On roads less traveled...

I’ve realized that the most challenging thing in life is to come to terms with the fact that not everything you need is available to you right when you reach for it. Quite often, life makes you work for it before you have your needs met – the right job, the right partner, the right <fill in the blank>. This is especially apparent if your needs are quite specific and you believe that, as intelligent people, we need to be more discerning in the choices we make.

People who settle for what comes easy generally live a highly dissatisfied life. That is the unfortunate truth – the good things in life are certainly earned. People who go with the flow constitute a large proportion of the population, so the belief that people must conform to societal beliefs and rules has been quite pervasive. Less so now that in previous generations, but it still exists in one form or the other. Everywhere you look, you see people who are settling for less because they believe in a perceived timeline that their life must follow, and are strong enforcers of this belief. Patiently waiting for something that suits them best is painted as stupid, "irresponsible" and other people fervently lecture the people who have the courage to take the road less traveled that they shouldn't be wasting their time or making these large sacrifices. 

Let me confirm that it is always much harder to swim against the tide, but when a person truly understands the risks in ‘going with the flow’, they try to be more conscious of the process of making the series of decisions that result in an individual having the unique experience that unfolds, to eventually be their life.

When a person takes the road less traveled, they are consciously putting themselves through some unique experiences that force them to take a good hard look at their ways and beliefs. The more enlightened among these people adjust their outlook according to the new information they have. They embrace change and are willing to rise to the challenges this new path presents to them. A person who routinely chooses the road less traveled is ultimately a highly evolved individual, as a result of the experience they gain from being faced with a slew of unfamiliar and/or challenging situations.

One must keep in mind that taking the road less traveled often means that they are most often more prone to experience disappointment, failure, a sense of feeling lost and unsure of where they are headed. The uncertainty and the challenges in this path are what convince most people to take the easier route. However, it is important to remember that these transformative moments are absolutely essential because the better things are usually far more respected when they are earned; and routinely get more difficult before things fall into place, and the person is finally rewarded for their patience and persistence. The outcome of this experience is that the person is now permanently transformed into an evolved individual, and the rewards would be in kind.

In case you’re one of these people, take heart and remember to hang in there. The journey ain’t over yet - good times are coming – just don’t you give up. As difficult as this may seem at the time, hold on to the belief that when the time is right, you will thank yourself for not settling for less, because the person you are becoming would be rewarded with far more than you ever imagined. The version of you receiving the reward would have been through several rounds of upgrading and polishing, that what you dreamt as the earliest version is chump change for the new and improved version. Don't ever apologize for evolving and waiting for something or someone worthy of you. Likewise, don’t ever stop taking the road less traveled. It is certainly peppered with far more challenges, but overcoming them will be worth every moment of despair. Whatever you do, don't give up or stop trying. The best things in life are worth the struggle. Take heart and keep moving forward, one step at a time.

What's all this fuss about chai? Well, I'm glad you asked.

Yamuna sipped her chai as she looked out adoringly at the bustling Indian city around her, contemplating life. She contemplated the fluidity of the concept of time in her mind, the way it felt like an eternity and a blur all at once. This was one of those moments in life when life caught up with her for a second, and everything she’d been through made sense for a second. She didn’t feel adrift anymore, because she was finally claiming her life, taking control over what was rightfully hers. 

After what felt like the exodus to her, she was finally at home, amongst all that felt familiar to her.

She inhaled, taking in the smell of her aromatic chai. It smelled familiar and warm. Unexpectedly, a tear rolls down her cheek. ‘Where did that come from?’ she wondered. It was the overwhelming relief of finally not having to put on a show of how she was unlike this simple, saree-clad woman, sitting on her doorstep, sipping her chai. Here, she didn’t have to think, or speak – she could just sit here, taking in the sounds of all the people going about their lives around her, and just lose herself in the aroma of the ginger and elaichi, wafting up from her cup of tea.

She had taken her time waking up and getting dressed this morning, picking out a pretty saree that matched her mood, and draping it with care, taking her time to make sure the creases were perfect and that the saree cascaded around her in an artful cloud of pleats and loose bits. She chose to wear a big, round pottu and a big mookuththi. She felt deliciously rebellious doing it, even though no one else may think of it that way. She had taken her time enjoying every little morsel of the gloriously crispy dosa she had made for breakfast that day, enjoying the smell, texture and the warmth of it and all that it meant to her. She had then made her chai and had actually sat down to savour it, letting its warmth wash over her. Being so free felt strange to her, at the point where the drudgery had started to become her friend.

Tomorrow, she decided she would start making the phone calls she wanted to make regarding her job search, but today, she was just going to relish being here, in her saree, drinking chai, and feeling beautiful and proud. She looked at all the people around her who looked like her, and watched as the aunty who lived next door came out to buy vegetables from the vegetable hawker. Aunty was a bit surprised to see her in a saree, so she made a gesture at Yamuna, which meant she was mighty impressed, and Yamuna smiled back at her happily.

Oh the joy – she finally didn’t have to protect her precious India from unfriendly strangers, who were only too ready to turn up their noses at it. She was finally allowed to feel unabashedly proud of all the wonders of her home. She could finally embrace the music, the dance and the way India lived and moved and breathed all around her, like a warm, comforting mother. The world felt like a safer, simpler and a far more meaningful place, all at once.

She could take her time to choose what she wanted to do with her life. No one was going to question her presence or kick her out if she took too long to do anything. She didn’t have to explain herself to anyone. They just understood. What a relief.

She would never discourage anyone who thought about going overseas, but the reality is, unlike most people, Yamuna had always had a sense of exactly what she wanted out of life. Her choices were often unconventional because she unapologetically followed her heart. It didn’t matter to her if people didn’t understand why she did the things she chose to do. In fact, she enjoyed proving people wrong when they handed her the doom and gloom about why her choices would lead to her “failure”. She listened attentively when people who meant well gave her sound advice, but never let anyone make her decisions for her because most people didn’t quite “get” her.

It was due to a decision someone else made that she had left her beloved India some years ago in tears, very apprehensive of the first world, which was sold to her with such fervour. See, to a lot of people, money mattered far more than soul. For those people, the sacrifices they make don’t matter because they live for the moments when their clueless families back at home would celebrate the image of opulence and the unsophisticated, fake accent they toss around when they visit. They always make a show of how they are slumming it, with their family, and the family lap it all up readily, forgetting their self-respect in the mind-fog that resulted from the gifts they were given.

Yamuna wasn’t really the self-righteous type, but she always scoffed at pretentiousness. No matter whom it came from.

Anyway, the realities of the first world hit her slowly. She went in wanting to love it, hoping that all she heard from everyone was true. At first, she absolutely loved being able to express herself freely. People understood the nuances of the English she used. She could use flowery language, embellish a little, be witty, and her jokes landed. People enjoyed having conversations with her as much as she was beginning to enjoy indulging them with all her stories.

She always loved beginnings, because there were no expectations from anyone, just conversation that flowed freely. She spent some time getting to know the people, learning their ways, and politely answering their probing, and sometimes (frankly!) moronic questions about India.

At first, she sympathised a little – they truly had no idea, which is why they sounded so…curious. However, as she became more familiar with the social cues of this new culture, she started realising that it wasn’t healthy curiosity, but a veiled attempt to get her to criticise her darling India, and say that this new country was the best in the world.

She spent some more time there, trying to fit in, telling herself not to be so judgy. She baked cakes for birthdays and anniversaries and contributed to potlucks. She organised parties and events, and really participated, hoping that that would help her get into the spirit of things. She also showed up to the many, many social events that she never seemed to be able to escape. She endured the culture that seemed to always revolve around sports, drinking and whinging. She tried her best to be sympathetic when the onslaught of first world problems came.  Oh, and when they came, it felt like they came in buckets – no, actually, more like a freakin’ deluge. In the first world, she hated being a woman because the women were having baby showers and bridal showers and all manners of exaggerated sleepovers, with penis-shaped straws when those kinds of things frankly drove her up a wall.

Her idea of womanhood was so different from trying to act like the lost boys…only, girls, in this case. She embraced adulthood the moment she had the chance to act like one. She would never, ever want to do anything child-like. Children didn’t get to wear gorgeous sarees and make decisions for themselves. Children were pretty much the same as drunk adults, and she knew she’d had enough of that for a lifetime! She didn’t want them, and she didn’t wanna be them. Gross.

Regarding her opinion of the first world, it was only a matter of time – the initial wonder she felt bubbled away, turning into tolerance, and tolerance very, very quickly morphed into judgement and resentment. Trainwrecks were celebrated, and intellectuals were non-existent or snooty. Either way, the feeling was akin to her trying to get comfortable in a bed or a chair, but always feeling like something was off. Either a spring would dig into her side or the fabric would make her slip off. However much she tossed, and turned and shifted, there was no comfortable position she could get into. She liked the people, they were alright, but in all her friendships, there was a glaring absence of interconnectedness and genuinity.

She took the last sip of chai and sighed deeply. She had never thought she could grow to despise the stiff upper-lipped, British notion of civility as much as she did now. She realised that she had been right all along.

To put it in Passenger’s words – “Only hate the road when you’re missing home.”