Sometimes it’s difficult to articulate how you feel. It’s not always the emotions choking you and flowing out of your eyes that trap your mouth. It’s the other kind. The one that has you in such blind rage that you lash out the only way you know how—scream. Oh yes, the freedom it brings when you give vent to all that’s boiling inside you, and God help anyone who stands in your way!
Several well-meaning souls, and the annoying few friends of Satan, have suggested meditation as a remedy. I find a shot of whiskey, and sometimes, a glass of wine can do the trick too but meditation … I tried. In all fairness, I did try for three full weeks. I sat on my sofa, closed my eyes, and tried to focus on something. Each day my mind refused to deviate from Chris Hemsworth’s a** (I meant arm, you pervert!), Hugh Jackman’s growl to our desi boys Ajith’s smile and Rana Daggubati’s … oh well, use your imagination. The players kept changing of course but the game remained the same. I’d close my eyes and think of the Om symbol in Tamil (yup, am straight up Madrasi), and Wolverine’s adamantium would come slashing through it.
Next day it was Thor’s hammer (like I said, get your head out of the gutter!), followed by me climbing a tree that looks remarkably like Rana. Ajith makes an appearance somewhere along with Adam Levine and Chris Pine (or is it Evans?) … too many days and far too many people … I lost track.
Every day, I’d wake up sprawled on my sofa feeling refreshed and realise that I had fallen asleep. What started off at 10 minutes had turned into an hour. I had taken a morning nap almost every day dreaming up buff-looking men. I am pretty sure this is not what the gurus and soothsayers meant when they said meditation opens your mind.
Anyways, moving on to my rage. A morning nap certainly helped contain it … a bit. In the face of stupidity and nosy neighbours (don’t we all have a few?!), I do unleash it, and damn, it feels good. But the times I had to control it, Thor’s hammer (sigh … please google Thor) and tree-like Rana played their role. “You relied on a MAN to control your anger!” screamed my inner feminist but I paid her no heed. Just poured a bit of my Blue Label, added a couple of cubes of ice with a dash of water, put my legs up, and took a sip. Ah, the first taste of heaven hits your tongue and ever-so-slowly slinks down your throat … savouring every drop of that golden liquid, I sighed lightly. And so did my inner feminist!