Hi, you met KrishnambuKaravaki and YeravadaKaravaki, well I am from Tihar. Like Krishnambu and Yeravadi, I am sentenced to ajivakaravasa.
About eleven years ago, an old woman looked at me, with knowing eyes, and pronounced that my agnisanskar was over… I was amused. For then I was in my palace of illusion.
A magical house, that I had put in efforts to make a home for my family, my husband, my children. But now I realized that the old woman was, right my agnisanskar had been over and all ghosts are creatures of past.
My haven, my house lunch boxes to be ready by 7.30 am and there would special requests,
“Amma Sofi’s mother does not have time to make fancy food, because she has to cook for 14 people and Sofi loves the masala puri you make. Namrata said, her mother knows how to make it, but does not have the time. Sofi looked so sad, so I told her, my mother is busy too, but if it makes me happy, she will do it. I will bring it for you”
I was so flattered, the trophy rested in my hands.
Back from school, the lunch boxes would be forgotten in the bag, I would remind them to put for wash, with no maid, shining the sink before bed became a ritual.
The strewn shoes into their place, the scattered soiled clothes gathered and laundered, if the machine broke down I hand washed it, each of this eating my persona as a professional, as painter, as a violinist, a writer. Tiny punctures they would of course heal. With the next trophy.
The garbage had to be thrown out other things too.
But I was the eternal looser so I would lose keys, dump the Nall clipper somewhere my glasses would be in the refrigerator and broken crockery helped anger management.
Assignments needed to be done, “Amma this and Amma that” despite me being bipolar, probably the children would love me shade more if I was normal. Still, I could hold my own with baking, cooking, cleaning, darning, ironing tidying. Etc. etc.
The was a good night Amma, and somewhere in the middle of the night the little ones would snuggle in. the day began with ‘’aammaa….”
It is like, Gopalkrishna Adiga asking “yaava brindavanavu chaachitu tanna mannina kaiyanu?”
What was the wonderous sights that beckoned you… the mother who did not move with time, who forgot her profession, her hobbies turned toxic. The magical home had a new wizard, he old woman was right, I was no longer needed. Like the shaman’s of the yore I had to set myself free… it was a proper ritual where the woman was set free from the chains of home care.
Maybe I need to feel that I am a woman again, the male gaze that the feminists make so much off.. might be the prescription. After all lot of others have escaped their prison through this. Some how this feels like a self-cantered need for validation.
Specially if the spouse is brought up a narcissistic parent, they turn narcissistic care givers, even in the marriage there is an underlying thread of ghosting the partner. It could be not involving the partner in change of job, or discussion the implication of having seniors move in. the feeling of inadequacy seeps in, then beauty, flirting, potency, worthiness, sex all become playing field to express disproval or approval. These core beliefs are further fuelled by wonderous moral rule book.
Its strange how the jailor in me, would only perceive the things that unknowingly confirmed my own negative internal message.
For me to walk out of Tihar, it is a long haul. Beginning from expecting others to compensate for my perceived inadequacies, this perceived inadequacy actually blocks intimacy, it is like wating for the other to finish talking so that you can begin.
There is this great temptation to ask, “would you love me still if…? That’s when I get hysteric laughter, because we are not sure if love is a verb or noun, so where is the question of gauzing the depth? It is even more amusing that the person on the receiving end of the relational injury concludes irrationally that abuse equals caring.
I’ve heard perfectly sane women saying, “oh! If he did not love me, he would not get jealous about Mr.X talking to me” does she not hear the distrust? The allegation on her morality we won’t even go to the time before svetaketu’s law… where it was a woman’s right to ask for sex for any man it was his privilege that she choose him. The co-dependency “don’t tell Singham, it will upset him” my happiness lies in not offending singham. Never mind if the transparency of the relationship is gone. The intimacy gets shrouded by veils of protective layers. Until we reach a stage where we are unable to receive genuine validation. Our filters puts it through the grid of “ what ifs, and why so” the defensive block emerges and questions.
In the social gathering, the same abuser, introduces me,” my wife, she is an accomplished lawyer, painter, she ever writes” and quickly turns the topic to politics. Somewhere my mind would tell me, ferreting only bits I wanted to acknowledge,” well he introduced me, with my credentials, he does not reject me, ergo I have worth”
Shitty truth is its his image of being this magnanimous partner is more important. For after that introduction, I would receive no information of any happening or events until they were over. Beyond the family whose puppy trails into our habitat, I know no one.
Why because my agnisanskar is over and the rites performed by the Rajmata herself.
Think about it, honest- not compulsive validation is a human need. One method to counter our compulsion for validation is to ask for safely for honest appraisal. That is what my colleague told me, so I did, it appeared I was toxic…how so that I would detoxify I am yet to receive an answer. You are hurtful when you are hurt. The primary trigger that “I was hurt” and my hurting back was a reaction is conveniently forgotten. Yes, I am still processing the new information through my old filter, without wondering if there is a logic in it? This is keeping chained.
One fine day it occurred “Amma you are toxic “is right, I did not belong to the natural homeostasis that involved the magical homemaker the Rajmata and her son. The Rajmata was kind enough to accept the one intruder, because she became a willing convert, but the next intruder who didn’t know the basics that would allow conversion was missing. So blatant rejection happened.
Well on this day my jailor retires, for I accept the sentence, of disturbing the homeostasis. I accept that I am a ghost and all ghosts should stay in the past. This leaves me free for my own future projection.
I can fly, I can swim like the sea horse I can morph the way it suits me for the day.
The truth is so liberating and empowering. It is also scary. That autonomy is our natural state. We have given the power to others, willing or by default we become enslaved, so much that we no longer know how to handle autonomy.
If you are interested in the question that is helping, find my way out of Tihar … here they are reflect on them, and get out of your prison.