Trained as a Western-schooled child developmental psychologist (Ph.D), & empowering lives based on principles of amalgamating Vedic and modern psychology. Here, Dr. Richa Chopra reveals some of her deepest and unshared memoirs in nurturing her daughter!
Presenting Part 2 of the series ‘The Diary of a Psychologist - Bruises Incognito: Raising Kids Right’; an excerpt from the writer’s biography.
Promise to herself, a tormented yet determined mother:
“Let me enlighten my light within,
enlightening my daughter’s life;
Knowledge and wisdom shall ever be the perennial feed for all her senses,
Thus, towards her ultimate blossoming, shall I strive.”
Wanna know all the secrets to the best lifestyle?
The 30th day of April 2000 – seemingly presented itself as the darkest night of my life. And witnessing eighteen long years in retrospect, smilingly I can now pass it off – as being the brightest day of my soul!
Malvica, my daughter was then just around five. Being the first child in her paternal family, she was everyone’s possessive delight. Amidst every kind of material luxury, she thoroughly enjoyed unrestricted attention and pampering amidst my otherwise home, which was on fire!
Uncouth words, animalistic gestures, cold silences - the atmosphere was always almost emotionally saturated. Everyone owned Malvica, but me. She was everywhere, but with me. Consciously or unconsciously, she was being distanced from me. I had not an iota of strength left, constantly smothering the home heat. Not an iota of the so-called worldly or the emotional intelligence was I born with.
One such morning, I heard her repeatedly murmuring “shut up” to our helping hand. The fourth time she said it, I gave her a hard hit on her little cheeks. She, perhaps, was blurting out all that her senses had ever been fed from her immediate environment. Yet, it was an indication strong enough that no more would I permit her tender developing world within to be malnutritioned.
In those days, I was successfully running a clinic for the differently-abled children in two rented rooms. With everything else within and outside of me in a state of uncongeniality, I decided to call it quits with my current situations. One burning volcano in me was unmanageable. I knew I would not be able to see another reigning inside my daughter.
April 30, 2000: I eloped with my daughter, strengthened with the support of my parents.
Five formative years of her life had already passed. She had been a passive witness to her home atmosphere. There was a mammoth task at hand. Facing my own terrified inner world on one hand and struggling to adjust amidst the constant societal hammers. And the never-ending legal complications - ranging from custody to divorce to alimony. My life was literally on drips! All situations had gotten together on a master plan to escalate further my life state to being “socially autistic”. My matrimonial home was a dungeon. And it only got shades darker outside it.
The ethereal umbilical cord - a mother’s true gift
Choiceless, I found myself in an Art of Living entry-level program (now called the Happiness Program). Being pseudo-happy amidst my unhappy state of affairs, each time I attempted to quit the program, my very insightful and wise mother, guarding the door ensured no possibility of any checkouts.
My first Sudarshan Kriya, a powerful and rhythmic breathing technique, exploded the oceanic deep reservoirs of emotional garbage. The opaque lenses of perception, clouded by infinite impressions across lifetimes seemed to crack; allowing the trickle of a veracious life revelation.
Malvica, joyfully all over the place, subconsciously had her first subtle acquaintance with an altogether different world. Formidable and life-progressing seeds had been planted in both the mother-daughter duo.
Fragility housed on an iron plinth
I had to draw my line forward. This meant adding a few more qualifications to what was existing. This also meant to earn my bread and butter with dignity. However imprisoned I felt within and however dependent yet, the camouflaged core of an iron plinth that reigned somewhere in the unconscious had started to house my fragility. I had taken a decision to bring up Malvica all by my own efforts, even if that meant living on the roadside.
The material never mattered
Leaving the luxury of her maternal grandparents’ home in a small town in Assam, my daughter was brought to the city where I had started to live in a working women’s hostel. Each morning, she would be packed and dropped in a man-pulled rickshaw in a day boarding and picked up in the night. I had established a full-fledged child development center in a reputed neurosciences hospital and was managing my life amidst a job, pursuing a doctorate and trying to fit myself in the role of a mommy. Local buses, shared autos, walks, runs, lifts amidst busy, and sometimes abandoned streets was a daily regimen. Discipline, commitment, hardships were all that the child was observing and growing up with.
Two concentric worlds
And then, there was another world of ecstasy that existed within our seemingly difficult and gross world. Almost every late evening, we would find ourselves in some or the other Art of Living activity: singing, assisting ongoing programs, attending knowledge sessions, volunteering for service projects or looking up in fascination to the spark, strength, and compassion exuberating from the senior Art of Living visiting faculty. It was a perfect cushion for the growing child amidst the lessons of hardships and discipline life that was gnawing at her.
The strong grip of impressions too had started to loosen in me, and spaces were being created for the seeds that had now begun to germinate. There was no attention on any other thing. The night would befall, tired and holding onto each other, on a wooden mosquito cot, we would go off to sleep and rise again to face the day next.
Towards true security - a conscious step
Jobs changed, schools changed and the hardships grew. The child’s custody was claimed in the courts. The divorce had been filed. There was no intention of my husband to support Malvica or me financially. My father was fighting my case. In the midst of every uncertainty, it had started to become more and more clear that my life was for something bigger. And in 2004, I moved to The Art of Living Center in Bengaluru. I had to do this to strengthen and reaffirm our true security that lay beyond the material.
And in 2004, with all situations at its peak and being in a high-flung job, we both moved to the Art of Living ashram. By the world’s eye, it was an irrational decision.
Home, finally
Just one thought magnetically reigned – “Let my life breathe my Master’s Vision.”
Unflinching focus, determined, directed and sincere efforts: life zeroed in on these. Attention to the gross was always naturally exempted from my life. I had plunged myself totally into an unknown zone. Each day presented itself with surprises. The only certainty was uncertainty. The nearest Art of Living’s English school was 16 km away in those days. Morning and noon bus rides became an integral part of our lives. I would hand a ten odd-rupee each day to the helper at school to buy my daughter some odd little snack. When the entire ashram slept, I would find a spare computer to myself and write project proposals each time in a different office space.
Malvica’s bedroll always tagged along in the nights, offering her the entire floor to playfully bid her tired day a goodbye. Scattered amidst all odds, we were finally home - ashram made us feel like we were home.
The strategized training ground
At 6.5 years, Malvica was logically yet firmly entrusted to fetch drinking water from the common taps each night. I would ensure she found her way alone fearlessly. Aimlessly loitering and drugging the mind through television watching was the last thing I would ever want to see her engaged in. Genetically, I guessed, she had my musical genes. She was religiously attached to a music teacher.
From the age of seven, she was already traveling alone on flights. Potent seeds were consciously being planted in her life; some in consonance to propel her unmanifest talents and interests. Others as undertaking advanced Art of Living programs at regular intervals. The discipline at home was being observed by her. It was not thrust upon. It was not taught. And underneath the discipline was rationality, communication, and love. Everything was a collaboration between us. She would once in a while rebel in her own little way, trying innocent excuses to stay away from her regimented lifestyle. Yet on her own understanding, would eventually turn around.
The cherished dream of a mother
It is not uncommon that parents like to engage their children with some or the other hobby class. I, too, chose the common path. And aspired to see my daughter someday as an officer in any of the defense services. After her standard 12th exams, as she was preparing to step out for the first time, away from home to study at Lady Shriram College, Delhi University, I handed her a thick guidebook on ‘Defense Services’ and expressed that through her forthcoming three years, she simultaneously prepare for her defense services and apply for the same after the completion of her graduation. And she replied gently stating that her only condition to go to Delhi would be on the terms that each month, she visits Bengaluru to not to miss her sitar classes with her teacher. This signal was enough for me to understand that her passion lay elsewhere.
Best friends
Short-term discomfort and long-term pleasure is the way of the wise, says Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. We never speak about our bygones, even if was a day-old! Through our odds, we have together found solutions since her little-hood. Every work that I do and every experience life has taken me through, the micro and macro are always placed in front of her to derive wisdom.
Seventeen years of astute chiseling, her dream is a dream I now cherish! Her choice is my choice. My effort was never for her to clone me at the outer. Yet knowledge attracts its followers. She is a regular practitioner of meditation with her faith deeply embedded in her practices and Gurudev’s teachings.
Niching her aspirations as a classical sitar player, she balances her life finely with a worthy-bonding with her father.
The trusteeship of a mother has now ended!
Writer’s Note: Children cannot be taught. They learn through observation. We, as parents, aspire to see in children a reservoir of values: commitment, respect, focus, humor, integrity, compassion, honesty, care, vision, openness, and so on. The only way to do is to first be the change we want to see in them. In addition, every child comes with his/her own uniqueness, encompassing specific parenting skills. Honor those!
Apart from being a child developmental psychologist and an international Art of Living faculty, Dr. Richa Chopra is currently the chief counselor at Vivechana -The Counselling Space: Enriching Consciousness through Vedic & Modern Perspectives at Sri Sri University, Cuttack, India.
You can leave your feedback and experiences at @ArtofLiving. You can also connect with the writer at richa.chopra@artofliving.org.
