Being unique

Being different is tough. Questioning social norms is not normal. I am not sure if my mother knowingly instilled confidence in her children or if it was serendipitous – knowing her, it was likely intentional. As we grow older nostalgia kicks in and thinking back on childhood, I can very clearly remember one particular instance when my mother showed us without doubt that being different was being unique. She showed us that being different was to be celebrated – something to be proud of.

I was probably no older than 6 years old. It was “Rainbow Day” in class. Honestly, I don’t even understand what the whole concept was for. Children were expected to come to class dressed in the colors of the rainbow. I remember thinking I would dress in red – I always loved the color red. Red made me happy, but somehow the color never defined me; still does not.

Children share so much time painstakingly explaining their days to parents. Little details about events that happen at school become conversation topics that take hours. And parents… good parents, patient parents, have all the time in the world to listen to these little nothings. My mother was a good parent, an exceptionally patient parent when it came to listening to little nothings. Sometimes I think back and I wish I had kept it up as I grew older. I wish I had not gone into the “You wouldn’t understand” phase. Because she never, not once, gave me any reason to believe she wouldn’t understand. She always understood, she always listened. Her life revolved around my little nothings. My little nothings were as eventful to her as they were to me even when I was barely 6 years old.

So that afternoon, my mother came to know “Rainbow day” was coming up. Having two older children she did not need any explanations – She knew the drill. She told me Indigo was the way to go. I remember I was unsure in the beginning. I wanted to wear Red after all. But she took the time and explained to me how there will be many Reds, Greens, Blues and Purples – but there will be only one Indigo, me. I needed cajoling. I was worried about being different, I was worried how I would explain Indigo, and I was worried I would stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of Reds, Greens, Blues and Purples. My mother told me being different means being special. She showed me being different was something to be proud of. She taught me the true meaning of unique and how sometimes sticking to the social norms is boring. She then went on to show me pictures of my older sisters dressed in Indigo for their Rainbow day and she had me sold. I would be Indigo. I would be different, no… I would be unique!

Rainbow day was fabulous! I still remember coming back home that afternoon and telling her how everybody was intrigued by me; how every child secretly wished they stood out as much as I did; how I felt absolutely special. In the sea of secretly jealous Reds, Greens, Blues and Purples – I stood proud as an Indigo.

I sometimes wonder if I will ever be as smart, patient and intuitive as my mother was. She was wise beyond her time. She would have changed the world if she were given the chance to… Instead she shaped her world, her children, with values and little lessons that make me someone who wants to try to change the world. Some lessons you do not learn in books. This was one among them. Be unique and take pride in being different. Don’t be a Red, Green or Blue if you do not want to; especially if it doesn’t define you.

Thank you Amma for making me an Indigo!

A moment of clarity

It has been too long.

Grief is never overcome by mundane life, it remains a newly formed scab forever. A little bit of picking at it, even if unintentional, sets the blood trickling again.

Sometimes the loneliness that envelopes everything just because of one person missing in your life is overwhelming. A moment of clarity, of purpose, is all that it takes to get one’s life back in order – but the scab remains, waiting to be picked on.

I have never been a very spiritual person. I honestly don’t know what to believe. I equally respect views of spirituality, religion and atheism – no judgement whatsoever. I have, however, been absolutely sure that my mother watches over me. I don’t know how, I just believe. I know the cynics will state that it is my inability to cope with her loss that is making me believe in this. Sometimes I feel like I may be grasping at straws, making something out of absolutely nothing. But that doesn’t stop me from believing.

I recently went through a loss. A loss that I had not prepared for, something I was sure I would not let myself feel ever again. I gave someone the ability to hurt me. Hindsight is always 20/20. But getting through this tough time in my life, I kept asking my mother – why? Why did you let this happen to me? Why can’t you fix everything for me – you have the power to do this… I begged and pleaded to her. But, in the end, what was over was over. It was time to deal with reality.

In the depth of sorrow, the loneliness was drowning me. I felt like everybody had “their person”. I felt my mother left me and now I was all by myself. The interesting thing about depression is that it can engulf you in a world of selfishness. Where nothing else matters other than your feelings of self-pity and hatred at everything even remotely happy. There ceases to be any hope for reprieve and any effort to stop the cycle is too daunting a task to take on. I remember wondering whether my mother was ever depressed. I wondered if she had ever felt pain comparable to what I was feeling. I wondered how she felt about leaving me alone in this big, bad world.

A week back I had a moment of clarity. I am unsure where it came from. I had it in the middle of the day while lazing around. No alcohol involved, no friend’s/family’s words of advice or support. It was nothing short of enlightening. Something made me think of what I want to do in life. Not about work/money/love/future. I started thinking about what I always wanted to do, but kept putting off. What is it that would make me happy as an individual full of hopes and dreams?…

Funnily enough, I realized having a partner in my life was never something that made me happy. I wanted to travel the world, I wanted to run a marathon, I wanted to go skydiving, I want to learn how to drive - finally! Not one of these needed a partner. I never had dreams of a husband and children. I never dreamed of being a doting wife or having a devoted husband. My mother lived her entire life for her family. She devoted her life for her children’s well-being, for their future and their dreams. I was not that person, I did not want to be that person. Not yet.

I have started a new chapter in my life. Where I live my life on my own terms. Where I stop trying so hard to make people love me – because honestly I couldn’t give a damn. A few years from now this might change but for now this is me – thanks to my amazing mother, I am a glorious being. Love and lust are just feelings as a result of hormones, feelings that have evolved to keep the human race reproducing. It is funny how much time and effort we put into this whole fiasco of finding a partner and living with them. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a cynic when it comes to love. I just believe there are things way more significant.

I believe my mother is my guardian angel. She gave me that moment of clarity because no one else I know at this moment in my life could have been so rational. For now, I live for myself – because I am not ready to sacrifice just as yet. I have too many dreams to fulfil before that point comes in my life. I know my mother would have wanted me to be happy. I know she is smiling down on me as I embark on this new journey of life.