A Silence, a Smile

I had this strange kind of feeling earlier today, like something big was going to happen and my unconscious was already preparing for it. It was a peaceful, positive feeling, almost (most definitely) deeply spiritual; one that sits heavy with you as the day ends and you look at the stars with a glimmer in your eye and a warmth in your heart. It was just so sudden, so contrary to what was happening around me, that I couldn't miss it if I tried.

Picture this: I’ve just finished my last swim of the week and am sitting at the edge of the pool, removing my cap and goggles, having some sips of the energy drink still left over in my sipper. Usually I chat with the other swimmers around, but today, everyone is just doing their own thing. Hardly anyone is talking; in fact, the main thing I can hear is just the water sloshing around as the filters work with it. Some of them are going to wake up tomorrow and appear for the last of their board exams, some are going to come back for another swim in the morning. For all of us, Sunday is the only proper rest day we will have. We’ve just accepted our fate and many of our jokes surround this theme, but you can’t deny the quiet tiredness that comes with working so hard towards a goal.

And I don’t think I’ve noticed this quiet tiredness outside of me before.

So today when I noticed it, something shifted inside me; it told me not to worry, and that it had my back. What “it” was is a question I am yet to address, and what it is anticipating is something only time will tell. But in that moment I knew I’m going to be working harder than I ever have, using all of my mental health skills at all times, needing all of the social support that I can get. My life is about to change again, and I can only hope it is for the better.

That’s the thing about life, isn’t it? You hope it only gets better while you prepare yourself for the worst. You toil away while keeping one eye on the light at the end of the tunnel. You know nothing about the future yet you plunge yourself into the deep sea that is the work that goes behind building that future. You’re surrounded by stress and you believe you’re supposed to be completely unaffected by it. And one fine day, you just decide this is where you were meant to be all along.

I wonder whether there is a certain age for it, whether it’s more about experience or about mindset, whether it makes you suddenly stop wanting to do more or pushes you to experience life even more fully. I love that all of life’s mysteries usually only come to me late at night if I stay awake long enough, but this one just refused to be slept off. “I am here,” it said, “and you are doing this.”

So it is here, and I am doing this, and this is where we let curiosity take the lead again.

Stage Fright

It happened again, yesterday. I was in a room full of strangers with a small group of people I knew personally or through my dad’s stories. Most of these people knew me, held me in high regard, would have cheered me on no matter what if I had taken the mike in my hand. My mum told me to choose a song I could sing here, in honour of a family friend who is going to move out of town soon for her college. She was excited, really looking forward to hearing her daughter’s beautiful voice win over yet another audience, trying to signal someone to make it happen. I panicked, yelled at her to stop, told her I wouldn’t do it. My bubbly self disappeared for a while there; mum was so confused I could feel it in her gaze that she was wondering what she did that offended me so much. Eventually I held her hand, she asked me what happened, and I told her: “this is a room full of people that are going to see my wheelchair before listening to my voice. They may be a close group for the hosts of this evening, not for me, and that just doesn’t help…I would love to sing if the opportunity presents itself, though, because I know you love it when I do.”

Thankfully for me, maybe not for my mum, the opportunity didn’t present itself after all.

I’ve been thinking about this since it happened yesterday. How did I become so self-conscious about my wheelchair when it came to singing? That was the one thing that wasn’t affected by my stage fright. I loved to sing when I was younger, I executed it almost perfectly every single time, no matter how significant the occasion was. I would fumble half the time I was supposed to speak in front of an audience; never a chance I would mess up singing. I’ve always been very aware that I write so much better than I speak. I was supposed to be the perfect girl who’s good at everything, and this particular fact did not sit well with this expectation…so I fumbled. But now, it’s not about being perfect, or even good. It’s about whether I will be seen as a person before I am seen as a person in a wheelchair.

I have tried to deny it, to only see the appreciation and not the meaning attached with it, to only focus on breaking stereotypes and never look back. I have tried to look past the back-handed compliments – you’re such an inspiration, I could never do it if I were you, I’d be too ashamed, I’d just run away at the sight of so many people…oops! Sorry! Did it offend you that I said “run away”? – and I have tried to just keep on doing, doing, doing. It doesn’t help, you know. None of it helps.

The people that see the wheelchair before me, they don’t know me that well, I tell myself. They don’t know I trained in classical music for five years, and classical dance for a few more, and the keyboard too. They don’t know how bad I want to correct their perspective all the time. They don’t know I knew how to swim since I was eight and I’d been trekking since I was three and I was learning how to ride a Bullet when I was fourteen. They don’t know I hate being called a motivational speaker, because it glamorises living a normal life so much – a life that is second nature to me, that they are living too, but they just can’t imagine someone with a disability doing it too. They don’t know how much I hate having to try and just do things even when I don’t want to, simply because they’re watching and will always evaluate. They simply don’t know.

How do you blame someone when they simply don’t know?

How do you expect them to understand when they simply weren’t curious in the first place?

How do you make peace with such chaos when you know it’s so “unacceptable” even though it’s just so human?

Respect

When I thought of writing this blog post, I was fuming with rage. Why can’t the university do something instead of saying they’re looking into it? Why give me admission if they can’t even make sure I reach my classroom, forget about reaching it with dignity? Four years of being here and I’m back to square one. No ground floor classes available in my department; the accessible building opposite us refusing to give us classrooms except for conducting exams; the plan to build a lift in our building left abandoned; the idea of a new, accessible building for our department, a faraway dream. I’m tired, disappointed, angry, helpless, sleepless. But before we get into that, let me tell you what the university has done for me - let it never be said that Garima Vyas was an ungrateful a**.

They’ve given me permission to attend classes online when the classes are held upstairs. They’ve made sure to find me a table where my wheelchair can fit during exam time. They restricted the bathroom for me to use because I’m at a high risk of catching all sorts of infections, from everywhere. They’ve made sure I get my extra time during exams. They’ve tried to exchange classrooms with other batches whenever possible. I’ve met some amazing, heartwarming human beings here (and dogs, let’s be honest), and I’m doing an internship which challenges me to the exact level I wish to be challenged.

But…when you talk about inclusion, accessibility to be more specific, it has been a nightmare. A nightmare I hope will at least dampen by the time I leave this place. When you take away someone’s means to get what you promised to give them, you are insulting their sheer existence. Sure, I can compromise and get lifted by people up and down the stairs, or I can keep attending classes online like I am right now. Both these options send the same message - you have power over me, and my problems aren’t big enough to stand up in front of your power. Which, to be honest, is completely opposite to the truth.

The authorities do have power over me, I realise and acknowledge that. But I refuse to be treated like a sack of potatoes any longer. I refuse to be lifted up and down the stairs like I used to. I refuse to be kicked around with “I can’t do anything about it, go talk to X” thrown at my face all the time. I refuse to be denied my basic, legal right as a human being - that of living with dignity and respect. Sure, I sit in a wheelchair and can’t reach most places without any help, but I’m still worthy of more respect than just a label of “strong and inspirational” without anyone making visible efforts to make it easier for me (and others like me) to navigate the world on my own. Yes, it has become a matter of self-respect and, to some extent, even ego. But in my place, is it even wrong?

College

It’s only been two weeks since my MA classes started and it already feels like too much to handle. Welcome to real life, they say. This is how it’s going to be from now on. And honestly, in another time, without a wheelchair and possibly with a Bullet of my own, I would have been enjoying this hectic schedule to the fullest. I might not even have been here in Vadodara for so long - a hostel life during college has always been a dream of mine. But right now, I’m just trying to cope.

It’s tough on me, climbing the stairs everyday to class, sitting for hours at a stretch, hardly doing any physiotherapy yet trying to improve my swimming performance. My muscles are becoming stiff and it hurts. The physical discomfort sits there in the back of my mind making it difficult to focus in class. How long has it been since I changed my position? Is it time to do my next round of push-ups yet? Maybe I should have brought my pain relief gel. It’s all manageable till the professor announces they won’t share the PPT they are presenting so they hope you took notes. Is it time to take my washroom break yet? I hope my bladder behaves today. I did take my meds this morning…didn’t I? Should I text mum and ask? The period ends and I find my mum and we spend twenty minutes of my one-hour break taking a leak - I wish the washroom was accessible! At least it’s clean today, though - and then she gives me my lunch that she brought with her. I eat, socialise with my classmates once they come back from the canteen, and we attend our next class. By the time I reach my car after classes, the only thing I can think of is my bed - I guess this feeling is shared by just about every college student ever. I get home, rest my back muscles which are now stiff and sore from all that sitting, and fall asleep before I even think about it. I wake up, do some of my physio exercises, have coffee, exercise again, then get ready and leave for swimming. Of course, why would I ever hold back once I’m in the water? But am I overdoing this? How sore is my body going to be by the end of this? Oh, well. We’ll see. I go home, have dinner, wrap up for the day and prepare for the next one, and go to bed by 10:30 at most - way earlier than I used to just a week ago - because I’m just so tired. Am I old already? Will I be fresh and energetic enough tomorrow to last the entire day? I wake up and find out - yes, just fresh enough….I think.

Maybe the rest of my college life won’t be too bad. Hectic, sure, but not too bad. They’re thinking of taking my classes on the ground floor now. They had to go from “Maybe we’ll install a lift” to “A ramp could work instead” and ended up never being able to change anything after all, no matter how many times they tried. At least now my mother’s knees won’t get tortured so much. If this works out, of course. Anyway, ground floor classes. I’ll be close to the canteen now. Maybe I’ll get a cup of coffee from there every now and then. Maybe that’ll help me calm down as I contemplate everything that’s wrong in the infrastructure of every building I’ve ever been to. Maybe that’ll make me angry yet keep me just composed enough, and that’ll be my Disney villain origin story.

Waves

 On days like this I hardly have strength to go on. So I cry, ask my parents for comfort, and after the tears have finally drained me, I sleep.

It’s strange, really. The thoughts aren’t new ones, I don’t blame anyone, and neither does it last very long. It comes, shakes me to the core, and goes, waiting to strike again, hidden from my view. It’s only recently that it has started to come this often.

In less than a month I will have lived for five years with my injury. My routine has hardly eased over the years; in fact it’s only gotten longer. I keep pushing my boundaries, breaking them and then working towards breaking new boundaries yet again. The cycle hasn’t stopped yet. Sometimes it feels like it might never, but I’m still holding on. Who even am I working this hard for, if not myself? And don’t we all deserve some hard work just for ourselves, though the definition of ‘some’ is different for everyone?

It is tough. Heartbreaking. Sometimes devastating too. I’ve been under a lockdown of my own far longer than this pandemic has forced us to - everyone who knows me knows this. Of course, it has its happy times. For me, these are far more in number than the sad ones, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t break me from time to time. My efforts to regain my sensation and motor control take up so much of my time everyday I am sometimes afraid to think what I’ll do after this is all over, when I will finally have enough time and I will still complain about having too little of it. (That, however, would be because I’ll just keep wanting to do so many things all the time!) So then why does it scare me when it should be a beacon of light, a goal, one of the best case scenarios for me? Simply because I’ve longed for it so much now, yet been involved in doing something so far away from it, that I fear it might take me years to get used to that kind of freedom. The one where I can just run about if I want.

I am afraid, I am exhausted, I just want to lie down for a while, and I will.

And after all is said and done, I will fight again.

For the Love of Books

There’s something really magical about finding books that touch your soul. Sure, there are about a million books out there under the category of classics, some surprisingly confusing when you start reading them, but what was it that made people decide they were the gems we humans couldn’t afford to lose?

It’s not often I think about this, but when I do I could spend hours trying and failing to come up with an answer that makes complete sense...except this one: that all of these books, in one way or another, touch people’s heart in a way they cannot put into words, so they decide to urge other people to find out on their own.

I don’t remember the first time I read a book all on my own, or demanded my first book, or sneaked a book to my room so I could read with my tiny bookmark lamp under the covers for the first time. I do remember, though, that I was the first from my class to pick any book I wanted to issue or read from my school library and that made me feel like I had a superpower. I’ve had multiple reading spots in that library over the years, most of them in a corner by one of the windows. It was a beautiful experience, the way the noises around me faded when I started reading, even if the person right next to me called me. Ever so often there would be a book which would require that I take a break, breathe in, look out the window and take in the view, because there was no way in the world I could’ve absorbed more of its intensity without letting the parts I had just read sink in. That still happens to me today. Honestly, if that is not how you decide your favourites, I don’t know how you do it.

So here I am, sitting in my room lit with fairy lights on my bookshelves, typing up a little something about my love for books, hoping I end up encouraging someone to discover the perfect genre for them, hoping to push them to start at their own pace, while the book I’m currently reading sits on my windowsill hoping I wouldn’t mess with it anymore because it is so very old. Well, little does the book know...

To Slam Books and Old Friends

Today I found my old slam book. Yes, one of those things which you pass around to your friends for them to fill up and you swear never to show other people. Some of its pages were full to the brim, some were left empty except the names of people whose deepest, darkest secrets at twelve years of age were supposed to be right there on those pages. A few of these very special people from back then are still in regular contact with me, some are connected only on Instagram and in my contact list. Others have been long lost, even from my memory. Funny how time works on friendships.

One of these friends used to be one of whom I categorised as my best friends back in the day. She is one of the handful of people I have cried in front of, and I remember her quite well. I even remember why I cried that day, and now that I think of it, it seems laughable yet so terribly serious for a twelve-year-old. Anyway, as I said, I remember her quite well. Her father had a transferable government job back then, probably still does now, and because of that she was only physically present in my life for two or three years, not exactly sure. After that her father got transferred again so we exchanged phone numbers on chits of paper, the old-fashioned way. Neither of us had a mobile phone to store those numbers, so when her father got transferred again she lost mine and I never got her new one. I sometimes wonder where she is these days, and whether she misses me. The good thing is I smile every time I think of her. Very few friends are such that stay in your memory like this: if you ever meet them again, you’ll probably end up becoming the closest of friends once more.

Now that I’ve finished that paragraph, I’ve written and deleted another one a few times. All I can think about is nothing. Nothing at all. I am trying to bring up memories of friends, from the slam book and otherwise, all from back in school before we got separated by our choices and their consequences. It seems my brain will only let those out when I get away from the screen, away from any means which breaks the surety that my thoughts and memories will stay with me, unseen by others, unheard by others, and I don’t yet understand why. Maybe a few years down the line when my further study in Psychology will help me unravel the secrets of my mind I’ll get it, maybe I’ll get it someday when I’m doing nothing but staring at the night sky from my window. This is not the first time I’m struggling to consciously remember things about my past friends and it probably isn’t the last time...but I guess what really matters is that even though I can’t pull them out right now, when the time comes, I always have the most detailed, strongest, sweetest memories of all.

So my dear friends who haven’t been in contact since long, if you’re reading this, I think of you. Not all the time, not in detail, but very, very fondly. I hope to see you and catch up with you sometime in the future when we have lots and lots of stories to share and listen, or if possible, even in the near future so we can reach that faraway time in each others’ company.

Love,

Me.

Negative Emotions? Also a Sign of Life.

Recently I and my mum were featured in an interview with Dr Darshana Thakkar and Dr Parthiv Mehta. Among other things we talked about life after my accident and how I managed to stay mentally strong. The one thing that touched me and made me smile was a little sentence Dr Thakkar said near the end. It might even have gone unnoticed by everyone else, I'm not sure, but for me? Definitely not so.

What she said was quite simple - that I must be trying really hard all the time not to break down internally, for I enjoy a lot of things when I can, during some of the most energetic years of my life, despite being on a wheelchair...and she's right. It is the time of my life where I would definitely have wished to move around freely, bunk some lectures, go on unplanned trips and parties with my friends, maybe even date. It becomes difficult in a wheelchair and I sometimes feel angry, frustrated, restricted, sad - all of it, even jealous of other people because they can do things that I can't. I am only human, and it is probably a good thing that I feel these things.

I feel. The fact that I can and do feel emotionally vulnerable simply points to one thing, that I am alive, I am thriving and I haven't given up on life yet. Have you ever seen or heard about a corpse being able to feel any emotions at all? No, right? It is biologically not possible. This is why I think it is important to feel vulnerable sometimes - it reminds us of our life or death status.

On the other hand, however, It is not a good experience when I'm actually going through my down times. It can be tough to exercise, study or even read a good book or enjoy some music. It can be difficult to understand someone else's point of view, to understand and remember how blessed I am to have an understanding and loving family, dedicated friends, my unharmed intellect and physical strength. It is difficult, but it is these difficult things that help me get up after an emotional breakdown. Luckily I am quite resilient so I don't have such phases often, even though unconsciously I may be battling them all the time, and when I do have such phases they last hardly for a few hours. But they are intense.

It is true that life can be emotionally mixed up, difficult, unnerving, but in the end what matters is that we take home the right lessons and not let things pile up. Everyone has negative emotions they are trying to get over, but how is that ever possible if we don't be true to ourselves and face them? If we're determined enough, willing enough, is it really that hard?

The Quarantine Effect

Recently we were all instructed to stay in our homes in order to protect ourselves from the Coronavirus outbreak. A lot of people are pretty upset about this huge change in their routines. They have no idea what to do all day, and even if they work from home there’s this something that feels missing. Honestly such reactions seem both funny and pitiful to me, considering the fact that my routine has been the exact same ever since I started physiotherapy to help me recover from my injury.

However, I cannot say I don’t relate to the confusion people are facing these days, the way they’re feeling trapped and helpless after a point of time when being home seems like there’s nothing much left to do. I have always been someone who has a high need for stimulation all the time and must do something or the other all day in order to feel sane. The first few days after surgery were tough for me that way. All I had to do was to lie in bed and “do whatever I wanted to” which mostly included reading or watching TV and meeting people for a three-hour-window of the visiting hours in the hospital. Eventually visitors lessened, my eyes started hurting with all the reading and TV and I felt blank. What was I supposed to do now? I don’t even remember anymore what I did then, probably just went back to sleep.

Some more days later I went back home and then there really was nothing I would do. No doctors to examine me, no nurses coming to chat with me, no visitors in my room because the stitches in my spine had only recently been opened up and we didn’t want them to be infected, obviously. I had nothing to do except physiotherapy (that was a different method than what I’m currently following). So then I dived right in when my physiotherapist came and I showed so much improvement (only visible to those who observed me daily) that she had to look for new exercises for me almost every fourth day. As a side effect of this enthusiasm I could now comfortably go back to binge-reading and occasionally studying again.

Then some months later I and my family decided to go ahead with the current physiotherapy routine which goes on for literally all day except when I’m eating. This was perfect for me – I was doing something all day long with hardly any time left to do anything else. I realised the importance of time because I only had so many hours in a day left to study after all the exertion. Even today I’m almost struggling to find time to do anything but exercise and study, but I manage and don’t regret any of it. In fact in that time I try to fit at least one of my hobbies per day, and thankfully I have many. Pretty sure that’s one of the reasons why I have never, despite following the exact same routine for these past few years, felt too bored with it.

You ask me how’s quarantine for me? It is a way of life that lets me focus on my recovery and is helping me think of how I can fit all I want to do in that little amount of time I have left during the day because I know once college starts again I won’t have much chance. It is helping me see how far I’ve come from the girl who became restless when confined to her home, where she now feels like that’s her own little world. It means I and mum get to spend all day with papa – his laughter and his jokes and stories feel like therapy. It is letting me help my friends to go through this sudden change in their lives and routines where they run out of things to do and I see myself a little more than three years ago, in need of someone who has gone through this and can help me fight through. And finally, being able to hear the birds chirping in the calm silence all around me, I can see how much this period of quarantine has healed our environment from the harm humankind had brought to it.

(Not so) dear Coronavirus, I may not love you, but I’m grateful for the way you made the environment clean again. Thank you and may we never see you again J

Infrastructure, Mental Health and Society

1st July, 2019. My first day at college - the MS University of Vadodara. I wasn't exactly excited to go - I wanted to leave Vadodara, study elsewhere. Well, the education here is good, so I decided to go with the flow.

We approached the building to attend the orientation program. Right in front of me stood three big stairs - just to enter the building. At the time I had not yet learnt to climb up or down staircases as I can now, but even today that's a dangerous method to follow. Anyway, that day it took three people to lift me sitting on my wheelchair into the building. It was in that moment that I realised how dependent I was, and was going to be for the rest of my course here, upon people other than just me for something as basic as entering my college. Literally.

I was devastated, frustrated, angry. I hated the place. Luckily for the college, though, I wouldn't be able to attend classes for about 4 months after the first three days, during which I had multiple health issues and a surgery. Also during the same period onwards my family, like many others before us, requested the authorities of the University to make infrastructural changes so as to support me and others like me to attend classes regularly. Their excuse? The University campus is a heritage site. I mean, of course, why would I want to go to any heritage site at all, especially my own college campus, right? And even if I did want to go, wouldn't I rather risk breaking my spine again by climbing entire staircases like I already am than actually having an easy passage method to use?

We have been told since a long time that we should practise what we preach. We talk about equality yet some of us refuse to believe changes are necessary to bring about equality. We talk about mental health yet some of us refuse to even consider the ill effects of having to be dependent just because it is "troublesome" to change the present facilities. This section of our society needs some serious change in their perspective, especially those who have the power to not only affect change but also to actually administer it. I really want to know how, when they have the need for such facilities, they just magically appear, but even after years of appeals and sometimes court cases the general public isn't provided with them.

Contrary to this my school - the Bright Day School CBSE Vasna unit - was very supportive. As soon as we realised we would need a ramp and requested them to build one, they fulfilled that request along with a number of subtle changes that helped me glide through my last two years there as best as possible.

Recently I have been working on a video about the infrastructural problems any wheelchair enabled person might face at the University as part of the Accessible Vadodara campaign, with the hope that at least someone will listen and act, so that the students coming after me may not face as much of these issues as I and others before me have had to. It is a legal requirement for public institutions to have accessibility supports, complete with guidelines on the dimensions of such supports. This requirement is often neglected. To say the truth, many of my classes have been shifted to the ground floor, and I am thankful for that. However that is hardly enough looking at the state of the building.

This isn't just a question of physical support. Mental health is a real thing and it is affected immensely by a person's sense of independence. I may make peace with a majority of my own problems but I refuse to stay quiet when the sense of independence, of equality, of such a large part of the society is in question. Because, after all, staying quiet isn't much better than actually causing harm.

Do not tell me I'm not trying hard enough

Do not tell me I'm not trying hard enough. Do not assume I didn't think of the basic "problems" or "solutions" - ask. Because, you know, then I'll probably be trying really hard not to punch you in the face. If i succeed in restraining myself, I am strong enough to keep going, which is clearly most important to me. If I succeed in punching you, you're hurt and I am definitely strong enough to go through my wars and win, with or without your condescension.

These are things everyone going through a hard time wants to say to everyone else. These are things our orthodox society wants to keep shushed. In fact if the society wasn't such, no one would dare to question our worth and the world would be more peaceful in more than one way. Being human would no longer need approval.

As much as I would like to fight doubters with my fists, I would like to write about it and tell people they are not alone in being angry - neither am I. Some of us hide it because it's more polite that way, others because there just seems to be no point in showing it. We are never sure how the receiver might react to our anger, but do we really deserve to be made to feel insufficient for the world? The only thing we can control is ourselves, and by control I do not mean hold back, I mean let out the exact amount we wish to. Overcoming nonsensical restrictions to express ourselves is half the battle won.

There is power in me which you don't know about, power which I didn't show you because I do not need to prove myself to you. I am enough and your underestimation of me shows just how little you know me.

Again strong words society wants to shush. Sometimes I wish it wasnt so diffiicult to stand up for ourselves simply because of the stress it creates. We are not pressure cookers who can only whistle when absolutely stuffed! It hurts when people undermine us and it is our right to speak up. We shouldn't be ashamed of it and we shouldn't be embarrassed of the wars we are fighting inside of us. This is what it feels like to be human in a world which wants robots. It is time humans learn to be both human and humane - to both express oneself and to respect others.

Trail of Thoughts: Midnight Edition

Looking back at my earlier blogs I realise my journey of writing is changing the way I see things, the way I communicate, the way I express. It started out with a crude attempt at writing somewhat of an essay, just the way school essays are expected to be. Over time and over many hours of reading and introspection my writings changed from essays to open diary entries. My way of looking at things has changed too; call it more mature or just plain realistic, the choice is yours. It is a long journey covered in a short time frame inside our minds: our thoughts never wait to be put into words, they simply flow.

What I feel while I put this into words feels close to what we call eye-opening realisation. Endless tiny realisations seem to come back to me, finding links where there seemed to be none, creating a blur picture that gets clearer with every peek. I am far too young to exactly know, with far too many adventures waiting for me in life, waiting for me to discover parts of me which I never knew existed. To make sense of the world is a lifelong process. Why we persist to do so is a question which has been answered yet I feel there is more to it.

Millions of years of evolution and the subsequent gradual enlargement of our brains are not enough to answer many questions we have about life. However one thing we know for sure is that change is the only constant in nature. Gradual or sudden, predicted or unexpected, every change builds up the world both within and without us. Nature finds its way to restore balance in every chaotic situation. Our unconscious has been hardwired to try and maintain balance in our lives, be it emotional, physical, social or otherwise. The harder we try to compel our mind to behave in a way that will create imbalance, the greater is the rebound we face to get back to normal. C’est la vie. I believe this is the major explanation behind the saying, ‘Trust your heart, it knows the way.’ After all freedom to be ourselves is what we all desire! What use is logic if we never intend to apply it?

What if the very change we are afraid to bring about is the one that we actually need?

Stairs, Stares and My Take on the Two

When I first went out in my wheelchair, it was an eye-opening experience for me. I found out that it is true when many of my fellow wheelchair community members say, "We only have two major challenges - stairs and stares."

I understood the part about stairs even before I actually went out in my wheelchair. I and my parents probably spent hours deciding where to go because so few places in Vadodara are accessible to people like me! Wherever there are two or more steps, a wheelchair has to be carried, as also the person in it. Sometimes if there is a lift, there is a short staircase before we can reach it. Other times there is no issue in reaching the lift but the entrance to it is too small for a wheelchair to fit through. And sometimes when there are good ramps, not too steep and not too slippery, there are vehicles parked in front of them. So if I can’t enter a place, how am I going to enjoy it? Luckily because of the “Accessible India” movement along with growing awareness, more and more places are becoming equipped with better infrastructure and thus open for the community to enjoy.

Coming to the stares part, I believe it is more of a curiosity – filled mindset problem than anything else. Most people tend to underestimate every person in a wheelchair. They underestimate our ability to move around on our own, to pick out things that we like, even the ability of our companions in supporting us whenever few times we need. I have seen strangers gaping when I transfer myself from a wheelchair into a car. I have seen them gaping when I sit in the food court and place orders when with my friends. I have seen them gaping when I collide into someone and then apologise with a smile instead of falling off my wheelchair. Often there are kids who smile at me while their parents frown and pull them away, maybe because of some stigma they have attached to this condition, to wheelchairs, out of a completely bizarre belief which I fail to understand.

To be honest, it feels encouraging to see someone smile at me and acknowledge my presence and not just that of my wheelchair. It feels like magic exists when little kids come up to me and say you’ll be alright with their sweet little laughs and then run away to their happily waiting parents. It feels empowering to know that I rebuild people’s mindsets each time I interact with them. I feel strength in knowing that I am complete, with or without my wheelchair. Also, I do not feel ashamed to ask for help although unwanted help feels annoying. I do not hate stares although receiving smiles are way better. Getting acceptance from the society for being the way I am is a blessing that most of us in the community struggle for. Let us all make the world a better place – a more accessible and accepting place.

A Step Ahead

Today I took a step further, faced my fear of being in a crowd. After two long years I am attending the Navratri celebration of my school. Of course, it is difficult. Looking at everyone around me dancing to this magical tune, all these happy faces, listening to this music and not being able to go and dance as I used to earlier. It is even more difficult considering the fact that this is the one festival I have always waited for every year. I don't remember ever being so excited for any other festival. And now, although stripped away from that beautiful crowd, dancing and enjoying every moment, every beat, I come to think of how blessed I really am. I can still feel the blood rush through my body every time I hear the familiar tune of Garba. I can still feel goosebumps on my skin every time my favourite-of-all Garba plays in the background and everyone jumps to the rythm. I am fortunate enough to feel everything I used to feel earlier.

The one big difference this time is that I am looking at all those subtle moments which earlier went unnoticed because of the adrenaline. Friends teasing each other. Lovers looking at each other, smiling and unable to look away. A garba player, high on this enchanting Navratri fever, losing herself in the moment. The beautiful Durga idol, devotees all around it, praying for all the happiness in the world. If not for my injury I would never have looked at these things. I realised there is so much beauty and serenity in this festival of colour, energy and adrenaline. It brings people together, connects people with themselves. Maybe somewhere in my heart I knew I was missing it too much, but all I did about it was to shirk away altogether from the festival. Maybe it isn't so bad to sit here, looking and listening and feeling it all but not participating myself. Maybe life isn't so unfair as people tend to assume.

After all this time in a wheelchair I realised a lot of things about life, happiness, priorities, friendship and whatnot. In the end all that matters is what we choose to remember and the way we choose to remember it. I have had my low moments when I cried my eyes out missing all the things I used to do earlier. But something about today is different. I am facing a lot of what I fear - crowds, Garba, sitting alone and watching while everyone is having fun. But today I choose to smile. I choose to remember the sound of this heavenly music and the feel of its beats and all the happy faces around me.

Today I choose to cherish each moment I witness of this celebration.

Today I choose to be happy.

The Salt in my Life

Knowingly or unknowingly, our life is greatly influenced by the people we choose to be associated with. It affects our emotional state, our self confidence and also our intellect. And then comes the attention we choose to give them. The more responsive and affectionate we are to someone, the more they are likely to feel connected to us. But sometimes we fail to acknowledge those who really are close to our heart, maybe because we do not find enough words for the kind of special that they are. Maybe when they are present we feel comfortable even in silence, or we don’t feel it necessary to keep a conversation alive. We might not notice their presence but their absence affects. I like to call such people the salt in our lives.

As we all know, salt is what makes food taste so good. It is what enhances the various flavours, makes the spices show their true form. But when there is no salt, all we taste is blandness – no flavour, no excitement...the food is everything but enjoyable. Similarly when the metaphorical salt is away from us, we feel incomplete. It is the magic in their presence which makes everything seem normal and pleasant.

Such a person in my life is one of my cousins. We were born five months apart, and have grown up together. I have no siblings but he never lets me feel so. We stayed in different cities but we used to visit each other during every vacation that we got. Last year he came to stay with my family in order to study his last two years of school life. But every moment that he can since the day he came, he tries to make me laugh, even if it means making a fool out of himself. Such is my cousin – playful and mature, hardworking and humorous. So many of my happy childhood memories are with him that I wonder how come he isn’t my real brother. All those little things that we did as kids that got us into trouble – cutting his hair to make him almost bald, fighting with each other, climbing the tree at my granny’s home – the list is endless. But it was after he started to live with us that his absence started to affect me.

There are a lot of things to do when it comes to looking after me ever since my injury - two years ago. My cousin seemed to be a boon to my mother when he came here. He helped with my busy schedule of physiotherapy by keeping everything that I needed ready at the right time. He reminded me to take my medicines on time, came to help me at my every beck and call without getting tired. He still does all of this with a huge smile on his face, and never leaves an opportunity to tease me and keep me happy. So here is a small message to the salt in my life on his birthday– all I can ever do to repay you is to be by your side all my life, and I promise I will be right here. Happy birthday!

A Little Perspective

The Oxford English dictionary defines perspective as “a way of thinking about something.” There exist as many perspectives in the world as there are people. Each one is unique and gives us an insight about the person who owns it. Yet our mind stays stuck to just one of them when trying to solve problems or while even thinking about something. Our own.

Often we experience that we cannot think of a possible way of solving our problems, of dealing with people. We wonder what makes people so different from one another. The answer to these questions may seem unrelated, but really, it all lies in how we look at things. For instance, we see old people around us. So many of them stay in a state of seclusion, and no matter how hard we try, they seem impossible to satisfy. Their mindset seems to have become inflexible and they do not accept changes as easily as we do. They take themselves to be a burden upon the lives of their ‘extremely busy children,’ or they tend to find flaws with everything their children try to do for them. And then there are the other type, the ones which want to be included, and tend to find the good stuff in everything around them. They know there is a need to take action to be happy – only expecting others to do something is useless. Upon close observation, we notice that the only difference between these two types of the same age group is their perspective – the latter more positive than the former.

Such examples abound in our life. People who have suffered from an accident physically may or may not have suffered mentally. Ever since my accident, people have asked me, “Don’t you ask yourself why this happened to you?” And I have only had one thing to say. Whatever happens, happens for good. This is not a very happy incidence, I agree. But the changes it has incurred in my perspective, in my way of looking at things, is overwhelming. Never have I ever pitied myself, nor have I let anybody else pity me. Thinking positively can get you through everything.

There are times when we are completely devoid of hope. There is nothing that seems to comfort us, to make us feel worthy. The simple question that can help us find meaning in such situations is this: ‘What good might this do to me?’ No matter how long it takes to find the answer to this question, in the end that alone is what heals our soul, helps us find ourselves and makes us more positive. This little change in perspective – from focussing on what’s good rather than what’s bad – is what can keep us going.

What can we do to stay positive? Sometimes it takes a lot of effort to stay positive. But once an effort is taken, it is possible to find happiness in everything, even create happiness where necessary. There is a lot that can be done. Try to look at things in as many different ways as possible. Assert yourself, “you can do it” and push yourself again. Do what you love and love what you do. Give yourself a break from those things that hurt you – even people. Think of what can be done, not what damage has already occurred. Have patience. Remember, it is the little things that matter in life. Stop expecting and start doing. Smile to yourself and be thankful for your life. There are people out there who want to be in your place, so consider yourself lucky. Inculcate habits which are healthy both physically and mentally. Never give up, because better things are yet to come!

Loneliness

Loneliness. Deep, dark, brutal. Every time it approaches you, it eats you from the inside. It makes you want to cry, to do crazy things. It is one of the major causes of depression, even suicide. Most of it is because you expected people to be there when you needed them, and they simply didn’t show up. Sadly, almost everyone goes through this every day. Most of them are either ashamed to say it out loud or don’t even know what just happened to their emotions. And yes, I experienced it too.

After my spinal cord injury, I have seen many people go away. Many of the new people I met just stared at me and my wheelchair, and I felt more embarrassed than ever. Surprisingly, many of my old not-so-close friends were still there for me. I had never thought they would be the ones who would comfort me. But the weight of losing my close ones was so much, I felt lonely. Then I started going to school. This was even worse than in the hospital. It was me who could not move around the class and socialise, not my classmates. But maybe only a few of my classmates realised this, and they became the reason my fake smiles turned into real ones. But the others – they just made me lonely. Maybe they couldn’t accept me like this – a bubbly and cheerful girl full of life, extremely active sportsperson, now sitting in a wheelchair. Maybe they were scared, or didn’t even care. Now, I realised that I couldn’t find my happiness and comfort in everyone. So I decided that I wanted to break free.

I started to shift my focus from being primarily social to studying hard and do what I loved and could. Every time I felt lonely, I sought my wonderful parents. I told them everything I felt, even cried if I wanted to. They understand me better than anybody else ever will. Of course it felt weird the first time, but then we didn’t even need to talk. A nice warm hug would do it all. My loneliness? Temporarily gone, until the next time I’m unable to attend a party with friends or tired of having to stand out. I still go all over these things every single time I feel lonely so I would feel better. And then I entered class 11, a major positive spin in my life.

I am in the Humanities stream, Arts as it was known as previously. We are only 14 students. But on the first day we discovered that we had to sit along with the commerce students. Somehow, I wasn’t happy. I knew almost everybody, but I just couldn’t stand all the staring. I only talked to a few students – I was afraid of the others because I thought they would make fun of me, exclude me. (Luckily this didn’t happen) Then, finally after the attendance was done and the 14 of us went together for our first lesson, I realised that just like me, they were nervous, afraid and shy. They felt the same as me, but in a different context. So I decided to open up, and since we were only 14 in number, we had enough time to speak about ourselves. My new friends started to wipe out my loneliness. They included me in everything I could possibly do. They made me feel special and happy, I had a chance to introspect a lot, I had an opportunity to find true friends, all because they were (and are) by my side. Now when I’m lonely, it is mainly because I rarely meet some of my close friends as they have changed schools. But then, there’s always the thought that wherever they are, they must be happy, and that makes me feel good.

Finally, the battle against loneliness is tough, strenuous and long. But it’s not like we can’t do anything about it: actually there’s a lot we can do. Watch movies, go out to play, listen to your favourite music, introspect, and travel. And yes, find someone who listens to you when you need them, and don’t hide anything from them. Got nobody? Write a diary, or a blog. Discover your creative side. Learn to let go. Remember, if you keep it in your heart, it will break you. Share it with those you trust and you will be happy again!

The Incident That Changed Me

It's been almost three months since I faced what might be the biggest accident of my life. I injured my spine, just a day before the Indian Independence Day – 14^th of August, 2016. The most difficult consequence is that I can’t feel my legs; the most beautiful one, that I understood how “everything happens for a reason.”

People all around me say that when you’re in trouble, only those who really care about you will come to help, to make you smile, to make you feel better. It wasn’t until this happened that I understood the true essence of this statement. Some people also say that I’m way too mature for my age – I’m going to be 15 – but that’s perfectly fine, especially when they use this to praise me. I mean, who doesn’t like to be praised, right?

Around two weeks before my accident, I was in a teenager crisis, fighting with whom I considered to be my closest friends. One reason was they had made new friends, with whom I was very uncomfortable. Another, I had suddenly become so dependent on my friends that I would never like to be left alone. I guess I had just never come out of my class 9^th popularity. Last year, in class 9^th , I was the General Secretary of my school, and this had made a huge difference in my life. I was popular, interacted with so many students and teachers at all times. Such a busy time it was, being a part of the student council. Then came class 10. A new life, a new world. The student council changed, and I realised how arrogant I had become. I was shocked the day I realised that I wasn’t the same silly bugger who could get along, company or not. In fact, friends were all that kept me going at school. Of course, I was aware that I had become a part of a lot of gossip, but some perfectly horrid creature in my mind just kept telling me, “They’re just jealous of you babe! You don’t need to worry!”

Thank god, I realised at the right time what the consequence of this could be. After that time came these two weeks, when my friends had got over me, but unfortunately, I was a bit too late to get adjusted to all this. Then God decided to give me a break from all this tumult in my life, and here he put me, in my bed for a month, then sitting for another one and a half.

As the first two weeks passed by, I noticed that even though my friends made new friends and were hanging out with them, they never really forgot me. And those whom I wouldn’t bear to talk with, actually came to visit me twice or thrice till I came home. All this wonderful stuff happens to me even today, almost three months after the life-changing day of my life.

Truly amazing, how tough times change people. I really thank God for making me the person I am, not making me cry at any point, or become weak. I guess now I know, why most of those who know me, call me a Little Lioness!