I think I have desisted from writing about this, partly because society thinks you have to revere your parents, and that they can do no wrong, and in part because I do genuinely love and adore my parents.
What you will read here is one flawed human being's account of other two flawed human beings. We all are flawed in so many ways and this exercise is not to point fingers, but finally put on paper the early years as they happened.
I grew up in chaos. That's all I remember. It was a household that was raucous and noisy. And you didn't really get seen or heard. It was a household ruled by what my dad wanted.
My dad has four daughters. Four, in the hope, the next one, perhaps the next one will be a boy. Mom wasn't keen on having four children, she was happy with one. When she learnt she was pregnant with me, she cried (she didn't want a second child so soon).
A note on mom: my mom doesn't have a very strong maternal orientation, mainly because her mom didn't have one. I don't remember my maternal grand mom ever smiling, or ever happy or ever overjoyed to see us. She didn't ever pull us close, hug us, kiss us: none of it. She always seem pissed/angry/walled off and her main concern was us grandkids not overusing the resources that we were using when we went visiting her.
Back to the chaotic household we grew up in. Dad had to provide for four daughters and also his mother and father (my grandparents stayed with us). Dad was the sole breadwinner. He ran a very successful business part-time, while he worked in a bank. I, or my sisters never felt the lack of anything we needed or wanted, materially. We always had enough and more than enough.
The only thing with dad is: he doesn't like mistakes, I think 'like' maybe a slight aberration. He doesn't tolerate mistakes. He doesn't tolerate his own and neither the ones made by anyone else. I think my dad has a model in his head, about how everything should be, and everything, I mean everything falls short of it. (I guess also because absolute perfection doesn't exist, hmm, maybe apart from mom's rotis, because I don't think he ever complained about those)
I grew up, taking weird accountability and taking responsibility for things I wasn't even sure of. For example if you are near dad, and something falls on him or he drops something, he will say you made him do it. It happened because of you. Like, see I dropped this because of you, he will say.
And as a child this is a very puzzling concept, because you know you were merely present next to him, merely standing and breathing and unless you had magical powers, you didn't know of: you sure as hell didn't make that glass topple, especially since you saw him drop it.
So it went with almost everything, you had to take the blame for his mistakes, for his inadequacies, for his inability to do something. Also when you actually did make a mistake of your own, it was highlighted and mocked, ridiculed and also frowned upon. It was almost like he was just waiting and watching for you to make a mistake. You drop something (it was frowned upon), you fumble with something (it was frowned upon). It was like having someone constantly waiting for you to make a mistake so that you can take that shame off their shoulders.
This same orientation towards perfection, makes sure he lives a life where everything is controlled and measured. And if something is out of line, or not as per his liking, there is a huge overflow of emotion. Either a tantrum or a huge outburst of rage. He wants Indian food and Indian tea wherever we go on vacations. He wants a bucket and mug (no tubs for him). He wants things done a certain way (e.g rotis) else he will throw a tantrum or be angry (and it is mostly your job to make the world perfect for him)
As children this was very problematic, because as children you really don't have access to resources to make an adult's life wrinkle-free. But we had to learn (all his four children). We had to learn to stay out of his way during his morning ablutions, we had to learn to suddenly source a bucket and a mug in Belgium (we were visiting my third sister and she had gone off to office, not knowing that dad will not use the shower in the tub). Me and my younger sis, on our second day in Belgium had to find a store and source a bucket and a mug. (It has made me extremely resourceful as a side-effect)
A note of dynamics at home between mom and dad:
I remember mom as an angry and frustrated version of herself, always busy with dad and my grandparents and always unavailable. You couldn't really approach her for anything: I couldn't tell her about anything that was going on with me, for a long long time. Only in the last ten years or so, I have built a steady adult-adult relationship with her. Mom still holds a lot of resentment against dad and they have a very tom and jerry relationship.
The thing is, with dad given to his outbursts and threats and crying: it's tough to expect any accountability from him. It's tough to have adult-to-adult relating. He doesn't take any dissent, criticism, feedback, suggestions kindly. He likes having things done his way, period. And mom puts up with it; with resentment and as someone who is helpless against it. She has had to find her own space, her own place of peace.
* Dad is also someone who is far more sensitive to us and our moods and emotions. He realises when I am upset, mom can't see it. When I was in an accident, he would call me daily and check up on me and make sure I see a doc. I can feel an undercurrent of love from him always, always. When I had to come back home now, he welcomed me with open arms, he said I needn't worry about money at all. Under all that criticism, perfectionism, is someone who loves me unconditionally and I know that and I sense that too. So this isn't an exercise in blaming or putting him down, but putting down all of him, as he is on paper.
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On the suggestion of a friend, adding this part of how I see it as now (as an adult)
- Upon someone seeing this, on me airing this story, it somehow self-destructs (and will keep self-destructing I sense)
- I realise this story is just something I need to write so that it gets seen, that's about it.
- I now see my father as a teacher and the others too: without them being who they are, I
wouldn't be who I am: someone who is on a journey towards love
wouldn't be who I am: someone who is on a journey towards love
- I had to resort to looking for extreme external validation, extreme external approval, I had to resort to looking for love from someone unavailable (all of it to keep the original wound in place, I realise); till these measures started falling apart.
- Sometimes I get pulled back into these dynamics; where I resort to perfectionism, shame and blame myself, and then I wake up and realise that I have fallen off the wagon, and I give myself the grace and compassion I need, and get back into my heart (to the best of my ability)
- A note here on the person who acted as a mirror and woke me up to love, when I turned 40: the love I experienced as a result of this waking up, forever changed who I am, and how I see and this love is inexplicable and something I hold in the highest regard and with a lot of gratitude.
In Musing Mode is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
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