Self #1

I knew it was no use. No use trying to be two — like the alter egos of two different persons. No use at all. Not anymore. One minute Gandhi and the other minute just being myself — loud, aggressive, and demanding. It was the duality of it all that was killing me somewhere. This strange “no-man’s land” feeling of being the forgiving godmother when I wanted to pull up the world and ask, “What the fuck?” I feel like a switchboard in the hands of a child. It isn't funny, trust me. This state. Where the core self is in conflict with an ingrained one.

Was it time to unlearn some of Mom’s teachings?

What is the right amount of aggression or assertiveness anyways? Do we have a definition? A barometer? We don’t. It is a judgment, a call one has to exercise when one thinks fit. What is the right time to walk away from a negative relationship or a situation? Does anyone have a clue? Most probably not. It is pure gut. Instinct. Conditioning always fights with instinct and kills natural reactions to any situation, conversation and starts controlling body language too. I look at myself and at times wonder who is the real me? The girl who was moody, impatient, sarcastic, whose temperamental ways scared the shit of even those who loved her and still wanted her in their lives? Or the chastened, more patient, responsible, forgiving, let-go person who has learnt to slow down? My point is — is the change real?

So, when did the girl change? A bit, under her father’s patriarchal regime? A bit, under her mother’s patient tutoring? A bit, under her brother’s over protective ways? A bit, under her foster mother’s brainwashing? Or a bit, when she entered workplace? Or a bit, when she entered a new world, a new family where girls had no voice at all? Bit by bit, I felt MY self, the self that I was born with, change shape, color and metamorphose into what I am today.

More often than not, people who are just themselves are always loved, no matter what they are. They could be quirky, arrogant, dominating, demanding and rude, just about anything– but they are loved. People can see through someone who is not being himself. Ok, herself too. They are perhaps even intimidated by someone who they can’t really decipher.

I could see the stress of me being someone else at times. No, I never did anything with any evil intent, but with a desire to become my mother. Yes, somewhere along the way, I wanted to be her. Long suffering, forgiving, accommodating, so much so that she was respected, she still is, but she is also taken for granted. And now, I feel, so am I.

A small resentment that is there to these words, I still emulate them. The Devi. The Sita. The Victim. What syndrome do I suffer from?

Was it hero worship? A case of a female Oedipus complex? What was it?

Now, I find myself mapping the cross roads. Either I traverse the full road to godliness, like my mother has, all these years. Or else, retrace the full distance back to being where I was, closer to my own self.

This choice is supremely tough, horrifying even; it may have its grave repercussions on no one else but me. Some others too. Mainly my mom. And all those who will not like or relish the new ‘self’. The two selves are enmeshed inextricably. Just who is who? I can’t tell them apart anymore.

Maybe the other ‘self’ is selfish. She is, actually. She is terribly self-centered. But, something tells me she is more at peace, with her individualistic streak running rampant and calling the world to order, without any qualms, unleashed.

Was it really time to unlearn some of Mom’s teachings? Or, maybe not?