Let us give ourselves the freedom to change our course

(Opinion Page Column published in Khaleej Times dated 17 Jan, 2022)

Literature to me has always been a way to understand life as the writers saw it. Among the innumerable readings I have had of prose and verse, one that has stood out for the metaphor it presents of life is the poem, ‘The Brook’ by Lord Tennyson. How dexterously the poet has depicted life as being in a state of constant flux, flowing from its source to destination, skirting around obstacles and changing the course as needed to avoid blockades, ‘curving and flowing’ to join the sea!

Every time I read this poem to my students as part of their literature lessons, I pause to consider the brook’s ability to mould its manner with changing conditions. It presents an unparalleled example for flexibility of character, which in my view would make it easier for us too, to navigate this vast landscape of life. But how often do we allow ourselves a change of course and conduct to our benefit? How easily do we reconfigure ourselves when we see roadblocks in front?

I have often felt that in our eagerness to seem steadfast and resolute in our ambitions, we put ourselves in straightjackets and suffocate silently. While it is a virtue to be a warrior and hold the fort come what may, there is merit in being malleable to situations too. When the weather turns adverse, there is wisdom in changing our path than in driving into the storm. My dad always said that only a tree that bends low when the wind blows hard survives. The presumptuous one that stands upright, in the self-consuming belief that it has all it takes to bear the bluster, might just snap as the storm passes by.

It is understandable that in a world that gives excessive importance to material success, it is a sin to be a drifter who doesn’t think twice before changing paths. We are fed with lessons on being single-minded and dogged in our occupations. There are no two ways about the fact that determination is indispensable to success, but it makes me wonder if we have made ourselves too rigid in the process, not allowing us space to manoeuver or alter our perceptions as we go along.

Come to think of it, it is a huge injustice we might be doing to ourselves. Even as we set our goals at various levels, we must also give us permission to deviate from the destination we have set for ourselves; allow us to think differently and to follow a new course, give ourselves sufficient margins of error, and the freedom even to fail. It is like having an entire field for us to push the ball and make it to the post.

Focus is not about being unyielding in our efforts; it is about being conscious to fluid situations, keeping a close watch on our circumstances and tweaking ourselves accordingly. Each situation requires a different response system and sticking to fixed life formulae or set dogmas will not help us find lasting solutions to our problems.

I have been a wanderer all my life, which is not to mean I have not had substantial plans and goals. I have chosen paths to travel which have often been tough to negotiate, and whenever it got to a point where I found myself smarting under the weight of the situation, I have always changed course. Like the brook that ‘winds about, and in and out’.

The guilt, shame and loss of face that I had imagined don’t exist anymore, for my personal pursuits don’t seek public approval. Many of my opinions have altered with time and I have never been averse to revise my thought whenever the scenario has changed.

However, freedom to change our perceptions does not mean being footloose and unchecked in our ways. It is about being easy and soft on ourselves responsibly, giving us the space to walk through the warren of life without hitting the dead-end, and not holding ourselves hostages to unbending self-theories.

Precision and perfection are good ideals to aim for, but if it will not give us breathing space and if they will make us utterly self-righteous, our channels may get clogged, impeding our natural flow, and we may become stagnant pools, unlikely to meet the sea. To be principled is not to be inflexible in thought and action, but to be compliant in a way that will steer us around curves and corners and take us to our rightful destination. For, as they say, if there is anything constant in life it is change.

Can we go back to our flock in our twilight years?

(Published in Opinion page of Khaleej Times dated 20 Dec, 2022)

I am astonished by the way the challenges that come with different stages of life change our perspectives and the people that we presume to be. I have watched with surprise how my belief systems shifted with time and long-held notions realigned themselves to suit the demands of a dynamic life cycle.

Take a moment to consider how the concerns we had to cope with when we were younger have either been mitigated or have stopped plaguing us by now. By our resolve or by their own natural course, old issues have settled, and new things have sprung up clamouring for our attention.

Each age comes with its own set of problems, and as years pass, I am recalibrating my thoughts about what the bard describes as the second childhood of man. As I see many of those I know grappling with the severities of old age, I am beginning to think about geriatric troubles and their possible solutions very differently. Of particular concern to me is the way old age brings solitude and seclusion into one’s life, especially for those whose children are away and are caught up in their own battles and are unable to provide a lasting solution to their parents’ remote living.

To many aged people, life becomes a monotonous routine and when the body and mind begin to wither consistently, a deep disillusionment sets in. I have noticed that the degree of despair is only slightly lesser in the case of couples. Their mutual company mitigates some amount of physical loneliness, but their combined sense of alienation is often apparent in their manner.

It was in this context that I had strongly endorsed the concept of senior citizens’ homes in one of my columns some years ago. I had viewed it as a feasible solution to the sense of isolation that comes with old age. Living in the company of people of their own ilk might probably spare them a feeling of being just fragile fragments of existence and give them a sense of unified living.

However, I am second guessing my opinion now, with many people I know finding it less than pleasurable to be in a community where angst and ailments galore and the atmosphere is blue with their collective afflictions. When old age is still in its infancy, when the physical and mental faculties are still good to go, these retirement homes provide ample scope for a robust living. But as health deteriorates and individual woes worsen, there is a longing to return to family settings. Therein lies the rub. Children are away and the parents cannot relocate to foreign shores. To them, each day spent alone becomes an albatross.

It is this scenario that makes me think of a new arrangement in old age. How will it be for aged siblings to join as an extended family and spend the rest of their lives together, either under one roof or next to each other? The merits of such an arrangement is too obvious to state. From company to care, from sharing of chores to common interests, from partaking in one another’s laughter and tears, the wonders it might do to the quality of old age inspires me.

One might be skeptical about its workability considering how far apart we have all grown with our individual pursuits and priorities, how we have all created our private spaces that cannot be infringed, how we have cleverly learnt to mask our misunderstandings, how we have perfected the art of bonhomie amidst undercurrents of discord and how the nuclear nature of our lives have made us overly self-protective.

Yet, when the active business of life has stalled, when the pursuits have ended, when all there is to life is the present moment, will there be anything left between siblings to spar and dispute? I am unable to see that far and fathom it clearly.

It is my deepest belief that if we only spend our dynamic years planning for this final settlement, if we don’t let time rip the childhood bonds, if we part with a promise to meet again in the end as stilt and support to one another, won’t we be able to pull it off better?

Many of us may have missed the bus already, but it might still be a good idea to instill this thought in our children so their hearts may remain genuinely fonder towards each other through the years, firm in the thought that when they rest their tools, they have a herd to return to - one which they were born into, and one from which they would depart too.

How I drew a solid blueprint for the years ahead

(Opinion Page column in Khaleej Times dated 2 Jan, 2022)

From where I am sitting and typing this piece, I am looking out at the ocean. The sea and the sky are a smudgy blur under a rain infused weekend. The horizon that separates the two blue expanses is practically invisible. It reminds me of a question I was recently asked by my sibling – what is the difference between joy and happiness? Or is there a difference at all? The question looms in front of me like the ashen view rolled out there.

I segue back into reflection, a state I have been dwelling in for some days now. This transitioning year has demanded a lot more of quiet introspection than the previous years. This time, I am determined not to let my reflections remain a distant, fogged out phenomenon. It is not enough to make vague estimations and iterations that lose steam as soon as life’s pressing concerns take charge. I need to make a blueprint, and for that, I must inspect the grey areas inside and clear the brain fog. I need to know what the new year, although symbolic in terms of time, should mean to me. ‘Finding meaning’ cannot remain a cliched prospect that I postpone to the future.

There is nothing more daunting than dissecting oneself: laying bare fears and frustrations, yanking out truths that for long I had pushed under the carpet, denuding falsehoods and examining myself in the mirror. The process is something we often talk about, but seldom know how to undertake in earnest. It is at this point that I train my sibling’s question about joy and happiness at me. To find an answer, I must go back to the drawing board and determine my basic values.

What would I put my pennies on in life? Much as simple as it might sound, ascertaining our values is an onerous task, one that will churn our guts and challenge our present ways. The question, ‘what matters to me?’ can throw us into a vortex of answers that will whip us hard. It will take a long time for us to look past the surface and get a glimpse of what truly matters to us deep inside. It is not an exercise that can be done in a hurry. If done with honesty, this can be a deeply moving experience. When done repeatedly, it can be life changing.

Of the myriad things that we hanker after, what do we covet the most? I am settling for ‘inner peace’.

I am going over the past year in my head and listing up the things that made me happy. While doing this, I am utterly surprised to note that the moments when I hit the high notes apparently did not last long nor did they bring me lasting peace. In certain cases, the feeling was contrived, and they weren’t even things that belonged to my original value chart. It injected some dopamine that created a warped version of happiness in my mind. Yet, I had exulted only because they were significant in the eyes of a fastidious world.

I am now beginning to eliminate things labelled under ‘not necessary for inner peace’ and striving to find new deliverables. It takes a lot of courage to admit that things I had considered invaluable did not eventually contribute to my tranquility and that they deserve to be categorically chucked out. We are used to glamorizing transient pleasures, you see.

Next, I am creating an inventory of things that made me discontented deep within. It is taking more effort than I presumed, for unhappiness has changed forms and disguised as fulfilments. It has taken a long while for me to realize that not everything I see around me and want to accomplish might be good for me. I refer back to my value chart and discover the massive mismatch between the two things.

The constant referencing to my value chart puts me in touch with what I essentially am. It guides me towards what I inherently want and steers me away from what is dispensable in life. As I go through this self-assessment drill, I clearly see the line between happiness and joy. It is a virtual line, like the one that divides the sea and the sky; one that remains hidden by haze on a cloudy day, but when the sun shines through, the difference becomes apparent.

Joy is the constant that surfaces when we touch base with the innate; it is what we call lasting peace. And happiness, like ice-cream, is felt only till it is still in the mouth. What I want more of will determine what I do in the years ahead.