The first time I tapped open the Club House app, the homepage truly felt like a silent hallway, conjuring the picture of me walking down the long corridor; the thud-thudding of my shoes ricocheting on the walls around.
The closed doors of rooms to my right had a title on the board. I walked off just reading a couple of words and in some cases, I stopped to ponder over what I read. And in some cases, I almost pried open the door, hesitated at the last-minute combing my hair with the fingers in a thoughtful gesture, and continued to walk on.
This’s perhaps the advantage of being blind: the experience of using an app wouldn’t be any less immersive than walking down the hallway for real or along the sidewalks of a busy street.
And what a blessing it’s to have an accessible app that doesn’t feel clunky to a screen-reader user. Because a screen-reader like Voiceover on the iPhone needs to recognize the buttons and links, they need to be purposely made accessible with certain methods prescribed by the World Wide Web consortium. Some apps and websites don’t do that, and I even shudder to think how I’d have missed Club House had it not been for the care shown by the app makers to include the experiences of people like me. Yes, they deserve loud applause! (More about accessibility in a latter post)
I still remember that late April evening, sunlight piercing through the glass window of my west-facing room, making the crystals on my table gleam ethereally. But I was lost in Club House hallway, each swipe of my finger on the glassy surface of my iPhone feeling like shoes thudding on the shiny marble floor. I brushed past all the rooms with catchy titles and illustrative emoticons. Quite unexpectedly, I froze reading the title of this particular room: “Daily Gratitude”.
The title perhaps was longish, something like “What are you grateful for”. But the words ‘Daily Gratitude’ stuck on my head like a glued stamp. Because I knew what it’s to feel grateful in a theoretical sense. Because I’ve read and listened to people like Louise L. Hay and Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, who spoke of the power of gratitude. Yet, this was perhaps the first time I came face to face with an experience of an idea that never found its expression in me before.
With a mixture of dread and excitement, I double tapped on the title and was immediately inside the room. What a magic it was to listen to voices and imagine the faces behind them?
I was still feeling my way around the virtual room, not knowing that I could be invited to “join as a speaker”. I was swiping over names of several people with the false sense of security that I wouldn’t be called up on the stage. Out of nowhere, a hand-waving sign popped out saying someone was asking me to join as a speaker. Thankfully, there was an option to pass up the opportunity, but I was worried that not accepting to speak would be rude.
Also, besides my fears of jumping on the stage, I wanted to say my gratitude for something just to make up for the gratitude I failed to express for my aunt Umakka’s kindness in caring for me. I thought of the first few days after her passing, when the true value of her care smacked me on the face. When my daughter served the Melagutani soup over boiled rice, I thought how Umakka had heated it up because I liked it that way. And how many times she snatched the food plate from my hand and washed it herself amidst my feeble protests.
“No… I’ve got to speak and say my gratitude,” I told myself.
“Next, I see Sub..ra…mani…or maybe I’m getting your name wrong,” said the mod for the day, which was Michelle Gesky, who I happened to meet that morning in a smaller room. “I met him in my friend Chris Voss’s room,” Michelle told the audience (more about Chris later).
I unmuted hesitatingly and nervously began giving my gratitude much in the manner of how the previous speakers did. Heart thudding, breath shortening as if I was running a marathon, I told the audience about my blindness experience and my gratitude to Umakka.
I muted back with the declaration “I’m complete,” which was how speakers before me had completed their speeches.
The whole room went silent for a few seconds before the mod unmuted to speak. A strange and wonderful sense of peace enveloped me as I sat stunned by my admissions before a group of strangers. May be the share, or maybe it was talking about Umakka, I don’t know which one, but the peace I felt was deep and wonderful.
‘Gratitude…’ I whispered to myself and realized what Louise Hay and Wayne Dyer have been saying in their own eloquent ways.
The Daily Gratitude room opened at 8.30 am Eastern Time, about 6 pm my time, and stayed open for just over an hour. I made it a point to be in the room, soaking in the positive energy gushing out of the four-inch phone I held. Over the next few days, I felt inspired listening to such speakers as Tony Rodrigues, Garth Sandiford, Gary Fox (the last two of whom I had the privilege of personally interacting) and many wonderful people.
I’m not absolutely regular these days to the room, but the days when I’m absent, probably because I was lost in the excitement of making new connections or sharing something to a new room, I’d feel something vital was missing. But when the room organisers decided to keep it open for four hours till the west coast of the United States is up and about, I made sure I at least showed up, and said my gratitude, and remembered Umakka’s infinite kindness.
And now I know that gratitude heals; gratitude allows us to make peace with ourselves. And most importantly, gratitude helps us come to terms with the loss of a loved one.
Try saying aloud that you’re grateful for something in your life every day or maintain a gratitude journal. And if you are on Club House, come say your gratitude at this lovely room.
(More on part 3)
Here’s a DIY I’ve written for people new to Club House. Drop your email in the below link and download the DIY:
https://subramani-lakshmi.ck.page/824bba166a
Want the blogposts straight to your inbox? Sign up with the link below?