A decade of ‘recovery’

2010-2019 gets over in a few hours now. An eventful decade, full of recoveries, adventures, love, friends in all parts of the world, flowers, homes, family, books, research and more. Phew! woof! what a decade it has been. Not easy to capture in a blog post, so it would be foolish to attempt it. Instead I will focus on the word ‘recovery’- silly though it may seem.
But then this was a decade which began with my ‘recovery’ – a non-drug dependent recovery from bipolar, in 2010. I did not know then when it all started that I would someday be studying my own recovery, through the lens of a researcher. So this was the decade in which I was slowly morphing from a psychiatric patient, overwhelmed by her bipolar diagnosis, to a self-trained researcher. The testimonies of that started coming in the previous decade when I had peer- reviewed publications, though I had not yet turned the researcher’s lens on my personal story.  Moving out of psychiatric medication also brought about that change. And then came those early attempts at documenting the ‘recovery’ from how I understood it then- three journal publications in 2011, 2014, 2015.

2014 was another year of adventure when I moved with the four dogs I had to live in a village in Goa, and meeting with the Goan countryside was an experience I will remember for long, perhaps until the end of my life. I often think of my landlord Hyginus as the only person in Goa who was really fond of me from the bottom of my heart. Little did I know how attached he became to me and my dogs, and so emotionally dependent upon us that once I left his house after a year of being there, within two months he passed away. Not that I was in any way responsible for it, but his loneliness and sense of abandonment was so acute that it ate into his very soul and killed him. A simple man constantly misunderstood and rejected his whole life, a single child of parents who were extremely poor, who by dint of his labour and traveling on ships for a living gathered a lot of wealth, building four houses for himself and his family- all throughout rejected by his wife and sons, due to his deep dark complexion.

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My Raga stands in Hyginus’s side of the house and on the inner side of the gate was where I lived myself, while he lived on the other> The gate was put here to confine the dogs to my side of the house.

Life can be unfair. Seeing Hyginus and his heart, or how people treated him or how they perceived him, how he struggled to keep up his dignity, living in a small part of the house he had created and letting out the bigger one to one tenant after another got him an income and possibly some company, though not all tenants were like me. There had been an American lady who perhaps stayed there six years and another English couple whose length of stay I cannot recall.

There were many others I met and befriended in Goa, but there was no substitute for Hyginus. However another person who is a dear friend until now is Mina- who interestingly I met at a vegetable vendor’s, in Fatorda, Margao. So we are the best of WhatsApp friends nowadays as I have kept busy with research and writing, keeping away from all friends, for want of my ability to manage time. I remember seeing a very exquisite part of Goa once with Mina, we both drove down in my car, though I forget the name of the place now. Having a car with me in Goa was a great blessing for it gave me tremendous mobility and freedom, without of course the ability to figure out where to go! Google maps were not such a rage then, as they now are and that curtailed me somewhat. Not that I knew anyone anywhere to go visiting them anyways. The Goan adventure was just over two years, which enriched me yet brought me to a place of peril- which became a turning point for me to return back the same 2000 kms I had gone. It was a heartbreak to return and build all broken fences/bridges.

But it was also facilitated by the fact that I had gained entry into a doctoral research, by a sheer dint of fortune (how else to justify it). So at least this was the time when my acumen as a researcher got established as a certainty and I entered university with nearly eight peer-reviewed publications in tow, perhaps the highest a researcher entering into a doctoral program would be having in most parts of the world.

May be there is a time when a person needs to morph from being a producer of research articles to a producer of books :). With the completion of the PhD research I hope to complete that part of the journey of my life. This (doctoral) research has been a very interesting, yet difficult journey of research, replete with spinal issues and another attempt at recovery – of my bone health this time, recovering my lost self from the abysmal darkness of mental ‘illness’ and then diving down at the deep edge to understand recovery more fully, thoroughly and minutely. A few days back I wound up my first draft thesis and sent it to the supervisor, who has finally shown some interest in my work and has understood that I am doing something quite interesting. Otherwise all this while half the time she did not even respond to my emails. Until now we have only had a brief ten minute phone talk once in 2018 I think- which was so useless that I decided never to talk to her again until I reached the very end. Having finished the first draft of course meant that now the time had come to get back to her and share the work I had done.

Coming back to Faridabad has also meant recovering my life from all the lost years, nay decades of life, rebuilding the life of a musician by first setting up the music school (that I intend growing in the new year), and then starting out my counseling practice, from both of which I have so much experience now that it merits another scholarly endeavour of writing!

And this decade has also meant losing Raga, Nikki and Dash and welcoming Rhythm and Floe into our lives. I do not know now whether it is fair or ethical to mourn the ones who are gone, which also includes my grandmother in 2013 or celebrate the new arrivals (which means all the children of my brother and sister as well)  but in keeping with the infinite flow of life we can only bow to the passage of life, and accept the inevitability of this motion. What is here today will be gone tomorrow and the circle will go on unceasing. It is comforting yet not when you lose someone you love. I still ache in my heart about my dogs.

Making friends with wonderful people all around the world has been another enriching experience and I have begun to value the nature of these friendships which bring people together for ideas, rather than other selfish needs or fear of loneliness. And the range of people is big- from scholars, academics, to artists and therapists, students and whatnot. Students have a special pride of place in my heart- not only because of the bond of a teacher-student  but how we enrich one another on a fairly regular basis. It continues thusly.

Andre keeps busy and his & my lives are interwoven in a deep, yet distant manner- My Phd years have been tough on him and us- for I have not had the mental space to accommodate him/us, overwhelmed and forever tired as I largely have remained, for most parts. So this is where things have brought me at the end of the year or decade. Steeped in work I do, passionate about the work, in deep meaningful connections around the world, full of ideas, musical compositions and ideas, always on the move with research and doing all the latter without any financial support from other than family resources. It has been quite a venture really- but well worth it I suppose.

And with this goldmine of knowledge I move into a new decade, whose numbers also look so musical, especially because I am born on the 20th of a month. There is rhythm in this year ahead and there is Rhythm in my home…and dogs go on with their doggy lives, chasing rodents and up with their playful barking as researchers like me turn grey in their locks.

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Rhythm the dachshund

A decade of recovering my lost self, gaining myself back from the suffering of mental illness and a decade which brings me to my emancipatory road of taking this knowledge into the wider world around, with this doctoral research as I now begin to wind off. I hope this earnest labour of years spent alone racking my brains, interspersed with the doggy lives, and music classes will be well worth in the year ahead.

And I hope that anyone who drops by to read this post will also be enriched in their lives further and possibly this post will bring a sliver of hope to some that they can also overcome their suffering no matter how daunting it appears at the moment. It is still meant to be overcome for this is the destiny we are all born with. So here comes a decade of taking the knowledge of recovery wider and catalyzing more people’s recoveries via the counseling work I do.

Thank you friends for reading and for your interest. I wish you a beautiful time ahead and hope that the change of the calendar will weed out the useless and bring in the goodness. May it be so- may there be flowers in your gardens and may all your earnest hard work bring you all the blossoms you have earned.

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A full bed of chrysanthemums  in December 2019, and the dogs and birds on the far side of the photo

The abuser, teacher

Just this morning, I wrote a post about a piano teacher (click link). It could have been a happy case of writing about a musician and how wonderful it is to interact with young minds and impart them newer ideas about playing music, but this is not such a post. It is about an abusive teacher. The dilemma about knowing abusers is multifold. But the story about teachers abusing power only changes- it does not end, it does not create new outcomes and definitely in an unregulated environment, it can create some dangerous outcomes.

There was a recent incident, which I read about in the newspapers, just yesterday, about students stabbing a teacher. It takes a lot of anger to stab a person and that too when it is a teacher – who is traditionally assigned greater power socially than students. First of all, this itself is a critical issue. Why should teachers have more power than students? Is the students’ ‘work’ of student-hood any less significant than a teacher’s? Can teachers become teachers without having students? Can teachers become better teachers by teaching the same thing again and again, year after year, without any change, if students do not question them?

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I do not personally think that students would stab a teacher upon a little provocation. To come to a point of stabbing a person, unmindful of its consequences is sign of accumulated anger- which for sure does not happen in a day. I have seen school teachers, particularly in government schools treating their students like despicable vermin. There was a well-feared school principal who was known to hit his students with big bamboo sticks, and not thin ones at that. I always carried the image that government school boys are ‘goondas’ or ruffians till I did not grow up and learn to understand the politics of knowledge, and how one class is ensuring the perpetration of ignorance of another class, by not even wanting to educate them- which the oppressed classes are seeing as the sole route to their emancipation and social upliftment.

Misplaced Hierarchies

Personally I believe that teachers being ascribed more power than students is itself a sign of a decadent, patriarchal value system in which the elements that constitute the system are not recognized as partners but viewed as a hierarchy. Patriarchy is also based on the idea of hierarchy and dominance. Of course it takes more  complex forms, about ownership of wealth/decision making ability in a family, society or institutionally. But the underlying idea is dominance. The whole Indian system of the guru-shisya parampara, which is carried down historical times until now is a continuation of the same hierarchical, decadent system, which carries on, with teacher-worshiping and unquestioning submission to the teacher (irrespective of their intelligence, kindness and knowledge). It is no wonder that our education is not producing the sort of social outcomes, growth, development and critical thinking that knowledge is supposed to inculcate. With unquestioning submission, nobody dares to question and nobody cares to answer, if someone questions.

Higher you go, lonelier it gets…in education

In the same context I would like to share here that recently I was having a telephonic dialogue with a young woman who is entering into a clinical psychology program, in a premier institution in India- someone who did a masters’ in psychology from a major university. I had read some of her articles and told her that I could see a research potential in her, though I did not see her academic articles to be thorough or methodologically significant. She said that nobody in their department (her teachers) helps any students! They (the professors) have so much on their plates already that it is not possible for them to pay heed to the needs of their students. I thought it was a great irony, since professors are paid to impart knowledge explicitly to those students only. They ought to at least guide their students and steer them in directions which bring their ideas to fruition or at least a clarity. Though as a student she was trying to condone her teachers’ lack of kindness/ethics/participation in the lives of students, as a student and a researcher myself I find it unpardonable. She further said that she has been told already that M.Phil that she is entering for, is all about finding your own way through the world- of ideas, patients, counseling methods and so forth.

Is it any surprise that when students come out of these departments with vacuous degrees they actually have no skills to offer to the world? They are just exposed to people, without given the wisdom and knowledge how to interpret the exposure. Everyone can have an apple fall on them, but only a Newton will think about it to arrive at the idea of gravity. Hundreds of people would have been hit by something falling from above- do they end up finding new ideas, new solutions or new perspectives? Then how to we create new knowledge? By just tossing about old ideas, in old vessels and older ways of looking at life, which are not even created in our own country, but the West?

So…coming back

Anyhow after these thoughts about education in India, as it goes, I need to come back to the main subject that triggered off these thoughts- about the piano player.

I have known him for at least 15 years- from a distance, the sort of knowing when you know a person’s name, their work (not having heard it) and knowing that he is a go-getter. The trouble with India is that a lot of us are gogetters. We will do anything to get what we want- even deviously, following no inner or social morals, because our conscience permits us to do everything, by hook or by crook.

Since I have already written the post about him, in this one I am not going to repeat my words written there. My concern here is the underlying philosophical, ethical, moral and social responsibility which we end up shirking when we abuse our own students. The other concern is that a whole lot of people are in the teaching market, in an unregulated manner, where their knowledge is not measured, nobody questions them about their methods and parents are largely ignorant about anything- from general education to art education. In such a grey scenario, the ones who know even a little are able to masquerade as knowledgeable and get jobs and private classes..

As human beings we all love to direct our emotional expressions at someone we can identify. Today I see that I can identify in that man, the piano teacher, an abuser- a convenient scapegoat for my angst. However more than my anger he provokes my sadness and my dejection- at the emptiness of everything people do. What is the significance of music if it does not deepen your own inner gaze and make you think about life, creation, philosophy, society and your own responsibility in a meaningful way? Is everything only about our bread and butter? Isn’t it a great shame really and we think and believe we belong to a great nation? So where is that greatness supposed to be, if we are not able to muster it in our daily life and day-to-day behaviours with our fellow human beings? A greatness of the past means no greatness at all– for the past is only a matter of the eyes that interpret it and History is only about interpretation- not about the truth. We do not need to glorify a past where a majority was oppressed and deprived of their dignity. What else was the guru shisya parampara if not exclusion of a majority of people from the possibility of achieving knowledge, which would only be imparted to a select few?

Teachers need to get out of their guru-hoods and embrace their journeys as inquirers and responsible citizens, who can only hold a candle, akin to an indicator/sign of the path of knowledge. The path is not owned by them, nor created by them. They are journeying on the path as co-voyagers of their students, colleagues and several others. If they cannot understand that, they do not deserve to be teachers and today I can say that a majority of teachers in India do not deserve to be teachers. The minority wherever it is, is worthy of salutation and to them I bow as the upholders of a value system, in which it is not the ego of the teacher that is supreme, but the process of collaboration that learning and teaching is supposed to be- the co-creation of knowledge.

No matter what

No matter what goes on in the body, life has to go on. I am very feeble thanks to that ridiculous flu which has flattened everyone, called chikungunya. I feel like there is no life inside the body- so am mostly sleeping.

But when I muster the courage to open my eyes, I either invest it in reading, writing, or singing. Since the arms also feel weak at times, I turn on the kindle device to read. I am fiddling between several kinds of books, depending upon which side of the bed I lie on! This book called Deadly Psychiatry, Organized Denial is a book that shakes you to the core, in case you have not already been shaken by Mad Science and The Myth of Mental Illness. I feel like memorizing every single paragraph of the book- it is so significant and thorough.

Side by side, I can see on my bedside- Two Men and Music, which I have read in parts with great interest. Then I can see a book by Vidushi Prabha Atre (an extremely tedious book), and by Martin Seligman -about positive emotions or positive psychology or may be optimism. It details about how the experiments were conducted in the initial years of the birth of the positive psychology studies.

The writing of the book on music-health is going on slowly, very slowly to be sure. There is so much to do and the body is simply not permitting me- what to say. Anyhow what I find myself very enthused about is that there is a lot to read, as always and lot of dots to join- expectedly so, why would I be a researcher if I could not see anything new? There is one field of inquiry that I soon want to delve in- critical discourse analysis. Fortunately I have a friend who is willing to walk me through the process by at least sending me the necessary material to manage this bit. He teaches at a university in the US.

A couple of days ago, or yesterday, I forget I was writing about community singing which is so prevalent in India. Though I write that it is quite prevalent, but I do not see it around me immediately, though in my years of growing up I have seen a lot more of it. Is it that I am cut off from others therefore or is it that the absolute quantum of it has gone down significantly? I need to investigate that. Part of the inaudibility of the phenomenon may be contributed by the fact that where i live there is no communal life. And the rest part of it comes from the fact that I am an exceedingly introverted person, who also lives alone these days. So one way or another everything reinforces the other.

Even though I have written my book only nearly half way through, I find it to be reading fairly well. I am behind schedule no doubt, but not lacking in quality (or so I think. How to eliminate this self serving bias?)

I am actually very keen to wind off the book and begin my phd work in earnest, because the truth of the matter is that I am extremely fond of ideas that I want to work with and they push me a lot- even at times when I am not working at them assiduously.

Being ill and alone is not a good experience, but then neither is it good being ill and having too many people around you- because it does not let you rest and recuperate. Life is a bundle of contradictions I suppose. What we want, we do not really want , all the time. What we are charmed by is not something that can enamour us for long or always. So what is the middle path? TO have a bit of everything i suppose. That way we value everything and yet do not become dependent on anything.

my success, not mine in the least

I should have written a new post…the new year is 31 days old after all. But this was a difficult year in the beginning- it started with me having a burnout!! of all things. Due to what? Nothing but a deep cough.

A cough brought in all the symptoms of mania (psychosis) and I had to go through the difficult passage of a shamanic renewal. All my auditory sensations returned, I could hear things from far, I would hyper react to small stimuli. So what was it finally I thought?

I am certainly not suffering from any mental illness or so-called mental illness. So how to explain this sudden tsunami of the consciousness? Anyways, what I have been writing about the spiritual basis of existence is true once again and I went through the cosmological cycle of birth and awakening, meeting with the ancestors, healers and ancients in this span of time.

When the clock turned for christmas I knew nothing, nor when the new year came. But my family was all around and when they thought I had another breakdown, and may be need to consult with a psychiatrist all over again, I said no…this is not psychosis. But the ‘symptoms’ would be the same. What you are depends upon who is seeing it. If you have a cough, the cardiologist would have a different view of it than a guava seller. Everyone has a point of view. So whose view should you refer to?

Fortunately in my case my own views on spiritual awakenings are very well entrenched in multiple domains of knowledge and this time I knew for sure it was a shamanic renewal- there was so much memory of mythology and I was back again into the domain of Gaia, Sumerian civilization, Egyptian mythology and Hindu gods, goddesses and the whole of the Indus civilizational motifs- it filled my mind with stories ad infinitum. My family was certain, it was a breakdown.

But I called it a burnout, as though the boundaries of consciousness had blurred and there was a large scale bombardment from all sides- whether the personal kept merging into the universal back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And on the personal front a lot of fires were lit, friends lost, neighbours charred and whatnot- the usual upheaval that accompanies an intense experience of such cataclysmic changes.

At the back of all this, one thing was gently unfolding- I had cleared the phd entrance exam in Nalsar, Law University and I had sent my research proposal- in recovery, what else. I had to face an interview, right on the heels of a burnout! Date- 29th January 2016. It had to be made into the form of a presentation.

I asked Ramakant-ji how to. It is one thing to write a research paper, but one thing to write a phd proposal in 1000 words. He told me to narrow the focus down from the entire spectrum of mental illness to one thing. I chose psychosis. Then he told me to think what could be done in psychosis and how it would fit into the law mode. But that I also discussed with others.

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Anyways, I wanted to talk to him just before going for the interview. I was very weak, and had not studied. It was not possible to study, I could barely sit up! But I was worried. I thought hearing his voice I would feel better. When I rang his phone his wife picked up, which is quite irregular. But she informed me that he was unwell, and will talk later.

Few days later I got a message, rather a one-liner-25th January- “Improving very SLOWLY. will talk after a few days..”

I wrote- “You are in my prayers n best wishes always. My Phd interview, 29th, Hyde.Plz bless me that I clear the last hurdle. Wish u stable recovery. Gnite” (this is an sms that I quote)

His response, 26th January 2016- ‘YOU SHALL. if they don’t take you, the loss is theirs AND ours.’

On 29th January, I was sitting in the guest house with one of my former, (one course) student who is like a godchild to me. At that time I got a call from the head to go and meet her. I went immediately and she told me that the interview board had unanimously voted in my favour- and condoned the marks that I had lacked in the past- 20 years ago, i had scored a 52.6% in MA Political Science, whereas the minimum qualifying marks for phd anywhere in India are 55%. No university was willing to condone this criteria for me, notwithstanding my research record,my publications for who would support my candidature.

Finally it took an Amita Dhandha, a disability department and NALSAR- the national academy of legal sciences and research, Hyderabad to open it doors to me cautiously, by checking me at every step.

While being driven back to the airport, I called up Srivastsan to share the news. He did not pick up his phone. But when I was entering the airport he called back and I was showing my ticket etc at the door. We were busily chatting away. I told him and he was very happy. I also told him that he was responsible for my success, because if he had not invited me to the conference of the medico friend circle group, in Pune, in February 2015, I would never have met Amita Dhandha, who would never have invited me to teach at Nalsar and I would not have been there to fill in the Phd form with a fraction of time left for closing it on the last day of accepting forms (that would be another story).

There are stories galore in this one little story, but I have to hold one thread and I hold the one which has Ramakant-ji in it.

On 29th evening, having spoken with my family, I felt I must tell Ramakant-ji about it. And sending a message to him was the best thing. I wrote, ‘With your blessings, I have made it thru the Phd interview. The board unanimously agreed in my favour. Thank you so much. I hope you are steadily recovering.’

Next morning, while in my sleep I heard the phone beep. Later when I saw the message, which was sent at 4:53 am, it said, ‘The most welcome news of the new year. So much on the horizons for you to achieve. Best and regards to you mother, brave as always.’

My success, at anything whether overcoming psychosis or making through the phd passage, where the obstacles were nearly insurmountable, has never been a personal or individualistic journey. I owe my everything to others and no wonder my research will now be into how more people can recover and what sort of things can be done in the country to make India honor its commitment to the UNCRPD. I have entered the portals of law, legality and jurisprudence. WOW! life is so full of surprises.

And yet, I am not going to forget the knowledge which has flowed from Ramakant-ji- who opened my mind to the possibilities that lurk within language in how we construct our own and other people’s realities> Linguistics is going to be an intimate part of my work ahead.

I salute all my guides and mentors. My new year begins with that salutation.

I am back into university study after 23 years of studying from HOME!!!

This picture below is from the Nalsar Campus, in Hyderabad

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Who knows where the road takes you from here

Recent, unsuspecting encounter

Upon landing into Delhi,

Recently

Some unexpected surprises seem to flood the mind

And remind (me)

I ought to take my due role in the world

As fool among the swans,

or Swan among the Swine!

But worringly so, it seems that the EYE of civilization

Keeps a tab on me across time…wherever I look,

An eye watches

Someone says ‘please sing for me’, some says lead the way

And me just hae hae hae…

Hae Raam

Enna paagalaan te

Kar apna reham je…mera pind chhuda

Mennu ton jail to chhadeya, enna anneyaan nu jail wich paa

APNE aNDAR DIYAAN AKHIYAAN KHULAN, NA KI MERI PICCHE DIYAN!!!

Meri saari wae, hunn enna di pucchh jalaa

Rabaa, tennu na pata hove, ae  ho nahin sakta je

Haan tu mera gmail da inbox naa check kitta hove- enna mann sakni haan

Ae te ho hi sakda vae…kisse gwaachi hui rooh, dooron payi boldi hai

Tu sunn odiyaan ayaan, onu lageya hai, teri-meri koi hotline khuli je

Dekh oye haraam khora…logaan nu bulekhe vich naa peya paa

Ae tera mera private connection hai, ennu open access na bana

Main umar saar kar cable pai je..jaa hunn tu mar,

Mennu lubb apne paaglaan vich

Main janam jalaa ke teraiyaan paag di chaahwaan pai wae

Ae lae phaer padh lai oss gawache hoy da farman

Jinnu tu naya naya paagal banaa ki, ankhaan te patti pai wae.

Ae le email communication rabba…paaglaan nu apne paag la

Meri pind chhuda, main pind chhad ke pind judaai wae

Jokes apart this is an actual email communication-

4th Dec 2015
He…
Hello,

I am F M, currently a philosophy student at the University of California, Riverside. I am a bit naive in my exploration of Foucault, but perhaps you would grant me the tremendous privilege of basking in your guidance. I thank you for your time.

Best,

FM

Oye rabba oye…ae Spanish Inquisition kidare hor mor…mere picche naa paa…machhu-picchu de wal tor.

(YAAR, how can you thank me, i have not yet agreed to ‘give’ my time…just because you ask! If I go to your university, will anyone meet me without an invite or intimation, then how dare you send me a pre-thanked note this way?)

Mennu thoda doubt ho gaya…main kya…ae kiddi jasoos picche pe geya. Cautiously I inquire-
In what manner may I be of assistance to you son?
I am only humble seeker,
basking in the heat of (my) civilization– peeling it slowly,
like the layers of an onion-
full of tears, staring at my fears…
whiling my time.
How can I, such an ignorant idiot
guide a western soul…
from an American University at that
the acme of human intellect 
However, i invite you to venture into my home,
stay as long at it appeals,
look around,
read what I add to the confused mess,this cacophony…
Then ask me a question.
If your question appeals,
I may consider further interaction.
Or else this is it.
From a humble dog feeding fool
p…p…p
OYE HOY odde baad oss barbaad di chalaki vekho ji- for god’s sake, watch the beguiling rascal’s rascal-‘hood’… kenda wae/he says
I understand that your self-criticisms are but an indication of an intellectual practice far greater than my own. I, the western soul, seek something far greater than perhaps I can fathom at the moment. You see, I wish to write a book of poems, but a western one would be against my intuition. I thus, have come to you, a stranger whose words touched me greater than those who have surrounded me. I only seek guidance, a few steps I should take before venturing on the solitary path of self-exploration and discovery.

p.s. that e-mail was, after my Violence Against Women class, mind-blowing. I hesitated writing back to you, for I felt I was not worthy of your time, then I journeyed into your home. Thank you. You have already done so much for me.

Warmest regards,

kinna baemaan ae..what a deceitful bugger…

pata nai keddi jhooti email di gal peya karda wae jhootha!

Mae te onu koi email nahin likhi…raba, anneya…hun behra na bann

Tu gawaah hain! tu mera saakhi ban

Me to him

Right I hear you child…i hear the dim stirrings of your feminine soul, I hear you.
I await you

Main keya…hor dhakaa maraan..

I toss a koan at thee…ponder over it, and let not your poetry be a lament over yourself. remember that…

When sing, no sing…only cry
When study, no study…only play

S/he who understands, knows it all, 
S/he who doesn’t…never walks tall…
(this is not a quotation from anyone…but a challenge to those who ask me questions)

Ja oye raba’a sambhaal apne paaglan nu

Apne paag la, mere picche na paa

pa pa pa pa

Last post…

This is a last post of sorts…

May be it is the last post for November, or may be for this year- though likely by the end of this year, I will surely come back again to take a bird’s eye view of how the year went by, and what all transpired in an aggregate way.

I will be in Delhi for a fortnight now and it would not be possible to write a new blog post from there. Once you leave home for that long a time, then all the things that pile up in your absence, do not really permit much blogging at the end of a trip.

I have some important paperwork to finish this visit- the governmental sort of work of course- always painful in India. It is about transferring my car papers to the current location where I live- so no shortcuts, but going all the way to my erstwhile home state of Haryana…blah, blah, blah

But as I look at this last part of the year, some of the ideas that are bobbing up in my head for the last few months are as follows, and they make a befitting prelude to the final post I will write, later this year

I have been brooding over the pathetic state of affairs, viz. on the issue of philosophy of education. Until a group of people identify the goals of education, it is a whimsical manner in which education progresses. In poorer countries, education has never been central to anyone’s conceptualization of social upliftment. As a result all resources that ought to have been devoted for mass education were devoted to all other areas-in all countries which have been colonized anywhere, at the cost of long term investments in human capital, which cannot but be taken care of by anything but education.

Education has often been confused with skill building in newly independent countries ( I wonder how long they will continue to remain ‘newly independent’) and the philosophical orientation, or critical thinking that education ought to have imparted people with is condemned to oblivion. Rather a slavish subservience and non-questioning attitude is what the education systems have been trying to hammer into the heads of learners, burdening them with the feudal practices of a colonial past.

Apart from this the issues of secrecy of science that I also shared as part of the last blog post have been playing in my mind- i am thinking that I need to work on that more seriously. In such a scenario, the thought of art education and what role it ought to play can only be philosophical and not necessarily on the ground- it is extremely painful to see the sort of musical experiences children and adults engage in and what they could be doing, had options been created- for an aesthetic development of the mind via artistic pursuits.

World Cultural Psychiatry Research Review

That also brings me to the journal issue, in which my last article was published. I have been slow to go over the articles, naturally enough. Most articles are written by researchers and psychiatrists of course. It is quite a strange platform for me- as a person with a past of bipolar disorder to be writing about her own recovery! That brings to mind the fact that when I had got the comments from the peer- reviewers, these were their words- which will always echo in my ears, reminding me of the significance of writing this article, irrespective of how many read it. Mine is the only article in the journal, which actually maps full scale recovery of a person. In no other article has recovery been documented. This is where I stand apart from the world, which I stand as part of- with a new light, which remains quite hidden or obscure at present.

This is what the first reviewer said-

I think this paper is just great, there is only one issue, the use of the word psychotic delirium, delirium is an organic state and so is misleading, I would say psychotic confusion or perplexity. It also needs a close proof read , minor typos and grammatical errors and bear in mind this is for international English speaking audience, so keep it plain as possible.

The second reviewer said this-

The connection between art, creativity and major mental illness is a subject extremely interesting to Cultural Psychiatry, and the report from an artist diagnosed with mental disorder does represent a substantial contribution.

The choice of an anthropological instrument seems valid and challenging, but the ethnography must be framed within a scientifically well established and validated methodology, which in turn must be described in the text.

Furthermore, instead of quoting verbatim sentences from many authors in the ethnographical section, it would be more appropriate review them in the Discussion, possibly along with an analysis of more controversial points raised in the paper, i.e. why and in which cases music becomes therapeutical.

Study limitations must be explained, in terms of generalization, as well as the risks of relying exclusively on individual elements /resources, such as creativity or inner world, especially when we address a pathological condition where help seeking is extremely discontinuous throughout lifespan and life-threatening events can be frequent. Maybe in this research the ethnography has been collected properly and scientifically, but there is no trace of this throughout the manuscript. It is therefore most suggested to make a major revision in order to bring this contribution at a scientific level more adequate to the journal to which it has been submitted.

So this is the sort of comments which actually contribute towards making an article a long term contribution in a field. It is a pity that few would read it! Anyways, i did the most I could and I know not many people will doubt that- with no training in research or anything else…I have come a long way indeed.

So while I still stand on the first level of this cartoon… I am generally thrilled to dig mid the debris of civilization’s hogwash and try finding solutions to problems, in a meaningful manner, rather than for a degree (though who knows how close that could be too!)

 

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World mental health day and Hyderabadi biryani

The world mental health day is an uncanny day this time for me, as for the first time I will be outside my home. At the time of writing this, I am very much on my own computer and have an article to share as part of this writing, which has just come down today for the final approval. But I have butterflies in the stomach- due to other reasons.

The road of life

The road of life- yet again

So while the world will observe the world mental health day I will be sitting in Hyderabad, at Nalsar, cooking my concoction of Hyderabadi Biryani- just kidding. I will be discussing ideas with the school of management people at the university, about my entrepreneurial venture, among other things. Some very interesting new developments have happened, in the past few days which are helping me focus on the idea of music education more than anything else. Why worry about mental health,when music itself contributes to mental health in significant ways? If I keep my focus in the domain of music, it is a much better thing than getting it distributed between music and hardcore mental health, via counseling and all that cycle. It also comes into direct conflict with many who work in mental health from clinical orientations, that are derived largely from academic frameworks and not the radical lived perspectives of those who live and recover from mental illnesses.

Okay, the article that I am sharing as part of this writing is called Musical Progressions and you can directly click on its title, which is highlighted. It will take you to an external link on the academia site, from where it can be downloaded. This article is soon to be published in the World Cultural Psychiatry Research Review, which is bringing out a special edition on the Arts, Media and Mental health. Perhaps I am the sole entry from India to contribute to this issue of the journal, of the World Association of Cultural Psychiatry. It gives me quivers in my stomach to think that I have come so far- imagine me…my years of doomed dejection and hopelessness, months and months of unending fog in the mind and a ball of anxiety in my heart. I cannot even begin to call it an anxiety disorder, for that seems so small in comparison. Huge mountains of uncertainty loomed so large…has it all come to pass? And how utterly lonely! Especially those years when I finally chose to live alone. To think of that today- that leap into the uncertain future, cutting all bonds from family in a physical way, proved the key to unlock the future, no matter if it were not even visible then for years ahead.

I find it so difficult to believe that I have indeed left it behind, and today I have the courage to revisit those fearsome, blind alleys, where I languished in insurmountable creeks, where life simply could not survive. Perhaps the only reason to write such articles is the memory of those ruins so deeply etched in the mind, that I dare not forget the suffering of another. And nay, that suffering is not due to mental illness alone, of a so-called biochemical nature alone.

That suffering is spattered all across human civilization now, clothed in myriad shades, and textures, due to which people cannot recognize that we are all part of the same suffering- the eternal human suffering, whose genesis lies in one man’s greed and insatiable lust to control, dominate and lead another. This instinct for power is so deeply rooted in the human psyche that all of civilization’s suffering can actually be reduced to this one game- the power play between people, nations, communities, genders, races, groups, nationalities and you name it. It is all a power play.

Few will gain the clarity to see the picture like outsiders. But if they did, they would be able to bring all divergent ideas to one convergent hub- the greed of man and a lust for power. In the end, I am reminded that I did a master’s in political science and from that position, if I remember what the English philosopher Hobbes said, he foretold the nasty, brutish and shorte nature of man and how in nature everyone is in conflict with everyone, in a war of power!!! How tragic, and yet isn’t it true?!

Tomorrow I will be off to Hyderabad again, though this is only for two days and am back on Sunday afternoon. Before I wind off this post, I must share why this article is the most important article from my perspective and what it brings to a lay reader, who may possibly be suffering herself or have a loved one who suffers. In this article I have brought many sides of evidences, (for peer reviewed journals do not work without evidence) to say how I used

Music

Serious creativity, and

Writing -including poetry, research. (For the first time, there is an actual poem in a writing by me)

And searched- which constitutes research in a serious way to find a way out of mental illness. In music also I worked in not one, but three genres or musical form. For the first time via this writing, I talked about ghazal as well- though in a shorter version, in another article I did share that as part of another post. Ghazal was a great venting mechanism for my personal suffering, which would not find a way out through bhakti poetry. It was only after the ghazal, that I moved into the more serious khayal, as my chosen mechanism for self expression.

Today I have left all forms behind and primarily all my musical expression lies within the domain of khayal and now I am also thinking of how to take that khayal further- via teaching diverse sorts of people via educational, therapeutic and other ventures. Everything begins with an idea- a thought or what is called in Urdu, khayal. For me this whole world is a khayal, and any artist’s imagination for a new world, a new face of civilization is essentially a khayal first. Only from the khayal, you construct an image, and from there comes a plan.

Currently my khayal is about my new enterprise and of course about further research, which will no longer be about me mapping my own story. Phew! that was tough.

(In another few days, I will be posting my poetry that I have sent to the conference of the WACP in Mexico. But since I posted the above photo and called it the Road of Life, which is also a poem’s title, I will share it right here. It also carries the date)

Me watching the sunset in Udaipur

Me watching the sunset 

A March on the Road of Life, and the Path Unknown

22nd September 1999

A march on the road of life, and the path unknown

The road rugged, the road rough’n a rude road-

Mostly a companionless road, I traverse

Hard pressed-

Unexpected corners’n blouders make it feel impossible

To take another step

In anger welling…wishing the heart would stop

Or p’raps a friend, companion, wayfarer around the next turn;

Kicking pebbles, circumventing potholes

Occasionally falling, but never really so-

The road leads the way, and the path unknown’n

I press on regardless.

Two posts, two ideas – two blogs

It is not often that I want to re-blog my own blog posts from other blogs, but for some reason, unusually so, I wrote two posts on the same blog today- my peace matters blog. Of course peace matters to me and I am continuously trying to create it in my own and those other lives around, who I interact with, in case such a scope can be offered.

Today the two posts that I wrote were, in the context of violence in relationships that women face on a regular basis and how they accept it as part of the price they have to pay for keeping the relationship going. I share an excerpt for those connected to this blog inviting them for further reading on the main blog itself.

The reality of education is that no matter what women are studying in universities about gender, violence, equality or any ideas- the homes that they go back to, beat them back into submission, clip their wings, abort their dreams and bring them back into the same cycle of daily abuse, which has been heaped upon women from times immemorial, because women who challenge patriarchy are best outside of their own homes. Parents and in-laws only want submissive, silent women, who will take anything because they have to carry the responsibility of their family pride, honor and social respect.

On the other hand when women who are educated, do not have the support, mentoring and guidance of other women who are independent, strong and clear thinking, they lose their ways in the labyrinth of emotional submission because they think that no matter what they study in their universities and classrooms, they cannot deal with the same ideas in their day-to-day lives. They have to accept day-to-day patriarchy, because otherwise they will be alone, single and unloved. The reality is that in seeking love from those men who have a power-oriented conception of relationships, women also enter into negotiating around power. That struggle enters into diverse domains- of money, sexuality, behaviours, interactions, social displays and so forth.

Here is the main post.

The second blog post I wrote was in about family caregivers and whether they do not contribute to the anguish of those whose care they take, by ensuring a continuity of psychiatric medication and whether they do not need to rethink their strategies if they do not want to come to the end of their lives, worrying about who would look after their children once they are no more. Here is an excerpt from that post. You are welcome to read it here, in case it interests you further.

I am very clear in my mind , that I cannot bring social change- that is for the government to accomplish for they alone have that many resources that they can empower, employ, and rehabilitate hundreds of people. I or anyone like me, can only deal with one person at at time. There are many people who create organizations in the hope that they can mediate with the government and bring in more interventions at a macro level which can transform society. Often a lot of times, these people have no model by which they want the change to come about. I do, because I AM THE CHANGE MYSELF, not just the change-maker, or someone fighting for change, without a concrete plan of action.

I believe that people can recover. Needless to say, I have seen them recover, both from bipolar and schizophrenia; I need not delve into other things of a less distressing nature, not that they do not make life difficult in any way. The only thing we can do is then from this prototype of recovery, to create more recovery outcomes. If recovery could be accomplished by the government then perhaps the whole country would have healed by now, and there would have been no problems.

Maybe some people have hope in the government and its systems, I do not.

Medication and mental illness

People often mistake the woods for the trees- that schizophrenia is a mental illness and it needs life long medication.

John Nash- the Nobel prize winning mathematician

This post is only a re-blog from another post that I have written in the context of John Nash’s story of triumph over schizophrenia and what part of it needs to be looked into more seriously. Here is the post, from another blog, shared on this one.

Finding a meaning to live for

There are many sorts of interventions needed before someone can recover completely from serious mental illness and their damning consequences. However, everyone can be supported by a whole array of resources- some of which must come from the knowledge domain.

Without new sets of knowledge nobody can break out of patterns of the past. Suppose there was an old knowledge that mental illness needs to be treated via pharmaceutical methods. But new knowledge tells us that no matter what length of time you consume psychiatric medicines for, you will never recover if you just leave it to medicines alone: you need to do a lot else.

Anyways, having recovered myself, it is not enough to write your own story down by making newer analyses of it, because people still cannot garner the spirit and verve to take ideas, from whatever you offer. The knowledge one offers is only meant for the likes of researchers and peer reviewers. In other words, it is all a waste!

Of course I would not want to think that my recovery from bipolar can have no other social outcomes than my own triumph, and therefore that much individualistic, non-repeatable and unique. I do not think I am any more special than the person next door (notwithstanding how much my ego wants me to believe that). So I decided that one of the key things that I must do, while there is still life in me, is to help more people recover, from the likes of bipolar and schizophrenia and other mental illnesses.

After a slow process of blundering and getting kicked around, I have finally come to a point where I can share the first of my offerings from my enterprise, and here it is– oh dear, am I relieved! There can be no meaning, if one only lives for oneself, and I am grateful for the suffering of bipolar disorder, without which I would never have steered in the direction of thinking about helping people recover. Isn’t it?