I am capable of more generosity than ever before because I have more of my self to give, I have learned how to take pleasure in extending myself
I have become infinitely more patient than before. Representation Pic
You know, this really is a very significant birthday for me," I told him as he pulled out the bottle of Laphroig (10 years) from its encasing tube.
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"Why so?" he asked as he handed it to me so I could ceremoniously lift off the cork.
"Because for the first time in my life I feel like I have truly 'arrived' exactly where I had always wanted to be," I answered as I returned the open-mouthed single malt so he could pour us each a glass.
Earlier that day, July 16, my godfather had called to wish me. He was in Goa. He asked me how I was. It seemed he wanted to know only if I was happy. He wasn't concerned with when I'd get married. Said nothing, as he usually didn't, about how I was getting on in age and ought now to get settled. He has always occupied this lovely fringe presence in my life; someone who has dutifully called me up every single birthday to give me his blessing. This time, because of how happy and light I'd been feeling, I felt especially moved. I told him that I felt certain that there was some 'hand-of-god-ness' that was beginning to assert itself in my life. I could sense his smile on the other end.
It's true. Things really seem to be happening for me in a manner that feels effortless. All my various identities as writer, art critic, columnist, daughter, sister, friend, seem to be coalescing into a form of wholeness; revealing an unprecedented abundance. Note that I say unprecedented, not undeserved. For, when I shared this revelation with Bhuvana, whose birthday is on the same day as mine, over a celebratory lunch on Wednesday, she was quick to caution me against discrediting my own labour; reminding me that this munificence was its veritable fruit.
The evening before I'd met Mona, who had decided to take me out to dinner to Artusi, an Italian restaurant run by a Delhi-based Italian; homage to our joint Italian sojourn. She was telling me about her Kickstarter campaign to crowd-source funds for The Buyer's Club, a documentary she is co-directing with Clement Gargoullaud about how patients around the world unite to subvert corporate greed. Then we laughed about how both our mothers now seem very nonplussed about our small successes. For me these involve invitations to residencies to which I have not applied, or by museums abroad to view a new exhibition, an impending contract from a big publishing house to encourage me to locate my art writing… it goes on. When I told my mother about my potential trip to UK, Italy and Austria in September, she wasn't as over the moon as she would have been some years ago. When Mona, too, told her mother that she was to go to Paris, she only seemed to want to know when she'd be back. We laughed because at 33, we were secure enough to know for certain that our parents were indeed proud of us. We had little doubt. But we laughed also because we can no longer keep track of each other's successes. Where before we would meet to celebrate every small accomplishment, because it felt so significant, now we let them pile up a bit.
At 33, I feel I've inherited enough perspective to see the difference between internal and external sources of validation. By now I have not just tamed the demon of self-doubt that could cripple me in my late 20s, I've befriended it, just like I've done with all the ghosts of self-esteem and self-consciousness. I am capable of more generosity than ever before because I have more of my self to give, and because I have learned how to take pleasure in extending myself. I have become infinitely more patient than before, because I have learned to be as gracious about other people's flaws and failings as I have come to be about my own.
I spent my birthday home making. The next day, when I posted a picture on Instagram of my living room, a friend commented. "Your apartment looks airy, clean, uncluttered and has a happy feel to it." It made me smile, because the night before, as my 33-year-old body was falling into sleep, there was just this single thought that my brain vocalised; that for the first time in my life I felt I had nothing to hide from anyone.
More than anything else, it has been my commitment to feminism that has delivered me to this shore of contentment. Because, as an intersectional ideology, feminism compels you to practise a preternatural degree of self-awareness; which involves consciously and continuously re-birthing one's narrative of being and becoming through questioning. There is thus no space for a static self. The greatest reward has been the induction into the sisterhood; and subsequently, a reinforced pride in every characteristic that has historically been relegated to the margins of the feminine, and thus, an open-hearted embrace of one's vulnerability and fragility; finding strength in what the patriarchal world considers to be a weakness.
Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx
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