Khyati ParekhI decided to walk. My best walks have been ones when I skedaddle from the workout studio and decide to enjoy the breeze. Where I take a walk, and tell the studio to take one too!
As I put one foot in front of the other, trading in the instructor’s jump-squat-bend-twist- circus for my own ‘Itni muddat baad mile ho’ on Spotify on my noise cancelling earphones, I drowned out the cacophony and found a moment of peace in this country that is never quiet!
Ohh, the sweet permission to skip an early class on a Tuesday morning.
Or a long review on a Thursday evening.
Or a boring social do on a Sunday.
An outing you were dreading for 15 days in a row now.
Counting down as your heart sank a centimetre every day.
Fantasizing, imagining and hoping for all kinds of dreadful things to happen, just so you can SKIP!
How much weight actually lifts, as one skips!
Skip is such an onomatopoeic word, come to think! 😊
And the grand permission – to do.
To go.
To come.
To get it done.
To close a deal.
To call the shots.
To own a piece of work.
And may I say, to even run your kitchen.
To come up with unorthodox solutions like hiring six part timers instead of one full timer who will hold you ransom (because you dread the hassle & the housework that would bring!).
Ohh, the permission to run one’s life!
And the ludicrousness of waiting for imaginary permissions.
Like the one to ‘just be’, instead of ‘to do’.
As I walked, I also saw again, a light I’ve seen many times before.
That this ridiculous spandex I’m wearing, I’m allowed to take off.
This circus crowd claps a bit more for the mermaid that sings, but that is also her curse.
While the clowns drop their colourful pants and goof around, only some of them are not putting on an act.
The kids think the calisthenics athletes are magicians and the magicians are magical.
The circus will come and go, I can watch or join at will or at ease.
There isn’t a last or only show.
I can choose to also change auditoriums or genres.
As I have, for lifetimes now.
And each time, I see it, I forget as quickly.
Oh, great Magician in the Sky, how sweet are your games?
Baharon ko chaman, yaad aa gaya hai…. Spotify knows my obsession with Ghulam Ali.
Permission to know and to remember,
The gentle breath of the earth, the trees in Kabini, the glorious rainforests, of the sun in Bali and the ocean in Kotakinabalu and the deeply magical valleys of Cappadocia.
Of travel, which is to hack to see better and more clearly with the heart.
The phone rings. “Ma, how long before you’re home? We’re waiting for breakfast!”
“Another hour, beta. You guys manage.” Not go-ahead, manage.
Today I am giving myself the space to breathe and someday, I will also try “that word that cannot be said”, whose cousin I use so often when I say, ‘it looks difficult’.
Dil mein ek leher sii uthi hai abhi….
How exhilrating might it be to just say – “no”, without launching into long explanations and mummifying it in layers of polite-ism.
Someday I will also give myself the permission to exit some family whatsapp groups.
Realizing that these are green slips (why is ‘green slip’ not a dictionary term yet?), I myself can and need to give myself.
To go first, while the world is hell bent on making me play second.
And to question my own deep training that thinks it is fine.
To call out the biases conscious & ‘un’.
To start occupying space, instead of feeling like I’m just holding it, or worse, intruding.
To own my voice, in the unique perspective it brings to the world and the workplace.
To be ok to ‘not have it together’.
To allow imperfection
And holding my heart, for however long it needs to be held.
Like the quality of mercy, permission is also twice blessed!
Chupke chupke, raat din… aasoon bahana yaad hai….
This work was written during the Ochre Sky Memoir writing workshop facilitated by Natasha Badhwar and Raju Tai.
