A Singular Lack of Blessings
Joy turns bittersweet in this strange year
Mala placed her finally-asleep daughter on the bed. The baby wriggled as soon as she was out of her mother’s arms. Mala sighed, started patting her with a slightly cupped hand. The gentle pressure and soft sound of the pat immediately quietened the baby’s movements. For a few minutes, Mala continued patting, in rhythm to the beat of her heart, until she felt the baby’s breath deepen to sleep. She reduced the tempo and pressure of her pats slowly, until it was almost a feather touch. She left her hand, resting on her daughter for a few moments more. The baby didn’t stir. Mala smiled relief and stretched her arms and legs, relieving the stiffness. A yawn escaped her. A full body yawn as her uncle Vivek used to say.
A deep sadness leapt through her chest, forcing her eyes to water. He hadn’t seen her daughter yet and it had already been two weeks. He had called and spoken to her, of course, explaining how he didn’t wish to endanger the baby and her and would come after the pandemic had quietened down. At that time, she’d said she understood; theoretically, logically, she had, she did; but her traitor heart colluded with her dark self to point out how her “wonderful” uncle hadn’t even bothered to come see her and her daughter; how he hadn’t blessed her. I’m alone again. Tears deluged her cheeks.
The force of her emotion seemed to expand out of her, darken a room already outlined only in the escaped glare of city light. The baby stirred again, as if she could feel her mother’s anguish. Mala’s hand automatically shot to her daughter, the gentle pressure of her hand soothing the baby. Mala shook her head and wiped her tears. She’d done it again. Given in. Let the demons take over. She shuddered. What a horrible mother you’re going to be, they whispered.
She fought them, concentrating on her daughter’s breaths; in, out, in, out; she repeated the words in her mind; the cadence and rhythm of life as soothing as always. The whirlwind inside her calmed as her mind threw her back to the first time she’d learned the technique.
She could barely remember what the actual fight had been about, but she remembered her whole body trembling with anger, with the unfairness of it all. She had wanted to destroy everything in sight, then destroy herself. Uncle Vivek had intervened and taken her out to get ice cream. Faced with a large scoop of her favourite blackcurrant ice cream with a generous sprinkling of nuts, her anger retreated and she fell into that special state of bliss only food can engender.
Once she had caught and consumed all stray droplets of purple goo, Vivek asked, “Has the pounding in your head stopped?”
Mala stared at him disbelieving. How did he know?
He grinned. “It’s kinda nice to know my favourite niece has taken after me.”
“I’m your only niece,” she retorted, just as the full impact of his statement hit her. Uncle Vivek, the most cool-headed, even-tempered person she knew could never, ever, in a million years have felt that nauseating pounding, the rush of sweat and the irritating pulsing at the temple. It just wasn’t possible!
As if reading her mind he said, “Yep. I’ve felt the same. The thing I hated most was how my temple would pulse. I was pretty sure everyone could see it. In my head, it was like a cartoonish angry man, with his veins bulging out, looking menacing.”
Mala giggled as she tried vainly to imagine it. It just didn’t fit with her image of her uncle.
He gave a theatrical sigh, “I knew I was too good at controlling it. No one even believes me anymore when I say I have anger issues.”
“Come on Uncle! I’ve known you forever and you’ve never lost your temper.”
“Forever is only thirteen years long? My, my, you really do learn new things every day.”
Mina turned her head huffily, but couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
Vivek said, “Okay. No more joking around. I was serious when I said I had anger issues. And.” He raised a hand to ward off the next words from Mala and continued, “Let me finish what I have to say and then, I promise, you can have another ice cream. Deal?”
Mala narrowed her eyes. She didn’t really like listening to adults talking, but this was Uncle Vivek. And there was the icecream. She was hoping for butterscotch with some chocolate fudge. She nodded acceptance.
Vivek’s voice dropped a few levels as he said, “Good. Let’s get the boring part out first while you’re still awake. Anger, especially the rage you just felt, that is not good for you. I know you didn’t mean to let yourself get that angry. You think this was a one-off thing that could be due to the teen hormones your mom must’ve warned you about. I wish that were true…
“The truth is, some of us — I’m still trying to figure out if we’re lucky or unlucky — some people just…fall into anger. It’s like a deep pool of boiling water — your skin burns, your eyes smart, it’s difficult to breathe and almost impossible to think. All you can feel is the pain causing your anger and like a feral tiger, it wants to be let out. Sometimes, it wants to hunt down the one who hurt you, make them feel the same pain. Sometimes, it can’t find that person and destroys the nearest people. What does it know? It’s a dumb cat.
“I didn’t know that though. I thought my anger was righteous, that I was doing the right thing. But, giving in to my anger didn’t make anything right. It hurt me right back. I got into fights — I’ve had my arm broken, my ribs cracked. I broke a lot of your grandmother’s jars too; they were easy prey. I even fought with my best friend because he told me I was wrong, that I was not thinking. And I…ah no, that story’ll have to wait until you’re eighteen. Anyway, after a certain incident, I came home. Ma saw me and took an involuntary step backwards. She remedied that almost immediately by walking over to me, but I’d already seen that scared yet devastated look on her face. And I knew, I’d become a monster.”
Vivek let his head wander down to his chest. He stayed like that for a second, and then he sat up straight. His old smile was back. Mala was confused. The man who said he’d done all that couldn’t be the same man who sat in front of her.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“That was a long time ago and I was…just a bit different. People have to grow up, right? Just imagine, if at thirteen, instead of eating icecream, you still had to drink milk from a bottle...”
“That makes no sense!”
“Okay. Okay. The main thing is that I used to let that anger guide me and it brought me nothing but grief. I managed to get help and overcome it, maybe because I’m an exceptionally lucky man. You, though…you don’t really look as lucky as me…Hmmm…”
Mala swatted at him. He continued, “I think I’d rather you skip the whole bad part and get to the good bit. And though it didn’t sound like it, there’s a good side — most likely, you got angry because you were passionate about something. And passion can drive you to live your best life. It’s like sugar, controlled amounts mean you get a lifetime of enjoyment; go overboard, and you’ll get diabetes.
“The trick is to find that path between anger and passion. My psychiatrist — pick your jaw off the table, young lady. That’s bad manners. Yes, my psychiatrist. We Indians don’t really talk about mental health, do we? Don’t worry. I’m not crazy and not all people who go to psychiatrists are crazy. They are actually smart enough to get the help they need. And you know I’m smart, right?” He winked as Mala hrmphed.
“So, my psychiatrist suggested this simple tip — touch one thumb with the other; slide down until you get to your wrist; press lightly; you can feel a beat. That’s your pulse. Now, whenever you feel angry, just find your pulse and for a few seconds repeat that sound in your head. It might sound silly, but there’s nothing more soothing than a heartbeat. Did you find it?”
Mala nodded, her face still skeptical.
“Now, close your eyes and just say the sound...lub-dub…lub-dub…in tune with your pulse. Come on, you don’t have to say it out loud. You want your icecream or not?”
Mala emitted a theatrical sigh and closed her eyes. To her amazement, after a few seconds, the irritation that she’d been feeling since the altercation reduced. She opened her eyes in astonishment, stared at her hand, and said, “It works.”
Vivek grinned, “Now, it’s time for icecream.”
By the time she’d demolished her double scoop of butterscotch, her anger and irritability had almost vanished. Uncle Vivek’s warm hand on her head as he said good night removed the final vestiges of the storm that had tormented her a few hours ago. She swore to herself that she’d try his trick every time she felt angry.
Of course, it had taken some time and a few fights with her parents before Mala actually got around to putting her uncle’s trick into practice. She later found it was useful not just for anger, but the waves of inexplicable sadness that seemed to dredge her now and again. Encouraged by Vivek, she attended counselling and meditation classes, learning more about herself. Perversely, the more she learnt about herself, her tendencies, instead of making her worse (like her parents and friends had warned after her first counselling session), she became more confident.
And that little trick of Vivek’s was subsumed into her daily life. She used it before important meetings, before she went to bed, before she made any decision. And the heart she felt in her hand, soothed the raw emotions into pliancy, let her think clearly and decide.
Mala’s slipped out of her reverie, smiling. Her heart still ached to see Vivek, to hug him. She wanted to feel his hand on her head, that traditional Indian blessing, which to her was doubly special because he had met her demons, yet he blessed her.
I wish he could bless you too, she thought at her daughter and tears pooled again.
Damn these hormones! I’m too emotional, she thought as she got up and went into the kitchen.
She found the small carton of blackcurrant icecream she’d hidden and sat at the table. Slowly, savouring every morsel, she finished it, drank water and tiptoed back. Both her daughter and her husband were fast asleep.
She snuggled down under the covers, placed one hand on her daughter, and slipped into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, she video-called Uncle Vivek and showed off her daughter. As was custom, he raised a hand to bless her. Through the impersonally cold glass, Mala felt her uncle’s blessing come through as a warm wave that induced a smile in both mother and daughter.
It wasn’t perfect, but for now, she’d make do.
© Indira Reddy 2020
