Isn’t it amazing how fickle our minds are? Or at least mine is! It moves from one thought to another, from one subject to another and we keep trying to train it to stay “focused”. But today I was so very pleased with this flighty, unpredictable mind of mine.
Yaah, yaah, getting to the story.
So, the day started with a message to my favourite man these days, Paul the physiotherapist, to say that I would be 5 minutes late (the lingerie took an extra 3 minutes to hang). However, as I ran down the metro station steps to my platform, I heard the train approach and it struck me that perhaps I might be on time. I reached the bottom of the staircase and with four steps to go and a clear view of the platform I saw the train emerge through the tunnel and then, right then, a man leapt right in front of it. In that one second, something one hears of, sees in movies, reads in the newspaper, happened 30 feet from me.
I was frozen on my stair. I looked up and around at the other people, at the train stopping, passengers getting ready to get off, the station master running down--all this in mere seconds because my keds (they are very smart and ideal for the planned long walk) had somehow gotten superglued to that stair. And honestly, I wanted to stay. I wanted to them to say that by some miracle he was alive, the man with the backpack (as I like to call him).
But then I remembered the waiting Paul, realized that the whole train would have to be emptied, moved, and only then would we know, so I turned around, walked up the stairs and out through the exit door. Somehow while doing this, I also started to feel the urge to cry. Fortunately, as I took the escalator out of the station, I wasn’t alone in this strange emotion and a young girl on the stair above me was weeping. Everything else was forgotten and I immediately felt the need to make sure she was fine. By the time we exited the escalator she was better, I was better, and we had acquired two other caretakers.
Paul was once again remembered, the young girl handed over to the young caregiving couple and I went looking for an alternate mode of transportation. My wonderful mind, however, needed to offload all this on to someone, so husband got a call. Sister got a call. No. Paul did not get a call. He got the whole story because despite being 30 minutes late, I made it there and what else does one discuss during a physiotherapy session other than suicides?!
I did also talk to my Dad but somehow didn’t feel the need to share the story with him. I guess bonding over our respective annoying and painful backs was more interesting. I had a long chat with my Masi on the way back home. I didn’t feel the need to tell her either but that might be because there is something extremely engrossing about recipes which taste equally good if not better with chicken stock. Recipes of dishes which I “should” be making for my son as he recovers from his meniscus surgery, next month.
The rest of my day was spent with my lovely friend Virginia, discovering the wonders of “Le Semaritaine" (just google it!), eating copious amounts of tagliatelle, shopping and buying 'the' purple trousers so the mind was too busy to ponder too much on Monsieur Backpack.
Which is not to say that I haven’t done so. Through the course of the day, I have thought of the incident and of Monsieur Backpack. One thought was that it was rather unobliging of him to have jumped in front of the train instead of just eating some pills or some such thing in the privacy of his home. Horribly callous na. But think about it. His one action has probably scarred the train driver for life, made many people late for work (or physio appointments), stressed out the station manager and pushed who knows how many to a therapist (and some to blogging in the middle of the night), not to mention the pain that his family and friends must be experiencing. But a few seconds later, my heart would go out to the tremendous mental trauma and stress that he must have been experiencing to actually take this step.
Another time, as I described it to my son, I said “it was quite an amazing dive. Rather graceful, though it might have been better if it had been into a swimming pool”. My shocked son exclaimed “Mom!” Arre but I was just stating a fact.
And then there were moments when I wondered if he had planned it or was it a second of complete and utter despair. A place of no return that I cannot even imagine let alone understand. Unanswered questions popped up – if he had planned it, why did he have a backpack? If he hadn’t planned it what was the last thought that made him do this?
Which makes me think that it’s so wonderful to have a capricious mind! One that is so easily distracted not only by various things but also views the same experience in so many different ways. (The psychologist reading this can now start naming the syndrome and explaining the reactions).
A few years ago, my friend Priya had a Hanuman Chalisa ka path and at this paath, the wonderful Swamini Supriyananda, (she’s such a cool monk that I begged the producer of the radio show that I was interviewed on to let me interview her), talked about why we like (ok worship) Hanuman. According to her (I hope I get this right) our brain is akin to monkeys. Like monkeys move from one thing to another, our brain flits from one thought to another. However, Hanuman was an exception. He was able to control his brain/ actions and stay focused on only one thought/idea/concept which was Ram (ok, Lord Ram) so we revere him and hope to, like him, control our mind and thoughts from wandering. Pretty cool concept, haan?
But today I was so happy that I am not even like the speck of dust on the tiny birthmark (trust me, he has one) on the pore on the left lobe of Hanuman and have a flighty, unpredictable, unfocused mind that strays, wanders and meanders …and keeps me sane (almost!)
Masi – Mother’s sister
Hanuman Chalisa - (Wikipedia says it is) a devotional hymn in praise of Hanuman
Hanuman - Worshipped as a god, the (monkey) companion of Ram in the epic Ramayan. According to Hindu mythology, the son of the Wind god, Vayu.
Paath - Recitation of a holy text