From being needy to being valuable

I have always believed in ideals. I have very high ideals for life- for love, relationships, work, education, and art. Ideals make my heart flutter. They help me believe in the beauty of life. I am more moved by a choice that is driven by the pursuit of ideals, than that driven by the pursuit of safety, security, or material fulfillment. To me, such a choice represents true liberation. It is such choices that liberate us from the needs that limit us. These choices enable us to express a more valuable and independent part of us, and shift the focus from the needy part of us. I admire those who give up their needs in order to become valuable to others.

Those who believe in ideals and strive for these ideals in their lives, must inevitably face disappointment. But that is not where life ends for them. There is life after that disappointment; that is where life truly begins.

I lived the first part of my life, pursuing the fulfillment of my needs. I saw people as the ingredients that fulfilled my needs for love, companionship, and positive regard. My happiness was therefore determined by the people I closely interacted with. I was happy when these needs were being fulfilled, but unhappy otherwise. I slowly learnt that loss was inevitable. Even the people who provide us love and companionship today, could fade away from our lives tomorrow. People change as circumstances change, and the change in itself, could turn into a loss. Sometimes, people fade away from our lives inadvertently, simply because they have newer roles and responsibilities to cater to. There is no guarantee that the dynamics of the relationship that we enjoy today with a person, would remain the same forever. This was a difficult truth for me to accept; I could not imagine losing those who meant the most to me at a point in time. I could not imagine that as time went by, their priorities would change, and we could even cease to exist in their lives. I had to figure out a way to accept this truth. My way of acceptance was to make myself insignificant in a relationship. I developed a habit of adding value to people’s lives, but refusing to linger. I made myself available to people for as long as they needed me, but I never shared the needy part of my own self with them. I would always come back home to myself. This defense mechanism became ingrained in my personality. It enabled me to cope with loss, change, and death. I found this highly empowering. Also, I had developed considerably; to come back to myself meant coming back to a rich inner world. I had much to feel, perceive, and think about. I was never lonely. I always had the company of a universe when I was alone.

I slowly learnt to recognize this phenomenon as self-transcendence. I was no longer the needy person I knew myself to be; I was now a valuable person. I rarely thought about myself; I found the phenomena of the world more engaging and interesting to dwell upon. I was no longer thinking about what I had not received; I was only thinking about all the things I wanted to leave behind. I like who I have become. There are times I privately converse with the needy part of me. I love these moments because the needy part of me enables me to see the merit of the journey I have taken. The lesson that I have learnt from life is that the only freedom we have is the freedom of self-transcendence. The more obsessed we are with our needs, the unhappier we tend to become. The more we learn to transcend our needs and engage with causes larger than ourselves, the happier we become.

Room For Spontaneity

The desire to model somebody you look up to or personally identify with, can be so powerful. I realized this recently when I picked up a new habit– eating kanji or rice porridge for lunch. Kanji is a meal I could never bring myself to like. After we moved to Kerala, my food habits and tastes underwent a transformation. I took a liking to mangoes and appams, both of which used to nauseate me. Though I became less picky about food, my mother could never get me to like kanji. In the summer months of April and May, when the temperatures are soaring and the humidity is at its peak, my mother prefers kanji for lunch. She always coaxes me to try it, but I have never been able to get myself to like it. Last week, when I met SN and his friend, I was influenced by their preference for kanji. Overnight, kanji transformed into a cultural ingredient in my mind. I had this determination to pick up habits that would help me identify with SN and feel more closely connected to him. My mother couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw me relishing kanji, and insisting on kanji for lunch. I am truly enjoying the experience. There is no curry served with the kanji, but we have other accompaniments such as a raw banana side dish, a tangy coconut and raw mango chutney, and a serving of boiled pulses, lightly seasoned. The side dishes are different every day, and we conclude the meal with a small serving of payasam and fruit. I have become so addicted to this menu that I strongly suspect it might become a habit. My mother says she owes SN for this. I have bragged about this to him. He is amused and laughs, but in that laughter, there is also the affection that I cherish the most. When I last spoke to him, it was afternoon, and he had just got home for lunch. I am sometimes scared of being so expressive, but his responses dispel my fears. He is aware that currently, he fills the void that my father left behind. He accepts and celebrates my child-like ways. And that is the thing that I love about this relationship- the room for spontaneity.

SN reminds me of many people I knew from my formative years- some of my teachers in school, some of my old professors in medical college, Balan Master- my music teacher, Venugopal sir- the dean of the college I worked for, and some of my father’s friends. What is common to all of them is the spontaneity they are capable of accommodating. There is a spontaneity to my character that is integral to who I am. My thoughts and behaviours are driven by this spontaneity. I am mindful of others and I am mindful of contexts/situations. My spontaneity is not inconsiderate of people or contexts. However, it thrives on the freedom to feel, imagine, express, make mistakes, and discover. In my relationships with all these people, I had this freedom. They made me feel that my spontaneity was special and had the potential to be valuable. I was always self-conscious of my spontaneity because it made me different from others, but these people helped me embrace it as a gift. This did not mean that they did not criticize me, scold me , or disagree with me. It meant that they were nevertheless willing to allow me to experiment and explore; it meant they were willing to put their trust in my spontaneity – in its ability to come up with something novel and valuable. The reason they were able to do so is because they were not afraid of my spontaneity; they were not threatened by it. They were all travelers who were not afraid of questions, unpredictability, or the unknown.

My spontaneity is a problem when I am working with or building relationships with people who like to strictly live by the rules of the game and limit all their moves to the framework laid down by convention. My spontaneity is a problem when I am working with a boss or peers who detest novelty and prefer maintaining status quo. My spontaneity is a problem when I am building relationships with people who stereotype others and are uncomfortable with change. I change and evolve with every experience. Who I am today, is no longer who I was yesterday. That is the rate at which I change. It can be hard to keep pace with me.

I get along best in spaces and relationships where there is creative freedom. I have experienced this in the company of nature, old people, and the friends from my formative years. I feel secure and strong when I am with such people/nature because it helps me be myself, without worrying about being judged. The forests, rivers, birds and animals do not tell me how I must love them. I am free to love them on my own unique terms, as long as I am considerate of them. They mirror and reward my spontaneity, and I feel like a good human being in their company. So it is with old people. So it is with my friends from Bangalore. They are all people who help me believe in ideals. They value the spontaneity with which I love, work, converse, or behave. But these are people who are slowly becoming extinct, and being replaced by individuals who fear spontaneity and creative expression. If you are in a personal or professional relationship where the other person fears your spontaneity and gives no room for it, then nothing of value can grow in such spaces. That is exactly what happens when the public institutions/organizations are eroded by private institutions/organizations, when markets replace ideals, when businesses replace universities, and when machines replace human potential. We are doomed.

Self-Transcendence

My earliest memory of childhood is of kindergarten when I would abscond from the classroom to get a glimpse of the train that passed beneath the bridge. I would stand by the fence, and wait until the passenger train arrived. The train captivated my imagination, and I was in awe of it. The train was symbolic of a world larger than my small world where every place could be reached on foot, and where Bus No. 259 had taken me at the most from school to Gangamma circle, where I lived. The train was enigmatic; there was something mysterious about it. It seemed to belong to a larger universe; I was in the dark about where it was coming from, and where it was headed. I would feel elated at its slow rumbling and the sound of its long whistle. I would count the number of bogies as they whizzed past, and hold my breath until the last bogie had passed. I would wait until the sound had completely died down. I was oblivious to the passage of time, and it was only when my teachers came looking for me that I would come back to my physical reality. I was unaware of the gravity of the situation or the commotion I had caused. I was only sad that my reverie had been disrupted.

This is a trait that has been an integral part of my personality; I live for the moments when I can experience something larger than myself, and lose sense of my physical reality. I am happiest being me when I am engaged in something that is larger than me, and that has the power to make me oblivious to my physical existence. This happens whenever I am engaged in anything that has the power to move me. It turns out that I am easily moved by experiences. I am moved by struggle– by my own struggle as well as other people’s struggle. I am moved by knowledge and discovery; to access the complexity and magic of the phenomena that surround us, fills me with wonder and joy. This is why I am moved when I am teaching or toying with novel ideas that cross my mind. I am moved by human experience; I am drawn to people’s narratives of their experiences, to books and movies, to interpretations of human experiences in my writings. I am also moved by originality and authenticity; this is why I am moved by the company of animals, children, and nature. They break my conditioning and help me see the world with fresh eyes. In summary, I am moved by life. As long as something is challenging and utilizes my senses and abilities, I am moved. I am only wary of the boredom that comes when the experience component is removed, and one works without exercising the human abilities, within the narrow premises of predictability, timelines, and defined targets. I would rather embrace a journey and fail; I may not have achieved the outcomes, but I would at least have gained the experience that comes with the journey.

Anything that brings me back to the drab colors of the physical reality of human life, is unacceptable. I refuse to accept the ordinary reality of human experience; I thrive on constructing a higher meaning out of every experience- be it a relationship, a job, or ordinary household chores. Life is bearable and beautiful only when the most ordinary experiences are perceived in a manner where they cease being ordinary.

Some of my friends suffer from depression. A thing common to all these people is that they have a tendency to avoid experiences. There is an unconscious fear/anxiety of either failing, being hurt, being rejected, being devalued, or being harmed. I believe that if this fear/anxiety can be brought to surface, and if they can be made to embrace their experiences irrespective of the outcomes, they can overcome their depression without becoming dependent on antidepressants. I am grateful for being a person who can put everything at stake, including my own pride, if that is what it takes to immerse myself in human experience. Self-transcendence is the most important defense mechanism I use to confront my own fears and anxieties. I believe that there are two types of problems in life- problems that have to be solved, and problems that have to be transcended. If one has learnt the art of self-transcendence, then the phases characterized by problems that have no immediate solutions, also become bearable and worth living through. My goal as a psychologist is to determine if I can help more young people master the art of self-transcendence.

What do People Mean to Us?

I had forgotten the way to his office. The last time I had been to his office was over ten years ago. I asked the vendors for directions, and located the building. I recognized the old wooden stairway that led to his office. The sight warmed my heart because I knew that at the end of these stairs, was a place that had offered me solace and hope in my most difficult times. The wood was old, but solid; it could carry your weight without giving away. It had lost its luster, but its deep tone imparted an unmatched elegance to it. I couldn’t help thinking that the character of this stairway was very much like the man I was about to meet. A man of solid character who could carry the burden of the people who entrusted him with their troubles, and whose depth accommodated the spectrum of human nature with ease.

The stairs led to an open balcony where old wooden benches were laid out for people to sit. You could sit on the benches and be an inconspicuous observer, lapping up the sights and sounds of the ever-expanding town. The walls were painted a dull yellow- sober, and yet warm enough. The tiled roof was supplemented by the overhanging branches of old trees that kept out the harsh rays of the sun and bathed the building in their shade. The building was old; it had survived amidst the concrete structures that were slowly eroding the spirit of the town. There was something modest and comforting about these old buildings, unlike the plush offices we inhabit today; they made you inconspicuous enough to feel a sense of belonging with the world that passed by.

It was with surprise that SN greeted me; I had changed beyond recognition. The last I met him was when my father had passed away. I was just as surprised to see him- he was the picture of health. Apart from his voice which had probably succumbed to years of strain, he looked hale and hearty. Unlike most men his age, he had aged gracefully. He still walked at a pace that I could not keep up with.

Beneath my nonchalant exterior, I am not sure if he managed to read the multitude of emotions that crossed my mind. He was seated comfortably in his chair, his face placid as ever, with a smile that melted one’s defenses. I felt very much the child I had been ten years ago, crying in his office, venting out my anger and frustration. Back then, I did not feel the need to shield my vulnerability. I took the liberty to cry and curse. I took the liberty to tell him that if he could not execute his power and protect me, then it was futile being a lawyer. He took it all with a smile. What I remember the most about him was that he gave me understanding; he gave me a space where I could be myself, despite having no obligation to do so. He taught me that battles are not always won in one stroke; there are battles where patience can help us win in more meaningful ways. He taught me that not all battles are worth fighting; sometimes, it is better not to attack unless there is an attack from the opponent.

In those years when I felt lost and there was no father figure in my life, I found his presence comforting. Some of the hardest paths we walk, become the most beautiful in retrospect; our minds change the meaning we attach to them. The people who made these paths bearable, shine through, and we cherish them in ways that we cannot describe. This was the bond I shared with SN. I did not keep in touch with SN. It wasn’t because I had forgotten him; it was because I wanted to keep the memory of the affection he had given me. I was afraid that if I lingered, he would not be able to sustain the affection, and it would break my heart. And so, after all these years, when I had spoken to him on the phone, I was surprised to feel the same affection he had given me then. I love it when people and places refuse to change. I love it when they make me feel what I cherished about them in the past.

After our initial pleasantries, SN looked through my papers, and on an impulse, he said to me,” Why don’t we just get hold of the notary and get the signature today? If you leave these documents here, it might just get delayed. Shall we do that?”

“Sure, would it be okay for you?”, I asked, not letting my emotions show on my face. I had really wanted to spend some time with him, rather than rush through the process. But I did not want to intrude into his busy schedule. SN called the notary and we all hopped into the car. I was not acquainted with the notary. So SN made an introduction.

“We are old friends. Vidya grew up outside Kerala, isn’t that so? She is a doctor, and now she is also a psychologist. Most importantly, she is an eligible spinster”, he remarked.

“You could leave out the last bit, sir”, I replied.

“No, child. What I worry is that you may regret your choices. Regret is fine, as long as it sets in while something can still be done about it. When you regret, it shouldn’t be too late. You will probably not regret until your mother is around, and until you are healthy. But when you get to my age, you need somebody who cares for you. That is where it gets difficult.”

“I will keep that in mind”, I replied.

“You are a hard nut to crack, aren’t you?”, he asked me.

I smiled, hugging this feeling that I had not felt for a long time. It made me realize that my vulnerability is very much alive, but I keep it well concealed. There are very few relationships where I have the luxury of exposing this vulnerability.

The two had many interesting experiences to share, and I joined in, laughing at all their jokes. It was after such a long time that I had the luxury of being a child. Sometimes, I am tired of being mature and responsible all the time.

It was lunchtime, but since we did not want to waste time, we decided to stop at Pilicode farm and grab something that could sustain us for the next couple of hours. I am not sure if it was the people I was with, or the experience of the farm that made the whole experience feel rather special.

On our way back, I got to listen to more of their stories and perspectives. It was hard to tell if some of the stories were real or were fabricated for the purpose of humour. SN had worn a white shirt, and it was rather unfortunate that when he put the seat belt on, the belt left a stain on his shirt. “I am going to send you a legal notice for this”, he joked. He had a meeting to attend, and the stain bothered him. He tried wiping it off, but to no effect. When we arrived at the notary’s office, he was contemplating washing off the stain with some water. That was when I remembered the sanitizer. “I have a sanitizer in my car. We could try spraying that and see if it will erase the stain”, I offered. His face lit up like a child’s face. “You can use the sanitizer on my shelf”, the notary offered. I found the sanitizer and sprayed it on the stain. It was getting lighter, although it did not completely disappear. “A woman’s brain never ceases to marvel in such moments”, SN remarked. The frame froze in my mind. Me spraying the sanitizer. A father’s distressed face that gave the impression of a 5-year-old who had completely submitted himself to the care of his daughter, trusting her instincts and hands. In that moment, he had forgotten all about the meeting, the tasks that demanded his attention, and the people who awaited him. It was the most ordinary of human interactions, but I will treasure it for a lifetime.

Why is it that some people mean so much to us? Is it because of who we are or who they are? In the people we choose, in our perceptions of them, we can find ourselves. And so, we exist not in our individual lives, but in our relationships with people and with the world. To live, is to form relationships- with people, places, experiences, other creatures, and the universe. It is only in these relationships that we can find ourselves.