‘You are Not alone’: the Universe, speaks to me.
I am always dancing in the rain: as I have learned to let it wash away tears and pain and fill me up with dynamic resilience.
This morning, when I went out on my regular morning walk at 7am, it was drizzling slightly. I proceeded to open my umbrella, just at my gate and looked forward to the solitude and union with myself in walking into and through the rain.
After a ten minute stretch, it suddenly started to rain heavily, so heavily that it was difficult to hold my umbrella up to its strength. But I was quite far from home to return – as often happens to me emotionally – that I continued to walk ahead in the lashing rain.
In my solitude, on the deserted streets, streaks of loneliness crept into my heart and with it insecurity and fear sneaked in as well.
What if I were to slip and fall, I thought desperately, there would be no one to help me up, no one to even call the ambulance or hospital – I might just lie wallowing in pain and die in the slush and no one would know or care. I had not carried my regular phone with numbers and ID, just one basic one for radio as I always need music in my life. I was saying my chants mentally, as I tend to when I feel alone and lost and continued to walk on, now almost at the center of the street that was getting inundated with the furious gushing water. I pressed onwards, as if I sought shelter I might be stuck in the angrily rising water, as I was imagining it taking over me and my not being able to return.
Suddenly to my right, against the railing of the divider – it being a main road, a woman fell down to the ground with her umbrella and a little bag in hand. I thought it was a figment of my imagination. I looked away from the scene for a moment and quickly my eyes went back to the spot. It was real. She was draped in a baby pink cotton Tangail sari with a purple border just like one I have, but haven’t worn yet. Perhaps somewhat older than I am, and maybe going to work as an ayah at this early hour to assist a much older person.
I promptly rushed to pick her up, imagining it was myself lying on the ground there alone. I imagined my soul desperately seeking help.
By now the woman was rolling on the ground, involuntarily, just not able to pick herself up as it was all slushy and slippery around her. She had slipped on layers of muck. I shoved my hand at her and said, “Didi, get up slowly, take my hand – you will be alright, don’t worry.” To my relief she grabbed the bamboo fence in front of the iron one that is there and slowly steadied herself, covered in black muck over her baby pink sari, hands and face.
The moral hand that I offered her pulled her up without my real hand. Looking dazed she started to walk as I repeatedly asked after her – I hope you are alright. Then I resumed walking again in the pouring rain coming at me like in a deluge and I felt like the sea was coming to get me in all ferocity, to swallow me up whole. But instead of fear, now there was a surety and confidence in my steps, as I marched onward at the center of a main road that was deserted, but a bus or two I dodged rushed passed. This was with my shoes and socks drenched, also that from head to toe I was soaking in holding down the umbrella in helping the lady – luckily I was dressed in sweat proof material – now holding up the umbrella till I reached home as a flag to my moral victory.
This was the universe speaking to me as it always does – not to be afraid – that I would never be alone – someone would come in a white horse and save me even if I were to fall and lie alone and helpless. I always listen intently to what the universe tries to teach me. It was not that I, a complete stranger, was present and offered to help and save the woman, I was also prepared to take her to the hospital and see if she was alright.
It was the universe assuring me that I am never alone – don’t be afraid and march on in life as I have your back.
These soulful conversations I am blessed with are the source of my confidence, resilience, spirituality and dynamism I have tried to illustrate in my five books.
Photo courtesy: reputed Bangladeshi portrait photographer Jannatul Mawa, on a walk with me a year back – just in front of where the woman fell this morning. She insists I call her only Mawa, but I prefer and insist on calling her Jannatul(meaning paradise). She had sent me the photo with the message: “Ki shundor Tumi ar bristi”(in Bengali – so beautiful, You and the rain).
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Oscar Wilde // “A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people want what they want.”
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