The Detoxification aka Diwalification of my life

It took a Karanji this Diwali to make me question my entire life.

For the most part, I am not a boastful, pompous person. I have self-doubts, I don’t like certain things about me but whenever I have asked myself ‘main aisa kyun hoon?!’, I admittedly have trained my mind to respond with ‘main aisa aisa aisa hi hoon!’. I thought the secret to happiness began with self-acceptance and self-love? Wow, ain’t that easy!? I’m nothing if not an ‘always-adjusting-angel’. That is, until this Diwali.

There’s this song ‘Reflection’ by Christina Aguilera from my favourite Disney movie Mulan;

Look at me
You may think you see
Who I really am
But you'll never know me

Every day
It's as if I play a part
Who is that girl I see
Staring straight back at me?

When will my reflection show
Who I am inside?

These lyrics always leave me standing in front of the mirror, staring at a confused girl who wants to be something but doesn’t know what. I used this song as my card to play the victim. That is, until this Diwali.

My mother and I always fight. She calls a spade a spade. She tells me things I don’t want to hear. She tells me when I’m wrong. So she’s been the Amrish Puri in my life forever. The one person I can blame for everything because, “Why can’t you ever be like Appa??” That is, until this Diwali.

Isn’t your spouse supposed to love you the way you are? Clearly when Billy Joel wrote ‘I love you just the way you are’ for his first wife, he hadn’t lived with her under the same roof a decade long! I’ve always argued that PP should be grateful and happy that his low-maintenance wife wants no big brands, makes no demands! That is, until this Diwali.

Then came this Diwali when I volunteered to make the Karanjis with my MIL, the Patil matriarch, who has a keen desire for her DIL to be like her, an aficionado of everything. Instead she got an avocado (ever-can’t-do!)

Under her supervision, I was rolling out the sheet and trying to carefully lock the filling inside. With no kid-eruption, it was just us ladies and her tales galore. I had heard these stories many times over the years, but I didn’t mind going down her memory lane again, after all I had done the same with my Wadala Paati for ages. It always started with how she would do the Diwali saaf safai a month in advance, make all the Diwali faraal, come up with different ideas to beautify their home, go shopping for everyone, do the needful for the puja. All this while taking care of the regular household chores. But the point of this story was not to highlight her efforts. It was about how her children shared her enthusiasm for festivities! Be it PP’s talent for rangoli and killa-making or Poonam’s flair for decor and designs, etc etc. 

That’s when I tuned out.

What was Diwali all about in my childhood? How did I contribute to the celebrations in our Wadala home? 

Cleaning? – The maid and her husband took care of the major part and the overall tidiness of our home was Amma’s domain and nobody cared or dared to get into her OCD territory! Have you seen her fold clothes? Origami learned from Amma.

Cooking? – Kitchen was Wadala Paati’s world. She put a lot of love and efforts into making a variety of Diwali bakshanam that my cousins and I would devour like there was no tomorrow! We would sneak into the kitchen to steal some of her priceless nei (ghee) that she religiously made everyday! “Enathe thirudi thingarel?,” (what are you stealthily eating?) her voice would ring from the bedroom!

Decorations? – The lanterns, lightings and fixings was Appa’s favourite thing to do. There was no special Rangoli for Diwali that I can recollect. It was for Onam that Amma would take time out to manage a simple but pretty pookalam (flower rangoli) on all the ten days before she hurried off to work.

Wait a second. Where do I feature in all of this? 

Back to the karanji. After having made ready a big lot, it was time to start frying them up. MIL had repeatedly warned me about sealing them tight and secure. The moment I tossed mine into the ghee, it opened up. Just like that, it came apart at the seams. The metaphor wasn’t lost on me.

That’s it. I had to drop my mother a message. My head would explode if I didn’t hear it from her, an answer that I was afraid I already knew. No context provided, nothing, I just demand answers from her. That’s how this relation works. She has to be available for me whenever and for whatever I need her. That’s like almost all the time! Two kids later, I still have to update her on the most trivial details of my life. Me. Me. Me. It’s always about me.

She replied almost instantly. Her reply only confirmed my suspicion. 

I had never bothered to do something about my lack of interest and involvement, my lack of dedication and commitment because you ought to love and accept yourself with flaws right? “Above all else, embrace your flaws,” I had read. I had done.

Now it was time to erase those flaws. The realisation that I never put my entire heart into anything stung me. I could continue to call it a flaw and let them be or I could make some fixes.

If you think it’s a mommy brain syndrome, no no! I cannot blame the kids for the way I function because if anything, it’s them that makes me want to correct my ways. You know, I can see them imitate me and that’s scary alright!

What is a fulfilling Diwali if it isn’t about victory of good over evil, light over darkness and positivity over negativity? All these years, I never took the trouble of even oiling the lamp because the light around me felt enough. For the first time in 35 years, I lit the lamp inside me.

Actions taken toward change:

• Declutter my mind and the space around me
• Finishing the task at hand before jumping to another
• Ordered a Shruthi box with the intention to practice singing at home

I know it and feel it from within me that this change, it will work. It’s not going to be easy but it isn’t a new year resolution that’s made and seldom kept up. While I know I have a lot to do, an occasional sign from the Universe comforts and motivates you!

Cheers!

The time of MY life

You know my love for Cecelia Ahern, the Irish novelist, right? She’s the reason I want to be a writer someday. There’s this book of her’s called ‘The Time Of My Life’ and it’s one of my favourites. One page of dialogue between Lucy and her Life always feels like he’s describing me and not Lucy. I didn’t like accepting it, but now I do.