In Didion’s book ‘a year of magical thinking’ (well it lasts for longer than a year … like forever) she writes about the vortex, I call it being bushwhacked.
One is ….
Attacked for no apparent reason, as the sadness arises — mainly due to recollections that appear — as if from nowhere.
There’s also a regular hidden sadness that surfaces as intolerant anger.
Sorry everyone.
I’m dealing with CBB — can’t be bothered — but it’ll get sorted.
Yesterday evening as I was waiting outside a shop selling dots for one’s forehead —
—Manjula used to give them as gifts as we travelled through England—
A woman asked where she was.
I pointed to, inside the shop and after a perplexed reaction, realised she wasn’t asking about the little girl (Kaveri) or Manjula, for that matter, but the dog (Lucie).
The girl was stocking up for the return to school.
I’m well known in my area and in Mysore generally but usually because of my appendage.
I am nothing, not even a number.
…
I once walked into a hotel (restaurant) right on the other side of the city, for the waiter to ask me where’s the dog. He also lived in Siddarthanagar.
So I’m well known for who I’m with …
As of this morning, as I realise, I stick out like a sore thumb as generally there’s rarely other firangis (foreigners) here. There’s a new appendage.
A tree
As I was tossing and turning in the midst of my AWOL, nightly sleep I realised there was only this morning for me to be able to decorate the tree for Christmas.
Kaveri will be going back to school.
Kaveri is here for less than 24 hours and we’ve decorated it together for the past three years since we met. I’ll not see her again until a few days after Christmas Day when we’ll belatedly celebrate Christmas.
A bit too late to do the tree
Plus our usual totem is now too big and heavy for the hall aka lounge.
What to do?
Easy
Get up before the girls and after walking as man and dog, I go out again, to the nearest ‘nursery’. It’s run by guys from UP on the roadside. I haggle with them from the Firangi-Gora (white) — tax – price, to something resembling the price a local would pay. About half.
Then as I’m trudging home— convincing myself that I’m exercising my muscle diminishing 60+ years arms —- with very regular rests. I realised I’m another spectacle of the foreigner ‘variety’ who is entertaining the locals, especially the men at the chai shop and the women sweeping the streets. They’re interested as no one can possibly work out why the rich foreigner is carrying a tree and not using an auto rickshaw.
A wonderful young man, rescues me from the ordeal of the last stretch, stops for me to balance precariously on the back of his bike and gets me home.
I’ve become the foreigner, not only with dog and girl but now the tree
It suits me
…
Ok it doesn’t look very heavy but the weight is in the pot.
It’s now decorated.
But now the cats eyeing it up, for a potential attack thankfully for the moment she seems satisfied with the empty decoration boxes.
There’s a short chapter on ‘the language of love’ my reaction is not surprising, given the subject.
It happens ‘sometimes’. …
There’s a physical tightening of the stomach and a sort of shift in the eyes and forehead leading to the feeling of tears welling and a teeny moisturising of the eyes. I’m still making my way through the fantasy fairground tunnel of love slowly through the thick mud of grief gravy. Whilst I’ll never get to the end I need to ensure I break into the positive memory zones and rediscover tolerance.
On the way I’m reminded of previous moments of our wonderful life that I was lucky enough to share with my MAnjula.
Her love was constant (probably) and consistent built on her strengths of attentiveness and presence. I love her more as I’m share more of its layers passing through this crazy tunnel.
I realise that I’ve written this with John Lennon’s Woman playing in the background and it all started with you are my sunshine.
Lyrics below
Woman I can hardly express My mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness After all, I’m forever in your debt
And woman I will try to express My inner feelings and thankfulness For showing me the meaning of success
…
Woman I know you understand The little child inside the man Please remember, my life is in your hands
And woman Hold me close to your heart However distant, don’t keep us apart After all, it is written in the stars
…
woman Please let me explain I never meant to cause you sorrow or pain So let me tell you again and again and again
I love you, yeah-yeah Now and forever I love you, yeah-yeah Now and forever I love you, yeah-yeah Now and forever I love you, yeah-yeah Now and forever
——-
You are my sunshine
You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy When skies are gray You’ll never know, dear How much I love you Please don’t take My sunshine away
The other night, dear As I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you In my arms When I awoke, dear I was mistaken So I hung my head and cried
You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy When skies are gray You’ll never know, dear How much I love you Please don’t take My sunshine away
As I’ve paddled my boat through the grief gravy the layers of Manjula’s love become more apparent. I learn more everyday from her life.
“But when you want to gain love through success, it cannot be achieved through anything quantifiable. The people that will be crying when you depart the world are not doing so because of any number that is tied to your name. They are doing so because you were a loving partner, a caring friend, or a shepherd of kindness. You are dearly missed not because of what you’ve earned, but because of what you represented.”
I expect I’m doing my usual and stating the bleeding obvious.
In this unwelcome necessary extraordinary extended period of reflection and potential growth, I realise the greatest challenge.
Yes it’s about loss and grief, goes without saying, I suppose.
There’s been many but especially three (many more of course but three for listing here) . Losing someone through splitting up with a lover, second losing Manjula when she died. Now I’d count my tonic to deal with the grief as the third. It’s not loss but deep down it’s the equivalent.
So why do I put them together?
They represent times when I felt unable to do anything … actually experiencing powerlessness, learning lack of control in some situations.
That realisation comes … After a lifetime of reinforced messages that it’s up to us, we’re masters of our own destiny and in control.
The third example is having the wherewithal to support and guide Kaveri but to realise how handicapped I am in the face of a completely dysfunctional family who don’t understand or care.
Well done, Farrell — that’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into (only yesterday, Kaveri was asking about Laurel and Hardy) — But of course it’s about regaining one’s equilibrium, being positive and constructive, working out the way that works and the benefit I can gain from another of life’s lessons.
So in a different way, it does depend on how we take it and manage the situation — critically it’s in the eyes of the beholder—and mostly about our relationships.
So as I said bleeding obvious.
I send this to you because you might not believe it but you are very important
I’m in the park to wish Manjula happy birthday and hang out with billet-Doux, butterflies (messengers from Madam) and too many mosquitoes!
Here’s the lovely video created by Faizan through which many old and new friends have met Manjula.
My ulterior motive on being here was to be security for the flowers and stop people stealing them.
I failed
But it can’t affect our celebration of her wonderfulness.
As I completed a video call to my son Oliver in Vancouver, —and realised I was due back to make breakfast—three sets of neighbours walking in the park saw Manjula’s poster and wanted to know her story. I’d never met them before a mom her son , another young woman and an elder.
We begin remembering Manjula on what would have been her 51st birthday.
Here are our current guests Ina— the stalwart— who has visited us at Mysore Bed and Breakfast, almost every year for at least a month (with a break during the pandemic) and John, also a ‘glutton for punishment’ as he’s a returner —who we haven’t yet scared away — Settling in and helping us plan our rememberances.
Vasanth, Sowbaghya and I visited the nursery to get birthday flowers for Manjula’s garden. Unfortunately I didn’t get a photo of Priyanka, the friendly young woman shopping there. She donated a plant, on hearing why we were there..
An opportunity to meet to share your thoughts with other young adults (and one or two who are just young at heart)
Our monthly meeting is a way to connect and share with other open minded people ….
Reflect on what’s happening in the world, consider what the future holds, support each other, share the mistakes we’ve made and lessons we’re learned, be more active and less passive.
…and stroke a dog (Lucie) and a cat (Billet-Doux). If you’re lucky, there maybe cake.
Interested?
Check the links on this page for more information.
Me and MYCycle 