The Last Transaction

We just completed our India trip last week. For families living abroad, a trip to India involves months of planning - ensuring leaves are sanctioned at workplaces, classes are cancelled or made up, gifts are purchased for family members and most importantly, all your documents and important papers are organized. Our trip was meaningful, refreshing, and productive. We had planned to finish many pending tasks in this trip, most of which are related to banks, and thankfully, things worked out.

One of these tasks was to close my ~25-year old account in a nationalized bank, about 20 kms from where I stayed, in Bangalore. For a city notorious for its traffic, traveling this distance twice in a day is not for the faint-hearted. However, one fine morning, we braved our way through the Bangalore traffic to accomplish this mission. We were very skeptical, preparing ourselves for hours of ordeal and falling short of some required document or the other, to our pleasant surprise though, things were relatively fast. We found the bank staff to be very efficient and attentive, something I was not expecting. While the process was relatively smooth, couple of things on that day inspired this post.

• As I was looking at the passbook while waiting to be called in the bank, I saw a number on the very first page. As I said, this is a very old account, in fact, my very first account, however, the moment I saw the number I knew what it was - my roll number in the first year of my undergraduation. My recent memory is very faulty - I don't recall half of the things people around me refer to, but the moment I saw that number, my heart skipped a beat. Memories came gushing by, I was seated in a huge auditorium waiting for my formal admission to NIT Trichy, with my dad. The numbers were assigned in the order in which we arrived at the venue.

• At one point, I got teary-eyed waiting for my turn in the bank. I was operating this account after years and had run from pillar to post to transfer this account from Trichy to Bangalore, when I landed in the city after starting my job. As I started thinking about that and looked at the dates stamped, it felt like I was letting a part of myself go. This was one of the existing links from my dad. He had helped me open this account after completing the admission process in Trichy. I still remember the scene - I was standing at the gates of my hostel, he walked away ready to depart from the campus, turned around and looked at me. His face was all red, I knew he was crying, but he was too stoic to show his emotions. 

• I was looking at the different visitors in the bank that day. People from all class had come with their agendas. There were 2 young women, in their early 20s, who caught my attention. These young women were going from counter to counter, trying to get their work done. I commented to my husband that the younger generation is so smart and responsible to be handling these things on their own so early when he reminded me that I must have done the same too. His comment brought back memories from 20 years ago, me visiting this branch on the weekends, waiting for my turn, sometimes scorned and turned back for not knowing the rules and regulations wasting hours but showing up the week after none the less. My admiration and gratitude (I owe a lot to her) for that young lady's determination and resilience was renewed.

Funnily, I ran into trouble when I least expected. After this account was closed, I got the balance in a cheque that I deposited to another bank. Just 2 days before our departure, I got to know that a certain form was missed due to which the cheque was not deposited. I narrowly escaped this predicament and ultimately, close this episode successfully in this trip. All's well that ends well.

Long forgotten and newly relived memories - a short trip to Seattle

 

This seemingly non-descript picture was taken earlier this month when we decided to make a last minute decision to spend the long weekend of July 4th in Seattle. I usually balk at the idea of unplanned travel, but life has taught me to be more pragmatic. But also Seattle is a special city for me..

13+ years back, I came to Seattle. It was winter, and the famous folklore about Seattle's weather was not known to me unfortunately. I arrived in this country on January 21st, a Friday. I remember that as I went around exploring the city on foot (I started driving from 2013), my lips were too numb for the serving person at McDonald's to comprehend what I wanted to eat!

But what's with this picture, you ask. This is the apartment where I stayed for 2 months in Seattle. A beautiful apartment at the heart of Seattle downtown, I remember one morning standing in the cold balcony and seeing a huge ship sailing past. This ship was so big that I couldn't see where it started and where it ended! Seattle is one of the few things that I couldn't share with my husband. He was in India still and while I missed him badly, the city had enough attractions to keep me going during the weeknights and on the weekends.

As we roamed around the downtown on foot, some memories came back. We went to a Japanese restaurant on the same street as my apartment to have our dinner and since they had a wait-time, they wanted us to wait. As I gave them my phone number, they seemed to have a record! While we decided not to have dinner there ultimately, I was reminded me that I indeed had dined here during my first trip!

As we walked up and down the hill (Seattle downtown is like a roller-coaster!) to visit the attractions in downtown and visit restaurants, I kept marveling at how much things had changed. Or perhaps my memory had given its way, I'm not sure. 

At the end of this trip, I was glad that I could share my memories with my husband and my son. It felt special to relive some special moments, like sitting near the fountain of Harbor Steps Apartment and explaining how I managed my grocery shopping, a convenience store that's not to be seen anymore, a home decor store that still has the same pieces after all these years (!)

One thing that I couldn't relive though was the sadness that I had when I left Seattle. When I went to Seattle, it was meant to be a short trip after which I would go back to India and join my husband. Instead, I flew to Washington D.C., for another work commitment. I was anxious for the new city and new people and I was sad that it would be a few more months before I get to see my husband again. To not sound over-dramatic, my husband visited me in DC in summer of 2012 and I went to India in December for 2 months before my husband relocated to US. A lifetime of experiences there!

Baatein bhool jaati hain, yaadein yaad aati hain

Something very magical happened a few minutes back. Google Photos prompted me with our pictures taken 14 years ago. These pictures were from a trip we had taken as newly-weds. We went to Yercaud where we stayed at a beautiful resort, had delicious food, and enjoyed the laidback lifestyle of a remote place for a few days. This was very different from the fast and hectic lifestyle we were used to, in Bangalore. Coupled that with the fact that this was our second trip after marriage, the overall experience was idyllic.

I was looking at these pictures wistfully and admiring a much younger and vigorous me, with a headful of hair. My husband stood beside me in one of those pictures, looking much younger and reminding me of the boyish face I fell in love with. It was the last picture on my screen that prompted this post today.

That picture was of a young man, early 20s, standing proudly next to his autorickshaw. It would be accurate to say that even the second before I saw this picture pop up on my screen, I had no recollection of him. But when I saw this, many memories came gushing back..

This enterprising and friendly young man had taken us to visit local spots during our stay there. At the end of our stay, he also took us back to the nearest train station. (Honestly, I don't remember this, my husband reminded me.)

As I was processing my emotions upon seeing this picture, my husband loudly wondered what that man must be doing now. As I heard that, I was reminded of so many people who I met at a certain point in my life, and I didn't even get to say goodbye when we parted. I am reminded about my help, Lakshmi at my apartment in Bangalore. Lakshmi couldn't speak any language other than Kannada and my vocabulary in Kannada could be counted on fingers. We communicated in sign language, yet we understood each other completely. As anybody living in metro cities of India would confirm, the tempers of house help are legendary. Lakshmi was as far from this as possible - she barely spoke and never gave me a reason to complain. I hope wherever Lakshmi is, she is happy and living comfortably, with her family.

I am also reminded of Bijoy - another young man from Odisha who cooked food for us. Unfortunately, Bijoy's temper lived up to the legend and one fine morning, Bijoy walked out of our house when our tempers clashed. He never worked for us again, inspite of my pleas. I cringe at the recollection of my behavior, although the blame didn't lay with me solely. I hope the older Bijoy has found a better paid job and living off comfortably, with his family.

So many people, some remembered but most forgotten. A lifetime of yearnings, memories, and sighs - perhaps that's what makes everything more memorable.

And finally the picture that served the inspiration for this post. :)

I hope your spirit is still intact, my friend. Thank you for your kindness to a young tourist couple.

                                            

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.

Tu hi meri dost hain!!

"haan Bolo..."
"hey BhagWaan!!"
"kya kar rahi ho?"
"hah!!"
"arreY! Chup na!!"
"dhut!!"
"you know what.."
"hmmm.." (= haan:)
"hey"
"accha! suno na..."
"Plzzz.."
"accha ab main rakhti hu.. theek hai?"

Words... that I have heard so many times a day that I have hopelessly gotten used to them.
Words...that tell a story but are a story unto themselves.
Words...that even when they are so predictable are fondly awaited.
Words...that seem very ordinary but speak of something very special.

As I log on to my laptop for the first time in the year 2009, I see this seemingly innocuous mail waiting to be picked up in my mailbox. I open this mail and I see the above words – words that lit up not only my new year but also my entire life to come.

This mail comes from a friend of mine, a very special friend who has been with me through the thick and thin of my life for the past few months, a person whom I could confide anything and everything and trust to come out with solutions even for invincible problems. But most importantly, she taught me some of the most beautiful things about life:

1. She taught me to hug. Don’t think I am kidding; I have hardly hugged my dearest mom!! She blackmailed me into hugging her quite a number of times, and by now, I am proud to admit that I have mastered this gesture too.

2. She showed me a Touch-me-not plant. (Readers might start thinking that I am hopeless at this point, but believe me, although I knew the name of this plant since I was a kid, I had never seen it in real life). That day as I stood with her in the garden, playing with that shy plant, I was secretly thanking God that he had chosen such an opportune moment to show me one of his most wonderful creations with somebody so close to my life and heart.

3. She ‘taught’ me how to hold my fort under all circumstances. Forgive me for using the word ‘taught’ because though I admire (and at the same time envy) her for this trait, I refuse to imbibe this myself. I think I need to be much bigger hearted and wiser to be like her. One person in this entire world on whom I can take the liberty of screaming and scolding, hanging up the call abruptly and still not hesitating to call at all odd hours just to cry my heart out - that’s her!!! She would always be there, on the other line of the phone, with her mellifluous voice resonating in my ears – ‘Kya hua, ….’

4. And yes, this is the biggest takeaway for me. She brought a whole new meaning of the word ‘relationship’ in my life. I have always prided myself on maintaining good relations with those I value a lot. But after she entered my life, suddenly the word had assumed a meaning of monumental proportions. If earlier I respected my relations, today I value and relish them.


I dedicate this blog to you, my friend. I pray for you from the bottom of my heart and somewhere in my prayers I beg God to bless me with your companionship for many more years to come. While I move on with my life and my troubles, I always have this comfort in my heart that somewhere my friend is always with me, sharing my happiness and joy, bearing my tears and pain. A Jewish saying goes like this - Who finds a faithful friend, finds a treasure. I am one of those fortunate ones who have dug out this treasure for themselves…

I am tired!!

I am feeling terribly upset at the moment. A sinking feeling has overcome me and I feel blank in my mind and devoid of any hope in my heart. There are days when the sun just doesn’t seem to shine enough through the clouds and there is a gloom hanging heavily in the air. Today is one of those days. I am waiting, no praying, for the day to get over soon. I am tired, tired of living every moment only to encounter dejection, struggle and helplessness. I want to get some rest after the day is over. I want to sleep tonight…

Cloud-Capped Star

I remember watching a movie when I was probably 7-8 years old, perhaps even younger, ‘Meghe Dhaka Taara’ (Wikipedia translates it as Cloud-Capped Star, so I will go with it). I have absolutely no clue about the plotline but I remember my mom crying throughout when she watched it, so we can safely assume that it is a very poignant story. For those who want to know more about the movie plz click on:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meghe_Dhaka_Tara

The movie concludes with the main protagonist screaming ‘ Dada, ami bachte chai’ (Brother, I want to live!!). For some unknown reason, those words have been etched on my memory. I can still close my eyes and hear that heart-rending cry of anguish resonantly echoing in my ears. And for some reason, I want to scream those same words today too – Ami bachte chai!! Ami bachte chai!!!

(One of the most enigmatic things about us is that we never stop short of complaning how bad things are and how even worse things are turning out to be. However, still each one of us wants to live. We don’t give up until our last breath!! And this is my promise, however many clouds may overshadow my star I won’t stop following it. Because… I want to live!! )

A tribute from a daughter

For those who believe in the saying – ‘The past is history, the future a mystery, the present a gift’ I recommend you to move on from this article. Because I am about to take you all to a journey that I made, five years back.

Date: 6^th May, 2003

Place: National Institute of Technology, Trichy

I see a girl, like the other first year students of B.Tech, running around and getting all the no dues certificates, practical note books etc signed. The entire campus is abuzz with pre exam activities, after all the first years have their second semester exams starting after two days. This girl, after doing her fair share of rounds for the above mentioned formalities, comes back to her hostel room when she is informed by one of her yearmates that she has been summoned to the warden’s room.

I am sure the readers have understood who the girl in the above lines is. However, for those who have failed to see the connection yet, I would like to introduce myself. I had enrolled as the student of NIT Trichy for B.Tech 2002 and as mentioned in the above lines, it was me who was sitting in the hostel room on my bed on that fateful (or rather fateless) day, absolutely oblivious of what lay in store for me.

I can still remember my friend coming in to announce that I am wanted at the warden’s room. I can still hear her say ‘All the best’ as she went out (I never asked her later what made her add it as an afterthought). Anyways baffled by the fact that I have not been in any trouble and hence, any summon by the warden is highly inexplicable, I remember entering the room to see the warden gravely sitting on a chair. Alas, my memory refuses to retrieve events clearly from this point. The warden is telling me that my father is sick and I need to go back immediately. I am denying vehemently, saying that I had spoken to him only the day before and there must have been some confusion somewhere. I remember the warden hesitating, then asking me to pack my bags, not giving me any further chance to argue.

I don’t remember going back to my room. I also don’t remember how I broke this news to my friends, or perhaps I never told them in the first place. I just remember that I picked up a few denims from my cupboard and shoved them into the bag, still uncertain as to why I should be going. I try calling up my home landline no. Nobody answers. I refuse to accept this as a signal of danger. Outside my room, all my friends had already started making arrangements for my journey. I am inside my room, still dazed, not daring to go out and yet assuring myself again and again that nothing wrong has happened, that nothing wrong can happen!!!!

I still have no clue as to how my friends arranged for the tickets so soon. By that evening, I heard that I have to travel to Chennai by bus that very night and then I would be taking a flight to Raipur. No other detail was furnished, my mind was too perplexed to sort out anything anyways.

One of our teachers had come to drop us (it was arranged that another friend of mine would be accompanying me, inspite of severe protests from me) at the Trichy bus stand. I remember hazily that all my statemates had come to bid me goodbye but I hardly remember anything concrete. However, I do remember that I was secretly hoping everything to be a cruel prank, and when I go home I find everything as usual.

I have absolutely no memory of the events during the journey. I vaguely remember my friends boosting me in their own sweet way (however they were all driving me crazy internally, as I could not fathom what they are trying to drive at). I craved to speak to my family but for some reason they were refusing to pick up my calls. I reached Raipur after a gruelling fourteen hours. My friend’s mum had come to pick us up from the airport. As I headed towards my home, I was sick with nervousness and a shadow of gloom had overpowered me. I was so scared that I dared not ask anybody if everything is ok at my home. I sat quietly in the car as my friend started narrating about the experiences during our journey to her mom but I was too exhausted to be able to paricipate in any of the conversation. Upon reaching my home, my friend’s mother held my wrist tightly and took me inside the house. I was totally taken aback by this gesture but I had no time to retaliate. As we went upstairs, while I was trying to free myself from her hold, I saw my mom’s face looking down at me. That one gaze had told me everything I needed to know.

In that one moment, I understood everything. In that one moment, I realised that my dad is no more. In that one moment I realised that from now on nobody would call me ‘Mamma’ (a name which only my dad used). I realised that I had grown up by atleast ten years in that one moment. I had heard that sometimes one moment changes your entire life. I had encountered that pivotal moment of my life, that moment. I screamed and screamed, till my lungs gave away and felt my knees going weak beneath me as my mom took me into her arms.

I hardly had time to spend with my family after this since the college authorities had made it clear that I needed to appear in the exam as scheduled. I returned to my college after staying at home for 3 days, I am not sure what I did during those days, I have absolutely no recollection of any event in that period. By the time I returned to college, I had already missed two of my practical exams and I remember that I had to appear for one prac each day since then, so that I could finish them off before my theory exams started (I remember one of them was a holiday, I was the only student in the Physics laboratory finishing my exam).

Five years have passed by since then. And I still miss my dad. I still miss running up to him and grabbing his helmet as he got down from his scooter. I miss hearing his footfalls as he entered the house. I miss seeing him sitting on sofa reading the newspaper with a cigarette in his hand, every morning as I woke up. I miss being able to ask him any question and get an instantaneous answer. I miss him waking me up in the morning during my exams. However, now I have evolved my own way of coping without him. I don’t need anyone to wake me up anymore, I do that by myself. If I don’t know the answer to a question, I look for it until I have got it. And as for you, dad, I can feel your presence by my side always. You are my strength, my inspiration in everything that I do, you will always be…. Though I would never be able to see you again, you will always be in my heart and my memories, you are there with me in all my moments. I am proud of you Dad, and I hope that I have grown to be the person you wanted your daughter to be. I love you dad, and will continue to do so till the very last breath of my life.

As I conclude recounting the most devastating experience of my life, I would like to express my gratitude towards my friends, teachers and the staff of my college who had been very helpful during the darkest period of my life (what I owe to my family is too huge to be handled in words, so I would not even attempt it). Perhaps I had been too sensitive to speak about this issue and hence, I have never been able to express how much their being by my side, meant to me. I thank each and everybody who had stood by me then, from the bottom of my heart, and may God bless each one of you.

P. S. – For a long time, I had been avoiding this article. I was apprehensive about the emotions that I would evoke in the readers. However, the feeling that I owe this to many people finally made me write this. I had always been horrified that people would sympathize with me on hearing about this emotional trauma. (I have often been asked insolent question as to how my mom managed to raise us without our dad, questions that grossly underestimate the prowess of my mother). However, today with the support of my family and well wishers, I have grown to be a person strong enough so much so that if, on reading this article, you come and say to me – ‘Hey, I am really very sorry’ , I would smile back at you and say – ‘Don’t be. I am not!!’

One Night at the Nagpur Railway Station

Before I start, I would like to explain the reason behind christening of this article as above. I am sure many readers will feel that I have tried to cash in on the success of the famous novel by Chetan Bhagat – ‘One Night at the…’. However, I feel that the incident that happened to me had so much to do with the Nagpur Railway Station that it would have been unfair for me had I named this article anything else. In case you still have not been convinced by my brief explanation plz read on…

I have come back to blogging after a long hiatus. I don’t have any valid reason for this – I was not so busy so as not to be able to spare sometime for blogging. However, I guess I was searching for a good topic to write about. Now I would ask the readers to pardon my digressing for a while before I get on to the main topic because I feel that a preface is required to the incident that I am about to narrate here.

The year 2008 has taken me to different places quite unexpectedly. With the onset of 2008, I had been on an official trip to Den Haag, Netherlands and had an experience of a lifetime. Then I had been to Trichy (the place of my alma mater by the way :) ) to attend the wedding of my friend’s brother. Also recently I have been to Chennai for a personal reason. Not that I have never been to the last two places mentioned, but the fact that the decision to travel had been quite impromptu – something I never do. Now to come back to the subject, I had gone to Bhilai (my native) in the month of July for duration of two weeks (I am not mentioning the endeavors I had to make in order to convince my boss to allow me to go for leave though!!). So I was scheduled to reach Durg junction on the 5^th night at 10.30 PM (I had planned for this one month in advance and I had meticulously prepared an excel sheet with all the dates of journey, train no., train name, arrival time, departure time etc!!).

The readers from the northern part of India would be well acquainted with the fact that most of the time we don’t get a direct train from Bangalore to our respective places. Either there is no such route or the timing would be outrageously bad. In my case, I have Wainganga Express that would take me directly from Yesvantpur to Durg (the station where I get down). However, it so happens that the railway authorities, for some esoteric reason, have decided that the train will start at around 11.40 PM in the night on Tuesdays and then take me to Durg at around the same time the next day which means that I would have to board as well as leave the train at a deserting time. Notwithstanding the fact that the train goes through a strangely horrible route and you actually yearn for a station, hours after hours, with nothing in sight but summer scorched fields, I am especially unpliant about traveling by this train due to the fact that I plan my leaves from one Monday to the next week Friday. However, with this train I run the risk of wasting 2 days while leaving and 2 days again while returning. With my current (and preferred) route, I have to halt at Nagpur Junction and then take another train for Durg (its only a journey of 4 hours from Nagpur onwards). During my journey back and forth between my college and Durg, I always had to take a halt at Nagpur and for some reason Nagpur station has now started giving me a sense of familiarity there. I don’t feel like a stranger in that part of the country though it’s nothing compared to what I feel about that station now. However, more details on that later.

With so much information for the readers to gulp down, I now come to the main point. I had planned to catch the Sampark Kranti Express (SKE) from Yesvantpur on 4^th night and reach Nagpur at 5 o’ clock in the evening next day. Then I was to board Howrah Adi Express (HAE) at around half past six and be at Durg station at around 10.30 PM. I dutifully boarded the train on the 4^th (after a scuffle with the auto driver though, I got heavily duped that day by the way!!). My only concern was that if SKE gets late by more than one and half hours I might miss my second train. However, SKE, as always, took me to Nagpur by quarter past five. So far so good!!

Next I wanted some refreshment to keep me alive till 11 since I wanted to have my dinner at home. However, just as a safety precaution I asked a nearby TT about HAE. He consulted some hastily scribbled list and informed me that it would arrive by 9.30 PM. What??!! No there must be some mistake… 3 hours late?? No way.. Let me go to the stationmaster (SM) and find out. And the same story.. HAE is running late by 3 hours..It is expected to arrive at Nagpur by 9.30 PM. I forgot about refreshments and started scheming to evade my 3 hours long wait in the station. I knew that we have Geetanjali Express (GE) at 6.55 PM. Actually, I always prefer GE from Nagpur but unfortunately it was booked to full capacity and hence my dependence on HAE this time. I went to SM and convinced him to allow me to travel by GE since I am travelling alone and he being a nice fellow, readily agreed to do so. How I found the courage to board on a train for which I had no confirmed ticket with an ocean of human beings trying to get on and off the train and how I found a distressed family of four travelling on one side berth, which compassionately allowed me to sit on their already crowded seat is a different story. I thought that for once I have eluded Nagpur station. Little did I realize how wrong I was at that time!!

Now I come to the main part of my monologue. I take you to 19^th of July, the day when I am supposed to start my return journey to Bangalore. Now my mom (who has a strong faith in astrology and numerology) strongly believes that the number 19 is lucky for me. I won’t accuse this belief of hers to be entirely baseless. Many life turning incidents have happened to me on the date 19^th of different months in different years. Now on 19^th I was to catch Chhattisgarh Express (CE) at 5.10 PM which takes me to Nagpur station by 9.40 PM. Next I was to catch Sampark Kranti Express (SKE) whose departure time was scheduled at 10.20 PM. It looks a bit risky for somebody who has never travelled by these trains. Now SKE starts from Delhi and in my 2 years of experience (you can also add to it my friend Suruchi’s experience who travels in the same route as well), this train has always been late to arrive at Nagpur by more than two and a half hours. So I assumed that I have a safe margin since CE never gets late by more than 10 – 20 minutes at Nagpur. And add it to the fact that it was on 19^th, I was strangely optimistic about being able to catch the train safely.

19^th of July, 2008 6.10 PM, Durg: I am standing with my mom and sister in the Durg station. After one hour of tension, CE finally arrived one hour late. I am nervous and as the train starts hicupping, I bide a tearful parting to my family. After sometime I regain my composure and get mixed with my co-passengers supposed to be returning after their piligrimage from Raipur. After the usual ‘Kahan padhte ho beta’ (where do you study, child – I guess I can easily fake as a college going girl :P ) I get pretty acquainted with the family.Next when left alone to myself, I start thinking about what lies ahead in Bangalore. In the meantime, without my realization a soldier travelling in the adjacent berth has overheard that I stay in Bangalore. He gets pretty impressed and starts asking me more about Bangalore. Not being cruel enough to break his illusion about this trafic jammed expensive city, I mumble sweet nothings that had been fed to me years before I landed up here. Slowly the conversation progresses and he inquires ‘Aapko akele travel karte hue darr nahin lagta (are you not scared of travelling alone)??’ I answer it with my usual nonchalant shrug – ‘Aadat padh gayi hain (now I have got used to it)’. Even though the train is stopping here and there every now and then, his conversation keeps me from noticing these halts portending a disaster. He gets so carried away by my conversation that he actually invites me to go to Jammu with him, ‘Bangalore jaake kya karoge Ma’am, mere saath Jammu chalo’. I smile it off and when the train finally reaches Nagpur I say a quick farewell and get down the train. It was 10.50 PM then.

I go to the platform where SKE is supposed to arrive. No sign of that train anywhere. Even the boards are showing some other train no. I go and inquire at the IRCTC endorsed nearest book stall – ‘Bhaiyya, Sampark Kranti nikal gayi kya??’ The man responds with a brief nod. And I am stunned!!Unable to accept the misfortune I again ask the next stall person. Again the same answer. Its 11 now and I am stranded in the Nagpur station where I know nobody in a radius of about 360 km after missing my train!!

I rush towards the nearest STD booth and inform my mom about the terrible mishap. The next thing I do is to keep my luggage in the booth and run towards the main platform where the stationmaster sits. There is another person who has missed SKE because of CE and is inquiring about it. We are informed that the station master is currently not at his place and he would be back soon. I talk to the person next to me and as soon as he gets to learn that I am travelling alone, he puckers his mouth – ‘What are you planning to do next?’ Having no idea about it myself, I go back to the STD booth and collect my luggage. I gulp down the food prepared by my mom (the last homemade food that I would be having in the next 6-7 months) and start pondering about my next move. Unbelievably, not even for once I had the thought of shedding tears at that moment of crisis. Crying seemed like a luxury at that time. As soon as I had gulped enough to keep me going for the rest of the night, I again sought the help of STD booth person to keep my luggage and ran to the stationmaster. This time lady luck smiled on me and I could explain my predicament to him. I still remember the incredulous look at the face of the other person sitting next to him as I explained my situation. I would be lying if I don’t admit that I was really scared at that moment. However, I guess I was too scared to show that too!! Anyways the SM helped me out by pointing out an alternate train (Gorakhpur – Bangalore Express, GKE) that can take me to Bangalore. He wrote relevant instructions in my ticket and told me that my next train is at 4.10 AM next day!!

Digesting this piece of information, I went back to the STD booth and made a call to my mom informing her of the latest developments (by the way, the STD person made a fortune that night!!) and then went into the dormitory with my luggage. I barely had a wink of sleep and then I went back to the platform around 3.30 AM. But as they say, Misfortune never comes alone. The train was late by more than three hours and it was expected to arrive only after 7 in the morning. Phew!! The place was desolate and the only people I could see around were the stall owners, porters or the mendicants. Not having the strength to go to the dormitory dragging all my luggages, I decided to while away my time on the platform. Luckily, I found a bench that was secluded by a pile of carton boxes. I lied down on the bench and covered myself head to foot with a wrapper and tried to sleep a little more. I don’t know how long I slept for, but when I woke up I found a dog sleeping on one of the boxes, though at a safe distance from me. Now its not that I am a dog lover, in fact the very statement is poles apart from the truth. I am terrified of dogs, so much so that if I see a dog five metres away from me, my heartbeat rises considerably. However, in this occasion as I was lying down on a platform with two heavy luggages, I decided that a dog is only welcome since if someone tries something unscrupulous, the dog would have to be disturbed too. So I close my eyes once again. After sometime I open my eyes once again to see another dog sitting there, and this time it has chosen a place from where it can jump down right on me, if it has to dislodge itself from that position (I still wonder how it got there in the first place though!!). I close my eyes and tremble in anticipation of something horrible happening for sometime. I was too scared of even getting up lest the dog awakes and decides to make a move. I get up as noiselessly as possible and have a glance at my watch. Its 5 o’ clock!!

As I sit back thinking what to do next, I found this man sitting right behind me. He is completely ignorant of hindi and had we not missed the SKE, both of us would have been heading towards Bangalore in the same train now (He had come and inquired about SKE last night when I was gulping down my dinner). He informs that he has got a ticket confirmed by the staff for some other train that will take him to Chennai and advises me to do the same. I request him to take care of my luggage and walk towards the staff room. I see a herd of uniformed people there and I smartly thrust my ticket towards one of them. As he takes a look at those, he starts making dismissive noises saying that I can’t be given permission to travel by any other train as there is no ‘connecting ticket’ (to this date, I am yet to decipher what he meant by that. Readers plz enlighten me!!). He shows my ticket to his colleague who smiles at him when he says the same thing and then asks – ‘Akele travel kar rahi hain?’ (Is she traveling alone?) This person, obviously unperturbed by any such circumstance asks me to walk with him towards the SM’s office telling me that I can be fined at this moment since I don’t have a valid ticket, but surreptitiously asks me – ‘Unhone kuch liya kya?’ (did the SM take anything from you?) I was growing dizzy by then and just replied with a meek ‘no’. As we enter the SM’s room, I steel myself for some demand but the SM rules out any objections by the ticket checker. That man lets me go but asks me to approach him once the train arrives with a menacing look. I nod my assent and walk out.

I return to my luggage and realize that I am short of cash. Fishing out the ATM card out of my suitcase and requesting my acquaintance to take care of luggage once more, I go to the ATM at the entrance of the station and withdraw cash. As I walk in the platform, I see many eyes turned towards me, all wondering what I was doing there alone at that unearthly hour. I walk smartly, pretending not to notice anything and get a parcel of sandwich for my breakfast. Then finally I return to my bench to resume waiting for my train.

My acquaintance sits next to me now and starts talking to me. He introduces himself as Mr. P and works in machinery industry. Basically from Salem, P is very impressed when he learns that I have graduated from NIT Trichy. He praises me highly for my courage and we pass on the next two hours uneventfully. His train arrives by 7.30 and bidding me goodbye, he heads towards his train. By then, it was time for my train to arrive as well. As two TTs start walking towards this platform, I show them my tickets. However, they inform me that there is no quota of seats from Nagpur for this train and so they can allot me a seat only if there is one empty!! I knew it was a big gamble but I decided to go ahead instead of waiting for any other train to come or go back to Bhilai.

As the train approached the station, I looked at my fleeting reflections in its numerous glass windows. I was shocked to see myself – as if my helplessness has manifested itself as a hundred lines on my forehead. Taking control of myself, I proceed towards the last battle of this journey – to grab a seat in GKE.

I get up on the train with all my things huddled up near the door. As people pass by me, I try not to look in their direction. I hear many people commenting – ‘Itni raat se baithi hui hain station mein’ (Since so long she has been waiting in the station). I don’t know whether that comment was from sympathy or mockery but at that time, I couldn’t care less. I pray that the train starts as soon as possible so that I can find out the TT and request him for a seat. And finally the train starts. I request people standing there to keep an eye on my luggage and start off in the search of the TT. Finally I found them and quite surprisingly, they allot me a seat right then without any hassles. I carry my luggage from one end of the train to another end in two rounds and finally settle at my seat. However, in spite of the terrible pain in my shoulders I was not complaining. I realized that I have truly made the journey this time!!

Traveling with me is a girl from NIT Allahabad who is also going to Bangalore. As I start chatting with her, everything starts looking so normal. The struggle I had made till that point had absolutely faded away, except perhaps its memoirs etched in my mind. I chat away happily as the train moves on, celebrating all the good things in life.I stepped into bangalore on 21st at 11 AM, and believe me, I was all smiles!!

As I end my anecdote here, I would like to thank all those people who were with me at various stages of this journey – the sympathetic family, the simple hearted soldier, nice Mr. P and my friendly co passenger, who in one way or the other gave me the courage to move on with this tough journey. However, my special thanks to the SM at Nagpur, who helped out a young girl late night, without even once any sign of trepidation. Well by the way I strongly believe now - When there is a will, there is a way!!

A new beginning..

Well this is the first time that I have tried my hand at posting something on the web or ‘blogging’ as it is more commonly known nowadays.

I had read somewhere that everytime a person opens his mouth to express his opinion, he invites his audience to sneak into his mind. In short, the saying actually stresses on the importance of every small view/opinion that we have nourished and cherished in our minds with relevance to the values that we live for and will die for. Simply putting, in a group of people discussing about anything under the sun you can form a rough image of each and every person by analysing his point of view. This saying had set in so deeply in my mind that I had eschewed from writing anything in public for a long time (not that I had been harbouring any nasty ideas, mind you!!) in spite of so many of my friends urging me to write again and again. However, of late I have realised that in this world where all the transactions are carried out by pressing a few keys, nobody can remain isolated from the world. And hence, I am ready with my first blog. So the blog world, here I come!!

I have always believed that everybody should maintain a chronicle. Now what exactly do I mean by that chronicle? Do I mean a diary which says, 23^rd October – Mom’s Birthday (Not to be missed at any cost, call up at 12 am sharp)?? Or is it the one where you find – 1^st January – Woke up late with a hangover, skipped breakfast, fought with girlfriend…God, plz give me a break and blah blah blah?? Not exactly. Though of course any record will be incomplete without either mentioned above.

I am referring to those emotions that we feel when we undergo an emotional turmoil – my inhibitions, my misgivings, my joy, my tears all mine and nobody else’s. Unfortunately, so many of these moments are lost because of human nature and the urgency of the situation. After all, nobody will pick up a diary and start writing how he is feeling on hearing of a personal tragedy nor can anybody precisely recount it even later. But what we rarely realise is that our strength of character is seldom showcased more than ever in such thunderstruck situtations.

After such a long overture, I am sure all the readers will be confused as to where exactly am I driving to? I am not going to try your patience any more. I have always made it a point to pen down any event of my life, which I believe has changed me or my life in anyway. I have always fantasized that my teenaged great grand daughter may one day, sneak into a small cupboard and find this ragged looking notebook and after an inquisitive perusal find it to be the diary of her great grandmother whom she has never seen, not even heard of. Her only presence is limited to a few digital snaps that have been taken with her either parent sleeping in her lap. That will be something like a literary reincarnation of mine. She can see through my darkest fears, my quietest tears, my happiest laughter and my strength falter that I would have made a note of. She would be transported to another world, where she is no more herself but living her ancestor’s life, breathing her and feeling her. But of late I have realised that such a dream is highly improbable – even if a diary endures years of neglect it is amost impossible that it will be accessible to an adolescent a few centuries from now on, given the hegemony of PCs, PDAs and many more gadgets which are yet to arrive.

So instead I made up my mind to finally make my mark in the blog world. I may be uncertain about my great great grand daughter able to read through my thoughts and my life but I am sure that my blog will reach unlimited readers all over the world. So till my next blog gets ready, goodbye, alvida, shabba khair :)