Prior to working on this article, my mind too was filled with stereotypical images of senior citizens. I slotted them into pre-conceived roles. It took talking to a handful of them to make me realise how varied their histories and experiences were, and yet how alike.

Growing old together

Mr. and Mrs. Sharma

Mr. and Mrs. Sharma with their same peppered hair and smile are my wonderful neighbours. Mrs. Sharma is often seen meeting friends while Mr. Sharma would be going about his disciplined day, but always with his wife around. So it was but fitting to have them sitting side-by-side as I interviewed them.

Mrs. Sharma moved to Delhi from Punjab in 1972 and instantly longed for the open spaces and huge families she had left behind. I could sense a contrast in their personalities. But their views converged the moment I mentioned the youth of today. They both admitted they do not accept changing their values that easily. They felt that materialism was driving people towards a culture with compromised homes. Mrs. Sharma laughingly regretted how telephone conversations are now considered as good as face-to-face meetings. And then I asked her if she had ever worked or wanted to work.

She told me that despite her qualifications she agreed with her husband’s theory—that of men and women managing separate domains. Mr. Sharma stepped in, “I don’t interfere and give her full freedom in her domain.” She laughed out loud and added, “My husband’s support to me has been 100 per cent. We do argue, but if it’s my fault I accept it and this makes me happy. This surrendering, this thinking alike”. Perhaps, that is how they manage so beautifully together.

What keeps them happy? Mrs. Sharma turns to religion and doing charity, for peace. Her husband believes in disciplined seva-sadhna [service-discipline], but only [and he emphasised this] for his own inner satisfaction. “The key to happiness is discipline; it is what won me a gallantry award. Control over the self in this life is mukti [liberation]. Why think of life after death?” But his wife ends the interview with an aside to me: “I am fairly undisciplined, and I quite enjoy myself.”

This time I joined in the laughter.

Acceptance

Asha Kohli

Asha Kohli walked into her drawing room with complete confidence. She started teaching Literature in a reputed college in New Delhi in 1967, which incidentally was also the year she got married. Her profession has made her used to younger girls seeking answers to their questions; nonetheless here I was, in a tête-à-tête with this recently retired Associate Professor.

“I broke all convention in how I taught my students. I went beyond teaching to help shape my girls’ lives in other ways. That is where real satisfaction came from,” she said as we talked about her career. I felt a ‘but’ coming as the wise voice spoke… “But there needs to exist a balance between the radical and the conventional in life. Everything has two sides—good and bad. I don’t think one is better than the other. I do think that giving people their space is important, for if you don’t give it, it will be taken away anyway” she laughed.

“The key to wellbeing, for me, is acceptance. Fight against what is wrong, but accept that with changing times the dynamics of human relationships will undergo a change too. Literature exposed me to so many possibilities of human behaviour that I was never shocked if a certain relationship took a turn for the worse. I was prepared in a way, for I knew that it could happen!”

“Is it that easy for an older generation to accept the newness of behaviour and values?” I wanted to know. She confessed, “Well, the mannerisms to do with paying respect, for instance, may have changed. But you learn to move on with it. As a teacher, I had to understand the new age minds in order to shape them. In that understanding came acceptance too.”

And then a most interesting observation—she told me how, as you grow older, the gender stereotypes attached to a ‘young girl’ start to shed and people begin to accept you as a person. With age comes better acceptance of your self, as a wiser mind. For as you age, you learn to articulate better and express better too.

I asked her to share a tip for senior citizens, she said, “Engage. Even if it is just going for a music concert. Engage with the world around. Why sit back and feel retired, and lonely?”

Indeed!

as you grow older, the gender stereotypes attached to a ‘young girl’ start to shed and people begin to accept you as a person

The importance of family

Murari Lal

Murari Lal is a dhobi who has been ironing my family’s clothes for many years. Our interaction is usually confined to the count of clothes, change, credit and wishes on festivals. So when I approached him with an interview request, in his classic way of keeping his eyes averted and smiling, he acquiesced with an uncertain “Bilkul, saabji” [Yes, sir] He insists on calling me saabji though I am a woman.

In 1947, Murari Lal left his home in Pakistan and came to Delhi by train. “We just had to run for our life, that’s all I remember from my childhood,” he said. His grandfather worked as a labourer at the railway station while he earned as a gate-guard at Kumar Talkies in Chandni Chowk. They left death behind, but the dearth of comfort in Delhi continued until 1971, when he got a job in the Government of India Press as a mono-mechanic.

“My favourite memory is when my boss Arun Misra from Kumar Talkies took me to the hospital when I was ill. Himself, saabji! Down the years bosses kept getting more and more… impersonal. Times change,” he sighed. I agreed—times do change. “Once, we followed our elders without question. But now, we have to heed the advice of even our tiny grandchildren.” He looked at one of his granddaughters and mused…“I will never forget 1969. That is the year my joint family separated, it was worse than 1947 for me.”

“But you have a lovely joint family still—three sons and six grandchildren, surely that keeps you happy?” I asked. “Happy? It keeps me more than happy. Do you know what old people need for good health? Family. That is why I regret 1969. That laughter when my dada-dadi [grandparents] were around has never been heard again. I try to maintain that oneness. So what if my family is now too big for me to afford a pilgrimage to Shirdi? Though it is my dream, I will never go on a  vacation without my children!” Then he just said in the most relaxed tone he was capable of with me sitting on his charpoy— “I just tell my children never ask me what our caste is. Eat, work, drink, live. The rest doesn’t matter!”

He had said it all.

Determination

Manjeet Kaur Bhullar

85-year-old Manjeet Kaur Bhullar among other things, holds me in awe of her prowess in Mathematics. She was 19 when she moved to Delhi and was one among only three girls who applied for a degree in Mathematics in Hindu College. “My parents said no to my dream of becoming a doctor. ‘Who will marry you then?’ they had argued. I didn’t mind and took up Mathematics, my second choice. However, the aim remained the same—to exceed no matter what I did. And excel I did!” After a proud smile she went on, “The determination to excel is something that comes from within. It cannot be given to you by your parents.” Silently, I stopped blaming mine.

Jobs were never a problem. Getting married while doing her MA was, for now her education suffered. In her evening classes she was the only girl among 80 boys who would push their way onto the seats. “During that period I was juggling too much. Work, home and studies. I did clear my MA finally. When I heard my husband telling someone I passed, I corrected him and said, ‘I did not just pass, my dear, I passed with a first division’.” This time my smile was wider than hers.

When I heard my husband telling someone I passed, I corrected him and said, ‘I did not just pass, my dear, I passed with a first division’

Her favourite role has been that of the Principal of a school. “I knew right from wrong and I stood by it. My honesty was notorious.”

“And then, I was managing as a single working parent to two children, all too suddenly”, said said, as she revealed her husband’s passing away. Her friends took care of her even more than family then. “My attitude of a disciplinarian stood me in good stead. I emphasised the importance of academics to my children. Plus, I had always been more strong-headed than my husband, so I had developed a sense of confidence much before he left me,” she said.

As a senior citizen, she says it is important to interact and be with family, but it is equally essential to have your own space and time.

From my dhobi to a DU professor, a middle-class couple to a single parent, each individual is striving to fill up their ‘senior citizen’ life with meaning—to keep their personas ever-evolving, to redefine what ‘retired’ means and to develop even as they grow old. And I am grateful to them for sharing life’s little lessons that they picked up along the way, for all to partake of.

The post Four senior citizens share life lessons that life has taught them appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Kalimpong

1 of 8

There’s something about Kalimpong that sets it apart from other hill-stations. It lacks the typicality that smaller hill towns frequented by weekend tourists acquire; mall roads lined with shops selling hand-knit sweaters, cotton candy or bhutta at every bend and noisy video game parlours tucked between shops promising imported goods. Kalimpong is different. It sits demurely like a Queen on a ridge overlooking the Teesta River in West Bengal.

It was the April of 2010 when a sprightly cabbie drove us into Kalimpong at God’s own speed. My eyes were tightly shut but my ears did not miss noticing how, unlike most taxi drivers, he wasn’t rattling off sites we could see over the next two days of our stay. He kept saying the word “relax” throughout the drive and then “historic!” when he waved us and our two backpacks goodbye outside Morgan House. The import of both words, twined together, came rushing to me when I beheld my lodge, sitting like a grand old man on the outskirts of the town.

It was but evident that Kalimpong was going to make us relax in the lap of History!

The first excursion

Most mountain roads offer two choices—one which makes you ascend and another which makes you descend. After a night spent in a huge room with a fire place and a bathroom overlooking an impeccable golf course, we climbed down a creaking wooden staircase and decided to walk up the road early next morning. High on caffeine and thankful for the pleasant weather, many smiles were exchanged with men in fatigues of the Indian Army’s 27 Mountain Division. Till we came to the end of the road which read Zang Dhok Palri Phodang monastery.

The football match at the monastery

Once upon a time, many Buddhist monks fled Tibet and established monasteries in Kalimpong. Here was the biggest one in front of us, housing rare Buddhist manuscripts, yet seeming as humble and without fanfare as would be expected of a faith purely propagating peace. We walked around its desolate corridors, whispering to each other lest we disturb the syrupy calmness of the place, till we met a friend, the pigeon. There he was, sitting patiently, waiting for the football match to begin as if, while a stone’s throw away, the monks were busy with their early morning sport already!

Ah! Does not Kalimpong translated in Lepcha mean “the ridge where we play”? We must have stood there long enough to become the official spectators of the friendly match which made no sense and yet, in a strange way, spoke volumes about the co-existence of the Nepalis, Lepchas and other ethnic and non-native migrants living in Kalimpong. As if to reinstate the idea of friendship, on our way down from the monastery we bumped into four boys who seemed to have bunked school only to loiter around curvaceous roads, enjoying their companionship and posing happily with it too. A turn away we wondered why they would want to play truant when their school looked just out of a story book. But in a place where even ruins of a past long gone were serving as a cricket scoreboard, it wasn’t hard to guess what exciting alternatives existed to sitting in a classroom!

We got back after the morning sojourn to Morgan House, to a hearty meal justly followed with the flourish of snoozing in our armchairs in the sunny lawns.

Walking through the town

We decided to hit the town the next day, a couple of kilometres of an easy walk in balmy weather, on a narrow road lined with colourful houses on both sides and very clean streets. A lot of these tiny residences had made room for wayward walkers, clearing a settee in a corner of their low-roofed living room and serving instant noodles and hot beverages, all made in their own kitchens. It was a pleasant surprise for us city-dwellers to notice how none of them charged over the marked price, and certainly nothing for the oodles of warm smiles they added to every serving. How many places offer that?

We reached the town-centre in what seemed like a hop-skip-jump. At Thana Dara we stood to catch in a breath, the whole heart of the town. McFarlane Memorial Church waved from another hill-top as we took in the hustle, the bustle and then gradually the unmistakable signs of a different kind of play this time—the play of politics. Hand-written public notices asking for support for the “cause of Gorkhaland” dotted the street corners in all conspicuousness. Some shops included Gorkhaland in their addresses! A movement, which began some decades back, had been revived in the recent past, and through “bandhs” and agitations aimed to write a new chapter in the history books.

As the smell of fresh pastries drew us into the famous 3Cs Bakery on the Main Road, we sat discussing how what seemed so peaceful a day before now showed signs of latent disturbance. The hill-town was in flux, and probably at a point in time which would cleave it along ethnic lines. A Punjab Lodge smiled at us from a distance, as if wondering about its future too, like we were wondering about Kalimpong’s over confectionary and fresh brews. It was over a sumptuous meal at a friend’s place that we learnt more about it all, and how the locals aspired for better infrastructure and development for their dear town, and nothing else.

Cacti galore

Usually, two days of complete relaxation would not involve a steep climb ending in a collection of cacti! But Kalimpong’s Cactus Nursery, with its exhaustive collection of exotic cacti, was worth the time. We thought we had seen enough cacti in our New Delhi terrace gardens but Kalimpong’s array put that notion to shame. What shapes, what sizes; like monsters from another planet which would wrap their prickly arms around our necks, or chase us away down the hill for staring so rudely at them, even if in admiration of their long thorns. It took one panoramic view of Kalimpong from the Pine View Nursery to bring our breaths back, only to be stolen yet again.

Next door to the thorny beauties on Atisha Road was Chitrabhanu, the house where Rabindranath Tagore penned some of his poems. An earthquake had damaged it, and with no repair it reeked of neglect; historic once, forgotten now. Just like the echo of Tagore’s first Live Radio Broadcast from Kalimpong had vanished into the past, never to be heard again. It does good to stand at such doorways, to see in the mind’s eye what transpired behind the wrought-iron gate and in the house which is no longer a part of even memories now.

Time to leave

We were to leave for New Delhi the next day, and the last evening was spent filling up all extra space in our backpacks with Tibetan artifacts and world famous cheeses and lollipops. At the popular Larks on SDBG Road [which was in less agitated times, Rishi Road] we got cheeses and chutneys to make our mundane city lives delicious, creamy and tangy. As if putting all our misgivings about disturbing divisiveness to rest, a “We Love Peaceful Kalimpong” banner confidently hung from near the ceiling. We looked at each other and smiled. It seemed as if the people of Kalimpong were revealing their one and only dream to us before bidding us goodbye. Perhaps ensuring that we would come back to visit their Kalimpong again.

We do plan to go back, but we also wonder if we will see the same Kalimpong or a different one when we go next. Will the old make way for the new, completely? Or will we still see the old and the new co-existing, sometimes on a football field and other times on a chowk lined with summons to revolutions?

Time is playing out its acts on this “ridge where we play”, and people, as usual, are playthings in the hands of those who write history. Watching all this like a queen sits Kalimpong, in rich shades of green, certain of its magnificent Himalayan beauty yet not at all eager to please. Except, that it does, and something tells us it always will!

The post There’s something about Kalimpong appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

As things stand

First, schools created lists of hierarchical distribution of students according to their scores. Toppers did science, the second rung commerce and the rest may please go sit in the Humanities section. Society measured brains in tandem with school. Parents often followed suit for they knew no better.

While a large section of society still measures an individual’s success by his pay package, there is a notable change between then and now. It is in so many children’s minds about career and the sense of identity. Children are seeing through the academic brainwashing, caring less about social pressures and following their hearts’ callings. Towed lines are being rejected and the will to be independent is much stronger than yesterday. Better exposure to opportunities through various media and a wider array of career choices to pick from help, as do professional fora for helping them cope with failure and disappointment. Bravo, kids!

Towed lines are being rejected and the will to be independent is much stronger than yesterday

But you wonder, what about the parents?

Troubles are known to come in battalions, but troubling thoughts are always present, especially in a parent’s mind, and even more when it has to do with their child’s future. While confidence in the child’s capability may exist, social and contextual factors make us worry. And worry makes us want to take each step with utter caution. What do parents do when children are ready to step out into unconventional careers? What goes on in their minds when their own children decide to plunge headlong into newness, leaving their secure cabins behind, swimming against the current? What arguments stem from misgivings, and how misgivings turn to acceptance [and even confidence] is something we need to explore.

I spoke to a few such parents in order to understand this social and emotional story that gets written in many contemporary households.

Decisions, differently made

Says Ritu Lalit, a Delhi-based best-selling author,“Both my boys, individually and at different times, simply informed me of their decisions. There was no giving or taking of permission. My household doesn’t work that way! The parent-child equation is a democratic one. The authoritarian style of parenting is a thing of the past.” Her elder son Ishaan was a commercial pilot but is now a published author himself. The younger one, Kartik, is a Mechanical Engineer who helps those working in the field of arts and creativity with publicity.

With some others, the change of field seemed expected but still not as easy to accept. Chandrika is mother to Divyaalakshmi, a television actress known for her role of Rani Sajja Bai in Maharana Pratap and Bulbul in Shapath. “Divya was always fond of dancing and singing. Honestly, we tried to push her towards more meaningful art forms but she never took to it. We wanted her to complete her education before she got carried away with the glitter that movies showed her.” After an MA in Economics and an MBA, Divya decided to quit her job in a recruitment agency and join the entertainment industry. “We kept putting off her idea as just infatuation but somewhere we knew that a dream delayed would not mean a dream denied. The decision had been made in her head a long time back.”

For some parents, there is no surprise element at all and decisions are made in consultation with family members. Like for Reyhan Datta, whose son Suniti works as an outdoor/wilderness educator and a consultant wildlife biologist. After a B.Sc. degree Suniti worked as a guide with Col. Wakefield at the Kabini River Lodge at Nagarhole, Karnataka and then studied at the Wildlife Institute of India in Dehradun. “It did not come as a surprise when he wanted to work with wildlife. We had seen his love for the subject ever since he was a little boy,” she says. “I felt Suniti must continue with what he wants to do.”

“Sometimes, new decisions fit old bills”, says Reyhan, whose family always believed that children should follow their noses, “This was an unconventional area where he could contribute a great deal, especially when teaching school children. He is a good teacher, but not a person who would sit and do corrections! Yes, we require money but at the same time, we must do what we enjoy.”

Of universal misgivings and unconditional support

How interesting it is to realise that fears to do with children’s futures are similar across different kinds of families and career choices. The idea of financial security looms as an overarching concern common to most parents. Then, the family’s and individual’s place in society and narratives of gender and givens like the institution of marriage further create a maze around a child’s decision. Overall, the wish for safety and security refuses to leave the parents’ lips.

For some parents, there is no surprise element at all and decisions are made in consultation with family members

When Divya quit her job in Mumbai to audition for roles in Bollywood, her parents wanted to take her back to her protected small-town life immediately. “Sitting far away with a daughter jobless in Mumbai was not our idea of being parents,” says Chandrika. Even though they extended financial support to their daughter, as parents their misgivings to do with the industry and its popular projection continued. “Casting couches, safety, erratic working hours and the moral police. Fodder for a scornful society! Acting as a career option has been stereotyped as a big bad ogre. So much so that neighbours worry more about her getting married than we do!” she laughs.

Ritu had a different idea in mind. “Histrionics, tears, and a drama mama!” greeted her sons’ decisions to quit well-established jobs for unconventional ones. “I was not in agreement because there is a part of me that wants them to be safe. You know, a regular salary, provident fund, pension are not things to be taken lightly. To that end, I had ensured that both of them got proper professional degrees. I am a single mother and I give a lot of importance to steady jobs. However, if what my sons do makes them happy, I am with them. Simple.”

The silk we can draw from these accounts

1. Children are very determined and focussed these days. Their determination needs to be given a chance, and also their talent. You may hang a tiny tag of ‘Terms and Conditions apply’ on them, but let them own their decisions. It will make them feel empowered and responsible. After all, careers and life paths are a personal choice.
2. No wife and husband in the same situation will think alike as a matter of rule [especially if once upon a time opposites attracted]. Parents need to talk it out between themselves and put up a united front for the child. Imagine what havoc a house divided can play on a child’s mind. No matter what the challenges, you are parents together, not apart.
3. At a later stage, you may worry about how you can encourage them in a field you know little about. You can’t! Try arriving at common family ideals and promoting them—be it about working hard or doing quality work. Unlike umbrellas of values, which were once passed down ready-made, family ideals are now being charted by discussion and with equal voice given to all members of the house. List yours, together. That’s how Reyhan did it with her family, didn’t she?
4. The times belong to them, not to us parents. This is what Chandrika had to say when I asked her if she could have been an actress too: “Impossible. I remember I once wore bell-bottoms, puffed up my hair and posed for a picture in the studio. That was the closest I came to feeling like a celebrity!”
5. Don’t just encourage them, support them too. Where society views unconventional careers with suspicion and criticism, children braving it out need support publicly too. Let them know that no well-wishing neighbour can dilute your support for your own child. Let them never feel devoid of your trust. Support [or lack of it] can make all the difference. As Ritu says, “Remember how people laughed at Bisleri when they began bottling water? Well, now they are called pioneers!”

We often say how children are growing up faster these days, tasting forms of freedom which we as parents did not, once upon a black-and-white time. However, if we notice, parents are increasingly donning newer skins too. Accepting and adopting the times they cannot fully call their own. Or is it possible that they are coming into their own and realising their long-lost dreams? By picking the cameras on their own, or letting their children freely go into the wild with theirs? Either way, we’re all growing up as we grow older. What better to ask!

The post When your kids opt for off-beat careers appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Helsinki and Stockholm

1 of 12

With bated breath I had asked my doctor over the phone if I could fly for a short holiday across time zones. She was as silent as the falling snow before she asked again if my third trimester had for sure “only just begun”. ‘Just’ is a relative term of time, isn’t it? After a confident yes I hurriedly cut the call. I was going to take my big baby belly to Helsinki, and then cruise across the Baltic Sea to Stockholm. Where was there room for pre-natal mathematics amidst prospects of a splendid Christmas in Scandinavia?

What made me so self-assured about travelling to foreign cities where temperatures were falling to minus 20 degrees, with my feet swollen, a painful back, haywire hormones and even a husband in tow? I don’t know. I know I was brave, and many would have consulted the Great Old Indian Book of Pregnancy To-Dos. But I wanted to leave misgivings and superstitions behind; to conquer them even if by following my own now-almost-maternal instinct. It said go, so we went.

As a seven-month-pregnant woman traveller with a backpack, I found the Indian bystanders’ gaze on me quite often at the airport. One of them suggested I wrap a stole to cover my apparent pregnancy, while another one inquired why I had not put on enough weight. Was it this that I was getting away from at the 11th hour?, thought I, as I pulled the seat belt to the maximum size and buckled in.

As a seven-month-pregnant woman traveller with a backpack, I found the Indian bystanders’ gaze on me quite often at the airport

No daylight, but no calling it a day!

December so close to the Arctic Circle meant there would be muted light behind the envelope of grey clouds at 9am, which would be gone by 3pm. As a tourist this bothered me. How will I sightsee? The window of my hotel near Helsinki Centre overlooked a metro rail station. At odd hours, I would peep out to always find someone walking briskly to and from it, their smoky breaths leaving behind twirling, icy trails in the dark. Often, the lone figure would be a woman’s. New Delhi’s unpredictable regard for women was a part of my being. Here by the window I was looking at a world which was going on without cares or concern.

What was there to think then? After making good use of the breakfast buffet the next morning, I laced up my snowshoes, pulled the belly-support pants in place and stepped out into a light snowfall. Poor husband had left for a few hours of work.

Hei Helsinki

Helsinki is lovely in spring, they say. But if spring is lovely, can the beauty of Christmas be far behind?

I walked around the neighbourhood without a map, one sure baby step at a time. A tiny Christmas bazaar sat right behind Kamppi Shopping Centre. It was much smaller [and cheaper!] than the famous St Thomas Christmas Market of Helsinki which we saw later, but it was memorable for my first encounter with a rather different looking Santa Claus. A little distance away a park lay lonely, bereft of all green and of people. The crowds were busy shopping for the festive season in warmly lit shops lining the streets. Meanwhile, Helsinki Central Railway Station looked sombre despite the fairy lights, like a man who had a job to do. My eyes took in all the sights, while my hair took in the snowflakes. When I turned the last corner to go back to the hotel after a few hours of solo walking, I encountered a steep climb. I hadn’t come miles away to turn away. We huffed and puffed back to our nest, baby and I, just in time for the father to return.

I walked around the neighbourhood without a map, one sure baby step at a time

It was 12am when I shook my husband awake. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?,’ I asked. He knew better than to refuse a tenacious wife. And that’s how, dear reader, we did the tourist circle in Helsinki city centre. At one point, when we were lost, we met an old couple near the famous Stockmann building and asked them for directions. They did not know English. But they finally went, ‘Oh! Senaatintori,’ when they realised we wanted directions for the Senate Square! From 12am to 3am, with a few coffee stops in between, we saw all there was to see. Even did some window-shopping at a most appropriate Lastentarvike baby store! Whoever was on the streets, now inseparable from the white footpaths, was high on spirits and spirited hellos. By the time we tucked into bed that early morning, my eyes were sated but my feet were screaming for rest. After all, the next day two masterpieces awaited us.

The Rock Church in Helsinki is unique. Excavated into solid rock, with a copper-lined dome, this unconventional structure was once rejected as a “devil defence bunker”. But the experience of standing in the underground oval church-hall bathed in daylight is something few other places of peace can match. My stomach was grumbling, for the baby had finished the Finnish cheese at great speed and I was hungry, again. Wary of it echoing, I sat there, praying for happiness and health, but also hoping the grand organ would come alive to put the baby’s kicking to sleep. The Sibelius Monument was what we saw but did not really see. It was snowing heavily and the design which once sparked lively debates about abstract art was lost to the white of falling flakes; 24 tonnes of 600 hollow steel pipes welded together in a wave-like pattern as a tribute to the Finnish composer, Jean Sibelius. No wonder then, that souvenir shops in Helsinki charged me my car’s worth for glass artifacts made in the 2012 World Design Capital.

Helsinki abounded with creativity and hopefully it had seeped right into the unborn too.

It was 12am when I shook my husband awake. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?,’ I asked

Hej Stockholm

When I entered our cabin on the cruise ship which was to take us to Stockholm, the baby shifted uncomfortably as if it read my concern – ‘Where is the oxygen coming from?’ The cabin was tiny. But when up above there lay life [read gambling tables, live music and a shopping mart] who wanted to sleep? It was a night of gay abandon on the Baltic Sea.

On stepping ashore, the Royal Palace, clad in white, sat majestic; the guards withstood the blizzard as if it were but a breeze tickling their cheeks! The Parliament House of Stockholm stood steady near the harbour, seeming much quieter than the Parliament I had left back home.

Before we headed to Gamla Stan, the Old Town, in Stockholm for a hearty meal and a little shopping, a chatty taxi driver took us to the Vasa museum. This man knew India because he had visited Agra to see we-know-what with a fond friend called Singh! If his story wasn’t amusingly unbelievable, the Vasa warship’s was. This Swedish warship, built in the 17^th century and touted as a symbol of great Swedish power, had sunk after sailing for about 1300 metres. Now how was a pregnant woman, a victim of funny hormones, not supposed to laugh out loud at those puny figures? So I laughed. I’ve been reading about why the Vasa sank and found out that, apparently, it was just too heavy to float! They must have designed it wrong. Now I understood why Helsinki was the World Design Capital!

Home sweet home?

When you return home you carry not just objects but whole new experiences and memories. What did I carry home?

My heightened sense of being a woman, thanks to my pregnancy, helped me carry back a different sense of freedom than I had experienced before. I had explored these two cities as an individual whom no one burdened with unwanted gaze or unsolicited advice. I was just another person walking on the road, free from the apparent physical condition that often invites second looks.

When you return home you carry not just objects but whole new experiences and memories

It wasn’t just anonymity and gender equality which freed me, but also the extent to which I felt welcomed on those foreign shores. I carried home the friendliness that I had been shown. To be allowed to catch my cold breath in a warm shop and to not be judged for leaving food half-eaten on my plate, with the chef saying, ‘I understand!’ On the streets, the regard for one another shone like headlights when cars stopped to let you cross the road. Tour guides worked with honesty and taxi drivers earned your respect for minding the speed-breakers and not just their fare. Who would imagine feeling such geniality in bone-chilling cold weather and with barely a shared language between us?

When I look around, I realise how some places free us. Don’t the most traditional people wear in places like Goa and Bangkok what they would not dare to at home? Because the flavour of a place helps us shed inhibitions, we feel freer than where we come from. It is ironic, perhaps a little tragic too, how I had to travel miles from home to truly feel safe in trying weather and under medically delicate circumstances.

By the way, I also carried my unborn child back in situ. No false labour echoing in the Rock Church, no palpitations in the cruise ship cabin and certainly no dramatic delivery mid-air. Secretly, photographic memory of the good-looking men and women I saw did sneak back with me too. After all, don’t they say to look at pleasant things when you are pregnant? Conveniently so, I did, in Helsinki and Stockholm and for a full night on the Baltic Sea.

This was first published in the August 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post Helsinki, Stockholm and a baby belly appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Bhimtal

1 of 4

“Madam, look straight ahead and then a little to your right. I am the tall man in blue waving at you,” he said for the third time. I was at Kathgodam station, which is only as big as the size of the food court of New Delhi railway station, waiting with my two boys, to be taken an hour away to a colonial homestay atop a hill in Bhimtal. When I finally spotted the taxi driver I realised he had been five feet away from me, had spent 15 minutes just to make me spot him and was actually a short man in a green shirt! The unexpected nip in the air and the drizzle as we crossed the road made my antennae stand up. Have I packed enough for my three-year-old? Did my husband keep his wind cheater? Is it going to get colder?

I brushed off all worry. I had promised my husband that I would relax the feet of my mind and not fuss over whatever roles I played at home. We called our weekend trip the ‘Do Nothing Vacation’ and that was to include keeping not just sight-seeing lists unborn but also all concerns of the brain standing at ease. Little did I know then that what I had shrugged off with an easier-said-than-done expression was going to become a doable mantra for my vacations.

Much like so many towns of Uttarakhand, Bhimtal too has a lake for a heart, a temple on every hillock and ringlets of red sloping roofs surrounding them all. Typically, one would visit to go boating on the lake, eating noodles by the lakeside, posing by the hills, visiting the Gods and overall, breathing in the idea of a ‘hill station’. Not so typically, a tourist might book a homestay a little away from the hustle, carry shoes for easy trekking but also slippers for lounging around and no agenda except to eat fresh home-made food between doing something and doing nothing, alternately.

Doing something

A nursery-goer is a teen only when he reasons back. At all other times, his feet still fit in shoes not nearly the size of your hands. Which is what we kept in mind when we decided to indulge in three physically-involving activities, if only to rev up the hunger pangs for gorging on the delicious fare our hosts had to offer.

A long, circuitous drive away from our homestay lay Chauli Ki Jali, in Mukteshwar. I decided to trust the ‘Tall, blue shirt’ and make that day’s sunset special. The moody mountain weather had gone from chilly to sweaty, but oh dear, “Madam, if AC is on the car doesn’t climb”. Three city-bred spoilt brats dripped their way to what we were told was a breathtaking view from a rocky ledge. It was the absolute truth! As if the mountains were sentinels for a sun which was blushing, trying to hide behind their arms and yet eager to be admired as the clouds made way and stood by. I felt fortunate to have reached in time before it blinked for the night.

Over dinner, the cook told us about the legend associated with the place. How women would crawl through a narrow tunnel and sit perched on a precarious rock to prove their ‘morality’. As luck would have it, none in the history of Chauli ki Jali had lost their life to yet another unfavourably designed exam. Would I have survived it? I quickly filled up my mouth with a spoon full of caramel custard. The deliciousness dispelled all needless clouds of doubt.

Snaking through mountain roads as a child always made me wonder what lay beyond and below the fence which marked the edge of a road. Can one see where exactly two mountains meet in a valley overgrown with wilderness? A neat line, perhaps borrowed from a map, and as illusory? I did find out when we three trotted off for a Village Walk in Nathuakhan the next morning. With every step downhill, the paths were increasingly wet and slippery—or not there at all. What was there in abundance though were all shades of green and they were getting darker with the descent. A corn plantation shared apartment space with a cow shed. A few steps below stood a temple tree—old, grand and worshipped. I remember looking up from the bottom right to where we began at the top, my line of vision crossing houses and curious children, women carrying big bundles of sticks on feet in broken rubber slippers and past cracking sounds of pine cones. The sky looked as blue but the world around me was so far removed from what I witness in Delhi, it is difficult to imagine its existence sitting at my writing desk today. Likewise, the exact mountain scent without feeling nostalgic.

On his father’s shoulders, my son climbed all the way up that day, after much convincing that for the cute calf there was not room enough. I looked at my husband’s shoes leading, feeling for steady rocks. I wasn’t worried, at all. If anything, I was glad to see how the workings of gravity were well known to this clever three-year-old.

Clocks in cities run much faster than they do in small towns. And on hills they often seem to come to a standstill

The next day, rather encouraged, we decided to trek up to the Ridge, for a picnic. The Ridge is a long and narrow flatland which is essentially the top of a hill, overlooking Sat Tal on one side and the main town of Bhimtal on the other. With sticks in hands and the enthusiasm typical of early mornings, three pairs of feet set out to climb towards the prospect of earning their paranthas and apple pie. With frequent breaks for gazing at the world below or at the size of wild mushrooms, never seen before, we were finally perched at a point where, call it my hunger talking, everything seemed bite-sized [though not the lovers sitting across from us, disappointed at the intrusion]. There is something about being a family which sharing a meal brings out. If that meal happens to be some miles above the sea level, it’s closer to divine in all ways—a sense of oneness that nothing else can make you feel. Not just with one another but also with the nature that surrounds you: the breeze that keeps you cool, the canopy that provides shelter. Is that what the lovers were thinking sitting where they had walked hand-in-hand, far away from us now, under a tall fir?

This time, the daddy had done his homework and made the boy collect daisies for his mother all the way down. On his own two feet, walking by himself, rules of gravity forgotten.

But mostly doing nothing

Clocks in cities run much faster than they do in small towns. And on hills they often seem to come to a standstill. While with much bravado I fill you up on all that we did on the spur of the moment over the three days in Bhimtal, it barely covered a fraction of the time we spent doing… well, nothing at all!

How do you do nothing? Can you? Is it possible to empty the mind of all to-dos and tasks, thoughts that bother and deadlines of lives you and me call ‘ruts’ yet run circles in? It’s possible. It’s possible to do nothing but lie inside a child’s tent, pretend camping and make up stories about the grasshopper that hopped over to get a glimpse of the boy who finished his milk. It’s possible to sit a few yards away from this action, with a book, immersed in its joys. It’s also possible to just stare into infinity, and at birds who with their fluttering, bring you back to reality. There is enough in nature to create wonder and awe and as many nooks to visit with a beau, a boy, or a book. It is times spent thus that make you feel you did nothing and yet you realise how invaluable they were because you actually filled up those hours doing what you never get enough time to. How refreshing!

This was the first family vacation where I let all today’s worries and tomorrow’s agendas take wing like grass held up in the wind. It was almost a study in contrasts, of doing and not doing. A hangover of the intoxicating ‘letting-go feeling’ was carried back to New Delhi, enough to notice the tiny nose runny as soon as we bundled up in the train that was homeward bound but saying with conviction, “You’ve climbed mountains, my son. What can a silly runny nose do to you?”

The feet of my mind were indeed relaxed.

This was first published in the April 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post Vacation time: Doing nothing in Bhimtal appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Published by: Aleph Book Company

ISBN: 9789383064175

Pages: 214

Price: INR 299

Radhika Vaz dedicates her memoir Unladylike to “All the unladies out there who refuse to be bound by the rules of femininity.” A new category of women has been announced; one which is unconventional, honest and thus powerful. The book becomes not just an exercise in retrospection for the author but an invitation extended to the female readers to re-examine all expectations laid on women.

Calling this a coming-of-age story would be forcing it to wear such a serious robe as would suit neither the book’s effortless humour nor its author. But, if it wasn’t that wherefrom stem the bouquet of lessons, learnt and unlearnt, which fill the book to the brim? Echoing right after the comedian’s sassy voice is a 40-year-old woman’s voice, mapping her journey of not just growing up but also growing towards freedom of self. From a schoolgirl trying to belong to a woman struggling to “un-belong”, the story follows a neat chronology of “becoming”.

We meet Radhika as a five-year-old who feels like an “unknown polyester brand”, neither belonging to one community nor to the dominant culture of her friends. She also does not fit the conventional idea of beauty. Thus, “all I ever wanted from that point was to be on the inside”, even if it meant wearing a head scarf in Baghdad! In her teens she was “secretly suspicious of her gender”, with her delayed periods, luxuriant body hair and flat chest. Ideas of sexuality and body find prominence in this hosteller’s life, and her “obvious inadequacies” followed her everywhere, enough to make her secretly try on her mother’s bras because it felt “oh so grown-up!” Socials with boys were looked forward to but romance was considered wrong. She wondered why girls couldn’t propose boys, were forced to play “hard to get” and “be mysterious”, while boys had all the fun and freedom? At the cusp of adulthood she saw the unfairness of attaching value to virginity, and labels like “fast-chicks”. By the “roaring twenties” this observing, questioning rebel was ready!

Accused of an inability to apply herself, to conform to academic or gender standards, Radhika started walking a different line. As a working woman she first “negotiated singledom” only to chase a man to the US, live-together “as man and something” and get married her way too! The imperativeness of motherhood as a logical next-step to marriage to prove a woman’s worth is amusingly yet powerfully rejected in the final chapters.

It is noticeable how Radhika Vaz doesn’t come from a typical Indian family. With parents who were much ahead of their times letting her hold her reins most of her life, Radhika’s brand of feminism had few battles of deprivation or denial to fight. Her memoir makes no attempt to colour that, and she makes no attempt to not reject conventions which she believes in, even. Thus, ultimately, she finds a balance in her life by making conscious choices at every phase.

With this honesty and balance, she invites you to view your own life as you view hers; an exchange of perspectives on having to adapt to changing context—emotionally, physically and socially. Lessons on relationships emerge as Radhika wonders why Indian daughters hide things from their parents. Evident is the essentiality to challenge being shamed as a “badly behaved, of inferior intellect, boy crazy” girl and be aware that social expectations from men and women are “inherently antithetical”. The book asks women to never let their pride levels fall to “negative numbers” and to be strong, because being honest needs strength to stomach the consequences. “Spread the idea that the unknown is fun… find something, anything, which has nothing to do with how you look or how old you are” and do it! And with a flourish “The Baby Question’ wonderfully sums up the pressures applied on women’s psychologies to become mothers, to prove you are a woman and a good person. But the truth of it all is that “when you want to do something that isn’t the ‘norm’ you will be made to feel like you have a problem and if you hear it often enough then you start to believe it too”. Unladylike asks you not to believe that and instead believe in yourself!

A must-read for the ladies, gents and ‘unladies’!

The post Gender bender: Unladylike By Radhika Vaz appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Published by: Rupa Publications

ISBN: 978-8129136824

Pages: 288

Price: INR 295

Almost the entire literature in the area of leadership and management tends to focus on the performance and the efficiency of managers. Sibichen Mathew is of the opinion that “true learning can take place not by looking at the right traits, but by analysing the wrong ones.”  Thus was born the premise for When the Boss is Wrong, which contains 50 different dimensions of bad leadership and their ramifications for people and organisations.

Sibichen’s aim with this “systematic inquiry” has been to create unique prescriptions for “wrong” bosses, and solutions for their “suffering” subordinates. Using researches and studies exemplify the findings that Sibichen himself gathered over years of experience—through interviewing well-known company heads, questionnaires about bosses and observing behaviours in his own workplace. What results is a study dotted with real life anecdotes and cutting across many kinds of workplaces.

When the boss is wrong is both informative as well as enjoyable at the same time.

In a chapter, “Mr Boss, you are petty!”, Sibichen lists out revealing responses of middle-level managers who were asked why their boss is petty. The answers ring a bell and make you want to try the prescriptions, instantly!

“Coping with a young boss” and “Coping with an old boss”—two chapters that emphasise on how a tectonic shift in working style [between generations] may wreck the boats of senior employees’ or bust the myth that seniority assures wisdom.

Perhaps, the most humorous idea in the book is the one that shows how stages similar to the “ashrams” can be seen in the professional lives of many people, often detrimental to the organisation. After all, how much good can a boss, who is in a state of nirvana after losing his young “fizz” over two decades, do? “Which animal are you and your boss?” will make you smile, before making you feel not-so-flattered.

While most of the book throws at you unique ideas and experiences of working professionals, some [though not any less significant] may not be unheard of. Sibichen begins with how you could have absorbed some of the personality traits of your boss and goes on to talk about “Runaway Bosses” and “Snoopervisors”, those low on EQ or high on “ditching ethics”. You will be encouraged to do a thorough self-examination!

The lessons at the end of each chapter are prescriptions for the bosses, precautions for the employees and precepts for the organisation. Some deserve heeding, like–to remember that “you leave a trail of whatever you do in the organisation”, “images that are bought, never match images which are gained through excellence” and “the courage and preparedness to unlearn is a necessary prerequisite for creativity”.

Mostly, the lessons are simplistic and commonsensical. The ones that contain interviews of top bosses of well-known organisations, tests to take [like the one that checks how much your present boss knows you] or boxes with questions to ponder upon are interesting.

When the Boss is Wrong is a long book. Some chapters overlap. Some ideas may confuse too. For instance, Narcissism and Authoritarianism are otherwise seen as negative traits but are “excused” in a chapter which discusses essential traits of “Messiah Bosses”. The “signs of recovery” of an organisation after suffering at the hands of any kind of a bad boss are the same across all chapters.

Underlying the narrative of the book appears a picture of a good boss—who telephones all the employees when a bomb blast occurs in a city, or who credits the team before his own managerial skills. And overarching this exercise is a question for all bosses—how many of you really care about what others think of you? While the bosses think it over, all you can do is “make your bosses smile with your smile”, especially if, in your organisation, “no good work goes unpunished”.

This was first published in the October 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post When the Boss is Wrong By Sibichen K Mathew appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Published by: Wisdom Tree

ISBN: 978-8183283861

Pages: 240

Price: INR 225

You are not supposed to judge a book by its cover. But how can you not think of Carl Jung’s The Red Book, or more controversially Chairman Mao’s The Little Red Book when you read the title of Awdhesh Singh’s latest? Except, in this case, there is a ‘Secret’, which is revealed in a bitter-sweet way.

The Secret Red Book of Leadership is a thought-provoking deconstruction of the ‘art’ of leadership and the personality of a leader. Each of the six parts is generously full of chapters, with each chapter containing not just a compilation of the author’s thoughts but also his unique conclusions. The tone combines wit with wisdom, largely free of professional jargon. The lucid prose is rife with illustrative references to world famous leaders, anecdotes from their lives, scientific allegories, cross connections with politics and even folktales from across the world. And while you enjoy the canvas of his scholarship, mixing fun with larger philosophical questions of good versus evil, reason versus belief, you are bravely painted a picture of a real leader–what, why, why not and finally, how.

The book begins by describing how leaders are not born but created through cultivated behaviour and thoughts, balancing the within and the without. Using popular examples, Awdhesh shows how an out-of-box thinking, a magnetic personality, the right posturing, the ability to think on one’s feet, the willingness to assume responsibility and a single-minded focus make a leader shine distinct from the crowd. Thus, “Followership is the effect of leadership and not its cause.”

A unique section called Dilemma of Leaders elucidates the perpetual balancing act between contraries that all leaders need to battle. Take means-ends for instance. While every end is actually the beginning of another end [thus making means and ends the same thing] a leader has to know that the end is more important than the means. He aims at the result, and often goes against what he essentially believes in. Many philosophies tell us how good is embedded in evil and evil is contained in each act of goodness. What becomes a leader’s greatest challenge, hence, is to conceal evil in the garb of goodness. There is also a perpetual conflict between the lower self and the higher self. Can a leader be moral if his people are immoral?

As for hatred and love, how can a leader avoid being hated by some, especially by those who did not benefit from his actions? Followers share the fortunes, not the sins, and the charisma of a leader lasts only as long as the followers’ belief in him lasts.

“Hatred is the emotional price leaders must pay for getting love and honour.” Then again, “No principle has a permanent place in life,” says Awdhesh, at the risk of overturning his own discourse, if only to bust the myths of leadership popularly floating around. This is where a very bold voice on leaders enters the narrative, and one which seeks to re-examine formulas and ‘how to’ quick-fixes in books, one myth-busting bullet point at a time. There are many myths that are dispelled and the narrative now borders on uncomfortable honesty. If you think you are a successful leader [or even a writer of leadership], you may just squirm in your seat!

Witty references from politics to literature are leant against in order to convince the reader to accept the correctness within all the political incorrectness, which we are surrounded by. Sarojini Naidu had aptly remarked once about how much it cost to keep Mahatma Gandhi in poverty. The poor, powerless and illiterate considered him a great leader, not a deceiver. Interesting, isn’t it?

The last two sections of the book deal with developing and practising leadership. Now this is the conventional self-help part. If it wasn’t for the anecdotal charm, perhaps this would not have stood out as different from other books on this subject. To say more about this section would dilute the effect of the previous ones on me.

Some readers may find this book too long for the wit it encompasses and a little repetitive too. But then, I give the length the benefit of doubt after having seen how the book views leaders inside-out through myriad prisms—of psychology, of circumstance, humanity and human nature and even divinity and spirituality. Those disciplines interconnect to offer us entertaining and informative psychoanalytical peeps into not just the minds of the leaders but also those of his followers. From Lincoln to Hitler, Gandhi to Lewis Carroll, poets to army generals, Nasruddin to Wilhelm Reich, Awdhesh, like a good leader, has gathered a pantheon of people to make us comprehend what he wants us to. While there is no deception here, in his own words, “The entire story is never told.”

And that is the ‘Secret’ which remains, still.

This was first published in the May 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post Into the mind of a leader: The Secret Red Book of Leadership by Awdhesh Singh appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Published by: Rupa

ISBN: 978-8129135100

Pages: 140

Price: INR 195

We associate Einstein with intelligence. We know of his Theory of Relativity, associated with relativism in morality, politics and art; breaking the imaginative conformity of the absolute. Some know how he could amalgamate logical reasoning with intuition and willfully connect it to the spiritual. However, few know about the man behind the genius. Virender Kapoor’s book was conceived with this in mind—how everybody knows of Einstein but nobody really knows him.

This book, aims to capture “the essence of Einstein’s creativity in such a way that people who read this three-dimensional biographical account will be motivated to become creative in their respective field and those who have a scientific bent of mind will pursue serious research into the world of invention.” Thus, each chapter circles around a specific quality of Einstein’s and what lessons we can draw from them.

Notwithstanding the author’s aim, the summarised takeaways at the end of each chapter fall short of appropriating Einstein’s thoughts to creativity or scientific innovation. The title is thus misleading. The book is not so much about sparking innovation as it is about illustrating principles which Einstein live by and which can help lead a good life overall, innovative or not.

What still make this a worthy-read are the enigmatic thoughts and anecdotes from Einstein’s life. Virender Kapoor has cherry-picked the most interesting leaves from history to reveal to us the Einstein we don’t know.

“The more I study science, the more I believe in God.” — Einstein interpreted God through science. Humbled by the structure, the expanse and the unlimited energy of the universe, and having analysed matter, time, space and motion scientifically, he realised the insignificance of man in front of the spirit manifest in nature. He advocated not fear but being in awe of God. Humility was in his nature.

“In order to form an immaculate member of a flock of sheep one must, above all, be a sheep.”

If his wife suggested he dress properly for work, Einstein would say, “Why should I, there everybody knows who I am!” Yet, while going for a big conference, he resisted dressing special saying, “No one knows me there, so it doesn’t matter!” This ready wit made him quite likable.

Some studies have concluded that creativity and intelligence are independent but a sense of humour correlates highly with both. Einstein’s knack for lateral thinking made him explain the most complex theories of science easily: “When a man sits with a pretty girl for an hour it seems like a minute. But let him sit on a hot stove for a minute and it is longer than an hour. That’s relativity.”

The book shows us how while others thought Einstein primarily imagined and created theories. For instance, “What if I travel at the speed of light along a beam of light? Will the beam appear stationary?”, and this became the foundation of his theory of relativity. Einstein admitted, “The gift of fantasy has meant more to me than my talent for absorbing positive knowledge.”

A vacant mind daydreaming is a very productive neurological process, say Virender. And Einstein made full use of uninterrupted time, listening to what was up in his head. He found solace as well as stimulation in solitude… and in music. Einstein imagined differently not just because he listened to his favourite music when stuck with a problem, but also because he always thought in musical architectures, even in inner feelings and not mathematical equations.

This book asks us to emulate a man who fascinated the world. After his death, his brain was removed by neuroscientists and studied. What did they find? Some parts of his brain were actually missing, thus making the neurons communicate better! The day after his death, as a tribute, the Washington Post carried a sketch of the cosmos in which the Earth was identified by the label “Albert Einstein lived here”.

And within the folds of this book, Virender Kapoor makes him come alive for his readers.

This was first published in the June 2015 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post Meet Mr Brilliance: Innovation the Einstein Way by Virender Kapoor appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.

Seven years ago, on the day of my wedding, my husband had no clue that he was tying the knot with someone who was already married—to perfectionism. But what love at first sight did not reveal, living together as man and wife did. The signs that his wife was a high degree perfectionist soon made themselves all too visible to my husband’s love-struck eyes. And sweet surprise turned to sudden shock, sometimes even to silent surrender.

Maybe because I was allowed a free run in the ‘playground of perfectionism’, or because I did not realise how irrational I could be at times, the perfectionist in me was fast becoming difficult to adjust to—not just for others but also for myself.

My husband decided to sit me down [and by this I mean multiple times!] and remind me of that one vow we took without the priest’s knowledge—that whenever we see a quirk growing in each other, we would honestly tell the other about it. But fortunately for me, before I started dictating others’ lives in ways they least expected or needed, I was gradually helped to divorce my perfectionism.

It’s Tough Being a Perfectionist

I have always believed that each one of us is a perfectionist to varying degrees. Maybe I assume this as I look for comfort in numbers. But if you think hard enough, you will realise you too know people who range from compulsive perfectionists to those who merely like to fuss over their hair and homes. So, if there is a tiny perfectionist hidden inside all of us, where is the problem?

A perfectionist is a person who has a sharply critical eye to spot lapses no matter how small they may be. Often, a perfectionist’s goal is as unreasonable as their means to achieve them. As a result, meeting those goals remains an uphill, often unsuccessful, endeavour. And what happens when you cannot meet your goals? Feelings of inadequacy, guilt, anxiety, emptiness bordering on depression and even jealousy arise.

A perfectionist, then, is a person perpetually running an obstacle race of their own creation. Often staring at the goal post with unflinching determination, constantly chiding their shoes, shins, size for slowing them down, knowing they are fast enough but lusting to be faster and wishing they had clocked a better time even when they touch the goal post first.

What’s Wrong With Re-Thinking Every Written Word?

This article would never have made its deadline if my perfectionist self could have her way, which is to write-edit-proofread and re-write, re-edit, re-proofread times. It took a lot to satisfy me with what I had created, and my husband’s ‘It’s perfect!’ was usually heard as ‘It’s nearly-perfect!’ by me. I pushed myself to be the perfect hostess at dinner parties with not a spoon out of place, or hair, mine or his for that matter. My house would shine spic-and-span, with everything where it belongs. Holidays were planned to the tee. I devoured books on parenting advice during my pregnancy. And then, I dominated my son’s life too—from how his books are covered to making his fancy dresses as unique as possible, to tying the best bows, I tried to do everything to perfection.

Consequently, I found myself upset with what I imagined as my own mediocrity and other people’s quality of work. I was avoiding doing what I thought I didn’t have the capability to handle, and ignoring other people’s faith in me. More often than not, I had bad hair days—figuratively! And I was getting tired of my own behaviour.

My husband had tried most methods known to kind men to make wives like me relax—like watching football, preferably with a beer can in hand, munching peanuts with shells flying and feet on the table. While I would have once shuddered at the prospect of such waste of time, today I think differently.

Related article » How to Live With a Perfectionist Partner

Being a Lamp in the House

The beginning of shedding perfectionism was made on a quiet summer day, when a storm of underperformance at work was playing havoc with my aura. My husband saw his Medusa muttering profanities in a corner of the house and came to tell me a story.

He told me of the ACR [Annual Confidential Reports] writing time in certain government offices. These forms included lots of questions about efficiency, credibility and work done successfully, with remarks by many in the pyramid of hierarchy. He told me of this kind man, right at the centre of the governmental pyramid, writing ‘outstanding’ for each and every person whose ACR crossed his path. When the staff heard it, they were jubilant. After all, it was a homogeneously outstanding lot! My husband knit his brows in incomprehension at this blind generosity. Over tea the same day, he discussed this phenomenon with a senior. The words of that senior bureaucrat quoted to me were:

“If everybody is outstanding, nobody is.”

We both smiled. Here are some things my husband and I have been keeping in mind to make me become a perfect non-perfectionist [sorry!]:

• Silencing the self-critic: To err is human. Every perfection-seeker needs to understand this. Being overly self-critical is unhealthy and makes you miss seeing the good bits about yourself.
• Learning to impress myself: Perfectionists obsess over what others think of them. I did. I tried to make sure everyone liked me, without realising how my lower back was getting stiff with all the bending backwards. And with friends and family spread across the world and social media like a Bodhi Tree, imagine the consequences of all this hard work. By excusing myself from trying to impress all of humanity, I now lead a life independent from one seeking sanctions from outside.
• Enjoying the journey as much as the goal: All those hours I spent making confetti for my child’s birthday, wishing it would be enough and pretty, could have almost been as enjoyable as the party. Or the anxiety over delivering a perfect book review and letting it take away from experiencing the book itself. There is more to life than accomplishing. The process of getting there in the company of family and fun is essential too.
• Challenging your beliefs: It is important to heed people you trust to challenge your set beliefs, especially about yourself. An evolution of mind requires people to question us, even by criticising us, to keep us from sinking into rigidity of thoughts and obsoleteness. Not all of life’s little instructions are written in My Book of Perfectionism. If I had not let my husband into my mind, I would not have been writing this, nor would have signed off on my aim of ‘being perfect’ so nonchalantly.

I conclude with something my teacher from class I wrote in my autograph book:

“If you cannot be a star in the sky, be a lamp in the house.”

To reach that state of contentment where excellence can do for perfection, and ‘very good’ can stand for excellence.

The Perfectionist is Converted

I was forever anxious about not driving perfectly. Three instructors and six years of driving practice included: putting the wrong gear at a traffic signal, people honking impatiently behind me, judging my driving skills and wishing me off the street. And today, after three weeks of driving with a calm husband beside me, I have left all that perfect-performance anxiety behind. So, while he made this perfectionist’s mind go from fifth gear to first, my car confidently paints the town red in gear number five.

This was first published in the September 2014 issue of Complete Wellbeing.

The post Confessions of a (Former) Perfectionist Wife appeared first on Complete Wellbeing.