The Intentional Introvert

By Anushree K

At the age of 63, I laid still and helpless in my bed, imagining how I would breathe my last. I had been suffering from an illness these past few years and this was it. The doctors had given up hope and here I was at home, surrounded by people.

In all these years, I had been a daughter, wife, mother and even a grandmother. My life was nothing short of a dream. Not having to struggle for food, clothing and shelter is a blessing for most ordinary people. Plus, I had my loving family as icing on cake and there was nothing more I could have wished for. Yet, there was this tiny void which would never get filled, and my mind would constantly nag about finding a way to complete this. This led me to explore different things throughout my life, so much so that I would often be labeled as fickle minded. Here I was racing towards the end of my finish line. Physically I was fragile enough to not worry about this but deep inside, my mind was still looking for answers.

My childhood had been full of fun and laughter. I was the pampered darling daughter in the household. Being the only girl child in the family meant something special. Everyone would shower gifts and dolls. No one ever let me get hurt. Every wish of mine was fulfilled. I would often demand for anything that caught my eye and throw tantrums if I was said no.

When I was seven years old, one day my mother sat me down and tried to explain life to me in simple terms. I don’t remember all that she had told then, but I have lived by the same principle throughout my life. She had said that I was no princess born with a silver spoon, yet they tried their best to keep me happy. Happiness is not just in buying things, but in making the most of what we have. It had made me sad. I sort of withdrew myself from the world. From then on I was shy to ask anything I needed. Sometimes I would even hesitate to take another serving of food even though I was hungry. Obviously, this wasn’t what my mother had intended to do. It was due to my lack of understanding at that age.

At high school, I wasn’t always the brightest yet I would find ways to make my learning creative. I would narrate the lessons in front of the mirror, play different roles and enact a school scenario and how I could give answers confidently in class. Somewhere I had read Albert Einstein quoting “Imagination is more important than knowledge” and it appealed so much to me. What I lacked in reality, I would make up for it in my imagination. This almost never made me unhappy. Be it eating a simple meal, wearing a simple dress, I would always imagine it to be the best of best. It taught me to enjoy every detail in life and complain less about what I don’t have. I was learning to be content.

My habit of imagining things to be extraordinary worked right for me, but others around me thought I had developed some issues. They tried to talk to me and understand why I would pretend that something is best even though it was plain ordinary. I could never explain this principle to anybody. They thought I was just playing silly mind games and ignored me.

As I grew up and finished my education, the next thing I had in mind was to take up a job which I did right after college. Being the youngest and the newest in office meant multiple possibilities at making mistakes. I was never fully able to communicate my ideas out of apprehensions. My work had become a routine and it didn’t satiate my creative needs. While I was working, the idea of marriage was pushed under my nose by my family and I didn’t have a proper reason to say no. I agreed and got married to the man my parents chose for me.

Just as in other things, I saw only the best in my husband. He was a very attentive man and noticed every word, every action and tried to understand my complex mentality. I could never communicate with him as openly and freely as he would with me. Often we would have lengthy conversations about us which involved him doing most of the talking and me just nodding my head to agree. He would spin beautiful dreams for us about how we could live our life to the fullest, travel to places we have never been before and buy things together and raise a family. It all sounded wonderful and I could hardly dispute any of it.

As days passed, he started to worry about me being less involved and why I didn’t open up. Initially he had thought it was because ours was an arranged marriage. Later he started to probe more and came to realize that I was a painfully shy introvert. He would sit with me for hours and try to make me speak up and end up getting frustrated.

One day, he brought me a present, not anything shiny but it changed my life’s direction. He got me a journal to pen down my thoughts every day. It had a picture of a gold embossed rose. He was trying to help me find a channel to let my ideas and thoughts out. I had never done this exercise before and thought why not.

At first I would only record how my day was, what I ate, where I went and when I read it back it made no sense at all. My husband wasn’t the least bit interested in these for he knew all this merely by being with me as a part of my day-to-day life. He didn’t need to read my stupid journal to know what I ate. I thought to myself that at least in this aspect I shall try not be to content and push myself beyond boundaries to daring levels. I started to write; words, poems, stories I created while on my way back home from work, and mostly I wrote about my imaginations.

I had written a series of short stories imagining myself to be a different creature, object, or an emotion. I would read them again and again yet didn’t find the courage to show them to my husband. I ran out of pages and wanted the same kind of journal, so I decided to ask him. To my surprise he said no, he cannot buy another one till he had read the first one. I felt defeated and said I could buy another one myself if only he told me where he had got it from to which he didn’t respond. His intention was to see if the journal had served its purpose and not to reject my demand.

I could have easily bought myself another one, also it didn’t really have to be the exact looking journal. A mind full of ideas and thoughts can write even on sand I thought. Yet, what prompted me to show him the journal remains unknown to me. He carefully took it with him and said he would return it the next day.

He took time to read and analyse my writing and as promised returned the journal the following day along with a new one. Neither of us spoke anything about it. I was slightly disappointed as I had hoped to get some opinion about the stories from him. Many days passed yet he never spoke about it and so I decided to confront him. I was mildly agitated and asked him in the same tone as to why he didn’t say anything at all. He calmly responded that he also feels the same way when I don’t reciprocate to his words or actions.

It left me speechless and I realized I have been doing this to him ever since we got married. From then on I decided to be more vocal with him. I would share things, talk about my experiences, and explained why I was the way I was. I also mentioned that I have stopped writing since I don’t consider it any good. He didn’t react to it.

One day I mentioned to him about my job that it doesn’t interest me anymore. He immediately said to quit and said I was meant for bigger things, too true to believe I thought to myself.

A few days later, I received a letter that my stories had been chosen to be published in a children’s magazine and felt thrilled. So this was the “meant for bigger things” remark I thought and rushed to share this news with my husband. We were both excited and congratulations poured in from the rest of the family members.

From then on, I almost never looked back. I wrote and successfully published my works in various platforms. I became the accidental writer. It got me name, fame and monetary success I had never wished for. I was only looking to remain content all these years so this was new. Sure, it satisfied my creative needs but it posed more questions about what I really needed next.

My ideas flowing out of my head filled me with emptiness. All these started to appear surreal to me. I was content keeping my thoughts, imaginations to myself and now many others would also know. It was like parting with a piece of my mind and so I decided to take a break from writing.

I spent the next good years of my life raising my children, learning to appreciate simple joys in life, spending time with them, being one of them and playing with them. Yet this question of what I really need haunted me. My mind was looking for something magnanimous and would never stop badgering me. I tried my hands on everything possible. Art making, conducting writing workshops, even teaching at play groups. This only left me more clueless.

Chaos had started to rule my mind and I was afraid that I was losing control on myself. Not knowing how to express my worries, and not knowing what to do next was always making be nervous. My supportive husband helped me through this phase and suggested I take up meditation. I started with Yoga and then meditation. Sitting still in one place, without having to do anything was the best feeling ever. It helped me to relax my mind. My thoughts had begun to settle down. I was going back to my old principle of learning to be content and appreciate what I have in life. I had eventually stopped worrying about the ‘void’ and ‘what I needed to do in life’ bit.

Meditation had helped me to such an extent that I almost wished to write a book about it! I did write a book and even made videos this time. They were received very well and soon I was busy again with making more of those. This scaled up my success. I had progressed in every aspect of materialistic life and kept myself very busy. My children were grown up now and had witnessed my journey through the years.

I could now boast of a successful multifaceted career and was looking forward to retire from all this. This meant I had more time to think and my mind was back in track with the same questions as before. I began to think that in all these years I had received enormous support from my husband and he had hardly expected anything back from me. One day I had a casual conversation about this with him. I asked why he wouldn’t expect any support from me. He merely said that he was meant to give and not take. It didn’t sound like an insult to me but gave me the thought that I should try giving more from now on.

I joined social activity groups, tried volunteering at various places, spending time with people at old age homes, orphanages. The biggest quality one can possess I thought was the willingness to give time. Time sure never returns. It can never be replaced with money or wealth. This gave me a new sense of happiness. Another way for me to find joy was by sharing all that I possessed. I distributed all my materialistic possessions among my children, grandchildren, husband, friends and family, and to the needy as well. I had nearly exhausted all my savings. As I started doing this I felt very light.

Soon I was diagnosed with an illness and it started taking me over. I was prepared to face the struggles bravely. I had led a full life, one that was experimental and empowering. When I woke up each morning, I was grateful for another sunrise. When I became critically ill, my family members stayed with me. They wanted me to end this journey in a beautiful way.

Here I was at the tail end of my story. A visitor came to see me and my family let him in. He saw how ill I was and took pity and didn’t want to disturb me. I insisted he sit and talk to me for a while. We chatted and he said that he was here to thank me. He had been following my writing all these years and said he was a fan. I had inspired him to look at things from a fresh perspective and he was grateful for this. I didn’t have much to say but blinked away the tears that came. Soon I looked around the room, and found there were many other people who had come to see me in my last hour. I was no lifesaving doctor or a scientist who had to be remembered and thanked. I was merely words on paper yet I had made a difference. This gesture had filled up the void and more. This was a lot to be thankful for. I called my husband beside me and said ‘Thank you’ and with this I fluttered far away.

By Anushree K