Survival

                                                                                                         Image Source: sapiensoup.com

If you are emotional, sensitive, over-thinking, anxious, or worrying, you are truly human!

“Will I be able to say what I’m thinking?”, “Would I be able to continue writing like I have been doing?”, “I hope my words don't get misinterpreted as lies”, and “Would they bother if I just disappeared?” among countless other passing thoughts, decided to make way, one fine day. Imagine thoughts like these piercing your actions and routine activities. And no, they did not just appear like a bolt from the blue. They were a result of a series of small, ignored upheavals, which could no longer be forced into silence and neglect. I couldn’t suppress my anxiety any longer, menfolk and womenfolk.

We may use the term ‘independence’ very commonly in today’s day and age, but little have we tried to extend its importance to our mental and emotional existence. I decided to become ‘independent’ the day I learnt about my existence in a patriarchal society. I have seen my mother emphasize the need to be financially independent if I wanted to have an identity of my own. I have been at the receiving end of complaints about how being a mother, wife and daughter-in-law is akin to filling a bottomless pit; it just dilutes your essence as a human being. Should I consider all those times when I was taught the importance of being able to travel alone and crack my own deals in the guise of independence? My father always treated me as someone who was equal to his son, if my level of independence was anything to go by. People who know me well know that I’m not the one to shy away from enjoying my share of limelight and attention. My independence adds to my overall confidence. So it may seem surprising in such a case to see a someone’s hand shiver, while holding a pen in front of a few people. How can a person that looks sound fear not being able to reach her destination that is just a few meters away? And this brings me to some important questions - Is physical and financial soundness of an individual enough to evade all the battles of life? If not, then why was I fed lies all this while?

It has been disheartening, moreover, after I developed and reeled from severe anxiety, to know that in a nation like India, mental health issues still carry enough stigma to make serious conjectures about one’s identity. As a child, I remember being scared into sanity with a warning of having to be taken to a psychologist/psychiatrist. “You must go visit a psychiatrist” is still a commonly used phrase, doubled as a joke-talk in many a friend circle. The problem is that we have seen our minds as closets. They cannot be revealed to everybody, and the contents of one must carefully remain contained. It is usually our association of independence with what meets the eye that decide our joy and sorrow. And till this persists, most of us may just refuse to address the elephant in the room.

The Day I Grew Up

It was a usual Thursday evening, when my mother took her regular stroll in the garden behind our house, while I queued up behind a bunch of kids, who awaited their turn to sit on the bumpy slide. There was a bright, attractive passage that connected a spiral slide and a bumpy one. As they inched closer towards the slide, the kids usually experienced an adrenaline rush before beginning to jump up and down with excitement. I, with my childlike enthusiasm, always waved, excitedly, at my mother from that little passage before sliding down but, that day was a little different. I heard collective laughter of the kids around me, when I got off the slide. Something was certainly not right for I had grown up a little.

On our way home, while my mother tried to wipe my tears, I could barely comprehend what had transpired. The ten-year-old child in me refused to think beyond anything except for having missed out on my playtime for what was going to alter my body and actions for the rest of my life. "Now onwards, I expect you to know how to take care of your health and body. I cannot be with you be all the time,” my mother stated, in a calm tone, before asking me to change my clothes. Terror struck as soon as I entered the washroom. I, for one, had always associated blood with wars and fights, but what I experienced that day was far from what I had imagined. From playing with dolls and jumping around in the park without a care in the world to transitioning into womanhood and suddenly monitoring my actions, the change almost felt like something was thrusted upon me and I had no choice but to eventually make peace with the change.

I refused going to the garden with my mother for the next few days following the sudden bout of emotional and physical chaos in order to save myself from any further embarrassment. While the girls in my class giggled and excitedly discussed their anticipated participation in the different sporting events that were lined up in the school through the year, I had slowly begun to keep a check on my physical preparedness and allowances. Things around, still, seemed pretty much the same except that I had grown up a little. The environment that I existed in, too, remained pretty much the same except that the people that co-existed in it chose to look at me a little differently, now, maybe as someone who had lost her innocent with puberty. While I grappled with the harsh truth of growing up, the tears that welled up in my eyes reflected the sorrow of losing all of what I cherished as a carefree, ten-year-old girl including the moments when I happily piggybacked on my father and took pride in roughing up my male friends, when they tried to tamper with my bicycle. What I took the longest time to come to terms with was the fact that I grew up even when everything else was constant.

Today, at 24, when I look back on the immediate transition, there is a strange sense of pride in having overcome the emotions and mental pandemonium, which came partially from having to deal with the anxiety of what lay ahead and majorly from the thought of having to part with my indeed apparent childhood, or so I thought. That’s the sad part of life; nothing remains forever. What had taken the coming together of countless precious moments needed nothing more than the ticking of the clock to turn it all into memories. A girl that once made a raw, innocent sight had turned into a woman embracing maturity. Nonetheless, everything was the same except that I had grown up a little that day.