The intimate enemy

There is an enemy, hidden deep within us, buried in our depths, lurking in our shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to surface and strike. This enemy is more like the U-boats from the war, deadly if we are not cautious. If we don't know our way around. And to make things worse, we often mistake this enemy for ourselves, carrying it on our backs, owning it, without seeing it for what it truly is, and most often losing ourselves in the ordeal. This piece is thus about this 'intimate enemy', who lives within us, among us, hidden behind our every thought, word and action, waiting for our guards to come down. Waiting to execute its surgical strike, leaving us and those around wounded and even crippled. 

Before I start, please don't be deceived by the title. This write-up is not about the 'Intimate Enemy' by Ashis Nandy concerning the psychology of colonialism. I shall write about that soon. But this here is about something much closer to our daily human experience, with far-reaching impacts and consequences than colonialism itself. The enemy I am trying to identify here is something that we all know. Yet, it remains elusive to definitions for it is ubiquitous. 

To start this inquiry, I take our emotions to be the first carrier of this enemy. Every emotion that we feel, suppress or express carries its seeds. Now, don't think that this enemy is some form of hate or something that's born in the outside world. It's more like a mischievous or a certain malevolent shade of ourselves. So, how does it manifest in our emotional realm? This surfaces as a faint little voice in the background, like a pull to the opposite side. That at moments of love, this voice will tell us to be possessive, to take control of the love, or it will prick in our past wounds, sending us down the path of self-loathe, doubt and fear. And this voice will only get louder if we start paying attention to it. And then, the love we once felt will be subverted into something loathsome and pitiful. But still, we would think and convince ourselves that we deserved it and it's our fault. While our enemy here slowly withdraws until it finds the next suitable opening to resurface. The same is the case when we feel hopeful, happy, sad, or angry. This 'enemy' of ours would simply amplify the darker shades of our being, making us desperate. And if we pay attention to this other voice in our heads for long, then slowly, this voice will begin to dictate our lived realities. And that's where we most certainly do not want to be. So what's our deterrence here? I think the only pragmatic counter to this is to not feed it our attention. And when the faint voice surfaces, with its preposterous prepositions, we should try and take a deep breath, give ourselves a pat on the back, smile, and move on, experience and handle the moment at hand, because that moment is all we have.  

Another lethal carrier of this enemy is the words we spill so carelessly. To quote Prof. Dumbledore's not-so-humble opinion, words are our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it. Words here create a world of their own every time it is uttered. And yet, it is these words that we so callously blast around so heartlessly, often not seeing who is on the receiving end. Every time our mind minces words to aid us in our communications, this malignant friend within us catches a piggyback ride to the surface. So that now, if we are not cautious of what comes from our mouths, this malignancy can spread to those around us, infecting them, creating chaos and disharmony, and leading to doubt, envy, jealousy, or even hate. Even if we pay attention to what we speak, this enemy attached to our words can be very persuasive. And the cost of our insolence here would always be regrets, guilt and hurt. And sometimes, the damage done by words could be so deep that the wound may never fully recover. But here again, we often fail to see the truth behind the scene and resort to either justifying ourselves or blaming ourselves beyond what is necessary. Leading to more pain and attitudinal unpleasantness in our lives, getting ourselves stuck in a vicious loop. Here again, the question arises, what can be done to prevent this, and what can be done to remedy the wounds caused by our words?. To prevent this, the only way is to be mindful when we speak and to train ourselves to be more kind to ourselves first and then to others. Because there is a child inside everyone who needs to be nurtured and tended to with love. And to remedy the wounds, there too, the only way is to offer an honest apology, own one's fault, resolving not to repeat it again. And then give time for the word here to do its magic. 

This enemy here is intimate because it is a part of our own self. It is subtle in its manifestations and yet potent in its capacities. We can't ever do away with this intimate enemy of ours. But I do believe that we can learn to manage its influence upon us. Through the little steps, a thoughtful pause here, or a reflective silence there, we can try to blunt our nefarious friend's fangs before it spews its venom. And we can learn to appreciate the beauty of our perfect little weaknesses, which allows us to connect with and feel the others around us. This weakness could be a heartful expression of sorry, no matter whether we are right or wrong, our choice to forgive the other or ourselves, or our decision to give ourselves a second chance or to move on. It is these graceful weaknesses that allow us to live here. These petite 'failings' of us act as our first line of defence against the onslaught of this intimate enemy of ours... I think I'll pause here. 

- Harishna 

PS: Here's a prayer to remember. 

I am sorry,

please forgive me,

thank you,

I love you. 

Finding my hate

Hate.

My loathe is nowhere to be found. 

Misplaced as it always is,

Where do I find my hate?

I set out in search for it, 

and I traversed through the archives first.

I went to its dark corners,

to see if it was trapped under some parched logs of the past. 

And there I saw regrets and despair, 

with all the untold stories,

and nameless verses.

Some forgotten, some gasping, some longing.

But I did not see hate anywhere there,

and so continued the probe. 

Then I went to the court,

to see if my hate was under trial. 

There I saw the judge and the jury,

and the many witnesses. 

And there stood my truth, 

alone and bare, facing judgement. 

Still, my hate was nowhere to be seen. 

Next, I stopped by the temple.

Hoping the gods to be kind. 

As I entered, I saw a woman washing rags

near the temple pond. 

I asked her if she saw my hate.

Without raising her head, 

she said that she was busy rinsing those rags,

and asked if I could lend a hand. 

Irate, I climbed the ancient steps,

and there, I saw my hate,

sitting outside the Sanctum Sanctorum,

near to my mercy. 

Stunned, I stood there, silent.

Hate began to speak, 

"I am not the one to be sought and yet here you are..."

and it asked, "why do you seek me?"

I didn't know what to say, and I mumbled, 

"I was sad... and I was angry... 

I felt unheard and unseen... I felt alone... and my love remains unrequited... 

I didn't know anything else..." I stopped. 

Hate laughed out loud, and said, 

"Silly boy. I am not a refuge, 

nor am I your home to run into. 

I can devour you this instant, 

but I take pity on you now. 

Skedaddle, before I change my mind."

Here, mercy stepped in with a smile. 

Caressing my pale face,

she reminded me who hate is,

while making me feel who she is. 

And when I asked why I found them both

together in this temple, she said, 

"I am the warden of hate. 

I pacify him and keep him on a leash. 

But you should know,

that I derive my strength from the choices you make. 

Sometimes, when you forget me-

when the empty tries to catch you, 

hate surfaces to remind you

that I exist, as a possibility,

as an alternative, as a choice, for you to make. 

Hate is a powerful force, 

but your compassion binds him within limits. 

Always let your mercy prevail over your wrath." She stopped. 

Now, I've found my hate,

but I no longer find it necessary. 

Yet, my heart aches with the burdens

I carry,

from the archives and the courtroom,

and the market, and the many lives I came across.

"How do I cleanse myself? 

How can I remove all this weight?"

I prayed. 

And merci responded, 

"Go wash with love". 

And then showed me the way out. 

I walked out,

wondering where love is. 

I went to the pond, to wash my face,

and there was the woman, 

still rinsing and scrubbing those rags. 

Now that I've confronted hate,

I walked towards her, offering my help. 

She pointed me to the nearby stone

and gave me a few rags to start with. 

What a strange woman, I thought.

I offered my help and there's not even a glimpse of gratitude in her ways. 

Nevertheless, I began to wash the rags,

and it was then I noticed something peculiar, rather familiar. 

These rags, had my name imprinted. 

And as I looked closer, 

I saw my life embedded in its fabric. 

"Go wash with love"

these words resonated in the air.  

And here I am with love herself,

washing my rags, cleansing my heart,

without any burdens. 

Now I see love,

and together there's much cleaning left to do. 

-Harishna 

 

New Year Ruminations

Dear ones...

We are at that time of the year when we look back and look forth at the same time. Like the Roman God Janus. Looking into the end of one and the beginning of another. As our dear beloved earth completes another orbit around the sun, we find ourselves placed at the crossroads of time. And as always, we are presented with this "moment" to reflect upon the journey we have had and to choose the relative direction of the journey we are about to begin. 

A few hours back, when I slipped into memory lane and boarded the way back machine into the archives of 2021, despite being a largely sedentary year, I saw it to be quite overwhelming. Exciting and lovely in many ways, yet overwhelming in many other ways. And that's when a wise young monkey reminded me that now and then we humans need to be rewired. Yup, sometimes we need to rewire and upgrade our circuits to make sure that they are not burnt out, damaged or gone missing. So that when things get overwhelming we don't experience a short circuit. And occasions like the new year present us with this opportunity to check and recheck our connections, assess our weak points and rewire if necessary. 

Ever since the pandemic began, it has been a tough ride. We have lost many on the way, friends, family and loved ones... We were pushed to our limits quite often. Some broke down, some held their grounds till the last moment, some chose to quit while many held on, clinging on to any shard of hope they could find, or even making shards of hope in the process as small steps forth, never losing sight of the future and its possibilities even if the vision gets blurred or even dark sometimes. 

I want to tell you all that despite the darkness that we had to confront on this road (often ourselves) we have all been the reason for someone else's happiness at some point. Our action might have been the reason why someone chose not to quit, not to break apart and not to shun life. Our words, at least a random word of kindness, of concern, would have given someone reason to have faith in themselves and others. I think that's a win for us. I think this is one elemental choice that life offers us. It's very simple in its design. And when we feel overwhelmed, I think it's okay to be overwhelmed once in a while. It could be life reminding us to rewire, change the connections and move on. 

And here comes the tricky part. To choose to move on if the connection is either irreparable, faulty or even dangerous to the whole circuit. And this is where many of us get stuck every year, during this annual, almost 'ritualistic' review process. When we find ourselves unable to let go (I know it's a cliche, but letting go remains the major theme) of memories, people, moments and all. Often, despite knowing for a fact that this could be toxic to ourselves. And most of the time we hold on because of a promise made aeons back, or for vengeance or love (the worst of all reasons). And we forget to live as we carry forward these debts from yesterday to the promise of the future. And we get old by the weight of it and we die many times before our time. 

I don't write this for anyone who's reading this. Rather I write, and I keep on writing to remind myself of this. So that I might not lose sight of the life in front of me. So that even if my eyes get clouded, I'll be able to find my way back home. 

2021 was gracious in many ways for me. Joined for M.Phil, started work with an amazing team of young and vibrant minds at Indic Law, met some beautiful 'harmonious' souls, got to spend some blissfully cherished evenings, got my own bicycle, and yes, though my dearest Grandmother passed away, I know that she's part of the eternity now and is at peace... 

And I am thankful to all of you. Of the many who remembered me, of the many who chose to be kind, who showed concern, who drew me closer and held my hands, assuring that life continues. I am grateful to you, all those who came closer and all those who drifted afar (also to the people in transit... thank you). And forgive me for my wrongs. I'll try to be a better human this year. 

And my dear friends, the world is pretty much the same as it was in 2021. But let's remind and be reminded that this will pass and all we can do is to be patient, sane and resilient. To give help if possible, to seek help if needed. That's how we live. 

May this new year bring to you the love that you have always wanted. The love that you deserve. May this new year help you find the strength to disconnect from the connections that drain you. May this new year grant you the health that you need the most. May we all be given a chance to start afresh. To renew ourselves for the better.

Wishing you all a very happy new year... 

Love ❤️  

Harishna  

The Key

As I write this, I remember the story of a man who remains imprisoned despite holding in his hands the very key that could open the gates and set him free. Ironic, isn't it? To have the means and to know the way and yet remain idle, immobile, impotent and in the dark. Unable to just simply twist the key, open the door and walk out free, without the weight of anything burdening the head and the heart. 

*********

The days have been difficult recently. If it was the tussle between the proverbial wolves that dominated the show until now, it seems that the wolves were pushed into the background, and a new player has revealed itself. I would call it the empty. Except it is all but empty. I think it's more like the giant carpet under which we push stuff into. It's the junkyard and vault of our psyche. It's that one place that is cleverly kept hidden from our sights and often even from our memory. But once the empty is awakened, then it slowly begins to churn and rot. The whole sky gets dark by the dust and smoke. The vision gets blurry, and slowly it's blindfolded that now even the brightest of colours appear dull and lifeless. Then toxins begin to seep into the body. The senses now work against themselves. And this goes on until the empty consume everything. 

*********

But I am not writing this here, now, to speak of the empty or its horrors. I write this because I want to remember the light that I saw when I was in a dark place, helpless and tired like the man with the key. Because I want to thank those specks of light that gave me the spark to push myself up again. This is about the incarnations of God who came to me today. This is about the children. Here is my prayer of gratitude to them for their kindness, compassion, innocence, lessons and love. Their presence helped clear the dark sky and loosen the blindfold, helping me see the key that I hold firm in my hands. Reminding me of the possibility of opening the door and walking out. All that's left for me to do is to find the courage and muster the strength to let life and love flow freely and happen as it's supposed to at their own pace and time. To let the bulwarks crumble under the gentle nudge of compassion and to let the toxins drain away with a little patience and a touch of kindness. And to become a child and to tell me, it's okay... 

********* 

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you... 

You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. 

                                                                               

                                                                  - The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

 

After life and something else

I have been contemplating death for some time now. It's not that I am seeking any answers or asking any questions. But this contemplation could perhaps be the reflection of what my mind is trying to perceive. To make sense of the world that happens around us. After all, that's why we have our blissfully lost minds, right? To try and make sense. 

So, now I wonder, what is death, or precisely, when is death? When does it occur? Is it the decay and destruction of the body, or does one die with the passage of the soul? Is death a process, or is it the end? Or is it the maturity of an investment that we make when we are born? Death, I think, is oblivion. That, one truly dies only when the memory of them ceases to exist. I think this is why the ancients erected temples, tombs and edifices with their names carved on stone. This might be the reason why many cultures worshipped/s their ancestors. I think this was their attempt at immortality. So that as long as their names are spoken, through the many stories, songs, myths, legends and lores, they will be remembered, and they shall never truly die. 

And, would it be too much to think that we are kept alive by the stories we tell and the myths we share and we live as long as there are people to tell these stories and as long as there are people to remember them. And as these stories are told, in between the pauses, the breath or the sigh, the lament or glory, hope or despair, we arouse to experience life and savour its nuances. A moment to reflect before we carry on and get carried away by the stories. Like a bookmark, these moments add subtle flavour and meaning to the way we live. And in the end, these are the milestones that remind us of our journey, even if the stories are lost in the depths of memory, before fading into limbo. 

But, I think the cyber age has made us immortal in ways even God couldn't have imagined. Now, with our lives all online, between zeros and ones, all our 'stories' are posted, shared and archived. Captured, like a screenshot, the human experience is now uploaded to a cloud. Leaving pyramids and parchments all obsolete. Now the human does not have to remember, for it is remembered for him. I think I'll be immortal thus. Because, my words will from this moment on, be made a part of the skies, etched in 'clouds' all around the planet. I'll be downloaded as I'll be uploaded. And I'll be remembered by this machine, maybe until machines are all that's left. 

Littoral Dreams

One evening, I was walking down the shore. The skies wore an ethereal blend of colours. It was dark, but not night yet. Clouds were carrying the seeds of rain and also the night. These clouds were bordered by the silver lining of the sun in some places, and somewhere else, the same sun was painted over with crimson, orange, yellow, and purplish hue. And as I continued my stroll alone, I saw something shining in the distance, in the sea. Curious, I stopped and started following the shining that now is slowly being carried to the shore by those many crashing waves. To my surprise, it was like the object was being carefully held and brought by the waves. As if the waves were deliberate in ensuring its safe delivery. Like with an infant, it was passed cautiously from one wave to another. And as I slowly walked into the tide to get a closer look, I saw it was a bottle.

It's getting dark now, and though it's a full-moon night, the moon hides behind her cloudy veil. I had to get back to my room, and as I started wading my way back to the shore, hoping to catch a glimpse of her in the sky, for a moment, I felt like my legs were being dragged back into the sea. And there I fell when the next wave shoved me to the beach like I was some hollow raft. Except, now my hands were holding onto something. It was that strange shining bottle!

I stood up and studied the thing closely in my hand. A bit unnerved and excited at the same time. There, I saw a face painted on the neck of the bottle, and it was of an angelic, beautiful young girl. And there was a piece of paper inside, neatly scrolled like her elegant locks of hair. As I carefully took it out, it read, "Look nigher and you shall find". Perplexed, I looked to the ocean itself for what it could mean. What strange fantasy would have dreamt of this moment? Thoughts flashed in my mind like those millions of drops that have begun to drizzle. It was then I saw something else attached to the bottle.

It was an Oyster. And as I slowly opened the shell, I found the most beautiful of all sights my eyes have ever seen. It was a Pearl as pure as starlight. And as I took that Pearl to my hand, there came a sudden burst of light from the dark skies. It was the moon in her brightest, and she revealed herself from the cloudy veils of the night to me. At that instant I saw, the shining of the Pearl and of the moon to be the same as if my moon has hidden her spirit in this oyster shell for me to find. For now, she is closer to me than ever. And standing there, with the pearl and her form in my hands, holding it close to my heart and drenched in moonlight, I melted away, to be the one with her.

-Harishna

(10/07/2021)

The Residual Love

Yesterday night, the daily dose of discussion was about waste. Yes, the different types of trash that we generate and come across in our day-to-day living. While some are physical and can be removed or cleaned off easily, some remain like indelible stains. Some wastes are psychological. They cling to our souls, only to pester us emotionally, polluting our minds, robbing us of our dear precious life force and peace. Now, these 'internal wastes' are quite tricky to remove as we usually fail to notice them in the first place. Often we take these 'malicious bloatwares' to be part of the genuine package and thence begins the trouble. Nevertheless, the thought shared here is about what remains after love. Of all the different varieties of waste that we carry, this is perhaps the most ubiquitous and even diabolical. 

We know what happens to those giant stars once they run out of fuel to burn. If they were big enough, these stars would get crushed by their own 'self' to become an object of unimaginable density. It would even end up becoming a black hole from which even light can't escape. Or from another example, think about our nuclear power plants. They generate much-needed electricity by splitting an atom. But, after a while, the nuclear fuel ends up being radioactive waste which will burn on itself, emitting deadly radiation to the world around for many decades to come.

Now, think about love. Not just romantic, amorous love but all kinds of love that we feel towards the other, be it a human, an animal, or something else entirely. Imagine the love that we feel constantly during our lives. The needs and desires to love and be loved. Try to see the many forms it has taken and all its myriad manifestations. Try to see all the emotions that we have had to bear associated with this idea of love, all that pain, confusion, and chaos. 

Here, I do not intend to write about the glory of love. Nor am I going to demonize and discredit the experiences and expression of love. Here, the attempt is to look into and try to make sense out of the idea of ‘residual love’. The love that remains and lingers on even after its glory days. The leftover pieces remain even long after the core has burnt out. It’s about the idea of ‘after love'. What happens to love in the end? Does it collapse unto itself like a dying star? Or would it continue to burn like the radioactive residues from a nuclear reaction? And what happens to those living with these decaying residues of love? Again, my intention is not to find any answers but rather to ask these questions themselves. 

Love is perhaps the most potent force in the universe (though some physicists might disagree). It binds and breaks at the same time as if it is the point of convergence, where both chaos and order find balance in the universe. Simply, love is the light that brings us vision, but the same light also holds the possibility of leaving us blind. So, the idea here is that the experience of love holds the possibilities of both beauty and terror at the same time, and if one does not navigate through this ocean with caution, he/she is bound to fall into the abyss. So, am I suggesting that one needs to be cautious, logical, and calculating while experiencing love? Not at all. Love is an experience of Chance, a beauty of Chance even. For love to bloom and spread its fragrance, it needs to be left alone, independent, and certainly out of our cunning, calculating minds. But what happens when love burns out of its fuel. What happens when the flower of love begins to rot instead of bloom and what happens to its fragrance? What happens when the idea of love itself causes sheer terror and fear in one’s heart? What happens to love and the lover, when it becomes reduced to waste, a dead weight in one’s soul that cripples them. I think this is what residual love is. And this is where most of us live today. Unfortunately!

The stink of residual love takes many forms. It is the fear of losing the ones we love or of losing love itself. It's anger too, and so is grief, lust, anguish, dependence, and on and on. This is when our feeling of love disrupts, clogs, and reeks our natural flow of life. This is where we are uneasy, constantly in fear, and gripped by insecurities. If love makes one feel like a prisoner, being constrained, sans confidence or independence, then that can only be a love that is barren and wasted. Residual love. And someone living in this place, holding on to this residual love, can only collapse in the end, like a dying star, drained out of all their vitality, joy, and love. 

Now, what is the way out? How can one identify and filter out the residual love from their system and restore the flow of life? I think this begins with a simple act of immense valour, in carving out a sacred space for oneself. This does not mean that one should retreat to a shell and remain isolated and insulated from the rest of the world. Instead, it is an act of self-respect. It’s about knowing and drawing boundaries, making sure there is enough room for the river of love to flow through our ‘life stream’ without drowning us. It’s also like pruning our gardens, making sure weeds are removed and each plant could grow together but in its own space. It is also about finding the courage to accept failures, setbacks, and seek and deliver forgiveness and move on. Brute force, strict discipline, or sheer willpower will not help one in cleaning and clearing residual love. It will also take compassion, mercy, and pity as the vanguard. 

All love stories begin with promises of eternal bliss. Love stories often are portrayed as burning bright with passion. But, none speaks of the residual love or the after love. We speak of an afterlife and even curate our lives accordingly to get the best possible afterlife experience. But, I think it’s time we started thinking about after love too. How do we navigate through love when it starts to lose its glitter? How do we learn to share the spark without extinguishing the other? And, how do we move on when it finally ends. I believe the journey to authentic love from the clutter of residual love begins with these simple questions. And we shall live, to learn its answers. And we shall love to earn the answers.  

She was serene, like a cool breeze,

and revealed herself to be the spirit of the moon.

She reflected the essence of the sun

through her light. 

She had no claims, and she owned nothing.

Yet, night and day belonged to her. 

She was the gentle reminder, 

that there is light even in darkness. 

She was the mirror, that revealed the sun,

and hers was the spark that ignited him. 

-Harishna