The end of an era...

Today marks the end of an era…if I may call it so. 

Our ‘family doctor’, Dr. Upadhyaya, passed on to the other world leaving a void that will remain unfulfilled for eternity.

In this day and age, the concept and idea of a family doctor might sound ridiculous and even sneer-worthy, not so in those days. Today, we have specialists and super specialist. Someday we might have super ‘super’ specialists who would specialise in your left nostril alone or the cornea of your right eye! But no sire, not in those days! The family doctor would be a specialist for every part of your anatomy, every age, and gender. And we did pretty well together, without ever having the need to visit a specialist!

Every family would have a family doctor – a doctor, friend, philosopher, basically, a know-it-all person whom they’d trudge to in sickness and in health. Yes, in health too! Someone who would know you and your entire family inside out. To whom we would happily pay a visit should we be sick. A person who would be by your bedside regardless of the time of the day or night. A person who would attend your family functions like a family member.

Dr.Upadhyaya was our family doctor. He has treated me since I was a three-month-old baby. We never called him doctor, he was always doctor uncle to us. He would always know what ailed us. He would know if our problems were due to stress, hereditary, real or imagined. He would offer us much more than medicines. Sometimes, it would be a friendly advice, sometimes a joke shared over a cup of tea, and sometimes a sterner warning to follow what he prescribed. The one thing that he had was – time! Time for us…time that he would spend with his patients. Time spent talking to them.  Time, that was rewarding in more ways than one.

I remember the night my mother suffered an acute attack of abdominal pain. It was 11pm when my dad frantically rang up doctor uncle after debating whether he should disturb doctor at that time of the night. Doctor uncle had just reached home after wrapping up a busy evening. But unmindful of the distance and time, he drove straight to our home and attended to my mother. What simple times we lived in!

When my granny passed away, he chose to counsel my mom instead of administering her antacids for her acidity. She was cured without a single dose of medicine! He knew that her misery was due to stress.

He knew our birthdays and we knew his! He never forgot to wish me even after I had shifted to Bangalore. And I never forgot to wish him or pay him a visit whenever I’d go home. His association with my parents has been over 4 decades long! He was not just a family doctor to us but to all our family friends too! Can such associations be even imagined today?

With his demise,  the era of family doctors has come to an end. As much as I tried, I haven’t found anyone like him.

You will be sorely missed. Rest in peace doctor uncle. Om Shanti.

Here's to Goodbye's and to New Beginnings!

The last two months have been enormously exhilarating and at the same time exhausting. They have brought in a lot of emotions and excitement. I could not imagine experiencing two contrasting feelings at the same time. But the mixed bag of sentiments just washed over me like a wave, drowning me in its entirety.

Goodbyes are tough. It was tougher for me. 

I left Nagpur more than 15 years ago. A new job, a marriage and all that comes with it, took me away from the only place I have ever called home. But with my parents staying at Nagpur, I could go back anytime I wanted. It was my parental home, a home I had grown up in, a home that was full of memories...Going back had always filled me with happiness. There was a palpable excitement every time I saw that familiar yellow board at the railway station that said "Nagpur Jn". It always read 'Welcome Back' to me. And then trying to locate Dad in the ocean of humanity, and feeling the rush of warmth as soon he was spotted, had the ability to turn me to a child! The thrill of jumping into his arms, oblivious to the people around, receiving that warm hug from Mom and then riding back home looking at all the familiar landmarks, marveling at how much had changed in between, was incomparable! The home itself was a storehouse of memories! Every room, every wall, and even every piece of furniture had some memory attached to it. 

With my parents getting older, I wanted them to be closer to me, so after a lot of cajoling (read that as 10 years of convincing) they finally agreed to move to Bangalore. If it was tough for me, it was tougher for them, leaving behind a home, and leaving behind people with whom you have lived for 50 years is never easy. As we relived our moments, went through flashbacks, met old friends, had farewell lunches and dinners, we were on an emotional roller coaster. But nothing compares to my thoughts that night after all the baggage had been packed and dispatched and we slept in an empty house for one last night. The thought of bidding goodbye to that home forever, where I have spent the best part of my childhood was devastating. The thought of never being able to come back to that home again was depressing. It was like leaving behind a part of you, a slice of yourself and relegating it to history. 

What is it about goodbyes that make them so tough? Maybe it is the thought of separation and the uncertainty of reunion that makes it a misty eyed affair. Maybe it hurts, because we all hate to let go. Maybe that's what makes them so incredibly hard.

Someone gave us a card that said, "Don't be sad that you have to say Goodbye. Be happy because you will have happy memories that you will cherish forever." So true. Because that is all we left Nagpur with. A truckload of lovely memories. 

Goodbye Nagpur....and thanks for the abundant memories...the loads of love...the warmth of our home...the affection of the people...and everything in between!!! You will be my home always...wherever I might stay!!

As much as the goodbye was painful, the excitement of having my parents closer is undeniably amazing! I spent the better part of the last week, sauntering in and out of my parents' home here, attracting hubby's jealous jibes, much to my amusement. My kids can't have enough of their grandparents and neither can my parents have enough of the grand kids! From having to be content with enjoying mom's mouth watering delicacies just once a year, I can now just walk in and be treated to all the wonderful food she cooks anytime I wish to. Not to mention the relief of the immense moral support we will be to each other. 

So here's raising a toast to the lovely old endings and the hope-filled new beginnings!! May the new bring as much joy, as much happiness, be as filled with amazing memories, and be as satisfying as the old!! 

Cheers!

A handful of sand...

Image: Pixabay.com

She had done the right thing, hadn't she? Anyone would approve of it. Anyone would vouch for the correctness of her decision. It was the right thing to do indeed. In fact there couldn't be another option.  

She knew he wasn't strong enough to ask. She knew he wanted her to release him. She knew only she could do it. Only, she wished, she didn't have to be the one doing it. But the futility of hanging on had become too obvious to be ignored. Hanging on to something, she really didn't have. Sometimes, she felt she’d rather have something than nothing at all, but the truth was, to have something halfway was harder than not having at all. It had been confusing to determine if the signs were there for her to give up or just a test to see how long she could hold on. Sometimes she felt they were friends, sometimes, she felt they were more than that, but of late, she had begun to feel like they were complete strangers. It was kind of weird how they had gone from being strangers to friends to lovers and now they were back to being strangers again. She wished they had just remained friends. Maybe then, she wouldn't have to grapple with this.

She was frustrated because she couldn't tell if it was real. She was mad because she didn't know how he felt. She was upset because she couldn't set it right. She was sad because she needed him by her side. She was angry because he didn't seem to understand. She was disappointed because they could never be together. It had become way too complicated. She didn't know where she stood in his life. It was like hanging in dead air, knowing she could be thrown off any time. She sometimes wished she had never met him at all, but at the back of her mind she was thankful that she had.

She wished he had told her how much he still loved her. She knew that he did. She knew the real reason was guilt. How could he say it was never love? Was the whole thing fake?  She knew that every feeling had been real, and every word exchanged between them had been true. Had he taken her feelings for granted? Did he not know how much courage it had taken for her to just confess her love? 

She wished she could put her thoughts in a jar. She had been thinking too much, over analyzing things. It had been getting too difficult to handle and she had been tired of going to war with herself. She was sick of being tired. She wanted to be at peace with herself. She wanted to be happy. The right step would be to let go. The parting had been amazingly smooth, and she was surprised at her skills of concealing her emotions and make it look like it was a given. But wasn't she the quintessential drama queen? He had said so himself!

And let go she did. There was no point grasping that handful of sand. It was better to let it slip through.

Then why was she hurting all over? Did doing the right thing always hurt? Every cell and nerve of her body was numb with pain. There was a void somewhere, like a vacuum, trying to suck out her very breath. Why was there that void? If she had been right, oughtn't she be happy, oughtn't she feel free? But here she was, standing alone, tears streaming down her face, a blanket of sadness covering her from head to toe and invisible cuffs pinning her down. It bled her soul, and left a tear, but probably some day the scar would heal. He did seem to be happy, didn't he? He had even said, they could always be friends. She knew she didn't want to be friends. Not with him, not with anyone else.

Maybe someday she might learn to trust again. Trust someone who wouldn't hurt her. Trust someone who wouldn't leave her aching. Trust someone who would fill that void in her being and in her heart. Trust someone who wouldn't be scared to love her back.

Or probably not.

 That place was already taken, and she was not sure anyone else could ever fill that space.

Memories.....

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Where the mind is without fear....

An adventure trip with friends among lush green Dandeli forests and an amazing Kali river flowing by...the best combination ever! Except when your friends insist 'getting into the water.' The waters and me have been polar opposites since time immemorial - me, not knowing how to wade in them and well, they not knowing how to withstand me without making me sink.

A coracle ride eased me considerably. I sat back and enjoyed the cool waters as my friends rowed away. Easy! The waters seemed to beckon...and instinctively I hugged my life jacket that had wrapped itself around me like a shield.

Satisfied, I smiled. I was safe.

They soon rowed us to a natural Jacuzzi amidst the rocks. Water cascaded beautifully, looking inviting and scary at the same time. One tug at my life jacket, and I felt confident enough to take a step forward. The series of mini waterfalls thunderously streaming down and the bunch of people roaring with happiness had managed to raise my enthusiasm!.

But before I could step in, the boatmen, asked me to surrender my jacket. I was no Karna to let go of my kavach so easily! Now how does one explain to those wild water loving jerks that I am capable of drowning even in one square inch of water? Nevertheless, off came the life jacket seeming to carry with it all hopes of saving my own life.

Gingerly stepping under one lovely cascade and having managed to find a foot hold, (and a hand hold and a back hold) I looked every inch like a spider precariously hanging in its web trying not to be washed away by the water current.

But pleasure of pleasures, it was by far the most exciting thing I had done in a long, long time! And like a kid who has to be forcible dragged out of his favorite play store, I had to be reluctantly dragged out of the natural water jacuzzi!

The water enthusiasts had apparently not had enough. Because what came soon after was a battle to conquer the rapids and raft across it. They assured me I would enjoy White Water Rafting, just as I had enjoyed the coracle ride and the Jacuzzi.

Who was I to question their wisdom? Hadn't I actually enjoyed the ride so far? So, the jackets were strapped on again, I had bitten the bait.

An oar was thrust into my quivering hands, a barrage of instructions delivered, my feet locked under a strap that looked like it could unstrap anytime, and we were all set to raft across the frothy white waters under the thunder, lightening and rains.

'Team, row forrr..wad' barked the ace boatmen and like obedient school children we row, row, rowed our boat forwards.

One sharp slap on my head and a mock later, I realised I had been rowing in the wrong direction!

By the time I could adjust to rowing the right way, another order followed, "Team...oars in annndd duck."

That meant we were going to cascade down a rapid. My heart pounded furiously and wildly, and I hoped the thumping would not upturn the coracle.

A Whoosh and a Splash later we had descended down the rapid like a knife through butter. Water splashing inside had filled up everything, the coracle and our senses included.

The coracle spun wildly out of control, and then we heard the orders again.."team, rowww...forrr...wad".

Obedient as we were, we rowed again and luckily I did it right this time. I could guarantee, it was my excitement that soaked me this time.

The thrill of it was exhilarating and I was sad that I spent my time being fearful instead of enjoying it.

As if reading my mind, the boatman barked again, "team, row...baaackk...wads" and his command was greeted by a huge roar from all of us. We went back again and again for another six times and I was surprised how my fear seemed to have dissipated. Each time was more amazing than the previous one and by our sixth ride we were totally exhausted.

"More....?" barked the boatman.

"Yes" we chorused.

"Ok, then jump in...go ahead..."

What? jump into the river? What if I drowned? 

I had voiced it loud enough for everyone to hear. All but me had dived in and I sat stuck to my place nodding my head and gripping the coracle ever so tightly.

"Either you jump or I throw you in" said the boatman and he advanced menacingly towards me.

Like an threatened child, I quickly climbed down. As quickly as i jumped in, I bobbed up, the buoyancy of the jacket holding me in place.

And then....a sense of calm set in.


The cool water enveloped me in its arms, the weightlessness of my own self was overwhelming and I felt myself go into a meditative trance. The fear of drowning was gone. I closed my eyes and floated, even danced a little.

Isn't life exactly the same? We face problems and we begin doubting the existence of God. God and his mysterious way. He always knows how to reach out to his children, doesn't he? He gives us troubles and we become fearful. We don't see that life jacket that he firmly wraps around us in whatever form it might be. And when the life jacket is not around, then we can be sure that he knows that we'd be able to handle it very well....like in the Jacuzzi. It is when you surrender that he takes off all your load....just like how I had felt that weightless in the water.

All we need to do is to trust him. Trust that he will see us through.

Good ol' days!!

I happened to catch an old song from the movie Aashique (yep, it's the old one I'm talking about, the Annu Agrawal-Rahul Roy one..) and it opened a floodgate of memories. I remember watching this movie with the people in our apartment. We were quite a large group, must've been around 35 people, young and old. It was a long weekend and my neighbour's turn to sponsor. That was how it was, one of us sponsoring the movies every other month... So we all assembled at their house post lunch, waiting to know which movie we would be viewing today. The neighbour announced the name of the movie and we gave a collective whistle of approval.

We all settled into our "seats", the kids on the carpet on the ground and the elders occupying the chairs and sofas, waiting for the movie to begin. Oh, did I not tell you that we were watching it on VCP? The 'VCP' or the 'video cassette player' was the most 'in' thing those days and we didn't even have to own it...it was available on rent for a mere Rs.70/- for 24 hrs!! So we would select a weekend when we could 'fully utilise' the VCP for all it was worth! Meaning, we would rent out at least 3 video cassettes to watch in the 24 hour span even if meant putting all other work on the back burner! If the VCP was brought at 2pm, we would catch one movie in the 2-5pm slot and return for the next one in the night for a 8-11pm show. The last one would be post breakfast the next day, finishing just in time for the return!

In case you haven't seen one before- that's the VCP for you!

In between a potluck of snacks from all the members and cups of hot ginger tea, it would be so much fun watching movies together like that! No amount of PVR movie watching with bags of butter popcorn and cola, can give me that high ever! In between repeating songs that we wanted to view again, fast forwarding scenes that could be even slightly considered adult in nature, amidst shared knowing glances and suppressed smiles, to pausing when someone had to visit the washroom, it was the most exhilarating experience ever!!

This brings to mind something else too....watching a movie in open air with an entire colony!! During Ganesh-Utsav, the colony would rent a screen-projector and we would all be out in the open ground, hurrying to catch a coveted seat and watch the movie together...and erupt in collective applause when Rajesh Khanna would coax his elephant with a melodious "Chal chal chal mere haathi...."

My kids would never know what it would be to gather like that. This kind of community living is totally lost on them! Maybe they'd even think it was annoying! Makes me wonder if I really belong to the stone age!

UBC day 23- Stepping stones!

That's the school I went to..... Mount Carmel Girls' High School, Nagpur! I had planned on a different post today, but someone sent me this picture of the school that she recently clicked. And my heart was suddenly so alive with excitement!

The big hall that you see under the school name board (just above the two V shaped pillars) is the library. I have spent hours and hours pouring over books in this very space! Any free period and I would be off to the library. We had a compulsory library period once a week, but how could just one book suffice for the whole week? Before the next library period, I would have exchanged at least 4 books with my friends and read it all!

That big ground (only a part of it is visible here) was where our assembly would be held in the morning. A round of prayers followed by the national anthem, and reading out the headlines from the newspaper, the thought for the day and then queue up in a single line, hands at the back and walk to the class in silence. Wow! Those were the times!

Just looking at this picture took to my mind racing to the principal's room, the staff room, the teachers',  the various classrooms over the years, the garden behind the left wing, the playground beyond the visible part of the ground, the primary section just opposite to this building, the auditorium near the right wing, and so much more!

morals and values

 stages of growing up

It was a girls' school and so after the 7th standard, Sisters' (nuns, being a catholic school) were assigned to every group of 10 students. We used to have a session every 15 days, when she would discuss our growing up stages with us and where we could talk to her about our problems, our confusions, ask questions, just about anything. After the one to one session was over, Sister would place a ceramic urn in the middle of our group and give us chits of paper. We had to write our problems on it and put it in the urn. We would pray and then she would strike a match and throw it in the urn. Our problems would supposedly burn away! It was as simple as that! But it would be infinitely therapeutic. I still have the diary in which I have taken notes on puberty and growing up. (did you notice the date on the diary?!!)


This page here talks about Adolescence, age 13 -21, the challenges and how to handle them. I might now need to consult this as my own kids pass through the various stages!!





Hitting the children was strictly forbidden, but I don't remember having come across badly behaved children in our school ever. Following the rules and being disciplined was like an unwritten rule. I still have the slam book that is filled with best wishes from my teachers. Reading this today felt so good, it carried me back to those innocent days when the word of the teacher was final and binding!

 This reminds me of not just these words of hope and encouragement but also the heart to heart chat that I had with the teachers as they filled the book for me.

Teachers are like the potter, who molds wet clay into whatever shapes they desire. They shape the way we think, the way we behave, and what kind of persons we grow into. It is said, that "In teaching, you cannot see the fruit of a day's work. It is invisible and remains so, maybe for twenty years!" How true!






I look back with appreciation for those brilliant teachers who touched our hearts. The curriculum is necessary but more than that is warmth which is much more vital to the growth of the child.





My closest friend today, is the still the same one I had at school !   She is my first and best friend and we have been friends for almost 30 years now! We met when we were in class 1 and we continue to be best friends forever!!

I have a Pandora's box full of such memories and as I opened it to search for the slam book and diary, I stumbled across a host of other things too! The school badge, the souvenir book, old pictures....all memories, holding a testimonial of the times gone by, a reminder of what I was as a child, of the hopes and dreams I had......  I have spent the better part of the day rummaging through my collectibles, and reminiscing about the old times and smiling through moist eyes! Ah! What a day this has been!

UBC day 4- Of mother's and kids.

My second child was born prematurely. My water broke at 32 weeks and by the time we rushed to the hospital; I had flooded the house and the car. And later the doctor’s examining table. Within half an hour my tummy looked flat! I cannot even begin to explain how sacred I was. I remember myself praying all along that the little one was safe. The doctor told us how the baby’s lungs wouldn't be properly developed at 32 weeks but there was nothing we could do but opt for the little one to be delivered.

that's him

The baby was delivered safely, but he developed bronco pneumonia soon after. I had just been able to have one look at the baby’s face; I had not even held him close, when they shifted him to the NICU. A day later I was allowed to walk to the NICU and see my little one. There he was….with his little feet connected to some machine and a drip set running out his tiny hand, an oxygen mask on his nose. The little chap was obviously irritated and kept shuffling. Every time he moved, the drip set would slide off and the nurse would search for a new place to prick on the tiny hand. It pained to see him go through all this. They finally bound his hands and legs with tape and secured it to his bed. That way he couldn't move at all.

I didn't have to stay in the hospital for long and after 10 days, I was asked to come to the NICU every 3 hours to feed the child. We had to wait for our turn outside the NICU and the nurses would let in mothers in batches of three or four. Every time I saw him through the glass wall of the NICU bed, he would become restless and wait for me to pick him up. It was daunting to pick him up, the drip and wires made it so difficult. I didn't want to accidentally disturb something and end up hurting the baby.

Every day, there would be new admissions and discharges, and we prayed that we could take our little one home soon. One day as we waited outside the NICU for my turn, the nurse brought out a little bundle and held it while the child’s parents signed some papers for discharge. I couldn't help but observe how milky white the child’s face looked. I thought maybe it had taken after its mother who looked quite fair too. And then as the mother took the child into her arms, she began to cry. It took me a while to realize that her child wasn't moving. And then the doctors came out, patting her shoulder, while her husband held her, trying not to cry. I couldn't even begin to fathom what grief the mother might being going through, holding her dead child in her arms.

I shook uncontrollable as my husband tried to steady me. The fear for my own child’s well being had suddenly multiplied manifold. When I was finally called in, and held my little one in my arms, I whispered a prayer in to his ears and told him how much I loved him. I held him close and the nurse had to snatch him away from me after I refused to hand back my child to her. I didn't want to leave him in the hospital any more. After what seemed like eternity, he was finally well enough to be sent home with us.

that's my rockstar!

By God’s grace he is doing well now. He is 3 years old now, but even after all these years I am unable to get the picture of the baby and its mother out of my mind. At the same time, I am happy God gave me enough strength to survive those stress filled moments of my life.

The Ultimate blog Challenge- day 1.....How it all started...

Shilpa has always been an inspiration to me. I simply adore her ability to push herself and keep writing. She's taken up one challenge after the other and I have often marveled how she comes up with such creatively crafted post every single day!! And so when I read about her taking up this "Ultimate blog challenge" I found myself wondering if I should do so too! 

Self effacing doubts had all but clammed up my mind...Will I be able to write every single day? What will I blog about? But then it also seemed like loads of fun, and that's what got me started.

The Ultimate Blog Challenge is a virtual event for bloggers held every quarter – January, April, July and October.  The goal is to write and share a new blog post every day during the challenge month.

It’s hosted by Michele Scism & Michelle Shaeffer, two entrepreneurs and bloggers who several years ago discovered the amazing power of blog challenges and decided to create the UBC to get more bloggers connected and motivated to succeed!

In case you would like to join us, all you have to do is…

• Join the challenge here
• Register as a Member here
• Select your category and get Listed on the UBC Blog Directory, here
• Join the Facebook & Twitter communities
• Get great blogging tips and tactics : Yes, you will get blogging ideas everyday in your mail!

It's Day 1 of the challenge. The first thought that came to me was the first day of starting my blog. 

 I had been writing since I was in school and all those little diaries and notebooks have moved with me where I went. We were inseparable. There were like treasure troves that contained poems, stories and little snippets of my life. How could I ever leave that "little me" behind? When a friend suggested that I could put all that in my own blog, it sounded like a great idea! And that's how this blog was born. 

I wrote random stuff, and could not really call myself a niche writer. So when it came to naming the blog, I decided on naming it  "The Little Princess". That's what dad calls me..... his little princess and being daddy's little girl it sounded perfect to me. That my stories are more female oriented happens to be a coincidence!! And yes, that they sound like a fairy tale, is even more!!