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As I geared myself up to brush my well-guarded emotions under the carpet for the 17th Bhai dooj I played the song yet again. It’s my favorite self-sabotaging song . I just have to listen to it and wait for the warm tears to flow . I am so good at it with years of practice feeling sorry for myself and finding comfort in my victim mode . The frequency of this practice is diminishing and this morning it just wasn’t there.
Okay a wee bit to be honest! I searched hard for it is not possible for this familiar brooding to go away. I felt empty and hollow. I felt robbed and cheated.
Come on where did it disappear ?
The reason it did not exist today because I pressed the green button . Over the past years I normally press the red button more out of habit blowing my inner healing core to pieces and going off tangentially episodically in an otherwise seemingly balanced life. I never realized that I could press the green button and gift myself the release instead. Like everyone else I knew no other way. Eckhart Tolle defines it as strong “pain body ” which serves to provide regular dose of pain and negativity in thought patterns , occasions, things and conversations .
We start to believe the story of grief. We repeat it frequently till we decide to change and take control . We need to learn the importance of right buttons to press for nobody can rescue us from sinking into our ocean of sorrow except ourselves . Only we can.
Brothers…. A little sore point but I love brothers for I had ten of them in all including my very own “Saga bhai “. I lost him tragically seventeen years ago so his death took away the saga wala feeling. I lost another dearest young cousin to a sudden accidental death in sleep which came rather close before I made my recovery from the first episode . So I am logically left with eight but I never have elevated them to the pedestal of “Sagaahood “ . I kept all of them at a safe distance thus earning myself the rightful place into my loneliness and isolation and unable to cope up with my loss. To keep myself emotionally jammed I fed them with healthy dose of self-pity and why me as reminders in my conversations till I got tired of my own sorrow. Slowly the immolation exercises have been reduced to weekly ,monthly and now bi-annually on Rakshabandhan and Bhai dooj.Any sane person can question and ask why I didn’t let go but my answer is that I just couldn’t. As simple as that for there is no logical explanation that can be offered and the universal formula that works for all is still under discovery. It’s the cry of the heart depending how one is glued in his/her experiences. And heart has its own intelligence. For when trauma happens it affects at two levels one in the mind which tries to solve it by offering a logical solution to the event and second at the heart level which has only one damn job in the world to feel . The heart neither questions nor obeys the logic but continuously pumps and continues to shed silent tears refusing to see the goodness and the positive side of things till its own healing happens over time. It often spans in years and may be sometimes a whole life time.
All my brothers had Rakhis tied all the way up to elbows for they were blessed with seven sisters and we loved putting the Roli and adorning it with rice grains to seal them in line. Handing them the coconuts and receiving money that would be used to buy our favorite things over the year .
The kite flying competition on the roof lasted almost half a day while we held Chakris and got to hold the Manjaa once in a while. The laughter and the jokes continued over dining tables while gobbling the tasty food at the Khandaani meet. Julie and Johnny dance partners were chosen amongst the cousins and the non-stop gana-bajana kept the heart joyous, excited and really pumping . The brothers would gang up to play pranks on us by scaring us with dead crows and one especially chose to be the role model famous ghost “Saanwari” ( a character of one of those Jaani-Dushman movies I think). I named him Saanwari Bhaiya .The ghost would find us eventually no matter wherever we hid . Brothers know the hiding places of sisters always.
With times moving ahead eventually everyone got married. Everybody moved to settle in different cities, states and countries looking for better opportunities to support their families. The sisters have also been wedded and moved away . Some stay in touch some don’t. What I remembered is when they did not stay in touch it hurt a lot. There are moments in life when you want them to stay just for a little longer and then the excuses come at one pretext or the other and like an adult you have to understand it all .Obviously they are not the real brothers is what I began to think. Your mind accepts and the heart sinks. Eventually the magic of past is replaced with maturity, seriousness and mere formalities. No one wants to fly kites anymore or dance.
Then your mind takes over as it works through the red button.
I held them hostage to the belief that they never had time .
I blamed them for not staying long enough.
I blamed them for not keeping in touch.
I blamed them for never ever bothering to look back as to what happened to me .
I blamed them for not getting me out of my hiding places.
I blamed them for not being there for me when I needed them.
I blamed them for even growing older and serious and let the years pass by silently .
I blamed them for leaving my hometown while I still exist and stare at the empty roof tops where kites lay unclaimed.
I blamed them for not coming to meet me while they would still make those hush hush trips to their friends in the same hometown.
I blamed them for the long gaps when we could meet more frequently ? Blame game is so easy and unconsciously done as a habit.All the answers lay deeply buried in my own dormant consciousness under the heavy pile of sorrow.
Why did I lose track of those head counts ?
Why did I not reach out ?
Why did I not cry ?
Why did I believe it that I did not need anyone ?
Why did I continue to handle it always even when I found it hard to cope? Why did I believe in my capability more than warmth of an understanding and caring heart ? Why did I allow my stoniness to replace the well deserved warmth of my loving brother’s embrace and hugs .Why did I not make that call ever for all of them said they were just a phone call away ? Why did I choose to grieve alone in my times of need when I could have had those moments supported in their laughter and nonsensical conversations to keep me distracted? And lastly was I there for them as I expected them to be ?
The culprit was my own ego and my closed heart . I lost track of them all entrapped in my own expectation from them ? Who was I competing against ? In the darkest places in my life I got so comfortable in my own discomfort that I barely noticed the direction I took . I continued to project my own fear and loneliness and went on telling myself that I do not have any caring brothers. All I needed was a switch from their should have to my own could have. I am slowly learning to count again and feed my mind new stories that all is well. All was always well even then .I am the one who needed to come out of my hiding place.. I need to step up towards them .e.g. A Brother always cares .
No matter which professional pedestal I climb yet he will be the one holding my heavy suitcase at the airport. He will pick and drop me at all odd hours so that I could reconnect with his family because he knows that I am busy .He will come at the train station to just hand me some delicious cake from his famous bakery just in case Shatabdi people forget to feed me in a four hour long journey.He will value my opinion while trying on his new suit even when his wife prefers something else saying that was not available in his correct size.
He will call me across thousands of miles away asking for a simple medical remedy as if all able Doctors in his locality are dead. He will always lovingly invite me to his house Ki Bahan …ek Chakkar Idhar bhi maar lena aate jaate ?
Not only the ones you lose there are others who join you as you move ahead disguising themselves as senior residents, batch-mates and PG brothers. Unnamed bonds who support you all the way in your times of need. They will book your flights when you have to fly to do the funeral of your very own brother, those who stay hungry and cry with you while they hold your hand in your training and those with whom you have spent a life time of med school. They are special brothers. Then there are those who stop never coming to let you be alone on these days no matter how bad the traffic jams are.Those that have grown in your own lap and say “Hamse Panga mat lena”
Relationships often lose their worth the moment one loosens his/her grip on a connect that is so deep and lovingly held ? I presumed and assumed a lot . Even in my rudeness and aloofness I was hugged and forgiven so easily without giving it any serious thought for that’s the way it is between a brother and sister. The heart always knows and connects across cities ,states and continents for it’s the distance between the heart we create and not the miles. It has the power to cut through the emptiness ,winning over the blame game and realigning the thoughts and emotions to their original state. It replaces the emptiness with the natural flow of love by sending signals to the moon and back right where the brothers stand waiting to celebrate yet another occasion Bhai Dooj.Happy Bhai Dooj to me for this time I pressed the Green release button.
