Just don’t take this bullsh**. Ever.

You have been given these challenges – because you can handle them.

Bad things happen to good people.

This lot of difficulties was handed to you because God knows you can tackle them..

If you ever go through a rough patch and get doled out such platitudes, you have my permission to growl back. Growl such a growl that the lions in the Savannahs will welcome you into their tribe.

And glare. Glare such a glare, that every teenager out there, will envy your abilities.

In truth, I have neither glared, nor growled at anyone (so far), but I am learning to brush it off.
For this is total bullsh**. And you have my permission to never take it from anyone.

No one is happy to be handling difficult situations. If they are doing so well, that’s wonderful. Tell them whatever it is that you feel about them, tell them how they, or their handling of the situation make a difference to your lives. DO NOT, let me repeat in caps again, DO NOT tell them they are they are going through it because they can handle it. And DO NOT receive any such BS from anyone either.

For even if the intention is well-meaning, as it normally is, what it seems to endorse, is that it is their rightful share – that they deserve it in some way. And that is simply not true. Ever.

What it seems to endorse, is that things will continue in this manner – always – because there is an element of misfortune attached to them and their lives. And that is simply not true. Ever.

What it seems to endorse, is helplessness, a general overarching belief that the world believes this is their lot and that they’re stuck with it. And that is simply not true. Ever.

If you want to help the person, be their friend, believe in them and for them. Even when they don’t find the strength to believe in themselves. Find a stash of optimism or strength, and gift it to the person.

Please do not validate (no matter how well-intended), their situation or predicament in any way that suggests that they deserve it, or that it is their lot – simply because they can handle it.  

And we can leave the growling to the lions and the glaring to the teenagers.

 

Creating space around travel experiences…

The suitcases are stacked away, travel clothes are put away… I continue to sort things – in my head – about travel in general. I continue to write about it.

Here… let me take you on a travel-planning tour… ahem…inside my head. A germ of an idea settles in. The squiggly thing worms around causing sizable neural sparks. Each time a new possibility hits the neural pathway – be it a possible destination, a historical fact, a monument, a museum, a local delicacy… the lightening along the neural network is dazzling. Or so I imagine it must be. 

Yes. I stare wide-eyed at pictures, hold my breath as I read about places, squint at images – nose sticking into computer, stroke magazine pages with amazement, wonder and optimism.

I believe many of us do so in the planning process. Then of course, is the matter of gathering poise and composure and sharing details nonchalantly with the spouse. Admittedly, in the last decade, my plans have been a lot less adventurous and his apprehension lower, questions fewer. But we can save that for another blogpost.

Let’s blame it on the cynicism of age and dwindling of spirit, but I now wonder if the daydreaming and excitement over an upcoming trip, may be the best part of the travel experience.

For in that moment is the sweet knowledge that this will soon be reality. Yet, in that moment, there is no interference from flight delays and dusty roads, and stomach bugs. In that moment, there is no exhaustion from staring at things – no matter how wonderful they may be.

Is there truly such a thing as too much of a good thing? Can there be actual fatigue from taking in too much art, too much history, too much architecture?
Is this all a case of sour grapes – as I find myself more exhausted when I travel? Or old age? Perhaps.

Why then, when I think of the Louvre in Paris, do I think fondly of the café au lait in a tiny café in the adjoining alley? Did I get weary looking at all the art and wonder in the museum? So much so, that rather than Mona Lisa’s smile, I remember my own - filled with satisfaction, sipping the café au lait?

Why then, when I think of the Sistine Chapel, do I think of a to-die-for gelato and a silly salad comprising only roasted peppers that I got, thanks to bad translation? Despite all the wonder, did I get tired of standing in lines and craning my neck, until a wall of humanity pushed me away from beneath Michelangelo’s fresco?  

Why then, when I think of the Rialto bridge in Venice, do I think of a tiny sandwich shop crammed with people? The owner spoke little or no English. Nor did he have time to try and explain. It smelt wonderful in there and apparently, by the crowds filled in the tiny space, the small sandwiches waiting patiently behind glass cases were pieces of art.  They were.

We will never know for sure what we ate. But we polished off every last crumb in wonder, and laughed as we almost spat out one – evidently, we had not acquired the taste for whatever it was inside the sandwich requiring an acquired taste.  

Clearly, I seem to have no taste for art, history or architecture and can think only of coffee and ice-cream and silly salads, and sandwiches with who-knows-what in them. Sigh… yet the person planning the trip, excitedly jotting down possible destinations - picking, choosing, discarding places is doing so based on art, architecture, history and not gelatos or makhanlal’s lassi in the heart of Jodhpur’s old city in Rajasthan (which by the way, needs its own post).

Does a certain saturation set in our mind and our eyes from too much of a good thing? Of staring at things and reading historical factoids, one after another. And no matter how beautiful, does a certain exhaustion creep in?

Take our recent trip to Rajasthan. We stare in awe at palaces and marble structures, chiseled temples and monuments – so much art, so much history, so much wonder… Why then, do pictures progressively decline as we move from day 1 to day 7? I look for pictures of the City palace in Udaipur – I find only a handful, I find fewer that seemed to be clicked with care. Hmm… dusty, hot, tired and ah… right after that delicious traditional lunch we had in the… okay okay…

Not to reveal apparent gaucherie and gluttony in wake of famous, awe inspiring art and history, but does a been-there-done-that mentality creep in as we join the hordes that explore the palace in Udaipur? The palace can be explored only in one direction -- the hallways are tiny, ceilings are low, crowds are plenty. There is boredom in my daughter’s eyes as we look at opulent remnants of bygone times. We seem to politely click pictures for it is beautiful and we know it, yet, we walk with a quickened pace and there is relief on my kid’s face, once we're outside - in the sunshine, away from the opulence.

A series of doors remarkably aligned that they look like framed mirrors
Now only if I had actually stopped walking and taken a good pictures  ~City Palace, Udaipur 

 

Like any framed artwork which shows better with some blank space around it, do my travel experiences need moments of vacant spaces around them to appreciate them better? Do the café au lait and gelato constitute that empty space?

Perhaps it is in these moments of rest – of gelatos and lassis, and unpronounceable salads and sandwiches, that we catch our breath – away from the spectacular wonder. And perhaps, these moments filled with rest and tired and empty staring, add spots of vacant mental gaps and a certain space around everything the eyes and minds and soul have experienced.

A little empty background that allows the wonder to stick out.

Staring at a giant iron kadhai bubbling with Rajasthani kachoris

Lilt of the flute provides space around the marbled opulence

 

Traditional music in the Mehrangarh fort - a musical respite from the amazing architecture and artifacts 

 

Awakening wonder… travel and other…

Fact well known: We miss something only after it’s gone.

Fact not so well known to me: Sense of wonder can be one such thing

Of the things we take for granted, I never imagined sense of wonder could figure on my list. I never imagined it could be so central to our being. I couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t noticed it as much, never appreciated it.

I never imagined I could miss it so much.

A sense of wonder is a remarkable thing. It’s the sparkle in the eye, the light on the face, a smile, a spark, awakened curiosity… wonder.

It’s the process of discovery, it’s a sense of marvel, it’s heightened curiosity, it’s the quick awareness of beauty in our surroundings.

A child is full of wonder. It’s wonderful to watch a child experience wonder. They are so open to it. They await it. They receive it with abandon, without hesitation; their minds are tiny sponges waiting to soak up anything in their surrounding that sparks their imagination.  

As we age, we are increasingly preoccupied by life and worries and responsibilities and everything we deem more important, more valuable, more worthy of our time. Does that leave less room for wonder?

Or are we less willing to make room for wonder? For wonder is big, and at times silly, or uncomfortable or even incongruous in our present.

There are many things that awaken wonder and each of us would have a different list if we ever decided to make that list. Wonder can exist in small unexpected things - if and when we choose to notice them. Wonder can exist prominently – in a no-denying-it manner. At times, quick, fleeting, and unexpected. Other times, we are well aware of what stirs wonder in us. 

Of the things I know for certain awakens wonder in me, is travel. It inspires awe, awakens wonder. It stirs gratitude, arouses and satisfies curiosity. In travel, we make the space and time to experience wonder, stay awake to it – in small, silly experiences, and big, breathtaking moments.

Yet, when life gets hard, energy declines, and spirit dwindles, it seems difficult to allow wonder in. It seems misplaced and incongruous in the current scheme of things. Even when I see it, there is a sense of detachment, it seems a misfit in the environment. I look at it as a stranger I can no longer relate to.  

Some months ago – five, to be almost precise, my husband and I waited at an ultrasound appointment. Having spent six weeks in the hospital and undergone back-to-back surgeries, I was wobbly and sufficiently medicated.

I flipped pages of a Good Housekeeping (or some such) magazine. My husband saw a travel magazine nearby, and handed it to me. I studied the enticing, adventure and wonder-filled locations on the cover.

It seemed too much to even dare to hold it. I knew it would awaken wonder inside me. Yet, there seemed no room for wonder in that moment. It seemed incongruous in that situation filled with so much pain, worry and apprehension. I could not relate to it. I could not give in to the sense of wonder – perhaps in the fear that it would make my pain seem sharper? Or make me weaker? Or sadder?  

It seemed unfair that wonder should have to share a space with pain and fear. Perhaps I felt I didn’t deserve it in that situation, that it could create a havoc of dissatisfaction.

I refused the magazine, and continued to disinterestedly flip page after page of recipes I would never cook and organizing tips I would never follow.

Even if I was not in a place – physically or emotionally to allow wonder in, I understood there was a strangeness to my actions, to my thoughts.

The following month, I made travel plans. The thought of family and friends was nurturing, despite the long travel and the immense fatigue and apprehension I felt.

The silly magazine incident stuck with me. I felt as if I had to do something about it. We made plans to travel within India. The plans were more conservative than they otherwise might have been, but did include a camel safari, a stay in the dessert and other travel and exploration.

The thought of travel, awakened wonder. Alongside, it awakened panic and a certain realization of possible insanity that I had so far held in denial.

The magazine episode reminded me that I was closing up, that the walls of guardedness were so high, little wonder could leap past (okay, let’s ditch the metaphors, but you get the idea).

There was much wonder in our travels. There was also much fatigue and at times questioning of intention and ahem… sanity.  

I felt as if I needed to be removed from my surroundings filled with worry and medical issues, and routine and responsibility. And thrown in a place and situation where I would willingly or unwillingly allow myself to take in at least some ounces of wonder.

I took in plenty.

I understand it is easy to slip back to a place of wonder deprivation. To focus on the problems and fatigue, that wonder seems an object far away that we can no longer relate to. I also understand there is no need to be in exotic, adventure filled situations to awaken wonder.

How do we stay open to wonder? How do we notice it? How do we allow it be, to breathe, despite the surrounding ugliness?

 

Art: beneath it… within the artist…

I stare at magnificent carvings in magnificent temples. I stare at magnificent structures – palaces and forts, from centuries ago.  The temples, the forts, the palaces, the paintings, the art… they have all witnessed greatness and devastation, glory and war and plunder.

They have stood through time. History unfolding, art undying. Beauty and magnificence everlasting.

Every pillar, every mural, every wall, every corner has witnessed history. Some art has withered away in the ravages of time and the rage of war. But even in ruin, the art seems whole. 

Jaisalmer - temple carvings

 

Mughal Paintings: paints made from ground up semi-precious stone

 

Carvings in sandstone

 

Jodhpur: the blue city

One head, multiple bodies

 

From a generation constantly rushed and overwhelmed, I wonder about these artisans. I imagine them – hundreds of them slowly, devotionally, chiseling, painting… meditatively creating art.

I look at the five foot single stone carving. I imagine artisans molding it as if it were clay. The stone is cold and unforgiving, no do-overs here. If it breaks, it is gone. They would start all over. Yet this cold, unforgiving stone is rendered soft and supple by their art.

They must have lives and worries and preadolescent kids too, I imagine. Yet, staring at the block of stone, or their medium of choice, they forget everything, and give in only to the art?

I don’t imagine them staring at their computer screen, deciding that the entire story plot is too predictable, sighing and then deciding to go get a cookie. I don’t imagine them questioning their art or their skill, or getting so distracted on their way back from the pantry – they never return to the computer.

Yes. All art (even amateurish) requires some slowing down, some letting go. The more exquisite the art, the more devotion it must require. The more true the artiste, the more willing they must be to relinquish the ugliness within, the distractions, the pain, the mundane, and be able to see the bigger vision, to draw out the beauty.

True, angst is sometimes the source of art too. But even if the subject matter is filled with pain, an artiste would have to forget all else, and bring it out with truth and inner peace or pain and beauty. Yes. Art must result from the paradox of concentration and letting go.

How much beauty must an artiste create within? How much beauty from within must an artist release? How do we know if there is even enough beauty within us to create art?
 

carved ceilings

King's quarters inside Mehrangarh fort

royal cenotaphs