Children can be unknowingly cruel.It took me a while to understand that especially after D's birth.When anything deviates from the norm,they can be cruel in their ignorance.Do we need lessons on how to accept something or someone who is different from ourselves?Do children need to understand that from their parents?
Skating classes have commenced recently in the place we live.D hasn't joined the class due to her limitations although it is a sore point with her.The teacher however insists she come and watch the kids skate and play the games post skating.Yesterday was one such day when D joined in the games.She was happy and excited about it as she is on most Monday's and Wednesday's.It was a running relay race and D was leading one line and a small boy the other line.The instructor asked the kids to join the lines but no one wanted to join D's line.The reason was obvious.No one wanted to lose the race .I saw the kids crying and even stomping their feet on the ground adamant about not joining the line.All because they would not win.
A part of me went out for D,not because she was my daughter or that she had limitations.She remained blissfully unaware that the children were throwing tantrums because of her being there.She never understood that her limitations were being perceived as a disadvantage by the other children.And there was a sadness in me seeing the children so focused on winning ,so totally focused 'only' on winning that they had forgotten the simple joys of just playing a game for fun.
For me D was way ahead of the rest.Not only was she delighted about the whole game and taking part in a relay,she did it with total joy despite stumbling and falling.She reached the finish line with a loud 'yeeeaahhh'.. while the rest of the kids sulked and ran.
There are times when I wonder if I will ever stop getting emotional about her and her experiences as she grows.But then A always tells me-'Toughen up"!!.I haven't yet.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Baking
I baked today....finally! After some 11 months,I actually felt the urge to bake.So 2 batches of brownies it was.And what a wonderful way to unwind.I have had a rough 3 weeks with A not around and have been caught up in the routine of daily life and constant rush.No maid,bleary eyed morning 5 am wake up and frayed nerves almost everyday.
I had my dinner and then decided to bake.The kitchen was clean and quiet.The girls were up in their room with their books and music and I loved this me-time ..alone,humming and enjoying every bit of the baking process from mixing the ingredients to tasting them as well :).No noise,no bells-just peace.
Soon enough the aroma filled our entire home and the girls were most curious as to why their constantly harried mom had decided to bake late at night.They usually don't worry where I am or what I am doing as long as I am at home.But today was different.Two puzzled and yes,hungry faces looking up at me very sweetly.They not only devoured half of the first batch ,they were longingly looking at the second batch as well.
I now know how the fragrance of freshly baked warm brownies can soften the hardest of hearts and cause instant mood changes from sad t0 happy.
Excellent form of therapy it can be!
Now am left wondering why do I feel so full-perhaps all that tasting...
I had my dinner and then decided to bake.The kitchen was clean and quiet.The girls were up in their room with their books and music and I loved this me-time ..alone,humming and enjoying every bit of the baking process from mixing the ingredients to tasting them as well :).No noise,no bells-just peace.
Soon enough the aroma filled our entire home and the girls were most curious as to why their constantly harried mom had decided to bake late at night.They usually don't worry where I am or what I am doing as long as I am at home.But today was different.Two puzzled and yes,hungry faces looking up at me very sweetly.They not only devoured half of the first batch ,they were longingly looking at the second batch as well.
I now know how the fragrance of freshly baked warm brownies can soften the hardest of hearts and cause instant mood changes from sad t0 happy.
Excellent form of therapy it can be!
Now am left wondering why do I feel so full-perhaps all that tasting...
Saturday, September 20, 2008
ATT
I attended a workshop on Animal Assisted Therapy(AAT) for children with special needs at D's school today.I had heard about it and how it can help not only children who are challenged but also normal children and adults who are lonely or depressed.However this was the first time I actually saw a brilliant presentation on it and how it can positively impact children who need non conventional therapies such as these.It was moving to see the 'before' and 'after' videos of a small boy who was silent and non communicative in the before stage and after 15 weeks of AAT he was transformed-a totally different child-smiling and conversing with the dog,cuddling him and responding to questions.What struck me were his eyes,lifeless and dead in the 'before' stage and in the post therapy 'after' stage they were filled with life,curiosity and wonder.Animals heal I know because they do not judge ,criticize or label you.They are aware and alert and love unconditionally.The animals used were ordinary dogs who had been trained for this purpose.Even cats and rabbits are used to help children who are fearful of large dogs.I am keen for D to start this and to expose her to ATT .I know the power of animals in healing those wounds one cannot heal oneself .
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Ecphrasis
How does it feel to kiss through a veil?Where we can’t see each other,
and nothing is revealed.
Like a shroud we wear it, hidden
from the rest of our world
Yet a closeness I can sense
as our kiss unfolds.
How I would love to see your eyes
and caress your skin.
Yet the passion of your kiss
I can feel within.
I don’t know who you are
or what is it that you do?
But you will always remain
my ‘veiled’ kissing stranger,
Till we bid each other adieu.
Written for a fortnightly theme on 'Star crossed lovers' for Shakespeare & Co writers network on Ryze
Monday, August 04, 2008
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
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Impromptu venting
Why does poor customer service always get on my nerves? Not just my nerves, it just gets to me totally like very few things do. I actually see RED.I have to stop myself there and then from giving a long speech on the importance of a customer and what good quality service can achieve. Sadly I never stop myself.
I am no perfectionist but I hate being served a lukewarm hot chocolate when the menu reads “Hot Chocolate”. The chap at Coffee Day served me just that –a luke warm hot chocolate and I was having one after ages. Something I wanted to savor and relish right from the first sip. I took a sip and there it began—this feeling of being cheated. I returned it with a request to serve it hot but then when it arrived the charm was lost.Aaargh !!
I opt for a large branded store which I assume would stock a variety of lingerie since the shop is so huge. When I arrive, the store is filled with numerous attendants but none in the lingerie section. I look around for help and it seems to me the staff refuses to catch my eye. Perhaps they veer away from the lingerie section. I cannot think of any other plausible reason. Finally some help arrives after 10 minutes, albeit with a reluctant blanked out look. And I eagerly tell her my size and requirements that are simple and no frills(I mean for my lingerie).She sizes me up and shows me hideous padded ones in midnight blue and shocking reds and believe it or not leopard prints. I didn’t ask for them, I tell her. She tells me that these are all they have. Damn! I see red again, hold myself in check and politely walk away. I ask for the head of customer service (if there is one), she isn’t available. I tell the staff who is looking most uncomfortable, “The service here is pathetic. You need to streamline your operations” and I say it all straight-faced with not a hint of the anger I am feeling. And before I can complete what I need to say (I do have lots to say by then), the lady starts apologizing profusely. (How does that help I wonder? I still haven’t got the bra I needed. Fruitless trip! Except that the anger has not only hit my nerves but my poor brain as well).I am left wondering who wears bras like those. I guess there must be takers since that is all they stock.
At a restaurant where the children and I are having lunch, I chose a Tandoori Roti and the girls ‘Naans” along with their side dishes. The food arrives after a good 45 minutes though we are the only patrons. No worries. I am willing to wait over an animated conversation with the kids. The food arrives...my Tandoori Roti looks exactly like the Naans that the girls are eating! There I go again. I call the chap who has taken the order and ask him whether he got the order right about the Rotis. He happily and nonchalantly says, “Yes Madam, yours is the Tandoori Roti and theirs is the ‘Naan’.I ask him what the difference is...“they look the same”. To my horror he tells me ‘Madam, There is no difference between a Naan and a Tandoori Roti.The Naan is a little bigger that’s all”! Huh!!Now if anyone has ever eaten aa aan and a Tandoori Roti, they would know that there IS a difference. But he is firm. And I chew down the thick bread wondering why if the darn Naan and Tandoori Roti are the same; the restaurant has it listed separately in their menu.
When the chap arrives again to ask me if I wish to order more Rotis, I look at him with a raised eyebrow (I actually managed that) and tell him,” You were right earlier. Not only do they look the same, they taste the same-like leather’ (ha ha ha...He slinks away so sheepishly that I don’t catch a glimpse of him until we leave).
And all of this leaves me wondering. Am I demanding or expecting too much? I have been told my previous job has made me set high standards for service and that I am too sensitive to small trivia like this. But I feel like screaming that this isn’t trivial or small. It means a lot. Maybe it is to do with me. Or is it Pune? Or is that Bombay has spoilt me for other cities? Well I know as I spend more time in this city that now feels like home, the answers are bound to unravel.
Here's to a more chilled out laidback ‘Me’ and no more ‘poor service’ experiences(fingers crossed) :)
I am no perfectionist but I hate being served a lukewarm hot chocolate when the menu reads “Hot Chocolate”. The chap at Coffee Day served me just that –a luke warm hot chocolate and I was having one after ages. Something I wanted to savor and relish right from the first sip. I took a sip and there it began—this feeling of being cheated. I returned it with a request to serve it hot but then when it arrived the charm was lost.Aaargh !!
I opt for a large branded store which I assume would stock a variety of lingerie since the shop is so huge. When I arrive, the store is filled with numerous attendants but none in the lingerie section. I look around for help and it seems to me the staff refuses to catch my eye. Perhaps they veer away from the lingerie section. I cannot think of any other plausible reason. Finally some help arrives after 10 minutes, albeit with a reluctant blanked out look. And I eagerly tell her my size and requirements that are simple and no frills(I mean for my lingerie).She sizes me up and shows me hideous padded ones in midnight blue and shocking reds and believe it or not leopard prints. I didn’t ask for them, I tell her. She tells me that these are all they have. Damn! I see red again, hold myself in check and politely walk away. I ask for the head of customer service (if there is one), she isn’t available. I tell the staff who is looking most uncomfortable, “The service here is pathetic. You need to streamline your operations” and I say it all straight-faced with not a hint of the anger I am feeling. And before I can complete what I need to say (I do have lots to say by then), the lady starts apologizing profusely. (How does that help I wonder? I still haven’t got the bra I needed. Fruitless trip! Except that the anger has not only hit my nerves but my poor brain as well).I am left wondering who wears bras like those. I guess there must be takers since that is all they stock.
At a restaurant where the children and I are having lunch, I chose a Tandoori Roti and the girls ‘Naans” along with their side dishes. The food arrives after a good 45 minutes though we are the only patrons. No worries. I am willing to wait over an animated conversation with the kids. The food arrives...my Tandoori Roti looks exactly like the Naans that the girls are eating! There I go again. I call the chap who has taken the order and ask him whether he got the order right about the Rotis. He happily and nonchalantly says, “Yes Madam, yours is the Tandoori Roti and theirs is the ‘Naan’.I ask him what the difference is...“they look the same”. To my horror he tells me ‘Madam, There is no difference between a Naan and a Tandoori Roti.The Naan is a little bigger that’s all”! Huh!!Now if anyone has ever eaten aa aan and a Tandoori Roti, they would know that there IS a difference. But he is firm. And I chew down the thick bread wondering why if the darn Naan and Tandoori Roti are the same; the restaurant has it listed separately in their menu.
When the chap arrives again to ask me if I wish to order more Rotis, I look at him with a raised eyebrow (I actually managed that) and tell him,” You were right earlier. Not only do they look the same, they taste the same-like leather’ (ha ha ha...He slinks away so sheepishly that I don’t catch a glimpse of him until we leave).
And all of this leaves me wondering. Am I demanding or expecting too much? I have been told my previous job has made me set high standards for service and that I am too sensitive to small trivia like this. But I feel like screaming that this isn’t trivial or small. It means a lot. Maybe it is to do with me. Or is it Pune? Or is that Bombay has spoilt me for other cities? Well I know as I spend more time in this city that now feels like home, the answers are bound to unravel.
Here's to a more chilled out laidback ‘Me’ and no more ‘poor service’ experiences(fingers crossed) :)
Thursday, October 25, 2007
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...
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...
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I have been tagged
I am surprised,me of all people tagged!!But tagged by a good friend neverthless who I did not have the heart to curse under my breath -Pragya!!
I have to list six of the weirdest things about me.
* My ears are shaped funnily like a caulifower and my nickname at college was yes you guessed it right-"cauilflower ears"
* I love meeting people but hate speaking in public..something inside just clams up(is that weird?)
* There may be chaos all around me but you will find me in the kitchen cooking while listening to music as if nothing is happening.
*I can make up songs and rhymes in a jiffy.It works!
* I say No but I actually deep down mean an "Yes"
* I am a pro at lipreading so no one can keep secrets from me.
I have to list six of the weirdest things about me.
* My ears are shaped funnily like a caulifower and my nickname at college was yes you guessed it right-"cauilflower ears"
* I love meeting people but hate speaking in public..something inside just clams up(is that weird?)
* There may be chaos all around me but you will find me in the kitchen cooking while listening to music as if nothing is happening.
*I can make up songs and rhymes in a jiffy.It works!
* I say No but I actually deep down mean an "Yes"
* I am a pro at lipreading so no one can keep secrets from me.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
As I learn and grow
You have defied all convention. Defied logic and defied life. Something that I have never been able to accomplish in all my years.
You have fought death, a journey that was so challenging that I remember each day and each moment of it still. And it’s been over 5 years now.
A journey that saw my growth as an individual, as a mother and as a woman. And I learnt to take on the role of a special mother.
And a journey that saw you play the role of my teacher without your knowledge. Such a precious learning it has been my wise one. And such a precious teacher you have been. You have taught me to gain a sense of self and to go beyond prejudices. And that was just the beginning. My learning continues.
You are now at 5 years, taking your unsupported steps all over our home, sometimes trotting, sometimes tripping, picking yourself up easily and chuckling at your own antics. And that this has happened even after your orthopaedic surgeon had told us that you would never be able to walk without support ever.
Sweet joy it is to see you relish every bit of your freedom. Sweeter joy it is for me to have had the privilege to witness your growth through so many stages…each step a challenge, each achievement similar to the scaling of a mountain peak, each experience a miracle.
As parents we learnt to surrender. Every decision we have had to take for you has involved ‘surrendering’. Such an easy word it seems,’ surrender’ but practicing it took immense awareness, faith and patience.
And your education. Just today we were told by your school that they did not wish to take the responsibility of helping you realize your full potential. And that it was a major risk. Lots of reasons and plenty of rationalizing. We have been asked to look for an alternative school for you. Very often we tend to see things as we see them, so much so that the reality is totally distorted. I witnessed it at your school today.
It broke my heart and I felt exactly like what I had felt on November 1st 2001 when your doctor told me you would not survive your congenital heart defect. I never thought I would feel this helpless again. The anger isn’t there, the disappointment is. And the knowledge that I have handled this kind of helplessness before.
I also understood what a positive attitude can do amidst all the chaos that one undergoes in such situations. Right there and then as the school expressed their decision to us about their inability to retain you; I knew then that as your mother, I had a bigger role to play for you and in your growth. To be able to help you in your journey of realizing your potential to the fullest however long it might take. To help you to learn how to think, how to learn, when not to think and when not to learn, to be in harmony and develop a tremendous sense of self and independence. I hope to be able to show you the way.
A new journey begins for me through this setback. Perhaps it was time for me to move out of my comfort zone.Perhaps I saw it coming.
(For Anandita)
You have fought death, a journey that was so challenging that I remember each day and each moment of it still. And it’s been over 5 years now.
A journey that saw my growth as an individual, as a mother and as a woman. And I learnt to take on the role of a special mother.
And a journey that saw you play the role of my teacher without your knowledge. Such a precious learning it has been my wise one. And such a precious teacher you have been. You have taught me to gain a sense of self and to go beyond prejudices. And that was just the beginning. My learning continues.
You are now at 5 years, taking your unsupported steps all over our home, sometimes trotting, sometimes tripping, picking yourself up easily and chuckling at your own antics. And that this has happened even after your orthopaedic surgeon had told us that you would never be able to walk without support ever.
Sweet joy it is to see you relish every bit of your freedom. Sweeter joy it is for me to have had the privilege to witness your growth through so many stages…each step a challenge, each achievement similar to the scaling of a mountain peak, each experience a miracle.
As parents we learnt to surrender. Every decision we have had to take for you has involved ‘surrendering’. Such an easy word it seems,’ surrender’ but practicing it took immense awareness, faith and patience.
And your education. Just today we were told by your school that they did not wish to take the responsibility of helping you realize your full potential. And that it was a major risk. Lots of reasons and plenty of rationalizing. We have been asked to look for an alternative school for you. Very often we tend to see things as we see them, so much so that the reality is totally distorted. I witnessed it at your school today.
It broke my heart and I felt exactly like what I had felt on November 1st 2001 when your doctor told me you would not survive your congenital heart defect. I never thought I would feel this helpless again. The anger isn’t there, the disappointment is. And the knowledge that I have handled this kind of helplessness before.
I also understood what a positive attitude can do amidst all the chaos that one undergoes in such situations. Right there and then as the school expressed their decision to us about their inability to retain you; I knew then that as your mother, I had a bigger role to play for you and in your growth. To be able to help you in your journey of realizing your potential to the fullest however long it might take. To help you to learn how to think, how to learn, when not to think and when not to learn, to be in harmony and develop a tremendous sense of self and independence. I hope to be able to show you the way.
A new journey begins for me through this setback. Perhaps it was time for me to move out of my comfort zone.Perhaps I saw it coming.
(For Anandita)
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Random musings after ages
It has been three months since I came by here,to my own blog.Not been writing.not been reading for so long that I am beginning to feel disconnected.
The year started off great ..I completed a powerful workshop http://www.ssy.org
I cannot write much about it only because its difficult to express and share what it was all about.It was powerful and transformatory in many ways....
:)
The year started off great ..I completed a powerful workshop http://www.ssy.org
I cannot write much about it only because its difficult to express and share what it was all about.It was powerful and transformatory in many ways....
:)
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Rushed times
I haven’t written in ages. Not a word although they seem to spill out of somewhere in my mind and all its clutter. There is so much going on in my life that the thoughts become a jumble and my words seem incoherent…
There is a sense of time flying and me trying to keep track of it. The last 2 ½ months have been rushed. I have become forgetful-forgetting to respond to calls, mails; even perhaps forgetting to connect with myself. It feels different. I have to remind myself to just be. Not read, nor think, nor look at the dusty table with a vengeance or scout around for a dusting cloth. Or struggle to remember those things that I need to remember.
Perhaps the wonder lies in moving through those busy periods of ones life with the same grace and serenity as the peaceful times. I need to remind myself of that.
There is a sense of time flying and me trying to keep track of it. The last 2 ½ months have been rushed. I have become forgetful-forgetting to respond to calls, mails; even perhaps forgetting to connect with myself. It feels different. I have to remind myself to just be. Not read, nor think, nor look at the dusty table with a vengeance or scout around for a dusting cloth. Or struggle to remember those things that I need to remember.
Perhaps the wonder lies in moving through those busy periods of ones life with the same grace and serenity as the peaceful times. I need to remind myself of that.
Monday, September 04, 2006
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.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
A letter from my city-Bombay
‘Can I ever live without her?’ I have asked myself many a time. Her effervescent energy and unique discomforts seems to have cast a spell that I can’t shrug off.
A city, alien to me some 14 years ago when I arrived as a newly wed is now home to me in every sense of the word. The images linger on -of plastic and garbage; of fancy high-rises and teeming crowds of people; of the festive cries of Ganapati Bappa Moraya and the breaking of the ‘dahi handi’. None of it has changed over the years. It is now part of the very fabric of the city that she is.
She has it all-cramped spaces, failing infrastructure, apartments that could be termed ‘boxes’ and an existence that is not easy by any definition. She also has her efficient dabbawaala’s, ‘rasta’ bhel and two rupees ‘time-pass’. And yet if one were to ask me what is it that is so charming about my city, I would be lost for words. The charm lies not just in her vibrancy or the vast expanse of the sea that overlooks my home”; Or in the ubiquitous humble ‘vada pav’ that fills hungry stomachs every day. Or in the ‘cutting chai’that is an instant warm up on a rainy monsoon day. There is more. A hidden allure, perhaps that no one can ever see or place a finger upon but simply feel.
Life is in the fast lane, yes and stressful to boot especially when your life depends upon boarding the 8.05 local. But she also leaves you with the chance of finding your own quiet corner within or without. You just have to search for it.
A journey of discovery it has been, of discovering the value of ‘precious ‘space’ be it in an over packed local train or in one’s 500 sq ft apartment. One just learns to create space within that space. Perhaps you could even create a garden with blossoming hibiscuses and roses.
The thrill of being called ‘bai’ (teacher) by my maid when I was all of 25 years and her efficiency and time management made me understand the importance of discipline and hard work. What a world of difference it could make.
And the funniest lesson of all, when I made an attempt to call a stray dog or cat (with a kind of smooching sound reserved for animals); I had the taxi drivers and vendors in the vicinity asking me what I needed!
Over the years, I have changed homes to different parts of the city, worked and raised my two daughters here. And through it all I have learnt a simple truth. That of how easy it is to fall in love with Bombay if one were to just flow with her rhythm and accept her the way she is. Any other city would be too easy an existence for me. Call me spoilt!
‘Ganapati Bappa Moraya’-welcoming Lord Ganesh on Ganesh Chathurti
‘dahi handi’-a pot of dahi usually at a height of 20-40 feet or higher broken during Gokulashtami (birth of Lord Krishna) by a group of people.
‘dabbawala’s’-the people who carry freshly made food from home in lunch boxes to office goers
‘rasta bhel’-roadside sellers selling puffed rice usually spiced
‘time pass’-peanuts are called time pass because they are just that
‘vada pav’-vada -a hot potato cutlet;pav is a bun
‘cutting chai’-hot sweet tea served in a glass
Wrote this for Shakespeare & Co, a writers network on Ryze
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Questions! Do we have the answers?
All of us seem to be experiencing anger and a sheer sense of outrage at the recent Mumbai blasts. Anger at the senseless killing, anger at the inefficacy of the system and anger at our own helplessness. Anger is natural but when used with care it can be a tremendous source of power and influence.
What do I feel post the blasts? I feel detached yet there is an anger that stems from sheer helplessness about the situation, an anger that spills over into my normal life unsuspectingly. I cannot imagine that someone can wreak violence to this extent. To stealthily snatch away the lives of hundreds of people who they didn’t even know or have a personal vendetta against. At the same time it doesn’t make sense to expect others to think the way we do. Each one of us is so different and motivated by different goals in our lives. So were the killers. They killed; they achieved their goal and what they had set out to do. But they were not there to see the aftermath of their gruesome act.
What do I want? Do I want my city/country to never ever face terrorist attacks? Do I want to experience this same of detachment when I read about the loss of lives, lives that should never have been lost in the first place? Do I want to feel that sense of grief and anxiety that those families experienced when they had no clue about the whereabouts of their loved ones? Do I want to be insensitive and feel that it cannot ever happen to me, it happens only to others? Deep within I know what I want-peace, simply peace. So that nothing can tear the fabric of our city and of our souls. I want to see my city bustling and vibrant yes but also clean, with open spaces. Spaces free of ugly monstrous buildings and accumulated garbage. And I don’t want to just sit and grumble about civic authorities and about the sheer indifference of the Government? I want to do something, to start somewhere...
.
I listen to stories from friends who have had narrow escapes, hear about acquaintances who lost their family members; read the newspapers that continue to carry stories of those who died, of lucky survivors, of post trauma stress disorder, of depression and of burying the unidentified. We may declare that our spirit is indefatigable, we bounce back quickly and we are an intrepid lot just because life resumed the very next day. It did resume yes but did we really penetrate that masked front and ask anyone how their spirit was and how they really felt?
There is no question of winning as a city and as people. Some view it as battle to be fought. But it cannot be fought with a festering anger that has no focus or direction. It can be fought only with a clear mind. The journey against terrorism has always been there. Each one of these shocking experiences enable us travel it step by step. Let the breaks in the journey not disillusion us and make us feel vulnerable to those whose job is all about destruction and death. Alternatively, let it create and foster in us a sense of unity, endless hope, faith and strength that no outside influence can ever dissolve or shatter.
What do I feel post the blasts? I feel detached yet there is an anger that stems from sheer helplessness about the situation, an anger that spills over into my normal life unsuspectingly. I cannot imagine that someone can wreak violence to this extent. To stealthily snatch away the lives of hundreds of people who they didn’t even know or have a personal vendetta against. At the same time it doesn’t make sense to expect others to think the way we do. Each one of us is so different and motivated by different goals in our lives. So were the killers. They killed; they achieved their goal and what they had set out to do. But they were not there to see the aftermath of their gruesome act.
What do I want? Do I want my city/country to never ever face terrorist attacks? Do I want to experience this same of detachment when I read about the loss of lives, lives that should never have been lost in the first place? Do I want to feel that sense of grief and anxiety that those families experienced when they had no clue about the whereabouts of their loved ones? Do I want to be insensitive and feel that it cannot ever happen to me, it happens only to others? Deep within I know what I want-peace, simply peace. So that nothing can tear the fabric of our city and of our souls. I want to see my city bustling and vibrant yes but also clean, with open spaces. Spaces free of ugly monstrous buildings and accumulated garbage. And I don’t want to just sit and grumble about civic authorities and about the sheer indifference of the Government? I want to do something, to start somewhere...
.
I listen to stories from friends who have had narrow escapes, hear about acquaintances who lost their family members; read the newspapers that continue to carry stories of those who died, of lucky survivors, of post trauma stress disorder, of depression and of burying the unidentified. We may declare that our spirit is indefatigable, we bounce back quickly and we are an intrepid lot just because life resumed the very next day. It did resume yes but did we really penetrate that masked front and ask anyone how their spirit was and how they really felt?
There is no question of winning as a city and as people. Some view it as battle to be fought. But it cannot be fought with a festering anger that has no focus or direction. It can be fought only with a clear mind. The journey against terrorism has always been there. Each one of these shocking experiences enable us travel it step by step. Let the breaks in the journey not disillusion us and make us feel vulnerable to those whose job is all about destruction and death. Alternatively, let it create and foster in us a sense of unity, endless hope, faith and strength that no outside influence can ever dissolve or shatter.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
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!
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!
Monday, May 15, 2006
"Modern Sanyasi"
Sporting funky jewellery, I speak with a drawl,I’m more than just my saffron ‘dhoti’ and shawl.
Stone studded rings adorn my hands,
Don’t doubt it; I can do a mean head-stand.
I have manicured nails and grey dreadlocks,
Love marigold garlands and my ‘holy pot’.
Do take note of the mobile I tote,
If my clients didn’t call me, I would be broke.
I have an old companion, who keeps me sound,
If not for my B&H, I would have gone underground.
I’m setting out for the city, have a long journey ahead,
I need some retail therapy and to earn my bread.
Don’t be fooled by what’s written about me
I am a mere, modern-day ‘sanyasi’, you see!
Written for a "Theme exercise" for S & Co
Saturday, May 06, 2006
My Treasures-my children :)
I wish to see the world through your eyes as you,
hastily wipe your chocolate filled mouth on the curtains.
tie my colorful chiffon dupatta into a make believe sari.
stealthily apply lipstick all over your chubby face and rosebud lips.
uninhibitedly dance to remixed music and insist I dance too.
squeal with unbidden glee over a surprise packet of “Lays” chips and "Cadbury’s Dairy Milk".
listen to me while I teach you alphabets and ask me after it’s done," Where is my star"?
with such patience and focus peel off every onion of its skin and leave my kitchen floor in a sheet of slippery pink.
you insist on making our grouchy neighbor smile each morning and insist I wish him Good Morning too.
carry your little handbag to the park, bunched up with coins to pay for your daily dose of “sev-puri”.
so sweetly ask each Friday if I have a holiday on Saturday just like Dad and “Didi” do. (You are the only one who has ever asked me if mom’s get a holiday).
fight with me and make that cute scowl of yours and then show your fingers asking for peace (how quickly you change your mind).
salute a tired policeman while we wait in an endless traffic jam.
You give me many reasons to smile and I ask myself do I need to teach you or do I need to learn?
Friday, May 05, 2006
My Quest
Not smooth or rounded
or free of glitches,
At times a pot-holed journey
replete with hits and misses.
A relentless search
for nudges and signs,
That could lead and guide me
towards this quest of mine.
Difficult to express,
words may not suffice,
A hesitation to share,
even if it’s for a price.
It seems to shift and change
like the grains of sand,
Perhaps to do with me
and the ways of my mind.
As of now my quest
seems simple and clear;
To live in truth and faith
and be without fear.
To be more of what I am
with each passing day,
And to live life to its fullest
come what may.
As part of the Theme exercise for Shakespeare and Company Network of Writers(Ryze)
or free of glitches,
At times a pot-holed journey
replete with hits and misses.
A relentless search
for nudges and signs,
That could lead and guide me
towards this quest of mine.
Difficult to express,
words may not suffice,
A hesitation to share,
even if it’s for a price.
It seems to shift and change
like the grains of sand,
Perhaps to do with me
and the ways of my mind.
As of now my quest
seems simple and clear;
To live in truth and faith
and be without fear.
To be more of what I am
with each passing day,
And to live life to its fullest
come what may.
As part of the Theme exercise for Shakespeare and Company Network of Writers(Ryze)
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Reunion
I had not seen her in over 20 years, not a glimpse not a word, just an occasional tidbit of news about her and other college friends but … there she was simple and graceful in a peach colored sari, looking beautiful. To me, she would always be beautiful.
Some moments are precious, such as this one, that left me short of breath and words and a pleasant churning within. Old memories and long forgotten emotions associated with them rose to the surface. I could not avoid them however hard I tried. I didn’t.
We had been college friends who had shared a wonderful rapport and a highly volatile relationship or friendship as she had insisted on calling it. We would argue and differ on almost everything and I had always envied her, her sharp wit, intuition and her remarkable ability to read eyes. I could do neither, except probably charm girls with my chivalrous behavior and humorous disposition. To her that classified as zilch. Yet we had hit it off so well sharing easy conversations and being sounding boards for each other. It had been a good friendship. Until we had completed college and moved on in life to higher degrees in different countries, work and careers and then settling down. We did keep in touch but over the years it had become intermittent until it reached a stage where I didn’t know where she was and what she was doing. Time and circumstances do create bridges which we fail or forget to cross.
Now as I walked towards her, my usual self confidence seemed to dissolve and my heart skipped a beat or was it many beats .I felt a silly urge to just turn back and walk away. I didn’t!
Age hadn’t touched her or perhaps I was blind to it. Her laughter lines and beautiful wrinkles only seemed to enhance her grace. Nothing could make me look away from her large expressive eyes and at that moment I wished with all my heart that I could read her mind. Even reading eyes would do.
I greeted her with a warm smile, “Hello Rhea. How have you been?
She seemed a bit disoriented and put her hand out to touch me. The familiar tilt of her head, her touch on my arm, her smile -to me it seemed that the last 20 years just melted away in that moment.
“Rahul, is that you? My long lost college pal? she exclaimed. And her face broke out into a wide happy smile.
We spent the next few minutes talking about old batchmates, teachers and a little about our lives. She didn’t speak much except that she had shifted to the city about a year ago and was with a NGO. She just listened; very unlike the “Rey” he had known. Maybe time changes everything. Maybe she didn’t even recollect his nickname for her-“Rey” like the rays of the sun. Too many maybe’s! We were like two friends who had become strangers and were now on the brink of renewing it all over again. The thought made me happy. We exchanged numbers with promises to be in touch. I had every intention of keeping the promise, now that I had found her.
Time was short. She had an appointment to keep and had to leave.
As we bid goodbyes, I could not stop myself from asking her, “Do you still read eyes?”
She smiled her warm lovely smile and replied, “I’ve stopped reading eyes, I read voices instead”.
I watched her leave.
I joined the group I had left.
“Do you know her?” my colleague Naren asked
“I do, we were friends in college”. (I was about to say good but refrained, don’t ask me why.) “I met her now after 20 years”.
“Rhea Patel, right...she runs a NGO, “Drishti” for blind children, actively involved with education for the blind. Just saw a brochure with her picture few days ago. And no one would ever know that she is blind herself. A lady of courage and spirit, without doubt.”Naren continued.
I was left speechless.
A piece of fiction.
Any resemblance to Rajendra's story or characters is purely coincidental. However his story inspired me to write this piece.
Some moments are precious, such as this one, that left me short of breath and words and a pleasant churning within. Old memories and long forgotten emotions associated with them rose to the surface. I could not avoid them however hard I tried. I didn’t.
We had been college friends who had shared a wonderful rapport and a highly volatile relationship or friendship as she had insisted on calling it. We would argue and differ on almost everything and I had always envied her, her sharp wit, intuition and her remarkable ability to read eyes. I could do neither, except probably charm girls with my chivalrous behavior and humorous disposition. To her that classified as zilch. Yet we had hit it off so well sharing easy conversations and being sounding boards for each other. It had been a good friendship. Until we had completed college and moved on in life to higher degrees in different countries, work and careers and then settling down. We did keep in touch but over the years it had become intermittent until it reached a stage where I didn’t know where she was and what she was doing. Time and circumstances do create bridges which we fail or forget to cross.
Now as I walked towards her, my usual self confidence seemed to dissolve and my heart skipped a beat or was it many beats .I felt a silly urge to just turn back and walk away. I didn’t!
Age hadn’t touched her or perhaps I was blind to it. Her laughter lines and beautiful wrinkles only seemed to enhance her grace. Nothing could make me look away from her large expressive eyes and at that moment I wished with all my heart that I could read her mind. Even reading eyes would do.
I greeted her with a warm smile, “Hello Rhea. How have you been?
She seemed a bit disoriented and put her hand out to touch me. The familiar tilt of her head, her touch on my arm, her smile -to me it seemed that the last 20 years just melted away in that moment.
“Rahul, is that you? My long lost college pal? she exclaimed. And her face broke out into a wide happy smile.
We spent the next few minutes talking about old batchmates, teachers and a little about our lives. She didn’t speak much except that she had shifted to the city about a year ago and was with a NGO. She just listened; very unlike the “Rey” he had known. Maybe time changes everything. Maybe she didn’t even recollect his nickname for her-“Rey” like the rays of the sun. Too many maybe’s! We were like two friends who had become strangers and were now on the brink of renewing it all over again. The thought made me happy. We exchanged numbers with promises to be in touch. I had every intention of keeping the promise, now that I had found her.
Time was short. She had an appointment to keep and had to leave.
As we bid goodbyes, I could not stop myself from asking her, “Do you still read eyes?”
She smiled her warm lovely smile and replied, “I’ve stopped reading eyes, I read voices instead”.
I watched her leave.
I joined the group I had left.
“Do you know her?” my colleague Naren asked
“I do, we were friends in college”. (I was about to say good but refrained, don’t ask me why.) “I met her now after 20 years”.
“Rhea Patel, right...she runs a NGO, “Drishti” for blind children, actively involved with education for the blind. Just saw a brochure with her picture few days ago. And no one would ever know that she is blind herself. A lady of courage and spirit, without doubt.”Naren continued.
I was left speechless.
A piece of fiction.
Any resemblance to Rajendra's story or characters is purely coincidental. However his story inspired me to write this piece.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
As I get ready yet another time for my daughter's 3rd Botox surgical procedure,I ask myself -am I ready to handle it yet again?I am resigned about it and for me thats a dreadful way to feel.To accept something out of a resigned attitude.Am I too tired to ask and question,enquire and probe ...have I become jaded about her treatment?Like being caught up in a familar rut and not wanting to climb out of it!
As she grows each day(she is now 4 years,5 months and 2 days old) and I put her to sleep each night,a feeling of tenderness arises in me.Some moments are precious-as her head lies on my chest,her curly hair with its lingering traces of shampoo and the night's dinner,her steady heartbeat,warm breath and the way her fingers curl around my hair tightly as if not wanting to let go.Tears flow,yes they do but they are tears of strength and of finally acknowledging what I really want for her.
I want her to stand,to walk,to run,to hop,skip and jump,to dance with the wind and reach for the clouds and to cherish her life and the joy of movement.I want the very best that life has to offer for her and nothing else.
I owe this to a dear friend-Asmita who helped me understand the importance of acknowledging one's wants.
As she grows each day(she is now 4 years,5 months and 2 days old) and I put her to sleep each night,a feeling of tenderness arises in me.Some moments are precious-as her head lies on my chest,her curly hair with its lingering traces of shampoo and the night's dinner,her steady heartbeat,warm breath and the way her fingers curl around my hair tightly as if not wanting to let go.Tears flow,yes they do but they are tears of strength and of finally acknowledging what I really want for her.
I want her to stand,to walk,to run,to hop,skip and jump,to dance with the wind and reach for the clouds and to cherish her life and the joy of movement.I want the very best that life has to offer for her and nothing else.
I owe this to a dear friend-Asmita who helped me understand the importance of acknowledging one's wants.
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