And then there was none...

 A few days back, I laid in my bed, in the darkness of night, waiting for sleep to overpower me at the end of an exhausting day. Unfortunately, on this particular night, sleep decided to elude me for some time and so my mind started racing - some nostalgia, some anxiety about the future, the usual rigmarole. My son was sleeping next to me and for some reason, I started comparing his childhood with mine. Perhaps more precisely, I was comparing myself as a parent to my parents. Now I am not one of those souls who conclude that everything that went wrong in their lives was due to the brand of formula that their parents decided to feed them. I truly believe that my parents tried to do the best for us - me and my sister, they did everything in their power to give us a protected and secured environment. However, as I grew up and started interacting with the world, I was exposed to discrepancies and unknowingly, I had embraced that difference. As someone growing up in a developed nation, I think my son may not be exposed to that aspect of such blatant socio-economic differences, but recent events portend a controversial future for his generation. However, that's for another day...

I grew up in a small town in central India. A town whose only claim to fame was that it housed a huge steel plant that provided employment to almost everyone living in that town and nearby villages, either directly or indirectly. Needless to say, this was long before the IT boom era, and so this town found itself to be the destination of thousands of families migrating from all parts of the country to earn their livelihood, and getting a favorable environment to grow and prosper. Our family friends were mostly my dad's colleagues, or his classmates from school - all of them were employed as 'officers', respectable position within the steel plant, earning a decent salary and comfortably perched at the top of socio-economic strata in this town. At the other end of this spectrum, were folks who were called 'chargemen/workers'. The officers resided in nice quarters, frequently maintained by the plant, and typically became bigger as employees traversed up their career path. The workers lived in different quarters - the difference was uncannily discernible, even the localities were grouped accordingly. I grew up hearing these terms and comprehended the difference without quite realizing the implications of that. There are two incidents that came to my memory on this particular night and gave me quite a chuckle. 

The first incident happened when I was in first grade. All employees' children went to schools that were heavily subsidized by the plant, more so for the underprivileged class. Our fees were different, even though they were ludicrously paltry to begin with. However, this particular anecdote is around a policy from the plant - the children of the lower income families were provided with school dress twice a year. This was unfathomable to my young mind when it happened for the first time. I simply couldn't understand why some of my classmates got 'gifts' while I sat there, fervently hoping for getting something and ended up being disappointed. So much so, that I went crying home and made my dad's life a living hell to understand why I was not given clothes to wear, when everyone else in my class got those. My dad was understandably confused and perturbed, and it was only after he spoke to his colleague, who had his daughter in my class too, that he explained to me this strange policy. His explanation placated me, and somewhere I took consolation in the fact that my family had the means to buy me new school dresses and therefore, I am actually not losing out on anything.

The second incident happened not long after that - perhaps in my second or third grade. Her name was Anjali, I still remember her face pretty vividly. She was my classmate and her family belonged to the lower income group and even though her house was not far from mine, it was understandably in a different neighborhood. I have a vague memory that she invited a lot of us from the class to her house (I have no clue what was the occasion), and I was the only one to show up because I took those social gestures very seriously and pestered my dad to take me to her house. On one of those visits, there was an event in her house. I remember two things very clearly. At one point, her mom rebuked her for not doing her share of the chores. I remember the look on their faces - her mom furious, my friend feeling guilty, though I suspect she didn't know the reason. At that moment, I could clearly fathom that being a girl, she was expected to help out her mom and not enjoy, like everyone else. Suddenly, even though she was my friend and classmate, we seemed to belong to very different worlds. The second part of this narrative is comical, but tragic at the same time. As a result of her mom's rebuke, my friend started washing the dirty utensils left over by their guests. I, always being the one to show solidarity, sat with her and helped her too, doing my bit just the way I had seen our household help doing so at my house. I remember washing many utensils, in fact at one point, some of their guests came over and handed me more plates to wash, sympathizing that two little girls are doing this burdensome chore. I was innocent enough to recount this incident to my parents and for a long time, this made me the butt of my dad's jokes. He would mock me saying that I was invited only to do the dirty cleaning there! 

What happened to Anjali - you may be wondering. Unfortunately, our camaraderie was short-lived after this incident. Anjali didn't progress to grade four, and I don't have many memories of her in my childhood after this incident. The cynic in me suspects that she either discontinued her studies or went to a school with much lower standards. For me though, she stopped existing shortly after that. I do have a fleeting memory of my 'high class' friends sneering at me over my friendship with her and after a point, even with my innocence, I knew this was not meant to be.

As I laid down that night next to my son, hearing his breath, I hoped and prayed that my son doesn't feel embarrassed, if his friend's family doesn't match up to his family's economic status. I hope that our coming generations see each other for what they have the potential to become, rather than from where they have come. Because when we start erecting these barriers in young minds, they leave an indelible impression destroying the joys of unadulterated friendships, and worse they spare none...

SLOW Construction Area

 If I had 1 word to describe how my life is, right now, it would be - SLOW. It's the same routine of getting up, doing my morning yoga, attending calls while sipping my morning tea and gulping down my breakfast, taking some more calls, trying to introduce some routine in my son's life, running around until it is time to call it a day. Sounds paradoxical when I said my life is slow. Perhaps I meant mundane? Or boring??

I think of myself, 2 years back, and I see someone oozing with confidence and passion, determined to make an impact by herself. Sadly, I have lost this passion over the last couple of years. I have been consciously feeling that I am slowing down physically. Things that I could deal with are no longer my cup of tea. Somethings are always on my to-do list, the only reason they are on that list is because of my vanity. I know I can't get these done by myself, and so I keep procrastinating. I often sit back and wonder about the purpose of what I am doing. It feels like I am facing a midlife crisis where I question everything in my life. My priorities have undergone a change and perhaps, I am still trying to find a balance between what I have to do and what I want to do. As of right now, it has been a daunting task and I am failing miserably at it.

When I look at my older pictures, I feel a distinct line separating the person in the picture from me. It's invisible but indelible, very much there, something only I can perceive but can't shake off. I admire that person, her courage, her enthusiasm, her can-do-it attitude, the sacrifices she made, the battles she fought and came where she wanted to. The person who always wanted more, was not afraid to speak up and was willing to go the extra mile to get what she wanted. Sometimes I wonder, did she take on more than she was supposed to?? How did she transform into this lackadaisical, aimless, yielding person? But perhaps the bigger question is - can she be revived? Can she really come back? I truly miss her.

Ya devi sarvabhuteshu shaktirupena sansthita....

Year 2020 will not be treated kindly by history. It's the year that brought the world to a screeching halt and threatened to build new normals. But we still have 5 more months to go till we go into another year, and I don't intend this post to be a chronological reference.

Somewhere in our lives, we all live through those moments - life altering, earth shattering, world crumbling... you get the idea. The moments from which there is no looking back. That moment when you feel that the rug has been pulled from under your feet. That moment that leaves you gasping and panting, as if all the air has been sucked out from the atmosphere. The moment which will be etched in your memory for a long time. That moment when you feel the full force of a heavy truck hitting you and your body attempting to move away from the impact, except that there is nowhere to move away. The moment that defines your life and leaves a scar on your timeline. Before so and so happened, after I came out of that etc. etc. In my experience, those moments are not the ones we dread. It's the carnival of our emotions that are at play in the aftermath of such moments that dictate the severity of our wound and the pain that is to follow.

I remember one such moment in life. I had the luxury of having a mirror close to me, so I stole a look at myself while I was in it. I silently bade farewell to the old 'me' because I know that this moment needed a new 'me'.

It has been sometime since that moment passed. And while I have recuperated to a large extent from that experience, I have not been the same anymore. I have more insecurities, newly-found courage, restored faith in God and better clarity in terms of my priorities. Most importantly though, I think I appreciate things around me much more. In the daily rigmarole, it is natural to start taking things for granted and that gives us a big jolt when something falls out of its place. I have a more accurate disposition of my strengths but most importantly, my weaknesses. And of course, this experience has humbled me. My source of strength has changed and my patience has grown (there is still a great room for improvement).

The recent events have rekindled our interest on some overlooked areas of our lives. The fallacy of taking things for granted when things around us are fine is something that we, as a society, are also guilty of. One such topic is our mental health. I can understand why this is so easily missed. Our brain needs to actively see things in order to prioritize it. In a way, it becomes the victim of its own limitation. Stress, anxiety, despair, negativity - these are not visible and hard to spot and easy to mask. The weight of these emotions crushes our minds and sucks our soul. The task of living with these emotions becomes harder because we disguise our feelings and put up a facade for everyone, including yourself. This conflict is no less than the famed battle waged by Goddess Durga against the the demon Mahishasura. If lost, we are doomed to an eternity of darkness and despair. 

Comeback or cameo?!

6.5 years!! That's how long it has been since I posted anything here. I read my older blogs and almost felt like a third person reading my own words, that's how long it has been!
Needless to say, things have changed drastically from the last time I was here. After I wrote the last post, I changed job, we moved to a different state, I went back to school and shortly afterwards, embarked on the journey of motherhood. Of all the events, the last one has shaken me to the core and unleashed a plethora of insecurities hidden deep within me. To be responsible for another life, another human, who would someday grow up and contribute to the world that we all live in, is a scary thought and one that still gives me cold sweats.
With everything going on, I am not sure how much time can I devote to this blog. I want to try, for my own sake, to vent out my thoughts. Internet is not the best place to do that, but I belong to the netizen era, and typing is much more convenient than writing.

My love story....

I still remember our first official date. We went to the Café Coffee Day very close to where I was staying at that time. The one thing I remember very vividly was when we decided to leave from there, he summoned the waiter and asked for “bill”. This request was accompanied by a gesture of two hands – I still don’t know what it exactly meant, but it appeared to be outlining an open book horizontally. Needless to say, this gesture was absolutely unnecessary and completely out of the place. We still laugh over this incident whenever we think of that meeting.

After this meeting, we started going out quite frequently. I could instantly make out some of his habits that I strongly disapproved of – for starters, he always used to show up late for our rendezvous. And mind you, one of the things that I hate doing is to wait. He loved eating at restaurants and trying out different cuisines. I was and still am, very happy if I could get a hot homemade meal to devour. He used to splurge on shopping and loved every moment of it. I could never get everything on my shopping list without help, not because I was very particular, but because I lacked the patience to search for things I needed. An entire day spent on shopping still gives me headaches. So as you can understand, we were not exactly “made for each other” material.

In spite of these stark differences in our personality, I knew I had found the “one”. He is very practical and level-headed, his views on life and everything else were very insightful for me. He brought a new dimension of perspective in my life. He made me rethink my priorities in life. He encouraged me to pursue my career more aggressively. To this day, his support and influence has been a huge role in my professional life. I couldn’t have been where I am today without him, truly. I remember reading this incredibly valuable advice from Indra Nooyi when I was a child – “Always pick the right husband”. Although I was too young to appreciate the profundity of this advice, it stuck with me. And when I met him, I knew I had found my right husband!

It has been four years of our marriage now. I still wonder how I could manage such an incredibly attractive and amazingly wise life-partner. He has the patience to handle me every day. I am truly a mess when I am distressed but my husband knows just how to calm me down. He is patient enough to sit with me when I make him see the same shows of Feluda, Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes over and over again because I never grow tired of them, in fact I believe that he now likes them. Our relationship had its usual share of highs and lows, I relocated to US for my work and it was almost a year before he joined me here. It was a trying situation for a couple and I am not exactly the person who fares well under stress. Again, my husband held his ground and we sailed through. He deserves a lot of credit for us being what we are today.

He is my best friend, worst critic, philosopher and guide. When he is around, I know I can take on the world. While I am yet to figure out many things in life yet, I know for certain that I want to be with him always. Many more years of living together happily, husband! +Abhishek

Happy Rose Day!!

No, I am not talking about the Valentine's Day when I narrate this particular incident of my life that happened a few days back. In fact, it was just an ordinary day, by every standards, except perhaps a chance encounter.
I was on my way to office in an auto that morning. We stopped at a traffic signal and I peeped out to breathe the fresh morning air. Suddenly, out of nowhere a very young girl, clutching a few wilted roses, approached my auto. She didn't utter a single word but the pleading was evident in her eyes. I nodded my head in negative and tried looking elsewhere. I could feel her eyes nudging me from a distance. The auto driver tried to dissuade her but the girl persisted. I finally took out my wallet and mustered all the change I had in my fist and gave it off to her. I couldn't bring myself to count the money and I had no intention of taking a rose from her in return. The girl realized this and neither did she count the money. She handed me a rose in spite of my refusals and walked away.
The entire incident happened in a probably 1-2 minutes. However, I noticed everybody at the signal looking at me. I tried looking out of the auto to pay the girl some more money but she had vanished without a trace. Soon enough the traffic signal changed from rose red to leaf green and my auto zoomed away. As I held that rose in my hands, I felt the words echoing in my ears – 'Aaal izz welll'
This seemingly simple incident made me feel really good. It re-instilled in me the belief that I am a good person at heart. But more importantly, it convinced me that there is still goodness in this world. If a young girl, dressed in rags and carrying a few wilted roses to make her living for the day, could be proud not to accept money for nothing and generous enough to give away one of those roses for a few coins, indeed all is really well!
That rose adorned my work cubicle that day and I have carefully preserved it in one of my notebooks in reminiscence of my encounter with the rose lady.

Moving On….

Today is the sixth death anniversary of my beloved Dad. Six years since I saw him, heard him, felt his assuring presence around me everytime. These six years of my life have taught me a lot. Even though I was away from my mom and sis each day of these six years, every moment we were connected with each other in our griefs, tied with the loss each one of us had to endure, bonded by the silent tears each one of us shedded. Those hardships, the struggles, the pain, the anguish – can neither be explained to, nor can be understood by, somebody who has not been through the experience of losing a beloved one. However, this piece is not about us, this piece is intended to be a memoir of my dad.

When I think of my dad, there are many qualities that come to my mind. A person of wisdom and shrewdness, an enterprising person with a lot of zeal and enthusiasm, a committed and honest individual, hard working and sincere with his feet firmly on the ground. To this day ppl recognize me as his daughter, such was the goodwill that he had earned in his lifetime. A very stoic person by nature, my dad had the power to endure each and every challenge that life threw upto him. I had seen my dad shedding tears only once – it was when he took leave of me on my second day of college. Somehow, I can still visualize my dad waving as he walked out of my hostel while I stood at the gate, his cheeks red and wet with the tears.

We have moved on since his demise. We took our time, refused to believe at first that this really happened to us, fought with ourselves to understand why this happened to us, but finally conceded and accepted that life had tricked us. Not that we had an option. You see, that time survival was a necessity, not a choice. And slowly, the wheel started rolling again. However, I am sure that from some corner of the sky, my dad keeps looking at all of us and I know he is very proud of the way we have carried on with our lives. I love you, Dad, we all do…And we miss you a lot, will always miss you.