On becoming.

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his. ~Oscar Wilde

I was sent to India during my tenth grade year, for "bad" behavior. I guess, I was a wild child, with wild ideas, wild music preferences, and basically just uncontrollable. Who knows, really. All I know is that, now looking back, I'm pretty sure I terrorized my poor parents. Especially my mother. When I would cry and moan about not getting my way when I was in elementary school, my father would ask me questions like what the the worst thing that could ever happen to me... and I'd answer very seriously that it would one of two things: either "Sitting alone in the cafeteria at school..." or "Ending up like Amma..."

The first very worst of all things that I could imagine happening to me, happened in high school, at my graduating private school here in the US, where most of the students were all very generically wealthy, good looking, and booooooooooring. Oh well. I survived. I am hoping, like sitting alone in the cafeteria, I will also one day "end up" like my Amma. When I see her now, when I spend time with her, when I think of her, I know there would be no greater honor.

I stayed in Italy longer than I needed to when my parents first sent me to India. I was fourteen, carrying a one way ticket to the homeland. I was angry and felt very misunderstood. I had my headphones on 90% of the time of my travel and tuned out the rest of the world... Anyway. I had absolutely no desire to be in India. None at all. I was given a male chaperone that was to escort me from Norfolk, to New York, to Italy, to Mumbai. He was this Indian man in his early thirties that kept looking at me, you know, in ways he wasn't supposed to look.

I hated him instantly. I was really mean to him. I look back on how nasty I was to him, and I have to laugh. I mean, seriously, I was such a horrendous brat. But he was weird. So he deserved it. And as you know, I was forced to undergo this trip. I hated being forced or told to do anything. Absolutely hated the loss of my "freedom". Anyway, I tried to lose him at La Guardia. I purposely missed the connecting flight to Rome. But then he did too, and to my disdain, he sat in the same first class connecting flight with me. I was grossed out for the whole trip. I couldn't even enjoy the upgrade. I'm so funny with people's energy that I don't like. I think I have always been this way. If I didn't like you, I'd want nothing to do with you. If you gave me diamonds and I thought you revolting, I wouldn't touch it, I would throw it away... There was this guy in my class in college a long time ago. He would always stare at me, like he was undressing me with his eyes, but never say anything. Every time I felt him staring at me, I would get chills up and down my spine. I thought he was the creepiest guy in the world. One day, I had walked out of the classroom when the class was over but had left my bagged lunch behind. He ran after me and gave me my lunch. I took it from him and threw it away in the trash. Because, well, I could no longer eat it after he had touched it. I know. I am very strange. For sure there was no doubting who I liked or disliked, you could read it every cell in my body. I loved you or I didn't. There was never an in between.

Anyway, I finally lose the chaperone and spend as much time as I can in Rome. By myself. As a fourteen year old girl. I actually tried to run away to Italy when I was fourteen. It is a story I love recounting because I felt like I was so fearless when I was younger. I stayed there for a few days, and when I ran out of money, I finally caught the connecting flight to Mumbai. During the time I was hanging out in Italy, a French man asked me to marry him, (I was FOURTEEN, jesus), an Italian steward for the airline I was traveling with by the name of Alberto told me to look him up when I turned eighteen, (I never knew why that age was so important to him, until I turned, you guessed it, eighteen), and I found that the macaroni and cheese in Italy was not, disappointingly, the same macaroni and cheese in America... I remember now that even then, I was a very strict vegetarian, and would always ask, no, demand, that I be served vegetarian foods. And so I ate pasta and gelato for days... Till the phone calls my mother was frantically making to the airline people trying to locate me caught up to me, and so finally I left, out of guilt, and out of cash, to India.

When I arrived, I immediately felt this rush of "home" hit me when I stepped off the plane onto the hot, humid, chaotic smells and sounds of the Mumbai tarmac. I hadn't expected to feel this "coming homeness." It was surprising, odd, and unexpectedly very, very, comforting. As much as I did not want to like being in India, as I wanted to pout forever and "punish" my parents for punishing me, the lure of this vast and crazy country was so much more stronger and more defiant than a silly fourteen year old girls' sour attitude. So, yes. I was happy I was in India. The love of adventure and travel won out over redemption and vengeance. And I allowed it to emerge. I stayed with my Aunt in Mumbai, and then a day later, caught a flight to Chennai, where it seems, my mother and my entire extended family were waiting for me, I think mainly to make sure I did not escape. My aunt treated me to sodas, junk foods, and as many Bollywood movies I could stand. (FYI, I can stand a lot). I then took a train with my mother to Bangalore, where I was to stay with my grandmother and attend school. I met my cousin there, and it was like a mini vacation. All we did was eat, laugh, read Archie comics, and watch tons and tons of Bollywood films. By this time, I was having so much fun I had already forgotten the injustice done to me by my father, and I was excited and looking forward to my new life in India. I don't hold onto anger and resentment for too long :) It's a good trait to have, no? But it doesn't matter sometimes that I let go of anger and resentment fast. Because when my anger is once roused, it is very hard to stop, and can be very damaging. It burns and singes to cinders everything in sight. I am not exaggerating. I have made grown men cry. But when the forest has burned and I have cooled down, I wonder why the other person is still reeling and wanting to seek revenge... ah LIFE. So fucking precious. Lots of laughs.

So, anyway. I had come to India to go to school. So there was that reality brewing in the background. My mother took me to my great uncles house to discuss my schooling. My father was a huge fan of Jiddu Krishnamurty at the time and wanted me to attend the Rishi Valley School in India, Rishi_Valley_School , and my uncle had the wherewithal to get us introductions and such. Also, in India, it's mostly all about who you know... Merit is nice, but connections are equally, if not more important. That's just the way it goes. I love my country, but I am not impervious to all her faults and flaws. Anyway, he knew of a neighbor that had a son that attended the Valley school and that would've loved to show me around. In fact, I think my great Uncle was trying to play match maker. And of course, I was immediately averse to this. An Indian boyfriend? Gross. At least until I met him.

I used to keep tabs on him. Married, three children. And what a small world it is. I was driving around with my cousin, sari and jewelry shopping, a few years ago while I was visiting India and she was telling me in earnest, "M, please get married. I can't wait to come to your wedding, it is going to be so grand, so beautiful, so fun!" I said, "Well there's one person I'd marry without any misgivings and I'd marry him tomorrow." She said, "Really? Where is he? And why can't you?" I said, matter-of-factly, "Because. He's already married." I told her my story of my long lost almost Valley school love, and then she asked me his name. At first I hesitated, but thinking she'd never know who he was, I told her. Then to my consternation, she said, "ReallYY?? Wow. I know exactly who he is!!" I groaned loudly. What are the odds?? Jesus. She went on, excitedly, "He is very very handsome, very charming, oh man, would've been the perfect guy for you, but he's married." I quietly tried to change the subject and tried to tell her I was just kidding, but she'd hear none of it. Dang. And my mom? "You should've married him when you had the chance." Still. There will always be that story teller in me imagining an alternate real life "choose your own adventure" theme...

So, I went to the Valley school, interviewed with my mother, and left. I was later told that I would not be a good fit and was not accepted to attend. You know what? This bothered me for a very long time in my life. I really thought I was a prefect fit. Freedom loving, out of box thinker, avant garde, don't box me in intellectual type... I was stunned that they did not see me fit to attend. I went to apply to few schools after that, (I mean come on, it was only the TENTH GRADE!), how difficult could it be? Turned out nobody wanted an American in their classrooms. Thought I'd be too disruptive, thought I was too dumb based on me being American, (yep, people do think Americans are dumb), etc.,

I was really disgusted by the process. I hated these people. They didn't even know me and were coming to so many conclusions based on appearance and background. But it was my fate, I guess. It followed me everywhere I went... In America I had a hard time because I was Indian and "different", in India, I was having a hard time because I was American and "different". Damned if you do... It still follows me. I used to feel so alienated, suspended... But today? I embrace it. I love my time alone. You ought to try to step outside your box and live a little too... it's nice outside of that box, so come on, come play...

My mom then tried this last ditch school. The headmistress at the prestigious all girls private school said she couldn't "afford" to enroll me but knew of a headmistress that would probably take me. And she was right. My mother and I went to the private Catholic school near my grandmother's house, and I liked the head mistress and she liked me, immediately. She was warm, forward, and completely welcomed me with open arms. I felt like she could clearly see and understand the me that was hidden to the rest of the world. I think it was fate that brought me to that school. It was one of my most exciting and rewarding school years. I loved the experience so, so, so much.

My mother and I butt heads. A lot. A total understatement. If you used the Kiersey personality assessment you could see why- she's an outgoing, practical, charismatic ESFP, and I'm an other worldy, impratical Entp. She's very here and now, very practical, very much grounded and real. She doesn't cry at the movies, she very rarely falls for sob stories, she never gets ill, and she's just all round super tough. Everything she touches grows. She's like the goddess Kali. Totally fierce and protective. I never got along with her growing up because I thought she was so controlling and overly protective of me. I felt suffocated. If a boy called me at home, she would answer, and never in a pleasant manner, "WHO IS THIS?? What do you want with my daughter!" And if they succeeded getting past my nazi mother, my mother would listen in on the other end... When I look back now, I have to laugh! I hope it scared away those ne'er'do'wells that wanted to take advantage of me. Especially as I am always bringing abandoned strays home... in more ways than one. It's comical. There is a scene in Il Postino where Beatrice's aunt takes out a shotgun when her paramour comes calling. My mother is that protective Italian Aunt.

But when I was younger, I did not get along with her at all. I would complain to my father about her repressive rules all the time. He was more lenient. He was experimental and very avant garde regarding our upbringing. My father and I always had a close relationship growing up- well, at least when I wasn't fighting him, (I don't know, I pretty much fought everyone). He got me and understood me like no one else. But as a team, they were both very protective and not into being overly submissive to my extreme demands. I was very demanding. I was very spoiled. I threw tantrums. Oh my god, why am I admitting to all of this online? I was a brat. I am happy my parents survived the reign of terror that was their headstrong second offspring. My mother always threatens that I would have children like me as punishment one day and I always poo pooed it away. But now, it scares me, lol. If I have a daughter that was like me, off to boarding school she goes. No time for that bratty bs drama.

*Obviously, my future daughter would never be a brat. I'd make sure of it. I'd raise her just right. Just saying. (Famous last words? Time will tell).

I went to my third ten day vipassana sit last September. When we finished, like always, I met lots of really amazing, cool, like minded practioners. Of them, one lady stands out in my memory, as she just recently called me, inviting me to this weird landmark forum, and the memories of my time in India as a precocious teenager came flooding back. So I write... This lady happened to teach at the Valley school before she moved to the States with her husband. She was too young to teach when I attended the tenth grade, so, not that crazy of a connection, but an inspiring one nonetheless. Meeting her was really, really, interesting. Because. It was during that particular ten day sit that I unearthed these long forgotten feelings of rejection from the Valley School beofre meeting her. I mean, what are the odds, that I would meet someone from there?!

Anyway, when I found out what she did and where she used to teach, I said ruefully, "I applied, but they wouldn't accept me. I guess I wasn't intelligent enough to attend." It was the first time in my entire life that I shared this with anyone. I have never admitted to anyone that I was once unsure about my academic ability. And she smiled and immediately said, "No, no, no. I don't think it had anything to do with your intelligence. You're such a clever and free-spirited girl, you would've been perfect." I don't know. Maybe she was flattering me and trying to make me feel better, so I shrugged and let it go. But she didn't. She pursued this line and asked me, oddly enough, if my parents came with me and what they were like. I told her in a nutshell about my parents, at least my perception of them both and I finished by saying, "Yes, but only my mother came with me. She's not really into philosophy or anything esoteric, it was mostly my father that wanted this- but he was in the States." And she lit up and said, "That's exactly why! It's not you that wasn't a good fit! It's your mother. Her traditional, religious, protective ways were not going to be a good match for the school. And because she is your primary caretaker, it would affect what you could do or not do in the school... Not a good fit."

And that was it. It was the answer that I was looking for. They didn't reject me, it was never personal. I was just not a good fit... For awhile this explanation quelled my nagging feeling of inadequacy and I felt better. Until I didn't.

The more I thought about it, the more I hated the thought of someone thinking my mother in that way, and the less I wanted to be part of schools like that; the less intellectual I, myself, wanted to be considered. I was shedding lots of layers... These three years, from 2008 to now, has been tremendous in my skin shedding. Tremendous. Tremendous. Tremendous.

I grew up worshiping philosophers, intellectuals, the out there esoteric thinkers, witty poets, artists; I grew up worshiping my mind. Post vipassana, I wanted only to understand the heart. Only what was actionable. I tweeted one day that I found a great use for all of my philosophy papers from the past that I had written... I tweeted that I used them to line my cat's litter boxes. I was not lying or exaggerating then, and I am not now. I cannot think of a more useful place for those papers.

I am grateful that my mom was/is as protective and caring as she has been for me. She never gave two hoots what anyone thought or thinks of her, what she loves----> she protects, and the hell with everyone and anything else. She went to the Valley School mainly to please my father, but probably didn't think it was right for me, and this feeling was probably projected onto the admissions committee, and they very correctly assessed that I was not a good match. So, that's good! To this day, she says that school would've probably spoiled me. And. She's probably right. I was a naive, stubbornly silly, impressionable child. And the school was very lax with their discipline.. I know I would've gotten into lots of trouble. And not in a good way.

I don't care that my mother doesn't read books on philosophers, or watch dark movies that I love, I don't care that she's not "intellectual". She can out cook, out garden, out love, out last anyone. She is here, real, all earth, and all fierceness.


My beautiful mother, on the left:

Baby me:

In Mysore, 2011