Belonging

 August 10, 2020

 

Over the last week I have grappled with a sense of not knowing where I belong. It did get set off by the Ram Temple ceremony and the messaging around it — about how it was a celebration for all 130 crore Indians and how Ram belonged to the whole world. I was struck by how quickly one feels estranged by this sort of messaging when one cannot include oneself in the narrative. Another friend remarked on how this had made her feel like an alien in her own country. I read a news short about a South Indian woman being asked at the airport if she was Indian just because she didn’t speak Hindi, and I wondered what I would be asked, to prove my Indianness. What do I need to feel and think to belong there?

 

Belongingness has not been so hard for me as an adult. When I was a child I often felt excluded from things – starting with my large joint family where I rarely fit in – but later, probably only in my early 40’s, I found a strong inner core which allowed me to not be swept away by external marginalisations. Often forces around me have created strong storms but like a well rooted tree I have swayed in the winds, lost a lot of leaves and branches, but remained solid through them all. 

 

But now events in the country leave me feeling extremely displaced, like a part of my identity is thinning and breaking away. So loud are the voices about what it means to be Hindu or Indian that those of us who can’t relate to them are left untethered. A lot of these voices have got stronger with the establishment of the Ram Temple and though I want to leave the issue behind I feel chased around by it. 

 

I have lived in Singapore for 12 years now and have managed always to feel a sense of belonging here. It was easy to integrate as though it is a different country it still has an Asian feeling with its emphasis on a collective community culture. Also, right from year one I found close local friends who though Chinese Singaporean spoke an inner language that resonated. I have experienced racist or xenophobic situations, but they have been rare. 

 

Saturday was the first time I felt an exclusion here that left me rawer than I expected. I wrote that story about the Ramayana and the way in which it had been used to legitimise violence against women, create an evil ‘other’, manipulate identity, and to grab political power. I sent it off. It was not the whole story I wanted to write since there was a word limit, but it captured my strong feelings around this epic and its misuse. The editors extended the deadline for submission and wrote back asking if I might want to rework my story as it didn't reflect the Singaporean South Asian experience. I don’t yet know why this left me feeling ungrounded; like a floating vapour unable to find a place to settle, to solidify. I questioned whether I didn’t belong here either. 

 

It was only the next morning when I was sweating at Hong Lim Park with four other karatekas that I felt myself in my body again. It was National day -- we were two Singaporeans, two Japanese and one Indian training together, laughing and exchanging stories about ourselves – we were a community. 

 

I think one reason I felt the sense of non-belonging that I felt on Saturday is because the story I sent to them is about an issue I feel so passionately about – not just today, but from 1992 when the mosque was destroyed, even earlier perhaps when I was a teenager and questioned the way Sita was treated in the Ramayana. While I understand the editors stance -- that my perspective of the story, with its slant around the politics of India, is not something local South Asians would identity with, I think that each one of us, wherever we come from, will have a different experience of a myth and I need to not feel excluded by this experience? Though it does have a residual something left to it that I continue to ponder. 

I think I need to spend some time with others who think and feel like I do to reconnect -- to belonging to my own core. 

Moving on, perhaps

  

August 7, 2020

 

The Rama temple movement is still on my mind -- the way it has changed Indian politics since 1992 and has reached a place that will alter the form of India that was envisaged by our constitution, and by the peole that actually fought the freedom struggle, to a India shaped by the RSS who never played any part in this independence. 

 

I finally feel detached from it. Change is inevitable. Death is inevitable. And we definitely don’t always get what we wish. The current political dispensation has won and though I fear for the millions in India who are not Hindu and not men, and not in line with the RSS philosophy, I also feel it is time to move on to other fights and issues that probably can be influenced. This reality – of the foundations of a Hindu Rashtra -- we in India will be stuck with for a long time. But Hitler came and went and so will the current Hitlerian architects. 

 

Though I am not a practicing Hindu I do understand what Rama really stands for. But the Rama appropriated for political power is not this essence of Rama, and though I have never been a devout Hindu I find it reprehensible. I feel I did need to notice and speak this truth. 

 

I heard several newscasters talking about those who had started this movement, and came to power because of it, were not present at the temple ceremony. It reminded me that those who are proud of reshaping India today too will die and will not necessarily be remembered with any respect. For now, this is enough for me. This inner place of quiet I have found around this issue has not been easy to get to – have grappled with serious body symptoms and mental demons along the way -- and I don’t know if it will remain long-term. 

 

I have found myself recycling to the place of despair I felt when covid first started growing. It is not exactly the same but the lostness, the fear, and the lack of mental focus are the same. Two days ago, I shyly showed my friend a sketch I wanted to work on. He taught sculpting and painting in Canada and is much further along on the this path of art than I am or might reach. I had found a picture of Higaonna Sensei punching in shiko datchi -- probably taken at the Chinese Gardens in Naha -- determination on his face. My friend immediately began critiquing the work – and I took notes. Then he said, this is some picture (meaning the original photo and not my work). I look forward to seeing the finished product.

 

Instantly I said, I don’t have any time to work on it. My reaction came from fear – of course of not being good enough to capture the likeness and the core feeling sense of the picture. But also the fear that I have lost the ability to focus my attention on a task for too long. When I draw, I like to do quick sketches and work on some details but stop once a set time – normally less than an hour is done. At the end of the time I look at the drawing critically and make notes of what needs work. I don’t go back and draw the same image again but choose something different the next time. Nobody can get good at any skill by approaching it in this way. I argue that I don’t want to be a great artist, just draw for fun, for the way it absorbs me and relaxes my mind, but I know this is an excuse. What I don’t do with drawing I don’t do with many other things that I actually do want to get better in.

 

I remembered how I had lost concentration in the early days of  the covid outbreak and then in the last months found it again, somewhat atleast, and now it is gone again. I don’t know if it is connected to covid or just my own lack, or lethargy. But the stories of covid’s impact around the world are beginning to really get to me again. There was value in allowing myself to be sunk by it the first time, value for me in feeling the depth of that feeling, the absolute desperation, instead of merely trying to cope, but this time around I don’t want to be swept along with this effect but try to have some degree of awareness and control over how my mind and body are reacting. 

 

I think next week I will try to create time to work on this drawing and attack it like an artist would – draw a quick rough of form and shape, then make the transition to adding details and trying to perfect it. Attempting perfection in anything is worth it, and I think that effort translates into other stuff in my life too. 

Still stuck

August 2, 2020

 

I wanted to write about a conversation I had with a friend around identity and how like passports, which are about a certain kind of identity, our experience of our own identities also have an expiration date. But I am still stuck. On many things but mostly on the feelings I have about the Ram temple foundation stone being laid on August 5^th.

 

One of my favourite news anchors did a nine-minute clip of the impending inauguration. The whole clip was him reciting the resources, the thousands of people, involved in planning this --  during the time of a pandemic where India’s numbers are completely out of control. His list had a very powerful impact on me. The callousness of this enterprise was extremely painful.

 

The current ruling government came to power on this issue. The Ram temple. In 1992 the Babri Masjid was razed and then a legal battle raged around it. The judgment when it finally came last year was bizarre. It was a criminal act, but nobody is to blame. It was a violation of law but the perpetrators will still get the grounds. The judgment by the highest court of the land was based less on evidence and more on something that has been used to rouse emotions – a very twisted faith. It was part of the promises in the BJP manifesto, and though it was a legal judgment Modi, the saviour of Hinduism, appropriated it as his doing. Which India am I a part of I wonder – one that voted for a party with a manifesto that didn’t have much to do with unemployment or economics or social justice – just Ram temple, Kashmir, CAA and such stuff? Yet the path that got us here is easy to see and all political parties had a part.

 

Journalists are still treading carefully around the temple issue. Already just reporting the truth of the Indian covid situation is leading to arrests – what might happen if they tackled this? India has slipped to 142 out of 180 on the global press freedom index. Of course, the ruling party says that these surveys are a conspiracy against them -- and their followers believe it. 

 

I can’t come to grips with it. I walk around wondering why I feel this pain that can’t quite be pinned down to anything. 

 

I am resurrecting a story I wrote when I just began writing fiction several years ago, and using it to assuage my angst. My story is about Ram and Sita. About how epics glorify violence and wars reinforce rape culture. I am convinced though that the essence of Ram is not about tearing down old structures to build a temple in his name, that there is nothing moral about this behaviour and that it would mortify him. But gods and goddesses – mainly gods though – are used to spread violence and hatred these days. My story is subversive, blasphemous but it is necessary. I need to keep expressing my feelings or I might be swallowed by things.

 

I have in the past been called a bad Hindu or a hater of Hinduism and this story will lead to more such statements, but I’d rather be a bad Hindu and a good human. 

 

Today I want to end on a positive note. One of my students graded to 8^th kyu today. He did very well – correcting his mistakes and not giving up even when flustered. It is still hard to organise our trainings with the restriction of only groups of five allowed for exercise, but I am amazed at how supportive the students have been about outdoor trainings, rotating the use of the gym we rent, with seniors helping juniors and more. 

 

And I am finally done with anti-biotics for my ear infection. The second course had deadly side-effects – gastric, urinary, sleep disturbances, muscle and nerve weakness. The body is slowly recovering and I cracked open a beer after days of no alcohol.

Ram Temple

July 24, 2020

Since about a week, on the days I don’t have to rush out of bed, I’ve been taking a selfie of my face, in the light of a 8Watt bulb. It illuminates a lot of my flaws – wrinkles, double chin, age spots etc. Then I sketch the image with a 4B pencil. My drawing skills have improved a lot with the online course I studied with, but not enough and so far none of the images look at all like me – well, the last one does a bit, in parts. 

The ‘not me’ images have been interesting to build personalities around, allowing me a dive into parts of myself. On the first day my sketch of myself looks like a 55 year old man – a revolutionary building the ideals of a new socio-political system. The second sketch, a woman who I imagine would wear starched, white cotton, sarees, looks like she is setting out on a protest march. I imagine she could be part of Gandhi’s salt march. A freedom fighter. The third day is almost caricatural – the eyes pop out and the mouth is scowling deeply (though it was smiling in the selfie) – she is saying “I see this and I am disgusted.’ This morning’s sketch has eyes closed, I can imagine her wanting to turn inwards,  release tension and breathe – but her furrowed brows tell another story. I feel I have a magic camera that captures something beyond the surface. 

Last night, all four of these inner personalities watched an interview on tv – around the Ram temple whose foundation stone will be laid down on August 5^th, by the PM. Besides the obvious critiques of this – the money spent on this temple that could be used to build hospitals and clinics – there was a deeper unease ‘we’ felt. 

The man being interviewed spoke of how the whole country, including Muslims (I guess he assumed that ALL Hindus automatically would) needed to rally around this temple. He said the Muslims should have voluntarily given up their claim to the land, but they didn’t. He said Ram’s story is the story of sacrifice and since Hinduism propagates non-violence it is the dharma our country needs to back. Of course he lives in his own little lie which forgets how Hinduism with its caste system is deeply violent, how in current day India non-Hindus have been forcefully made to say ‘Jai Shree Ram’, they have been beaten and killed in Ram’s name. But it is a lie that he seems to inflict on the entire nation. We must all deny some things happened, and are still happening -- and many do. But a blind nation is a dying nation. The man from sketch one would definitely write about this.

The man being interviewed also said that the temple building should not be politicised. An opposition politician had made a comment on how inappropriate the timing of this temple is and the amount of money going into it could be used elsewhere. The donations the temple fund is seeking from corporate CSR should not go into the temple trust, should it? But I imagine how they will be bullied to contribute – it’s simple, contribute or we will stall your development plans. Tie you up so deeply in red tape that you will sink. In the climate that is being built around the temple narrative any criticism will be deemed anti-national and we might be booked under some terrifying act that will lock us up without bail for an indefinite period. This stuff is already happening. The freedom fighter from sketch two would march against it even when she knew the consequences. But the interviewer who has been vocal against many BJP initiatives did not offer a contrary opinion. I think he was weighing his words – what will be allowed and acceptable on National TV around the temple issue I wonder? We might just see an uneasy wordless ‘support’ of it from those who disagree. I hope not.

It will be interesting to observe how BJP supporters will react to this. Some I know are brainwashed beyond any independent thought and will wholeheartedly support it. Others, will not comment on it even if it is something against their own beliefs. Their complicit silence also is blameworthy in my opinion. In a free, secular, democratic nation, no temple rhetoric should be imposed on all its citizens and those doing it only can because of the backing of these silent ones. There is a part of me, like the image in sketch three, that still is stunned, and disgusted, by this non-questioning, this allowing of verbal, emotional, financial and ultimately physical violence. And I happen to agree that Ram's story is partly about sacrifice, and add that he would not endorse this. Speak out you silent God, your name is being hijacked to do evil deeds.

I do want to be able to pull away from all this and breathe, but it’s not possible. I fear the things to come. I see flashes of people being chased and beaten, of being trolled on social media and destroyed, of families and friends fighting over this and being divided. The Ram temple has been weaponised but may we keep struggling for a world that "has not been broken up into fragments… where words come from the depths of truth… where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way…"

Missing Connection

July 21, 2020

These days when I try to read an headache begins to come on. My eyes hurt, and tension builds around them and the forehead. I feel an almost physical barrier forming between my eyes and the page. It makes me feel panicked and I try harder to read. The pain around my eyes intensifies. If it is a non-fiction book I try to go back to the beginning and read words I’ve already read, or move to someplace in the ‘future’ and read words I would have got to a few days later. As none of this works my chest tightens in anxiety and I feel like I am losing something precious – my connection to the words and ideas of others, through print. I don’t like it.

Then I try to think what might be right about it. Why should I turn off from others and reach inside? I think perhaps I just need to dig deeper within right now and that too is something I am resisting, or rather I feel perhaps I have forgotten how to do. 

To write, I feel I must know myself. But the act of writing makes me know myself, and if I share it with others I make myself known to them. I keep going back to this one thought – that what I write changes when I know it is for myself, and when it is not. Lately somehow when I try to write in my paper journal I get the same headache and other symptoms  that I described above and they only disappear if I push away the journal and pen. I try using a different colour ink but, my no matter what my eyes begin to hurt madly if I try to write. It feels like I am cut off from a vital way in which I find myself, and heal. 

I feel irritable with people these days. If I was writing in my paper journal I would name these folks. I feel irritable with others who, perhaps because they are overwhelmed, have stopped being responsible. Those who want others to do tasks they used to do and refuse to help with those tasks they have expertise with – leaving the other struggling. I feel irritable when I call these people out on this and they deny it. I think I need to have compassion towards them, but before that compassion towards that part of myself that wants to be irresponsible. I should set up a time in the day -- not evening or night, but the day -- an hour perhaps, when I choose to be just that. Then I know I will be less irritable towards those needing to drop responsibility. But beyond that there is more – I know that being irresponsible is self-care. It is also a way that the mind and self opens beyond known structures and one gets into the unknown.

The other behaviour I feel irritable about is the way some peeps keep changing their mind. They say one thing and I make my plans around that, and then they say something else and I have to change my plans. With so much else going on this constant shifting really is frustrating. Perhaps I need to give myself freedom to change my plans? I don’t quite know what to do with this one yet. But it is linked to being responsible, having integrity, not messing with others. As I write I do see there are things I promised which I no longer want to do. I want the freedom to change my, mind but I don’t want it to impact the other. 

I am really missing another vital connection in my life. Face to face connection over an extended afternoon -- turning into night -- with another. The slow revealing of the self to another, the reflection back which helps me see parts of myself I have missed seeing. Conversation that deepens the relationship and the self. Zoom, Skype, WhatsApp chat etc only go so far. Perhaps in time I will be able to do this. 

When I write this blog I don’t get an headache. But I don’t really reveal myself the way I do in my private journal, nor do I have the feedback from another that might help me see myself from their perspective like I would in dialogue. 

I just remembered something I dreamt last night. I am in a train compartment – the one with sleepers not plush chairs – with others, it is crowded but we are sharing and supporting. Then Modi comes in -- and as if he is entitled -- he pushes people off and lies down on a sleeper…

I will ponder who the Modi in me is. I need to get back to taxes – I didn’t do some stuff properly, and I am helping sis and mum with theirs now.