Henna for the Broken Hearted

by Sharell Cook

  I did a crystal healing session with Ritu. The pain of my past with Michael flowed through me. There was pain that things didn't work out between us, pain of not being able to prevent it, and pain of being blamed for what had happened.

  ‘You have to forgive him and yourself. Now it's time to move forward and let go of it. Focus on and appreciate your new life, and being with someone who can give you the love that you deserve.’

  Aryan came to meet me after the session. He held my hand, and we went walking through the nearby forest to a waterfall. I felt drained but cleansed.

  The intense experiences continued as I continued to practise Reiki every day. Sometimes, I felt dizzy like I was going to faint. There was a heaviness in my chest, and a pulling sensation from my heart chakra to my root chakra. The cool, fresh air blowing through the windows smelled like home. I felt so sad, so far away. More tears silently ran down the side of my face. Overwhelmingly, I needed to go home and reconnect with my parents. In recent years, I'd been so absorbed with my life in Melbourne, I hardly saw them. So many visions of us together as a family when I was younger flashed through my mind. I felt like I was starting afresh as a new person, and I wanted to be close to my parents again. It was like my life had come full circle.

  As all the emotions and tears came out, Aryan lay beside me and stroked my forehead.

  ‘I can see so much in your eyes,’ he said.

  The horrible feelings of being vulnerable and exposed surfaced again. Yet, Aryan felt none of it. There was just love, tenderness and acceptance from him, that special quality that made him so different to everyone. Eventually, he turned off the light. The negative emotions dissipated and were gradually replaced with feelings of warmth and comfort. I wanted to be wrapped up in a cocoon, enveloped safely.

  ‘It seems like everything is so quickly moving to a point and converging in my life now,’ I said.

  ‘It will only be upwards from now,’ he said.

  So much was opening up and coming together like the the swirls and strokes of henna being applied. It reached the point where each element started fitting together and it was possible to see the bigger picture.

  The Reiki experience changed both of us. We felt inspired about future possibilities, and less inclined to want to party and drink. My energy levels had altered so much that even one glass of alcohol made me tired and depressed. Strangely, it no longer produced the feelings of cheerfulness and relaxation that I was used to.

  Despite the challenges, Manali had been a place of transformation for me like it is for many people. Not only sacred but also scenic, it felt alive with the spiritual energy of ancient sages that were believed to have spent time in the area – energy that infused me. The purity and tranquillity of the environment and living so close to nature, where humans and animals existed closely together, was perfect for soul-searching. I thought about the things I was going to miss: waking up to the sight of snow-capped mountains every morning, the rush of the river below our apartment, the fresh scent of the pine trees, the quaint cafés in rambling gardens, fresh fruit from the surrounding orchards, and the cows and sheep that were herded up and down the road.

  With time again running out before I had to return to Australia, I started to consider the future. As I browsed the Internet for jobs in India, one unexpectedly caught my eye – content writer for a travel website. It was perfect. I loved to write and loved to travel. The only problem was that I couldn't work in India, and wouldn't be able to readily obtain an employment visa for a job that an Indian could easily do.

  But it sparked an idea in my mind. I'd create my own website. Many people made money from advertising and commissions on the sale of products recommended on their websites. Maybe I could too.

  Undeterred by the fact that I knew nothing about HTML coding, search engine optimisation or affiliate marketing, I downloaded manual after manual and began to learn. It was complex and involved. Yet, it didn't dampen my enthusiasm. After contemplating a range of different subjects, I decided I'd start with a website on natural health. It was a family interest and I had plenty of information about it. Having a purpose to devote my spare time to made it easier to accept having to leave India and Aryan.

  ‘I've met a lot of girls but none like you,’ Aryan declared to me one night close to my departure. ‘I feel so much love for you. You're definitely the girl for me, the one I want to marry.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I really wanted to be sure of what he was saying.

  ‘I ask myself questions, and I also notice so many little things that you do for me. You've made all the places that we've lived in a home for us, plus you've helped me become a better person. I'm so much healthier and happier now. You saved me from a lifestyle that wasn't good for me.’

  I'd decided to fly home from Mumbai, and we planned to go there together from Manali. He'd stay with his parents in Mumbai and slowly tell them about me. I'd return to my life in Melbourne, and find a temporary job. What would happen after that depended on the reaction of Aryan's parents to his news. He didn't have much hope that they'd view it positively.

  The long-distance Paschim Express deposited us in a soggy Mumbai, in the grip of another year's monsoon. Big city life was confronting after the tranquillity of the mountains. Incessant traffic jammed the roads. A motley assortment of standing, sitting and squatting men crammed the streets. I quickly discovered that Mumbai was full of quirky characters.

  ‘I often give people wrong directions, especially to motorbike riders,’ the taxi driver happily admitted to Aryan on the way to our hotel. ‘Many motorbikes don't have shields on the back of their tyres and they spray water everywhere, all over my windscreen. One day, I told a guy to drive twenty minutes straight in the opposite direction to where he wanted to go, and not to bother to stop and ask for further directions. He would have ended up somewhere near the airport,’ the driver chuckled.

  At our small hotel opposite Juhu Beach, the manager was keen to find out as much as possible about the mixed race couple who had arrived at his hotel in a taxi overflowing with luggage. I decided to play his game and fired back questions of my own.

  ‘How long have you been working in the hotel?’

  ‘Ten years, madam. But actually, I've been sacked two times in those ten years. This is the third time I've been employed at this hotel.’ He smiled and wobbled his head.

  I must have looked astonished. ‘I can't lie to you about something like this, madam,’ he said earnestly.

  There was a certain magic in discovering the city by the sea where Aryan grew up. I was filled with wonder that this could be my future home.

  Mumbai is known for its extreme standards of living, fast-paced lifestyle and the making – or breaking – of dreams. The suburbs were surging ahead at a rapid rate, filling with shopping malls, department stores and high-rise apartments. On the other hand, south Mumbai still reflected the rule of the Raj with its intricate colonial English architecture. Peppered throughout the city were the slums that also made Mumbai famous, but which most people preferred to turn a blind eye to. On initial impressions, Mumbai struck me as a city with an identity crisis. But its cosmopolitan nature made it more foreigner-friendly and livable than other cities in India.

  Aryan and I walked along Juhu Beach and ate fresh pav bhaji from the snack stalls, before getting drenched in a monsoon downpour as we ran, laughing, to our hotel for cover. We shopped at the street market on Linking Road in Bandra, and had dinner with friends from Kolkata who had relocated to Mumbai. Refreshingly, nobody bothered us. The city almost felt like home to me already. It felt like I was discovering a new part of Aryan along with it.

  My last day in Mumbai was bittersweet. Aryan took his bags home to his parents' apartment, then returned to take me to the airport. The huge smile on his face wasn't something that I expected to see.

  ‘I couldn't help it. I confessed everything to my mum about us. She told me not to worry, that she was my mother and that everything would be okay. She also
said that we could marry if your parents agreed. No doubt she'll have so many questions though.’

  Aryan was shocked by his mother's easy acceptance. He had expected her to react negatively, like she'd done over his brother's love marriage. Perhaps, more than anything, she was simply happy that Aryan finally wanted to get married.

  I couldn't believe her acceptance either. It felt like such a relief. I wanted to know more.

  ‘She was sitting on the floor eating lunch when I arrived. I told her how I'd learned to cook, and showed her some of the things we'd been selling. Then everything just came out. Of course, she wanted to meet you and to know all the details about you, including what you looked like, and what you and your family did. But then she was worried that you'd leave me if you earned more than me. I told her it was nothing like that though.’

  ‘It's true. Love is much more important than money to me. Being loved by you is the best feeling in the world.’

  ‘Oh baby, I really do love you. And, I'll put some love away for you every day while we're apart. Then, we can be together forever.’

  We sat in Café Mocha opposite Juhu Beach, sipping espressos and talking as the rain poured down around us. After spending every day together for the past year, neither of us knew how we'd deal with being apart. Our only reassurance was the future we were working towards.

  It seemed like everything was continuing to fall into place. I was content knowing that Aryan had a happy home to go to, and that he was in the best health and frame of mind possible. I felt positive and motivated, knowing what I was going back to Australia to achieve.

  At the airport, I used the bathroom and surprised myself by reaching for the water instead of the toilet paper. My Indianness had come a long way.

  PART THREE

  LANDING

  Destiny Revealed

  ‘YOU look years younger and seem like a completely different person.’

  My mum couldn't get over the change when she saw me. I felt different too. More connected to people, with a desire to be open with them. Previously, I would have needed alcohol to facilitate that.

  ‘I've met someone special,’ I confided to her. I spoke to her like I'd never spoken to her before, and found her to be unexpectedly receptive.

  ‘He sounds like a gem. It's obvious India has done wonders for you too. You should go back there and keep being creative.’

  Her support took me by surprise and gave me confidence. I'd expected to encounter negativity. I was so used to hiding my life from her. Instead, her willingness to be open-minded made me feel closer to her and really improved our relationship.

  It was harder to talk to my father. I usually found it easier to relate to him because he was more emotional like me. But I also feared his reaction as he was very protective. Although he didn't try and stop me, I knew my plans worried him. He didn't like the thought of me being with someone he'd never met, and one from a country so far away such as India. Just as Indians had preconceived ideas about foreigners, so too did foreigners about them – the wariness cut both ways.

  I announced to anyone who wanted to know that I was going back to India to be with Aryan, and to write. Many people were alarmed. They relayed stories of Indians who had taken advantage of foreigners. Even my Indian friends in Australia were sceptical and concerned.

  I was torn in so many directions. I felt more connected to my parents than I had in many years, and was enjoying spending time with them. Yet, Australia felt so strange. There was no spicy smell of incense. No feeling of wonder and possibility. Just a quiet emptiness, from everything being so orderly and in its place. I'd also become used to speaking in Hinglish, sentences that were a medley of Hindi and English, and had to stop myself.

  It was worse at my house in Melbourne. My room and my furniture were there, but so were people I'd never met before. My housemate had moved on and friends of a friend were staying there. I sat on the sofa in my study, gazing out the window and feeling dazed and displaced. I now had belongings scattered in three places – my house, my parents' house and in India – but no home to call my own.

  I tried to remain focused on getting back to India, but at the same time, I needed to be in the present. Getting a job was a priority. I registered with an employment agency in Melbourne and went for an interview. In the past, I would have been filled with trepidation and dread. This time I went energised and in a positive frame of mind.

  The consultants were friendly and helpful, and they found me a position while I was there. It was a temporary role administering community programs at a state government department. Instead of feeling anxious, I went to the interview with an open mind, in touch with everything around me. It didn't surprise me that I was offered the job. The manager held my previous work in high regard and was pleased to have me join the organisation. The only problem was I was needed for five months – longer than I'd planned to stay in Australia, and longer than I wanted to be apart from Aryan, but I decided to let fate take its course.

  I returned to work, trying to appreciate rejoining to the professional world. It added structure and status to my life after a year of wandering. I couldn't fault the job or my colleagues, but being confined to a controlled environment, in a high-rise office building all day, left me unmotivated. I felt like I was losing my connection with the outside world. The sense of emptiness returned, along with constant tension in my muscles like my whole body was contracting. I could feel my mind narrowing, shrinking and closing. The life was being sucked out of me.

  During my lunch hour, I lay on the soft grass under a tree in the park opposite. Eyes closed and totally relaxed, I let my body absorb the healing energy of the plants and earth. On the train, I read spiritual books about change and how to attract what I wanted into my life. I tried to keep myself inspired and focused, but inevitably, the daily work routine dominated my life and was adept at dragging me back into the lifestyle I'd known for so long. It was comfortable and familiar, and provided me with an assured income. But I knew I couldn't let it take over; I could feel in my soul that I was destined for other things.

  I felt so alive when I thought of my future in India, even though we'd both be starting our lives from scratch in Mumbai. Did I really want to give up all that I'd worked for in Australia to do that? It would be so much easier to stay where I was.

  Deep down, I knew I had to keep moving forward. I'd grown so much that I'd outgrown my life in Australia. My motivation came from India. If I didn't go back there I'd lose it.

  Aryan's love for me remained steadfast and unconditional. We spoke daily.

  ‘My parents are so pleased with the changes in me. I've been helping out around the house, coming home early and not drinking. I've even started inspiring my friends.

  ‘I was never sure that we'd end up together. I always thought you'd leave and go back home. It was only during our last week in Manali that I realised for sure that we could have a future with each other. Now I'm really serious about us.’

  Every day, Aryan's mother asked him a new question about me. Once, it had him phoning me in an anxious state, wanting to know my date and time of birth, and where I was born. His mother and elder sister had decided to get our horoscopes matched.

  In India, where Hindus place a great deal of emphasis on Vedic astrology, it is common practice before marriage to find out a couple's compatibility. The technique, which is around 3000 years old, has its roots in Vedic scriptures. Based on the precise positions of the planets at the time a person is born, it assesses 36 gunas (attributes) that form an important part of every person's physical and spiritual life. A score below 18 means that the couple is incompatible and the match should be rejected. If the score is between 18 and 25, the match is acceptable. A score of 26 to 32 means that the match is very good. A score above 32 is an issue, as the couple will have the same nature. This isn't viewed favourably for a long-term relationship.

  Soon, the results were in. Aryan phoned to tell me.

  ‘My mother came rushing into
my room and woke me up early to tell me. The pandit said that only 1 in 100 couples are fortunate enough to get a match as good as ours. Our meeting was favourable and destined. We're going to be very happy together.’

  ‘Are you serious? That's amazing,’ I was so pleased.

  ‘Even my mother was amazed. She kept wondering how it was possible to get such a good match with someone who isn't even Indian.’

  Apparently, we'd scored 24.5, which was average. However, Aryan's animal was a harmonious mouse and mine was an eagle, which supposedly meant that we were great friends (perhaps as long as I didn't decide to eat him!).

  It was true. We were each other's best friends.

  But an eagle? I hardly considered myself bold enough to be an eagle, soaring above the world. The voice in my head kept nagging and beckoning me to hold onto the past, and keep living a normal and ordinary life. Was I mad throwing away my comfortable life to go and live in India?

  Wanting reassurance that I wasn't making a mistake, I went to see a psychotherapist.

  ‘You're definitely on the right track and heading in the right direction,’ he offered after listening to me.

  He readily recognised my issues. ‘The reason why you're holding onto the past so much is that it's known to you and is part of the fairytale you created for yourself. You're scared of moving forward. You're scared of living your life differently, scared of where your life will end up. You may even be scared of how good you'll become.

  ‘It's obvious from your behaviour, and how critical you are of yourself, that you have low self-worth. Your big life lessons are to learn to love and appreciate yourself, and value yourself. Your value isn't dependent on what other people think of you, you know. You need to be assertive and stop basing your worth on the opinions of others.’