All is well

All is well in the Jain household.

That's saying something, considering Valentine's day came and went and no battles were fought, won or lost. Even the silent treatment didn't get aired or administered this year. What's going on?

Has the husband (and my Valentine by choice, not default) passed all his 'how to please the wife' training modules?

Has he, after nearly 25 Valentine's Days, decoded the elusive code to make me happy?

No and no.

Was it a piece of jewellery? Roses? Dinner?

No and No and nada!

So what happened?

I grew up. Simple. This year, at the ripe old age of 45, I suddenly felt all grown up and responsible for my happiness.

Flashback to when I was twenty-something and the husband was still a boyfriend...

This is what I expected from him on Valentine's Day and failing that, my birthday which was a few days away:

There'll be a beautifully wrapped box with a gorgeous dress inside with matching shoes, waiting for me in my room when I get back from work. On this box, there will be tickets to a concert and a voucher for a day long spa treatment with a love note from him telling me that a limo would pick me up at such and such time to go to the spa and then to the concert hall.

Cities changed, from Chennai to Calcutta to Delhi to London and now Doha, we wed and he became the husband, but my list of Valentine/birthday desires remained the same, more or less. Odd, when I think about it-- he didn't even know my shoe size then! And limo? At the salary we were making at twenty-three?

I digress.

My plans may sound awfully familiar to all of you who've either read Mills & Boon or watched Pretty Woman. I didn't say my romantic imagination was original. In fact, it's anything but. It's just what I'd expected for our first and every subsequent Valentine's.

REALITY check.

He did buy me a card for our first Valentine's.

I looked at it and watched the above-mentioned desires fall off the boughs of my romantic heart, one by one, like leaves in Autumn.

Disappointment often disguises as anger and mine did too. I was furious.

He misread the anger and assumed I had an inexplicable hatred towards cards.

Every Valentine's since then, he's asked me the same question, "Should I get you a card?"

My practical, pragmatic hubby has no idea...no clue ...not a peek into the workings of his wife's expectations.

And why should he? He NEVER expects me to get him anything either.

"Call yourself a feminist?" my seventeen year old son taunts.

Hmmm...here's a thought. Maybe, feminism is about taking charge of one's happiness and being responsible. We can't be flinging the baton of equality when it suits us and then wait for that 'surprise' from the man to tick all our expectation boxes and make us happy. Do we even know what this surprise looks like?

I don't. But I've always managed to make him feel guilty because he doesn't either!

Yes, it's taken me two decades to get this.

And the result?

My best Valentine's day to date.

National Sports Day coincided with Valentine's Day this year, so he was at home. We went for a run in the park and I clicked this picture of a rose, growing in a friend's front yard.

Ah! the joy letting go of expectations brings...

A rose becomes my garden. 

******

 "All is well." has such a calming ring to it. The minute you hear these three words, the heart beats softer and starts to smile, No?

A few weeks ago, I happened to be on a Heritage Walk in Ahmedabad. A kite stuck on electric wires declared All is Well. Who was I to disagree?

It was early morning. Children were getting ready for school. Mothers were busy packing their lunches. Shops hadn't opened. Brooms had cleaned the streets recently. Chants of prayers emanated from Hindu homes. Jains dressed in white made their way back home from temples. Call to prayer had rung out an hour earlier from the nearby mosque. Some windows were shut and some were half open. Agarbatti (incense) infused zephyr blew down the pols and narrow streets. All was indeed well with the world that beautiful morning.

Are you ready to hop on?

Smiling faces agreed to be photographed. 

 Getting ready for the day's business...the ironing-lady.

I was admiring this beautiful door, when it opened and ...

the lady of the house beamed a smile...her son is in grade 5.

"Return to your Center"

The couple's Tao Te Ching by William Martin

If you make a show of your love,

it will hide itself.

If you babble on about it,

your words will fail.

If you grasp and cling to it,

it will slip through your fingers.

You cannot approach that which has no beginning.

You cannot lose that which has no end.

You do not have to protect it.

How then can you experience it?

As a swimmer experiences the water.

Dive in.

If you're feeling somewhat separate

and distant from your beloved,

do the things that stabilize you.

Walk, dance, paint, meditate,

write, build, play or sing.

When you return to your center

you will find your beloved waiting.

******

Have a happy, peaceful dive.

till we meet again...

Of Doors and Shekhawati in Rajasthan.

Two weeks ago, I decided to take a month off from work so that I could catch up on reading and writing.

I haven't even picked up a book- let alone turn the first page.

And  today is the first time I've sat down to write!

Why? you ask.

Because.

Yes, the list of 'becauses' is a dark well of excuses which sucks creativity and thrives on guilt (or any other negative emotional factor).

Guilt? Why guilt? It's a funny thing guilt...somehow, WE,  the women seem to suffer from it more than the men.

My guilt skips around housework and hops on top of the kitchen stove - teasing me into sorting out the cupboards, cooking meals and folding the laundry and cleverly enticing me away from my personal pleasures- reading and writing.

So, today, after dropping my son off to school, I came back home armed with a strong resolve to get rid of the guilt, shut my eyes to the unmade bed and just write.

As I turned the key to open my front door, I realised that I had held the key to my guilt all along - that I am the chief key holder of my life. What I let in through the door is entirely my choice.

I'm sure a year of practising yoga has something to do with this 'awareness'- this simple truth that my day is mine to mold the way I want to. It is liberating.

Yes, the mundane can't be ignored but emotions like frustration, fear, guilt, regret, and anger can be asked to leave my door step after they've rung the bell because let's face it...they do tend to pay regular visits.

My front door in all it's infinite wisdom asked me to think about the many doors I open and close every day.

Doors that let in friends.
Doors that promise a warm family gathering when you open them.
Doors you look back at and check that they are secure when you leave.
Doors that glare at you with a teenager's angst when you try to enter them.
Doors that succumb to the clothes stuffed behind them and pour their hearts out when you open them.
Doors that are shut quietly when amorous juices start flowing but still manage to groan in mischief.
Doors with big brassy name plates announcing the importance of the room's occupant.
Doors happy with 'welcome home' signs.
Doors with dodgy locks in public toilets screaming silently in panic.
Doors with sweaty slippery handles- apprehensive with the outcome of a job interview.
Doors you never knock on and
Doors you ALWAYS knock on.
Doors with a 'foot in' - promising a secure career progression.
Doors with a glass ceiling- unrelenting.
Doors that are never shut and
Doors that never open
Doors that exist only in our minds.
Doors that hide painful memories and are barred shut but do sometimes creak open.
Doors that rattle with rage when the ego is bruised.

Is opening a door different from closing one?
Do we even need doors?
Do we need these filters to protect us or the ones who live with us?
How many doors have you opened recently?
And have you shut any?

I opened a door to practising yoga a year ago
and that made me realise
that I am okay with just a door frame-
A 'dehleej', a 'chaukhat'
Where my feelings can park for a bit
And enter only if I give them permission.

I am alive and I can't deny that visitors like
love and pain, laughter and guilt, anger and joy
will stop by every day
But who I let in
and who I ask to leave
IS
Entirely up to ME.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



All this talk of doors reminded me of a trip I had taken to Shekhawati in Rajasthan.  This was in February of 2013 and I wasn't blogging then.

The trip was organised by a dear friend from college, Aparna Acharya (who deserves a post dedicated entirely to her for what she does for a living). Yes, she opens a lot of doors to let people see the beauty of India.

I won't be writing any captions for the following pictures. I would like for you to just soak in this beauty the way I did while wandering the streets of Shekhawati- the land of frescoes, doors and windows, arches and domes and warm and  inquisitive people.

And if you like what you see and would like to go, you can visit www.vistasindia.com and start planning:)

Aparna had arranged for us to stay at Roop Niwas Kothi in Nawalgarh... the perfect place to come back to and relax after a day out in the biggest art gallery (I've ever seen) that is this town.
 http://www.roopniwaskothi.com/

I can't resist posting the following picture of our loo...

There was even a nook for my book...

The view from our room door...

So this journey comes to an end. 

It started almost three hours ago when I decided to just do it. 

I think it's time to take a break and relax. Have a wonderful day everyone and do share your doors -

memorable, ordinary, extra-ordinary, tangible or otherwise with me.