An Alchemist's Blog

Class of '09

Slumdog is definitely the Class of '09. In a class-ridden country, it has trounced poverty-stricken class or below-the-poverty-line wallahs to become synonymous with the poorest of the poor. The term however has distinct urban overtones. You would not refer to a village dweller who earns Rs. 50 a day as a slumdog even if he lives further below the poverty line than his urban brethren do. Therefore, to rephrase, slumdog is now a class of Indian who lives below or near the (albeit urban) poverty line, in urban India. Essentially what the movie has done is recognise a class of poor who survive on the edge of large Indian cities. 

Attitude is important in this Indian. As all such movies have depicted, Salaam Bombay included, the poor child / man is happy-go-lucky and has acquired a certain street-smartness that enables him to survive. He's cheeky, but likable. Like the boy who comes to my car window at a particular signal near Mahim causeway and asks for money and when i don't oblige, offers me a Rs. 5 coin instead, suggesting with wide innocent eyes - 'Madam, would you like me to give this to you, then?'

At first i was affronted, but then saw the humour and smiled. He grinned back. He had some entertainment at least in his day, if no money. That's fine with me and if I'm aiding his survival in this crazy city by helping him not lose his mind, i'll live with it. 

The movie has made me think of these fellows. Every time a pirated book seller tries to thumb a lift from me at a signal, at least i think of where he lives. When he sits in the car and fills it with his smell, i don't hold my nose in disgust. When i see the same chap every other week, i heave a sigh of relief that he has not fallen victim to some slumlord scam. I don't do anything to prevent it, admittedly, but at least i'm privy to what could happen to him. That knowledge sits uneasily inside me while i go about my life as usual.

The Slumdog class has arrived. There may soon be a quota reserved for them. Some political party may espouse their cause. There may be self-immolations to uphold their rights. Where will it lead to, if anywhere? I'm asking myself this.

 For us city dwellers, we will encounter them every day, from the people who come into our homes to work, to those we see on the streets, and finally in a film here and there. Will it change anything for us? I'm not sure at the moment.

I will not suggest that a social revolution is under-foot as a result of the movie. That would be an exaggeration. But surely, surely, there will be one child there, or one youth somewhere, who will be watching this unreal spectacle unfold. Who will be affected by the trip to LA,Disneyland, stardom and beyond of an under-privileged slum-child and who will want to do something to break out of his or her own circle of existence. Surely for someone from the Class of '09, a dream will be born that will grow to become bigger than them, bigger than the slum, bigger than the whole city and then the country and the world. Surely this is not just stuff of movies and fiction. 

Book Clubs

Book clubs go well beyond books, at least mine does. In fact it deals with everything almost to the exclusion of books - or so it may appear at times. That is not strictly true, because it owes it's very existence to books and every meeting definitely ends with the selection of a title for the next meeting, even if it does not begin with a discussion of last time's careful selection. But I love my book club.

It gives us women a valid reason to meet, for one. It is NOT a kitty party which all us book-club types absolutely hate and even the word makes us prickly with indignation. Nor is it cards. Yes, it is at par with music appreciation groups or yoga groups - almost at par. For the book part of the club bring in the snob value of intellectualism - i do admit that. And it is a 'head'y feeling!

Well, this is how my book club goes - most people come on time or within half an hour of the designated time. In Bombay this falls within acceptable limits. One who works makes it a point to come, though often she is 2 hours late. But it is always nice to see her. We each have working friends whom we never see. Thanks to the book club at least she feels compelled to come and we manage to see her, if only briefly.

They dress very colourfully and with effort. That is nice to see. Often stay-at-home people like me forget the fine art of dressing and looking nice for each other. We meet in homes versus restaurants - so we get to know the hostess and all the others a little better each time. That is great, too. We definitely meet once a month - it is a religion and we rarely postpone or cancel meetings. That is a welcome rigour as well. We serve excellent food...mmm... We talk about everything from husbands, sons and daughters, to movies, breast cancer and politics. We talk and share and vent.

How different is it from a kitty-club, you ask?

Well, it is the underlying connection to and respect for books. Because in every part of us there is a book we have read recently or a long time ago. And it comes out in what we say and how we think. Most are voracious readers and draw inspiration from our personal reading, not reading for the book club alone. Whereas the tapestry of conversation may not be solely to do with books, if you examine the threads they relate to our reading and a common love for the written word. I must admit, it was not as obvious to me at first and i felt we spent too little time talking about the book at hand. It was only later that i realised, there is something so organic about 8-10 women gathering. Try limiting it to talking about one book and it becomes a meeting and is doomed to failure. But a gathering is much more layered. With a myriad things to talk and discuss: recipes, music, moving homes, relocating children, dealing with illness, it acquires an untold richness.

Like bookend, holding up a collection of books, each unique, our bookclub holds us together. It's truly a support system!

 

 

From Human Being to Spiritual Being

It takes a lot to be a good human being. However, to be spiritual is a different order of being altogether. Moreover there is little to be 'done' to become a spritiual being. It requires only one thing of us and that is total surrender - or not 'doing' anything, rather just being. It requires surrender of will, self and ego. In a sense it requires one to stop being 'human' as we understand humanity. It requires the utmost faith in an unknown quantity. How is it possible for anyone to achieve these impossiblities? What are the 'symptoms' of spirituality?

According to Swami Nithyananda, one is physical health. If one is in good physical health, it is a 'symptom' of good spiritual health. There are no blockages in the flow of energy through our body, for disease is an energy block of the extreme kind. It is usually overcome by medicine, but the energy block may remain and move to a different location. Beware, therefore, of such blocks that shift instead of being dissolved!

Another is inter-personal relationships. They are a good measure of our own spiritual well-being. How do we deal with people? Are we angry or easily upset by some people? Do they constantly 'get under our skin'? For if they do, more often than not, the problem lies within us. Which means the solution lies within us, too!

How do we deal with most beings - is it with understanding and compassion or are we usually judging or suspicious. Do we get easily influenced and therefore disturbed by what people tell us about others or do we have the confidence to know the truth about them? For lack of confidence in others is usually a lack of confidence in oneself as well!

Do we love making plans for others and get upset if they are not followed precisely? What are we trying to achieve here? Just to show that we know best. It is a manifestation of our ego in a very subtle way, disguising itself as being helpful in planning the lives of others.

And so on. There are several examples in everyday life, which if we stop to examine, we can total up our 'poor score' on inter-personal relationships.

Is there a solution? Unfortunately, there is no such thing as a solution. It is a process. We first realise what is actually happening between us and others. To diagnose this correctly is in itself a most challenging task. Then during any interaction, we can take ourselves out of the equation and become a by-stander. If you watch the interaction between yourself and another from a side-ways view, it will change the whole perspective. Without 'personal' involvement, issues will resolve or dissolve. Another energy block in your system that you will let go of, leading to better physical and mental health!

None of this is simple. In fact it is extremely unachievable specially in certain circumstances. One assured way is through meditation. Regular practice creates the space we need. The space to step back into everytime we are faced with a difficult situation.

No amount said on such a subject is ever complete. At most it is a begining. This is a view of transition from human to spiritual. What's yours?

Unquoteable Quotes

When you step out, you create a new path...

(from a receipt of Vichare Courier Company. Isn't that cute! Never thought something so profound could come from a source like that! Obviously there are no boundaries to learning. So beautiful. I hereby urge everyone to step out of line!)

 

Mt. Spiritual

A spiritual journey is like climbing a mountain. That sounds like a cliche. I agree, it is one. However the metaphor works and i hope in what is written below you will see some differences and indeed some sense.

The first 20, 30, 40 even 50 years are spent frolicking in the valley. The valley is rich and beautiful. It is green and lush. Time passes quickly in the valley. There is work to be done. Houses are to be built to secure one's place in the valley. Some houses at the top of the valley are coveted by those below and everyone is wondering how they can move up the valley. Sometimes the river comes into spate and the houses are destroyed along with everything else. Man spends his time looking up at the beautiful mountains around this valley, which is his safe home, but they are too high to climb. They require a lifetime of doing nothing else but climbing, he exclaims and goes back to his work in the valley. The mountains are indeed high and forbidding. But they beckon. Man cannot resist them. One day he starts the climb, saying, i'll just see what lies beyond and i'll be back by the evening.

Indeed he comes back but he has seen a new valley - one that lies a few reaches above. His heart wants that valley now. But there are no houses there. He cannot move to that valley for good. there are only temporary shelters and the man must move on after a while. There was still a way back from this valley, but as he goes further the path may become narrow and lead only upwards. The man is scared and he thinks about it for a while. Then he starts the climb again one day. He uses his body to climb the first part. He exerts himself to his physical limits and drops down exhausted at the end of the first climb. The view is beautiful but the tired man is nursing his body which is all but broken. This is physical or 'power' yoga. When we do yoga for fitness or toning of our bodies.

Then the man chances upon an ancient secret. The wind whispers in his ear - use me. And the man starts to use his breath. He breathes deeply as he climbs. He breathes rhythmically. He makes sure inhalation and exhalation are deep and nourish the body. Thus by concentrating on his breath, he stops straining his body in the climb. The body acquires a suppleness born of its natural instincts. It is no longer pushed and pulled by him and his will. It flows with a will of it's own and of the elements which it now loves. This is Pranayam

The man looks back and sees his valley, for it is still visible. He sees the fires raging there and he closes his eyes and prays. He first thanks God for himself and then prays for those others.

The next climb is steep. It looks hard and even working with the breath does not make it any easier. The man despairs. This is when his mind finally comes to his rescue. The mind now begins to co-operate with the man. He uses his innate intelligence and deep concentration to find a way around the climb. With the mind fully engaged no climb is too hard for the man. He climbs rapidly and quickly. But the mind is fickle. It deserts him at a critical juncture. It wanders off on it's own leaving the man with nothing but his body and breath to help him. And now that is not enough. The man has climbed higher and he cannot be abandoned by his mind thus. He slips back. He rolls all the way down again. Sometimes he rolls back to the previous valley and sometimes even all the way back to the bottom where his mates still live. The mind is an unreliable friend. It tells you it is your friend, because it thinks for you, but indeed it can be treacherous. The way to tame this friend that becomes a foe, is meditation. Meditation brings the mind under control. It ensures it never strays, never gets lost. With meditation to calm our minds we do yoga practice with our body, breath and mind.

Now the scenery becomes even more beautiful. There is calm all around. The senses experience unheard and unseen beauty. The man is happy and in the best physical and mental shape he has ever been. but the next phase of climbing is a sheer rock face. there is nothing but a sheet of rock before his eyes. he controls his emotions, stills his breath and closes his eyes. He calls upon all his energy held in the seven energy centres in the body. He knows this is a task beyond human strength and mind. He has to call upon his chakras to release and unblock all  the energy they hold within. With this strength the man is able to surpass this difficult phase. This is yoga with body, breath and mind, all concentrating on unblocking the charkas and feeling the subtle parts of our inner and universal selves.

Having climbed thus far, there can still be setbacks. No climb upto now is without reversals. The man knows and he has had experiences. A single person or persons, episode or episodes, experience or experiences, thought or thoughts from his life in the valley still has the ability to pull him down. Just thinking about those makes his breath shallow, his heart beat faster. All the emotions swept aside during the climb come rushing back and swamp the man when this happens. He may become weak in body as wel. He may over-exert and hurt himself. Or he may discover an unstrengthened muscle, an unconquered desire. All these are roadblocks in the man's journey and he tries to circumvent them. All usual the things that come to his aid are those that may have caused his downfall in the first place - his body, breath and mind. He learns that he needs to work positively through these and only these to achieve his ends.

After this final climb, there are no further inclines. (all the climbing is within). The summit is a mere stone's throw away and the path is simple. The man is within reach of it. it looks beautiful and inviting. the man knows he can walk to it and stand atop it any time he pleases. But he also has the subtle knowledge that it is not that simple. He has to be fully ready to reach that summit. Does he even want to go there? This station that he has reached is already so beautiful. Should he not just stay here and spend the rest of his days in joys and happiness. In fact being more learned than others he is in a position of great strength. He can help those in their upward journey. He can go back down to help those struggling below and up again, for he knows how to. He does not even need to climb down sometimes, the ones below can hear him, he speaks with such authority and clarity. He can surely be very happy in this place of comforts and live with utmost respect from others around him.

But the man knows that bliss, which is one step beyond happiness and joy, lies in the summit. He meditates upon the summit to fully understand it before he tries to go to it. He searches deep within himself. He seeks answers to questions that troubled him in the past. He looks for the Truth. He uncovers the dark layer of his subtle body by constant search and questioning. It is the layer of indecision. The man is thrown in a quandry whether to proceed further and pass on or stay in this state. It is the hardest layer, he realises, harder than all the previous ones though he had thought those to be hard when he was passing through them. It is the hardest because the struggle is within himself, against himself. In a sense, the struggle is against an unknown.

If and only if he passes through this meditation, the man achieves uncovering of another layer of himself and is now confronted with the penultimate layer or the penultimate step in climbing Mt. Spiritual. This layer is very strong. It is full of currents that push and pull the man this way and that. He experiences several joys, having left sorrows behind and is pinned down by those. He wants to stay with the joys - they are so beautiful. But these joys will keep him away from the summit. When he realises this he strikes out towards the summit once again. The joys pull him back and this time he tries to fight them away. What enables him to fight back is the knowledge that the joys are related to something. If the conditions are lifted, the joys will go away. With this true realisation, he shakes away this layer of entrapment and enters the ultimate layer or the last camp before his summit ascent.

This is the path of salvation. Having uprooted all his samskaras from this and previous lives, the man moves freely on this path. He reaches the top and he finds someone else sitting there. The summit is taken. Someone sits on the pinnacle. He looks at him and shedding the last coat finally smiles a knowing smile. He recognises the other. For it is no other. it is himself - the I - the universal I that is inside all the layers and unless the mirror of spirtaulity is held up, he would never see that I.  

At the summit of Mt. Spiritual, man merges with the I, and they both achieve the ultimate.

(this interpratation is an understanding, based on the teachings of Swami Nithyananda as taught in a spiritual practices course called the NSP held at his ashram in Bidadi, Bangalore, and on the commentaries of my yoga guru, Prasad Rangnekar)

 

Unquotable Quotes

(inspired by a scene in Luck By Chance)

Blogging is to Novel writing what Theatre is to Cinema - may not be the real thing, but keep at it - it can be rewarding.

PS - I love blogging and support it 100%. I'd rather blog everyday and write once in a while when i feel truly inspired. But I do realise, a novel is a novel, just as cinema is cinema.

Luck, and By Chance, Chico and the Gypsies

To get over the loss of my phone (read last post for details, if you dare), we decided to see a movie. Luck By Chance was a unanimous choice and off we went. Over the next two or more hours I proceeded to become increasingly infatuated with Farhan Akhtar. I considered him to be one of the luckiest guys until now, but nothing much more. Talented too, but okay - there are a lot of talented people in the Hindi film industry today. I always considered him a priviledged, if not spoilt, son of a genius song writer, Javed Akhtar, who had all the opportunities laid at his feet. He made Dil Chahata Hai which was an utterly brilliant first film and that is when i sat up and took notice. Then he acted in Rock On, singing as well, and I thought that was pretty good, though i preferred some of the other performances to his (like KD's for example). Then I saw his TV show Oye Friday and thought, Oh well, ok, this me-too-Jay-Leno show is quite bad and he definitely can't do this as well. There are limits to how many things you can push yourself into, connections or no connections, and this time he had pushed the limit, I thought. He really should stick to direction and maybe some acting. Then the lucky guy came out with Luck By Chance. Aptly titled, I thought, for the one person in the industry i think of as extremely lucky, and yes, talented, too. What was this film going to be like, i was clearly curious.

The film was great. Full marks to equally lucky  and talented sister Zoya Akhtar. It is clear they, as a family, have  a lot of industry support - virtually the whole of Hindi film stardom was in the film doing a cameo or a meatier role. It was Deewanagi of Om Shani Om taken to a new height all together. The story was great - a lovely peek into the workings of this business of making and breaking stars. But Farhan was outstanding. He was understated (under-acted, if you like), utterly charming, very sexy and oozing confidence. That's right - he was making a statement which read - I've arrived on the scene to show everyone how not acting is the best way. Less is certainly more. And he was absolutely spot on. For us audiences who are sick and tired of hamming and over-portrayed characters - it was a welcome change to have someone fill the screen time with nothing - just being himself. If you ask me whether he will be a versatile actor or not - i can't say - only time will tell. But romance he can do - oh yes he can - he has the girls swooning over that sexy scar already and that quiet half smile. We shall see if he needs to do more than that. Or if he should do more than that. With able sister Zoya, father Javed and Shabana to advice him and his own good sense, he will surely go far.

With a good measure of satisfaction over a great leap forward by Hindi cinema through Luck By Chance, Ajay and I set out in the evening to listen to Chico and the Gypsies, playing at Taj Lands End, Bandra, as part of the Johnny Walker One Tree festival. Chico is a break-away from the original Gypsy Kings and has created his own band, full of the same magical sounds as the original group. We had the undiluted pleasure of hearing the Gypsy Kings in Hong Kong and had been told that these guys were as good (thanks Poppy). The evening was idyllic - one of the last few cool winter evenings we are likely to enjoy, Johnny Walker ensured that spirits were high, and then the music began.

What a show! The Gypsies stole everything. Our hearts, our minds; they stripped away all our inhibitions and the crowd was dancing and swaying to the beautiful Moorish-Spanish sounds of seven guitars. Such a sound is impossible to describe. It has to be felt, rather than even heard. Hearing would limit the sensation to only one sense. What they played was arousing, hair-raising, beautiful, rich, heady. I never thought anything could top that feeling. And then something did.

In the crowd before me, about two layers of music-buffs away, was Farhan Akhtar - sexy scarface, loverboy himself! Ajay spotted his curly mop, coiffed I'm sure by his wife - Aduna - who is also my hairdresser - oh well, ok, B Blunt her salon is my salon at any rate, even if Aduna herself has not come within a 3 coils length of my curls. I felt a momentary pang, wishing i'd left my own curls wild tonight rather than tied into a staid ponytail. I continued to glance in Farhan's direction once in a way and noticed him hold a friend's shoulder, whisper something in another's ear and throw his head back and laugh a number of times. He was enjoying the music immensely, moving his head in rhythm. Then he turned around and looked at the crowd behind him. He looked at me with unseeing eyes, while i had another good look at him, knowing full well what he looks like, having seen him so recently on screen. He and his group of friends then walked to the back, possibly to replenish drinks, cutting through the crowd right in front of us. For one heart stopping moment, i thought i'd say something to him, but of course never did. It would have been something inane in any case, and i'm glad the moment passed as it did.

The music played on, unstoppable in its journey to heaven, carrying us along with it. I did not see Farhan return, but he was back after a while and one with the pulsating crowd - enjoying the big party on the lawns of Taj Land's End with all those around. He was not mobbed - this was a well heeled crowd. No one even looked remotely star-struck. Admiring maybe, but that was all.

The Gypsies struck up Volare for their first encore (there were four) and the crowd went bersek. Yes, it was an intoxicating evening. The beer, the music, Farhan, a full moon over the lawns, the subletly lit swaying palms on the hillock behind the stage and the cool sea breeze, all served to seduce me with their own special magic. The last song was My Way and thus ended the concert on a sober though exhilarating note. We reluctantly filed out of the lawns and into our respective cars. Farhan was getting into a waiting Merc with three friends as we drove out. Was it Luck or just By Chance that I had such a day!

Is there life after a phone...?

Gajini-like i grope in the dark recesses of my mind. Nothing surfaces...nothing. Not one number, including my own. Panic stricken, i look around. Around me walk people, trance-like, oblivious to me. They all talk on their phones. Smiling and grimacing, they walk past from one illusion to the next. What about me? What will happen to me? Will i ever talk to another again. Or am i doomed to a life of loneliness? For..I (choke)... just lost my phone...

I've had friends who lost theirs (not minds, just phones, no, minds too, no, just phones, oh nevermind) and who have behaved like they just lost everything (including, most definitely their minds) and i wondered what happened to them..? I mean, give me a break..it's just a ...Uh-uh my friend, don't say it...i promise you'll have to eat humble pie the day you lose yours and don't look like that, unless you want to be cursed with losing yours anytime soon. Believe me, take anything away, but don't part me from that phone that runs so many lives...please...

When i discovered it, i blamed every one starting with my husband (who else?), the driver, the children (that was a stroke of genius, no less) and the dog (or at least i wished I had one to blame).They took the blame not so stoically, and before long there was all out war at home. This is Major Fallout No. 1 of lost phone - Major Familial (which subsumes marital) Discord - lovingly called A Mahabharata, World War no. so and so, and so on.

Then was the turn of anger - Major Fallout No. 2. The guy on the other end of the Vodafone helpline chirped 'Happy to help!!" (well at least that made me think of that adorable dog) Then he called me Mrs. Srivastava thrice, and I corrected him each time, more coldly, saying Mrs. Srinivasan. Obviously he was in Delhi and a Dilliwalla cannot comprehend why anyone would call themselves Srinivasan when Srivastava is so much more, well, convenient. Anyway, that being the way it was, I still held onto my temper. He commiserated again on the loss. I grunted and muttered, 'get on with it', not so under my breath. He told me replacement SIM card would be sent in 48 hours. I did not demur, thought i boiled with rage - 48 hours is a lifetime, I wanted to explode. But I didn't. Then he insisted the despatch of the SIM card would be to the office which was the billing address. Today was Friday evening. Do the math - that meant being without the Simcard at least until Monday morning. What the....I tried everything to make him send it to my home address - he would not budge. Finally after that failed conversation the man had the gall to try and Sell Me a Phone! I mean, that was it!! If anyone plays back a taped recording of that phone call, to improve service as they claim, they will never, repeat never, attempt to sell a customer who has just lost their phone a new phone through one of their outlets. At least that service fauxpas has been struck off their list thanks to this little episode.

Next re-appeared the Gajini effect (Also called Major Fallout No. 3). Without this major crutch of my life, i forgot even regular things, things that had nothing to do with my phone, at least not on the surface (what does this cruel world know of what goes on below the surface?). Like I forgot where the car was parked, what floor we lived on, the way to my house and other minor details of everyday humdrum life. The trauma of my loss was all consuming and it was consuming every part of me.

Now came the huge wave of depression and self-pity. (Major Fall Out No 3 or was it 4 or 6 ... or nevermind - you figure it out - you can count, surely). This is what happens to people when they get old. If i still had my memory, I wouldn't be so damn dependent on the phone...I wouldn't feel so ransomed by it. Huge waves of such pity broke themselves on my head. And the tears flowed freely with each crash...eighteen months of contacts in this city...all gone. In one fell swoop, washed away. Now I feel as alone and helpless as i felt when i arrived here from Hong Kong 18 months ago, knowing a dozen or so people, no more. Then some frienships were made. Hundreds of 'missed calls' given and received over sundry lunches and ubiquitous cocktail parites, all of which were carefully stored to build up the directory of a new life, a Directory of Confidence. I could finally step out into Bombay city without cringing; the family's barber, friendly-neighbourhood-butcher, acceptable dry-cleaner, bloody-crook-of-a-dhobi, 5-mins-home-delivery-greengrocer, instant-home-delivery-grocer, 30-mins-home-delivery-chicken-tikka-man, kali-dal-when-you-forgot-to-soak-it-the-night-before-walla, TV repair johnny, Internet-provider bloke, bootlegger fellow, all literally in my pocket. And now? Now ...they have all slipped away...like sand falling through an hourglass. all gone...gone...wiped clean...oh God...what will become of me now...will i ever be able to walk on this earth again? I did not want to start over. I did not want to hang around for X or Y or Z, waiting for them to sms or buisness card me a number that i needed desperately, tapping my feet, while they painted their nails or blow-dried their hair, or did whatever else people do in this city. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to be ungrateful and say that people are mean in this city...but who has the time, yaar? That is the point.

Then came defiance and bravodo (and utter stupidity) - Major Fallout No. X, or WhatEver. I decided I'd do without a phone. Who needs it, I scoffed. I'd rather not have one. Such a pain anyway. Always dying on me, or ringing as I write. I've decided I'll live without one from now on. My children quickly rearranged their fallen jaws and stopped staring at me when i turned on them, all wounded lioness, "What?? Why are you staring at me like that?" "Nothing," they mumbled, but it was too late and they knew it. Major Fallout No. X + 1 was already underway, and it was called Out and Out Bitchiness.

"Scared, are you?" I asked, caustic as a shrew. "Scared that you won't be able to call Mum at the drop of a hat to rant about how inedible the food is or how badly the driver is driving? Or to order her to get you this or that to eat? Or get her to call for movies? Huh? Scared huh? She'll be less qualified to be your slave without her phone?" They did not reply. They were not even there any longer. Sudden recall of homework had drawn them to their rooms, whose doors were now firmly shut.

I sat down. Now alone. Everyone had scuttled away, too scared or hurt to be stung by me again. I held my head in my hands shaking it. Is all this true? This big fuss I'm making about my phone being lost. Sure some of it is - like a very substantial 10%. But come on, lets face it...it's no more than that. The truth is - I love my phone. I adore it and cannot bear to be parted from it. I conduct my life through it's able waves (Cooking me slowly with it's love, in return). I sleep with it by my pillow waiting for its irritating alarm to wake me each morning. I thrive on the jokes I get through it. I love the occassional flirty sms - Hey, your hair looked great last night - male or female sender - it does not matter - it's still a compliment. I invite people and get invited through it. I keep in touch with my kids with it - the sms to my 15 year old when she out Saturday night - to 'be good.' I cascade movements through it (remember the post 26/11 rallies and meetings - all organised with an sms. I love the power of pressing those buttons and the instant summons the ringing of a bell gives to me (we all know how everyone jumps to answer their cell-phones, even in the middle of the night). I love the wisdom, the knowledge, the culture, the education that little 2 inch by 4 inch dispenses. And the memories - those pictures of a Bintan sunset and the video in Singapore. And the music - AR Rahman's Globe-winning Jai ho plugged in my ears on every long drive (read every drive in Bombay city). I (sigh) love my mobile phone.

With a wistfull look in the direction of the limp charger of my lost phone dangling at my bedside - like a limb that had been amputated - I walked out and into Croma to buy myself a new phone. And my affair starts again. As I caress the new keys I contemplate the future ahead for the two of us together, and for the first time in 24 hours, I smile.

The importance of loving yourself

You wake up. Happen to glance at yourself in the mirror. When was the last time you smiled at yourself. Said g'morning with a tiny upturn of your lip. Most of the time you say something mean to yourself. Oh my, how awful you look. Your hair's so thin, skin so tired. And thus starts the monologue. The internal talk when you literally talk to yourself all day long. For what else are thoughts? A monologue with yourself. You torture yourself with these thousands of times a day every day. Even for those outwardly confident and self-assured, the inside story is the same. There is doubt and insecurity in each and every one.

Notice the next time you walk past a shop with a designer dress hanging in the window. You immediately think of your body, your skin tone, the shape of your legs. You think, I shouldn't have eaten that piece of cake last night. Now i'll have to work off the extra pounds before i can fit into any of my clothes. You immediately berate your body. Your body infact is the receptacle of a lot of hate mail you send yourself. Your curvy stomach, your upperlip in need of depilation, your uncared-for feet, something or the other about your body is bound to bother you and you will be quick to shoot it an unhappy rebuke. Or you think you can't afford it. Or that you are just not good enough to own something like that. Your poor self just takes it and stores the negative feedback somewhere. Sometimes it rebels and eats or drinks more to drown it's sorrows. Sometimes it falls ill to draw sympathy to itself. Sometimes it shows addictive or unreasonable behaviour. Sometimes it's stoic and carries on. But it hurts all the same.

Now consider this: you get a promotion at work / win a contract / an award. Lurking under the euphoria are other random thoughts. Try a few samplers: I should have got it last year. Why is she looking at me like that? Doesn't he think i deserved it. Did i really deserve it?  He got the same as me. That doesn't make me feel so good any more. Will i get it again next year. Actually i think she deserved it more than me but i hope no one else thinks so. What will my mother think? I wish I'd bothered to wash my hair this morning, but how was I to know? And so goes the internal commentary. De-valuing your own currency.

It is time to look in the mirror again. Let the look be gentle. Let the hand that fingers the hair be carressing. How many times have you hurt yourself? Bitten your tongue hard. Woken up with a pain in your shoulder. Inflicted in during a night of restless sleep. We even breathe shallow, denying our bodies the life giving prana. This body is the housing for our soul. Let there be some respect for it. Some love. It is sure to respond to those positive impulses. The self image can do with some balm and reinforcement, too. Every aspect of our personality can thrive with some positive comments about it - from no one else but ourselves.

Begin showing love and compassion for yourself before looking any further. Charitable behaviour surely begins here. You owe it to yourself. Like a puppy in a pet shop window, you tell yourself: 'Please take me home. Please love me. Please do. I deserve it.' You only have to listen to yourself.

Giving it up

My publications coach today sent out her weekly newsletter where she told an interesting story. She said, in order to write better, don't think only of what you should do, but what you should do without. The story was that someone decided to not check their email for a whole month so that they could do better what they were doing - which was having a holiday! What a brilliant story! (she told it much better.) I immediately wanted to copy and paste it and send it out to all the men i knew and the women as well (before i get called anti-feminist).

But I went on to write something about it here instead. Because i thought of making a pledge as well. I thought of not checking my email / facebook / sms and other addictive media for a whole day or longer, once a week, every week. That means i will come to my desk that day in the morning and instead of checking who replied to me or who said what to me, I would just go straight to my writing and write without those other thoughts buzzing in my head. And when i was bored of writing, i would not quickly switch to the email like i would do 50 times a day, and press the refresh button, but instead i would actually refresh. Go for a short walk, listen to a song or two, gaze out of the open window.

I also thought of asking my children to do the same. It is certainly a de-toxification relevant to our times. My son could definitely benefit from a lack of junk being poured into his head via the television. He would do better homework and make more conversation. My daughter may take a break from incessant and pointless facebooking. My husband might entertain the thought of no Blackberry. (How wishful is that thinking!)

Denial comes in all forms, shapes and sizes. Denial is good and liberating. By creating a little bit of space vacated by that thought, idea, object or activity, we will grow ourselves.