Dear reader,
February has been tricky; a wily fox of a month, carrying within in both unexpected joys, swirling mists of the past, and creaking fault lines threatening to give way. I’ve not known where to put a foot down, firmly or otherwise, for the floor and the air both seem tenuous.
I’ve been faking smiles all February, hiding my true colours, biting my tongue. Questions linger, emerge onto on my lips and I swallow them, but the doubts they leave behind don’t fade.
February has been stifling, and then all at once, freeing.
Here are some moments that have made getting through this month, easier:
As I was walking to the manmade Gondwakdi Lake in Tippeshwar, I found myself surrounded my a familiar scent; it took me back to my childhood home, and all I could suddenly think of was the seera made during pujas. Wild tulsi grew everywhere around us, with soft purple blooms dotting patches of green, and I felt incongruous - I had been transported to a place far far away from where I actually was, a place I didn’t want to dwell in. But that’s the thing with the past; once you’re there, once you’ve had a glimpse of it, you can’t help but ache for it.
At the lake, as the sun began to dip, I watched a pair of ruddy shelducks move around in circles, one berating the arrival of bar-headed geese, pond herons, and egrets, with the other silently following. It reminded me of how wound up I used to be when it came to interacting with outsiders, of how tense I still get sometimes. And in spying on that one irascible bird, I felt a little less alone in this world.
Whilst painting with water colours last week, I saw that I still struggle with delineating boundaries, especially when they’re for my own good. And it seems like all of February has been about learning, once again, the exact way to spell out no. I’m in such a rush to offer an explanation, for why I can’t do something, why I can’t make it for something, that by the end of it, I convince myself that I must do it. And of course, that always leaves me feeling miserable. So drawing those lines, on paper and in the sand, in life and in my own mind, is imperative.
I’ve been trying to write about feminism for the past several years - from a detached place i.e. without that burning flame in my heart, and clouds of thundering fury in my brain. And mid-sentence, my pen asked me, why? The passage of time hasn’t created enough distance between me and the topic, so why am I forcing my own hand?
At Tippeshwar, P and I found dragonflies flitting about in the morning sun, dipping into a lotus pond every few minutes, but here’s the thing, they were the brightest of pinks. A quick Google search told me that crimson marsh gliders are considered a common species in India, but we were spellbound. And here’s the thing, every time I’ve stopped to look, really look, at something, I’ve found the beauty. So what I need to remember, is to stop. To take the time out. To look.
It took a tiny random sentence for me to realise this - No matter what I do, I will never be one of you. So I might as well stop, and be my own stubborn, lonely, fraught self, chasing all those things you disapprove of, speaking my mind, baring my heart and my body. And it’s been depleting, I’ve been bleeding, in a bid to try and make space for myself at your table. And suddenly, I don’t need to. I can sit, alone, at my own table.
Our home has been drowning in flowers all February, and scarlet sunrises have made their way to me through swaying branches and from between petals. I watch the flowers bloom through cycles of orange and blue, and then they slowly begin to droop and wilt. A few I press, between the pages of a book, hoping the words seep into their being. And days later, as I’m flipping through the pages, the bright yellow of a stamen catches my eyes, as it slides across the page emulating the sun.
When you’re the only one who speaks the thoughts of the entire room, you suddenly acquire the label of being a bad person. So I’ve had to remind myself again and again this month - I’m no worse than the person sitting next to me, I’m just the only one who has said it out loud. And the price one pays for speaking has always been heavy. So I suppose it comes down to this - does the price matter, or the words you want to say?
In making it to a morning yoga class, in defiance of the wishes of every fibre of my being, I found a stillness that has evaded me all year. It took moving my body in various poses, and watching my breath, for several several minutes, to encounter a glimpse of the stillness I’m always in search of. And once again the universe reminded me that things take time - the things we do everything in our power to achieve, and the ones we lazily attempt.
POSTCARDS FROM FEBRUARY
Thank you for reading Soul Gazing. If you enjoyed this post, please share it with your friends!
I love hearing from all of you! So comment here, or reply back to my e-mail and tell me what you’ve been feeling this February.
Love,
Sukriti
Once again feelings just pour out of your pen 👏👏