Breakable

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A long time ago, on a Sunday morning at a village fete I saw a beautiful black-clay handmade earthenware pot. I wanted it. He said that we shouldn’t as it might break. We brought it home. A long time ago, it decorated our home for a long time.

He said if something is breakable, there is a real chance it will break, no matter how much we feel it ‘should’ not. Each time we looked at it our hearts warmed like the insides of fur mittens. He said nature had its own laws of demolition. That was a long time ago.

Another day, we brought another sweet fragile thing home. It was delicate as a little bird. It claimed all our love, our time and our sleep. It cooed and cackled and played silly games. It decorated our home for a long time. Each time we looked at it our eyes sparkled like north stars and our hearts overflowed like rivers breaking  banks. He said the cement of our love would keep us all intact and together. Forever.

We forgot that this thing was breakable. And we were breakable too. He said even if we moved across continents and oceans everything would be alright. He said even if we had nothing we would be okay. He said nothing would break. That was a long time ago.

Now the black-clay handmade earthenware pot from a long time ago sits in the centre of our living room, on a glass top coffee table, looking pretty. It’s breakable.

(Anaphora: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/anaphora)

We all are Sakura.

After a long, harsh and adamant winter, the hope and light of spring is here. The former is still lurking around the corner, waiting to jump back when it can. But for now, it’s hiding. Pink and white clouds of blossom hover a few feet above the ground.

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For centuries cherry-blossom or sakura has lived in the hearts of and ignited the spirit of the Japanese people. They wait for this time of year as the blossom signifies beauty and celebration. Its delicate pinkness stands for innocence and fragility. Families get together ceremoniously to marvel at this spring-time bloom. This occasion of watching and admiring of the blossom is called Hanami.

These feathery pink  flowers have inspired much of Japanese painting, poetry, film, music, food, textile design, ceramics and other art forms. In addition to being exquisite to look at, they carry a deep philosophical meaning. They are a timeless metaphor for human life. While this blooming season is intoxicatingly brilliant, it is tragically short. It  reminds us of the splendour and brevity of our own lives. It encourages us to appreciate our time on earth with the same joy and passion as we do the blossoms. It awakens our senses and forces us to pay attention – notice the present moment, welcome what’s to come, honour what has passed, acknowledge the transient nature of everything and hold ourselves in a stance of grace and gratitude.

The samurai embodied this combination of beauty and mortality. They appreciated the inevitability of death without fearing it. A fallen petal or blossom is said to symbolise the end of their short lives.

Sakura also indicates renewal. In Japan, this is the month in which the school, calendar and fiscal year start.  Aside from deep historical, religious and cultural significance, it also has connotations of agricultural optimism.

Beautiful, fragile and transient – that is us.

 

Cyclists rule!

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We know we are in Holland when the study table in our hotel room has a puncture repair kit in the drawer. Looking out of the window I see people riding their bikes with great abandon – simultaneously texting, chomping at an ice-cream, carrying a big bunch of flowers and chatting with a friend riding a bike in parallel. Pedestrians and automobiles are invisible to them. Bi-cycles go where they like, when they like. Anytime of day or night they shoot out of blind corners and come barging at us from all sides. Walking the cobbled streets as unsure visitor, we feel like an inconvenience to these bikers. I seriously envy them their security, their space and their freedom!

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A white van drives past us with ‘Authentic smaak’ emblazoned across the side in dark green. It brings amusement to our faces. Does this mean what we think it does? We guess it refers to one of the substances that Amsterdam is well known for. We later discover the innocent local meaning of ‘smaak’ is ‘taste’.

‘Dutch masters at the Hermitage‘ is an enlightening exhibition. We got up-close to some of Rembrandt’s great works. The portrait of an old jew from 1654 came out a clear winner in my eyes. The light on his hands and face, the fineness of the wrinkles, the stories hidden in them, the detail on the hands, the use of space, the aura of wisdom …

Our hotel lobby was dominated by a large portrait of a mother and child. Painter unknown. Dates unknown.

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It softened my heart. It spoke to me. It took me right back into the past. It made me sad in the most delightful way. It brought a tear to my eye and a smile to my lips. I didn’t need reminding that my very last holiday with Saagar, in April 2014 was to this very town, Amsterdam. He is with me, wherever I go. Our children never go too far away. They are in our DNA as much as we are in their’s.

 

 

Turn the page…

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The wisdom of Paulo Coelho:

“One always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through.
Closing cycles, shutting doors, ending chapters – whatever name we give it, what matters is to leave in the past the moments of life that have finished.

Did you lose your job? Has a loving relationship come to an end? Did you leave your parents’ house? Gone to live abroad? Has a long-lasting friendship ended all of a sudden?
You can spend a long time wondering why this has happened.

You can tell yourself you won’t take another step until you find out why certain things that were so important and so solid in your life have turned into dust, just like that.
But such an attitude will be awfully stressing for everyone involved: your parents, your husband or wife, your friends, your children, your sister.
Everyone is finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill.

Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away.
That is why it is so important (however painful it may be!) to destroy souvenirs, move, give lots of things away to orphanages, sell or donate the books you have at home.

Everything in this visible world is a manifestation of the invisible world, of what is going on in our hearts – and getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place.
Let things go. Release them. Detach yourself from them.

Nobody plays this life with marked cards, so sometimes we win and sometimes we lose.
Do not expect anything in return, do not expect your efforts to be appreciated, your genius to be discovered, your love to be understood.

Stop turning on your emotional television to watch the same program over and over again, the one that shows how much you suffered from a certain loss: that is only poisoning you, nothing else.

Nothing is more dangerous than not accepting love relationships that are broken off, work that is promised but there is no starting date, decisions that are always put off waiting for the “ideal moment.”

Before a new chapter is begun, the old one has to be finished: tell yourself that what has passed will never come back.
Remember that there was a time when you could live without that thing or that person – nothing is irreplaceable, a habit is not a need.
This may sound so obvious, it may even be difficult, but it is very important.

Closing cycles. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because that no longer fits your life.

Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust.
Stop being who you were, and change into who you are.”

It’s become a ‘thing’.

For a thousand days I wrote every day. It wasn’t a ‘thing’. That’s just what I did. I didn’t worry about who read it and why. It didn’t matter how good or bad it was. I just did it. Then I slowed down to writing roughly once a week.

Now, I think about writing. I talk about writing. I look up ‘writing’ on the internet. I consider on-line courses. I buy books on writing. I worry about writing well. I listen to podcasts of interviews with famous writers. I am on the lookout for writing tips in newspapers and magazines. I wonder what it must feel like to write properly every day. I envy those who can. What I do very little of, is write. I believe I repeat myself endlessly. I say the same things again and again. I forget things that are important. I hardly know any juicy big words. Why would anyone be interested in what I have to say? English is my second language and I can’t fully express myself in it anyway. My imagination is limited. I haven’t read enough books. I have no writing qualifications. Ms Confidence has evaporated and Mr Self Doubt has surreptitiously crept into her space in the vacant apartment of my psyche.

One ‘expert’ on you-tube suggested the way forward is to just write 3 full A4 sheets every day. She said,”… best not to think too much. Just put down on paper whatever comes to mind”. She called it a ‘brain dump’. She promised that over time it would start to make sense. It would become a story in your voice.

Maybe it’s time to go back to writing everyday. Maybe it’s time to start  my “big fat” book 🙂

PS: My favourite book on writing is ‘On Writing Well‘ by William Zinsser.

 

I am not my diagnosis.

While I continue to struggle to figure out Twitter, forget how to update my website, get confused while recording podcasts, consistently get my innumerable passwords mixed up, stay oblivious about Instagram and Snapchat, the digital world gallops ahead.

Digital Interventions in mental health Conference 2017 was recently held in London. It explored topics across psychiatry, technology and culture to identify innovative ways of addressing mental health needs.

Dr Becky Inkster is a Neuroscientist, passionate about digital interventions in mental health, social media data analysis, genomics, molecular biology, and neuroimaging. She co-founded Hip-Hop Psych as she is passionate about working with hard-to-reach, disadvantaged groups and youth culture.

‘Views from the street’, ‘Prison transition tools’, ‘Beyond the bullets’ and ‘The Digital Psychiatrist’ are some of the workshops that were conducted at the above conference. The range of topics was rather fantastic. It was aimed at improving our understanding of how social media is helping to create and facilitate new spaces for mental health practices and support, exploring the benefits of social media and social networking to improve a sense of identity, self-expression, community building and emotional support through examining a few popular international examples. Participants and facilitators engaged in interactive sessions to understand how new tools for self-expression via pictures, videos, captions and short personal narratives can help break down the stigma surrounding mental health and perhaps even lead to more people seeking help. They explored how to empower young people to use social networks in a way that promotes their mental health and wellbeing, how to harness the power of social media to nurture mental health innovations that the future holds.

Impressive stuff. I carry on doing what I do. I write another article for the Huffington post – Darkness to light. I talk about my darling Saagar and emphasise the importance of us, the people, educating and empowering ourselves so that we can help ourselves and each other through the light of knowledge and empathy. I continue to speak with ordinary people living extra-ordinary lives. Here is a conversation with Sara Muzira, mother of the beautiful Simba. Both, mum and son are artists. She talks about the state of inpatient mental health services in her experience and things that can be made better for patients and their families. Thank you Sara.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 986

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Ever since I was little, I loved to twirl round and round with my arms stretched out. When I was overjoyed, when it rained after a long spell of sweltering heat, when Punjabi and Rajasthani folk music played fast and loud, when I felt absolutely free I twirled at one spot for as long as I could without hurling myself to the ground. It happened automatically and made me feel like I was on top of the world.

Whirling dervishes from the Sufi tradition have intrigued me for years. Sufism is a way of reaching God, which involves rigorous meditation and prayer, emphasis on inner self rather than external rituals, continuous service of humanity and renunciation of worldly pleasures. When they turn, their right palm artistically faces upwards to receive from the Universe and their left palm faces downwards in a spout, to symbolise giving of what is received. The head is tilted gracefully to the right as though they are looking at their hearts. They revolve as if powered by cosmic energy. It is mesmerising to be in the same space.

This evening after work, Si and I attended a ‘Mukabele’ at The Study Society in West London. It was a soulful and joyous ceremony. It was about experiencing inner stillness and opening of the heart. It represented mankind’s inner journey back to the realisation of his essential oneness with God and the unity of all creation. ‘Mukabele’ means ‘coming face to face’. The practice is based on these fundamental beliefs: God is the First and the Last, the Outward and the Inward. Wherever you tum, there is the Face of God.

This practice was originally developed by followers of the 13th century Persian mystic Jalalu’ddin Rumi, whose writings are some of the most enlightening.

“There is a life force
within your soul
Seek that life
There is a gem
In the mountain
Of your body
Seek that mine.

O traveller
If you are in
Search of that

Don’t look outside

Look inside yourself
And seek that.”