Letter to the little one - On emotional excess

Kiara,

I hope you're at least 18 (mentally) when you're reading this so that some of this makes sense to you. 

I have spent a lot of time beating myself up for not being a great mum to you. I wish I could - first of all - be more patient and much less anxious around you. I wish I could play with you more without ruining it in some way, plan fun trips with you and spend endless hours gluing and pasting stuff with you. I wish I could listen patiently and enjoy every long, dramatic story you tell me about an insect bite or be more amused about the fact that you still (you're  going to be 7 this Saturday, sweetheart) haven't tired of hiding (every night!) in one of the three spots you've been hiding in since you were a toddler, and sincerely believe - every time - that I won't find you. 

But see, that's the thing. I cherish these moments in retrospect but find it so hard not to ruin them as they unfold.  This quality of mine - in particular -upsets me, because you deserve at least one fabulous parent and it is my deepest regret that I'm nothing like my own mum - your ammanna - who was and is such an exquisitely delightful creature to be around. 

Still, there is hope. 

While I work on those trying traits of mine, here is something that I can give you. Theories (tried and tested for the most part). Tools that will help you cope. Because, little one, if you're anything like me, you're going to be doing a lot of coping. Not necessarily because your circumstances are that awful, but because you are so emotionally intense and have no idea how to relate to that side of yourself without letting it eat into your sanity and turn you into a depressoid. In other words, you're an artist.

#1 I'll come back to that, but I'm more and more convinced that artists are simply people who are born a certain way - with emotional excess - and have found a way to relate to their pain and channel it - so it doesn't destroy them. This is why I also believe that the guy shooting heroin up his veins is simply a Picasso or Tolkien who did not find his calling. Because that's what addictions do - they fill voids (seemingly) - they are shortcuts leading to counterfeit highs. But the way I see it, if the void exists, so does the answer. You just have to look really, really hard for it. Because when you finally find the answer, you'll find that it not only saves you, it completes you. 

#2 Even after you think you've found your calling or passion or whatever and have a better grip on your emotions, you'll have some really bad days (and sometimes they'll all join hands and ambush you into submission) when the pain is so pervasive, it can be entirely debilitating. I have found that most of the time, sadness comes in waves. Easy ones that you can handle and some huge ones that knock you down every now and then and some that engulf you. Sometimes, it's a tidal wave and this can destroy you for a period of time. And then there are times when it just decides to barge in unannounced and take over your couch for days on end. It remains with you and you have no idea how to make it go away without leaving yourself. I'm here now and I still haven't figured a way out of this. But I'm thinking that it must simply mean that I need more than one art to pursue. Maybe I come with multiple voids. I must just be a better artist (haha, there has to be a payoff somewhere). So I'll try this and I'll let you know how this goes. 

#3 Next, you'll need emotional anchors. Please, darling, not a boy. When the boy goes, the anchor goes with him and you'll be all over the place. Kind of defeats the purpose. Ideally, it should be me - because you know, I'm your mum and I love you even after you said "Justin Bieber is very cool, mamma. You don't know anything!" So you can trust me to love you even while you're making terrible choices right before my eyes (like, becoming vegan or something).

If you have two anchors, you're sorted. Three, and you're just really blessed. Mind you, anchors are not best friends either. You don't have to call them every day or be preoccupied about nurturing the relationship. Your anchor is someone who simply loves you with no agenda of his/her own. And it's a quiet, constant, unconditional love that you'll never have to earn or maintain. Which is why God is the best anchor of all. 

#4 Most importantly, don't. ever. romanticize. the pain. This whole tormented artist stuff? It's true. But let me assure you, it is not even remotely fun. It is an ugly, toxic pain that will destroy you if you don't take all measures to fight it. Constantly, if you have to. I'm telling you this because you may be tempted to believe that all this drama makes you a dark and twisted (and therefore hot) person. It doesn't. You're not going to be feeling anything close to sexy when you're processing this stuff. I say it again, this stuff is real. And it can destroy you. Don't let it. What's hot is fighting it. Not killing yourself at 27. Okay? 

#5 And lastly, I never thought I'd say this, but for your sake (and mine), I hope with all my heart that you're a left-brained weirdo who loves straight lines and Excel sheets. Because I don't - at this point, considering the low I'm dealing with - care if you're going to be accomplished or successful. I just want you to figure out a way to be happy. Not deriving happiness from things or people. But find a way to make happy your default setting. 

#6 And oh, please, don't be an all-or-nothing person. Don't swing from one extreme to the other. Whatever you learn or don't learn, please baby, somehow, learn moderation - learn to love people and life moderately. I'm not saying you should hold back but instead of throwing yourself -  in your entirety - into a relationship or a person, why not walk in and calmly take a seat or something? I'm sure it's possible. A lot of people do it. So learn. Learn moderation. And when you do, teach me. 

I love you and I'm going to figure this shit out before you get here. 

Mumma. 

Eternal Drama of the Mindless Spot

You know how there is always that one personal demon that keeps hounding you no matter how far you run? That ugly, almost sinister part of yourself that keeps saying 'boo' just when you've taken a huge leap or made a dramatic turn and sincerely believed for the nth time, that this time, it's different - you've really got rid of your demon, you've crossed over, you're free? Yeah, in my case, it's not really sinister. It's more like - humiliating or pathetic or some adjective on those lines. In fact, it's so ironic and hilarious (for anyone other than me) that nowadays, I hear my emotionally-depleting situation like a sitcom promo in my head. I kid you not.

About two weeks ago, I was in this really bad place (meaning, I was an emotional wreck) and even as it felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside, I could hear this voice-over in my head going - 

'Tonight! The Judy Project returns with all new episodes. Or Not! Because we may be in Season 16, but Judy is still recycling the same destructive relationship patterns from Season 1. Oh, no, no. Don't be fooled. She still doesn't have a boyfriend <canned laughter> but she has successfully put a man in the centre of her universe all over again, to the point of being affected by his every move <applause> Will Judy grow out of this need for a personal Batman anytime soon? Will she emerge out of her man-drama in 24 hours to speak about self-empowerment on TV?(true story) <more laughter> That's coming up next on The Judy Project!'

YEAH. That wasn't fun. And you know what triggered off the drama? This ONE line from a movie -  'We accept the love we think we deserve' (The Perks of Being a Wallflower). 

I pondered on it long enough (please don't try this at home) for it to mess with my head and make me rehash previously-dealt-with baggage for further analysis and well, you know what happens when you pull out baggage. SO. I decided enough is enough and decided to take life into my own hands and all that. Meaning, I went bawling into the shrink's office. And of course, I gave her a detailed account of the symptoms along with past references and my diagnosis. For the record, she was very impressed but did not think I qualified for one of those happy pills that make you feel all woozy and who-cares-about-the-world-when-there-is-a-bed-and-I-can-sleep. SO. I came up with another way. Because - pay attention - there is always another way. 

I looked up the anatomy of the human brain and corresponding functions (I've forgotten, of course). Because I find that sometimes, the best way to get around emotions is to just make it all about the science. That, and my compulsive Virgo need to get to the bottom of things. So. Not sure how accurate this information is, but going by this chart, the part of the brain that's concerned with emotions is really such a puny one (the yellow portion on the top right image). And still, it manages to cause so much drama because for some reason, this is the only part of the brain that doesn't actually behave like you'd expect the brain to, you know? This is the part often attributed to the heart - the part that blurs your ability to see reason, makes you ponder on all the wrong memories and basically causes you to think and act irrationally - The Mindless Spot, as I call it. And since we can't do what Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey did in that movie, I reckoned, the best way to handle this is by keeping the other parts of the brain extremely occupied. 

So I decided to take this free self-defence class for women (if you're a woman living in Chennai, you totally have to check this out for real! Seriously!) that Cary has been doing for a while now (since that horrific Delhi incident) - because it very clearly, keeps my cerebellum, occipital lobe and even parts of my parietal lobe occupied (see picture). That's almost a half of the brain! I didn't think I'd last more than one class, but it was so freakin' awesome, I've decided to take the regular Brazilian Jiu Jitsu classes that happen the whole week through (I'll be going just twice a week apart from the self-defence thingy on Sunday) but it's such a huge shift from my otherwise sedentary, indoors life - and I can already feel it doing awesome things in me - brain wise. Like, I feel SO wired - as if on a sugar high but so much better - after class, and it's also empowering in a very real way. I mean, you get to slap people around and all that (so cathartic) and it's just generally so woohooish. Now I'm working on my Warrior Princess name. I'm thinking BrockoWitch Mudpie or something. Or Lady Mozzarella. 

So next, temporal lobe - nothing like learning a new language to keep that part busy. I mean, check it out - almost everything mentioned there will in some way be part of learning a foreign language. So I decided it's time to learn Italian like I've always wanted and what better reason? Most people don't get it though. 'Why Italian? Why not French? At least French might be useful if you go to France or Canada.' I mean, that is SO not the point, psycho. What's up with this Indian need to make everything functional? Whatever happened to doing things for the joy and just that! And this one is joy + keeping those darn emotions under control. So, win-win. 

The frontal lobe is kind of tricky. It has the emo parts as well as the rational parts (an eternal mystery) and I don't know how this works and I know I'm definitely wrong, but I can't help but imagine that while I'm trying to trigger the math side of the brain, I might accidentally trip on the emo wires and trigger the Mindless Spot all over again. Brrr. It's all very complicated. So I don't know, maybe I'll just keep it simple - like, Suduko or something. And oh, this part is also in charge of social skills (which have been very dormant for a very long time) so the Italian class and Jiu Jitsu should take care of that as well - new people, small talk and all that. 

SO. You see how wonderfully it all worked out? I haven't even enrolled for the Italian class but I already feel better. And the puny, drama part of the brain is quiet again. For now. 

Attraversiamo! 

Judy is Eating-Praying-Jiu Jitsuing-Italianoing her way through the eternal drama of the Mindless Spot. It seems like a fantastic idea but will it actually work? Could this be the end of man-drama in Judy's life? Well, we sure hope so. That's next week (or next month) on The Judy Project. Stay tuned.

Sophie Says - The Unofficial Synopsis

So. After many frustrating delays and logistical issues, my second novel Sophie says is finally out in stores! Go read it quickly (I think I'm going to explode from the long wait) and send in those review links! I cannot wait to hear what you guys think because this book is written in the same style as my blog and my central character is a complicated wreck with a lot of fashionable issues. 

Here's the re-written synopsis (because I think the one on the cover of the book doesn't give you the complete picture).

Sophia Tilgum has dated all kinds of men in thirty years. Men who’ve stalked and pleaded, men who’ve lied and cheated, men who’ve written songs and wanted to play house after three dates. And equally scary, men who’ve sported hot-pink bow ties and called her Sweet Cheeks.

So after a decade-long attempt at sustaining long-term relationships, Sophie has finally thrown in the towel and has found her calling as The Breakup Coach via her super-popular blog: Sophie Says – in which she makes a case for Single-Singles or people who are wired to remain single (because according to Sophie, commitment phobia is not a real thing) and shares her many theories on breakups.

It’s all going great and Sophie seems well on her way to ridding the world of relationship junkies when:  Enter The Blah-Blah Auntyhood (three aunties who are out to coerce Sophie into finding a ‘respectable’ boyfriend so that her cousin’s arranged marriage may proceed smoothly) and Mrs. Mathrubootham (crazy sixth-floor lady who believes that Sophie likes to flash her legs to unsuspecting uncles and is determined to report her to the landlady). Add to this, an impossible-to-resist fake boyfriend, a very complicated If-Someday Guy and two BFFs with completely different kinds of man trouble – and Sophie’s life is about to turn into one of those hilarious sitcoms which is fun for everyone but the central character.

You can order Sophie Says online by clicking on one of the links below: 

uRead (I just sent them 50 signed copies and they ship worldwide at low shipping costs) 

Amazon 

Flipkart

Crossword

Landmark 

Infibeam 

eBay 

Okay. Read, already! 

In which a man is forced to listen to my crap periodically without complaining

People always express surprise when I tell them that I go for confession – the Catholic variety involving a priest at the other end. I get it – most people can’t digest the thought of baring their most personal thoughts, acts and feelings to an almost complete stranger. And even if they get past that, they don’t see why anyone would want to do it. “But why can’t you tell a friend? Why a priest?” I don’t know – my Catholic reasons aside, I find it hugely therapeutic to spill my crap to a person who isn’t allowed to judge me.

Also, my confessor is a very calm, reflective Jesuit who is never shocked or scandalized by anything I say. And I can tell he isn’t feigning it. It’s a response that comes with experience (I imagine he’s heard much worse confessions). Also, he doesn’t advise. He tells me what he thinks and asks me to consider what he says in prayer and see if it works for me (9 out of 10 things he tells me, work) and then gives me absolution. I happen to love this arrangement.

See, if it’s a girlfriend, it would be so complicated. First, she’d keep interrupting everything I say with a question. Then she’d annoy me by expressing shock and disapproval. This will then be followed by a long talk on self-actualization and taking life into our own hands and all that. I remember one of my friendships fizzled out because of repeated reactions on these lines when I was in a messed up place in life.

But what’s worse is if the friend is in a there-is-no-hope-for-me-I-give-up phase herself. This is when she will actually encourage your aberrant behavior because that’s her way of giving herself permission to do what she wants. And before you know it, you’ll be talking about her crap again.

This is a problem with girlfriends – there is no clear understanding about whose problem is being discussed. Add two more women to this scenario and you can forget all about how this conversation started. They’ll add their problems to the discussion and suddenly, everyone’s problems will BLUR into ONE big, complicated mess. And before you can arrive at a solution, someone will open a tub of ice cream and you’ll forget all about the problem. Till you’re dealing with it again. Rinse, repeat.

Male friends, on the other hand, are a different kind of annoying. Sure, the conversation is likely to be much shorter and to the point, but I won’t be allowed to have a point of view - “Do you want my help or not?”

I’ve noticed that when I go to a guy with my confession, he takes it very seriously (this is because he doesn’t understand the difference between the words ‘confession’ and ‘problem’). It’s the opposite of the girlfriend scenario. And he’ll show the same focus he shows anything else he works on – be it fixing the light bulb or preparing for an earth-shattering meeting. But before you get turned on by the fact that you have his undivided attention, please know that you are – right now – no different than a light bulb to him. He’s FIXING you and since he believes there’s nothing he can’t fix, you’d be really stupid to interrupt him with a sentence that begins with “But I don’t think.”

This will only make him mad – “Okay, you are right, I am wrong, why don’t you just figure this out yourself.”

Because if he – at any point – realizes that you came to him with ANYTHING BUT the intention of following his instructions word for word, he will lose it and accuse you of wasting his time. It’s just how he approaches problems.

So if a discussion and autopsy of your problem is what you want, he’s not your guy. He doesn’t get it – I mean, discussing a problem is a foreign concept to most males.

Needless to say, this arrangement does not work for me. I only go to a man with my problem when I’ve tried everything and I’m tired and now I just want someone to give me a readymade solution.

So now you see why I’m all for running to the confessional - it’s the perfect blend of everything. First, I get a man’s undivided attention as I talk, digress, analyze and whine about my crap (that’s a miracle right there) and throughout this process, he is required – by GOD – to keep my secret, not judge me, talk to me kindly no matter how uncooperative and irritating I am when it comes to taking his suggestions and I get an absolution in the end. What’s not to like? I recommend it!

And if I returned to him three months later with the same set of offences – having made no progress – he would have to listen to me all over again.

And priests think they’re escaping whiny women by opting out of marriage.

Sophie Says

If you guys are on Facebook, you really should come over to my new page - Sophie Says (click the link) - and get up to speed on all the breakup/relationshit fun we're having there. Sophie Says is my upcoming novel on breakups, so I've been busy with all the promos. If you're on Facebook, Sophie and I would love it if you visited the page. And if you like it there, show love - 'like', share, tweet, recommend!

Here's a peek. But there's LOTS more happening at the page so come off. 

Love! 

PS: Sophia Tilgum is also on Facebook. If you're on Facebook, feel free to send her a friend request. But she doesn't yet know she's a fictional character so try not to burst her bubble.

PPS: Sorry about the typo on The Facebook Break poster. And forgive Sophie's Jharkhand spelling. Typical Tamilian.