Poornima Manco

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poornimamanco

Why does nudity scare us?

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Recently I took a life drawing class with some friends. It was meant to be a birthday experience, a bit of fun. What I found interesting though, was the response it elicited. From nervous giggling to outright horror, most people (including my children) seemed to find the idea of us drawing a nude male model as quite scandalous.

I must admit that I was a bit nervous too. This wasn’t just to do with the fact that I would have to look at a strange man’s naked body, but also to do with my own inhibitions. Growing up in the ultra conservative Indian society of the 70’s and the 80’s, where a kiss between a hero and heroine on screen was portrayed by two flowers being roughly pushed together, the fact that I would have to not just look at, but also draw a man’s private parts made me acutely aware of my traditional sensibilities.

Why are we so afraid of nudity? What does it signify to us? A male or a female form sans clothing is a beautiful thing. After all, we don’t arrive in this world, bundled up in Gucci. So, why, as we grow, do we lose that infantile innocence and joy of relishing ourselves in the purest form? Why does nudity get mixed up with sexuality? They are two very different concepts altogether.

As it turned out, my inhibitions took themselves for a walk, as I sketched, what was first a man, then a form, and eventually, light and shadows. I learnt to convey through my sketch, the beauty of what stood in front of me. From my initial embarrassment, and reluctance to look at his private parts, I grew bold and drew them. And honestly, at that point, it could have been a chair, or an apple, or a vase with flowers that stood there. For I was learning about creating something out of nothing. A bit of charcoal, a few lines, a lot of smudging and blending, and voila! suddenly there appeared a man on my paper.

I felt myself loosen up a bit. Not enough to go running on a nudist beach, but just enough to appreciate the beauty that lies in the naked form.

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Birthday Blues

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So, the milestone birthday has been and gone. All I felt at the time was excited anticipation and a cognisance of being very blessed to have my loved ones around me.

A few years on, and around my birthday this time, I have had the worst case of blues. Not being a depressive personality, this has taken me quite by surprise. It’s a feeling of listlessness, lethargy, lassitude; feeling devalued, friendless and lost. It is quite difficult to analyse one’s own state of mind. There is no distance there, no sense of perspective.

Is it age related? Perhaps. Post forty, one starts to feel that life is heading downhill. Most of what I hoped to achieve, most of what life could offer, is maybe behind me now? Or maybe, it’s just all of life’s recent events that have snowballed inside of me, and Wham! when I am least expecting it, sledgehammered me into this state of ennui. I have been tearful and morose, cheerless and apathetic. Not much fun at all. Particularly when my children have excitedly baked me a cake, my husband has spoilt me rotten…and my guilt at not cartwheeling happily through the day has only compounded my misery.

So, here’s what I have decided upon. Life is for the living. Forty two or Eighty four, it is what I make of it. I refuse, from this moment on, to be unhappy or self absorbed or let small, inconsequential matters take over what is essentially, a very fortunate life. My mantra hereon is Carpe Diem! Seize the day!

Amen.

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School ties

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A while ago a friend contacted me and asked me to write an article for my school magazine. It was more than twenty years since I had left school, and for a while I couldn’t figure out what I could write that would be of interest to the students there today.  Then I thought, surely, even as the world has spun on it’s axis, and people have changed, some experiences are still the same. The experience of leaving school to go to University…the fear…the trepidation…the sheer enormity of the life that awaits, is universal. So, I wrote a letter to myself, aged 17. Or more precisely, to all the 17 year olds who were waiting for their exam results and nervous about what lay ahead. Here it is.

Dear P,

As you stand on the brink of a new life, you must have so many questions. You are about to leave the security of school, and venture out into the world. You are excited and curious. You feel that there are infinite possibilities ahead of you, and indeed there are. However, there will be many life lessons to be learnt as well. Do you not wish at this time that, somehow you could transport yourself twenty years into the future, and see where life took you? Well, without giving too much of the mystery and wonder of what lies ahead away, here is a glimpse of things you will learn along the way.

For instance, you will make many many friends in the years to come. However, your closest ones will still be the ones you made at school. Someday, you and your best friend will look at each other in amazement, and say, “We have been friends for thirty three years!”

University will seem so liberating after the confines and strictures of school. You will get bolder, and find your voice. Yet every time you submit an assignment that gets graded an ‘A’, you will remember your favourite English teacher from school, who nurtured your love of literature.

You will go through many milestones in life. Marriage, children, changes in career. You will go through the death of a parent. You will wonder in your despair, whether there is any light at the end of the tunnel. You will discover there is. You will find courage within yourself, and empathy within others.

You will learn that the most underrated virtue in the world is kindness, and you will attempt to be kind to those around you; but most especially to yourself.

Living in a western world, you will re acquaint yourself with your Indian values. Your spirituality, embedded in you all those years ago, will quietly make itself felt again. You will try and teach your children the simple philosophies that were an intrinsic part of your upbringing, and feel a glow of satisfaction to see them absorbed, much as you osmosed them unknowingly all those years ago.

There is a part of you that is afraid as well. Scared to leave the security blanket that is school. Scared to leave the familiar environs and head out into the unknown. To that part I say, don’t worry. You are just another sapling that has come out of this beautiful nursery. You have been given the soil of knowledge, the water of love, and the air of spirituality. You will grow strong and steadfast. You will learn to bend with the wind without being uprooted. This is the gift of your alma mater. Go forth and enjoy it.

With love and blessings,

P.

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Nasty or Nice?

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Yesterday I encountered an interesting situation. I, somewhat symbolically, became a punching bag for someone. His (verbal) attack was vicious, unexpected and unwarranted. Now, I do understand that his frustration was directed towards my company. I was just the unfortunate person who happened to be in the line of fire. However, it did get me wondering about the nature of nastiness, provoked or unprovoked.

Anyone who works in a customer service arena will attest that although, nine times out of ten, people are nice, it’s always the tenth- the nasty one- that sticks in the mind. Why is that? Is it because the emotions that a negative encounter stirs up are so much more complex, and likely to linger much after the event?

Moreover, how one deals with something like this also reveals a lot about oneself. Are you nice to nasty, or nasty to nasty? As for me, I stood my ground, and reiterated that the situation was beyond my control. I didn’t turn nasty, but refused to turn into a doormat either. My colleague congratulated me on standing up to the bullying behaviour of this particular person. But he also pointed out something rather thought provoking.

Why had this man not railed at my (male) colleague, yet, repeatedly, insistently, picked on me? Because, as a woman, I was more likely to give him an emotional response. As a woman, I was perhaps, in his mind, more vulnerable, As a woman, it was easier to dump his anger on me.

Living in the West, sometimes it is easy to forget the kind of prejudice that women face in other parts of the world. When something like this happens, I do wonder, whether to men, or certainly these kind of men, women are still the inferior species?

Anyway, back to the man and his outburst. Reminds me of the idiom: You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Had he been nicer, I still wouldn’t have been able to change the situation, but I would certainly have tried to help him in whatever way possible.

Bottom line is, it rarely pays to be nasty in the long run.

A pause, and then…

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All has been quiet on the blogging front for me. I wish I could say that I have dedicated this time to some serious writing. On the contrary, I have done very little writing at all. Have trotted out an entry for a Flash fiction contest, which is new territory for me, so am interested to see how that fares.

My overriding problem right now is that I have a burgeoning story that I have no inclination to complete. The very same one that I started out, directionless, and plotless to be precise. Conditions have not improved since.

I am still clueless as to where this meandering tale is headed, and whether I even intend to see it to its destination.

I try not to do things by half measures, and am a terrible perfectionist when it comes to completing tasks. Equally though, I am a terrible procrastinator when the said tasks are not to my liking.

So, would it be so bad to abandon this story at the midway point? At the rate I am going, I am not likely to make the deadline anyway. Then, why the guilt?

As for those of you who are wondering why there seem to be more thoughts and musings than stories of late, I will be posting a story soon.

Watch this space.

Sugar, Spice and all things hormonal

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I have a daughter, teetering on the edge of teenage hood. It is an interesting transition. Yesterday, quite out of character (or perhaps, very “in character” for the age), she declared that she hated everyone, wanted to run away, and couldn’t understand why she felt that way.

Luckily for me, I wasn’t the ‘bad guy’ for a change. Poor Daddy and younger sister were the culprits. So, of course, needing someone in her corner, she came to me. I am so glad she did. Distant as the memories of my own traumatic (!!) evolution to the teens were, I could sympathise.

I recall my mother asking vainly, “What happened to my sweet girl?” Well, she was effectively replaced by a monster for the next few years.

To my own daughter, I gently explained, “Sweetheart, these are your hormones playing up. You are going to feel this way a lot. When you do, rather than throw things, or slam stuff, go into your room. Breathe deeply, listen to music, text your friends (also similarly alienated), and just ride it out.”

To my totally astonished husband I said, “Darling, it may soon be your turn to be the good cop. So, let her take her time, apologise for shouting at her, and take heed. This is not a five year old. This is an angst-ridden almost teen.”

As for me, I hugged my nine year old close, and vowed to enjoy her pre teen innocence and simplicity. Another few years, and no doubt, a new drama will begin.