Skip to main content

Settling Debt

A few months ago, some words my father said to me made me cry uncontrollably. Having put time space between the event allowing time to heal, I would say the words themselves were not material. They served to trigger memories I want to leave forgotten. He forced to me re-examine them and deal with the full cycle of pain. I am certain that was not his intent and he does not know how badly I reacted. We did not discuss and moved on to other things after I had calmed down. I felt foolish to begin with having the hysterical reaction that I had - it was like my mental age had been reset of under twelve with a few magic words. It took some effort to claw my way out to the here and now, where I am seen as a stable and dependable person by those who love me. My problem statement that had brought on the episode is well-described in this article:

As a psychological phenomenon, guilt can be frustratingly thorny. For if you’re afflicted with a tyrannical superego—one that feels compelled to come after you for the slightest perceived infraction—you’ll be haunted by such feelings even when you haven’t done anything that would generally be regarded as culpable.

The infraction in question is related to me falling substantially short of my own moral and ethical bar. No harm was done to anyone in the process. At the time of the event, I was about twelve years old and not particularly prescient. But it stayed with me forever. All it took was to share with my mother - which is the good that came out of this episode. In less than five minutes I had the closure that had evaded me until that afternoon I called her to tell her how my father's word made my cry for hours. One could argue that I could have had that conversation with my mother at any time and put myself out of my misery but I think there is a certain karmic debt that a person must settle before the universe gives them the opportunity.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...