Have been working nights. Continuously. There is a certain tiredness. Of the mind, body and soul. Part of the package deal I guess. The good and the bad. The beautiful and the ugly.
Appu has wished me Mother’s Day in the most innovative manner. As I went to brush my teeth in the morning, there were these lovely colored alphabets strung together in a wave over the mirror wishing me ‘Happy Mother’s Day’. And there was this little cartoon with her and me on the left side of the mirror. It felt beautiful. This is true wealth. Real abundance. To be loved and respected by your child. Thanks bebzer. You made my day.
There is work. Which is huge. I mean we are not begging. We are not even marketing our sevices anymore. Yet we can safely assume that we are employed, at least for some time now (!!). Wow. I mean we are employed employed. Not unemployed employed. You know what I mean.
We are still looking. For good team players. Difficult to find winners.
We are OK. Better than before. Barring the bills to be paid, a court case, interviews, looking for a new office space( as our lease is running out), the rest is OK. My father visited me recently (of course behind my mothers’ back). He suggested that I should get less angry. That I should practice acceptance. Valid point. He has forgotten the umpteen times that he got violent with me, my sister and mother. And his emotional absence in our lives. He was always there but never really there. These are the paradoxes with which me and my sister have grown up. And so it not news that my sister was beaten up by her husband a few days ago. Not just a slap. Violence which continued for an hour or more. And the roots are in our violent and abusive childhoods. How could we ever become confident or successful or happy as adults? But which court can punish this kind of crime? This emotional crime is the genesis of all kinds of other crimes, the mother of all crimes so to say. But there is no acknowledgement of them. Family hai. sacrosanct hai. No one wants to talk about it. kids get molested. Girls get raped within the family. Chup raho. Don’t talk about it. Push it under the carpet. Appear like a good family. But somewhere, some generation has to bear the consequences, the high cost of being silent, of the unspoken, of the abuse.
I ma grateful to the Higher Power for our life today. Me and Appu. We have a roof. We have food to eat and clotes to wear. We have work to do which is challenging and that we are proud of doing. More importantly, there is no viloence, emotional or physical. What more can we ask for.
Thank you God.
Schedule, Planning, Numbers, Events, rate of hits, rate of success, money made and lost. All boils down to one word, one event. ‘Survival’. Of the fittest maybe. The rest is a story. To cover the brutality of all that is ‘real’. Just to make it ‘surreal’.
