Passion…unbridled

People who wonder whether the glass is half empty or half full miss the point. The glass is refillable.

– Author Unknown

When I was younger I used to see

My life as a glass half empty

My present life I would view

Pessimistically, in a bluish hue

My future, on the other hand

I would imagine to be grand

All my optimism was reserved

For the future I thought I deserved

The glass that I viewed as half-empty

I expected would be filled, eventually..

**

Hurtling towards middle age these days

I have obviously changed in many ways

Many aspirations of younger years

Have been realized, others have disappeared

Comfortable at the place I am right now

In the journey of life, I view somehow

The glass as half full in my life at present

It could be filled some more, but I am content

The optimism of future has been replaced

By an optimistic present; now I face

The future prospects of aging and its ills

I must admit that pessimism sometimes fills

My heart when the future I contemplate

My life is best in my current state..

**

The gist of my rambling verse is this-

Partially full the glass of happiness always is!

Why is there this need persistent

To maintain productivity constant

To fill each waking minute, each hour

With some activity- to make me feel empowered

As if what I do alone constitutes my existence

Why does my mind give me such resistance

To the idea of being idle and staring into space

Is it societal conditioning that does not let me embrace

The concept of idling away time, a commodity precious

Or is it something more sinister, more contentious

Within me, that begs me to fill each pocket of time

With something called work, such that my mind

Can stay away from thoughts jumbled and incoherent

When I get immersed in work, I can pretend

To forget that voice inside my head

Saying good is not good enough, demanding perfection instead…

**

After contemplating on the need to stay occupied

I decided to idle away some time, risking my pride

Having free time at hand, more in control I felt

Of my life, instead of being on a constant conveyor belt

I was moving constantly without making progress

That was certainly not conducive to success

Industriousness is overrated, I dare say

Balanced breaks are the key to being productive any day..

To your ears, foreign sounds my accent

You have difficulty understanding me to some extent

I get it, and I wish you would simply ask me

To speak more slowly and deliberately

English is not my first language

Some sounds I find harder to enunciate

The way you do, but believe me when I say

I make a conscious effort to change my accent every day….

More than anything else, my accent gives me away

As a first generation immigrant, my identity it does betray

While talking to people I have seen

Frustration, anger, fascination and everything in between

I will my tongue and throat and palate

To get the elusive accent right, to enunciate

Consonants, vowels, the way you do

But I simply cannot shake off my accent, it’s true

The worst is when my accent distinctly un-American

Is misconstrued as a sign of inadequate education

And people before me start explaining things

Like they would to a child- that really stings..

**

Trying my best to change my accent

Reflects, at assimilation, my sincere attempt

But the innate accent that refuses to dissolve

Is a connection to my roots as my identity continues to evolve..

“Self-worth comes from one thing – thinking that you are worthy.” Wayne Dyer

I wonder now but why on earth

Was I looking for self-worth

Outside of me, in others’ eyes?

I did not even care if they were lies

Sugarcoated to sound cloying to my willing ears

To drown the noise of my innermost fears..

**

Why in the world did I think back in the day

That I would be more contented if I looked a certain way

I groomed myself well, lost a few pounds

That did not silence the deafening sounds

Of my inner voice screaming that I would

Remain unworthy, never amount to anything good

Why did I believe what the media portrayed

That external beauty a major role in self-worth played..

**

Why did I think that if I could appear

More erudite, more intellectual than my peers

I would feel more comfortable in my skin

I would be able to suppress that din

Of that all-too-familiar refrain

That I was an imposter, my efforts were in vain

As much knowledge as I could, I tried to acquire

It improved my self-worth some, but did not quell the fire..

**

Now with the wisdom of years and greying hair

Finally I can say that I do not care

As much about others’ opinion of me

Self-worth is internal, realizing this set me free

Whether I am well groomed, or knowledgeable

Or neither, I am finally able

To silence the dissenting voice inside

I now know my worth, I say that with pride

 

 

 

 

 

 

As an avid reader, there is something I have found

That continues to bother me, in a way quite profound-

The female lead in nearly every story

Is a beautiful woman, no matter who she might be

She might have qualities in every realm, but still

She is usually portrayed as having looks that can kill

What, I wonder, compels writers to create

A character to whom not many of us can relate?

*

Maybe when stories people conjure

Beauty has an irresistible allure

And for the qualities of a  female protagonist

Beauty appears to top the list

A female version of Quasimodo

Does not exist as far as I know

*

Even when her other virtues are celebrated

Physical beauty remains a quality elevated

Is it a natural instinct for humans to mold

Women as characters whose beauty can be extolled?

Or is it the influence of social conditioning deep-seated

That beauty as a norm is endlessly repeated?

*

There are many ways in which beauty can be defined

For me, I celebrate the beauty of a woman’s mind..

 

(Image source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/371758144226620700/

 

 

 

 

How did the year 2020 become

A series of never-ending conundrums?

There is nothing right about any decision

Nothing wrong either, there is no precision

There is a Schrodinger cat everywhere

Uncertainty is the only constant, beware!

Where can we go, who can we meet?

Planning daily life is no ordinary feat

Webinars, zoom meetings, virtual school and more

The constant wiring leaves my brain sore!

What risk to accept, how to calculate

The risk to us, our families, is a matter of debate

You decide a course of action, only to find

You could flip a coin and spare the strain on your mind!

The best laid plans can go awry, we all have found this year

Like Pandora’s Box, only Hope shines in the midst of fear..

I pen my thoughts using strokes quite different

From each other- from writing in patient charts meant

To document my impressions of their illnesses and treatment,

To writing for medical journals where I present

Scientific information in a form concise-

In both these realms, I am expected to be precise

Conform to standards and accepted verbiage

Precision and brevity garner praise

While I write what is needed it does not satiate

The creative urge, does not allow me to ruminate

Over the caprices of life that stir my soul and mind

To process my deepest emotions, I find

I need to express myself in ways more oblique

Stringing together words in verses I seek

Answers to queries on the significance

Of life, and my very own existence

As words come together, calmer I feel

As if solutions to my conundrums are being revealed…

**

Somewhere in the web of words I weave

Exists my ultimate salvation, so I believe..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do I, in the matter at hand, have a choice?

This is the question asked by my voice

At every step of my journey through life’s highway

Somehow that voice always seemed to say

That I did not have the luxury to choose-

There was one way forward, if I did not want to lose

The path that was created on the backbone

Of archaic traditions was the right one alone

Or so I was led to believe through the years

To question the veracity of this, I did fear

**

Taking each step forward had become

Like following the steps in an algorithm

The cookie cutter approach to life served me

Well for a while, predictability was the key

To a life spent within the confines

Of conformity with society’s arbitrary designs..

**

As I grew older the realization came to me

That I had become narrow-minded in my conformity

As unpredictable events unfolded before my eyes

My thoughts and opinions I had to revise-

Under the guise of limited choice, I had developed tunnel vision

Now was the time to choose wisely, take a decision-

**

I chose to ignore rules and regulations that felt imposed

To open my mind to doors that had seemed closed

To accept new challenges, explore vistas new

To discard my prejudices, embrace a broader world-view

To move away from extremes, find middle ground,

The place where the truth was likely to be found

To shed the weight of expectations from everyone

To turn over a new leaf, be a brand new person..

**

Now I have a very different inner voice

Telling me I have the freedom of choice

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I live in a place with choices abundant…

Such that picking favorite objects seems redundant

Any kind of food, any cuisine that I fancy

I can have, it is readily available to me

From decadent desserts to low sugar substitutes

I can pick healthy food and satisfy my taste buds too

But then there are days when the single brand of cookies that defined

Snacking in my childhood comes to my mind

And the freedom of choice afforded to my palate appears

Quite meaningless, as I hold the memory of that one brand dear

*

There are objects to buy, things that I need everyday

Which one to buy- the plethora of choices blows my mind away

Precious hours I spend in reading reviews online

Still never certain that the product I finally find

Is genuinely the best, or my decision has been swayed

By clever marketing tactics, or complicated games played

By colossal corporations and search engines working in collusion

I don’t know if being a savvy consumer is just an illusion..

*

Then there is this pandemic we are dealing with now

Complaining that quarantine measures do not allow

Us to have unlimited choices in the way we had supposed

Was our fundamental right, we grumble about the restrictions imposed

Yet the choices that we still have today

Are such that they still allow us to get away

With behavior that undermines the greater good

We still do what we like, not what we should..

*

Freedom of choice is a gift, a blessing in many ways

But in excess it becomes counterproductive, I would say

We are spoiled by choices excessive

I think I would like to try to live

With fewer choices- so that I can eliminate

Chaos from my life, live in a more peaceful state..

(I was fascinated by the concept of the Human Library. Here is an excerpt from Wikipedia about them: The Human Library is an international organization and movement that first started in Copenhagen, Denmark in 2000. It aims to address people’s prejudices by helping them to talk to those they would not normally meet. The organisation uses a library analogy of lending people rather than books.)*

I lived in my self-made bubble

Stretching it just enough to avoid trouble

I met people like-minded, with similar lives

In my chosen community, I definitely did thrive

When I felt the need to expand my horizons

I would travel (as a tourist) to exotic destinations

Or read a book, or watch a film about a different land

Without making the slightest effort to understand

How others led their lives, because even when I tried

To learn about others, quite frankly, deep inside

I had no intention to connect with them at all-

I had chosen to surround myself with a self-made wall

Of  superiority, privilege, exclusivity, arrogance

Completely oblivious of my obvious ignorance

I had never taken the time to listen to any voice

That did not mirror my own, I realize now that was my choice..

**

The turning point came one day, out of the blue

I stumbled upon the Human Library, a concept new

To me-  living people were the books here

“Reading” to an audience, as  volunteers

From  stigmatized groups- sharing stories

From their lives, their remarkable histories

On hearing my first story I was fascinated

All my preconceived ideas were decimated

I found myself immersed in this person’s narrative

For once I felt empathetic, it was as if I could live 

The narrator’s life vicariously while hearing her talk

It was the first time I had actually tried to walk

In another person’s shoes- I was transformed

My prior view of the world had been myopic and deformed

**

I have continued to read human books since then

But that experience provided me more enlightenment-

Now I make an effort to understand the world around me

To un-judge people, get to the bottom of their story

Many uncomfortable truths the process has revealed

But by learning empathy, my soul I have healed…

 

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Human_Library

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some days my work feels thankless

Despite my best efforts I confess

There are days when nothing goes right

Patients don’t get better despite our efforts to fight

Their disease together, sometimes they’re upset

Then I retrace my steps, sometimes I regret

What I did and what I said

I should have chosen a different course instead

While constantly second-guessing myself teaches me

Such rumination wears me down considerably…

**

Then there are days when out of the blue

A patient or caregiver stops to say thank you

Usually it’s for something I’ve done without giving it much thought

That could be routine practice for me, for the patient it’s not

That silver lining a sense of purpose for me renews

There is so much to gain, even if sometimes I lose

Maybe I’m doing something right after all

I shall continue my efforts, in right places pieces shall fall…

 

A self-confessed control freak am I

Feeling out of control destabilizes me, I will not lie

Just when I thought I had life within my grasp

The virus came to engulf the world in its clasp

And all my sense of control went spiraling down

Suddenly I was surrounded by fear profound…

*

Like everyone else I learned new ways

Of doing things and going about my days

As life settled in a new routine I found

A renewed sense of control to keep anxiety down

*

But the world stood divided, other tensions surfaced

In trying to make sense of the world, my sense of control regressed

This was the first time that crises of such magnitude

Were affecting me personally, shaking me from my lassitude

While solving these problems was beyond me

I could choose to be part of the solution certainly

*

So I pledged to do what was right in the situation

And though my efforts were but a drop in the ocean

It was empowering to know I had control

Over how I chose in this brave new world my role

With social distancing and a mask as my tools in this fight

I carry on with faith that an end is in sight.