My Appa- My Hero!!

I am writing about #MyRoleModel as a part of the activity by Gillette India in association with BlogAdda.com.

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Dear Appa,

As I begin to write this, I realize I have never written to you before! Perhaps, I have never felt the need to write, or tell you anything. You have understood every unspoken word and every unfinished sentence. Irrespective of whether you saw that expression on my face or heard it in my voice on a faraway telephone. That’s the power of you and your bond with me. 

Eternal.

I remember never having needed to ask you for anything. I have never known what to ask. You always gave it to me before I even realized the need to have it. You have brought me up like a true blue princess and I have never known what want is all about. You have taught us to be satisfied and happy than greedy and needy. You taught me that money was only as important as the things it could buy and never a penny more.

You stood against relatives who jeered at you for convent educating your girls. You told them your girls will make you proud one day. I hope we make you proud!  You gifted me my first moped on my 16^th birthday with a license to drive. You have let me ride free on the roads of life ever since, showing me what independence is all about.

It was you who pushed me into attending my first interview armed with a hand written resume and oodles of confidence. Whoever had heard of hand written resumes? But I remember you telling me that I had the most beautiful handwriting, the most charming smile and intelligence and if anyone would get the job, it would be me. I remember brimming with conviction that if you thought I could then I would. I remember dancing holding your hand as I showed you my appointment letter. You didn’t think twice when I wanted to go to a different city for that job. You gave me your blessing, while others thought you were being foolish to let a girl stay alone in a strange city.

You let me marry the man of my dreams; in spite of threats from the society, in spite of being ridiculed and in spite of being isolated. Letting me have my happiness was far more important to you than anything else. You always trusted my ability to make decisions, and I couldn’t thank you more for it. Without your faith, without your approval and without your blessing I would have faltered at every step.

You taught me how work was as important as family, friends and hobbies too. If your colleagues talk about your passion to your work, your zeal for theater and writing is still appreciated by your friends and your commitment is most valued by your family. That intricate balance of the three is something I still yearn to learn.

I have never seen a more positive person than you and I have always marveled at your strength to remain optimistic in any situation. You taught me that there is always a way out of our problems and no issue is big enough for us to give up. You taught me that no pain is permanent and the worst situations will also pass. Your sense of humor is your biggest charm and there is hardly anyone who will disagree to that!

You taught me never to hate anyone. You taught me the joy in giving to others, and reaching out to anyone who needs my help. You have led by example and that has taught me more than words ever could.

I never knew what inequality or gender discrimination was all about. Maybe that’s why I never understood why some people would kill their own girls, or deprive them of education or make honor such a big issue. Maybe that’s why I never understood what men could do better that I couldn’t. Maybe if all dads were like you, nobody would either. I am so thankful you raised me that way. Not like it was expected to raise girls, not like raising a girl as a boy, but simply raising a child, empowering me with skills to face the world, doing the best you could for me.

You have always been my hero and I may not say this enough, but you have been the best part of me growing up.

Love you always Appa,

Your little princess

Appa and me!!

Who really died?

It had been almost a month since I had visited Babu’s ashram for the elderly. It had kind of become a weekly ritual to carry food for the elderly who stayed there. Or rather had been forced to stay there. My association with the ashram began about a year ago.

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Mr. and Mrs. Iyer lived in the house across our apartment. Iyer Uncle, as we called him, was very fond of the flower beds he had planted himself on the entire periphery of his house. It had become customary to exchange pleasantries as we went for our morning walk every day. Uncle would be watering his plants and listening to his booming voice would mark the beginning of our day.

A year ago his wife passed away leaving uncle all alone in their sprawling house. As long as she had been there, we would see them sitting on the veranda, sharing biscuits over a cup of coffee every evening. She had been a perfectionist, taking caring of all his needs. But with her no longer around, their three married children had been quite reluctant to look after their aging father and decided the next best thing would be to put him in an old age home. When we heard the news, we went to meet uncle. We saw him sitting on his rocking chair, eyes closed, and cheeks awash with tears. “Will you water my plants for me when I am gone?” he asked. “I don’t want them to be orphaned like me.”

That was all he was thinking of now? His plants? It brought a lump to my throat and I nodded, unable to speak. And then he wept like a child, his booming voice echoing through the house. It was heart wrenching to see a 75 year old weep like that before you.

That’s how uncle was unceremoniously bundled of to the ashram by three well-to-do children whom he had brought up so lovingly. To watch a movie on this theme or read about it in the papers is different and to see it actually happening is quite another. No words can describe what it is to see ungrateful children treating a parent with so much disrespect.

 And that’s how our association with the ashram began. At first it had been to just visit uncle and keep him company. Later we decide to prepare something every Sunday for all the 35 inmates. We would always be greeted at the gate by Gopi uncle and his flag. He would salute us and then run around the whole place waving his flag. Most inmates looked senile and it worried us if Iyer uncle had been put in the right place. The warden told us that most of them had been fine when they came there but over a period of time, loneliness and depression at having been forsaken by their own families had caused senility to set in. We wondered if Iyer uncle would meet the same fate.

We saw his health deteriorate over the next few months so we shifted some of his plants and his rocking chair to make him feel at home. But no amount of cheering seemed to help him. I was going out of town and I told him that I will see him after a month.

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I had been readying to go to the ashram after a month of vacation when I met my neighbor at the gate.

“Going to the ashram?” she asked.

“Yes, I haven’t been there in more than a month now,” I told her.

“Iyer uncle passed away when you weren’t here” she told me.

I couldn’t believe what she said. I wanted to know more. She told me how sometime last month, Iyer uncle had run away from the ashram, and was found by an auto rickshaw driver while trying to jump off a lake. He had calmed uncle and brought him home. His children were informed and instead of comforting their father they had screamed at him for running away like that. He had passed away a couple of days later in sleep, not having eaten anything for the past two days. We wondered whether he died from hunger of food or love.

I took one last long look at uncle’s house, his plants all dried out and the house resounding with the emptiness that he had been carrying for such a long time in his heart. It made me think who really died? And no, it was not just a person.

May he rest in peace.

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(Coming after my previous post, it would have been surprising to read two similar stories....but this had been weighing on my heart for quite some time and I think 100 words haven't been sufficient for me to express my anguish. Hence this post.)

  

The week that was(n't) !!

The bug bit me last week. No, no, not the love variety, the tummy one, and there it stayed for next few days, making me holler in pain and confined to the bed! This Atithi definitely did not fit into the devo bhava category, instead it belonged to that shameless breed of guests who stayed put in spite of trying to pump it out with all the ammunition money could buy!  

All I needed was a little love and the boys ensured that I got lots of it. Hubby dearest (HD) took me by surprise offering to 'take care of everything' so that I could get that much needed rest. Was I touched? You bet! If you looked closely you could even see that just-about-to-trickle-down drop of tear in my almond shaped eyes!

I actually felt a little guilty of ‘hubby bashing’ on various platforms where I had unabashedly talked about  HD’s non-existent cooking skills, going to the extent of pointing out how he was capable of burning even water! And here he was offering to 'take care of everything' while I rested. What a sweetheart he was, I told myself. How could I have been so mean?

I let myself be tucked into bed, breathing easy for the first time that week.

‘What’s for breakfast?’ I asked, still wondering what he would pull of his magician’s hat.

‘I think idly would be good for you, it’s light and easy on the tummy…’he began, leaving me with my mouth so wide open, that my elder one actually needed to use both his hands to shut it close.

Idly! Did he actually think that idlies just flew out of somewhere? I pictured myself washing, soaking and grinding the ingredients and waiting with crossed fingers to see if the batter finally ‘rose’ to  make those soft and fluffy little things that just melted in your mouth. Just imagining the procedure took me back 24 hours!  How in the world was he planning to make them now?

The medications had started making me feel a little groggy and I drifted into a lovely world of fluffy white trees that looked like idlies standing by a river that looked a huge stream of sambhar, onions bobbing by instead of fish! And there I was trying to pluck out the idlies, jumping unsuccessfully, till I blanked out. Opening my eyes, I find the three familiar smiling faces waiting for me to get up, and a plate of idlies sitting tight on the bedside table.

As I stared at HD in disbelief, he put a loving arm around me, ‘Anna’s hotel next street? He makes great idlies, I got it hygienically packed for you.’ 

Wow! And here I am fretting about breakfast every day. That ought to be the simplest chore of the day! ‘So, where are you ordering lunch from?’ I asked my voice tinged with sarcasm.

‘I am making lunch’ he announced grandly, ‘you eat this and take rest’ he said as he fed me the idly that he had so painstakingly produced.  

My head refused to sink into the pillow this time, as it was already approaching lunchtime and I could see no preparations whatsoever even beginning to happen. I could not stop myself from sauntering jauntily into the kitchen to oversee what was happening there. 

Nothing? 

Nothing! 

The deafening silence of kitchen was a little too much to bear and I felt my tummy churning wildly like the day ‘samudra manthan’ happened and the gods and demons churned the ocean to get their goodies. Only this time there would be no Shiva to drink the poison that came out of the ocean! Where in the world was my masterchef?

Ah! There he was tapping furiously onto his laptop, a cursory what-are-you-doing-out-of-bed glance at me. ‘You need something?’ he asked barely looking up. I am sure he did not see my hands fold up and rest on my hips, neither the look on my face.

‘I don’t, but the kids will need some food on their plates soon.’ The poison had begun to flow out. Then Shiva appeared magically in the form of HD’s smile and lapped up all that poison. 

‘But lunch’s almost ready’ he said flooring me as I stood there looking like a fool. ‘I’m working from home just for you,’ he says stressing on the ‘you’ part making me feel even more guilty, ‘let me just send a few mails and I’ll lay the table’.

Just as I was about to retreat back to the kitchen to check on where the lunch has been hiding, pat comes out a little request, ‘since you are here, just soak the rice, will you, I’ll come and keep the cooker.’

Before the ‘samudra manthan’ starts happening again, I decide to just soak the rice and wait for him to show up. I made a mental note to sue those guys who show us those impeccable hubbies on TV who not just cook a six course meal before the wife is home, and keep the kitchen sparkling clean, but also smile when the wife chides him for using the wrong cleaning agent!

The ticking clock threatens to churn my tummy once again, so in goes the rice into the cooker and on goes the whistle. On the count of three whistles, when I just turned off the gas stove, HD appeared as if by magic, ‘you needn’t have done all this, I said I’ll take care.’ He said escorting me back to bed. ‘I’ll get your lunch in the room.’

As I sit scratching my head wondering if there’s anything for lunch at all, he brought me a plate of curd rice. ‘This is lunch?’ I asked, my eyes popping out in disbelief.  I know the kids hate curd rice and I was already feeling sorry for them.

‘No, this is for you; curd is good for your tummy.’

‘And…?’ I asked, dying to know what the boys are having for lunch.

‘The sambhar that came with morning’s idly and the bhaji that came with the dosa’ a guilty pause, (these guys had dosa? And all I got was that measly idly?) ‘We’ll have that with rice.’ ‘Actually I have chopped up some salad too.’

Good lord!

I finished the curd rice in stunned silence, leaving the boys alone to finish their lunch.

‘In case you are wondering what’s for dinner…’ he asked as he came back to collect my plate.

‘I know you’ll manage’ I said not letting him finish, as I sank into the bed pulling the sheets up, covering my face. 

I don’t even want to know!

Mother's day wishes from my little ones....

For once words fail me, so I'll let the pictures do the talking!!

A miracle...

We had been planning a visit to Tirumala and Tirupati Devastanams (TTD) for my son’s “mundan” ceremony. Hubby dearest decide to drive to Tirumala instead of taking the bus or train. It had been raining all the way, but the ride had been lovely. Once we hit Chittor, the roads were fabulous and we had enjoyed the ride amidst loud family chatter. It was almost 8pm when we reached the foothills and we debated whether we should drive up or stay in Tirupati for the night. Hubby dearest insisted on driving up right then, so that we could get in line for darshan early in the morning. Since our parents seem to concur, we began our ascent in the heavy downpour.

He drove slowly, maneuvering every bend and curve expertly. It was quite dark and surprisingly the road seemed to be clear of the umpteen number of TTD service buses that keep plying every few minutes. We just had our vehicle headlights for assistance. We must have climbed about half way up, when we heard loud honking behind us. We could see a couple of TTD buses behind us and assumed they wanted us to give way. Hubby slowed, moving to one side, and letting the buses pass. The honking continued and we wondered what they were trying to signal. Hubby braked to a stop and got down to see if anything was wrong with the car. To our surprise, instead of coming behind us, the buses went up another curve, leaving us behind.

We realized we were on the wrong path. We had to go up the curve and we had driven straight ahead. Maybe that is why they were honking, we reasoned. Imagine our horror when we realized that the path we were on, ended abruptly 50 mts ahead of our car and there were some branches kept to block the road. And horror of horrors the “path” would have led to a free fall  several thousand feet down the hill!! That was what the buses had been trying to signal!

The look on hubby’s face said it all! His hands wouldn't move as he tried to switch on the ignition! He sat for some time in the driving seat, eyes closed, and not speaking a word. We understood what he might be going through. For all we knew, the whole family could have crashed down the hill in minutes had the buses not suddenly showed up. Surprisingly, the buses had halted as if waiting for us to show up, and when we did, they began their ascent again, showing us the path up the hill.

Words cannot describe how grateful we felt towards those bus drivers and to the Lord himself.

Was that a miracle? Maybe. 

Was that the lord’s way of telling us, no matter what, I will always be there to protect you? Definitely! 

A bowl of Grapes.....!!

Hubby dearest has been on a pretty long tour, and not having spoken to him all of today has gotten on my nerves. My calls haven’t been returned and messages responded to in one word- “meeting”. 

What meeting? I fume. Meetings that go on for the entire day? Surely there must be a lunch break? So I call him at lunch hour. 

“Working lunch. Anything urgent?” he messages back.

 The day ends, the moon rises, and so does my temper. I am ready to blow my top like the proverbial pressure cooker. It’s past dinner and still no call.

I wash some grapes and put them in two bowls for my little ones after dinner and try to catch something on TV. Shortly, an ensuing sibling battle calls for my attention.

“No, only ten…” shrieks my younger one.

“Not ten… see there are more…”counters the elder one.

“Who got more grapes” seems to be the favourite fighting topic amongst siblings even today, I sigh as I get up. My sister and I have never fought more for any other thing than this all important, “who got more grapes”. Time for resolution…before the war erupts! I am pretty sure I gave them an equal number of grapes though.

“Hey, what’s up champs?” I try to calm them. “You can have more grapes if you want.”

“Mom, look at chiku, he has so many grapes in his bowl and he says he has just 10”, scoffs the elder one.

“No mom, I have only 10,” the younger one says defiantly, trying to show that to me on his little fingers, some folded, some open, not sure how many fingers make ten, and still trying to count.  And then he begins counting the grapes, “one..two..thee, foe, faiyou, thit, theven, eight, niyen, ten…” he looks at me triumphantly. “See only ten.”

“And who will count the others?” asks my elder one, hands on his hips and one eyebrow raised. He looks so cute when he does that!

So the little one starts again, “One..two…” and I burst out laughing.

“Eleven, twelve..” says my elder one helpfully.

“Thee…foe...” continues the younger one, his voice one decibel higher, annoyed that his brother should interrupt, and simultaneously nodding his head from side to side.

The elder one looks at me, and I suddenly realize I am supposed to say something.

“Who’s right?” he demands to know.

“Both of you are.” I tell him.

“How?” he wants to know.

“Chiku can count only up to ten, so you can’t blame him. Look at it from his point of view,” I say laughing and then that laughter turns into a sheepish grin as something else dawns on me.

Just then the phone rings, and I jump to grab it. It is hubby dearest, and a smile threatens to break on my lips. I allow it to.

“I’m sorry yaar…” he begins, the tiredness in his voice evident.

“Looks like you had a difficult day.”

“Don’t even ask…” he says.

I smile again.  

Memories

Abhay pulled up his trousers for the umpteenth time like every day. He almost did it subconsciously like it was akin to breathing.  But he never wore a belt. Wearing a belt brought back painful memories.

Memories.

Those of his father. Of the putrid smell of alcohol mixed with smoke. Of his towering, overpowering presence in their shanty. Of being thrashed mercilessly. Of the blue and red strips on his back and hands and legs and face. Across his ears. Yeah, that incident had left him partially deaf. And partially blind. He remembered withering away slowly. The years of wetting his bed after evenings of whippings.  The feeling of sleeping on a bed of thorns. The ache penetrating every nerve ending in his body.

Memories.

Beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead as he thought about them. He felt a pool of water forming at his feet. His trouser soaking in the warm wetness. His slippers starting to smell.

Memories.

The silver cold metal against his warm hands. Before he could realize, his fingers slid effortlessly into the groove underneath. They landed a string of six messengers of death into his father’s head. The smell of burnt flesh pervaded his senses as he bent down to feel his father’s pulse. There was no sign of life. He removed the ragged belt snaking around the rotund belly of his tormentor and fastened it around his neck like a noose. 

Just to be sure. 

Just symbolically.

He smiled. And pulled up the trouser weighed down by the wetness. The smell didn’t bother him any more.

The brown belt. It was no more.

They were now just memories.

The joy of giving.

(image courtesy: google)

On a hot April afternoon Mom and I had been traveling by the ubiquitous cycle rickshaw that you get to see famously on Nagpur roads. The heat was unbearable and she had asked him to stop at a fruit juice centre for a quick thirst quencher. I gave her a raised eyebrow when she ordered for 3 glasses of fresh cold juice.

“Mom, are you sure you can finish two glasses?” I asked looking at the rather tall and full glass of the cold syrupy liquid before me. “I want only one.”

Phat…

She slapped my head with her purse and said, “Go, give this to the rickshaw puller”. 

‘How embarrassing,’ I thought, more than the thought of her downing two glasses at one go.

“What? To the rickshaw puller? Mom…seriously?”

“Arre, isn’t he human? He might also be thirsty.”

 I thought she was eccentric, but there was something warm about the wide pan stained smile of the rickshaw –wallah as he sipped the cold juice, holding the glass with both hands, as if it were something precious!

Over a period of time I was witness to more such eccentricities by mom and dad… They never thought twice before asking their car driver to have meals with them irrespective of whether they were dining at a modest hotel or a luxurious one, if they were hungry, so would he be, there were always strangers in the house, being fed, or helped with medical treatment, if they could help, why shouldn’t they, they were always first on the list of friends, or relatives in times of distress…if they trust and need us so much, shouldn’t we be there…..the list was endless.

It however didn’t go down well with me and my sister to see them going out of their way to do their bit. We were forever questioning…’what are you going to get in return?’ will these people be around when you need them?’ and the answer would always be the same- don’t  expect a return of favour. Just look at the smile and joy you bring to someone.

To us it sounded plain foolish.

We were unable to get to the railway station one day due to a bandh. The entire vacation had been planned and if we missed the train, all our plans would go kaput! Dad called up the driver to ask if any arrangement could be made. The driver arrived within no time in his owner’s personal car and dropped us to the railway station.

“Arre saab, anything for you and madam.”

There would always be someone who would miraculously help them in times of need, even though they never asked for help. Maybe what they did made sense after all. But I had no plans of being as eccentric. I would certainly help if I could, but definitely not out the way. 

Many years later, as I raised my own family, and made new friends, the lesson came back to me.

Just on an impulse I went out of my way to help a friend. I thought it was an inconsequential favour . But she happened to win a contest because of it and she was very excited. She called me and kept thanking me profusely, all the while sounding like she could burst with excitement. I could sense the happiness in her voice, she sounded over the moon!  ‘just because of you….you are an angel..’ the words kept echoing in my mind, long after they had been spoken.  

The happiness in her voice brought me a greater indescribable joy. It made me incredibly happy too. I didn’t know giving could be so joyous!

It also won me a selfless friend for life. One, whom I could depend on for anything.

Now I know why mom and dad are so hooked to it!  

As mom and I cleaned the cupboards before Navratri, a big neatly tied bundle fell at my feet. Sifting through them, I found numerous cards and letters.

 ‘Thank you for sitting by me during my angioplasty and talking positive to me. It gave me a lot of courage. God bless you.’ From an old family friend whose children lived abroad.

Mom and dad had sat with her at the hospital as she underwent her procedure and had calmed her nerves before she was wheeled in.

‘Thank you for the meals that you gave me and my family, or else we would have had to go hungry that day. God bless you.’ From a couple who had gone on a pilgrimage and had to stop at Nagpur for a switch of trains.

 They had arrived after lunch hours at our temple and could not eat the onion- garlic food at hotels. Dad had brought them home, mom had fed them and even packed food for their journey !

There were lots more like these. A heartwarming story behind each one of them, an equal measure of joy and gratitude in every one of them. Mom smiled and put it all away in safekeeping. 

“That is why they call it the joy of giving.”

Hundreds of thank you cards and letters, and hundreds of smiles.

Hundreds of grateful hearts, who had received love.

Hundreds of friends for life.

And hundreds of blessings.

That is legacy that I will inherit from mom and dad.

 I wonder if I will ably pass on that legacy to my children. I wonder if they will be equally proud of me.

When life must go on.....

“Hello…”

“Sarika, it’s me, Deepa.” It was her neighbor and best friend from 312.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Good,  I just called to invite your daughter to Ananya’s birthday party today at 6 in the evening.”

“Sure , I’ll send her. If you need any help with the decorations or cooking, just let me know, ok?”, she offered.

“Thanks, but I plan to keep it low key this year. Celebrating, just so that I keep my daughter happy and at the same time, don’t let the tongues wag. I took her to the temple before dropping her off to school, just like her dad always did on her birthday.”

“I understand.”

                                                

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Sarika was amazed at this woman’s courage and perseverance to go on in the face of her tragedy. She remembered the day, about a couple of months back, when she had just woken up and had been jolted from her sleep. She had unlocked her door to get the milk and newspaper when she heard loud wailings and a lot of hustle in the corridor. She saw her neighbor next door look grim.

“Deepa’s husband passed away after a massive stroke today morning” she had said.

As Sarika went to pay her respects, she saw Deepa sitting stone faced, not a tear in her eye, not a trace of emotion on her face. And as she held Deepa’s hand in hers thinking of what she should say, tears welled up in her own eyes. Deepa’s body shuddered uncontrollably as she tried to hide the volcano erupting inside her. Yet, no emotion.

“It’s ok to cry, love. There’s no need to hold yourself back.”

Deepa had looked blankly at her 10 yr old son and 5 year old daughter who sat nearby, oblivious to the happenings around. She shook her head and bit her lips hard, trying to suppress her emotions.

Within earshot, Meghana Kumar, from 110, was speaking to Rashmi Kulkarni from 107. “Isn’t she aggrieved by the loss of her husband? See how she sits stone faced!”

 “Kaliyug, Meghana, Kaliyug” Rashmi had retorted and both woman had animated looks on their faces.

 Sarika rose determined to give them an earful but she felt Deepa’s hand on hers and sat down.

“It would have been our 13 anniversary next week”, Deepa said, still no visible emotion on her face.

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A couple of weeks later, Sarika visited her friend. She saw Deepa’s swollen red eyes as she opened the door.

” The kids are in school”, she said.” I have the luxury of crying for some time.”

It sounded more like a paradox of emotions to her. She held Deepa tenderly till she was drained. Deepa recounted her happier days with her husband and the sudden attack in the morning and her children looking upto her for support. She explained why she had held back her tears.

“Just for the children, Sarika, had I broken down, the kids would have no one to turn to for support. It was very essential that I look calm to them. I make sure they never see me crying.”

Sarika had kept Deepa company, after that, lending her a shoulder to cry on whenever she wanted to unburden her grief.

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Later that week, Deepa knocked at her door.

“I have an appointment with the psychiatrist; will you look after Anu for an hour?”

“Sure, is everything ok?”

“No, Amol has turned very violent, anyone mentions his father and he flies into a rage. He needs to be counseled. Do you know the first thing that he asked me after we had bid goodbye to his father? He asked, mom, will I still be able to go to school? Who will pay my school fees?”

“He is just 10 and he is already plagued by this fear” said Sarika empathetically.

“It took me a while to convince him that we are ok for the moment. I had to show him his dad’s bank account statement to make him believe that his dad had provided for us sufficiently.”

Sarika marveled at this young girl, widowed at 34, with two little children to provide for. She had the reasoning to take her son for counseling rather than ignoring his fears.

A few sessions later Amol looked fine and had learnt to cope with the loss of his father.

                                                    *******************

Sarika met Deepa in the parking one morning. Deepa was readying to go somewhere.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Good. Saru, wish me luck. I am going to meet a client. I have a degree and a short job experience in dress designing. I worked for some time before I got married. I never imagined myself working after marriage! I have prepared my presentation and I hope I get the offer.”

“Good luck my dear. Don’t worry about the children, I’ll be there.”

“You are an angel, Saru. Thanks.”

As Sarika walked to the lift, her heart full of respect for this woman who kept fighting inspite of the odds, she heard Manjula from 302 talking to her relative in a not-so-hushed tone.

“She is the one”, she said pointing to Deepa as she rode away on her scooty. “See she still has the bindi on her forehead. Wonder where she’s off to wearing a nice saree and bangles.”

“Oh, this new generation has no values, I tell you”, the other woman remarked nodding her head as if in disgust. “In our village, a widow would have to shave her head and wear white. Wearing a bindi or bangles would be unthinkable!”

‘And live her life in utter misery at the hands of her disgusting relatives. With no future for her children or herself!’ thought Sarika boiling inside at the apathy of these so called moral crusaders of the world.

                                                                ****************

As Sarika readied her daughter for the party, the intercom rang. “Mrs. Malhotra, its me, Devaki.”

“Yes Devaki..”

“Has Deepa lost it? It is not even two months since she lost her husband, why is she celebrating? She seems to have no regard for her husband whatsoever.”

Sarika thought she had had enough. She sent her daughter off to the party and called up all the ladies in her apartment to the office room for an urgent meeting. Everyone was surprised at being called urgently, but all turned up nevertheless.

“Ladies”, she addressed the crowd,” let me come straight to the point. There is a lot of talk about our friend Deepa and the way she is carrying on with her life. Why the stone face, why no display of emotion, why the bindi, why the celebrations….there are a lot of questions being asked.

But you must understand one basic thing. Grief is as individual as you are. Some will heal fast , some will be stuck for some time. But you must respect the person who is undergoing this difficult phase in life. There is a time when she needs to cry and there will be a time when she is compelled to have a new life.

Should we make life difficult for her by our mindless taunts and comments? Does she have to wear a mask of widowhood on her face to show she is grieving? Trust me, she is in much more grief than you could possibly imagine, but she has the guts to carry on in spite of the odds. She wants to give her children a normal childhood and do everything her husband would have done to ensure her kids are growing up fine.

Being alone in an empty house is not easy. There is no one to greet you, and the chair opposite yours at the dinner table is empty. The house seems to echo from the silence and you shed a tear as you remember that you are now alone. So many years together, so many memories you two created together are all you have left.

Losing a loved one changes your entire life, especially when the loved one was also your husband and best friend. You feel completely lost and totally uncomfortable making even minor decisions. The bed feels big and you hug the pillows for comfort.

But something inside you tells you that you can survive!

Let her survive.“ Sarika finished her speech and sat down looking at the crowd in disgust. She waited for questions to be raised and the moral crusaders to go up in arms against her.

To her surprise she could see most eyes filled with tears. Almost all of them left without saying a word. She knew from the look in their eyes that tomorrow morning would be different…..and her friend would finally be allowed to live in peace.

                                                                  **********

Girl-friend..?

“Mom, which is the tallest mountain in the world?” asked my elder one with a Let-me-test-your-IQ look on his face.

Pat came my reply,“ ‘Mount Everest’, whoever wouldn’t  know it?”

“Wrong mom, it’s Mauna Key, in the pacific ocean.” He corrected me, launching into a detailed explanation why it was the tallest.

While I admired how he had become a walking encyclopedia in our house, I was a little worried about his social skills. Was he making friends? I decided to ask him.

“Beta, who is your best friend in school?”

He seemed to ponder for a while before asking me back, “Girl or boy?”

Oh, so he had friends among girls too. Good for him, he is not as shy as I thought he was!

“Both” I wanted to know.

“Aadya and Samanyu.”

He had spoken to me about the boy, how they had been always fighting at first and then they became best buddies. But the girl..? Why didn’t he tell me? I must ask…

“Hmm…nice name, Aadya. New girl in class?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you before, she’s my girlfriend.” He said as a matter of fact.

Did he just say girlfriend? For god’s sake he was not even 9, and here he was talking of girlfriends!

“Of course, girl-friends and boy-friends..”

“No, not girlfriend as in girl-friend, but girlfriend.” He said without batting an eyelid.

I was suddenly very uncomfortable. A 9 year old explaining to me the difference between girl-friend and girlfriend, ha! But I carried it on like a normal chat.

“Great, and how did you two become friends, I am sure there’s an interesting story like the one with Samanyu.” I said trying to sound pleasant.

“ Yea, mom, I was playing with my friends, running around when I crashed into Aadya. She was so angry that she wanted to complain to the teacher. I gave her a friendship band and said sorry, and she did not complain. Isn’t that sweet? Then she got a friendship band the next day and gave to another friend asking him to give it to me. And then we became the best of friends! To me, she’s extra special.”

“Sweet..”

Hubby dearest was looking at me quite amused at our conversation. He signaled at me to stop. When the elder one went out to play, I went back to my hubby.

“Oh my god, look at this generation. Can you imagine a girlfriend at 9 years?”

“For god’s sake, he is only a child. Stop going into overdrive”

“Overdrive? He knows the difference between girl-friend and girlfriend.”

“Don’t be silly, he is growing up and seeing so much around him. It is natural for him to feel and talk that way. I’d be worried if he didn’t!” he winked.

“You bet, he is going to bring a girl home one day and say, mom, she is your bahu.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh you and that screwed up brain of yours. Be thankful that he trusts you enough to tell you every single happening in his life. Now, don’t you scare him with your silly thoughts and advices that he stops being open with you.”

Now, that was a thought. I was indeed being silly.

“I guess you are right. By the way, who was your first girlfriend?”

Hubby dearest had a far away look in his eyes and a smile beginning to spread on his lips.

“I was in class 4, and she taught us Maths….Sarika Ma’m, yes that was her name….”

“Really?”  My ears were all perked up. “….And…” I asked rolling my eyes.

“And what? that’s it!” he baulked looking at me , standing with my hand on my hips. “Oh no,not again…”he said shaking his head,  eyes closed as if in thought.

(image courtesy :google)

Lease of life...?

“Hello there, blue kurta!”

Shivering with fear, Rashmi wondered who was calling out to her. She took a deep breath and turned around. ‘Here comes the moment I have been dreading ever since I joined college’, she thought.

“First year?” he asked.

‘Don’t show him you are scared. Be brave Rashmi,’ she told herself, ‘anyway ragging is banned on the campus, if he acts too smart, just complain to the principal.’ Mustering courage she let out a meek “Yes, first year.”

“Great! I am in first year too! The name’s Agrawal, Rohit Agrawal,” he smiled, making a James Bond like pose. “And yours?”

“Patala Bhairavi!” she made a face and walked away.

“Hello Bhairavi, which branch? I am in electronics.”

She walked away without answering.

He was pleasantly surprised to see her in his class, and sat down beside her. She looked away. She wanted to stay away from any of these Romeo type of guys.

“Bhairavi, which school did you pass out from?”

“Why don’t you find someone else for your banter? I am not interested.”

“Whoa, that’s rude, I didn’t ask to date you, I was just trying to make friends” he said taken aback.

“Well, find someone else, in that case.”

He got up and walked away. Throughout the day she found him staring at her and looking away when she stared back. She made a couple of girl friends and was walking towards the canteen with them after college, when he approached her again.

“Bhairavi, could I have a minute.”

‘Oh no, not again’, she muttered under her breath.

“I wanted to tell you that you look like a replica of my mom, you have her green eyes, her brown silky hair, her fair skin, and I can’t help wondering how alike you both look.”

“And I wanted to tell you Mr. James Bond, that this is the cheekiest line I’ve ever heard. Why can’t you keep out of my bounds?”

‘What is with this girl? She thinks she is some Cleopatra or what?’

He watched as she stormed out of the canteen and walked into a swanky car waiting for her at the college gate.

‘Spoilt brat’, he said aloud, sure that she couldn’t hear him.

He still couldn’t stop wondering how she looked so much like his mom. He took a bus home and rushed to tell his mom about her.

“So mom, tell me what do you think.”

“I have heard there can be seven look-alikes for each person, so why not? For all you know, she might be one of them.”

 “I hope we didn’t lose any child when she was young…or..” he trailed off. He wanted to ask her if she ever had a daughter that she had given up at birth, but kept mum.

As if she had read his mind, she reacted, “Neither that nor did we ever give up any child for adoption. Now run off and let me work in peace.”

But he couldn’t take his mind off that girl.

                                            
                                                                        ******

Rashmi couldn’t stop thinking about the strange boy either. She herself had been thinking that he looked a lot like her dad. The curly black hair, the moustache, the deep black eyes, yes he did resemble her dad. She had always thought herself to be a misfit in her house. She didn’t look like her parents and didn’t like the rich lifestyle, the non-vegetarian food or the over-the-top way of showing emotions. They were social butterflies and had a lot of friends.

On the other hand she had been shy, conservative and liked to be with herself. She had preferred vegetarian food and had kept a low profile. Nevertheless she loved her parents and they loved her more than anything else in the world.

                                                            *******

It was midnight and everyone was asleep. Rohit’s mom sneaked off to the store room and climbed the dusty attic with the help of a wobbly wooden ladder. She used her torch to find an old rusty trunk case secured with a lock. She opened it with a key that she had kept hidden all these years. She searched till she found what she had been looking for.  

A faded picture of a bonny baby girl, with beautiful green eyes just like her. She wiped the dust off the picture and kissed it softly.

Her baby.

The baby she had secretly swapped with an innocent baby boy on the next bed. His mother had just delivered and was still unconscious. None of her relatives were around. Her husband had thrust a wad of 100 rupee notes into the hands of a nurse and swapped the babies. If he had not done that, her baby would not have been alive today. She had already had two daughters and a third girl in the family would not have been welcome. Her in-laws had already made that clear to her. She had been lucky enough to get a baby boy without raising any suspicions. No one knew of the swap except the both of them and they intended to keep it that way. Forever.  She had given her daughter a new lease of life or had she? Life had a strange way of coming a full circle.

                                                              ******

(Image: courtesy google)

Letting go!

It is that time of my life when I am learning yet another lesson in letting go. I wonder how my little one has grown up so soon! It feels just like yesterday when he had taken his first baby steps. He had faltered and fallen and stood up with determination again. I had beamed with pride and fussed over him at his effort! He had treated me to umpteen such moments, and had given me ample opportunity to marvel at his little efforts; smiling, rolling over, crawling, walking, teething, blabbering, incoherent baby talk and many more. All the while he had been hinting how he was quietly growing up, but none of these prepared me for his next major step. Going To School!

From the day we completed his admission formalities (which was 6 months in ago, yes, 6 months! Haven’t admission procedures become ridiculous? ) I have been fretting and complaining that his age is not quite right, he is too young to go to school and maybe we should have waited one year more. But the school authorities and hubby dearest had managed to convince me how the kid’s age was ideal and how he would be too old for Pre-KG next year.

Since then I have been religiously coaching my son about every aspect of school, the fun he will have there, the friends he will make, the things he will learn, the new things we will buy for him and so on and so forth! My little one has never left me for a minute and I was very worried whether he would leave me and go to school. Hubby dearest has looked on with amusement at my non- stop chatter about his schooling and has more than once remarked that he wondered if I was preparing the child or myself for the separation! Maybe he was partly or even wholly right! I was perhaps preparing myself for the separation. Because as much as it was true that he had never left me for a minute, it was true the other way round too.

As we went through every step of the preparation, buying of new uniforms, shoes, bag, books, etc, my heart grew restless with worrying continually over him. And as for the man of the hour, my little hero, he would nod his head and say “No!” when anyone asked him if he would go to school. Fears multiplied manifold, I could not sleep the whole week before school opened for pre-KG!

My dad recounted how defiant I had been going to school initially, actually for 5 whole months and had kicked the life out of the ayah with my shiny black shoes, when my dad passed me on to her at the school gates! Brace yourself, he warned me.

The D-day finally arrived and I thought my little one looked rather cute in his new school uniform and shoes. He was all smiles posing for the camera and we tried to capture his first steps in school. But the minute we handed him over to his teacher he was screaming his lungs out trying to break free. My heart went out to the little child, who was stretching his little arms out and calling out to me. I could have cried myself, had hubby dearest not taken me away from the place. We were told to collect him back in an hour’s time and to me that hour seemed like eternity!

I had been continually worrying how he would be faring and hubby dearest got sick of my incessant chatter.

‘For God’s sake, calm down, your child is not the first one to go to school and we have not left him in the jungle with a bunch of lions, so stop worrying, he will be fine’, he said, his voice soaked in sarcasm.

But a mother’s heart does not understand that, does it? And it continues to worry, about the well-being of her child, knowing at all times, that she cannot hold her child with herself forever. Neither in her womb nor at home. He will eventually break free from her. And she will have to let go.


Image: courtesy google

Absent-minded

I am surrounded by people who seem to have elephantine memories!!  All, except me!

My mom seems to remember every thing in painstaking detail much to my discomfort sometimes. So it is impossible to dodge her questions with excuses because she will remember every minute detail that I might have told her. But she is the one who reminds me whether I have my purse, watch, etc with me, when I venture out. She is the one I call before I come back from shopping, to check if I have missed anything. In short I can count on her to be my second (rather First) brain behind my memory for anything and everything. 

Dad seems to have a huge memory too! He can recount incidents from his childhood from when he was as young as 7 or 8 years old! He has always managed to keep us regaled with funny instances and stories. I fail to understand why I cannot recount anything from my childhood! Memories are so blurry that they hardly seem existent. Actually, I cannot recount anything from yesterday, so childhood definitely is light years away. I have to depend on him to tell me what I did! And whatever I know now is only due to the constant repetitions of the tales he has told me.

The other day, my ex-colleague reminded me what a prankster I had been during my stint with the organization. I was at a loss to remember even a single event. ‘You don’t remember anything?’, he asked me.  It was only after he recounted what all I had done, did I remember those lovely days! It is not that I completely forget everything. But someone has to keep jogging my memory all the time!! He also narrated how I had sms’ed  a poem to tell him I’ll be late for the meeting, which went something like this-

“I am stuck in the rain,

In a busy crowded lane..”

blah blah blah…

I did manage to recollect the day and had a hearty laugh. But I also pitied myself for forgetting such beautiful moments.

Thankfully I have had wonderful friends who have kept in touch with me and each of them have their share of amazing memories that they are kind enough to keep sharing with me.

I have often trembled at the idea of having to attend an interview because I am pretty sure I would just blank out as if I have not even attended kinder garden. I am sure I would not be able to answer even the most basic question! Luckily, my first interview was in the midst of my final examination of graduation. And bingo! I made myself and the panel proud but not only performing very well but also landing the job! I stayed long enough in that organization to avoid any interview again for many years. Luckily enough, when I attended my next interview, the panel was too happy to see the bright and chirpy side of me (or so I presumed) and did not ask anything that would embarrass me. Of course, I landed the job this time too!

I realized this when my neighbour’s husband had got transferred and they were moving to Ranchi. She asked me if I knew where Ranchi was. And I stumbled and errr’ed and hmm’d and haw’ed, till she told me, it was the capital of Jharkhand. Of course! I knew it. I had just taught that to my son a couple of days before, for his GK exam! How could I forget that! She told a red faced me, that I need to brush up my geography. How do I explain to her that I need to brush up my memory and not geography!

My mom tells me that I am not forgetful, just absent-minded, whatever that means! She tells me I am multitasking, too much, probably, and that leaves me flustered all the time. I am plain happy there is an explanation to my disorder, if I can call it so. She tells me to keep little stic-it notes handy for all the reminders that I may need. So my house is full of them! You will find little yellow stic-it notes on the larder, kitchen cabinets, doors, mirrors, computer, refrigerator and all possible places! I religiously jot down everything I need to remember.

My forgetfulness also means a lot of forgotten birthdays, anniversaries, appointments, pending works, blah, blah, and blah! And a lot of angry people!

So my mobile is in use not so much for making a call or sending an SMS but for putting in reminders for things to do, birthdays and anniversaries to remember..(psst… I even keep reminders for my favorite shows to watch on television…)

My dad being the optimist he is, tells me it is good for my married life to have a memory like this. True to his words, I cannot remember the fights we have, beyond the night after. Even if I do, the topic of the fight is always lost on me and I can see no reason why I should keep sulking. My hubby is a happy man because he has a crib-free, nag-free wife!

I have often walked to the refrigerator, and stood there with the door open, wondering why I opened it in the first place! I can forget things just like that, in a matter of seconds! Then I have to walk back to from where I have just come, so that I can try to remember it.

Such incidents keep happening, every moment of my life. I put the milk on the gas stove and conveniently forget about it, only to be alerted by the smoke emanating from the kitchen. Oh, yes, I have reprimanded myself for being careless, but somehow have managed to burn the milk every single time!! I have a lot of burnt vessels that were the victim of my forgetfulness!

I can never remember where I have kept my keys, my watch, my purse, etc…though I am pretty sure I kept them in the same place as yesterday( wherever that was!!)

When I have a story developing in my mind, I have to put it to paper immediately or else the idea would be completely lost! Even if I have to write it in the middle of the night, I do it, because it would be completely erased out of my memory by next morning!

I often think whether I would survive alone in this world. That is without my little helpers, my parents, my hubby, my kids, friends, my nose, the little yellow stic-it notes, and my mobile who have chosen to ignore my ant-like memory and help me when I need them.(by the way, that means each moment) . But on the brighter side, like dad says, I find it very easy to forgive anyone because I cannot remember why I am nursing a grudge against them. I might have had a fight one day, and if the same person happens to talk to me next day, as if nothing has happened, well…good for him, I will never hold it up against him (as if I can….)

*Sniff* can I smell something burning? I better rush, before I cause a fire!