Frederick E. Perl once said "I do my thing, and you do your thing. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it's beautiful."
I once narrated this to a friend of mine and received a lecture on 'this is not a perfect world and we don't live with perfect people, that expectations are a way of being, and that you can't help expecting things from people'.
Keeping that in mind, I set out to see if there are any real expectations, necessary ones that cannot be questioned. My friend Shilpa had sent me a link on Jean Leidloff's book Continuum Concept. And I found my answer there. "Expectation... is founded as deeply in man as his very design. His lungs not only have, but can be said to be, an expectation of air, his eyes are an expectation of light..."
Beautifully said, and I wholeheartedly agree. These are vital expectations. Without which the body cannot function. Everything else, if we're really honest to ourselves, we can live without. We only kid ourselves in thinking we'd die if that expectation is not met.
Expectation is a dictator. And it makes you run your life with an iron hand. 'I wanted', 'I thought', 'why didn't you', 'how could you' etc. These are the ones that get expressed. But there are those, that do far more harm, that never get spoken of. They dwell in our mind – the shhh...Silent expectations. Ideas of right and wrong that get built up over the years and you don't even realise that it's there, infesting your thoughts.
Was chatting with a friend on why he kept turning down all the marriage proposals that came to him. He said that none of them were his type. Expectations. He had a pre-set frame of reference, and whoever the girl it was that he would marry had to fit into it. The reason why no one ever did. No one ever could. It was too strict and definite an expectation, not allowing him to see what the girl had, but what she should have. So it was about looking for what's missing instead of what's there. And that's just the tip of the expectation iceberg. Say he finds 'the girl', he would have then have silent expectations from his marriage, and if it turned out different from the frame in his head, it would lead to disappointment.
Expectation arises from two things. Firstly from the past, that is to say, 'something happened then, and now it shouldn't, or should'. Like you best friend let you down, and now you expect an insane amount of commitment from every friend you make. Or you stop being friends with them. Secondly, from the future, from already having lived your life in your head, that 'this is the way things ought to be'. Like you make a new friend, imagine your life, happy forever, doing everything together, a friend who'd die for you, and then the next day, you ask him out for a movie, and he says he's busy and you feel extremely cheated and hurt.
For the fortunate beings who live in the present, in the now, there are no expectations, except the vital ones that keep them alive and going, and are immediate to the task at hand. And those are indeed the greatest ones.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Friday, November 07, 2008
Everyday Musings > You got message.
I'm addicted. To my mobile phone. I'm possessive about it. And don't let it out of my sight, or hand, for more than a few seconds. I message, hate calling (it heats up my ears) and have withdrawal symptoms even if I'm away for five minutes. Have I missed a call, do I have an unread sms? Gosh.
Francisca Lopez Torrecillas, a lecturer at the department of personality and psychological assessment and treatment of the University of Granada, surveyed several 18 to 25-year-olds. Torrecillas says mobile addicts 'can become totally upset when deprived of their mobile phones for some time, regardless of the reason. Switching off their phones causes them anxiety, irritability; sleep disorders or sleeplessness, and even shivering and digestive problems.' Sweden's Sahlgren Academy also found that adolescents who made more than 15 phone calls and sent more than 15 text messages in a day not only slept poorly, but when compared to kids who made did the same less than five times a day, they were also leading more careless lifestyles, including spending more time on their computers, drinking more alcohol and caffeinated drinks.
Woah. I haven't thankfully got to that, though I'm sure I'm pretty close. All of us would be able to point out to the mobile phone 'addict' among us. But can we recognise the symptoms when it happens to us. Here's a short checklist. See how many you tick off.
- You can't get through dinner at a restaurant without sending text messages or pounding out a note on the Blackberry.
- You compulsively check for voice mail or new text messages and are irritated when you don't receive any.
- If your mobile phone stays silent for some time, you get worried and check to make sure you haven't set it wrong.
- You often mistake the ringing of other people's phones as that of your own and tend to be bad-tempered.
- There's a need to continually buy the 'lastest model' with advanced features
- You feel anxiety when you're away from the phone.
If most of this sounds like you, then you are well and truly addicted. Might explain why people who 'forgot' to check their messages over the weekend, or switch off their mobile post 8 pm irritate you so much.
Many years ago, British Telecom launched a campaign to encourage users to switch off their phones more. The Switch It campaign promoted the "sensible, considerate and responsible use of mobile phones". Would we be able to do something like that? Just switch off our phones and relax.
Most of my friends are like me, always on the phone. If we're meeting up for a coffee, the cell phones occupy prime place on the table instead of being shoved into the bag, if we're out shopping, its sunglasses, shopping bags, wallets and a phone in our hands. Even in a movie hall, most of us message to update friends on what a bad or what a rocking film it is.
Perhaps it's something to do with always wanting to stay in touch. Switching off is then like cutting off blood supply and only the really brave attempt it. But unlike the life support system, turning this one off might actually bring you back to life.
Francisca Lopez Torrecillas, a lecturer at the department of personality and psychological assessment and treatment of the University of Granada, surveyed several 18 to 25-year-olds. Torrecillas says mobile addicts 'can become totally upset when deprived of their mobile phones for some time, regardless of the reason. Switching off their phones causes them anxiety, irritability; sleep disorders or sleeplessness, and even shivering and digestive problems.' Sweden's Sahlgren Academy also found that adolescents who made more than 15 phone calls and sent more than 15 text messages in a day not only slept poorly, but when compared to kids who made did the same less than five times a day, they were also leading more careless lifestyles, including spending more time on their computers, drinking more alcohol and caffeinated drinks.
Woah. I haven't thankfully got to that, though I'm sure I'm pretty close. All of us would be able to point out to the mobile phone 'addict' among us. But can we recognise the symptoms when it happens to us. Here's a short checklist. See how many you tick off.
- You can't get through dinner at a restaurant without sending text messages or pounding out a note on the Blackberry.
- You compulsively check for voice mail or new text messages and are irritated when you don't receive any.
- If your mobile phone stays silent for some time, you get worried and check to make sure you haven't set it wrong.
- You often mistake the ringing of other people's phones as that of your own and tend to be bad-tempered.
- There's a need to continually buy the 'lastest model' with advanced features
- You feel anxiety when you're away from the phone.
If most of this sounds like you, then you are well and truly addicted. Might explain why people who 'forgot' to check their messages over the weekend, or switch off their mobile post 8 pm irritate you so much.
Many years ago, British Telecom launched a campaign to encourage users to switch off their phones more. The Switch It campaign promoted the "sensible, considerate and responsible use of mobile phones". Would we be able to do something like that? Just switch off our phones and relax.
Most of my friends are like me, always on the phone. If we're meeting up for a coffee, the cell phones occupy prime place on the table instead of being shoved into the bag, if we're out shopping, its sunglasses, shopping bags, wallets and a phone in our hands. Even in a movie hall, most of us message to update friends on what a bad or what a rocking film it is.
Perhaps it's something to do with always wanting to stay in touch. Switching off is then like cutting off blood supply and only the really brave attempt it. But unlike the life support system, turning this one off might actually bring you back to life.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Everyday Musings > Would've, Should've, Could've
I scrawled this Harriet Beecher quote in the margins of my diary when in school - "The bitterest tear shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."
As I grew up, I realised what it meant, only I didn't have to wait till someone died to understand it. I believe, 'graves' here is a metaphor for anything that dies; friendship, love, relationship, trust. All for the want of a few words.
Why do we wait for an appropriate time to let someone know how we feel about them? Right now is as appropriate a time as anytime else. So why not now? What stops us? What makes us justify it all with 'why make it so 'said' – too emotional and mushy' or the time tested 'words are overrated' or the clear winner 'If they love me, they should know how I feel, I don't have to put it in words'.
They say actions speak louder than words, but unless you don't say it, no one will know what you did. Some live their lives wondering what would have happened if they'd confessed their love to someone they had a crush on in school or college. Like with my friend M, who loved this girl in college, and would take the whole gang out for a movie or to a restaurant just because he wanted to take her out, and would hope that she'd understand how much he loved her just because of his actions. What he could have done instead is just tell her how he felt. The whole life after that seems to be interrupted with the three witches of regret - 'would've, should've, could've.
If you don't tell people, they might guess, but they'll never know for sure. Many parents never end up telling their kids how much they love them and the kids grow up thinking their parents are too severe or don't love them or are just not the emotional kind. Many bosses don't tell their empployees when they're proud of them and the employee feels neglected and unappreciated. Husbands don't tell wives and wives don't tell their husbands. We hold back so much in our heads and for the rest of our lives play private videos of melodramatic what ifs.
While in college, I used to write a lot of little notes, and leave them around for friends. No reason. Just. Sometimes, even now, I sms friends with a 'hugg' or a 'mwah' or randomly tell them how special they are and how blessed I am to have them.
But there are people I wish I had said things to. My grandma who was the sweetest lady and the oldest Mtv fan I knew. My friend Vin who went away one day and I haven't seen him since. My friend Pur who I wish I could clear up so much with. My kitten who walked out of the door and lost her way. My kindergarten teacher Jeanne, I wonder where she is now.
Churchill said, 'We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out'. But I feel the unsaid is a killer too. To be dramatic, it's like a giant python around our neck - you don't realise when it creeps up and crawls around us, then weighs us down, and slowly chokes our thoughts.
So the next time you plan to leave something unsaid, think of what's creeping up your shoulder.
As I grew up, I realised what it meant, only I didn't have to wait till someone died to understand it. I believe, 'graves' here is a metaphor for anything that dies; friendship, love, relationship, trust. All for the want of a few words.
Why do we wait for an appropriate time to let someone know how we feel about them? Right now is as appropriate a time as anytime else. So why not now? What stops us? What makes us justify it all with 'why make it so 'said' – too emotional and mushy' or the time tested 'words are overrated' or the clear winner 'If they love me, they should know how I feel, I don't have to put it in words'.
They say actions speak louder than words, but unless you don't say it, no one will know what you did. Some live their lives wondering what would have happened if they'd confessed their love to someone they had a crush on in school or college. Like with my friend M, who loved this girl in college, and would take the whole gang out for a movie or to a restaurant just because he wanted to take her out, and would hope that she'd understand how much he loved her just because of his actions. What he could have done instead is just tell her how he felt. The whole life after that seems to be interrupted with the three witches of regret - 'would've, should've, could've.
If you don't tell people, they might guess, but they'll never know for sure. Many parents never end up telling their kids how much they love them and the kids grow up thinking their parents are too severe or don't love them or are just not the emotional kind. Many bosses don't tell their empployees when they're proud of them and the employee feels neglected and unappreciated. Husbands don't tell wives and wives don't tell their husbands. We hold back so much in our heads and for the rest of our lives play private videos of melodramatic what ifs.
While in college, I used to write a lot of little notes, and leave them around for friends. No reason. Just. Sometimes, even now, I sms friends with a 'hugg' or a 'mwah' or randomly tell them how special they are and how blessed I am to have them.
But there are people I wish I had said things to. My grandma who was the sweetest lady and the oldest Mtv fan I knew. My friend Vin who went away one day and I haven't seen him since. My friend Pur who I wish I could clear up so much with. My kitten who walked out of the door and lost her way. My kindergarten teacher Jeanne, I wonder where she is now.
Churchill said, 'We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out'. But I feel the unsaid is a killer too. To be dramatic, it's like a giant python around our neck - you don't realise when it creeps up and crawls around us, then weighs us down, and slowly chokes our thoughts.
So the next time you plan to leave something unsaid, think of what's creeping up your shoulder.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Everyday Musings > Yes we can
Many of us at work were glued to the television sets to hear Barack Obama's speech as the new President of America. As glued as we were when enraged politicians waved wads of currency in the Indian Parliament before the trust vote was to be declared. As glued as we were in the Beijing Olympics opening and closing ceremony. As glued as in the finals of the Cricket World Cup.
We're all suckers for the finale, for the Ceremony.
Obama's speech today was a bit too pat and quite uninspired. But he did make some interesting points. Especially this - "This victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change."
Somehow, in all the ceremony of the beginning well and ending grand, we seem to miss out on all that happens in between. The elections are celebrated. But the tenure is not. There is much fanfare when the Manifesto is declared but none when what is said is adhered to or not.
The matter doesn't seem to matter; only the embellished skin does. Everything turns into a symbol for something else. And the true purpose turns to smoke in all the fireworks.
Obama becoming President makes me wonder who the American people really elected – a symbol or the man. If it was a symbol, then the victory and the purpose is done and over with. America has its first African American President, as McCain very cleverly repeated again and again. 'You wanted a symbol,' he seemed to say.' You have it.' But what after this, what about the man who will live on as President every day and take decisions that have nothing to do with his race or colour of his skin. Where the symbolism will mean nothing. What then? Or will America wake up again, at the end of the tenure and then watch Hillary fight it out perhaps for another symbolic win – America's first Woman President.
They're all tags. And we're suckers for tags.
The world is increasingly finding refuge in these tags. Wearing pink or red ribbons to support Breast Cancer or Aids doesn't mean anything. It is a symbol that ends its purpose the moment someone wears it. And then what? Watching 'An Inconvenient Truth' and promoting it is seen as having done enough for the cause of Global Warming. There is no action required to be taken, no responsibility for changing status quo.
This 'I endorse' culture is a lazy world's social aphrodisiac. Can we break out of it and realise that endorsement is not the same as action. That to take a stand, one must stand and face and take charge. Be in the centre of action, rather than in our living rooms, smsing our vote or forwarding chain mails and signature campaigns or wearing a hip Live Strong band. Can we break out of our social cocoon and actually create change, each one of us. Can we? 'Yes you can' says Obama.
We're all suckers for the finale, for the Ceremony.
Obama's speech today was a bit too pat and quite uninspired. But he did make some interesting points. Especially this - "This victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change."
Somehow, in all the ceremony of the beginning well and ending grand, we seem to miss out on all that happens in between. The elections are celebrated. But the tenure is not. There is much fanfare when the Manifesto is declared but none when what is said is adhered to or not.
The matter doesn't seem to matter; only the embellished skin does. Everything turns into a symbol for something else. And the true purpose turns to smoke in all the fireworks.
Obama becoming President makes me wonder who the American people really elected – a symbol or the man. If it was a symbol, then the victory and the purpose is done and over with. America has its first African American President, as McCain very cleverly repeated again and again. 'You wanted a symbol,' he seemed to say.' You have it.' But what after this, what about the man who will live on as President every day and take decisions that have nothing to do with his race or colour of his skin. Where the symbolism will mean nothing. What then? Or will America wake up again, at the end of the tenure and then watch Hillary fight it out perhaps for another symbolic win – America's first Woman President.
They're all tags. And we're suckers for tags.
The world is increasingly finding refuge in these tags. Wearing pink or red ribbons to support Breast Cancer or Aids doesn't mean anything. It is a symbol that ends its purpose the moment someone wears it. And then what? Watching 'An Inconvenient Truth' and promoting it is seen as having done enough for the cause of Global Warming. There is no action required to be taken, no responsibility for changing status quo.
This 'I endorse' culture is a lazy world's social aphrodisiac. Can we break out of it and realise that endorsement is not the same as action. That to take a stand, one must stand and face and take charge. Be in the centre of action, rather than in our living rooms, smsing our vote or forwarding chain mails and signature campaigns or wearing a hip Live Strong band. Can we break out of our social cocoon and actually create change, each one of us. Can we? 'Yes you can' says Obama.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Everyday Musings > Friends
Dee just mailed me the 2008 girl friend survey. It had a list of questions – what are my fears, whether I like summer or winter, what did I want to be when I was little, what's my shoe size, whether there's a new and exciting thing in my life that I'd like to share. A footnote said that I would learn a lot of little things about my friends that I might not have known.
Are there things I don't know about my friends? In college, in school, while growing up, I knew everything. Their favourite colour, their favourite ice cream, their favourite actor etc. But now, when I have to get them a birthday gift, I stick to a bottle of wine or a cake. Just making it to the party is a task itself. Being in the same town, or sometimes in the same office, I hardly meet up with my buddies.
Seinfeld, Friends, Sex and the City; they're all about friends who manage time for fun and a long lunch on workdays, every episode. I don't know how they do it. It's been six months back in Mumbai and there are a dozen friends I haven't even called because I don't have the time to go meet them. But even if we do meet, it's rare that we discuss the kind of things Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, Miranda do. Or the kind of togetherness that Ross, Joey, Chandler, Phoebe and Rachel share. And all of us love re-runs of their lives.
Being grown up, becoming responsible, making a living, all this doesn't seem conducive to friendship. Is it distance, sudden maturity, or the realization that friendships actually need effort? That they require you to be there, to care, and share. Conversations now run into
'Hey wassup?'
'Heyyyy wassup?'
'How's work?'
'Oh sucks man, I need a break.'
'How's work?'
'Same old, same old'
'So what's up?'
'So what's up?'
And then someone gets a drink and switches on the TV to watch F1 or the match or soccer or a film and that's it. Or there's the good friends, the 'Gang', that'll meet up again and again at the same place, same faces, same stories, like a CD I know by heart. I know who'll say what and who'll reply with what punchline and who'll laugh and who'll sit quietly and smirk. It's like a rerun of Groundhog Day. No one new seems to add into the 'Gang' unless by marriage. And then it gets all strained for some reason, and the married friends start making alternative movie plans and the circle gets limited to the singles who complain that they can't seem to make new friends anymore. 'Too old to make new friends yaar. The ones I have, that's it. Bas'.
So where do these sitcom writers find inspiration for characters like Carrie, Samatha, Charlotte and Miranda? Do they live in their imaginations, or do these friendships actually exist? And then I hear immense laughter and look up. The Three Girls. Of course. The Three Girls and I share a cubicle wall. High enough so I can just see the top of their heads. But I can hear. Everything. Not that they ever speak in hushed tones. Sex, friendships, fashion, cute guys, a new dress, marriage, boyfriends, nothing is taboo here. And everything must be talked over. I walk by and see identical mugs on their workstations, see them watch Sex and the City together, lunch together, go to the washroom together, even leave work together.
The boys around me shake their heads and roll their eyes. But I love the Three Girls, find them utterly entertaining and very sweet. Their openness and madness is something I've only seen in a sitcom. And I'm glad I can tune into this reality 'Friends' episode, everyday. Wish my friends could too.
Are there things I don't know about my friends? In college, in school, while growing up, I knew everything. Their favourite colour, their favourite ice cream, their favourite actor etc. But now, when I have to get them a birthday gift, I stick to a bottle of wine or a cake. Just making it to the party is a task itself. Being in the same town, or sometimes in the same office, I hardly meet up with my buddies.
Seinfeld, Friends, Sex and the City; they're all about friends who manage time for fun and a long lunch on workdays, every episode. I don't know how they do it. It's been six months back in Mumbai and there are a dozen friends I haven't even called because I don't have the time to go meet them. But even if we do meet, it's rare that we discuss the kind of things Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, Miranda do. Or the kind of togetherness that Ross, Joey, Chandler, Phoebe and Rachel share. And all of us love re-runs of their lives.
Being grown up, becoming responsible, making a living, all this doesn't seem conducive to friendship. Is it distance, sudden maturity, or the realization that friendships actually need effort? That they require you to be there, to care, and share. Conversations now run into
'Hey wassup?'
'Heyyyy wassup?'
'How's work?'
'Oh sucks man, I need a break.'
'How's work?'
'Same old, same old'
'So what's up?'
'So what's up?'
And then someone gets a drink and switches on the TV to watch F1 or the match or soccer or a film and that's it. Or there's the good friends, the 'Gang', that'll meet up again and again at the same place, same faces, same stories, like a CD I know by heart. I know who'll say what and who'll reply with what punchline and who'll laugh and who'll sit quietly and smirk. It's like a rerun of Groundhog Day. No one new seems to add into the 'Gang' unless by marriage. And then it gets all strained for some reason, and the married friends start making alternative movie plans and the circle gets limited to the singles who complain that they can't seem to make new friends anymore. 'Too old to make new friends yaar. The ones I have, that's it. Bas'.
So where do these sitcom writers find inspiration for characters like Carrie, Samatha, Charlotte and Miranda? Do they live in their imaginations, or do these friendships actually exist? And then I hear immense laughter and look up. The Three Girls. Of course. The Three Girls and I share a cubicle wall. High enough so I can just see the top of their heads. But I can hear. Everything. Not that they ever speak in hushed tones. Sex, friendships, fashion, cute guys, a new dress, marriage, boyfriends, nothing is taboo here. And everything must be talked over. I walk by and see identical mugs on their workstations, see them watch Sex and the City together, lunch together, go to the washroom together, even leave work together.
The boys around me shake their heads and roll their eyes. But I love the Three Girls, find them utterly entertaining and very sweet. Their openness and madness is something I've only seen in a sitcom. And I'm glad I can tune into this reality 'Friends' episode, everyday. Wish my friends could too.
Monday, November 03, 2008
Everyday Musings > Goodbye
Read a cartoon strip in which Snoopy said 'Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? … I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.'
Mother left for Bangalore last evening. At the airport, I hugged her tight and watched her become a speck among strolleys and hand baggage and smiled when she messaged, 'Boarded. Nice kind gentle person sitting in the seat next to me'.I woke today and it was a quiet house without her rushing about making juice, boiling eggs, piling my multi-grain toast with peanut butter and talking to the sparrows perched on my plants. Quiet, but not sad.
Goodbye means 'God Be With You'. When did we start relating it to being something so sad and avoidable? Having moved much, Andhra, Delhi, Mumbai, Calcutta, Bangalore, Mumbai, I have said a lot of Goodbyes. Written a lot of notes. Shared a lot of hugs but shed very few tears for I never felt like I would never see them again. It always seemed like I was going to make new friends, and the old would be there as well.
A friend of mine hates dropping people off at railway stations and airports; says it's too painful. I love going though, and watching. Especially departures at railway stations. You see last minute rushes of advice from parents, 'be good', 'study well', 'eat well', 'call us when you reach'; acts of love for a spouse or friend where a bottle of water is squeezed in through the window, words said to the fellow passengers 'he/she's traveling alone', food wrapped and handed over, bags secured with chains and the few steps walked with the train as it departs.
Goodbyes perhaps make us aware of the fact that everyone's going to leave sooner or later, and that being alone is a reality. Osho, though, always reveled in it. Even when he died, he instructed it to be celebrated happily, cherishing his memory rather than shedding tears on the fact that he left. He says, 'if you see that the moment has come to depart … you say good-bye with great gratitude for all that the other has been to you, for all the joys and all the pleasures and all the beautiful moments that you have shared with the other.'
I got to work today and realized I'd missed a goodbye. To Jammie, my cheerful cubicle mate, as fond of food and black tea and music as I was. Maybe more. Every day, for the past six months, I would walk in, say 'Good Morning Jammie', and he would play songs. He had treasures in his 2nd drawer – first flush Darjeeling tea in triangular gauze, McVities, fat free khakra, sugar cubes, and a kettle. At 11 or sometimes at 4, he'd turn around and say 'Kavity, tea?' I'd say yes and he'd heat water in the kettle, I'd place tea bags in our mugs, and we'd watch the color rise in satisfaction that it would be just perfect. He's gone now. To Dubai. I'll miss our tea ceremony, his endless music and the generous helpings of laughs and conversations. But I know I'll remember him with joy.
He left a goodbye note for me, short, sweet and unlike any goodbye note I've ever received. It was joyful. 'Dear Kavity, 2nd drawer and kettle all yours!'
Mother left for Bangalore last evening. At the airport, I hugged her tight and watched her become a speck among strolleys and hand baggage and smiled when she messaged, 'Boarded. Nice kind gentle person sitting in the seat next to me'.I woke today and it was a quiet house without her rushing about making juice, boiling eggs, piling my multi-grain toast with peanut butter and talking to the sparrows perched on my plants. Quiet, but not sad.
Goodbye means 'God Be With You'. When did we start relating it to being something so sad and avoidable? Having moved much, Andhra, Delhi, Mumbai, Calcutta, Bangalore, Mumbai, I have said a lot of Goodbyes. Written a lot of notes. Shared a lot of hugs but shed very few tears for I never felt like I would never see them again. It always seemed like I was going to make new friends, and the old would be there as well.
A friend of mine hates dropping people off at railway stations and airports; says it's too painful. I love going though, and watching. Especially departures at railway stations. You see last minute rushes of advice from parents, 'be good', 'study well', 'eat well', 'call us when you reach'; acts of love for a spouse or friend where a bottle of water is squeezed in through the window, words said to the fellow passengers 'he/she's traveling alone', food wrapped and handed over, bags secured with chains and the few steps walked with the train as it departs.
Goodbyes perhaps make us aware of the fact that everyone's going to leave sooner or later, and that being alone is a reality. Osho, though, always reveled in it. Even when he died, he instructed it to be celebrated happily, cherishing his memory rather than shedding tears on the fact that he left. He says, 'if you see that the moment has come to depart … you say good-bye with great gratitude for all that the other has been to you, for all the joys and all the pleasures and all the beautiful moments that you have shared with the other.'
I got to work today and realized I'd missed a goodbye. To Jammie, my cheerful cubicle mate, as fond of food and black tea and music as I was. Maybe more. Every day, for the past six months, I would walk in, say 'Good Morning Jammie', and he would play songs. He had treasures in his 2nd drawer – first flush Darjeeling tea in triangular gauze, McVities, fat free khakra, sugar cubes, and a kettle. At 11 or sometimes at 4, he'd turn around and say 'Kavity, tea?' I'd say yes and he'd heat water in the kettle, I'd place tea bags in our mugs, and we'd watch the color rise in satisfaction that it would be just perfect. He's gone now. To Dubai. I'll miss our tea ceremony, his endless music and the generous helpings of laughs and conversations. But I know I'll remember him with joy.
He left a goodbye note for me, short, sweet and unlike any goodbye note I've ever received. It was joyful. 'Dear Kavity, 2nd drawer and kettle all yours!'
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