It's The Small Things

The last few weeks have been a reminder on how it is the small things that really help make or break just about anything - relationships, work processes, safety of people and security of assets. The big things everyone takes care of, but it is the neglect of the small things that adds up to create that one big event that maybe could have been prevented. 

I will not be cryptic anymore. To start with, I will take a personal example. Walking with my sister on a particular day I felt a twinge in my ankle. We were out to run eraands and I was in New York, not where I live. So I ignored it as I did not want to be a burden. The next day, out for lunch the ankle really started whining so I told her to slow down and then again ignored it. When we reached home that evening for a dinner with cousins I opened my shoes to find the darned joint swollen. It was at this point I remembered the suffering of an old ankle ligament tear and the six weeks I had spent in case. So mortified of being there again, I started to ice, elevate and took anti inflammatory as I have never been prescribed before. Fortunately in this case it was not too late but it did take some joy out of the trip. Only if I had paid attention on day one! And while my doctor back in India has given me a clean chit he has also advised to stay away from the heels. Now you see, I do not know if that is a BIG thing or a small thing. Till I make up my mind I am going with three days a week with heels. Vanity may just get me but what can I say....

The above is probably no harm no foul. What I faced next is major. So I had lent a mobile to a friend who was visiting India. Not a sim card but only the mobile. Data was erased and it was practically empty. As he was leaving the country he said he would leave the handset with the conceirge at the hotel and I could pick it up. When I did, I strangely found that the handset was unlocked. I enquired and he mentioned that as this was a temporary device and not his, he had not warranted to create a digital lock. Not what I would have done but ok. I once again erased the phone and put it away. A couple of days later the same friend called telling me that he was getting lewd emails with India contact numbers. I was stunned. We were trying to understand how someone got his email address when I realised that his phone, out of his custody was with the conceirge. Was there any chance that his mail ID had been active on that? Bingo! There. A small act of oversight created nuisance for him!

This still is potentially being left a little too easily. I think its the next one that is keeping me awake this Sunday night. Sunday before last was our building had its AGM followed by lunch. As this clashed with a pooja at home the AGM had to be skipped. However, after the AGM I insisted on finishing my work and then going down for lunch. Well I would miss meeting those who would leave early but at least I would meet the others. So I attended to what I thought was important and then made my way to the lunch. It was a delightful event and it was so good to be meeting everyone, so freely, after all this time. What I did not realise was that I had lost my last opportunity to meet with one of our residents, a jovial individual who would always smile and have a conversation. Suddenly yesterday he passed away due to a heart attack! Within thirty minutes it was all over! And I had the chance but I lost it. 

It was a small thing to have met my neighbours but it became a big thing today. The big thing of two weeks back I now realise I would have anyway taken care of as it was BIG. But in the bargain that I made the small thing cost me more. So as I am trying to sleep, I am trying to tell myself that maybe its the small things that really do matter and I need to be more attentive towards them. 

Adios amigos and may you all have a great week ahead!

The season of festivals

It's that time of the year when the festivals start coming one after the other, bringing in loads of childhood memories and wisdom of adulthood. Typically festivals are associated with revelry, food and prayers. I enjoy all that and the beautiful flower arrangements that adorn temples and entrances. Yet as the years have gone by, it's the learnings of the festivals that has stood out most for me. 

Let me start with Janmashtami, the festival that marks the beginning of all major festivals of the Hindu calendar. This festival falls in the Hindu month of Shravan on the eighth day of the waning moon cycle. I am smiling as I am writing this, because this maybe confusing even for those who follow Janamashtami. The Hindu calendar is a lunar calendar and has two halves of a fortnight each - the waxing moon cycle and the waning moon cycle. The month of Shravan is the monsoon month put very liberally and it's so apt as legends have it that Lord Krishna was born on this day to be welcomed by a torrential downpour. 

Before I get into the learnings of Janamashtami, let me share the revelries around this time. As children we would begin celebrating eight days in advance by preparing unique and diverse tableaus each day. Usually we would use vegetables on day one, fruits on day two, colours on day three, our toys on day four, fabric on day five and ultimately flowers on day eight. It was a community affair. More recently my paternal grandmother used to lay out a tiny swing and on it she would get her little Krishna to sit and swing him gently while singing sweet bhajans. Her devotion was unparalleled. She was the one who regaled my childhood with the glory of Kanha, as Krishna is fondly called. 

The Benevolent One was the one to acquaint me with the learnings from Krishna's life. He called him जगत गुरु, or the Guru of the Universe. As a Guru, Krishna showed how to navigate the most complex and tumultuous situations in life with grace and dignity. He was born in a prison where his parents were apprehended by his maternal uncle, he grew up away from his biological parents, had multiple attempts at his life from infancy, had to kill his own maternal uncle and was cursed that his entire lineage would vanquish. Yet, despite all these extremities he maintained his grace, fought for righteousness, helped all those who came to him and ensured that he kept his promises. In fact it was to enable the reign of righteousness on the planet that he imparted the knowledge of Bhagwat Gita to Arjun and impressed upon him that his duty was to fight a war with his own cousins. It was this war that got him cursed by the mother of slain Kauravas, who while in the wrong all the while were nonetheless a hundred dead sons of a mother. The grief of losing a hundred sons pushed Gandhari to curse Krishna that the Yadu dynasty would perish and so it did. Krishna paid a price for his life's mission from infancy, a price that was too steep. If only we could stick by our ideals and our values to even ten percent of this, the world would be a better place...

Closely following Janamashtami is Ganesh Chaturthi, a beautiful celebration of communities and families coming together to pray and bond. To be honest this is more of a tradition in Maharashtra, Goa, Andhra Pradesh and to some extent in Karnataka and Gujarat. In rest of the country it's a low key pious festival. This fourth day of the Shukla Paksh (waxing moon phase) of the Bhadrapad month marks the birth of Lord Ganesh, the God of clearing all obstacles and the giver of all joy, intellect and spiritual powers. In 1893, the great Lokmanya Tilak or Bal Gangadhar Tilak, organised the large public celebration of Ganesh Chaturthi as an attempt to unite Indians in the fight against the British. So on Ganesh Chaturthi, Ganpati idols were installed in large pavilions and for ten days communal prayers were performed and a strong atmosphere of oneness was formed. On the tenth day, a day before full moon, the idols were immersed in water marking the disappearance of all obstacles. 

This tradition has continued and expanded in the states mentioned above to the extent that no political rally, no other procession, no celebrity and no occassion can ever see the huge disparate crowds as those that gather for bringing of Lord Ganesh into the pavilions and then taking the idol for immersion. Today the idols are made of clay once more after less environmental friendly materials ruled the roost till a few years ago. Climate change is foremost on minds of those celebrating and it's not just Hindus but people across religions who invite people home as their special friend graces homes on his annual retreat! There is no other festival that exemplifies unity even today more than Ganesh Utsav. There is no other festival that gets people to pray and thank together like these ten days. There is no other festival that humbles the soul with devotion as this. If only we could stay as united, grateful and grounded the whole year round, the world would be a better place...

Soon after we bid goodbye to Ganpati with a promise to see him next year, the time to celebrate the nine form of feminine supremacy arrives. Navratri, literally the nine nights, is the most important festival in the east and the west of the country where the Goddess is the prime deity. Nine forms of the Goddess are prayed to over a nine day period with nightly dance offerings, cultural events and food being cooked, served and eaten in large public gatherings. This time these gatherings are colossal and grand in West Bengal, Gujarat and Delhi with some grandeur being seen in cities with large Gujarati and Bengali population. Each day has a colour that goes with it and devotees attempt to adorn finery in these colours. Preparations for cultural performances in West Bengal and with Bengalis across the world start months in advance. In Gujarat and with Gujaratis it's time to buy their best ethnic wear and win in the large dandiya (a traditional dance) competitions held across the globe once again. In Mumbai I have seen large markets selling traditional wear in a range of colours and all dandiya revellers buy these anew, each year, every year! 

For a country that the world sees as not women friendly, this season is the season when we not only worship the feminine but also acknowledge that without the feminine the masculine is incomplete. That it's Shakti (the feminine, energy) that nourishes Prakriti (the masculine, nature). That while the feminine can procreate and sustain, it can also challenge evil and destroy. There is nothing that the feminine cannot attempt and succeed at. Each of the nine forms of the Goddess are prayed to provide the devotees with the nine boons to live a complete and fulfilled life. It's true that we have come a long way in our appreciation and empowerment of women, but it's equally true that a lot still needs to be done. If we could only see ten percent of the Goddess in the women around us, the society would be a better place...

The day after Navratri ends is the day of Dussehra, a day that marks Lord Ram's victory over Ravana and hence the day that celebrates a victory of the good over evil. Through Navratri, while the east and the west have their celebrations, in the north of the country there are preparations for Dussehra that are also underway. One of the biggest features of this is the enactment of the story of Ramayan at large public gatherings on open stages, called Ramleelas. Contrary to the ethos of Navratri, the Ramleela troupes have men playing the role of women. Of course this too is slowly evolving. As the troupes are not professionals most often the Ramleela rehearsals once again bring communities together, and even where professionals perform families go together to view the play through out the nine days. On the tenth day the character of Lord Ram burns an effigy of Ravana, marking the demon's defeat. This is an event where as children we would clap, jump, hoot and celebrate. Candy floss was eaten at the Ramleela ground and story of Ramayan told again and again. 

Ravana was amongst the most intellectual beings of his era. Whether it was the scriptures or music, whether it was the art of war or economics, whether it was architecture or medicine; he was a know it all. He was the foremost devotee or Lord Shankara and so accomplished that the Lord entrusted him with composing the Vedas to ragas. Sadly, his accomplishments were shadowed by his lust, arrogance and greed. It was this that led him to kidnap Goddess Sita who was married to Lord Ram. While the Lord made attempts to convince him to release the Goddess, Ravana believing that he was immortal challenged the Lord and that led not just to his downfall but that of the entire Kingdom of Lanka. If only we could all recognise our shortcomings and just ten percent of the times not give in to avarice, cravings and our ego, the world would be a better place...

The season of festival finally ends with the grandest of all festivals, Diwali or Deepavali. This is the festival of lights which marks the return of Lord Ram to Ayodhya with Goddess Sita after a fourteen years exile at the end of which Ravana was killed. It is celebrated twenty days after Dusshera and falls on the no moon night of the Hindu month of Kartik . In the south of the country the day is celebrated one day prior to mark the victory of Lord Krishna's consort Satyabhama's victory over the demon Narkasura. While both underlying reasons are different, the festival is celebrated by lighting of lamps, cooking feats, buying of new clothes and cleaning of homes. Gifts are exchanged both personally and professionally, and this is a public holiday across the nation. Offices and homes in the north also start their new financial year with prayers offered to the Goddess of wealth Laxmi. It's my absolute favourite festival and one that since childhood has involved flower garlands, rangoli (colourful patterns created on the floor outside homes and temples), lots of diyas and best of traditional Marwari food. I wait every year, even today, for Diwali to arrive. 

Diwali to me marks the day where the Lord kept his promise to his father at great personal discomfort and suffering. It marks the day when his younger brother relinquished overseeing the governance of the kingdom as the rightful ruler was back. It marks the day when all personal differences are forgotten and families come together. If only, through the year we could have ten percent of the integrity, honesty and dedication that Lord Ram and his brothers had, the world would be a better place...

These festivals are not just learnings and celebrations but they define a way of life that has been handed down generations. There are underlying deep associations with each one. In our more modern lifestyle we choose to overlook this and get consumed in our own materialistic pursuits. I do believe that a step back and a thought given will help us realise the value that we have been handed. It definitely will help us enrich our lives and in the process maybe leave a better planet for generations to come. 

On that hopeful note, this is an end to a long post and wishing everyone a happy weekend. 

A weekend thought

It has been the most interesting cab ride in a long time and probably the only one where the post ride mind was lost in thought. As I hailed a normal black and yellow cab to get to work this morning, there was a lot on my mind. I was trying to answer messages and emails so that I could get into problem solving as soon as I stepped into the office. But when I told the driver where to go and then started to explain, he said to me 'tell me the name of the building and it will suffice. I have been driving a taxi for 34 years now.' True to his word he knew not only my office building but all the adjoining ones by name and in some knew which organisations were housed.

However, what made this an intersting journey was not his remark about just wanting the building name. From there on a conversation started which gave me details of his daughter's recent wedding where he spent INR 12 lacs and on how a large part of that went towards a washing machine, clothes, jewellery etc; all of which his daughter wanted. A Muslim man, he exclaimed, he was blessed that a Hindu boy who was his elder son's friend had gifted him a cooler which is also something his daughter desired as a part of her gifts. He felt that he had been treated kindly by the world and was grateful that despite struggles that he faced, there were those he could count on. His thankfulness was refreshing. 

As we were nearing my office, his stories over, he asked me a question. He wanted to know when was I the most let down by someone. I thought for a while and said it was when someone with a lot of means had fought unfairly for their material gains and then denied a well earned small bonus to someone whose income was about one twentieth of theirs! Accepting my response he went on to ask me when did I think I was treated most insensitively by someone. And he wanted to know further if this was something I would call insensitive even if I handed the same behaviour to any other human being. This was an interesting question and I did not have an immediate response as we were standing in the porch of the building. He left me saying the day we would meet again he would like to hear my response. 

I first began to wonder if I had treated him with disdain, arrogance, unfairly or unjustly. I realised my conversation was polite, I courteously listened to his stories and had paid him an upward rounded fare. So I was certain that he was not pointing towards me but given the flow of our interaction it was more his idea of understanding people. And so I began to think of what treatment by others made me feel that they have been insensitive and I would not like to do that to anyone because I would not like them to feel as hurt as I felt. 

At the end of the day, on my journey home, the answer came to me. The most insensitive treatment has been the silent treatment and that is something I never ever dish out, not even to those who hurt me the same way in the past. The first time it was done was by a close friend. He just did not call back and then took shelter under the excuse of a lot of work. I explained to him that it was insensitive and especially as I had requested he call back because I needed help. He apologized but then the same occured on a number of other occasions. While I decided not to rely on this friend for help anymore or for him to be there, I still return his calls and messages. To date I have always told him that his silence on multiple occasions was insensitive and that made me take my call of not relying on him. He says to hear this hurts him but I would rather be honest than give him the silent treatment. At least it gives him calrity and a fair chance if he wants one.

Similar instances with acquaintances have also occured where they have just been silent and not communicated and then sprung out of the blue wanting a familiar conversation. I have responded, always. Sometimes with firmness and sometimes with a casual response but always with empathy. I do not believe that any human being we interact with, for some period of time, with some common agenda deserves the silent treatment.

Communication is the way the natural ecosystem flourishes. And while silence communicates more than it does not, it also is a blatant dismissal or a very in your face ignoring of another human being which is neither compassionate nor empathetic. I would not give that to anyone and the instances that I have faced this have been the times I felt treated the most terribly. 

So as the weekend commences I vow to communicate and interact with my friends and family because they mean the world to me. And it's only my actions devoid of silence that can let them know this. Have a good one all!

Bhakti and Sufism

The Benevolent One once told me that in Kalyuga the simplest path to reach the divine was via Bhakti. He never prescribed rituals but always spoke of how the Lord was partial to His devotees. One of the mediums that Bhakti followers use to express their endless love and devotion for the divine is music. And given how dear music is to me, Bhakti was easy for me to understand. Bhakti sangeet, infact, has been a part of my life from fairly early on. 

Meera bai wrote love and longing filled poems for her beloved Krishna which Marwari grandmothers sang to my generation in our childhood. It was our first introduction to music. The Vinaypatrika by Sant Tulsidas, similarly,  is a collection of poems set to specific ragas. Each and every poem either is a praise of Lord Ram, Devi Sita or a call to them to be the saviour or a tribute to their greatness.  Bhakt Surdas, Narsi Mehta, Ras Khan and multiple other poets have left a treasure trove of Bhakti sangeet that makes a connection with the Lord much simpler for those with a restless mind like mine. Music brings focus and the poetry reaches the soul or it could easily be vice-versa. Singing bhajans for the last two years has made this realisation even stronger. 

On a track parallel to Bhakti sangeet is Sufi music. While qawalis are the most recognised form of Sufi music, the genre has many forms such as the Turkish Ayin, African Gnawa and back home Ghazals and Kafi. While I am not well versed with the foreign sub types, qawali and ghazals have often been my music of choice. 

Bhajans, qawali and ghazals; all have a proximity to Hindustani classical that makes them personally more melodious. The common use of the Harmonium and the Tabla further increases their appeal, and while I have been able to learn numerous bhajans over the last two years, I am only starting with Sufi songs now. 

Amongst my favourite Bollywood Sufi compositions is Khwaja Mere Khwaja from Jodha Akbar. On a side note, that movie also has a beautiful bhajan Mann Mohana and Ashutosh Gowariker has to be credited with getting some of Rahman's best divine music out to the world. Back to Khwaja Mere Khwaja, the tabla in this qawali adds a dimension where the devotee ultimately wants to dance for the Lord. It's tone, it's notes, it's melody are all sublime. Once I start listening to it there is no stopping me. 

This evening as my play list was on a shuffle, Khwaja Mere Khwaja started. It brought an instantaneous smile on my face. Maybe for the first time today but I heard the lyrics carefully and they brought me home to the Benevolent One. While I know He is with me I miss seeing Him and being able to hear Him. As I was listening to the qawali, the lyrics that came were as if straight from my heart to His ears - 

"टली हर बला हमारी

छाया है खुमार तेरा

जितना भी रश्क करे बेशक

तो कम है, ऐ मेरे ख्वाजा

तेरे क़दमों को मेरे रहनुमा नहीं

छोड़ना गंवारा"

He has always protected me and I have always basked under His love, sometimes even gloating that I am His favourite of all three. At least I think so; and even if that were to be a figment of my imagination, leaving Him is not an option for me. He is my faith, He is my belief and He is the one who led me down this blessed life that I have. 

As I am listening to this song end for the umpteenth time, I have also been aided by Google in identifying an instrumental version that my voice will be comfortable with. So as I now attempt to sing and record this soulful divine calling I pray that the Benevolent continues to bless me and hear me . 

On that happy note wishing all of you a restful night and a happy morning. 

Roe v Wade - Half a century of efforts drained

I am terribly sad; that is the only word I can think of that describes all the emotions I am going through. I also know that my sadness, in this case, will impact no one and is not of consequence as such. Yet as a woman, as someone who believes everyone should have the right to self preservation and privacy, I am saddened by the overturning of Roe v Wade. What is far more flummoxing is that this decision comes from the highest court of a country that is a self declared champion and moral authority of human rights. 

Motherhood, the word itself evokes smile, joy and nurturing instincts. But that is when it is a cherished desire or a choice. Anything forced is a burden and motherhood even as an elected choice is a life altering experience, so the forced option probably is more chaotic than one can even imagine. 

In the most extreme cases I am thinking of women like Norma McCorvey (who got Roe v. Wade in place) whose pregnancy is the result of an assault. A victim of a crime, forced to give birth to the consequence of the attack, can have multiple physical and mental health issues; her chronological, economic and aspirational circumstances not withstanding. Then there is the debate on nurture vs nature that has claims on both sides of whether genes pre dispose individuals to a life of aggression and crime or not. Even if nurture was to be the winner, who is to say that a tormented individual would be able to nurture a young life ably...

Reality could be completely anti a life born to a poor, socially isolated and traumatised rape victim. So at the end of the day are we saying that it's ok roll a dice to decide the fate of a new life? Of course there is the argument that a roll of a dice gives the life a chance vs abortion that takes away any chance at all. However, who are we to play the game of probability when the person who will be responsible for changing the odds potentially is an unwilling participant? Denial of self preservation in these instances is a crime in itself in my view. 

There are those who will say rape pregnancies are a small percentage. Reluctantly, but still let me accept that data point without having any facts to support or deny this claim. The thoughts steer towards to young couples not ready for a child, couples who do not want children ever and single women not wanting (yet or ever) children. This is a subset that does not want children and no contraceptive is a 100% foolproof. So what happens when they conceive? We take away their right to lead lives as they would like to? And who is the state, in a democracy,  to dictate how a couple should structure their family or to a woman or her life choices? The counter argument to this thought is that the state is speaking on behalf of a life that cannot speak for itself. Well that is why there is the so desired separation between the church and the state! What about atheists? How can the state impose religious beliefs on those who have none? Once again this set of citizens is forced into a life that is not theirs by their choice and a choice that is not creating harm, injustice or unrest to the society in any way at all! 

As I am writing this, I am reminded of a story. Before I pen that down I will state clearly that I am spiritual, I believe in life, after life and rebirth, and I am also a moderate Hindu. The story is from the Hindu epic Mahabharata and talks about the decision of nurturing a life resting with the mother. Santanu was a Kuru king who fell in love with Ganga, the river goddess. When he asked for her hand in marriage she hesitated and then before she accepted she only requested that he trust her a hundred percent and not question any of her decisions. If he did question her, she would leave him. Drastic condition by today's standards and by my own belief in transparent communication! That not withstanding and given that love is blind, Santanu crazy about Ganga accepted her only condition. Soon after marriage, Ganga conceived. But as soon as she delivered she took the infant to the river and drowned it. A shocked Santanu could merely watch. This happened seven times over and each time a devastated Santanu became a tormented bystander but did not break his vow. The eighth time he saw Ganga walking with the infant towards the river he could not contain himself and questioned her ghastly actions. Patiently she explained to him that she had promised these souls salvation and hence agreed to be their mother. Given that Santanu had questioned her motives, the vow to the last such soul was broken and the last child would live. Also as per their prenup she would leave him. The legend has it that this was the seed that planted the tree that bore the fruit of the epic battle of Mahabharata between the Kauravas and Pandavas. 

The reason I narrated the story above is because if we were to turn a blind eye to the absence of separation of the church and the state, church being used symbolically for religion, then there is merit in looking across the spectrum and we will find there to be enough advocates of mothers' rights and the saying that mother knows the best. 

Steering back to a fact based discussion, my attention is also drawn to the disabled. What happens to those women who are either physically disabled and conceive by force or those who soon after conceiving become physically challenged. How can someone unable to take care of themselves, a hundred percent independently, be forced to take care of an infant who needs to be attended to day and night! Will state provide means for these mothers and if yes who will fund that? 

Of course, at the moment it's twenty six states that will rejoice in the acceptance of this ruling. Which means there are twenty four options for the thirty six million women impacted. But to access these and the international options they will need to have adequate financing or else they will need to go to courts where their right to privacy will be shred into rags. For a capitalist country this works I think, if one has the money one has the solution. And yet it seems so inhuman and unfair. 

As a woman I love children and I believe that their innocence brings hope and learning in the crazy times we live in. I believe that we should bring children in the world but also that the world should be a safe and happy place for them. As a woman I also know the challenges that a female mind and body goes through to be able to bear children. It is not a journey that everyone may want to undertake. As a woman I do feel for the victims and the disabled and what their mental makeup could be due to their own agony. How can we force a way of life on them ! As a woman I feel that this is a pre-conceived judgement that is not just unfair and reeking of inequality, I also feel while women have silently and patiently nurtured, loved and sustained life for generations this is just putting them through a fire test they did not sign up for.

I do hope a constitutional amendment at some point will come through and on that optimistic note I sign off for this time. 

Life - Fluid as a river

Life is strange and unpredictable. That probably is the most cliched sentence to start my post with. Yet, there is no other opening line to describe what I am about to pen down. 

My last visit to Lucknow had me see a hopeful Little Springsteen but worried doctors. His physical condition was improving but not his blood reports. The doctors were worried. They also told Bruce the same. Yet four days ago we felt the blessings of the Benevolent One when we could move Little Springsteen into a room. No ICU, no HDU but a private room. What progress!

As we were rejoicing I got to know that the gentleman who had toiled to get Little Springsteen admitted into KGMC, had helped organise doctor calls for us and had personally visited Little Springsteen as frequently as he could, had passed away due to a sudden heart ailment. I was stunned and shocked. He was hail and hearty, had complained of high blood pressure and then was admitted to the hospital. For two days he was apparently on a ventilator and then it was over. Here, our little fighter has been braving through suffering and pain and has beat all odds! How the tables turned! 

This morning we discussed the fact that doctors were thinking of a discharge and so we needed to find a place for Bruce and Little Springsteen to stay in Lucknow, until such time that the wound would be stitched. That was thought through and options lined up by the evening. A video call the day before had shown a smiling Little Springsteen now sitting up on his own from the lying down position. All of these were tremendously positive signs. Lots to be grateful for!

Suddenly my phone rang at about 9:00pm and it was Bruce calling. I did think it was not his normal calling time as this is when the father and son eat. Apparently, he had left Little Springsteen sitting on the bed to go wash his hands so that he could feed dinner to the little one when all of a sudden the wound started to bleed. Bruce came back to a blood soaked bed sheet. He ran for the nurse and then wore gloves, opened the dressing and pressed the wound to control the bleeding. The attending doctors were just on their way out for dinner. It was a Sunday afterall. But this happened so they rushed to the room. Giving me this update Bruce hung up. I messaged the treating doctor. Luckily, salutations to the Benevolent One, the treating doctor happened to be on site. He messaged me with the information. And then I waited. An hour and some later, the doctor himself messaged that all was under control but due to the blood loss Little Springsteen was back in ICU. How circumstances shifted again... temporarily though, I am fervently praying! 

So yeah, strange are the ways of life and unpredictable are the ways of the Universe. I am praying for a speedy recovery for Little Springsteen, some respite for Bruce and for all our prayers to be heard! May the Lord have mercy. 

Medicine and Music

My heart was heavy. Had been since Little Springsteen had the dastardly accident. One place the mind went was what if this has all happened because I have started my music again? It's an extremely silly thought and completely illogical, but when the heart is heavy it behaves irrationally. And while I knew this at an intellectual level, I needed reassurance. To voice my fixated baseless worry I called Her, the one who understands me as much as Mother does. Her immediate revert to me was, "संगीत तो आराधना है बेटा, यह भाव तो स्वप्न में भी नहीं आना चाहिए|" And just with Her saying so I felt relieved. 

Her words are so true; music is devotion, it's pursuit is a prayer and it reaches the soul. In fact it's the only universal constant. The note can be called a Sa or a Do but will sound the same. It can be sung as Pa or So but the frequency does not change. Nothing else; not colours, not wind, not water, nothing retains its consistency across the universe. Probably that's why memory is also aided by music. From mythology to reality we know of how music helps retention and memorisation. It was the reason that Lord Shankar asked Ravana to set the Vedas to music and expecting mothers are asked to listen to music.

As my classes have progressed I can hear my own improvement, slow but audible. I am more confident in my singing and I am enjoying trying unknown songs. Most importantly I am experiencing peace and calm. It is what has given me the strength through the happenings of the last ten days and helped me relax over the last twenty four hours when the doctor called to say that the first green shoots in Little Springsteen's recovery may now be visible. 

Four days ago I stood outside the ICU waiting for Bruce to come. I was feeling vulnerable but had to be strong; afterall Bruce is the father. I looked around and my eyes could not hold any sight for more than a few seconds. On a stretcher lay a young man in pain, unable to get up. His ailment I did not know but this was a plastic surgery and burns ICU that I was outside, so I probably did not even want to know. Next to him, on the steel chair, sat a man with an arm in the sling having had the hand amputated. Further ahead was a young girl with a facial issue that had caused the left side of the face to swell up as if there was a tennis ball inserted. As she sat outside the ICU, there was an IV connected to her hand. Further down was a few months old baby, crying mildly. What caught my heart was the cannula on his tiny little hand. How tormenting must this be! And all between these patients sat the attendants and relatives of those inside the ICU. The agony in that room was overflowing and yet there were smiles and laughter, empathy and sympathy, and mutual caring and sharing. 

The lady manning the entry to the ICU was stern but in a while she softened and herself mentioned that while Bruce was with Little Springsteen she would see if the ICU doctor would meet with me. A kind and patient individual, the doctor walked out and with a smile on her face greeted me. In detail and in simple terms she explained the nature of electrical injuries and burns, how they progress and what could be the consequences. She then went on to give me Little Springsteen's prognosis and the assurance that they were doing all and more that they could. Then came the HOD, a man who is a personality and he guided me to the treating doctor. As the gentleman approached me, he saw the agony and asked me to take a seat on the couch inside the ICU entrance. He sat beside me and began to explain the treatment thus far. He also said that the full extent of the injuries would not be known till the blood markers start to stabilise but in his experience "children and more resilient. They pull through. The cardiologist is of the same view." At that point in time a tear rolled down. I could not hold that one back but then composed myself. I folded my hands and told him how grateful we were for all their efforts and generosity and ultimately we were at their mercy. He immediately corrected me to say that we are all the mercy of the Lord! 

Having spoken to the doctors I wanted to meet Little Springsteen but his wounds were being dressed. It had been a very early morning and so I decided to go for a cup of tea. Bruce and I walked to the little hole in the wall that dispensed sugary and milky tea that had been cooked for a long time on an open fire. We both sat discussing the blessings that we had encountered. He said, "दीदी ठीक हो रहा है। सब बहुत कर रहे हैं। समय तो लगेगा।" I was humbled by his strength.

The campus of King George Memorial University is huge. So as we walked back to the ICU we had time and I understood the challenges Bruce was facing. He could not sleep as in the middle of the night he was sent with blood samples to the Trauma Center for testing. Then they sent him to the chemist to get items needed for dressing the wounds. In case Little Springsteen was in pain they would call out to him again. The emotional and physical toll that he was soaking was not showing. I felt so helpless at this situation that all I could do was hear and be there as a moral support, be the elder sister he treats me as.

Once at the ICU entrance we were told that a patient had passed on and so we needed to wait till the formalities were over. I waited. Then one individual was allowed to go suddenly and meet their patient at which the security lady got upset. If they were allowed why was I being made to wait. She asked me to quickly remove my shoes and follow her inside. Not caring about the cleanliness or sanitation I followed her. I wanted to see Little Springsteen. Keeping my eyes on the floor I followed her. I wanted to ensure that I did not step on anything sharp or into a puddle. 

As I reached Little Springsteen he looked at me with full awareness. The nurse next to him told me how good a patient he was being. I saw the amputated arm and the other one in bandages. My heart was thudding. I requested Little Springsteen to eat well and promise me that he would eat orally every day. I explained that oral nutrition was critical to his becoming healthier. Telling him that his recovery was all we wanted I was heading out when I saw a completely burnt man lying on the bed next to the child's. I reverted my gaze back to the floor and moved out. If the injuries were not sufficient the atmosphere was enough to scare the child. What sadness!! 

I came out, thinking of this when I bumped into the treating doctor again. He asked me I had met Little Springsteen. I said yes and that while he was completely aware, alert and coherent, there was visible psychological trauma. The doctor smiled gently ," of course. It's the pain, the reality and then the ICU atmosphere." And in the next breath he cautioned me that ICU is where Little Springsteen needed to be so we had to deprioritise the psychological trauma. He was right. That had to be the course of action. 

It was almost noon and I decided to leave Bruce to rest and attend to things that needed his attention. I told him I would be back before heading to the airport. With that I made my way to the car. As I sat inside I realised I was numb. There was so much pain that I had seen, so much agony and Bruce and Little Springsteen were in the midst of that day in and day out! How were they expected to be strong! It was not fair and a feeling of deep helplessness embraced me. 

That's when I turned to the only solace I know, devotional music. I put the music on shuffle and the first Bhajan that played, praised the kindness of the Guru. I bowed my head to the Benevolent One and another tear escaped. He has always heard me and been the kindest and the most generous. I called out to Him for the same once more. The next one is an all time favourite, it's a Bollywood song that talks of surrender to the almighty. The music is deeply touching. Picturised on children, it has been dear to me since I was a kid. Hearing it a couple of times I felt strength return to my body. The next one that I heard was the prayer of Lord Hanuman and it describes all that He did for Lord Ram. Finally came the Bhajan that off late is one I sing often. It asks the Lord to keep me in his sight always. By then I knew that He was listening and with that my breath came back to normal. As the rest of the songs went on playing I could feel peace return to my being and very soon I was calm, controlled and could think of buying myself yet another Lucknow Chikankari salwar kameez! I was in Lucknow and how could I not; even though I have multiple already!

Music has held me strong through the most turbulent times and how right is She is to say that music is a prayer. After all the Benevolent One had wished that I learn Hindustani Classical. His wish is always in my best interest. Maybe I have restarted music to become a better person...

On that note, I go to my daily practice and request that all you dear readers continue your prayers for my little fighter who seems to be improving. Signing off till the next post! 

Kindness, Compassion and Trauma

My heart is restless and the mind is working to be three steps ahead. I am very tempted to be stationed in Lucknow but all sensibilities tell me that I will only be in the way. So while the medical professionals are doing their magic, I am praying and requesting for prayers that will get the Benevolent One to weave His magic! 

As I came home from work on Thursday I was looking forward to a longer daily walk. Lighting my daily evening prayer lamp, that evening for the first time I came across a situation where the wick would not catch light from the matchstick. Finally, after five attempts I was successful. And as I walked out of the room I got the news that Little Springsteen had met with an accident. My heart was absolutely calm, I knew that this was not fatal; but given that this was a case of electrocution by the main transmission line I knew it was severe. So there was no question of going for a walk.

Over the next couple of hours we tried to connect with the impacted immediate family, in the remote countryside of the world, to understand the situation. No one was able to give us a clear picture nor was a smooth conversation possible. Finally about two and a half hours later we managed to speak to the doctor. The electrocution had caused burn injuries to the upper limbs. While the left arm had a wound that needed regular cleaning to heal, the right arm below the elbow had suffered significant damage and would need to be amputated. I was in shock and did not know how to convey this to the father of the child who of course had been distraught. Also I felt, as a woman, maybe I was being given the ultimate bottom line without the nuances so I asked father to speak to the doctor. Immediately on disconnecting, father asked Little Springsteen’s father if we could get the boy to Lucknow. That’s where father said he would be more comfortable getting all treatment done. His view was that even the amputation was necessary, Lucknow was better equipped and we would have better care. 

Little Springsteen arrived in Lucknow the next afternoon and went straight to KGMU. Apparently the plastic surgery department of the hospital is top notch. His young body had suffered too much trauma and there was very little that he was able to eat or drink. So the first thing was to ensure he got some nutrition. Little Springsteen's father arrived at the hospital too and I was relieved that at least the father now could see his son, speak to him and would know in real time what was happening. It did not take away the severity of the shock but it took away the anxiety due to the distance. 

With medical care now being given, we wanted to understand if there was any merit in bringing Little Springsteen to Mumbai. Doc suggested I speak to his plastic surgeon colleague. Dr T has been brilliant. That first day, he heard me patiently and then explained to me that there was no merit in bringing the child to Mumbai at this stage. For rehab yes. He did not stop there. He went on to ask for Little Springsteen's details so that he could speak to HOD of plastic surgery at KGMU. Bless Dr T! But before I could find out the bed number etc Dr T messaged that he had already spoken and the HOD was aware of the case. All due care would be taken.

I was a bit at ease, at least from a medical point of view. Then came the call that they were taking the patient to the ICU so that the extent of damage and a possible salvage of the arm could be evaluated. My hopes went up and a prayer went up to the Benevolent One. Only He can work miracles and I have seen Him perform those. 

Saturday during the day the phone worked and it was uneventful, until I got an urgent call from mother at 2:30am. The father of the patient had called mother in the US as he did not want to wake me up! How considerate is this soul in time of his own struggle! Little Springsteen's right lung had collapsed! How had that happened! And the hospital wanted the father to consent to the procedure. Mother requested me to find out more. So I called and was grateful that the doctor at the ICU agreed to speak to me. Little Springsteen's SPO2 was at 96-97 and they needed to complete the procedure soon. All my queries were answered and I told them they would get the consent. I spoke to the father, Bruce I will call him, and explained as much as I could. The procedure happened. I informed mother and tried to sleep. 

Sunday morning I woke up not knowing if I should travel to Lucknow or continue to stay put. My morning call revealed that there had been a request for some blood to be donated so that blood for Little Springsteen could be secured. Bruce did not know why the same was being requested.  As I was contemplating I thought of messaging Dr T. Profusely apologising for disturbing him on a Sunday, I explained the latest developments to him. He messaged back shortly to give me a medical perspective and conveyed that he would speak to the HOD and revert. Of course he reverted soon. Little Springsteen's haemoglobin levels had fallen and hence the blood. He confirmed that "boy is stable" but we needed to be watchful. Getting a complete low down from him took away the anxiety of the known unknown. 

While Dr T has been a blessing, Mr JK has been the angel we needed. Not only did he organise the admissions and all things needed at KGMU, he has been personally in touch with Bruce regularly. Mr JK's nephew has been visiting the hospital daily and speaking to the doctors as well. Today he assured Bruce that if more blood was needed all Bruce needed to do was to call him. In addition, one of his senior associates has been in regular touch with the hospital to ensure that the simpleton Bruce is not sidelined. Mr JK is a family friend but his generosity has gone above and beyond all norms, expectations and experiences. We are hugely indebted to him.  

As I was writing this post and bowing in gratitude to Dr T and Mr JK, I remembered what the Benevolent One always said, " जो भगवान यहाँ तक ले कर आया है, वो आगे भी लेकर जायेगा." How true is that. None of the kindness that we have experienced is due to our own doing. It's all been due to the empathy and big heartedness of fellow human beings. As this has come our way, so will the other means that will ensure His mercy continues to light our path. He who has shown us the path thus far will take us further as well. And on that hopeful note I am saying a silent prayer so that the Lord helps Little Springsteen recover soon...

Love - Emotional and Material

 As I listen to "बेकस पे करम कीजिए" yet another time, my mind drifts from the music to the context of the song. My chest sort of starts to cave when I begin to think of the fact that Anarkali was sentenced to be buried alive in that brick wall; all because she happened that fall in love with a man who was also the prince! How could that one emotion that every religion, every Seer, every God in the world defines to be pure and supreme get this punishment! Why would a ruler not understand how compassionate and authentic his son was if he loved a commoner! What could be more painful for Salim and Anarkali than knowing they loved but could not live that love! These are not questions but jarring emotions that have now caused my chest cavity to cave totally...

Well Anarkali lived and Salim ruled as the story says, and whether fact or fiction, there are many real tales like this one that abound. But my shock and bewilderment have no answer or atonement to be found. 

The epitome of love in my view are Lord Shankar and Devi Parvati. A king's daughter, she married the Yogi living in the hills. In her previous life as Sati, she married Lord Shiva even though her father was not a supporter. When she immolated herself in the fire of the yajna, Lord Shiva was bereft and Sari was born as Devi Parvati to bring about the worldly balance that had been lost. So when love can surmount the obstacles of life and death why can it not survive the economic differences that Salim and Anarkali faced? 

Of course this is a philosophical post and thought. One that is not accounting for practical implications. I could understand opposition if one person was a criminal, or dishonest and lacking integrity, or  mentally and physically abusive. However, aside from these, at least I cannot comprehend opposition to love based on caste, religion or economic standing. Naive as it may be, it is my truth. 

I continue to dig deeper and see a strong correlation between economics and such heartless and indifferent decisions. As the human race has progressed materially we have regressed emotionally. Power, stature,  wealth, physical attributes and personal gains dominate the decision making frameworks that we deploy even to take life shaping decisions. And I saw that up, close and personal at a very young age. 

There was a reasonably good friend who had decided to tell the man she was dating that her heart was probably not entirely in the relationship. There was no one else but there was a hope for someone different. She wanted to be honest. However, before she could voice her feelings, he proposed to her with the information of a double promotion and a move overseas. She saw this as her ticket to a life overseas with someone paying for her Masters. The marriage was solemnised. They remain married to date but I am no longer in contact. This was not opposition but proposition because of material factors. I was younger and more idealistic. It played with the circuitry of my brain and so I never spoke to her again. Lack of integrity was unnerving personally. Today I do think that maybe her circumstances drove her to take the path of least resistance and maybe I can understand at some level why she did what she did. I am hoping to reconnect, at leat in this case one heart was overjoyed...

A few years later, older and wiser, I was visiting a friend who was totally devoted to his Christian fiancee. While he was born into a Hindu family, he counted himself as an atheist. His was a family of privileges and hers was of limited means. But their love for one another was real and they were ok to work their way through life's hardships. However, on that visit, my friend mentioned that he would call off the engagement because his parents could not fight the society on both the economic and religious fronts! I was appalled! I had hoped that he would work with his parents to get them to come around. He is intelligent and super well educated. If not him, who else could convince the family. However, the pressure got to him. For a few years after that he was miserable and then met someone who fit the criteria and who he cared about. But she did not light the spark in his eyes as She did! He got married and has a good life. Not sure if it's the happiest he could be though. Of course I am very much in touch with them...

And while I have seen a number of examples of the kind mentioned above, my absolute favorite and fondest story of love surmounting obstacles is that of Mr Pea and Ms Key. I love these two friends to the moon and back. Their journey was not easy. But straying away from the post, their journey was difficult because Ms Key was OMG so difficult. For Mr Pea it was love at first sight and I would love to be able to have a great Bollywood director direct the scene of when they first met! Smitten and swooning, I would have endless hours of phone conversations how Ms Key was the soulmate. She on the other hand was absolutely disgusted with this knowledge. So I was getting polar opposite feedback from two people and I could tell neither who felt what. My cauldron boiled higher each day! Then Ms Key decided to spend two months in Dubai. I took Mr Pea for coffee and explained to him that there were "other fish in the sea" and he should move on. While he told me he would, he did not. This limbo continued for at least three years and then one fine day I was summoned by Ms Key. If I wanted her friendship I had to drop everything and go to her place. I ran, metaphorically that is. 

Reaching her place I found a pensive Ms Key unable to comprehend how she had not recognised true love for all these years. She now wanted to pour her heart out but knew not where she stood. While he had not explicitly spoken to me post that coffee, I knew where he stood. Yet, I could not give any guarantees. I wanted to protect her, just in case. So I told her that she had no down side in meeting him that evening and having an honest conversation. She was scared and hesitant but agreed that this was the best course of action. So we took the bus that went to Mr Pea's house. Dropping her there I continued home in the same bus, with every moment becoming an eon of waiting. Those days there were no mobile phones. So I had to get home to know the outcome. 

The bus stopped about half a kilometre away from home. I jumped out and ran, like literally ran home. Panting and perspiring I desperately rang the door bell and as soon as the door opened the landline started ringing. I pounced on the phone as if my life depended on it. And well it was a very cool and calm Mr Pea on the other end. As much as he was elated, his voice was expressionless. I had no joy speaking to him and so just asked for Ms Key. When she came on the line and I could hear her smile and I had tears of joy. They got married years later and for ythat wedding I flew down from London. Would not have missed it for anything at all. 

That story makes me smile, always!

Love is divine and love is what makes the world go round. It may not be deep emotional love, it may be love for wealth, power, stature, physical attributes and personal gains. But it is love that makes the world go round. I just wish that we would all recognise pure, authentic, unadulterated emotional love and respect that emotion. The world would be a better place...

Ladakh

I could feel myself burning. My limbs were so heavy that I could 

not move even an inch. My eyes were glued shut. My voice was 

being held hostage inside the chord cage. My only option seemed 

to be to continue lying down as I had been. The head felt as if a 

boulder was weighing on it. Sleep seemed a million eons away and 

yet I knew I needed to be able get some rest.

Unable to find an alternative I remained on the bed, feeling the fever rise. But I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off of all that the virus was causing. If not sleep, I needed to relax so as to help my body get through this first night. Music, my all time remedy, could not be a comforter. I had no energy for music. So I decided to shut my eyes. Some solace would come my way, I was sure. 

And as I heard the faint late night traffic move, my mind started playing the reel of our journey to and from Khardungla. Even through the strains tying my muscles, I could feel myself smile. Ladakh. I could feel peace fighting to enter my body. The trip in September had rekindled my love affair with the mountains, a love that I had long forgotten. I always knew mountains made me smile wider than beaches, made me sing sweeter than did the waves and made me soar higher than salty sunsets. Somewhere I had lost that loving feeling. But Ladakh came and I was a teenager who had found her first love. That emotion settled in me, I needed no distraction because I was transported back to the paradise of India. 

Khardungla had stirred my pot.  The number of vehicles and people trying to pass through, get a customary picture, and grab a cup of tea was an interesting sight. Yet it was freshly white, uniquely spiritual and uncannily calm. As the mind played that reel it also seemed to hum the melody Jaan Nisaar from Kedarnath. I had no means to understand why this melody then, but as I am writing I think it's because in the last few years I have terribly missed the mountains and do not want to make that mistake again... न मारेगी दीवानगी मेरी, न मारेगी आवारगी मेरी, के मारेगी ज्यादा मुझे मौत से नाराज़गी तेरी। No more staying away.

The mind was helping me and the reels kept pace. The next one that came up, when I had experienced it in person, had excited my core and calmed my being all at once. This was the drive from Leh to Upshi to Chumathang before getting to Tso Moriri. A scene crafted for the big screens by a graphic artist, this drive had the grey, purple and brown mountains running on one side of the highway with the faint blue river running alongside. In spots there were trees crowding together and then there was sparse land with red and brown sand. Soon came sudden oases of red, orange and green foliage humming of autumn and then very slowly they faded away. Had the virus not caused my heart to beat like a train on the track, with this memory it surely would have flown away. 

But nothing could have prepared me for what came next - Tso Moriri. As the visuals from the lake started to play, my heart beat began to relax. The clear blue skies above were cradling the lake in the crib of the mountains. Tears started to unglue my eyes. The setting sun had created an orange and golden crown atop the snow capped peaks. My limbs started to get some of their life back. Standing a top the viewing point, looking at the horizon where the turquoise and deep blue waters of Tso Moriri melted into the glorious mountains, I felt as if this truly was paradise. The biting cold felt like a lush lullaby soothing away all the tenuous knots of worldly concerns. The other tourists,  like birds on a winter evening, flew away from my vision. I just stood there in stillness, absorbing the mighty mountains and the lucious lake. It felt I was in the sanctum Santorum and nothing could touch me. As I relived that evening my first omicron night, all my heart could do was hum मैं सर झुकाए खड़ी हूँ प्रीतम , के जैसे मंदिर में लौ दिये की। 

Tso Moriri waters were sweet. So much so that lying on the bed I craved a sip of the same. The calmness I encountered at the shores of the lake the next morning cannot be explained in words. What I can say is that the same stillness got my body to relax and rest such that even though sleep still alluded me, I felt lighter. The weight from my limbs was gone. The eyes moist were now open. My voice had got itself unhooked, and even though I was still burning I was lighter. I got up from the bed, had a sip of water and said a prayer of thanks. One day I will go back to Ladakh. I will travel there to feel all that and more again. And till that day I will continue to be grateful for the mountains and for the memories of Ladakh. 

A New Flight

In this topsy-turvy time, the one thing that has remained steadfast is the daily sunrise and sunset. In these uncertain times, the one thing that gives hope is the unrestricted and uninhibited flights of the soaring birds. In these strange times, the one thing that brings familiarity and comfort are those who you can be with. And that is what I saw as I walked this sixtieth evening of the corona quarantine times.

As the phone clicked to capture this image, I could not help but smile in gratitude and humility. Both the emotions came from three very different angles, three that I thought of sharing.

The very first one is in gratitude of nature and in humility of how even today, after humanity has plundered so much of it, nature seems to be working constantly to sustain humanity. The sun still shines to give us food, the rivers still flow to give us water and the wind still blows to ease the heat. Nature may want to reclaim its glory, but it is not blazing Armageddon. The warning shot may be with rage but not in revenge. It is those open spaces that have not been plundered to be populated by mankind that are sanctuaries of safety, and ready to take those who will accept the unfamiliar ways of life. Such love, compassion and tolerance are the most prominent traits of mothers and it is no wonder that from time in memorial we have been taught of the beauty of mother nature and mother earth. I bow down to the greatness of these mothers who are trying to forgive us and help us find a new way of life that may be more of collaboration and co-existence.

The second one is in gratitude of the untiring and heroic service of the front line workers, and in humility of the unrelenting human spirit.  These have not been easy times even for those who have comfort of a roof on their heads and food in their stomachs. And in these times when you want to be with the ones you love the healthcare workers are rallying day after day to ensure that they can help as many recover as possible, not just from corona but from other ailments as well. All the while being the most vulnerable to this so far incurable infection. Just as them, it is the law enforcers who hear the brickbats and the criticism and yet are out there to ensure that they can maintain discipline which is the first line of prevention in the current times; even if it means they catch the virus. Joining these brave forces are the city sanitation and cleanliness workers who are ensuring that the spread of other diseases is curtailed, the public transport employees who are getting all of the above to their stations of duties, the logistics teams ferrying medicine and food globally and locally to make sure everyone has enough, those who are getting the essentials to you and me putting themselves at risk and then there are the volunteers. There are so many other segments who are working to keep life as uncomplicated as it can be, that I cannot name them all here, but I sincerely salute them all.

And last but not the least I am in gratitude of the those who told me I was being a romantic, forcing me to see the other side of the coin and I am humbled by their acceptance of the stark reality. At the start of the pandemic, as India went into a lockdown, I said India would never be the same again. Of course, the world was never going to be the same again but the romantic in me theorised that this was the nation’s second world war moment. The moment where the millennials stopped to spend and started to save, where the entrepreneurs stopped to cut the pie and started to cooperate to grow the pie, and where the politicians forgot their differences and adopted bipartisanship to sail us through to the other side of the storm. What the last two months have highlighted though is while the millennials may be seeing a new way of life, our industry and political system is far too hard wired to bring in the shake that we need. It has been disappointing to say the least!  We could have done a lot more and for a lot less! We could have done for a lot more with a lot less! There truly have been some great decisions but the setback is when we look at some of the more recent decisions. They are not just confounding but incomprehensible. I want answers and have reached out for them but am but a mere ordinary citizen and hence received only what I deserve: silence. My balloon deflated, I feel defeated because probably naïve as it was, I overinvested in the belief of good and the judgement of the wise.

Yet in this defeat lies victory: victory of the human spirit of which mine is a part! I may have learnt a lesson but I am ready to embrace this new normal, ready to embody the sun daily and do my part, ready to hope again and fly with the birds and ready to stand with those who are mine because they are the ones who I answer to and who understand.

Be well and stay safe!

Nani, I miss you...

If I say it's the end of an era, I will probably be repeating the sentiments of the entire family. But for me it's truly the end of the era of selflessness, elegance, will power, dignity and giving. And nothing can ever replace Nani's (grandmother's) laughter. Nothing will ever feel as her saying beta (my child) did. Nothing will create the mischief in me as the intent to pull her leg. Nothing will ever replace the memories and impressions she has left behind. She taught me self reliance, made me capable of handling everything from the needle to the ladle and led by example on how to be resourceful. 

So as I see her missing from amongst all of us at the dinner table, I am left asking why did she leave. The adult and mature me sees how years of her suffering have ended and she is in a better place. But the granddaughter in me wants her around for the so many more occasions that I need to celebrate with her. The granddaughter in me wants to hear her voice so that I can hear her joy and happiness at moments that I crave to share with her. The granddaughter in me wants her to hold my hand as I need to know that she has my back just as she did when I was a child...

But when destiny calls; desires, wants, requests and pleas are of no use. In an instant life changes. There is no choice given but just fait accompli. With all power, influence, might, expertise and wealth, you are left helpless and unworthy of effort. I certainly don't think it's fair to the ones left picking up, though it may be fair for those who have less to suffer. But then my views can't change reality and all I can do is accept and move on. 

That is the toughest. To move on. She was a part of my dreams and there is a void that I don't know how to fill. One look at mother and masi (mom's sister), and I see their void bigger than mine. I keep my emotions intact because I can't let them breakdown. They are holding on strongly, one more than the other. One internalising and one expressing . One feeling bereft and the other cheated. One struggling and one searching.

The only time I lost control was when her last journey began. I wanted her to wake up. I did not want them to take her. I just did not know how to turn the clock back. But then I sank to the back and wiped my tears. I tried hard to regain control. I cannot overrule destiny and that is a limitation I must accept. So rather than controlling the circumstances I am attempting to control my own emotions. That's my great effort and my last tribute to my grandparents who are now all together in the heavenly abode. 

I miss her. I miss them. I don't think I will ever stop missing them or talking about them. But I will try to imbibe their qualities and lead a life that they will be proud of...

From the storm to the shores

There is an entire ocean of emotions and thoughts churning through my being as I write this. For the first time, probably, I am taking to writing because I am unable to reign in this surging storm; and am hoping that words will channelise the waves to calmer shores.

The trigger point was the message that the inevitable had happened. But we had just spoken a few days ago and it seemed to be under control! I had requested that electrolyte levels be verified and a second opinion be taken. Had followed up once and then in the daily affairs I forgot to enquire again...

While yes this news may have unleashed the agitated state I am in, the simmering probably started last year after Grandma suddenly passed on. Minutes before the call came I had seen her at the hospital. Minutes. And then at once it all came to a close. Six months later the Benevolent One decided that His in person guidance was probably no longer essential and He transcended to the eternal abode. I had always thought He would forewarn me; and maybe He had and I failed to understand what He was communicating...

So yes the inevitable showed me it's colours and while I should focus on the priors to the finale and be grateful for the times that were gifted to me, I have all these questions starting from the why to sensations that start with choked tears. A grown and mature individual I should not be at this point and yet I stand here; a place that seems like the end point of a cliff from where I cannot move forward and the trek back feels physically impossible. 

While the events are causing the swirl within, I am trying to pinpoint the root cause of the disturbance. Bile rising, I am unable to stand anymore so I sit and realise how the ground below has just permitted me to be; standing, shuffling or sitting, the choice is mine but the silent support is that of the Earth. And I probably now see the cause of the stir - the unsaid unconditional bond of love; it's this force that I received which allowed me to grow and in it's physical absence it's making me feel limited and lost. I am scared of this security blanket wearing away leaving me bereft of strength, an identity and my raison de'etre...

The question I am now staring at is the following - are those in my core really the driving force of my life? The more I think the more I realise that there is no greater personal truth than the fact that my life's meaning has been to make that of the ones I care for easier, to ensure that those who reach out to me get some help and to strive to spread love and harmony. Even if it has meant to act against the suggested practicality and even my own interests, I have found joy in doing the right thing by me for those I care for. In return their smiles, joy and comforts have got me the satisfaction of being alive and here. My today is to improve their today and help them realise their hopes of tomorrow. All wins, big or small, in that direction are what keep me going. Of course on the way there have been errors and discords but the warmth of their love and forgiveness has healed those scratches in no time. And it's that love which I am scared to lose...

The storm has calmed, reasonably to a large extent, and so as I take the stock of things. I realise that the perceived precipice does have a slope that I can access if I can gently take a few careful steps down. Similarly the love I have is not binary, it's there always just in ways I may not always see at first sight. Physical absence is like the daunting tip of the precipice but the presence of love is never ending like the tranquil and soundless gentle slope. A slight shift in the vantage point is all that is needed and then continuity is visible even in the inevitable. It's the continuing of my journey based on their love, on what made our bond unique and on working what we had dreamt together. 

The assuaged waves have made their landing on the soft sands. The sun is out again and continuity is shining through. There is more to be said but that's for another day; once I have made my way down the slopes to the shores...

From a Granddaughter to her Grandmother

I kissed Daadi on her forehead as they wheeled her out of the CT Scan lab. She was asleep; and I prayed that she gets a good night’s rest. After all she had had a tough day with multiple tests having been done, which in her weak condition she had endured with much grace. 

As we got home, my thoughts wandered to when I was feeding her dinner. It saddened me to see her frail but I was content that she was under good medical care and would now improve. So the next day I was hopeful and did not call to check on her until the evening when I learnt that she had developed a wheeze. This was not a good sign. As soon as I could finish work I reached the hospital. I saw Daadi briefly and then all of us came back home. She was conscious and had given us the permission to go home. 

We had juzt about stepped in the house when I got a call asking us to come back to the hospital; pronto. On the way there were three calls following up on our whwreabouts. I stayed calm. It had to be something, yes, but that it was nothing major I was certain. I was sure she would come home. But it was not to be. 

Having suffered a massive cardiac arrest she had been put on ventilator. All in a brief span of 45 min; and in another some she was gone! Just like that, she left us. All of a sudden and before any one of us could prepare ourselves she was gone. Without a warning, she left us. All of her 90 years, flew by, all in about 90 minutes. With her ended an entire volume of the family history, suddenly opening a treasure trove of memories. 

The first wave that crashed the memory shores was filled with a grandmother’s good night stories - stories of Kanha stealing butter, stories of Narsee Mehta’s unwavering faith in Kanha, stories of Kanha’s unconditional love for Sudama. The list is endless and the lessons remain for life. Her aura was that of Meera, and why not, she was named Radha! 

The next splash to hit was filled with a grandmother’s indulgence - her indulging grandchildren and herself with lip smacking chaat for which the vendor was especially called home, indulging grown up grandchildren with take out food while her own children ate home cooked meals, indulging in and savouring sweets at the cost of normal food even till her last days. The mystery of the family foodie gene is now resolved! 

The third wave tickled me with memories of a grandmother’s innocent and complete belief in her grandchildren- innocently getting tricked into believing that a healthy grandchild had seriously taken ill just at school time, completely believing that teenage granddaughters were with her in the hospital to help her wound heal while overlooking their constant hospital cafeteria pizza orders, in all earnest innocence accepting a granddaughter’s declaration that any attempt to teach her English was futile. Why the same, much older now, grandchildren cannot as easily convince her own children is a conundrum! 

Going through old photographs, seeing her smile and bless, there is a surge of emotion churning within me. They say she is in a better place. It is true, but the granddaughter in me croaks that the better place is here amongst us. They say she was blessed, of course Kanha adores her,  but the granddaughter in me already misses her in person blessings. They say all that they can, but the granddaughter in me still sighs because no words can fill the void that has now been created...

True to myself

Those who know me probably also know that jewellery and makeup are two areas where I have limited interest. Not that I don't wear either, but more that my use of both is limited. Of makeup far more than that of jewellery. Hence it was no surprise that I was resisting my sit down with the makeup artist pre the corporate film shoot. But well I also realised that the shoot was not about me and I had a responsibility to ensure that it was a success. So, I gave in, with caveats though. 

Oh, I am all for good grooming, pleasant presentation and smart appearances. Personally, what is tedious about make up is three fold - time consuming application,  ponderous procurement and elongated post use care rituals. All that takes up mind space and useful time. A gloss and a mascara, in my view suffice for most occasions and are my staples. I admire those who use makeup well, though as I lack the skill.

Anyway, back to the main discussion. I was quiet through the process and spoke only when I felt too much was being applied. Post, while the experts clearly said it was natural and colleagues were generous with compliments, when I saw the mirror I was frowning. This minimalistic makeup also looked caked up to my naked eyes. This was not me! The carefree me was worried about smudges. The easy me was listing the don'ts. The me was getting used to the layered me. 

What struck me was how the situation was similar to human interactions. A small veering away from the true self can be so energy consuming that it becomes exhausting. Focussing largely on what the other person may want or expect creates responses which may shadow the original and then keeping up becomes wearying. And just like no foundation and no concealer can completely cover the blemishes, no amount of put on behavior can hide the original attitude forever. 

So why is it that we are afraid of being who we are? Why do validations become so important that we let the true self hide behind masks? When is it that we will happily acknowledge that it is alright to be different and yet hold on to our dreams? Every colour has its own place in the spectrum, every flower is beautiful in its own way and every single star adds to the brightness of a dark night. If all these have their places secure why are human beings so insecure?

Music

What is it about music that makes me want to breathe the notes, play the melody and dance to the composition? Why is it that music makes me want to dive like a dolphin, soar like an eagle and run like a doe? How can music easily make me blush like a teenager, smile like a bride and sleep like a baby? 

What is it that breathes life when music plays, I cannot comprehend. Why does life become sacred and special with music, I remain clueless. How can music infuse happiness and joy into life, my being marvels at the mystery. 

But without music life is meaningless, without music every achievement is incomplete and without music every joy a shade paler. While much has changed, these  aspects have remained constant; making it the one big truth of my life. And at least of this about music I am certain and convinced. 

Roots

My closest friend from school days came home after many years and her immediate reaction was - " it feels so good to be back here in this house". Yes we spent a lot of time here - we shared secrets and joys, bounced from setbacks and failures, and we grew from young girls into young ladies. She is my constant - one who is there even when she is not. 

A few days later, as I was reading into the night, a friend sent a message - "Why are you up so late?" How did he know? I was puzzled! "Well, we were just driving past your building and saw that your lights were on. Please sleep." And peacefully sleep I did. I know for sure that just as he had looked out for me the day I had a severe migraine attack in college, he (actually now he and his wife) is still looking out for me. From a young lady to a woman, he has seen my journey. And its not my material or professional accomplishments that he is proud of, but he says he values the person that he sees in me. 

As I waited for mother and father in the foyer of the club, she called out and simultaneously caught hold of my hand. "This is you Tanushree! I have been thinking of you!"  I was stunned. She looked as young as she did as the Grade X class teacher. "Ma'am it's you. I have been wanting to meet you as well." A few minutes and a short conversation later she elicited a promise from me of a meeting in the first week of September. A promise I promise to keep. She not only taught me the science behind chemical reactions, but also what dignity means when surrounded by adverse actions. She may have been following my facebook activities but in all these years her silent blessings have been with me, of that today I am aware. From then to now she wants to see how the seed has groomed. I am anxious to pass the litmus test. 

Three people having three different histories with me walked through the garden of my life, all in one week, one after the other. While one is always present like the wind, another one is seasonal like the rain and yet another one is the occasional rainbow. Their associations maybe different but all three have contributed to me being who I am. And all three tell me that this is what home means. I may travel the world, but it is back here that I will find my true self. I may journey through enchanting forests, but it is here that I will find my reality. I may wish upon many a star, but it is here that I will find the strength to realise my dreams. Because this is where I started my journey. This is where my roots are. And this is where I will return to when the sun decides to set.