The Mirror

"In those mirrors, the minds of men, in those pools of uneasy water, in which clouds for ever turn and shadows form, dreams persisted" - Virginia Woolf

Like most good stories, this one too was discovered on the hunt for chai. J and I were drunk, walking in sarees, smoking clove-mix, trying to infuse meaning into the night with our conversation. We talk about a boy in my life. His life seems to be the one I'm searching for, the one I want for myself. He is your mirror, J yelps, and that is when it all started. 

His transition from boy to metaphor is quick. The boy still does his thing, he exists in the realm of reality – but the metaphor finds a whole new life. Even after his exit, my emotional landscape seems to echo the boy's, and somehow I find myself circling the idea of something abruptly showing me who I am. No mirror leaves me alone – not the one in my purse, not the one in my room, and not the wretched one that reflects through the boy. It is not a one-off encounter. Everywhere I go, there is a mirror. 

What really happened? I keep wondering. Did it happen exactly the way I am writing it? I don't know.  

*

The lousiest way to explain the mirror is to say that it is a sign from the universe. The best way to explain it does not exist. But, here’s what I can tell you: I often think of the faqir in Delhi 6, who roams around with a mirror in his hand, asking each character to look into it. He insists they look at themselves — at who they are, who they've become, and what they could be. 

In the first week of March, I sat on the rocks outside Haji Ali with friends. We were walking near the sea, looking for a park when I spotted a signboard offering directions to the dargah. God’s command is my wish, I decide, and persuade my friends to board a kaali-peeli that brings us to rocks. We’re telling each other about our lives – the highs, the lows, the aches. Before we know it, the water has claimed our feet. I see a vague reflection of my jhumkas in the sea that I grew up around. I wonder what it is that enamours me: is it the mirror that I look into? Or the reflection that looks back at me? 

To be fair, the idea that the forces always conspire and shove a mirror in your face is not new. One knows that this happens, that you might briefly see yourself in a person, a thing, a movie star, a movie. My current addiction, however, has to do with the looking. I can't seem to stop. The more I look, the more there is to see. It is agonisingly unexplainable, this obsession with The Mirror. Logic and rationale fail me, so I turn to what always comes through: faith and feeling.

*

What comes to your mind when you think of a woman looking into a mirror? I think of a drunk Chunnilal bringing Devdas to the brothel. We see Chandramukhi in a mirror, and through that same mirror, she sees Devdas for the first time. She turns and flips her hair dramatically, shattering the mirror behind her. She is the mirror now.

Devdas, 2002

In Delhi 6, the faqir only asks to glimpse into the mirror — “jhaank le” — he says. People call him a madman. The characters in the film don’t recognise the mirror and its importance until the very end. But he persists with his demand, he understands that looking at yourself is by no means easy. But once you do gather the courage, it is difficult to stop. 

Think of Devdas, who finds his mirror at a time when he’s failed at love and life. He mocks the place, he mocks Chandramukhi, but he can’t stop coming to the brothel. He is forced to see himself through her. Dev by no means is an honourable man. He fails to stand up for the woman he loves, he drinks and gambles in heartache, he becomes obsessed with his pain. But in Sharukh’s portrayal of Devdas, expectedly, we see less of an entitled man and more of a vulnerable one. The mirror is omnipresent in this adaptation of the story. When Dev confesses his love to Chandramukhi, he also tells her that he needs to leave. He tells her he cannot bear to see his life extinguishing in her eyes. He is compelled to find himself. 

At the heart of Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas is this glorious Mirror, dressed like a courtesan, and Shahrukh's ability to look directly into it. 

Devdas, 2002

*

It is not unusual that I turn to films in my encounters with the mirror. The movies have taught me how to live, and this is by no means an exaggeration. But I do wonder if I can claim that the mirror actually exists beyond cinema. That its presence can be felt in ordinary, undirected lives, like mine and yours. It feels delusional; a story I have no evidence for. A story that can be easily dismissed. 

But the heart opens up to the mirror. Maybe, I tell myself, some stories are felt, not understood. They function like faith, meeting us where we are and changing us forever, infusing us with belief. 

One can invite others into the heart, to share the intangible offerings. But to explain it perfectly, with logic and reason, is to defy the truth of experience. For instance, I can tell you that since January, I’ve found myself thinking of motherhood. I asked amma to recount her birth-giving journey, I asked all my friends what they felt about motherhood. At a book fair, Anshu curiously asked me: So, at 25 you want to be a mother? Of course not, I retorted instantly. I’m going back to academia, I want to study journalism and film. I have all these exciting plans for the upcoming years. 

I fell silent as we walked through the fair, there's not much else I knew about the feeling. I’m thinking about motherhood is all there was to say. But every book I picked up seemed to be about mothers and children. That same night, I cleaned my desk and found a tarot postcard that my friend had gotten me from Thailand. I try to find out what the card means. The Queen of Pentacles, Google tells me, symbolises caregiving, independence, nurturing, a mothering force. I concede. The only way out is to allow the feeling to enter me.

I cannot ask you to believe as fervently as I do, but I can tell you what I see. And the mirror, I tell myself, is belief in what you see. If we look into it, it propels us to lean in, to grow, to accept. 

The mirror offers a strange kind of truth — not the practically useful kind, but the kind that reminds me who I am. It keeps finding me when uncertainty dawns. It comes out of nowhere, shoots straight through me, and suddenly I know what to do with a day, a moment, a life.