What is THE first tangible memory you have?
I have asked this question of many many people. Saniya, my daughter has been the most forthright and said- mom, everything that people talk of as beinig a memory I know only from the photographs of my childhood. But she is still young. And will gradually learn to recognise these moments.
THE moment in which life gets defined... and redefined!
THE moments in which we discover ourselves ... and lose ourselves!
THE moment in which we hear and see everything... and become blind and deaf to all!
It is these moments that we need to be alive to! It is these moments that make up our life. And we forget. In the daily grind of living, we forget to simply BE.
So... I shared... My first tangible memory is of a stage when I did not yet have language. And there are no pictures to coroborrate what I lived at that time. So, I do not know this from photographs. And I reconfirmed with my father about the veracity of my memory. It is true. It did happen. And it happened again and again.
This goes back to when I was about one and a half to two years old. we had a roof top in our home that could be reached by a ladder like stair way, no side rails. The roof top itself did not have any railings or guards. I do not even know which house it was, or what we used to see from there or why we needed to be up there! But... each evening, my father woudl carry me to the roof top, and leave me sitting there. Then he would go down and carry my brother, and leave him in my lap. My father had the utter confidence and sheer faith that this was possible. That there was nothing like fear. That nothing ever goes wrong unless we do. And the visceral feeling that he transmitted to this end was poerful.
So... here we were- two pre-lingual children, one barely two, and the other not even one, sitting and waiting for our parents.
My father would then go down again and actually hold my mother through the steep climb. My mother was always scared of heights and the roof top was not a friendly place for her. My father taught me that those who do feel fear MUST be helped to understand that it can be beaten. He did not have to say it and I was too small to have understood the words had he said them. I felt them in my gut and my mind. I have lived them ever since. Anyone who feels a fear can be made to understand that it can be beaten.
And despite the deep seated fear my mother felt, she let my father lead her up the rickety ladder, with only the held hands as her security. My mother- she taught me that when you trust someone- anyone, fear becomes immaterial. Again, she did not have to say anything. She just trusted my father completely. No fear was big enough to prevent her from making that climb- simply because my father was making it.
The strength and the vulnerability always go together. The strength is in being able to stand up despite your fear and take that one step forward. What saves a man- as it is said- is taking one step. Then another. It is also in making the choice of being completely in trust, in that space where nothing CAN go wrong. And surprisingly- it does not!!
Who is the stronger? The one who takes teh responsibility to allow one to experience the fear completely and understand that it can be defeated? Or the one who takes that leap of faith allowing himself to experience the fear fully and live it in THAT moment?
I also realised that my father's trust taught me that I could be strong, and weak in the same moment. Infact- it taught me that I could take care of anyone left under my care.
And all this is BEFORE I formed any language to give these thoughts any meaningful shape.
The events that shape our lives are not always the ones that we remember, and the ones we remember may not have as lasting an impact as those burried just under our consciousness.
The only way, then, to live is to live fully. In the moment. And in complete surrender.
I have asked this question of many many people. Saniya, my daughter has been the most forthright and said- mom, everything that people talk of as beinig a memory I know only from the photographs of my childhood. But she is still young. And will gradually learn to recognise these moments.
THE moment in which life gets defined... and redefined!
THE moments in which we discover ourselves ... and lose ourselves!
THE moment in which we hear and see everything... and become blind and deaf to all!
It is these moments that we need to be alive to! It is these moments that make up our life. And we forget. In the daily grind of living, we forget to simply BE.
So... I shared... My first tangible memory is of a stage when I did not yet have language. And there are no pictures to coroborrate what I lived at that time. So, I do not know this from photographs. And I reconfirmed with my father about the veracity of my memory. It is true. It did happen. And it happened again and again.
This goes back to when I was about one and a half to two years old. we had a roof top in our home that could be reached by a ladder like stair way, no side rails. The roof top itself did not have any railings or guards. I do not even know which house it was, or what we used to see from there or why we needed to be up there! But... each evening, my father woudl carry me to the roof top, and leave me sitting there. Then he would go down and carry my brother, and leave him in my lap. My father had the utter confidence and sheer faith that this was possible. That there was nothing like fear. That nothing ever goes wrong unless we do. And the visceral feeling that he transmitted to this end was poerful.
So... here we were- two pre-lingual children, one barely two, and the other not even one, sitting and waiting for our parents.
My father would then go down again and actually hold my mother through the steep climb. My mother was always scared of heights and the roof top was not a friendly place for her. My father taught me that those who do feel fear MUST be helped to understand that it can be beaten. He did not have to say it and I was too small to have understood the words had he said them. I felt them in my gut and my mind. I have lived them ever since. Anyone who feels a fear can be made to understand that it can be beaten.
And despite the deep seated fear my mother felt, she let my father lead her up the rickety ladder, with only the held hands as her security. My mother- she taught me that when you trust someone- anyone, fear becomes immaterial. Again, she did not have to say anything. She just trusted my father completely. No fear was big enough to prevent her from making that climb- simply because my father was making it.
The strength and the vulnerability always go together. The strength is in being able to stand up despite your fear and take that one step forward. What saves a man- as it is said- is taking one step. Then another. It is also in making the choice of being completely in trust, in that space where nothing CAN go wrong. And surprisingly- it does not!!
Who is the stronger? The one who takes teh responsibility to allow one to experience the fear completely and understand that it can be defeated? Or the one who takes that leap of faith allowing himself to experience the fear fully and live it in THAT moment?
I also realised that my father's trust taught me that I could be strong, and weak in the same moment. Infact- it taught me that I could take care of anyone left under my care.
And all this is BEFORE I formed any language to give these thoughts any meaningful shape.
The events that shape our lives are not always the ones that we remember, and the ones we remember may not have as lasting an impact as those burried just under our consciousness.
The only way, then, to live is to live fully. In the moment. And in complete surrender.
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