Cancer, My Past, Myself

The Stench of Self-Pity Part 1

Is there a better feeling than waking up to the quietness of a beautiful morning?  When the eyes are still closed, but inside you feel full of gratitude and love for all that is in your life?  Think I am full of shit? Few years ago, I would have agreed and perhaps even said that I was just trying to be a creative writer.  Yet, last year around this time is when I was still recovering from my brain surgery and prior to that, my wife’s illness and then before that a stroke  around the time a loss of a dear dear friend reverberated through  my soul. So I could say life was not fair. I could have whined, and been angry.  And honestly, I did. I cannot even read some of the stuff I wrote around that time because the stench of self-pity suffocates me.  I felt so sorry for myself that I engaged in soul deadening behaviors like avoidance, and pretending all was well. I stopped reading, writing or really doing anything that gave me true joy. I fought with people in my life with such a vengeance as if it was their fault my life was where it was.

I probably would have continued if some of the strangest things came together to salvage who I used to be. It began with a subscription to The New Yorker. I have been buying books all my life, and there are always piles of unread books surrounding my homes, but subscribing to the New Yorker was a new commitment for me. I had no idea that each week, a magazine that was extremely well written with VERY long articles would come to my doorstep.  Each and every single fucking week. So I began reading. Around the same time, a forwarded You Tube link of BK Shivani’s “Healer Within” caught my eye.  At first, I was uncomfortable with the Indian accents, but her words struck me into submission with their clarity and accuracy.  I also began doing Morning Pages from The Artist’s Way as well as doing Lumosity brain games while trying to learn Spanish (still struggling).

I didn’t realize at the time, but I had begun constructing a new me….

To Be Continued….


Panjabi MC

2014-02-07 18.07.12I know, I know there are some of you who are sick of the constant posts about the Panjabi MC party which has become my #1 lesson: Create a Ziba Music page.  But I HAVE to post about what a complete and utterly fun event it was, but I did wonder why some still stayed home. Sure, it was a Friday night, sure it was 21 over, sure it was $35, but what is it about Los Angeles that is not friendly to Desi club events?  It comes back to the same theme.  Why are we so anti desi music?  What has changed?  I mean I get it, Bollywood rules, but there is so much good music coming out that we don’t know about. This is when I truly missed Ziba Music. Dad and I had a good thing going, and while he let it end on a high note, I do wonder maybe something also closed along with the shop. I went to flyer and was shocked to see just piles of Bollywood music and movies but very little in the way of other music.  

To be completely fair, the venue was packed, and we had a great mix of desis and non desis, but the promoter in me wondered why we couldn’t do a 1000 person venue to listen to one of the best known UK Bhangra producers in the world. Not only was he the nicest guy, Panjabi MC puts on a show! So what am I missing here? Help me out here?  Why are people in Los Angeles resisting so much?  We are the only major city that a lot of Desi acts are no longer booked, and it sucks.

Which means, I will keep at it. No sir, you couldn’t pull me away (stolen from Die Hard).  And just like in Rocky 5, One more Round. 🙂


FULL & Grateful

GratitudeI noticed that I am not posting as often as I used to, and one of the main reasons was that I am just full. I am full of love, gratitude, and the attitude of being better at everything I do.  I blogged to whine, complain and maybe explain, but for the past few months, I feel the most complete I have in a while. And for that, I am truly grateful. Gratitude is a funny thing, I used to struggle to come up with things to be thankful for after mentioning my recovery, family, wife, and friends.  I failed to realize that breathing was a gift. Each inhale and exhale was more than I had the last time I suffered my stroke (again with the stroke). I do feel repetitive a lot of the times, perhaps that is the problem with being a writer. We keep rediscovering emotions and events, until we can get them down perfectly.  Yet it is more than that. I am still in awe of the changes others have made for my sake especially my amazing wife and family.

And then my birthday happened. Each and every person who got me something gave me something personal and unique to me. In fact, at one point I felt a bit ashamed as the amount of thought everyone had put in. It also hit me how much they care for me, and they made me even fuller.  So maybe, just maybe, the whining will simmer down here for a while.