Anger

There is a difference in the way I get angry with strangers and with those who are close to me. In fact, most often, my reaction to the misdeeds of strangers does not involve anger at all, but a snap, a stating of blunt facts, a swift compatmentalisation of their behavior in the ‘sad’ category. Sometimes I don’t react because stupidity can only be corrected so much. I think of them as creatures I have to develop a superior patience towards and feign tolerance. And it shows… that I am doing them some sort of a favor. A favor that I may withdraw any moment. In tots, I come across as harsh but unmessable with.

With loved ones it is a different story. The problem is that I have already developed certain high opinions and expectations of them and any deviation from these estimates of mine are terribly disturbing. I suppose, in ways, I feel betrayed. The result is that of loud, flustered incoherence- sometimes moppy, sometimes pathetic and sometimes raging. Instead of stating what I think is wrong, as I so tartly do with strangers, I convey a general impression of unpleasantness. And this is what sticks. In their minds. Parvathi is a goddamn unpleasant female, isn’t she? I have seen it so often in the faces of my loved ones. And every time, it fills me with horror or regret and a prayer that they recover. That I recover the bit of love that I just lost. But the truth is, very few recover and even those who recover have their limits.

My dad once told me that I am his favourite person in the world. Which is the nicest, nicest thing anyones ever told me (Which is probably the reason that it is getting a second mention in this blog). But last day, I did something. I indulged in this reactionary nature of mine and afterwards I knew, there is no way in hell that Im his favourite person in the world anymore. Later, we had to have sis over for a couple of days for health reasons and I kept watching my parents and their perky little faces turned towards her. And all I could think was, there goes my title.

I had to learn a lesson. And the lesson I decided to learn was that, with loved ones too, I should modulate my anger to the vivid conveyance of blunt facts. I tried this today morning. And I am sorry to say it is not winning me any points. Atleast earlier with my flustered variety of anger, they didn’t feel  bad about themselves. I left them feeling like perfectly normal human beings who have had, at worst, to regrettably associate with this person who clearly hasn’t got a grip over herself. But with this other technique, I make them feel little. I make them shrink in front of my eyes. Grow inwards and notice flaws they never knew they had.I can’t have that. Especially not for my parents, mentally frail as they are. My young robust friends can handle it, perhaps, but not these guys.

Eliminate reacting altogether then? Nah. I don’t think so. Anger is the flip side to the best in me. The big wide happy grins, the glint in my eyes when excited, the drive to do things that make my people happy. Repress anger altogether and a lot of the good bits dies with it. Still, I suppose there is a kind of modulation I can bring about in my anger that atleast minimizes all damage. I will work on that, long and slow.