even degree of enjoyment is passive, The self is mainly in an absorbing mode - more like a sponge.

Remembering self - living in memories or rationalizing current circumstances / events via positive or negative memory structures. This earmarks higher cognitive activity linked strongly to emotions and their roots in behavior science. The self functions mainly as a machine - a data processor, a memory shredder / sifter and an experience filer.

Rewarding self - being proactive and involved in any productive pursuit. For instance writing, making a film, running or gyming. The cognitive function is at its peak with a "feel good" hormone about self coursing through blood streams. Its called Rewarding self mainly because of the degree of respect that shoots up for self, where the self is able to achieve goals set. Could I call this space of a Refracted self too - where the self is the maker, believer, doer and the re-inforcer all at once?


Going back to the earlier discussion I had started out with, why we feel dumber is that we mainly use our "Experiencing Self" over the other 2 and therefore have no concrete results to show for the span of time passed. For instance writing this article in 10 minutes vs watching a show or a video for 10 mins - entertainment has no currency, no denomination and no value to attribute to boost / loss of intelligence. Instead this write up done in 10 mins serves to push my "Rewarding self" to its altitude led attitude, and also ladder to a self appreciation. Which, by the way, is mainly a lost emotion now, as we keep seeking acceptance from others. The so many faceless others.


In sum, the purpose of this write up is to draw attention to be aware of "which" self you are playing at the moment - question its relevance and impact on you and decide your own narrative. Being dumber or smarter is a controlled action point - it depends on definition of one's compassion, empathy, self respect and lastly self acceptance.

Rock In Heaven Avicii

20th April 2018. I remember waking up to the shock of your death. I started scanning all news articles to find "RIP" mentioned against your name - an end date to a life of super-nova.


Avicii, as a brand, came into prominence in Gurgaon - it came with a certain lifestyle tag and an urge to be "cool" /"updated" / "part of the crowd". Avicii brought affiliation and association - EDM, the genre which was the talk of the town.

All the dates, had your songs blaring out. All the bars and pubs visited, songs swayed to, fists pumped to - were your beats reigning supreme.

Beyond the coolth quotient, in solitude, I started reaching out for the lyrics. That's when I connected with Avicii the person.

Born Tim Bergling, the blue eyed Swede swayed hearts and ruled minds with his songs pinned on the most craved for human dope - "Hope". Edgy and peppy, his music had little of low notes - the tension points within were held for a short span before release into a joyous burst. The knots created were almost physical - you were waiting on the edge till it eased out. All along his songs were messages of love, unity and celebration - of self, love, family, bonds, differences and the courageous spirit to live this mammoth task called "life".

Infusing Electronic Dance Music with organic beats, harmony and genres - he gave EDM a new life. Moving away from an only beats approach, Avicii via AV / execution / narrative - weaved in a magical story of thesis, anti-thesis and climax - his music an enabler and an empower. His songs clearly enveloped the drama triangle via country music set to EDM tunes.

It lifted people - their mood, their feet taps as they jumped along in unison and declaration of spirit -and even lifted the genre planting it at the center of global music-map : a celebration of newness, rejuvenation and soul.

His personal life seemed at a divergent end to his own music. Its startling how each "behind the story" is a darker truth that becomes the biggest chink in the armor. Maybe, out of darkness is born, the greatest creativity. The skill / talent itself becomes a tool - an access to new "Levels".


His death opened up a Pandora's box to claims, lived and imagined reality. The life we are forced to exist on, are, many a times, a fallacy of our own expectations. I understand the lows - the dumps. I understand perhaps, the moment life could have seemed too much - suffocating and overpowering - to snuff it out before it suffused. It is always a war of me vs life - not recognizing that neither function in absolute independencies - but are in correlation. I relate to the very moment, when the voice in your head actually gave you courage to pull the final trigger, stop the blood supply - its surreal as if you're acting out in your own movie. Know it all too well - the need to end it all.

Avicii is a classic case of a person fighting his own doom - with no-one to trust explicitly as everyone seems far away. Its a dreary land, barren, unforgiven territory where people like Tim / me tend to throw ourselves in - unable to find any foothold or climb up. Its a quicksand of drowning emotions, wasted hopes, broken dreams, over-reaching expectations to see them crash and shatter into a million pieces every time. To live fragile - a broken heart or a numbed mind- is a state that the sane cannot comprehend - yet scoff and question.


Long Live Tim. If I ever recognize you in anyplace, I would prefer to gaze from afar and never disturb. Being sought out in public was one of your worst nightmares - fame unsettled. There is a void somewhere - hope, is a dope, after all.