What’s In A Mess

My studio has overtaken my home. It’s a mess. I usually hate the messiness, but something shifted in these last few weeks. Making me realise it was actually useful.

It looked messy on the outside, but I felt really comfortable within it - sitting on the sofa, with all my threads around me in clear plastic bags, allowing me to see them. The threads did entangle and at times, around me too. Catching in my toes, around my ankles and legs. Trying to get up in a hurry to answer the doorbell or go to the loo was often a rather strangulating process. Sometimes a sneaky ball of yarn would roll under the sofa and once I realised that, I’d pull and pull the thread until I caught sight of the ball, pick it up and place it somewhere it couldn’t create more of a mess. But yarns when unravelled and snuggled together in close confines, will tangle and twist when handled and it does become problematic. 

I had crochet hooks and knitting needles close at hand so I could decide to do either, depending upon the threads I had in my hand - based on the number of strands that made up, or came close to the colour I needed to make into my 5” square pattern. 

Laid out open, even though they were carefully placed in holders, the knitting and crochet needles took up considerable space and the crochet hooks would often disappear under a cushion or into a thread bag. I had similar issues with the thread cutter and scissors. Many times, I’d be sitting on them. Always a mystery how they got there! 

It was a mess. But, it was a functional mess. Having everything at hand, despite the periodic disappearing acts, served expediency and efficiency. And as I worked with my hands, enacting various mudras to create the fabricated patterns, order was emerging from the chaos. The squares piled up. I blocked them each night and felt satisfied that so was making progress. Each day, I just slipped into that messy space, almost comforted by it, to continue making the squares - adding to the pattern melange. 

These mudras may or may not or have the  beneficial effects of yogic or dance mudras. But, something happens to the mind and heart, when the hand works in repetitive patterns. Stitching slows the mind down, it allows one to think. Rather, hear oneself think. It also helps me feel what’s going on. Sometimes feelings are intense, they’re hard to fathom and slowing down helps unravel them. The fact that we make something, aids the contemplation. I don’t feel quite so useless, just connecting with myself for most of the day. 

In our overly connected world, where there’s just too much out there to assimilate and make sense of, stitching for hours at a stretch helps one feel more grounded in your being. And, I tend to do it for most of the day in silence. No music, no Netflix or Apple TV. It’s when the mind starts going around in circles and I can’t continue to confuse myself, that I switch channels and create some noise in the background. Ostensibly I’m  watching TV and do grasp some of what’s going on, but mostly I’m concentrating on what I’m making. And having slept it off, as I journal the next morning having, I begin to make sense of whatever I was ruminating on or feeling. And it goes on and on like so. 

It’s rained so hard for the past two months. It was beginning to seem as if the sun had forsaken us altogether. I’ve also been unwell for the last three weeks. It’s been hard. But, I found comfort in my messy studio, where I could work once the fever wore off. Yes, it’s drained me. Yes, the paracetamols have caused havoc with acidity, but I’m recovering. 

The pattern melange is also coming along. I’ve crossed the half-way mark, but there’s still a long way to go. However,  I have to pack this stuff up to prepare for a multitude of things, a trip to Delhi for care-giving included. 

Before I cleared up this mess, I wanted to share how it suddenly dawned on me, that this mess, isn’t unlike the mess I see myself as. The shame and disdain I feel for what I’ve done or not done, for the ignorance, the arrogance and more that fuelled the trajectory of my life this far. Those so-called dysfunctional patterns that subconsciously emerged and determined the course of action I took. But, I’m beginning to realise that they may well be ‘functional’ after all. Like my messy studio creates efficiency and expediency in making the over-sized pattern mélange. There may well be some function to the psychological mess that discomfits my sense of self. 

It’s really making me re-think the idea of messiness. It’s helping me feel less of a need to tidy up, to clean up around me or cringe at all the fallen leaves that carpet the lawn, totally eclipsing the grass. And Im also trying not feel so bad about the bamboo trees they thoughtlessly pruned last year because they’re growing back in clumsy clumps. The balletic fronds fluttering  elegantly in my window frame, just isn’t the same these days. Their dance is gawky and amateurish and I have been cussing the guys who ordered them cut, ruining my vista of graceful green. 

The tall coconut palm that stands a stoic witness to life within and without my window, advises that one must flutter whichever way the wind blows. 

Even if it means diving right into the messiness of it all. As Carl Gustav Jung observed “design emerges from amidst the chaos of form” so, there’s hope yet! 

Stitch Meditations , 7th July 2024

Music has been an integral part of my life, be it playing the piano or singing. I gave up the piano when the instrument I had was too old to be tuned and the piano tuner also died.  At this point I was past 50. 

And returned to singing (after some 30 years) which I had given up to pursue the piano. While I’m doing crochet - working on the ‘Patterns in Being’ project, I try and do some riyaaz. With the tanpura to keep sur now an app, I can do this quite easily, though not as often as my teacher would like me to. This is a ghazal she suggested I learn. I recorded it to share with her as my last class was missed. It’s far from perfect. I start off, off-key and the high notes are still a challenge, but it’s a WIP, just like my crochet project. 

https://youtu.be/Lvq6Ii6a6iA?si=ot_ibSpoHtwWJuck

As I sang, pondered on the lyrics and popularity of this ghazal, a 6mm aluminium crochet hook weaving the fabric - of a pattern I used to make a lovely silk scarf from my younger sister’s recent birthday. Having constructed a 7ft long one the pattern should have been second nature, but using two threads instead of one didn’t permit the usual flow. This too added to my reflections on stitch and the song.

The lyrics of which were written by Fayaz Hashmi, a 20th century Pakistani poet and songwriter who also worked in the Indian film industry.  The music was composed by Sohail Rana and the song was popularized by classical vocalist, Habib Wali Mohmmad who also sang it as playback singer for a Pakistani film ‘Badal aur Bijli, in 1973. 

The profoundly romantic and soul piercing lyrics expressing the pain of unrequited love and longing for a beloved, combined with a heart stirring melody creates an emotional listening experience, and has inspired many artistes to add it to their repertoire. My favourite rendition is by Farida  Khanum  (1993) whose vocals evoke the intensity of yearning that’s real and palpable.  I remember hearing it for the first time and feeling a familiar tug of the longing the poetics evoke. 

And don’t we all? I mean isn’t that why the lyrics appeal to so many?

Making me wonder if somewhere our idea of love and romance has become associated with longing, that which we cannot have. The unattainable, the challenge which brings us to a state of pathos. Pushing us into the depths of being, rising up like the phoenix from the ashes of disappointment. Like moth to flame, unrequited love can become an addictive pattern that challenges the being, its growth. 

Often, when I think of the verses that Swami Parmahansa wrote and sang during satsangs and which have become part of the Sadhna of his devotees, I find this same sense of longing for the idea of God, for what is attainable but ever so briefly or through rigour and intense discipline. Or always just beyond one’s reach. Saint poets like Lala, Andal and Mahadeviakka also spoke of pain, rigour and strife, as the ways into the soul of our being.

Yet, the world judges those that seek but do not find. That strive but fail. Often shaming each other. Even as our most romantics hero’s are Heer and Ranjha, Romeo and Juliet and even Rumi’s profound poetry comes from his separation from Shams. A pattern of social acceptance seems to be to reject the idea of longing even as it’s what’s embedded in our psyche. 

The old Hindi film songs, which I so love. That era of poetry in film that made the songs so memorable and singable, are also more about longing, more than love itself. The bitter-sweetness of parting, waiting to be re-united and that ilk. It’s almost as if we are programmed to fail to achieve the desired, because the journey is probably more exciting, hopeful, poignant than the destination. Which in the context of human love is inevitably a huge disappointment. 

And we cope with heartbreak to realise we were never really broken, but being opened up to explore horizons of being, beyond our imagination. And, these songs remind us of that journey, that longing, the hope - that romance of being which is never quite fulfilled through another, if at all. 

With these words 

“Waqt ke qaid mein, zindagi hai magar 

Chand ghadiyaan yehi hai jo aazad hai 

Inko khokar mere jaan-e-jaana, umr bhar 

na taraste raho. Aaj jaane ki zid na karo” the poet almost suggests that the beloved leave, for otherwise who would yearn so sweetly for him/or her…..

This post is in continuum of the previous one 

http://gopikanathstitchjournal.blogspot.com/2024/05/stitch-meditations-on-being-patterns.html