#10
The first poem you ever publicly shared had blazed with rage. It was a very bad poem, but it also felt like the first time you’d ever been explicitly honest. Later you’d sent it to a beloved teacher, and she got quite worried about you. The poem should’ve been the first clue, but understanding these things takes time. It’s only now that you realise how often your immediate response to feeling overwhelmed or anxious is red, hot anger. People who love you recognise this, and are graceful about it, even though sometimes it really scares them. When this happens at home, your father places his hand on your head and it’s as if the anger compresses like an accordion. Last night, while walking, you ran into a friend who asked you what you were listening to. A podcast about anger, you replied. (Two philosophers were discussing the topic and the various ways in which it manifests, and you were trying to figure things out.) He said, “Dhruvi, every time I talk to you, it’s very concerning,” which is unfortunate (and should be remedied) because mostly you’re quite happy. It’s just that home was so safe: an exercise in communicating with only a few people for almost two whole years (and in a language mostly reserved just for them). In this other world, there are so many kinds of relations and encounters, and they happen so quickly, and being open is to be vulnerable is to take risks is to feel tired sometimes and yet is also, mercifully, to grow.
The heat is oppressive. You went out for ice cream with friends last night. Some men did creepy things on the road. This is an old story, and you’re pretty tired of it. At first, once safely inside the campus, none of you uttered a word. What is there to say. Then you started speaking, and you were almost yelling. You said you wanted pepper spray in one of those mosquito spray bottles. Even better, as you later imagined, in a fire pump. That would be so cool. You’d have to carry it everywhere, and it would be tiring, but imagine the relative security of it. You’d be like Ema in this dance! You’re tired of constant vigilance and yet, the urge to retaliate with violence isn’t right. Martha Nussbaum writes, “We should understand that the wish for payback can be a very subtle wish: the angry person doesn’t need to wish to take revenge herself. She may simply want the law to do so; or even some type of divine justice.” It would probably be highly unsafe for you to do anything but run for safety, regardless of all these fire pump fantasies, so your only hope is the “divine justice” thing (that you wouldn’t find out about even if it did happen).
In the meantime, what to do about the anger you feel? How can you turn it into something useful and healthy? Nussbaum cites the following parable: “Imagine that the sun and the wind are contending to see who can get a traveller to take off his blanket. The wind blows hard, aggressively. But the traveller only pulls the blanket tighter around him. Then the sun starts to shine, first gently, and then more intensely. The traveller relaxes his blanket, and eventually he takes it off. So that, he said, is how a leader has to operate: forget about the strike-back mentality, and forge a future of warmth and partnership.” This is good. This can be done.
An ardent fan of synchronicity, you recall seeing a post somewhere that said, “If you aren’t angry, you aren’t paying attention,” and then later the very same day you saw a picture of a t-shirt that said, “If you aren’t amazed, you aren’t paying attention.” You don’t have to choose one or the other, but it’s pretty clear to you now that the former is not healthy. You will find reparative ways of looking at the world.
Well, now that that’s done, a few lovely things: firstly, song and dance have returned to you. The world is beautiful when you sing with friends. In this you’ve had at least two different kinds of experiences. In one case, the effort is to meet in similarity so that all voices rise as though from the same belly. In another, difference adds the most unexpected layers so that what emerges can be experienced anew each time you visit it. All you’ve ever wanted is these degrees of light earnestness, and you’re so grateful. Secondly, sweet friends notice things, and care about you. You try to do the same, and try to share as many meals with them as you can. A recently shared bowl of pasta past midnight will forever be a fond memory. It is beautiful to recall the day’s events to a keen pair of ears, and beautiful to lend yours in return. Beautiful when the other’s touch leaves your skin glowing, and beautiful to meet smiling eyes.
Look at this love letter! It opens into an art gallery!
Here, an old favourite song, particularly the lines: “દાઢી કરતા જો લોહી નીકળે ને ત્યાંજ કોઈ પાલવ યાદ આવે, એ પ્રેમ છે.” (Love is when you nick yourself while shaving and remember the pallu of a certain saree.)