As
a child, I loved epics. Now, as my mother narrates to me tales from memory and
hearsay, of an era that I had not witnessed, it is with the same passion that I
listen. Someday, I shall compile all those narrations into a book.
As
years add to my life, the urge to know where I come from….the urge to dig
deeper into my own roots, dominates my inquisitiveness. I urge my mother to
narrate to me episodes from her childhood, which give me glimpses of life then,
and of people who were my own blood, but people who faded away into deep
recesses of time as yet another generation unfolded.
I
never cared much for my lineage or my roots when I was young. It was only as my
mind grew with the experiences that life treated me to, that I paused to marvel
at and treasure the emotions I felt and the thoughts that crossed my mind, most
of which seemed to operate at a purely subconscious level. I never knew where
they came from, and I seemed to have no control over them, but to flow with
their natural flow, was to experience paradise. They took me across untrodden
paths, undiscovered lands and uncharted seas….they took me to my first feel of
infinity.
It
was for the first time that I regarded my mind as if it were something distinct
from what I knew to be ‘me’, and I realized that my mind was a gift from my
lineage- an immortal treasure that had been passed across generations, and
perhaps the only immortal link between me and my ancestors. In science, they
call it genetics. Suddenly, I felt very close to my ancestors. It was as if
they stood by my side, watching me experience this moment of eerie elation.
I
had always believed that I borrowed from my mother’s lineage, much more than
from my father’s. And I felt this special reverence for those ancestors I
didn’t even know.
My
mother is my only link to my family clan. She tells me about the 300-400 years
old ancestral house which was recently demolished. I always feel an ache deep
within when I see its remnants, but then it was falling apart in any case. Now,
only the foundation remains, and it is overgrown with grass and weeds. Where
generations lived, the earth has now claimed back what belonged to it. The
trees stand tall, some as old as the house, perhaps older, and I look up at
them in silent reverence, for have they not witnessed my past? They have stood
through time, witnessing all. My mother’s great-grandmother, who was a very
religious and pious woman, and who mysteriously disappeared because of an
apparently agonizing pain that brought into her life a lot of suffering. My
great-grandmother, who would bustle about the house, seeing all, missing
nothing, shouldering responsibilities with a composure that defied their
magnitude. She was a beautiful woman, with profound emotional depth, and an
intellect that surpassed her years. When she was eventually bed-ridden by a
fracture than never healed, we cut her hair short, and she could have easily
passed for a Caucasian. She was the picture of radiance….and of tranquility.
Her absence remains a permanent void in my life and in my mother’s life. And
then my grandmother, who I have no memories of, because she passed away from
cancer, when I was barely an year old. Music was her domain, and all her
children inherited that gift from her.
My
mother tells me of a second cousin who was very philosophical from a very young
age. He had no inclination towards materialistic aspects of life, and in his
teens, he left home to lead the life of an ascetic. Even as a child, people
found it hard to imbibe his philosophical and spiritual thoughts. I do not know
why it left me with tears. Perhaps because I can on occasion feel what he felt.
Those moments when a series of emotions and thoughts flow across the mind,
dettaching one from all that is ‘real’, connecting one intimately to something
that is more real- the inner self. For many people, this is madness. Simply
because it is beyond their comprehension.
I
have often wondered what madness or mania means. These days, as I learn to
integrate what I have learnt from Medicine and from life, I often believe that
mania is a state where the subconscious mind unleashes itself from the
conscious. And the subconscious mind is very powerful- like the sun. If we were
to be exposed to the sun directly, it would blind us to everything external. In
mania, we drown in the radiance of our own subconscious mind. Even in the brief
moments of subconscious writing that I experience, I find within me a powerful
emotion that overpowers all else, that makes me slave to it, that shuts out
everything else. Words escape my mind much before they have come to the notice
of the conscious mind. The conscious lags, and eventually fails, to keep track
of and keep a check on the subconscious. In the end, I am drained, for it has
been such a powerful emotion that has just left me.
One
portion of our grove houses the dead; their ashes and their bones lie deep
within the earth here. I wonder where the dead go. Can they hear us? In the
silence of the grove, I always feel the invisible presence of my ancestors-
their faces a blur, save for the ones who have been a part of my life in the
past. In the fading light of dusk, I experience them within myself. And I want
to tell them that I am indebted to them for their immortal gift that I harbour
within. They have heard me. A soft wind blows and leaves rustle, as if echoing
the acknowledgement of a hundred ancestors. For I have finally learnt to take
pride in my lineage and to value it.
I
have watched death-rites being performed on the banks of the Bharathapuzha, which to me, is the soul
of Kerala. The river fascinates me in a mysterious way. The culture that
thrives along the regions that this river flows through, is what I relate to
the most. Despite the fact that in reality, the river is alien to me. And yet,
all the glimpses of life that are based on this culture, which I have
experienced by way of books and movies and people, fail to surprise me. For
that is the culture that thrives within my mind. Is this where I belong in
truth? Is that why I experienced a supernatural connection with this river,
even as a child, when we passed its banks on train journeys? It is my greatest
desire to spend a day on the sandy banks of this river, for I know that I shall
experience something profound. And it is also my greatest desire that in death,
I would want my ashes to merge into this river. For this is where I have come
from, and this is where I belong.
Now,
I find myself standing at a juncture, where I spread my tentacles deep into my
roots, integrating with a past that is spanned across time, and from this
pedestal, I look at a future that emanates from me, and that will span across
time. Past, present and future merge at ‘me’. Did I just spell out ‘immortal’?
