A Tuesday with Margherita

Tuesdays are when temptations take over the palate in our house. It’s the day Pizza Hut offers a 1 + 1 deal, notifications for which land in my mail and message boxes promptly at the beginning of the day. It takes a lot of self-control and dissuasion to ignore the messages and settle for the drab, homemade dal-roti-sabji combo, but today was not one such day. There was a burning appetite for Pizza that I couldn’t conquer.

Ever since I made the Covid connection, I have been in a state of delusion. My gustatory demands have grown in the recovery period. I have begun to believe that to safely navigate out of the fatigue, I must eat the ‘good stuff’. Margherita Pizza, Jamoca-Almond Fudge, Choley-Baturey, Honey Cake, Kerala Pazham pori etc. And I want to make no compromise with regard to getting back to my elements. I will eat what it takes!

So Pizza it will be this Tuesday, we jointly decided. (‘Jointly’ should be taken in an operative sense. I propose, he accepts. The husband, I mean.)

The lady taking the order at the other end of the phone has a foreign accent that always makes me apologize a dozen times in a three-minute order taking ritual. You can’t have subtitles for a telecon, you see. Nevertheless, by now, I know the questions she would ask and I keep my answers ready in the expected order. Phone number. Tuesday deal. Flavour. Cash or card. No add-ons. No drinks. In spite of it, many details are lost between the two ends of the phone and here’s what happened today.

‘Have you stopped giving us ketchup for free?’ I asked the lady. Twice before, the pizzas had come without ketchup, I stressed.

What did she say? Had they stopped?

One can’t say, you see. There are cost pressures everywhere. Covid, Climate Change, War, Inflation, Energy Crisis and all else have resulted in getting us lesser and lesser for our money.

‘Have you stopped giving ketchup?’ I asked again.

This time my ears picked up what she said. No, they hadn’t. The ketchup sachets still come gratis. Thank God for small freebies.

Urging her not to forget to slip in the sachets this time, I disconnected the call. In 20 minutes, the antidote to my fatigue would arrive. Tell me about small sensory pleasures that turn us into silly, slavering mongrels!

As it turned out, the delivery boy didn’t show up in 20 minutes. The waiting made my hunger pangs go on an overdrive. I began to suspect that the lady must have got some delivery information wrong and the pizza must have gone elsewhere. It was a vexing thought. The last thing I wanted was to eat leftovers from yesterday. I called up the lady to make sure things weren’t leading me to the fridge, and she said something that I assumed meant 'the order was on its way'.

‘Confirm with the delivery boy that the ketchup sachets are there. There is no ketchup in the house,’ I said to the husband.

After what seemed like ever, my manna came to the door.

‘Ketchup,’ I prompted from my desk and the spouse opened the box to look.

‘Oh, I forgot to put them,’ I heard the delivery boy say.

‘This is the third time you have not given us ketchup,’ I hollered from where I sat. He couldn’t have seen me, but must have made no mistake in knowing how I felt about his oversight.

The spouse too made his disappointment apparent in his own way. ‘Why do you forget it every time?’

‘Sorry Sir, I will go and bring it now,’ the man said and left.

‘He is bringing it,’ said the spouse and I nodded approvingly.

‘They are making it a habit now. They must learn,’ I said with a grunt.

Soon after, I began to feel a knot in my stomach as reality sank in. It was the kind of unease that makes me reach out for Xanax before things spiral into a semblance of panic.

It’s the month of August and the temperatures are in the range of 45-46 degrees. One can’t look out the window without squinting. One can’t walk in the sun without getting scalded. One can’t be forgiving to the lethal intentions of desert summer during these days. Given this, did I really want the delivery boy to take a ride back to our house to give us a few sachets of ketchup? What on earth had stopped me from saying it was all right if he had forgotten? Did my kindness go to graze in this hot sun?

I felt ditched by a flash my own insensitivity. The sense of remorse one feels when she has not been the best version of her is very hurtful.

It might be a different thing that the very nature of the delivery boy’s job kept him outdoors for a major part of the day, rain or shine. If not us, he would be out delivering to someone else. But that didn’t dilute the fact that I had been inconsiderate to him. It didn’t absolve me of the guilt of being downright heartless to a fellow human being.

‘Don’t be so hard on you now’, I said to myself, as I sank my teeth into the cheesy Pizza. ‘You weren’t heartless; probably a little hasty and hungry.’

The self-talk placated my nerves presently and I got down to enjoying my meal.

‘I will answer the doorbell when he comes with the ketchup,’ I said to the husband, amidst the busy chomping. I wanted to apologize to the man for making him sprint back in the scorching sun to keep his side of the bargain. It was the only way I could have atoned for my indiscretion.

We were close to finishing our lunch and there was no sign of the delivery boy yet.

‘For all you know, he may not come,’ the husband said. ‘He must have said it just to please us.’

‘I will be happy if he doesn’t. I really don’t want him to. I was briefly brain-fogged then. Blame it on long Covid,’ I said, tossing a hardened piece of crust into the empty Pizza box.

(What do you think happened afterwards? Did he return with the ketchup?

Your guess is as good as mine.)

Tujh se naraaz nahin zindagi (Masoom)

Dear Zindagi,

I have always wondered why I address you so endearingly in spite of you treating me unfairly and without pity every so often. Despite all the uncertainties you hand out to me, all the rough roads you make me ride, all the aches you induce in my bones, why do I still stick with you without abandoning you in some dumpster down the road? Why?

Because,

तुझसे नाराज़ नहीं, ज़िन्दगी, हैरान हूँ मैं

तेरे मासूम सवालों से परेशान हूँ मैं

Dear Zindagi, I am not annoyed with you, I am merely baffled. Just baffled. And I am troubled by your naïve questions. Oh so troubled I am!

Listening to this soulful melody from Masoom, that epic movie from my growing-up years, I experience the familiar sentiment of utter helplessness in the face of challenges that Gulzar Saab has so subtly alluded to here!

We don’t despise life, which is why we put up brave fights against odds of every kind, making every effort to survive in war or peace, love or hate, plentitude or penury.

We are not annoyed with life which is why at the slightest opportunity we celebrate it so wholesomely. Yet, when the dilemmas ambush us unexpectedly, we become a heap of nerves. Unprepared and unsure of where to seek help, we crumble into pieces of Bone China.

But to be fair to us,

Whoever thought that to live, one must learn to tackle pain? Whoever knew that to smile, one has to pay debts? And even when one smiles, it feels as if the lips are loaded with debts and dues of every kind.

"जीने के लिए सोचा ही नहीं दर्द संभालने होंगे

मुस्कुराए तो मुस्कुराने के क़र्ज़ उतारने होंगे

हो मुस्कुराऊँ कभी तो लगता है

जैसे होठों पे कर्ज़ रखा है"

The deception of life has never ceased to baffle me. In my moments of unbridled joy, when life seems as perfect as a snow flake, it is as if there is nothing but laughter to enjoy. Whoever in that moment of absolute mirth thinks of pain? But then, suffering is a grim reality. Fait accompIi that none can avoid. I am not sure if we deliberately choose to overlook the existence of pain or we are indeed so ignorant to believe that life is a bed of roses. Perhaps, we are stupid enough to be tricked by the illusions that life conjures up in our eyes and to be blinded by the mirage of transient pleasures.

But somewhere in the inner realms we are privy to the deceptive nature of life. We are acutely aware of the transitory nature of our smiles. Aren’t we? Isn’t that why even when we find a reason to smile, we feel burdened by our fears, turning the smile into a parody of sorts?

Dear Zindagi, seriously, I am not mad at you, I am just mystified.

Come to think of it, I have learnt much from you.

"ज़िन्दगी तेरे गम ने हमें रिश्ते नए समझाए

मिले जो हमें धूप में मिले छाँव के ठंडे साये"

You have made me understand the truth of relationships through the sorrows you have given me. And if I have found any cool shade of comfort, it is under the scorching sun.

How true!

Isn’t it in times of woe that we have learnt the profoundest lessons in life? That’s probably why suffering is so endemic to our living - to teach us the truth of our connections in life. To reveal the depth and shallowness of our affections. And what an irony it is that in those very intense, burning experiences we find relief by our realization of truth! It’s you taught who us the uncomfortable lesson that it’s not under the tree but in the sun that we find comfort.

Dear Zindagi, I am not annoyed with you; I am just perplexed.

So perplexed that it makes me want to cry.

"आज अगर भर आई हैं बूँदें बरस जायेंगी

कल क्या पता इनके लिए आँखें तरस जायेंगी

हो जाने कब गुम हुए कहा खोया

एक ऑंसुओं छुपाके रखा था"

Today, my eyes are brimming with tears, and the droplets will cascade copiously. Let them fall, for who knows, tomorrow these eyes will yearn for these very tears? And then I will wonder, where did that lone drop of tear that I had hidden for long go? Where did I lose it?

Somewhere at this point, every time I listen to this song intently, I feel a lump in my throat.

I think of the times when I haven’t let my tears flow, reining it in for God knows what reason, and then later, when secret sorrow clobbers the heart seeking an escape route, I find my eyes go desert dry. Strange, how once there was a river waiting to breach its banks, but now there isn’t even a mist to sweep the riverbed. Where did that tear I had saved for this moment of release go? Unwept, even my sorrow has often felt betrayed.

Dear Zindagi, despite all this, I am not angry with you. I can’t be.

बस तेरे मासूम सवालों से परेशान हूँ मैं...परेशान हूँ मैं...

As the song fades, I wonder why the poet has described life's questions as naïve? They are anything but that, aren't they?

Maybe, he loves life a tad bit more than I do. Or maybe the questions are, indeed, naïve. It is the answers that aren't.

****

(Now close your eyes, listen to the song and let the lyrics soak into you. Links to both versions are given. The female version has only two stanzas, while the male version has the full song.)

Film: Masoom (1983)

Lyricist: Gulzar

WHY TOO MUCH OF POSITIVITY IS NOT A GOOD THING EITHER

Precisely two weeks after I was tested positive for Covid, I am still reeling under its after effects. Something that was expected to pass with some sniffles and whoops kicked in moderate symptoms, grounding me harder than I had expected. I am now a ‘long hauler’ with the effects spilling over many days and it is beginning to impact me. Not just physically, but mentally as well.

How can something that most people now dismiss as a brief flu-like illness take me down so badly? The brain fog, the extreme tiredness, the day-long sleeping – are they real consequences of the virus or am I imagining them and giving myself a pretext to slump and shut down? Am I supposed to spell out my discomforts or pretend that it’s all fine and dandy when people check on me?

The need to look and feel good has never before been so compulsive, because it is what is expected, or so I’d believe. It now makes me want to undermine my condition and present an unequivocally positive outlook. It forces me to brush off my fatigue and get back on track even when the body and mind aren’t relenting. I don’t want to be seen as listless, whining, and pessimistic; so I drape myself in a weird sense of positivity that is at odds with reality and keep reiterating that I am well, even when I am not.

This, for all those who haven’t heard about it, is Toxic Positivity – a behavioural pattern that forces us to hide our true feelings and state, and put up a sunny demeanour for all to see and agree.

While there are no two ways about how optimism is a prerequisite to get by in these dire times, I am also impelled to consider the hazards of being overly positive, to the point of handing out platitudes to ourselves and to others that might only result in increasing our personal suffering. Further, our defiance and refusal to look reality in the eye keeps us mired in our secret misery and prevents us from seeking right solutions.

Our distorted ideas of a happy state of mind and its indispensability in our lives have probably invalidated authentic human emotions and experiences. It often forces us into denial, making us cover up our unhappiness and endure it in silence because there is an inner urgency for us to be seen as optimistic human beings who are brimming with positive vibes.

But the truth is we cannot be happy and be exuding cheer perpetually, for life has a habit of handing us lemons more often than we would like. Life doesn’t get any better when we repress emotions, mask feelings and hide our struggles for the sake of ‘looking good’ to others. If anything, it makes us doubt our truths, makes us phony, and over time, it manifests in physical and mental illnesses.

Of what worth then is this travesty of joy in our face when the heart is smouldering inside? We really don’t enjoy the company of people who will not brook anything but a heightened, often fabricated sense of positivity around them. Such social expectations can make people who are taking the hard knocks isolate themselves and shrink into anonymous corners because ‘the need to be happy’ is more agonizing than their personal agonies themselves.

When things are going south, we needn’t feel ashamed and throw a blanket over it. We needn’t hide in closets when our emotions are getting the better of us. We needn’t consider our feelings unbecoming and stifle them in our chests. We needn’t pretend to flourish when times are tough. Above all, we needn’t feed ourselves with clichés, feel good quotes and positive perspectives all the time.

Instead, let us learn to take an informed look at our experiences and the real emotions they evoke and accept them as transient but true. Instead of dismissing them as unhealthy and uncool, let us acknowledge their existence, come to terms with them and find viable ways around them. And on the other side, let us not chastise those who openly speak about their suffering as chronically despairing and be reductionistic about it. They feel comforted when we validate their emotions and experiences and accept them as part of being human.

I am all for optimism and positivity, but not for the kind that is only professed outwardly to create superficial impressions. If my positivity will make me blind to my reality, there is little chance that I will ever be out of the woods. If I am hurting, I might as well say it and express hope that it will soon ease than lying that all is good. As renowned Psychiatrist Carl Jung said, ‘I’d rather be whole than good.’