Changing Views: A Sign of Life

One of the advantages of the pursuit of finding or being with the pure self is the slowly acquired ability to observe from a higher level, step by step. Every earlier view begins to appear smaller, narrower. The picture keeps getting bigger. And clearer. 

One such realization came this morning when I saw a prominent actress’s post about her recently concluded overseas tour for multiple shows of a stage performance. One of the pictures had her in casual clothes ( as opposed to the stage costume) posing with two local hosts. At first glance I didn’t think those two people with her were known to me. Then in a flash one face looked familiar. So I took a closer look, zooming in on the picture. Sure enough I recognized both the people who stood flanking the actress. The man stood on her right and the lady on her left. They were man and wife. I had known the guy from my days in Mumbai. He was a senior in college. His wife was his girlfriend in those days and although studying in a different college she would be seen on our campus from time to time. Despite a long term relationship that had begun in high school, the guy had a reputation for flirting with other pretty faces behind his fiancé’s back. We lost touch after graduation. They were married and moved out of India. I was married and I moved to another country. 

The guy remained in the news for one or more reasons. Hosting cricket and cultural events. Seen on social media at such events. In You-tube videos interviewing celebrities. Until one day when the news was of a different kind. He was found guilty of sexual misconduct with several clients and stripped off his professional license. The scandal was all over the place. Gossip mills were on overdrive. Privately, people who knew the man or the couple or the family, discussed the case. Some with sadness, some with disbelief, some with disgust and disapproval, some with sympathy, some with understanding of human weakness, some with compassion and support. Each one opened or closed their doors to the man/couple depending on their ability to digest and handle the circumstances. 

A reliable source had told my circle of friends that when the scandal broke out, the wife had wanted to separate and file for a divorce. The guy’s parents put pressure on her to not proceed with the divorce. Their concern was the future of the grandchildren. 

The sight of the picture of the two with the actress this morning whispered a story of the couple who went through some really trying times and, if the picture is to be believed, have managed to stay together. Not just under one roof, but succeeded in stepping out in public together. I am at that age now when I can gather that this is by no means an easy feat to accomplish, in the context of the scandal in their lives. There was a personal sense of betrayal, the trauma of public humiliation and a massive wreckage of one of the closest relationships that life was built around. The cracks couldn’t have been worse. The porcelain was impossible to reconstruct from the pieces and shards that lay scattered. It is impossible to fathom how these two have managed to stay together. But they have. I look at it as a human triumph. It is the psychological equivalent of returning from a near death situation. 

What I am about to write is pure speculation, sprinkled with a generous dusting of wishful empathy. Only the two of them know their journey through hell. But when I saw and tried to make sense of the picture today my mind imagined a story behind that picture. 

In that story, there were three parts. One, the journey of the guy starting from the immediate aftermath of the scandal. One, the journey of the gal also from the point when the scandal began to surface in their lives. And third part was the slow picking of threads and giving another chance of being a couple. My mind imagined that the scandal must have reduced the guy to nothing. Not just in the eyes of everyone who knew him, but even within himself. He probably was seeing the demons within himself face to face, their ugly faces taunting him. They were dancing to mock at how every single good thing he had done in life was burnt to ashes and he was stripped naked before the world he knew. 

He was speechless before his wife and parents to explain himself.

He couldn’t look his wife in the eyes for long.

May be even couldn’t look at himself in the mirror for a while. 

Did not step out of home for a while.

When he did and met familiar faces on the streets, he couldn’t tell if their faces were giving away truth or being fake as they smiled and comforted him. 

Ironically, nothing seemed to have the power to make him rise from the dust except that sight of the gleefully dancing demons.

The mocking probably did it! That probably made something deep inside resent the humiliating defeat and give the impetus to fight back. To bring back at least a fraction of the glory that used to be. He made up his mind to learn from the errors and give himself a second chance. To fight the demons. Fight the damaged reputation. Salvage what he could of his marriage. Check on the friendships that were still breathing. 

The story of his wife. Yes, she had been suddenly left with the scars of betrayal from a guy she had known since both were teenagers, a guy she had loved deeply, been loyal to and built a life with. He had shredded every ounce of trust in her heart. Outside of the marriage, humiliation waited to greet her. She could smell pity from a distance. There was anger boiling over. And at the same time, a current of uncertainty. Uncertainty of navigating rest of the journey by herself, taking the kids along, without their father. Something she had never considered before. And then, as if her own blurred path and internal turmoil wasn’t enough, his parents were standing with pickets outside the door telling her to stop doing what she desperately wanted to do. How could they know I can no longer stay with the father of my children? He is no longer the guy I thought he was. Her loneliness was of a different brand. But it had a silver lining that her husband didn’t have. She didn’t carry the burden of guilt and shame. There were no demons mocking at her and no harm was done to her accomplishments in life. Her character got no stains from the crime her husband had committed. She didn’t have to prove or defend anything. It was going to be easier for her to look humiliation in the eye and walk away with her head held high. 

And then that awkward moment when she, who really wanted her way out, is talked into, with great difficulty, to face her partner and consider the option of giving him another chance. What must have gone through her mind at that moment? Becoming aware after a long pause, of the love she always held in her heart for this man? Getting a fleeting glimpse of what forgiveness looks? Then wondering if it is real? A momentary reprieve to think that perhaps staying together would save the inconvenience and extra effort of navigating life by herself at this age? 

Or a fresh reminder of the ancient doctrine of sacrificing personal choice,will, dignity, comfort and happiness for the sake of others( in this case for the sake of the kids and their grandparents)? Or a genuine change of heart and renewed surge of faith in her man to make the marriage work? 

And then, from the initial awkward moment, they allowed time until both mutually agreed to give another chance to their partnership. He acknowledging what had happened and what he needs to work on. Both of them baring their souls to each other like they never had before. Both recognizing they are answerable to their individual lives and taking on the specific challenges around their relationship. Yet determined to acknowledge everything that was on the table at that moment and make it work. 

That’s the difference between porcelain and human beings. Both are vulnerable to break, to shatter and get reduced to fragments. But you can’t put porcelain together. Humans can not only be individually healed and put together, back into being strong and worthy again, even the relationships between two broken people can be repaired and rejuvenated. Hope, will, love, faith, gratitude, patience, forgiveness… these are magical ingredients that come together to make the strongest human glue one can find anywhere. If you study the stories of devastation like this couple endured, one often discover irony. Extreme suffering, humiliation and loss become the fuel for the comeback. Only those who are betrayed or hurt by someone learns firsthand about forgiveness. Only one who falls, learns to get up. A mistake becomes a lesson after it is made, whether by yourself or someone else. Many people recognized as gentlemen move around with the same weaknesses and faults that bring disgrace to another man. The difference between him and them is that they are adept at hiding their faults, either out of fear or out of cleverness. Only the disgraced man knows the price of falling from grace and the strength it takes to rise again.

The world watches from a distance, gossips, ridicules, frowns, disowns, and ignores. It doesn’t have time to acknowledge the grit and triumph behind the story. Only those who were broken, they know. Although they may not always realize they were the lucky ones. Not the ones who never broke down.

Whether the story my mind speculated is anywhere close to their real journey or not, I learned much today just seeing their picture together and writing the story that my mind created after seeing the picture. If I have to be honest, until now, I held absolutely no respect for this guy. Not even empathy. Having seen him flirt with other women when he was engaged to his future wife, my mind identified him with a label of “a creep”. That label found validation when news of the scandal broke out. The news was alarming only because of its magnitude. But it wasn’t surprising, because the traits of the perpetrator were visible since a long time. 

But in the interim, much changed in the landscape and demeanor within my own mind. It kept walking in search of the pure self and the self made it walk some distance each day, slowly climbing uphill and taking in fresh views. It didn’t realize how old views were being left behind simultaneously. With time, mind could understand that not only am I undergoing change, even the people I had put labels on are constantly going through change. That labels are erroneous, incomplete and unfair and can come in the way of understanding people or circumstances. They freeze your views for a long time instead of allowing a breath of fresh air and unobtrusive vision for the mind. 

Today for the first time, I felt a sense of respect for him. And respect for her as well, instead of sympathy. The two standing together was a picture of grit. Grit to rise from the rubble. Of the courage and confidence to look directly into the eyes of a world that is so used to pass judgments even when it is not qualified.

Now to a different story.

While on the topic of changing views, another of personal anecdotes comes to the forefront. Over ten years back I was having a conversation with a dear friend from junior college days in Mumbai. She is settled in Northern California and we remain closely in touch. After one of her visits to India to spend time with her father she was telling me about a course she attended at the Art of Living center in Mumbai. At the end of a month long course all participants were given an assignment to cook one dish at home without taking help from anyone and bring it to the potluck on the final day. My friend was telling me how that simple task was so daunting for the women in that group. These were all women from high society who never needed to cook at home. There was hired help for every task. A driver, a nanny, a housekeeper, a cook, a person to run outside errands, a security guard, a tutor for the kids, a washerman, someone to do the dishes, a secretary and more. In contrast as women living in the USA we had no extra help. We performed all the roles by ourselves. Driving, meal planning, meal prep, cooking, cleaning, dishes, laundry, ironing, taking kids to school and all extracurricular activities, watching over their school assignments and progress. Everything was hands on. Plus a full time, high stress job. “The art of living” that the women went to “learn”, paying handsome fees for a month long course, we had learned simply by doing everything. It seemed really funny at the time to think someone would have to pay to learn all this and give it a fancy name! 

Fast forward a decade and more. Recently during the trip to Peru the reference to the Art of Living Foundation came up. I narrated the above story to Priti, my sister’s friend from Dallas who I had been only introduced to during this trip. She and her family are followers of Sri Sri Ravi Shanker, who is the head of the Art of Living Foundation. Priti’s reaction to the story was an eye opener. “What’s wrong with that?” she shrugged. “What’s wrong if those women in Mumbai feel the need to learn about meaning of life in such simple tasks? I don’t see anything wrong in it. “

Later I was thinking to myself. Ten years back when I had first heard the story from my friend and so many years later when I narrated it to someone, I was looking at this story with an attitude of ridicule. To me it appeared to be a matter highlighting the vanity of high society. To feel the need to attend expensive retreats to get introduced to simple tasks of living and only then find joy in them was something my mind found difficult to wrap its head around. Now when Priti found nothing wrong with it, it prompted me to take a fresh look at my view. 

It made me realize several things. Privilege is a relative term. I can see myself being less privileged than many or more privileged than many. Despite being a largely contented person in what I have, I had been taking my lifestyle for granted all along. The joy that simple tasks had always brought to me, I had taken for granted. Not until now had a very conscious sense of gratitude arisen in the mind for the opportunity to do everything by myself, rather than depend on multiple people for things that I could easily do and for the things that actually brought joy. Yet, when this subconscious mind overheard that someone else can’t do these simple things, the mind felt a sense of superiority over them. Unknown to me( more correctly, to the mind)the opportunity that life had given, had been taken for granted. Mind had lacked gratitude and developed arrogance out of doing its job. It was the ego, self appropriation, making me sneer at those women. The narrative had been that these women couldn’t even cook a simple dish occasionally without help, despite being filthy rich! Good Lord ! So somewhere there was even envy hiding behind the ego. As if being wealthy and affording hired help was their fault. 

I realized being wealthy and having a lot of resources because of the wealth was not their fault. I was beginning to see myself in their shoes. Until this time I has not realized the irony that wealth could bring comforts but preclude one from simple joys. Conversely, lack of wealth could facilitate easy access to simple joys of life. Money is definitely not needed to learn the art of living. Money never buys insight. Insight is independent of one’s wealth or formal education. You can be rich or you can be poor. You may be illiterate or have a doctorate degree. If you gain insight, living can become an art.

In any case, I was wrong to laugh at those women in Mumbai who went seeking to “ learn “ the art of living. The desire by itself is legitimate for any mind, rich or poor. Irony lies in the fact that the rich have to pay money to learn what the poor can learn for free, from life itself. Another irony is that many poor people do not realize what they have while they were poor, until they become rich. 

I am reminded here again of my favorite line from a ghazal by Chitra and Jagjit Singh.

Duniya jise kehte hain 

Jadu ka khilona hain

Mil jaye to mitti hain

Kho jaye to sona hain

This world is a magical toy. When you get it, it loses worth. When you lose it, it suddenly becomes precious.  

Unknowingly Priti had opened my eyes to my own shortsightedness, vanity, ego and concealed envy. 

The common lesson from both the stories I shared today is to not make the folly to judge others from our colored lenses. To be aware that our lenses are always going to be colored and vision is never going to be 20/20 at any given time. Allow grace when looking at anything. Even at your enemies or those opposed to your ideology. Ask honest questions to know more about them. Why they do what they do. And if you choose not to ask questions or know more, acknowledge to yourself that there was room to know but you made a conscious choice not to. Even in that acknowledgment you will discover grace.