Suffering and failure are part of each success story

As women we are born strong, but somehow we feel our greatest strength lies in hiding our weakness.

Even I have felt it sometimes..

Like every woman I am strong, but just like most women , I feel that any sign of vulnerability is a step towards failure. I hide my moments of defeat, just like some women put concealer on scars on their face.

Sometimes to tell the greatest story of success, one has to first write the prologue of failure.

The sufferings are true, and part of the journey, but most people are afraid to tell their whole story. Can you imagine a child learning to walk without falling down?

• I have cried in front of my daughter over small issues but there are times when I have remained calm and shielded her from the hurricanes that hit my world.
• I have a temper and I have patience.
• I also give free advice to people esp when I feel they need to hear the bitter truth; I have received the same and it has done me good.
• I am not glamorous, I can be a fashion nightmare.
• I have my bad hair day (almost everyday)
• Sometimes I am not eloquent and curse myself when I scramble my head for the exact word.
• I buy books which gather layers of dust before I can actually read them.
• I am not fond of cooking daily (only therapeutically to calm myself) but still I love to make my daughter’s school lunch.
• I have had rocky spells in my marriage (and sometimes used the rocks to build the foundation)
• I have had rough days at work,I have partnered to build something exquisite and I have parted ways too.
• I have fought with my parents and siblings but i trust them the most.

(yes, I’m my own living contradiction, but aren’t we all constantly fighting between whims and reality?)

I am sometimes scared to start all over- again,from scratch, but I’d rather give it my best, than give up.

I have felt like an under-achiever, felt I haven’t accomplished everything I dreamed of and felt I am not good enough. If you feel this way on somedays, then you just need to be kind to yourself and drop the hourglass of expectations.

Life doesn’t always happen in the order we wish, sometimes the sequence may be different, but we eventually get all that we want and deserve. Keep doing your Karma (and while you are at it, do intelligent-hard work)

Despite my imperfections, I show up for life. Despite being beaten-down, I won’t give up.

Every failure, every defeat is the battle scar I have earned, marching my way to winning-big or small.

(These thoughts came up when www.ngoexpress.com along with Sampradaa Collections started a #Powersaree contest on Instagram @sampradaa, inviting women to share their empowering moment, their saree stories, tales of rocking the world in ethnic elegance-often liek our mothers and grandmothers, and celebrating being a superwoman in their special cape- The Saree. I still come across women who need encouragement to be proud of reciting their life story, because each story is unique and is meant to help someone out there)

Not all violence is physical

 

 

One morning I woke up from a distressing dream. I had some marks on my face like camouflage paint, that despite rubbing and washing, were not coming off. I had to go out with family and they said, “you cant go out looking like that?”

“I have no choice, but to go” I replied.

That’s when I woke up , still contemplating about the dream. I have never had tattoos (Scars? yes. Body art ?no !) I snuggled with my warm cup of tea, looking at the swirling smoke over the cup creating a haze, which somehow always makes me think clearly. During that moment of “Chai Nirvana” it occurred, not all violence is physical. The marks on my face represented the emotional wounds.

As women, we stand up for women who suffer domestic violence and violence outside in society. As humans we stand against any physical violence whether to man ,woman or child… even the four legged & winged friends.

We often ignore and undermine the non-physical violence.

The three common forms of non-physical violence 99% of humanity has suffered from are Complaint, Criticism and Comparison.

When your spouse is constantly complaining to you about everything at home, at work, and in life; As though everything wrong in the world is your fault? Most often complains are projected at the receiver like guns charged with bullets of blame.

From house being disorganized, to late bill payments, misplaced objects, to food not made to suit someone’s high palette, dirty laundry, to unruly kids, travel plans not going as imagined, monthly budget gone astray because of unexpected expenses, maid miseries, issues with his/her family? Trust me you cannot be everything rolled into one- an organizer, personal assistant, butler, chef, financial planner, HR department, travel agent and in-house psychiatrist… oh ! lest I forget Mary Poppins too!

Unfortunately, in light of complains, we strive to be everything and land up being just a beaten down version of wonder-woman/superman. Yes, we all have super-powers. Please accept that you are superhuman because unlike the movie, real life is not scripted. You are playing your part to the best of your abilities in any given circumstances. Just like the superheroines/superheroes in movies, you are dealing with unimaginable situations using your wits and having faith.

Complains are little invisible stones thrown at you. They scar your soul, leaving a wounded individual. Except that the wounds are not seen by naked eyes.

Now , second form of violence is criticism. Like advice, it is dispensed freely. We criticize everyone as though we are qualified to do so- the rare jack of all and master of all too!

It appears most humans have Honorary Doctorate in criticism from the school of life!

The next time someone criticizes you for not doing your work well, ask them “ do you really think you can do it better? Then go ahead, do it!” Criticism is perfect imagination sans action. It’s someone being king of cloud cuckoo land.

Of course there is constructive criticism, but that’s rare like common sense.

Lastly, we mortals have found a way to self-torture ourselves by just using our mind. This method is called Comparison. It is one of the worst forms of emotional abuse that we all are subjected to. However this one is often self-inflicted in most adults. Even though as parents we keep comparing our children with their peers and increasing pressure on them, we seldom remember how terrible we felt when compared to our classmates and siblings? Comparison lowers self-esteem , but what it also does is crush the spirit and shrink the infinite ability we have to dream and achieve.

We compare our situation with those appearing better-off in anyway, our looks with the apparent modelesque friend, we keep comparing our income, our lifestyle , our success, our appearances, our family, our opportunities!

If only you could swap life with another, you will face a set of bigger challenges. Would you all like to be a successful businessman who was kicked out of his own company, gathered fortitude to succeed, touch lives but died of cancer? Will you be willing to workout like the fit buddy in gym or a farmer who toils at the field everyday? Is there an ideal family with no friction? Is the prada wearing, botox filled, chauffer driven lady as happy as her appearances, or she has a well of tears in her heart and laden with insecurities?

Does any job have a boss who let’s you work on your own terms and never criticizes you? Does any business have customers who won’t complain?

If every comparison was a permanent tattoo on your body, then imagine what you would look like? You would be a big piece of art screaming “I’m not good enough” . Yes, the camouflage paints from the dream that won’t wash off.

Recognize these abuses in daily life. Accept that complains, comparison and criticism exists, in us and around us. Accept them for what they are–a form of violence.

Finally, let go of it, because not all violence is physical, but the non-physical violence leaves deeper wounds.

Do not receive it, do not give it.

 

1st image source : John Hain (www.pixabay.com)

Saree story – Pre and Post GST

This Diwali season, my sister and I enjoyed going through (read as rummaging) our mother’s saree collection; we wore a couple of her sarees for festive evenings.

On last day of Diwali, I wore a Banarasi saree, which is over 35 years old and has been my favourite since childhood. The fragrance of real zari, along with the gleam and occasional dullness (when left unpolished for years, tucked away in dark corners of a box) are all part of the saree stories that live in crevices of memory.

As I took out this favourite red and green Banarasi saree to wear , I was amazed by the weight of this pure zari elegance. I looked at it in awe, as I reminisced my mother wearing it during pujas at home. The floodgates of involuntary memories opened and I remembered how beautiful my grandmother looked in her sarees — mostly crisp cottons for school , since she was a vice-principle. For all other occasions like pujas and weddings, Nani wore silk sarees. My great-grandmother, who I have little recollection of, was also a saree-lady. She was a teacher in pre-independence India in 1930s, a time when less than 3% Indian women were educated.( as per census, the female literacy rate was 1.8% in 1921 and 2.9 % in 1931 )

 

 

My mother also followed in the graceful “saree” footsteps and the glorious “education” footsteps (though she is a business woman ). Even today she wears saree when she steps out for work whether an office visit or factory. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and hence education and saree are both important to me too. Though the credit also goes to my father for always encouraging us to chose elegance and intelligence over everything else.

The one fact that my great-grandmother, Nani, mother, & I also shared until earlier this year was, we didn’t have to pay taxes on our sarees. A beautiful fact that was common for generations of women, tax-free Indian wear. My “Grands” definitely departed an India which was free of “saree-tax”. Perhaps, strong laws cannot stand strong women, and they lived through times when Independence for Country and women empowerment was more important than burdening them with taxes. I wonder if My grandmother and great-grandmother would have agreed to paying taxes (GST) on saree? I doubt they would succumb to such tax regimes.

My saree collection is divided into two eras- pre-GST and post-GST.

For working hard wasn’t good enough, nor was taking the time to keep our ethnic wear spirit alive. We must pay 12% taxes on that too.

Taxes are important for Nation-building and with evolving times, taxes evolve too. However, the rates and range of taxes imposed can surely be reconsidered to offer some relief.

Sampradaa- a wealthy life

Sampradaa is sanskrit word for wealth.
Often the modern interpretation of wealth is limited to material wealth . The long race of trading our time and life to accumulate wealth, and give it away to buy stuff which has shelf life of a banana, the reality remains are we focused on only one kindf riches ?

Wealth is holistic and it encompasses everything that makes a rich life.

In ancient India the Goddess of wealth had many forms like knowledge, courage, victory, progeny, health, food, natural resources, animals to name a few.

In modern times wealth is equated to cash and assets, but what about the asset of a healthy mind and body?

We must aim to bring together the different kinds of wealth given to us -emotional, physical, mental, spiritual, relationships and financial. Would you add other kinds of wealth to it? Like that of patience, family , natural resources of our planet, the wealth of good memories, of positivity and most importantly the wealth of gratitude.
Can we truly enjoy all our abundance in the absence of gratitude?

When we start accepting with gratitude all that is in our life, we will step into a consciousness of next level.

Yes all wealth are important in the right balance to enjoy the precious journey on earth… and thus begins our journey with you.

A house for everyone

Radha was particularly happy today. It was a mild autumn afternoon. The air was fresh with a slight chill that could only be felt on the tip of the nose. The leaves had started to turn shades of orange, sienna and amber. It was the incidental beauty of autumn when each leaf turned into the colours of spring flower. Radha’s children were playing outside, under a tree and the sounds of their laughter and crackling of leaves when crushed under their feet, was music to her ear, along with occasional beating of the hammer. The final repairs on her house were about to finish. Radha had helped her father-in-law and her husband all along the process from planning out the date of repairs, arranging the material and until today. Now they were fixing one last section of the façade of the house – a 6ft x8ft piece, which went on the front wall. Her father-in-law was inspecting it before it went on to finish the house-repairs.
Radha offered her husband water and said “ I’m so grateful the work is over before cold winters set in. I was worried about our children spending time in the house in its former condition.” “it was all possible because of you, esp. the money we saved on repairs due to your careful planning” spoke her husband, as he looked at her face,  the slight wrinkles that smiled with her smile.  The wrinkles that defined the smile in her kajal smudged eyes.
Her husband smiled at her and returned to work.

Radha watched her kids play near the house; they had mud all over them. An antic, which usually upsets Radha, did not bother her today. She was way too happy about what was being accomplished. She had requested her husband and father-in-law over a month ago for weatherproofing the house for the chilly winters.
Radha’s husband interrupted her trail of thoughts as he asked her to help hold the 6ft x 8 ft frame in the centre, while he and his father nailed it on both sides to the rest of the structure. The 6ftx8ft frame was the front wall. The side walls were 6ftx6ft.  The walls were wooden frame with plastic sheets tied and nailed on them. The plastic sheets were sturdy and durable. They were from the sacks used to sell dry cement and sand in, which was used for construction of permanent brick and mortar houses for most city dwellers. Radha got them from the construction site where she worked as a labourer. Usually the construction contractor sold the empty sacks for Rs. 15 each, but Radha got ten of them in exchange of one day’s wage. She thought it was a fabulous deal to get 10 empty sacks from the construction contractor , because if she went to the kabadi wala(junk dealer) he would charge her Rs 18 or Rs 20 per sack. For the rich it was the contents of the sacks that built their massive dwellings, For construction labourers like Radha the empty sacks were as good as cement to build her tiny box house. After all it sheltered her family- their dreams and disappointments.
(wrote it last autumn…. maybe now is the time to share)

Don’t be afraid of Failure, be afraid of quitting.

There are moments of failures in everyone’s life. You should not let that fear stop you. When you started walking , you fell many times.

A baby isn’t afraid of failure.
Also the baby in its most pristine stage of life doesn’t know the concept of quitting nor does it understand failure. Baby only tries to walk and receives positive encouragement for that. Only thru years of human conditioning do we learn the concept to “failure”. Worst still we learn the option of “quitting”

It’s time to unlearn . Failure isn’t full stop to success. Rather it is just a diversion, the route taken didn’t work, we need to change something or just try harder. Quitting has to be forgotten. Quitting is not an option but an end to all dreams,hopes and possibilities.

Bring out the child in you again.
Believe without doubt in your ability to do whatever you decide- just take the first step