Don’t cut your nails on a Saturday

To understand the context of this statement let me tell you a bit about me. I’m a Hindu Gujarati. My father was born in the Indian state of Gujarat and was one of six children whilst my mother was from Kenya and one of seven children. Both grew up with every imaginable hardship – financial, hard discipline, emotional starvation – and their marriage was arranged via elders. There was no dating; they simply saw a photo of each other. Hinduism and Gujarati customs were an everyday part of theirs (and my) childhood; certain days were observed as ‘vegetarian’ or ‘semi vegetarian’ (fish but no meat), certain foods were prepared on particular days and I was completely accustomed to hearing what not to do to avoid bad luck.

The language of Gujarati is my mother tongue but I confess that whilst I can speak it, understand it and read a little, unless I’m speaking to someone (usually) elderly, I default to speaking English even when I’m being spoken to in Gujarati.

My parents brought me up to follow many things (including the nail thing on a Saturday   which effectively reduced my weekend opportunity to get my nails done by more than 50% when you take Sunday trading hours into account). It’s only later in life and especially after I’ve had my own children and am more spiritually inquisitive and aware, that I’ve started to question why we say and do certain things in our culture.

walking the tightrope of luck

The beliefs I was taught were a mix of what I would loosely call religious and cultural. Religious practices included praying, going on pilgrimages and observing key festivals whereas cultural practices would include things like:

• Not putting the household rubbish out after dark because good fortune would leave through the open door
• Never leaving a shoe or slipper upturned because it attracted bad luck
• Not washing your hair for the entire nine months of your pregnancy to protect mother and child from infections (dreadlocks anyone?!)
• Not tapping/waggling your foot because it invited bad luck
• Eating a tablespoon of natural yoghurt before an exam for optimum performance

And hundreds more practices like this. To this day, I’ve never found a universally accepted reason for the ones I was taught – or even a rational reason at that.

do as you’re told

I was also taught obedience and that parents are the personification of God so you do as you’re told and don’t challenge – which limited the possibility of conversation around why. Add to that the difficulty of reverence to parents who sometimes behaved in ways that were morally questionable and you get a flavour of the emotionally conflicting and stifling aspect of my childhood which was probably an unwitting resemblance of their own.

I’m forever grateful to my parents for the material sacrifices that they made. Like many parents of their generation, they slogged night and day to create a life for their children which would be far enhanced materially and educationally than their own. This was the dream; this is what they lived for. But, being a parent is about so much more than this too.

parenting through fear vs. love

I don’t believe that being a parent in itself qualifies you for reverence and even if you do achieve this from your children, if it’s motivated by fear then the depth of loving feeling won’t necessarily accompany it.

Respect and admiration from your children is earned; it’s not owed.

For me being a parent is an opportunity to demonstrate those qualities which you value and want to see in your own children – truth in speech and action, acceptance, compassion towards others, manners, promotion of self-worth, tolerance – and so much more.

why?

I’ve come to realise that relatability is everything. Unlike my younger self, I encourage my children to enquire and be inquisitive whether it’s about our culture, the world and everything in between.

I want to leave my children the legacy of my culture in such a way that they treasure it and pass it on for generations to come. But I know the way I was taught to follow things won’t fly with them.

Immersive appreciation – not blind obedience – is the only way forward.

For example, I observe the Sheetala Satam ritual. On this day, we don’t use the cooker (so usually eat cold food) and light a diya (sacred lamp) offering prayers to Goddess Sheetala. There are many stories about why this day is observed; some say it’s about protecting children from chickenpox, others say it’s because back in the day, people only had a basic earthen stove and it was an opportunity to thank God for the resources He’d provided for us to survive. I’m not sure which version is correct but the reason I observe it – and tell my children about it – is because it teaches me humility. In not using the cooker all day I’m reminded how fortunate we are to have the food and resources we do and to be thankful for them.

For me, this is the take home message; it’s relatable and whatever the future brings when I’m no longer around, the message of gratitude and humility is everlasting.

my banned womb

I’m also happy to observe this custom because I’m not harming anyone by practising it.

By comparison, I was recently told that I wasn’t allowed to participate in a traditional  Shrimanth ceremony* (baby shower) because seven years ago I’d suffered a miscarriage (more in my blog Don’t say the ‘M’ word). I couldn’t believe that the same people who comforted me with assurances that my unborn child was actually a gift from God fulfilling their last karma** were now using my miscarriage as a reason to exclude me from being present and joining my family on such a happy occasion – and citing our culture as the reason for this. Apparently, even though I’d successfully delivered two healthy children my earlier miscarriage meant I wasn’t considered whole.

This experience made me question what messages and legacies we want to define our culture for generations to come.

To take someone’s past unfortunate experiences and use them against them isn’t just a sure fire way for future generations to reject our culture, it’s an affront to humanity at its core.

I’m not prepared to subscribe to any aspect of my culture which alienates or denigrates people. To me culture means inclusivity, celebration of heritage and strengthening bonds based on the foundations of mutal love, promotion and pride.

I don’t want to shed my culture, I want to celebrate it but I want to define my culture positively and set practices and beliefs which enhance and promote people and their wellbeing – not use it as a tool to divide.

To me, culture is captured by togetherness and servitude. It’s sharing meals and resources, celebrating each other’s successes, offering a hand when life gets tough and observing customs which tighten this thread of humanity between us.

looking ahead

Future generations won’t accept legendary tales or customs which shun members of the community. We live in an age where children want answers backed up by reasoning or the satisfaction of their innate sense of justice fulfilled. My humble advice? Be prepared to be asked questions and don’t be afraid to say you don’t know but you’ll find out. And when you do get an answer to your question about why you do certain things, pause and ask yourself if you agree with the message you’re conveying to your children.

We are the beholders of how we define our culture to our children – we’re not slaves to following things we don’t want to or don’t agree with just because that’s the way it’s always been done.

When we’re at the crossroads we can choose the ignorant path of fear or the illuminated path of education and enquiry.

In Sanskrit the teacher is known as Guru which translates as the remover of darkness/ignorance – we are the primary teachers of our children so let’s use this empowerment to shed practices which harm others and redefine our culture so that it’s exclusively rich in love, acceptance and service to all.

some explanations:

*also popularly known as Godh bharai/Khodo Bharavo which essentially translates as “filling the lap” of the mother-to-be with abundant good wishes for a safe and healthy delivery.

**In Hinduism it’s believed that the cycle of birth and death continues until all past misdeeds have been compensated for through good action thereby enabling a person to merge with God and be truly free of this world.

Photo from post.jagran.com – image shows seven chillies and a lemon often placed outside homes and businesses and believed to ward off evil 

 

 

Stand up to Yourself

To yourself, I hear you ask. She calls herself a writer but talks about standing up to rather than for yourself? You read right.

I’ll come back to this in a minute – rest assured it’s a deliberate statement – but first a bit of context.

Golden Time

At my son’s school they have something called Golden Time. It’s a period where the children can choose to undertake any activity they wish, a chance to feel free and to engage in what they enjoy. Needless to say, he loves it and really looks forward to it.

I don’t press him too much on what he actually does in this time. The parent in me prefers to think he’s finding new and innovative ways to solve maths problems using an interactive abacus. The reality is that he’s probably in the mud kitchen finding more treasures to stuff in his impossibly small yet strangely very accommodating coat pockets  (how do kids do that?). Last week he brought back a bone. Like from an actual animal – I kid you not. We’re a vegetarian family; I know said animal had already been consumed by something but it was a new level of grossness in his treasure collection I wasn’t quite prepared for.

Anyway… so Golden Time means freedom, no regimented tasks; just time to indulge in what ignites the excitement within.

Sacred Fridays

The reason I’m telling you this is because Fridays are my Golden Time.

I work four days a week doing a job I love and managing a super bunch of people. Everyday I’m making decisions that can be life changing and restores justice – it’s a pretty great feeling. But that fifth day of the week, that’s my day. My day to indulge, to enjoy, ergo to reflect and write.

It might be short story ideas or blog posts but if I’m sitting at my desk with a steaming cup of tea and my lime green Icelandic wool blanket (slightly itchy but lovely draped over my lap) under the warm glow of my Himalayan salt lamp, I’m in creative heaven.

So if my Fridays are interrupted or taken away from me by life events, it’s not just a mere botheration – it upsets me on a far deeper level and creates a lava-esque bubbling within. We all have something we do that we love and which recharges our emotional batteries and keeps us going? Well, for me it’s Writing Fridays.

And then last week something happened.

Violation

My father’s house was burgled and it took me straight back to the day when I was around 14 years old and had returned home with my favourite cousin and a takeaway. The evening had been planned; we’d be eating a delicious meal together and then have a girly night talking about film stars and trying out different make up. But when we reached the front door we could see burglars through my living room window – it sent a shock through me which is as live today as it was then. I felt a sense of violation of our space, fear of their return and outrage at their temerity to forcibly enter our family quarters and help themselves to what they wanted. Our arrival rattled them and they ran away. But I couldn’t eat that night nor sleep; I was so afraid and no-one around me could understand why. Plus being from a fairly typical Indian household where feelings aren’t generally discussed, it was never spoken of again.

So when this happened at my dad’s house and he was abroad, I went to help restore his house to order. The memories came flooding back like crashing waves on weathered rocks evoking in me that same feeling of vulnerability and invasion that I’d experienced so many years ago.

And then Monday came and I had to put on my manager hat and carry on as normal. I was battling against a wall of work which had mounted from my absence (I’d been off for two months following a knee operation, see Accepting Life’s Lemons) and to top it all off, on Wednesday my son was sent home from nursery with a raging temperature.

Friday came around eventually but my son was still ill and I knew the writing simply wasn’t happening. It was both an emotionally and physically exhausting week – exacerbated by the lava-esque frustration and wistfulness in my drooping shoulders that my Golden Time wasn’t going to be had today.

Uh oh!

And then I remembered at 9pm that I’d seen an advert for a TV presenter role and the audition video was due that day. When it hit me, my heart sank. Ever since I was a teenager, I’d regularly ponder on a career in TV broadcasting and here was an opportunity quite literally under my nose where all I had to do was record a 60 second video about myself and deliver some scripted lines. I could think of every reason not to apply which included (this list isn’t exhaustive):

• I hadn’t brushed/washed/done anything to my hair
• I had no make-up on
• I hadn’t slept properly (courtesy of the visiting Temperature) resulting in bags under my eyes that could accommodate a weekly family shop
• My wrinkles seemed more pronounced than usual
• I wasn’t feeling my usual upbeat self so how could I possibly come across as being engaged and excited by this opportunity?
• What vaguely relatable experience of journalism did I have anyway?

And then I looked at the other side.

Here was an opportunity which had practically been gifted to me. It was a chance – and I could look away and use my near empty tank of energy as an excuse or I could face up to it, pull myself together and throw my hat into the ring.

Ultimately if I didn’t enter the arena how would I ever know if this was the beginning of something new and purposeful? I’d pledged that this year would be about writing, speaking and putting myself ‘out there’ – there was no way I could justify to myself passing up the very first opportunity that came my way to showcase a different facet of my personality. Ok, it might not lead anywhere – and I might not even like it – but equally what if it was the beginning of a new creative outlet for me?

So, armed with my dry shampoo, some flattering lighting and a (slightly forced) beaming smile, I recorded my piece and sent it in.

I was going to show up. I wanted to be in the arena.

Don’t look at the doughnut

The awe-inspiring Steven Pressfield, author of the War of Art personifies resistance and says “its aim is to shove us away, distract us, prevent us from doing our work”. What’s resistance? You know that voice, the one that tells you to eat a doughnut when you’re on a diet or not to share your innovative idea in a meeting in case it generates looks of derision from your colleagues. That voice that derails you when you’re about to try something new, different or exciting.

Excuses, excuses

I could’ve rattled off a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t submit an audition video and reconciled myself with it – but I didn’t. I recognised that the more excuses I made, the more I actually wanted it. I wanted to have that experience. (In case you’re wondering, the TV company actually liked my video and invited me to a second audition –  I’ll let you know how this part of the story ends in the fullness of time).

Someone once asked me if I was resisting taking actions to fulfil my dreams because I was more afraid of my own success or because of a fear of failure. What’s failure anyway other than an opportunity for us to learn more about ourselves and grow? No, it’s the success that’s more scary – what does that Reena look like?

I might have had a week that’d rather be forgotten. And I might have lost my Golden Time too. But despite all that, I didn’t lose to resistance. This experience reminded me that mindset really is everything. Even the complex yet delicate lotus flower has to push  through murky waters for its beauty to be realised. It’s inherent in its nature – and in ours too.

 

Photo by Clarence E. Hsu on Unsplash