Creating a safe space for self is the learning we need

Natasha Badhwar

SOMETIMES, it is not easy to start writing this column. The reason itself is a good one. I feel I have so much to say. My training tells me to organise my thoughts and focus on a central idea. Attach a story to the idea and begin to type.

When the ideas are too many and the story doesn’t form itself safely in my mind, I begin to panic. I blame myself for not having started early enough. I scold myself a little.

As a person who knows shame, guilt and anxiety rather well and has accepted their lifelong, dependable presence, I also have a set of tools to distract them when their enthusiasm to sit on my shoulder and nag me is likely to sabotage my work. At my work desk, I have an extra chair next to me, just as comfortable as the one I sit on. I pat the seat and invite all critical voices to sit next to me and entertain themselves while I concentrate on the work at hand. After all, I have a deadline. A commitment to keep. Readers to reach out to.

Next, I need to make space for all the good ideas that crowd my consciousness. Maybe, they are clamouring for attention because all of them want to be together. Possibly, there is a connection between them. It will only become visible when I let them all out on this page. A pattern will emerge. I hope to be surprised by it.

This is a lesson I have learnt repeatedly as a writer and a person. Don’t let fear and hesitation stand in the way of the creative process. Complement the thinking with doing. Let the writing pass through you like a cloud in the sky. Seen from a distance, clouds offer shade and rain. They offer unself-conscious beauty. Get too close to them and they are nearly intangible. Same goes for the ideas.

My teenaged daughter in on her way to Patiala as I write this. She is travelling with my parents, both of them in their late seventies. My father has recently re-connected with the alumni group of his engineering college in what is now known as the Thapar Institute of Engineering and Technology. Generations of students are getting together for a reunion in Patiala this weekend. I wish I was there to witness their joy.

As my child packed her bag for the trip, I was reminded of my visit to the university campus as a video-journalist when we had gone to cover the Indian hockey team practising for an international tournament. The adventure of being a woman with a video camera filming in the middle of the field among all sportsmen has remained an enduring memory.

“Crossing Sonepat,” my daughter texted as their journey on the highway began. “Wave in the direction of Ashoka University,” I texted her back. Twice a week, I commute 200 km to teach here, and somehow my students seem to always be on my mind. More so these days, as we are nearing the last few weeks of the course and the challenge of the final production looms large over us.

“I don’t want anxiety to be a part of this course,” I said to my students last week. “Neither for you, nor for me.” If we prioritise class attendance and submission of assignments according to deadlines, this can be a reckless thing to say in a classroom. It’s a risk. What will motivate students to work hard if there is no fear of failure to spur them on?

But I did weigh the pros and cons before I said it. No learning or experience is worth its while if it comes at the cost of one’s mental health. It is up to me as the adult in the room to set up everyone for success.

In a still-fragile post-pandemic world, most of us are still quite close to the brink. We cannot necessarily place our finger on it, but something is keeping us anxious. Ignoring the signs isn’t going to make them go away.

Just like my column gets written and elicits email from readers it connects with, I remain confident that my students will also create something meaningful when they are encouraged to pull up an extra chair and set aside their worries and dread.

Creating a safe space for the self is, perhaps, the greatest learning we need to practice collectively.

I cannot remember another year in my life that went by as fast as 2022. Perhaps, it was because there was too much to do after the shock and paralysis of the last two years. Not enough time to process everything as it unfolded.

I can’t wait to slow down. I am also fearful of slowing down. What will come to my mind if I empty it from the worries of work and deadlines? Will the peace be uneasy? Is there such a thing as inertia of disquietude?

We have decided to start next year with a holiday for the family. We will take a break from the Internet. We will hang out with each other in silence. I look forward to grass beneath my feet. The sound of wind chimes waving from old trees. I encourage you to seek your own peace.

— The writer is a filmmaker & author

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