If you feel no desire for me, then say so.
If you want to live alone, without a lover, then say so.
If your heart holds no place for me, then say so.
Say if it 's so, or say no, but just tell it to me straight.
If my heart is not
on fire, then why all this smoke?
There is no
incense burning, so what be this oudh I smell?
Why do I love? And
why do I doubt?
Why is the moth so
eager to burn in the candle's hell?
The tormented words of the 13th
Century Persian poet and Sufi mystic, Jalāl ud-Din Muhammed Rumi, seem to ring
true for many a heartbroken, forlorn and confused lover. Read in the original
Persian, or Braj Bhāsha and Urdu in the case of Hindustani poetry, a single
word carries the weight of a myriad of painful feelings and tormented emotions;
English translations appear to fall slightly short in their abilities to convey
the true essence dripping heavily from each line. Though a great deal of Sufi
and Islamic, and of course Hindu devotional, poetry is directed to the
Almighty, that raw longing that tugs desperately at one’s heartstrings is a
somewhat universal sentiment.
Just listening to a vocal piece
by such classical masters as Farida Khanum or Shobha Gurtu one can imagine
tears streaming down the anguished faces and into the trembling mouths belting
out such couplets as, “My destroyed heart had only hope to turn to. That too you confiscated from
an impoverished me”, and the double entendre behind “Heat erupts from unfulfilled
desires: like an oil lamp, I too am routinely burnt come nightfall”,
hinting at an unfaithful or even indifferent lover. There are those
individuals, the enthusiasts, in whom this grief echoes palpably; their
exclamations of adoration and sympathy would rise to the heavens back in the
heyday of mahfils assembled under the moon and stars. Each lingering
couplet has the effect of holding ones hand over a flame in defiance: a
satisfying blistering with a profound purpose.
And then you have those individuals who remark, albeit
under their breaths, “Oh lord, what is this depressing music?” willing
for it to cease at once. They turn instead to something with a jovial beat and
nonsensical uncomplicated lyrics, if any at all.
What is interesting to note is
that the sentimental individuals and the seemingly unfeeling rational
individuals tend to end up experiencing life together, each one making the
other feel inadequate: the pathetic and the stable, the passionate and the
bore. I had never considered myself the emotional sort; I still find it
uncomfortable engaging in civil body contact with friends and family, let alone
embracing strangers and acquaintances. Perhaps I have always been emotional and
absurd, but it was never perceived as such because I had managed to maintain
distance and express nonchalance. Why did this stance change, and when did my
fortress walls begin to decay until they rotted away to ruins? The pathological
process had been partly administered, but was largely self-inflicted; my
defences peaked, though superficially, before a brutal viral blow by a foreign
body took me down, declaring me perpetually susceptible to all forms of
oppression, exploitation, and emotional plunder. I have become that figurative
welcome mat who is always stepped on, though I had strived – and preached –
more than anything for this very predicament to be avoided.
The past two years since my last
post, which have flown by almost unnoticed, have been by and large uneventful:
I travelled to India, staying with my cousin in New Delhi over the month of
September 2011 before commencing an Integrated Masters degree in Ayurvedic
Medicine at a London university the following month. Moved to question my
ambitions, my future, and my relationship by Delhi’s spellbinding culture and
history, juxtaposed with its unbefitting yet agreeably sparkling modernity, I
returned somewhat enlightened to the philosophies of conjugal life, yet equally
pervaded by inflicted doubts. Was I settling for what was comfortable? Were
there greener pastures? What were the moral implications? I happened to chance
upon someone; they were different and they were initially more interested in me
than I was in them. Though there were direct physical similarities with my ex,
this person carried the cool demeanour, the zeal, and the mischief my ex had
lost over the years – what I believed at the time to crave for in the
relationship. This, encouraged by my unfounded doubts and insatiable demands
along with the ex’s utter lack of ardour, and valour in the face of possible
separation, ultimately caused our relationship of five and a half years to
abruptly end. My new infatuation also failed to last; it was tumultuous and
demeaning, serving only to irritate a tender wound before a stinging
vitriolage. My ex maintained a fully supportive stance throughout the whole
ordeal, offering sound, objective advice, a shoulder to cry on, and even a body
to release on; I was shown such unconditional kindness and understanding. I
began to value the philosophies and knowledge I had picked up in India and
through Ayurveda and the Brahma Kumaris, appreciate the beauty in this fun-size
deity that had been bestowed upon my life. I had made a grave error in taking
what we had for granted, and wanted everything to return to as it was. But I
had gotten ahead of myself. I was blinded to the fact that my exalted deity was
yet a mere mortal also experiencing epiphanies of their own, suddenly claiming
to be enjoying single life with gusto – free x-rated self portraits and a
cheeky kiss for every eligible applicant. I was emotionally and physically cut
off in the blink of an eye. This unexplained change of tune quickly reduced me
to utter devastation and uncertainty. As a result, I only just managed to
scrape through my first year at university, still wounded, still ceaselessly
confused, and still not in the least bit prepared or capable. It has been in
this state of bewilderment – anxious, negative rumination in a limbo of hope
and despair – that over a year has passed.
Whilst family and friends had
expressed deep concern over my losing myself, over social withdrawal and the
dangers of developing a submissive personality, my former partner appeared to
take everything in their stride. Pleas to talk and proposals for improvement
have been consistently rebuffed, almost as if switched on to autopilot;
detachment and subsequent cold bloodedness have been taken to with ease. But
only seemingly so. I may choose to voice my sentiments, relay my doubts and
concerns to my closest friends, or even learn to regulate my emotions through
various creative outlets or spiritual guides, but what of the rational,
unsentimental lot? Should they be viewed as cruel and unfeeling by default
because they choose to keep their woes contained within them, because they
manage their emotions differently? Despite what the truth may be, my ex claims
to want no part in any meeting, dating, or random sex for the unforeseeable
future; they are content in their own company. I have been unable to focus on
anything but the procurement of my lost love, or at least something to replace
it: a passionate kiss, television serials in bed, enjoying one another’s
company over plenty of alcohol followed by unruly sex. Every other aspect of my
life has been allowed to suffer in the absence of this, so how can it be that
someone would choose to reject this fundamental want? And thus negative
thoughts of self doubt, lies, and betrayal abound, churning all the time and
with each new, out of character incident.
I recently found myself engaging
in a rare, deep conversation with my dad on a drive back from Brent Cross. He
was asking me what I was doing with my life, whether I wanted to settle down
and get married. I told him that I was not ready, and most likely never see
myself settling down in the conventional sense; I did not think anyone would be
prepared to give me what I want.
“You know, you’re never happy
with anything,” he said to me in his soft Cockney accent. “You and your sister,
you’re both like your mum actually. All sensitive and irrational. Hot headed.”
I encouraged him to elaborate and
he went on to relay his relationship with my mum. Before she chose her path to
spirituality and embraced austerity almost fifteen years ago, she had always
been a rather passionate person, full of emotions and enthusiasm, easily
angered and stubborn, yet just as easily placated and yielding. Being the
youngest of five children, she was accustomed to roguery and fighting for
attention, and was the queen bee of her hometown, counting the granddaughters
of zamindars and former maharajas among her closest friends. Playing on a beach
during a visit to Bombay in the 1970s, she was spotted by the late Dev Anand, a
legend of Indian Cinema, and was approached on his behalf to audition for a
role in his next film. Her brother strictly forbade her and ordered her return
home to immediate effect. Moving to London dampened neither her verve, nor her
aggression: whilst parking on double yellows she would get into verbal fights
with outraged Jamaicans proclaiming, “because you are black, you think I am a
scared of you?” and once demanded my uncle come downstairs and face her so that
she can slice him open and rub salt into his flesh after he had threatened my
dad over a domestic financial issue.
“It’s all too much man,” dad
continued. “I’m not the kind of person who’s happy to just sit there and stare
at your face all day. What do I want to do that for? That’s what your mum was
like, wanted me around all the time: watch TV together, eat together, sleep
together.”
So what did he want her to do? I
asked him. Did he regret failing to pay her sufficient attention since she had
enforced strict celibacy and detachment onto their marriage?
“Well… I suppose I could have
been more attentive, but I don’t regret anything. It’s just not the kind of
person I am. I believe that a marriage, or any relationship for that matter,
has that honeymoon period when everything’s nice and you all love each other.
But after that, you’ve got to lead your own lives.”
I did not understand.
“You know, you do your thing, she
does her thing, and at certain times of the year you meet in the middle… Like
on holidays, or a dinner and dance…”
I was speechless. “You know what
dad, I can’t even blame mum for the decisions she’s made in her life. With
opinions like that, poor mum…”
My dad continued to defend
himself, reiterating that people are just different, what makes one person tick
could be the biggest bore to someone else. He went on to tell me one more
anecdote, of the apparent final straw for my mum. She had introduced him a
while back to her new friends, a mirthful family of Mangalorean Catholics who
lived a few doors down. Finding such a rapport with Mr Rodriguez, something
quite rare for a man as reserved and withdrawn as my dad, he found himself
spending most evenings and almost every weekend at their house. They would
drink beers and rum, talk electronics as they played cards or darts, gorge
themselves on deliciously spiced, coconut laced pork curries, and laugh
heartily in merriment.
“I mean, you can’t live life like
that day in day out, but it was fun at the time. Okay, I’m happy to have given
up meat and alcohol – I never really liked pork anyway – but we had a laugh.
You’re mum wasn’t happy, mind. You know what she’s like, asking me what I’d
like for dinner and waiting up for me so we can go to bed together.”
I empathised with my mum
completely, being reminded of the times I would stay up until the early hours of
the morning in wait of the ex to return from a night out. It was out of worry;
you simply want to know and acknowledge that the person you love is safely
beside you, that they are not lying somewhere in an alley, drunk out of their
minds and choking on their own bile. It is not something that manifests
entirely from control, as is generally falsely perceived. If anything, there is
a sense of loss felt in their absence. That we are missing out on precious
moments that could be spent together – even if it does mean simply staring at
each other all day.
“She started trying to control
me. Like wanting to know when I’d be home and telling me I can’t go out. Fuck
that man, I don’t answer to anyone.”
“So then?”
“One night I’d had one too many
and she went mad. And that was it. She started going to those spiritual talks
and just got drawn into it further from there.”
I told him it seemed as if she
had given up. Her last thread of hope had been confiscated and she was left
destitute, just like Farida Khanum. Only God could offer her the unreserved
love she craved.
My dad was not convinced. He does
not believe that you should need to rely on anyone, not for companionship, nor
for support. One must keep oneself busy.
My mother and I share both our
astrological sun sign in Leo, and our Vedic moon sign in Pisces. We get along
famously, but we have recently discovered that we simply cannot live in close
quarters. Our similarities are much too strong – not in terms of our likes and
dislikes, rather our personalities: our staunch steadfastness in our personal
beliefs and values, the stubbornly obsessive way in which we exert our control
over our domains, and our hopeless loyalty and dedication to people. Where
Western Leo traits include generosity, forgiveness, and fervour with pride and
melodrama, the Vedic Pisces is a creative, idealist dreamer prone to escapism
in the face of difficulty. Affection is what these sentimental romantics crave
more than anything, and old age sees them tend towards a spiritual path. So is
that my lot? To yearn for something so unattainable that I am forced to
ultimately dedicate my remaining years to spiritual practice? I have seen my
mother suffer in her denial, flushing Amaranth pink with frustration at having
to suppress her natural urges. When I used to live at home, and my sisters still inform me of its intermittent continuation, every few months or so
would see my mother simply erupt with irritation, like a pressure cooker, her
wrath incurred individually by each sibling; abusive language spews forth,
possessions eject from windows, a war cry of pots, cutlery, and kitchen unit
door-slams reverberates menacingly throughout the house. It is a release mingled with self-torture:
she alienates her children, harms herself and her utensils, and creates a
resentful atmosphere vibrating through the household for days. This appears to
be in line with the poets: the attention turns from wine, bisexual lust, and
subsequent self pity and longing in their youth to the Ocean of Love in their
old age, still searching in vain for a stronger union, a closer bond with the
Almighty. Perpetually searching.
But does this make the logical
individual any better off? Is my dad any more at peace? Does he radiate calm
and bliss? Is he free from all the dramas the universe throws at him? Where the
emotional one has swallowed poison, or fallen into a drunken stupor, the
rational one is imprisoned in his own self-imposed responsibilities and
restrictions. He will be the unfortunate one to pass away overlooked, absorbed by
his obligations and alone with his detachment.
When the ego is correctly
managed, the union between an emotional person and a rational person is capable
of, if not ideal for, perfect harmony. Without a need for any expectations, the
emotional one has the power to lift up the rational one, inspire them, make
them laugh, and sprinkle a dusting of sparkles over their otherwise rigid and
enervated world. Opened up, the rational person has the ability to ground the
emotional one, give them drive and a sense of direction. They can provide
structure and offer a wider perspective to assist in the overcoming of
obstinacy. They each give the other purpose and meaning. Each has their own
role to play in the theatre of life: without the expressive, the world would lack
creative artists, beauty, and pleasure; it would lose its heart. A want for the reasonable
may just well cause the very fabric of society to fray, susceptible to languor
and licentiousness.
When I had first drafted this
piece over a month ago, I had concluded that acceptance and appreciation were
of paramount importance in any relationship. One could spend an entire lifetime
searching for the perfect one when in reality no such individual exists. One
could also insist on living in wilful denial, determined to being satisfied in
ones own company whilst undergoing a constant mental battle to maintain this
stance. When stripped of pride and vanity, of false ego, when you look deep
within yourself, you know exactly whose soul your own eternally connects to.
You can feel the many past and future lifetimes to come of meeting this one
significant person over and over again. This is the true source of fate and a
possible explanation for déjà vu. Despite the storm, regardless of its extent,
there will always be the promise of calm waters and ultimately land ahoy. It
has all been predestined and there is hope and solace in this.
However, I have since learnt a
more valuable truth. I began to consider why so many people turn to religion
and austerity in the face of despair and rejection. It has been said that the
love of God is immense and absolute. It does not judge, nor does it criticize.
In fact, it does not scoff, argue, or speak back at all. There are a set of
principles and conducts suggested to bring you closer to Him, with final
results of immeasurable spiritual delight and blissful detachment from the
world and its scrutiny. It is a reflective experience. One need not rely on the
whims of a mortal lover to test the maintenance of their character; one has
been bestowed with divine knowledge and power to maintain control over
themselves.
Find the strength and
determination to follow your own principles. It is not necessary to lose
yourself and deny the world around you, deny what makes you happy and what
makes you tick. Discover as many positive qualities as you can about yourself
and delight in them. Weed out all the negative and destructive habits. Use past
pain as a lesson, and most importantly accept yourself before expecting others
to accept you. As long as you know deep in your heart that you are doing the
right thing, causing no one hurt or harm, being truthful and respectful,
fulfilling your duties towards those that depend on you, know that you are
safe; allow nothing external to phase you.
It would be ideal strolling
through life with warm fingers securely interlocking your own, but I would much
rather walk beside someone sincere than have someone follow me obligingly
through persuasion, necessity, or even from responsibility. Be they emotional, rational,
or none of the above.
 |
| My mother during her honeymoon to Venice in 1982. The man smoking is not my dad, but an Italian tour guide. |
