She's amazed at how clear this Saturday is. She slept well, very well. Thank you very much. She's joyful and so are her friends and children. The leaves from the trees around the pergola have all fallen away, detritus now, waiting to go back into the Earth and nourish what is to come after - fresh life in Spring.
She looks back at the day that was and breathes deeply. She is okay. Who knew that this would be so? And she is okay, that is all that matters.
Two decades and then one more of tying up loose ends have been very fulfilling. She had had the precious gift of 12 years in an old country that is now her adopted home, that is now more of a safe space to her and the children than the place that is listed on her birth certificate and theirs. She lives in that birthplace, mostly in memories of a verandah and a home that was once filled with plants, and happy voices, each one tended to, lovingly. She belongs in both places, she in fact belongs in many.
Yesterday, she recalls, she woke before her alarm and remembered that she was "being served" that morning. The man who wanted his freedom had picked an able ally to deliver the papers to her. "He will come to the house at 7 am or 7 pm" she was told in a series of terse text messages while she was still at work on a long day of parent teacher interviews that Thursday. She had ignored the messages until she had finished speaking with all the families who deserved 100% of her attention at that time,
Then she had stood firm: "I do not want him to come to my children's home. I do not want him to knock on my door, 7 am or 7 pm" she had said. " But "he has to go to work and that's the only time he has", he said, the man hereafter known as co-parent. She smiled and breathed through the familiar element of control and insistence as if she was there to always fulfil his convenience and that of his sidekicks. "No", she replied, "He will not come to my home. He can 'serve me the papers' at my school tomorrow. I will be there at 7:30"
Then she had stood firm: "I do not want him to come to my children's home. I do not want him to knock on my door, 7 am or 7 pm" she had said. " But "he has to go to work and that's the only time he has", he said, the man hereafter known as co-parent. She smiled and breathed through the familiar element of control and insistence as if she was there to always fulfil his convenience and that of his sidekicks. "No", she replied, "He will not come to my home. He can 'serve me the papers' at my school tomorrow. I will be there at 7:30"
Why the school?, you want to know. Won't there be people there? You'd think she'd want to keep this quiet, you are thinking. Oh, the shame of it ! But this is the blessing. That school is her 'dharma bhoomi' where she does her spiritual work. That is where she is touched by the kindness of many friends, wonderful families and students. That is where she does her heartwork that goes beyond a bi weekly pay check. That is where she draws strength from the sunrise in the forest where spirits dwell.
She did not want that man, that oh-so-trusted friend of the co-parent, the deliverer of sealed envelopes, in her house now, or ever. Shh, ever is a final term, she thinks as she writes this. However, she remembered quite clearly, the World Cup cricket tournament in 2011 in spite of having a very sick child to attend to, she had organised a match day with a huge breakfast spread of strawberries and pancakes, eggs and toast, this and that. She remembers the conversations of teppal and ambshein-tikshein and cooking a special five course seafood spread for him, the sidekick, that had moved him to tears. She had been happy to do that at a time when the co-parent had sat sunk in his own despair and thoughts and she had seen the writing on the wall: that was going to be perhaps the last meal she had cooked for this man, who was then a family friend. She remembered a dosa party at their house, one maybe. And she also remembered doing what she did in the face of their bereavement. But then that was her way. She had noticed that things had changed, since he had picked a side and freely given his signature on every place that needed a witness. She had observed the forced smiles at a get-together. She had marvelled that he had hugged her children at the same evening, as if he was not complicit in the goings on that were tearing their family apart. She had graciously answered the few inane, vacuous questions his wife had asked at the evening, to fill a space. She remembered that this otherwise chatty woman had averted her gaze and trotted off to sit down at a prayer meeting recently.
She also remembered that her children referred to this man as uncle. She perhaps wanted to spare him the shame of having chosen a side. She also did not want him to come to her home to do the bidding that he had chosen to do. She did not want him to enter a space that was spiritually clean and filled with human values that had been instilled in her for years: loyalty and the ability of staying true to courageous conversations.
She also remembered that her children referred to this man as uncle. She perhaps wanted to spare him the shame of having chosen a side. She also did not want him to come to her home to do the bidding that he had chosen to do. She did not want him to enter a space that was spiritually clean and filled with human values that had been instilled in her for years: loyalty and the ability of staying true to courageous conversations.
She noticed that sheepish grin and lowered head as soon as he emerged from his car and dragged his feet over to her in the still dark, school parking lot. He had not thought this through when he chose to be dragged into this matter, she thought seeing him. Usually even for references, people call the ones you place there and let them know that you are using their name. He had not had the courage to pick up that phone even once and inform her that he had forgotten the salt tasted in her home and that he was a witness and an ally. Of course she did not blame him for the leaving or the severance. It was the casualness of this whole alliance that fascinated her. Nothing surprised or shocked her anymore.
And now he was here: chosen again to be the bearer of the lawyer's package and sent off to 'serve the package' to her. He had been found out and he was face to face with her courage. "Hello" he said. She observed her compassionate response to this sorry sight of a man who had chosen a side and did not know how to deal with the accompanying baggage. She actually felt sorry for his confusion and his shame.
She also felt sorry that he could never speak of this shame to anyone, without implicating himself. He could only hide it behind the worry of being found out. Later that evening, when he had been tripped by a question of a casual rumour, perhaps, he lashed out at her peaceful Friday in outrage at someone else's gossip that implicated his part in the matter, she was calm:
"People do gossip, you should know that. You should have thought about your part in this matter before you picked a side. Now that you have, stay on that side" she told him. "Do not monitor my social media posts and police my writing, I have not hired you in the role of a big brother or a father". She remembered a saying from her mother tongue: Pattal guvantu phattar ghallyaari, angaari ussallta" So there you have it. It splashed onto you. For all those signatures on forms and witnessing the process and serving the papers, you don't seem to have thought this through.
You picked a side, so you stay on that side. Actions have consequences. Everyone knows that. And you MUST read the fine print of the sidekick contract. Maybe now that many will know what a fine job you do at signing papers and serving lawyers' packages, there will be more knocking down your door for your loyal services. That should be fun...And do not text me in triplcate everytime someone asks you about your role as able sidekick. Be strong and no boo hoo please.
And now he was here: chosen again to be the bearer of the lawyer's package and sent off to 'serve the package' to her. He had been found out and he was face to face with her courage. "Hello" he said. She observed her compassionate response to this sorry sight of a man who had chosen a side and did not know how to deal with the accompanying baggage. She actually felt sorry for his confusion and his shame.
She also felt sorry that he could never speak of this shame to anyone, without implicating himself. He could only hide it behind the worry of being found out. Later that evening, when he had been tripped by a question of a casual rumour, perhaps, he lashed out at her peaceful Friday in outrage at someone else's gossip that implicated his part in the matter, she was calm:
"People do gossip, you should know that. You should have thought about your part in this matter before you picked a side. Now that you have, stay on that side" she told him. "Do not monitor my social media posts and police my writing, I have not hired you in the role of a big brother or a father". She remembered a saying from her mother tongue: Pattal guvantu phattar ghallyaari, angaari ussallta" So there you have it. It splashed onto you. For all those signatures on forms and witnessing the process and serving the papers, you don't seem to have thought this through.
You picked a side, so you stay on that side. Actions have consequences. Everyone knows that. And you MUST read the fine print of the sidekick contract. Maybe now that many will know what a fine job you do at signing papers and serving lawyers' packages, there will be more knocking down your door for your loyal services. That should be fun...And do not text me in triplcate everytime someone asks you about your role as able sidekick. Be strong and no boo hoo please.
She had said nothing earlier that morning, just stretched out her hand to collect the envelope with the lawyer's stamp on it and it was taped up, not sealed. Whatever. She put the envelope in her car and walked to the edge of the parking lot, through the school yard, past the cricket pitch, by the vegetable patch that students had planted. She looked at the flaming horizon and watched the sun's rays blaze a golden arc into the cold November sky. She pulled out her phone and photographed her favourite sunrise, her namesake rays as old as time in this ancient land.
One loose end at a time is being tied up and she smiles now as she counts her blessings. She knows that when people want to leave they do, and there is nothing you can do to stop them. She lives in the light of understanding and compassion, nurtured by mindfulness and metta.
She has a teaspoon of teppal in her fridge. Maybe she should throw that out now. It's stale. Like many other things that are better off thrown out.
She has a teaspoon of teppal in her fridge. Maybe she should throw that out now. It's stale. Like many other things that are better off thrown out.
P.S: This writer observes the human condition and her place in it through a sociological lens. It's amazing how powerful the 'single mother, 'single woman' label is in the minds of many. Refer the work of Griffith, A.I and Smith, D for further academic learning.
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