Ring in the new… and for crying out loud… throw away that flipflop!!

Pune. India. It is Ganapati Visarjan (the last day of the Ganesh festival when clay statues of the deity are immersed in water bodies). I am about nine years old and in the midst of a loud and festive procession.

The skies above have opened, and the festivities continue in the downpour. The streets are flooded, and people dance and hustle forward shoulder to shoulder in the rain.

My skinny self is smooshed by the crowds and once the water reaches near my knees, I am placed on my sister’s fiance’s shoulder. Drums continue to roll, people continue to dance, the music continues to blare, the rain continues to fall, the water continues to swirl at our feet. I am probably pleased to no longer have to struggle through the knee-deep water, and the vantage view from above, is far better, and far drier.  We are probably trying to get home and it is all quite exciting.

Up until one of my flipflops slips and falls into the water. I flail my arms and cry out, but by the time my family realizes or even hears my shrieks and screams, it is too late. The flip flop is nowhere to be seen. It is lost in the flooded rainwater and the sea of humanity.

I am distraught and predictably, more bawling ensues. I hold on tight to the other flipflop. Honestly, I can’t remember if I hold it safely close to my heart, or if it is still on my foot, with my toes clenched tightly around it. Either situation is possible. I continue to cry – of that, I am quite certain.

My mother assesses the situation and my tears. “Throw the other one away,” she shouts.

I cannot believe it. Even today, I feel that same disbelief creep up inside me as I type this.

“Oh, just throw it away. It’s of no use and it’s only going to make you cry more.”

As I type this, I marvel at her courage. As a parent, I wonder if I would have said something similar to my girl, or ahem… would I have carried the other flipflop carefully back home and made a little shrine for it. Trust me, I really don’t want to know the answer to that question.  

In my eyes, I suppose my mother never lacks courage. In my eyes, I always seem to lack courage.

But back to the flipflop. Funny how that random memory pops into my mind as I get ready to wrap up 2021 and embark on 2022. What would I like for 2022?

A small voice inside me answers… to throw away that flipflop…  

Let go of that flipflop… and of all the things that weigh me down, of all the things that serve me no more, of all the things I am holding on to… tightly… for absolutely no reason…

Not sure if this is an exercise in courage or in letting go. Perhaps the two are intertwined.

You know what your list is… beliefs, memories, traumas, old habits, perhaps, even some people… our lists are different, if we dare to make such a list.

Easier said than done. Just ask my nine-year-old bawling self. For grief is assured. Even when you know you are never ever going to wear it again, that holding on to it is pointless… The act of throwing it away, of chucking it in the flooded waters swirling beneath takes courage and facing that grief and sense of loss takes much bawling. Again, ask my nine-year-old bawling self.

Happy New Year everyone!! May we ring in the new and bravely throw away all that we’re holding on tightly… for no reason.

But wait, how does the Ganapati Visarjan flipflop story end?

I take a deep breath and against every fiber in my body, I let go of the flipflop…  

Which means there is hope and that many years later, I can probably do so again…

Happy 2022 everyone! I hope you find the flipflop/s you wish to throw away! And I hope you find the courage and compassion it will take to do so.

Much Love,

~ Ruta