OUR CHILDREN

OUR CHILDREN

Our children are not our future. They are our past and present but not our future. A wonderful loving past and a present of happiness, fun and sharing but a bygone era is a bygone era – let it go…

 If you are looking for love in your old age then grandchildren seem like the second chance. Unfortunately, with all of us living to an overripe old age that love too has finite possibilities – with each passing year the grandparent has less relevance. And with a rival as omnipotent and omnipresent as technology- there is no competition to claim their attention or time. Your grandchild would any day choose the latest I-Phone over his grandparent. And granddaughters, though more expressive and empathetic – one phone call from her bestie and you are as good as ashes scattered like memories.

So, which love holds true and steadfast till the end of our life? Spousal love, if you are blessed to be in a true union of souls, is a good prize but it is the consolation prize and subject to both of you living the same duration of time. Also, your spouse comes with his/her own baggage and as you grow older you can barely lift your own! Sharing is all very well but like a three legged race you are best balanced when you are on your own two feet.

The ultimate prize is- “Self-Love”. For centuries our philosophers, poets, visionaries and Saints have gone blue in the face trying to din this fact into our numb skulls. From Buddha to Gibran, Rumi to Vivekananda – the essential message is the same – all love comes from within. Love yourself and the world is a better place. But like the magpie that covets another’s nest our happiness is based on pursuit – usually of the unattainable or in today’s world – the unavailable!

Just as mountain climbers feel that Everest exists to be climbed and conquered, we have made it our life’s mission to be loved and cherished by others. The day we stop looking for that elusive feeling of being affirmed and accept that contentment and love resides within us that is the day our flame shines brightest till our last breath blows it out…

Nimmou Nilakantan  

THE BAROMETER OF HAPPINESS

THE BAROMETER OF HAPPINESS

It has to be set within ourselves – it cannot record happiness based on the conditions outside. Setting our happiness based on an objective like ‘World Peace’ works only as beauty pageant rhetoric. That is why so many of us flounder in misery. Our happiness is conditional and the condition is an impossible or improbable criteria. 

“If only my husband were more communicative”, “My children more obedient”, “My waist thinner”, “My family more supportive”, “The oceans plastic free”, “The Amazon would stop burning” – you see how this list for our happiness grows? Like a virulent bacteria it multiplies our unhappiness and like the Ebola virus it mutates into the incurable. From being unhappy with your spouse to the plastic in the ocean is just one small leap for that mutant gene of dissatisfaction…

Chuck out that external barometer that has unreasonable parameters to record contentment – a slimmer waist, a fatter bank balance, a communicative partner, plenty of non-Whatsapp friends, lustrous hair… Record nothing. Everything turns to dust (now that would be a household mantra to escape that chore) so why bother about anything but this moment?

Right here, right now, this is a good day. Just live it. And that thing called happiness? It cannot be measured – it is a variable. And, like all variables it is based on one constant – your happiness lies within you.

Now go find your bliss….

Nimmou Nilakantan  

beware

BEWARE…

The Lonely Person

Who intrudes into your life

And taints every moment of happiness

With an undercurrent of guilt…

Whose words paint a picture

That smudges your canvas

Of colour

With dark edges of black

And shadows that cast a pall….

Those words that have an undercurrent

Whose tow drags you deeper

Into the ocean of despair

And your spirit loses sight of the shore

And you are cast adrift…

Beware…

Of being held hostage

Of words that bind you deeper

The snare that imprisons the bird

Whose wings once are clipped

Can never fly again….

Beware…

Of sharing dreams and hope

With a life that is set in stone

Unchanging, unmoving, unbroken

But sits heavy on your heart

Which beats trapped in another realm

Not in your consciousness…

Fly free, untethered

Your soul cannot be captured

The mirror can hold only one reflection

Of the truth which governs your life

And yours alone….

Nimmou Nilakantan

July 28^th 2019

EMOTI-CONS!

We humans get labels right – sometimes! Emoticons – now that just nails it for an emotion which is a con. Regardless of what you really think or feel you can choose an emotion with a press of a button. The smiley face is the biggest con in our digital communication. Go back to the natural world -have you ever seen a snarling, growling dog with a wagging tail?

 This is what these emojis/emoticons have done to communication. It is so easy to overlay the nasty with a smiling emoji. “Don’t like what you did pal”, (smiley face) “Your attitude sucks”, (smiley face )and somehow no offence is taken though it is given! 

Confusion has overlaid communication. In Hindi it is called ‘Meethi Churri’ (Sweet knife) You stick it in with a sweet smile. Nice and nasty have amalgamated or rather emoji’d into the smiley face at the end of a statement. 

The biggest fraud is when a person’s texts are full of emoji’s and thumbs up and other inane positive affirmations. The reality you meet is a sourpuss who never smiles in face to face conversations and is full of negativity. Virtual reality? True Lies? Choose your fantasy….

Nimmou Nilakantan

FOR AMMA

FOR AMMA

I made the mistake every girl makes as she grows older and becomes a woman- I never thought of my mother as a person. She was just ‘Ma’ enunciated in varying tones of annoyance and anger. ‘Maaah’ when I was exasperated, ‘Mah’ barked in anger, ‘Maw’ when I felt a little tolerant. I never thought of her as Kamala or the loved daughter of my grand mom. She was my mother and I was soooo entitled to her love.

And after she died all I had left was guilt and regret. Why were my eyes so blind that I could not see the human under the label of Ma? Being a mother is like being branded – you become the property of those you love and lose your persona. And children are the worst taskmasters. My mother’s work was never done and we daughters were a piece of work alright. After we got married we leaned on her heavily once the children began to arrive. As our children grew up the brand name changed – from ‘Amma’ she became ‘Pati’ and the demands kept growing. 

We celebrate a mother’s love as something so pure and deep that it has almost become a religion. We forget the human and deify the sanctity of the relationship.

Did my mother ever want to shrug off the mantle of mother and grandmother? I don’t know. I was too selfish to ask about her needs, her wants and her desires.  When she did talk I just wouldn’t listen. I was too busy ensuring I got my due from her. And now when she is gone I feel an emptiness that no amount of food or love can fill.

Now I am ‘Ma’, Maaa’, ‘Mah’ or ‘Maw’ to my kids I know exactly how it feels. Even after they have grown they occupy center stage in my life and I want to scream – “Look at me, Listen to me, Hear me!” I am not just Ma – I am a woman. I am human. I too want. I too need. I too desire. Don’t just love me – acknowledge me. Look at me – give me recognition. Treat me the way I want – give me consideration. Hear my words and respond – give me understanding. Be loving – make my heart sing that I brought you up alright.  Ma is a title and crown I wear so proudly on my head but there is a heart beneath that also yearns to be felt.

I came into this world as me and I want to live and leave it as me. Nothing is more important than treating a human as an individual without a label. Ma is just one of them.

This one is for you Kamala…..

Your daughter,

Nimmou