Chirpy

She took over our lives by storm. She arrived as a baby on June 7th when I rescued her, injured and wet from under a palm shrub. All I could see was a small black furry ball like creature with its mouth wide open. She didn’t win over my heart immedietly, just that my silly maternal instincts overpowered me. And I decided to get her home. A newspaper lined shoe box was quickly arranged for and the little fledgling had its first home and family with us. I was clueless as to what to feed her and I was certainly not going to start searching for worms. Two kind friends gave me some great suggestions so she had her hourly feeds of mashed rice with milk. I stayed awake the night for her just as I had done for my two kids. It was like going down memory lane. I suddenly felt very responsible for her and maternal love flowed unashamedly.
She is now almost 8 weeks old and has a name Chirpy. She is still small but has a beautiful crest and plume (the red shades are now visible) like all robins do. She responds to her name and converses with me whenever she finds me sitting idle on the verandah cane chair. She is like a typical child, sulks when scolded and hides when she poops on my shoulder(my poor sodden t -shirt).She knows how to express her love beautifully and makes up with me by hopping onto my shoulder and quickly scurrying towards my neck and pecking my ear lobe ever so gently. Talk about knowing how to express love!

Wonderful lessons she has taught me. Thanks to her I just sit back,relax and enjoy my garden. When she was a baby I would take her for long walks under the fruit trees and shake the rain drenched leaves. She would twitter away happily and I would squeal with the shower of rain. I would let her be on the freshly mowed grass and I would sit with her on the grass in my best clothes regardless of the mud, slush and worms.
She would patiently sit through my yoga class watching over me without disturbing me and would fall asleep with the Om chanting.My time spent with her is the most carefree time I have had in ages.

August 4th.
I just returned from a trip to Bombay where Diti and I had attended a workshop. I took Chirpy along and what a well behaved sweetheart she was. Throughout the car journey she perched on my shoulder. And she is trained enough to get off my shoulder and poop on the paper napkin I had kept at a safe distance.
We got back yesterday and after the narrow confines of the Bombay apartment she flew into our garden twittering. She had chocolate milkshake with me and some vegetables and flew out to play again. She never came back. She usually does return by sunset after playing close by but this time she just disappeared.
I hope she is flying somewhere-the free soul that she was but then that is a reassurance I cant have faith in. She was just too small to fly high yet. Perhaps she died. What a heartbreaking feeling it is and I miss her terribly, her birdsong and her gentle presence on my shoulder through the day. Thanks for touching my life Chirpy and giving me two months of your unconditional love.
I love you

Shifting -Bombay to Pune

September12th 2007, Bombay

The day I am shifting I see the scaffolding come off. One bamboo piece after the other until the entire view of the sea lies bare –a vast shimmering expanse of blue. Today she is gentle as her waves lap softly, silently, blue grey with specks of white. I simply stand and gaze at her. I can do it forever I feel. But at this moment time suddenly seems short. Over the past months, our apartment complex was undergoing a major renovation and overhaul. The scaffoldings were up and I was cut off from the beautiful view of the sea from our window. Now it all seems so poignant. The sea is back for me to glimpse but I am not going to be here. She has become so much a part of my daily life. As I go about my day I glimpse her shimmer briefly and many a time I have put everything on hold and just watched her. She, as silent as me. At times reflecting exactly what I feel.

To the left of my home, I see a huge ‘pandal’ being erected just as it is done each year for Lord Ganapati’s arrival. Banners flutter, the fairy lights are being fixed, children play around amidst the general hustle –bustle. A sense of nostalgia overcomes me as I remember the previous “Ganapati Pujas”, their festive fervour and happiness that lingers on in the air for a long time.

Everything seems to be touched with a twinge of nostalgia yet newness.

Living in a city for 13 years that I call home has been an experience I will always cherish. Intense familiarity be it in seeing the sunrise with its freshness and newness each morning or the sunset in its fascinating hues and shades. I have got accustomed to my life here, my friends, the reassuring routine of daily living, the smell of the city with its salty air sometimes awash with its ‘fishy’ fragrance. And yes, its people, the buzz that is all pervasive and constantly being on the move. And now when its time to move home, am short of words.A city can grow on you easily just like a home can. In this case it has grown on me and helped me grow too.


October 22, 2007, Pune

The period of transition from one city to the other, from our old home to a new home has been a whirlwind. Awakening to a new view, spending my days differently, new routines to be established and new ways of doing things. Yet it feels unreal. The home we have chosen to rent out is one of those old style bungalows with sloping roofs. A beautiful garden resplendent with fruit trees and flowering shrubs encloses it. I take off time to sit on the stone bench in the garden and see the different hues and shades that surround me. The sounds of the garden, watching the butterflies, touching the leaves or simply going barefoot on the green grass bring out the child in me. And am struck as to how nature can be so powerful yet soothing, be it in the sea or in a bright and sunny garden. I enjoy her warm and gentle energy through the day.
There are many moments when I yearn for my comfort zone and crave for the energy that is passionate and driven; the one I have been used to for so long that it has become a habit. Perhaps this gentle serene energy will become part of my comfort zone soon...

Ganapati Puja

‘Its that time of the year again’…Ganapati Puja is here and the entire atmosphere is charged with an air of excitement. A precious guest has come to visit our neighborhood.
A week prior to August 27th I see the preparations begin in the corner of our street. A simple arrangement of 12 strong bamboo sticks tied and supported together are first assembled together. This is followed by a strong waterproofing sheet so as to provide protection to our Guest from the errant rains. And then yes the various banners of the sponsors draping the roof of the ‘pandal’are displayed. The days preceding the actual Ganesh Puja are one of sheer activity. Day after day, bit by bit the scene unfolds much like a drama with its many scenes and props. The first stage involves sourcing a sponsor for the ‘pandal’ and collecting donations from the neighborhood residents. Then the posters appear heralding the organizers name- bold, prominent and colorful. Every year the festival moves with the changing times-more color, more lights, and a bigger idol, sophisticated music systems with speakers strategically placed and everything looks hip and modern.

When the idol arrives amidst much fanfare in a gaily decorated truck, life comes to a halt. There are crowds waiting with bated breath for the precious guest. I stand out on my 7th floor balcony with the children and watch the procession being led with joy and fervor. It takes an interminable time to have him settled into his new but temporary home but every moment is worth watching. The cries of “Ganapati Bappa Moraya”, the bursting of firecrackers and men, women and children dancing with great abandon-every moment lingers on as Lord Ganesh or the ‘Elephant headed’ God enters his new abode.

I am not a Maharashtrian by birth nor am I a deeply religious person by nature but something changes in me during this festive period. Not that I bring the idol home; nor do I become overtly religious overnight. But the change takes place. Imperceptible but yet I am aware. Perhaps it is the string of pretty blue and white fairy lights that light up our street every night and transform it completely. Or the sound of spiritual music that awakens me every morning and lulls me to sleep each night. Not entirely devotional as my husband argues, they do tend to be interspersed with plenty of catchy Hindi numbers to please the Lord’s little worshippers-the children. The fragrance of fresh flowers, the whiff of the incense sticks and the chanting of the mantras only enhance the energies. The rendering of the Sathyanarayan Katha and the ‘aarti’ every evening is enough to make me stop my chores and sit still and just be. The positive energies are so high that it actually motivates a laidback mother of two to make fresh ‘prasad’ (offerings) to the idol every evening. It varies from ‘modaks’ to halwa and fresh/dry fruits.
As I enter the pandal the 1st evening of His arrival, a riot of color greets me from the colored dhurries placed around to the beautiful vibrant colors of the idol. The fragrance of the jasmine and the burning ‘diya’ mingles smoothly with the aroma of the earth and the ground. There is activity but there is serenity as well. Something instantly calms within.

My earliest memory of Ganesh Puja in Bombay was in 1993, when I visited an elderly neighbour.This 65 year old gentle Maharashtrian lady would take wet clay and fashion it into a symbolic Ganapati form with its trunk while chanting spiritual mantras. At the end of 10 days she would immerse it into a body of water. It is believed that as we immerse the deity who has been our guest, we shed our negative energies in the process too. Today of course one places an order for the Plaster of Paris idol months in advance, makes a beautiful house of thermocol and buy all the fancy trappings that go along with it.

The 10 days seem like one long festive holiday. Children playing hopscotch, relaxed men folk keeping watch over the ‘pandals’ distributing ‘prasad’ to the worshippers. Open air cinema shows are held on weekend nights, only the latest ones will do for them. Volleyball and family games are organized for the Krida Mandal dwellers and those who wish to participate. The residents of the various buildings that flank the ‘pandal’ get to watch from their readymade balcony- theatres.There are many of course who complain about the noise and then the police swing into action to enforce the noise deadlines.

Everyone talks about how the festival has lost its spiritual feel and has become more commercialized, cultural and noisy rather than devotional. Competition for the best pandals will go on forever, comparisons as to the largest Ganesh idol will continue and discussions on how much the ‘Lalbaugcha Raja’ earned and how many visited Him(no puja is complete without a visit to the Lalbaug Ganesh idol) will never cease. That is a part of the festival that it has become over the years.Popular,competitive and gaudy but the feeling of devotion and sheer love one feels for the dear Elephant God underlies each and every pandal that one can ever visit or glimpse.

His farewell on the 11th day is as grand and magnificent as his entry. Preparations begin the previous night (10th day) when the Sathyanarayan Katha is read and all of us receive the delicious Prasad in a sweet box.
As he is led out from his temporary home for his final immersion into the sea, there is a sense of sadness that intermingles with the hectic activity in progress. He leaves our street by afternoon and His final immersion takes place by late night amidst sprinkling of ‘gulal’, firecrackers and cries of ‘Ganapati Baba Morya! Pudcha Varshi Laukarya’!.

The next morning when I wake up, I feel the silence that hangs in the air like a blanket. I tell myself that time does fly and life has to go on…
And now I look forward to his arrival next year.

Renovation

Renovating one’s home is no mean task. A strange sense of being uprooted, as if it isn’t happening to you and very much akin to renovating one’s own self. As my home underwent several changes with each passing day, it seemed to transform itself and along with it, so did I. Perhaps like a makeover that leaves you feeling different-fresher, brighter and lighter.

From repairing of its cracked roofs, waterproofing, plastering, painting, new upholstery, new curtains it underwent the works. There seemed to be more space, although the objects were the same. For me it was a matter of looking at it differently. A change here, a shift there and a simple moving around of furniture changed the entire feel of my living room. And its energies.

Right now I don’t feel like looking back as to when and how it began. The decision had been taken and there it was. It began with a simple putting away in cartons. Simple, it wasn’t .The books alone occupied 6 huge cartons. My mother in law who was visiting me then sweetly suggested that I should consider starting a library! By the end of 2 days we had a room which was stuffed with cartons. All neatly labelled, stacked but decidedly overwhelming.

I saw my home being transformed from a veritable junkyard to some semblance of a home over 3 weeks. At first I refused to look at the junk. I turned a blind eye to it all as if I was a guest and it wasn’t my home. I would head straight for my own room which was a mini junk yard in its own right and that remained my comfort zone for many days. I saw myself looking at the various objects scattered all over the home-the ones I had collected, some junk, some precious.And I looked at them with a new insight.

Did I really need so many artifacts, some of which were in poor condition but were being held on to by “clutter bug” me for sentimental reasons? We discovered old memorabilia –my husband’s toys and old books, my college notes (!), old letters, even post-its. One by one, bit by bit I gave away old clothes, curtains and books and discarded the unnecessary stuff.

I discovered many old photographs and along with my daughters, made a collage of them and had it framed. That was truly a bonding time with family.Amit and I shared the stories behind the photograph’s past and had lots of laughs over the funny ones. Just the right time to get nostalgic! With no television and computer, the world didn’t seem all that bad. It was refreshingly different.

It has been over a month now. Most of the work is done, just a few jobs here and there. Hammering of nails, putting up pictures, arranging things in order- I am now getting used to my “old-new” home and a “renovated” me!

Just another day of my life

These days,I am attending a therapy workshop for children with cerebral palsy.There are children of all ages from 1 month to 15 years with different types of motor/intellectual impairments.I guess challenged is a better word to use because all I see in it is that it's such a challenging and daunting task to handle a child who cannot move.Some cannot speak either.

They have a different approach this time...each child has been assigned to an indivdual therapist who will take care of the child's exercises/progress for 6 weeks till March.The bond grows so quickly as I see in my daughter and her therapist.Anandita and her "uncle" as she calls him have formed a new mode of greeting each other and she is picking up Tamil from him.In the first session the therapist Dr Loganathan(his name has been shortened to "Logan" Uncle) asked me as to what did I want for my child ?I simply told him ,"I want her to stand and walk".He smiled and I added,"I beleive you can help her do that".I don't know if she is going to be able to stand and walk(I guess I can dream)but I do know that if I have the faith in myself and in the person who has been chosen to guide her through these 6 weeks then only "good" can happen. Faith can never go wrong.

And yes,the mothers.What an eye opener and a wonderful experience to meet and speak with them.Some are not forthcoming while some are seeking advice and who better than other mothers...
I take a book along to keep me company but never end up reading it.The moments spent there watching the children as they troop in always smiling is an incredible source of joy. And instead of the book,I read their "eyes"...the eyes of the parents look weary and have an indelible sadness but yes they also shine with an acceptance that I have yet to glimpse elsewhere.
Whereas the children(no matter what their age/physical condition)-their eyes are always bright and shine with excitement!
I am learning now how joy can be derived from the simplest of things.

The Magical Curtain

As I step into my mother-in-law's home in Delhi, to my right is a curtain, a simple printed piece of cotton cloth that flutters gently in the cool breeze.

This curtain is the entrance to a home, the family retainer's home where his family resides but to me this curtain has always spelt "magic”. I have never been able to pinpoint why. Maybe it’s because I have never crossed beyond it. Maybe I have spun endless daydreams over it and what lies within. Maybe my idle thoughts have conjured up an image of an Aladdin’s cave. Where I, as a child would be allowed to explore its nooks and crannies and find something magical and mysterious in there...

Aaah but it’s just a curtain...why this magical feel, this constant allure..?

My children would barge through the curtain without hesitation or restraint. And in my vivid imgination, they seemed to vanish into this magical labyrinth...Oh how I envied them!I could hear their laughter and merriment within, the whoops of glee, the sounds of joy and childish laughter. I would be waiting to ask them about the home, the people that lived there and they would always reply,"Mamma, the quarters are so beautiful...it is so much fun" What do you do there"? I asked.” We play hide and seek Ma and it feels nice in there”, my older one would reply. Well their smiling and joyous faces was evidence enough of the fun they had in the little magical place that had invaded my thoughts totally by then.

My keenness to enter beyond that curtain was so strong that I just had to go in.
I did...yes I did! The door behind the curtain was never closed. All I had to do was to gently brush aside the curtain and step inside. I entered to find a warm, simple and colorful home with its wafting aroma of mustard oil and scented incense sticks...and the shy smiling faces of the family that lived there. They welcomed me warmly without letting me feel in any way that my visit was intrusive. I made no attempt at refusing a cup of tea that was offered so graciously. After all I was in no hurry.
I had finally crossed the curtain. And the magical part of this simple quarter was that it was indeed a labyrinth with different wooden doors leading to different parts of their home and each door had a curtain...a simple magical alluring piece of printed cotton cloth....!