Narcissist

I first heard this word when a friend from college used this word as his ORKUT profile name. I wondered what it meant. I didn’t bother to Google or look up the meaning. In my writing class yesterday, a participant was talking about her book and a character who is a narcissist. For sometime now I have known the meaning, but this word has been gnawing on my mind, and I had to write about it.

It is a disorder in which a person has an inflated sense of self importance, chronic, can be treated but cannot be cured.

There are many other adjectives to describe such people, manipulative, cocky, selfish, patronizing, demanding and so on. Narcissists can cause feelings of lack of self importance in you, leading to depression. It is important to understand narcissistic behavior, something we rarely recognize, camouflaged as normal human behaviour. This is more so for the individuals interfacing with narcissistic behavior than the narcissist himself or herself.

As I read more about Narcisstic Personality Disorder NPD I am intrigued by this category of people. Their rage for one arises from denial, so they don’t feel guilty instead make others around them feel guilty for no fault of theirs. When their self esteem is hurt they go into a fit of rage.

Narcisstic people generally have failed relationships. Such failed relationships confirm that their way of living is the right thing to do. Some sort of a chicken and egg situation. It is very difficult for such people to give and take in any relationship because everything is about taking.

Their sense of being unique and sense of entitlement stems from either genetic disorders or some form of childhood abuse or neglect, is what I read. I think it’s probably more of neglect or a sort of less worthy feeling shoved on them that their defenses propel them into narcissistic behavior? As they grow, the ego grow into a beast which they cannot control, ultimately killing their desire to control it.

Another thing I read is Gaslighting – masterful manipulation to gain control over you. A dangerous form of emotional abuse where the victim is forced to rethink his or her judgements thereby becoming completely dependent on the narcissist.

Expecting to be appreciated by a narcissist is something you should not wait for, especially if you are a victim. There is never enough of appreciating a narcissist and they cannot see beyond themselves. It is extremely difficult for them to appreciate another human being or act. When they do, they may appear normal, but that’s a facade, within no time they will bounce back into their shell.

A large population thinks that abuse counts only when it’s physical. Emotional abuse is more lethal, like slow poison. As a society we are light years away from recognizing emotional abuse and finding a solution. There are laws for physical abuse, I don’t think there are any for emotional abuse.

I believe the first step is to identify narcissistic behavior and put yourself above the behavior however difficult it may be. You have to hold up your sense of self importance and self respect. What you actually do about the person – distance yourself or deal with it as sanely as possible depends on the relationship you have with the person. Being aware is essential.

Where is the light

The mesh around us
So high
Gates locked
They walk around morning to night
How will we run
And to where
Do they think
I don’t know where Ma is
Or Pa
When will I see them
Or will I
Where I come from
Was a mad place
This was my way to life
Path to hope
I look for the light
I look for Ma
Pa
All I see is darkness
This cage
Locked
And many
Like me.

A package

Last week as I was talking to my father about Father’s Day and what my sons were planning for my husband, I realized I should do something for him. I ordered a bag of Hershey’s kisses on Amazon India (my regular shipper of goodies to my father). I wanted to keep it a surprise so I did not tell him about the order. The norm otherwise is to tell him everything I order, I tell him when the item is due and he updates me when he receives the item. Just so he wouldn’t be alarmed while opening the box, I added a gift message ‘Happy Father’s Day Appa’.

This morning around 6am IST, I got a message that the package had been delivered. I did think it was an odd time for an Amazon package to be delivered and thought his alarm instincts would go up.

Like everyday, I called him on my way to work and immediately he asks me “did you order something on Amazon?”. I told him, I had. He said, since he was not sure, he did not open it. He went on to tell me that he had recently read in Mathrubhumi and Manorama online (his net-savvy newspapers for a few years now, since he became a netizen), that mysterious packages were being delivered which someone had not ordered. I told him to go ahead and open it. He opens it to find my small pack of chocolates. His relief at finding chocolates was quite funny. “Ooooh chocolate-aa?” He added, “the watchman said it was delivered at 6am, who delivers packages at 6am? The Amazon packing is not all that good either”. I asked him if there was a note inside the box. He did not find a note. So then I had to tell him, that I ordered them for him, for Father’s day and he was supposed to open it as a surprise and find a note saying ‘Happy Father’s Day Appa’.

So much for surprising my old man with a bag of chocolates on Father’s Day! His true happiness was when my kiddos called him and wished him a GRAND Father’s Day..

The little moments of a heart full of happiness.. tiny moments of immense love.. blessed!

He

His arms carried me as a baby

His arms bore the weight of my education

His heart celebrated my every success

His heart cried at my loss

His legs walked for miles for me to stand straight

His legs stopped for me to catch up

His eyes saw the now and fretted tomorrow

His eyes dreamt of my tomorrow

His words cautioned me of the world

His words strung a thousand stories for me

He is

My hero.

Buddies

This is one of my favourite stories. I was standing at the intersection of Gandhari Amman Kovil Rd and MG Road in Trivandrum. A tall girl stood there with her father. We had just attended a training class together. She wore a brown striped salwar, handbag on her shoulder and books in her hand. Her grizzly hair was tied back and she looked at me with suspicion. Her father asked me if I was looking for a roommate. I said yes. He suggested we look for a place to stay, together. I looked at her and thought, why not? I had no idea who this girl was.

Either the same day or the next, another girl from the training class asked us, if she could join us. She was a short, round faced girl. She wore a salwar with a dupatta neatly folded on one shoulder. She wore glasses and pretty much looked like a mirror image of me. She had the widest smile on her face and spoke faster than either of us.

We said yes. Again, we didn’t know her, except her name.

We found an agent, a short, stout guy who rode a TVS moped of the early 2000. I don’t remember how we found him. He wore a hat, probably to hide his baldness and glasses which he kept pushing up on his nose. He spoke like he was going to take us to the moon. We tagged along with him to find accomodation in the then unknown city of Trivandrum. The tall girl I met had an Ericsson mobile that looked like a modern day big remote. This mobile was to become our communication channel with our parents in the near future, for which she even charged us a fee. So coming back to the stout man with the hat, we set up appointments with him after the training session for the day, and hopped into an autorickshaw to see the place he had found for us. The short girl knew the in and out of Trivandrum, so it was relatively easier than I thought.

During these trips, we learnt a little more about each other. The tall girl had graduated from MES College Kuttipuram and the short one from Jain Engineering College in Chennai. We made many trips with the stout guy with the hat, to various nooks and corners of Trivandrum until one day, he took us to Pattoor. This was the first floor of a beautiful house which the owner was willing to rent. A one bedroom accomodation with a kitchen and bath. It was a luxurious setting. There was a PCO booth nearby to make STD (Standard Trunk Dialling, in case you thought something else) calls. The landlady was nice and liked us instantly. We paid the stout guy with the hat his commission and sent him away. The next day we moved our belongings to the Pattoor house and embarked on a beautiful journey of friendship, laughter and a million memories.

It has been eighteen years since we moved in together – three girls who didn’t even know the other existed till then, one from Bangalore, one from Kozhikode and one from Chennai. I cannot help but think, that this is destiny. Our paths were meant to cross and our lives meant to mingle with each other. We grew from naive (this is the short girl’s favourite word) twenty two year old young girls’ to mothers of children ranging from five to fourteen. It feels like a lifetime, and yet like yesterday when we were huddled in the autorickshaw following the stout guy with the hat, on his TVS, to the nooks and corners of Trivandrum.

May our conversations never be silent!! Love you girls, always and forever!!

xoxoxo