Bringing the old and new…

It has been a little over two weeks since our return from India. Two weeks of readjustment, recalibration, and tuning up. Jet lag was a part of this recalibration, but only one part of it. The sheer length of the travel and what it took out of Anjali and I, needed us to figure out a new way of relating to each other and the place we called home. When we entered our house after an arduous, over 30 hour travel involving two planes, one bus ride and the stop-overs and start-overs in between, Anjali learnt a new word: home. She ran from one end of our living room to the other, repeating in delight – home, home, home. Indeed we were glad to be home, and see Abhi.

What then unfolding was longing. Missing. Comparing. Anji waking up in the middle of the night asking for the place she left. and me missing the old predictable routine we had had before we left. Ah the comparing mind. The only thing it does is bring suffering. After over a week of this dance, I realized this was a new place we were in. This was unchartered territory. Anji was in a new place – new developments, emotions and the pain of sheer growth. and I had to meet her there. We weren’t going back in time – to before our India trip or to the time of the trip itself. We weren’t time travelers.

Once I made that leap, we could go back in time – cheerfully. Visit our photos and videos from the beach, time with grand parents, seeing planes, long air conditioned car rides, ceiling fans, autos and buses. And we could see with new eyes what was in front of us: abundance.

Indeed in the three weeks we were gone – nature came into full bloom. Spring arrived here, loud and clear. The roads lined with flowers, trees heavy with blossoms and bees, sunshine and warmth and the grass so green it felt like you were wearing a green lens. Everything was so green. Surrounded by this beauty, we countered our jet lags and new routines with gentleness.

So now here I am, finally, on a warm sunny day, writing in this space. I missed it. I missed being here. and I am here now. same as old, and yet new and different. As each of us are in every moment, every day. May we allow ourselves to meet this moment with openness and grace.

With Love, S.

Journeys and destinations – part deux

Moments after my blissful writing of the previous blog entry – savoring the sunshine, and basking in the smugness of my knowing – the roof came crashing. Anjali woke up from her nap prematurely, and started bawling. She looked distraught and kept arching her body backwards. She kept pushing me away, and kept crying, shreiking, like she didn’t know what was going on. I had never seen her like that. My mind went back to our last time when she had the vasculitis and couldn’t walk. She has had an asthma attack from a lung infection as well. What if this was a sort of precursor to a seizure?

I couldn’t get hold of Abhi so I called our Pediatrician. They weren’t very helpful either but the Doc mentioned night terror. That rang a bell. As I talked to the Doc, I knew I didn’t want to take her to the ER. I have learned that isn’t always the wisest move. So I decided to wait it out. I opened the door and showed her outside – and the stroller – and tempted her with a walk to see ‘the construction’. She kept crying and still didn’t say a word. Then she saw the cat. And slowly she came around and she calmed down. The cat saved us.

It had been 45 minutes since she had woken up. Long 45 minutes. When Anji calmed down, I put her in the stroller on the doorstep of our condo– came inside and started weeping uncontrollably.

Here I had been – less than an hour ago – in bliss convinced that my life was perfect and I had all the answers. And the very thing I was talking about had happened – the change. And I didn’t feel like it was any kind of opportunity to grow! It felt terrible – this change. Not the kind of change where baby gets up, needs her diaper changed and we have a snack and go out. Or read and play. No, it was a change of 180 degrees – completely upside down. Where had my idyll gone? I felt utterly alone and utterly clueless. And here I was undertaking by my own choice to spend more time with my kid – instead of a job I was good at and knew what I was getting into. Why would I do that? I wondered.

The moment when that thought came in, I knew I wouldn’t change a thing.

But I felt awful that day – for reacting and panicking and for my own inability to bounce back. Anji did. One hour later, she bounced on the bed and said ‘happy’. I looked at her with a sense of amazement. How is this possible? What does happy mean in this moment? Why couldn’t I be happy?

I battled it all day until I realized – we have to own our feelings. We can’t push them away. Pushing them away only hurts so much more. So I did what was right – I held myself with all the love I could muster. I acknowledged. Of course I was scared and freaked out. And of course it takes time to bounce back.

The next day, I got a baby sitter and finally had some time to myself for the first time all week. In that space came the realization of how much I had needed it – my own space to be me and take care of me. When belly dance class came that evening, I was ecstatic.

So this journey is as much about taking care of us as our babies. Only when we make time for joy and mothering our own bodies and minds can we give others. It is about signing up for that dance class or yoga or going for that walk or starting that book group. It is about making space to figure out who we are, what we believe in, and how we want to live our lives. Not just so we can be better Moms but so we can be better human beings. Less judging, kinder, and more resilient. And when the roofs come crashing and we are not the picture of equanimity – we can start over. Right now.

With love, S.

journeys and destinations – part one

It is a sunny afternoon and I’m sitting outside on our porch with my computer, listening to the birds, the sounds of the neighborhood cars and the humming of the tractors from the construction nearby. Anjali is sleeping upstairs. Just the knowledge of that makes everything peaceful. It makes everything right – me sitting here right now, here in this moment. There are no questions of self-worth or doubts.

It is not often that such moments come by. Motherhood is filled with moments of attachment –to want to do everything right or perfect, to want to do our best, to be patient and kind all the time, to love, to be the model of discipline and control – not too much and not too little. To nourish our little ones with the right food and the right affection, so that we may raise sweet kids who know how to share and be kind, who may know empathy and compassion as well as joy and affection, and who can bring peace and goodness in this world. This is a tall order for a human being.

And then there is also the emotional piece – the holding on, versus letting go that happens every day. Letting our kids explore the neighborhood but not go too far. Letting them feed themselves but still sometimes want to feed them the buttery rice with our own hands, while they wriggle from underneath our grasp. Play run run and catch catch, and as we catch those little bodies and give them a hug, a moment of holding on and then letting go of their squirmy bodies to run some more and explore some more. In this emotional landscape of a parent, it is easy to get attached. We want to do it right and we care so much!

And perhaps that is why this is the biggest opportunity we will ever have for our practice. And the moments when the roof falls over our head – children fall sick, parents fall sick, baby sitters are unavailable, daycare is a germ nest and we wonder why we send our kids there– these moments become opportunities to appreciate how imperfect we really are and how little in control. How all of us are in the same boat – we try so hard, and in that trying is the joy and the peace. As Rumi says, ‘Lo, I am with you always means when you look for God,
 God is in the look of your eyes,
in the thought of looking, nearer to you than your self…’

Sometimes it hits me that while we have a destination in mind – raising a child who will one day grow and be on his or her own feet – independent and strong, gentle and kind, it is the journey that will matter to us in the end. How we travel this journey will make all the difference. The tiny moments of how we approach these dishes in the sink and the folding of this laundry of the umpteenth time this week. This new developmental milestone – that brings the explosion of words and cognition but accompanied also with tantrums and new self-awareness. Or this growth spurt that brings new capabilities – sitting, reaching, seeing – but with day and night of nursing. This meal right now and this walk on the stroller. This fall of Bud, beloved insect friend and the picking up and giving a hug to Bud. And this sweet kiss to Mama. This journey is what will matter at the end.

We don’t have forever. We have now. That’s the deepest realization implicit on this journey of parenthood, indeed in any journey…

May we continue with patience, kindness and love on our journeys…

with Love, S.

Goodbye…

Just last week I was still employed with the college I have worked at for over ten years, and now I no longer am. Its like it never existed, gone, a decade of doing a certain kind of work and being a certain kind of person. As the zen saying goes, now, there is no trace. In a few weeks, my email id too will expire, and then I will no longer be in the system. Perhaps it will be like I never existed at the college. My office occupied by somebody else, someone more ambitious than me, more hard working and capable and some one who will perhaps move up the ladder, into a bigger office. And then, before you know it, somebody else will have moved in. The nametag outside the door, printed on white paper, will be removed by some graduate student who moves into the outer space enclosing my old office – who will maybe wonder for a second, who this person was. Who may hear of me perhaps over some chance conversation about molar absorption spectra. But there the curiosity will end – there is too much work to do!

And I, as I start a new kind of life, will wonder every now and then about my old life, and what people are working on – which new research project and which new grant. It will be a passing inquiry, a sort of wondering that that doesn’t hold on. My attention will wander to other things and I will soon have forgotten about that momentary inquiry. Or perhaps on a sunny Tuesday day, when I’m sitting outside with Anjali watching her play, I will thank my lucky stars that I’m not at the weekly group meeting we always had on Tuesday mornings, that has governed more schedules in my life than anything else. Or perhaps, I will bump into my ex-Boss in town while grocery shopping, and smile at him with the same care I have always felt for him – a camaraderie for someone who is a good man and works hard. Or maybe it will be his wife I meet, and we will exchange greetings. If I’m with Anjali, she will exclaim at how much Anji has grown and changed, and that will be what marks the passage of time.

I haven’t yet thought of what will replace the energy I gave my job for so many years – all of my twenties. Part of the question has already been answered this past year and half – through becoming a Mom and the energy and attention it takes both of the mind and the body. And how in the midst of reacting to a stream of changes, of happenings, of every day routine, there are these pauses that stop time and make me speechless in awe that my life has changed so much, more than I could ever have imagined. These pauses are the reminder that in spite of that shoulder ache or that tight back muscle, my heart feels more and more open. Open in that sweet love that a parent feels for his or her child and in compassion for myself for all the times I fail to be who I want to be. In these moments, life becomes more alive than ever, and feelings become beautiful and there is an ache in the heart sometimes, a wanting to stop time so that I can hold on to this moment just a little more. This hug from my little girl, of touching her small hands, and hearing her new words, and witness her tireless and fearless ability to want to learn new words, actions and way of being.

Leaving science, I’ve somehow made my way to being with the coolest scientist I have ever known – always wanting to explore and view things differently. I’m in awe of this process – of watching her brain make new connections each day, each connection leading to more questions and a sort of wonder and joy at all that life holds. In these moments, when I feel this ache, I want to hold on desperately for just one more second. Then I remember Blake’s words,

‘He who binds to himself, a joy
Does the winged life destroy.
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise.’

And I want to live in eternity’s sunrise. So here I am, in a different place at a different time, leaving something old, and finding something new. I hope I never lose that sense of gratitude and affection for all that my old has taught me and all the ways I have grown in this past decade working the way I did. It has made me who I am, and brought me to this juncture in time. Now it is time to say my good bye, fondly and with affection. The bells are ringing and it’s time to board the train, a new one this time for a different destination. This new journey is promising – more time, more love, more passion and learning. I intend to enjoy this train ride as much as possible and at some point, I will maybe find out where the train is headed…Or maybe not. Right now, I only have intentions – to read, write, teach, follow my passions, be present and never forget to love each day, every day.

With Love, S.

The gladness of letting go…

On saturday I got to go for my first day-long retreat since Anjali was born eighteen months ago. I can’t believe it has been that long! We did sitting and walking meditation most of the day from 9.00am to 4.00pm and were led by a wonderful, funny, wise and skilled teacher called Chas Dicapua from IMS. I was excited for my first retreat and nervous too because I haven’t sat for long periods of time in a while.

The day came, and the morning was busy making lunches and saying goodbyes to hubby and daughter. I reached there on time, hallelujah. Most of my sits were very sleepy and I realized how tired I was. The sitting was physically difficult. I was hungry as well during the morning sittings, and sat there waiting for lunch time. But sometime in the afternoon during a sitting, I came to ‘know’ that I was sitting, that this was the retreat I was waiting for. And that realization brought joy with it.

Even though the sleepiness remained, there was no longer any judgment about it. I could relax, be compassionate and cheerful through my sits and my sleepiness. Around 3.00pm, during the dhamma talk, I caught this thought in my head – ‘I can’t wait to go home and have those oatmeal raisin cookies. yum!! and see my family and hear Anjali’s sweet voice say ‘knock knock, whose in?” When I heard this thought, I found myself laughing – inside. Here I was at this retreat I had been waiting for – and now I couldn’t wait to get home!! The story of our lives.

Coming back from a retreat was hard – it always is. They should have instructions on that! I was miserable because all my reactivity stared me in my face. I was very tired. And I wanted to go back and have some more of that quiet, of that joy of stillness. The ‘opening to your experience’ that the teacher had talked about, seemed impossible to do. And in the middle of my suffering, I wondered if I would ever regain my equanimity.

Everything changes, nothing lasts forever. Thank Goddess! There was a moment when I came back from a walk, and saw, really saw my daughter and how beautiful and alive she looked. In that moment, the joy in my heart returned, and the connection with this moment right now, happened. I could let go of my need for my experience to be other than what it was in this moment, right now.

So here I am, on a monday morning – feeling just ordinary. body breathing, sitting, hands writing. knowing what gladness arises when we go inside. and how we have to let go of everything, every day, every moment, to be truly happy.

With Love, S.

I open my eyes because I love mountains…

Leaves in a stream move without a plan
Clouds in the valley drift without design
I close my eyes and everything is fine
I open them because I love mountains.

These lines are from a poem by Stonehouse, a zen monk who lived in the 12th century in China. I love these lines so much. I know exactly what he means in the first three lines. I love solitude, I love the time when I’m by myself and everything is fine. I know my place in this world, and feel deeply rooted to where I am – strong and centered and at peace with things are they are.

And then I open my eyes. I enter this world, of playing the many different roles –a mom, a wife, a friend, a colleague, a teacher, a daughter, a sister, and more. Sometimes I play them gracefully and lightly, but a lot of the time, I see a myriad of emotions come up: impatience, irritation, frustration, judgment, imperfection, reactivity, as much as love, amazement, wonder, freedom, space and gratitude. I push away the first set of emotions and grasp tightly to the second set. But whose judgment am I using? Why is one wrong and the other right? As a human being, will I not experience anger, frustration and jealousy? Can I make room for them so that compassion may arise?

Then perhaps I may have a chance to see deeper that there is something beautiful in everything. Not just in love and peace, but in anger and impatience as well, and for me, this week, in loneliness. When we sit and feel the pain, there is such an aching beauty in it, how loneliness feels utterly desolate and yet is simply passing by, and in the very next moment, it is possible to feel connection. This surprises me to no extent – our capacity for joy and peace and space amidst utter chaos.

Many times, I find myself asking: I have so much! So much to be grateful for. Why the struggle? Why this loneliness? And the answer always comes later: so that I may know that suffering passes. Everything passes. And nothing brings more peace than sitting with one’s own pain.

Poet Hafiz says: Don’t surrender your loneliness so quickly. Let it cut more deep. Let if ferment and season you as few human or even divine ingredients can. Something missing in my heart tonight has made my eyes so soft my voice so tender, my need of God absolutely clear…

In loneliness, we seek true companionship – the one that can only be found inside. There are times when I’m aware that I have all the love in this world and still felt lonely – and allowing myself to feel it lets me find the friend inside, the one who knows like nobody else does, what I really need in loneliness.

Waking up and realizing it as a gift only comes by only if we are sleep in the first place. Gratitude for kindness becomes oh so clear after a dark night of judgment. And connection is never more profound as when we have sat with our loneliness. Doing so is when I come to know what Stonehouse means in his last line, when he says that I open my eyes because I love mountains.

With Love, S.

My attachment…

Last week, I caught a new thought in my head: I’m getting attached to my writing. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing it!

It made me do a 180 degree turn and take a look at my choices. Like any yogi, I have experienced many a times how attachment leads to suffering. And I guess I thought I was being clever when I thought, maybe I could avoid attachment altogether if I stopped doing what I want.

Except it doesn’t work that way. We can’t really negate what we feel and still be happy. If we get attached, we get attached. Saying, ‘don’t!’ doesn’t really help. It requires way too much concentration and focus to constantly keep a look out for the big A word. That kind of focus, I may have had in another life-time. But not right now, definitely not right now.

Perhaps a better wiser solution to attachment is to not make it a problem. To acknowledge when it arises. and notice if that recognition does anything. To accept attachment as a gentle friend joining in for a tea party – but will leave in a bit. Inevitably. Somebody else will come through that door, that we will attach to, and we will forget all about this one. Noticing the arising and the passing away of attachment, just as it is, without judgment can be the window into freedom from suffering.

So, yes, I got attached to my writing. There is a piece I wrote for my writing group, that I spent more time than I ever have on one essay. I caught my mind in the middle of various things thinking about it, and words in it, and I wanted to run to it every moment of free time I got, rereading it, and making changes. And then I noticed. I let go. There was a moment of peace, of surrender. And then something else came up. My daughter saying a new word, ‘come’!. And a Mom’s pride. I get attached to that too. And I learn to let go.

Thank god there are so many opportunities to practice. Some day, perhaps we will become enlightened beings, and we will get it. Until then, we learn to be with what is, right now.

With Love, S.

All izzzz well…

It is a quiet Fall morning, the mists still clinging on to the trees, the air cool and crisp, and the birds winding down for their morning nap. It is a perfect morning to reminisce on the last couple of weeks, on my dance with sickness and health, suffering and freedom.

What began as a cold for our daughter Anjali (fondly we call her Gudiya, meaning Doll) now 13 months old, became an infection of some kind with fever and a rash. Initially, misdiagnosed as ear infection, and then found to be a peri-orbital type infection, she was treated with antibiotics, and seemed on the rocky road to recovery. That was until she had an allergic reaction to the drugs and had to be switched to a third set of antibiotics. Thankfully, they worked. She started to regain her strength and started eating properly again. The antibiotics still meant diarrhea, diaper rash, and discomfort, especially in taking the meds.

I was the epitome of graceful, patient, steady and loving Mom. That lasted for exactly 3 days. And then I was just plain tired, anxious, whining Mom, caught in between trying to be loving and present, and trying to escape far far away. There is something so helpless about seeing a baby in pain and knowing there is nothing you can do that just tugs at your heart, that is the most difficult thing I have ever had to face.

One morning, I gave her the antibiotics, and she cried non-stop for half hour. At the end of it, I started sobbing myself. I felt terrible – here she was, a baby crying because she was in discomfort and the medicine sucked and her tummy probably hurt. And here I was, an adult crying, because I felt helpless. I felt like such a loser. But it gave me perspective.

This was a difficult situtation to be in. Could I be kind? Could I be compassionate as much to myself, and Abhi, as to Anjali? That perfect Mom that I had in my head, who is forever loving and patient and cheerful in the midst of sickness and who doesn’t ever complain or need time out…was probably a myth. Maybe all Moms are like me. Imperfect and wanting to do the best, and sometimes just caught in the pull between giving others and giving themselves.

A turning point came at about 5.30 on a Saturday evening. I had been home all day with gudiya now for nearly a week. Abhi had been there whenever he could, equally worried and waking early each morning to tend to Gudiya. But when she was sick, Mama was the most wanted. I was exhausted and depleted and near the end of my rope. I had the good sense to ask Abhi if I could go for a walk. When I finally made it out of the door, I was mad that it had taken as long as it did, and it was nearly dark and it had started drizzling. It didn’t matter. I pulled up my hoodie and started walking. I wanted to keep on walking, my thoughts plummeting me, the drama in my head louder than the rain outside, saying over and over again, ‘I wish…I wish… I wish…’ I kept coming back to my breath, to my feet, I kept sending loving-kindness to my family and practicing gratitude. Finally, the storm inside quieted. I opened my hoodie – and in that moment, I could hear the breeze, the trees, the rain and the silence. I could feel the cool air on my face, the rhythm of my walking, the trees that stood rooted, a testament to my suffering. In that moment was my freedom. The kind that comes from listening and being with your own discomfort so that you can be there for others. That half hour brought me the peace I had so missed.

Thank Goddess Anjali is feeling better. The course of antibiotics is over. She walked outside our home last evening, so excited that she could walk outside. She pointed to the doggie and said bow bow. She waved her arms ecstatically. She smiled. And she looked well.

Everything passes…

May all beings be free from suffering.

With love, Shuba.

Confessions…

I’m terrible with change. I hate that moment when things were going great and suddenly they aren’t any more. The moment (like this morning), when after peace and contentment, suddenly I’m face-to-face with irritation, anger, frustration, without any warning and left wondering where that joy inside of me disappeared. The moments when I thought I had it all orchestrated perfectly in my head, like a soap opera, and suddenly nothing is going my way. Moments when it looks sunny outside and I decide to go for a walk, only to find a cold breeze blowing my head off, making me wish I had stayed home. Moments when I want to be generous and leave a tip at the cafe only to find that I am out of cash. Moments when I want to tell the yoga teacher how great she was, but am afraid I can’t trust my voice to not break down into tears that I have no explanation for. Moments when I am bone tired after teaching an evening Math class and really just want to have a P&B sandwich, and crash. Instead I sit with hubby and eat lovingly prepared dinner and watch television, all the while resenting it and then judging myself for resenting it. And just before going to bed, hubby tells me that Steve Jobs is no more. That moment when I feel like screaming – why did you have to tell me that now! How am I going to sleep!! Because the fact is Steve Jobs is dead is so sad that I just want to cry, even though I have never met him in my life.

I can’t help thinking we create So much Drama in our lives, simply because we don’t like change. We don’t like it when we can’t control things, and when things don’t go our way (which we are convinced is the ‘right’ way). We hate it when we see someone in pain and there is nothing we can do about it.

That’s why we practice. That’s why in those moments, we try really really hard to take just one breath. and just one more. We tell ourselves – this is what anger feels like. this is what irritation feels like. This is what judgment feels like. We search desperately for that small ounce of kindness buried somewhere inside us. And we try hard to find where and sometimes, what is compassion in that moment. And slowly, surely, inevitably, we find that the judgment, anger and frustration are there no more.

The emotions will never stop coming. That’s what I’m realizing (to my disappointment). It simply is not possible – having emotions – the entire range, is part and parcel of being a human being. If we get angry, that doesn’t mean we have failed. It simply means, well, that we are angry. Being able to be open to that, and accepting and kind is what we endeavor to do in this practice. and we have keep practicing – sometimes for endless difficult moments, like being huddled in a tiny shack under the storm. And without knowing it, the storm ends. The sun comes out. and we are still standing. and so is the hut.

May we continue to be human…
with Love, S.

Waking up…

The night was troubled – yet another decision to make about sleep training. I had hoped it would get easier each time we have to teach Gudiya* to sleep through the night. Yet, each time, it presents a similar challenge – how to do something that brings pain in the near future, but is more freeing in the long run. This takes wisdom and patience, the kind we can’t always find momentarily, the kind that requires us to make that leap from reacting to a stream of changes, to responding with intention. Intention – this is what I have to keep coming back to. As the Dalai Lama said, my intention was my protection.

This morning – waking up to a refreshed sweet loving Gudiya who snuggles with us, and sings her little songs of joy, as she greets a new world this day. All I want to do is snooze in bed. I try for as long as I can, and then shower and get ready while Abhi spends his morning time with his angel, reading her favorite book ten little fingers and ten little toes, as he chugs through breakfast of coffee and banana. By the time he is done, I’m ready to get a bite to eat and make Gudiya’s lunch and get her ready for day care.

Those 30 minutes seem to last for ever, as I multi-task, engaging her, eating my toast and manning the scrambled eggs for her lunch. Anjali is going round and round our island in the kitchen with a piece of toast in each hand, periodically falling down while practicing her new skill of walking. Each time, she wants to be picked up. Of course. By the time I get her into the car, and say good-bye to Abhi, I feel the familiar feeling of stress. Thank God, day care is just 2 minutes away. Gudiya is happy to see her friends but does not want to let go of Mommy. She would like it all if she could have it . Darcy distracts her, as I make my way out. It is only after I get out of the driveway of the day care that I remember to take a long breath. Whew. That is a lot of work! My mind, alert from remnants of last night’s meditation remembers – ahhh – this is what stress feels like. There doesn’t need to be judgment about it.

After filling up my near empty gas tank, and straightening up the house and my attire, I barely make it to yoga class with Leslie – after a long time. My body needs it, but my mind is busy with judgments of my ‘tardiness’. I try and let go as best as I can. I tell myself, people have more important things on their mind than spending time reflecting on my tardiness. Thank God for that .

Slowly, the practice unfolds. Leslie reminds us to pay attention. My mind starts to quiet down. As I do a forward bend, I get a whiff of peanut butter on the knees of my pants from this morning with Anjali. It makes me smile. This is what the practice does – open us up to all that is, in this moment right now. My shoulders start to relax, and open like they haven’t in days. The heat builds up, and then the peace afterwards. Shavasana. Sweet bliss. As I settle in into my body, my being, I feel whole again.

The point of this practice of mindfulness is to be more alive to this experience of being human. This involves feeling all of what it comes with. Confusion, self-doubt and judgment are right there – along with clarity, freedom and lightness of heart. All we can do is cultivate the skillful states of being, so that we do our part in living with wisdom and care. The rest is out of our control. May we move with ease through the changes in our lives – of breath, emotions, body, mind and heart.

With Love, Shuba
*Gudiya: endearment meaning doll.