Music & I

 Long Post Alert* 

Through the multiple schools of childhood where I carefully made friends, through all the turbulent and exhilarating years of adolescence and then through the journey across countries and companies as an adult; I have had one steadfast companion, one constant, and that has been music. With both parents being ardent music lovers I believe music is a blessing that I inherited from them. They furthered that interest and left no stone unturned to get us exposure to varied genres, and musical education both vocal and instrumental. 

A large part of summer holidays were spent at Nana Nani house in Jaipur. Mother had grown up there and had the fortune to have learnt under Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt. So she was hopeful that one of her daughters would also have that luck. I was the chosen one, maybe because she had caught me multiple times recording songs that I heard playing on the many LPs at home. I went to Guruji to learn the Sitar at the onset. A restless me found it quite a tall ask to sit in the required position for the duration of the class. I would shift and fidget. So after the first few classes he told mother that maybe she should be less hopeful, which is when she requested that he teach me vocal. At her request he mustered courage to give me one more shot. Well I passed that litmus test and during those holidays I learnt from him; my fortune. 

As a child I had no appreciation for the depth of Hindustani Classical. I enjoyed it tremendously though and with all modesty I say that potentially at that age I could read the notes of a bandish and put the melody together, a task that today is nearly impossible for me. Tiwari sir was a very soft spoken and patient musician. He used to play the tabla at school and mother requested him to train me in Hindustani Classical while school was in session. He kindly agreed and I was introduced to the Bhatkhande system. Why do I remember these details to date is because of one particular incident. 

I was probably seven or eight years old when I was told at school that I would need to perform two songs at the annual day - one Hindustani Classical and one Western composition. Both teachers said that I could select what I wanted to sing and get it cleared from them. English was easy. I went to Yashoda ma'am saying I wanted to sign Abba's I have a dream, a song which to this day is one of my favourites. She consented and agreed to train me! Bless her. To this day I hesitatingly share my bhajans and writings with her. I just cannot disappoint her after all the efforts she put into us lot.

So one song decided, I began to search for the Hindustani Classical bandish. Not sure why, but I was a lot more particular about this one and so sat with the Bhatkhande book daily until one fine day I stumbled on two that captivated me. One was a raag Yaman composition and the other was raag Asawari. I do not understand the raag system well even today, back then I was a total illiterate in that respect. Tiwari Sir made the final selection and Asawari is what he taught me, with a Tarana and all. I remember that composition to date down to the last swar. How blessed were those days. 

After that, summer holidays were not with Guruji. Why, I don't know and before that thought even crops up in your mind, no the reason was not the restless or the fidgety me. However, instead we had a masterji come to Nana Nani house to teach bhajans to all of us cousins. That was my favourite time of the day and it used to be my endeavour to please him the most as well and be his favourite disciple. Here is what that led to. 

Masterji used to come in the evenings and have his evening tea while we kids had our evening milk. Given that we were at the grandparents' house, milk meant cold coffee, a luxury that was a mere dream for the remainder of the year. So there came a point where I decided that I would make masterji's tea and the cousins' cold coffee. I was probably nine or ten and no more. The family's trusted helping hand, Mr Lanky, was there to supervise and guide. Except for one day I could not find the ground sugar powder that went into the coffee. I waited but Mr Lanky was not making his way to the kitchen. So I went into Nani's bhandarghar (pantry) and after opening a few boxes found the white powder. I put that into the smaller container that had its place in the kitchen and went about my chore. I gave tea to masterji and cold coffee to the cousins. Masterji drank his tea but the cousins said that the cold coffee tasted different. Who cared about siblings when masterji was happy. So I turned a deaf ear. 

The next day a similar reaction came my way and I returned my indifference. The third day one cousin complained of stomach ache at night and we all wondered what had we eaten but no one could put a finger on anything. Nani house seldom had food from outside. So the next evening as I was making tea for masterji, I decided that the stomach ache candidate should not drink cold coffee and took out one glass less. That is when Mr Lanky walked in. He asked me why there was one less glass and I said that cold coffee may not be the best beverage for someone with a stomach ache and authoritatively asked him to pass me the small container of powdered sugar. He was wasting my time. I had to get the tea quickly to masterji. As Mr Lanky was passing me the container he removed the lid and shouted in horror , " is this what you have been putting in the cold coffee!" An indignant me said, "yes. I found it all by myself when you were not here to guide and I also give this fine sugar to masterji". Oh he burst into splits! Apparently I had been using flour, as in plain white refined flour, in my tea and coffee instead of powdered sugar! That explained the stomach ache to everyone and to my embarassment in front of masterji. He was gracious though and said nothing but only smiled. I am red as a tomato even as I write this....

Back to music. Masterji taught us a number of bhajans but two have stuck with me for their melodies and yearning. One is Surdas' "Prabhuji more avagun chit na dharo" and the other one is the raag Yaman based "Sada Shiva bhaja man nisdan". Masterji's tutelage, apart from that one incident was very uneventful or so it seemed then, but today I realise that it was that early learning which instilled in me the appreciation for bhajans and the emotions that it brings out. Masterji's deep voice along with the harmonium reverberates in my ears even today. I wish I could go back to those days..

Coming to think of it Yashoda ma'am and masterji both have to be credited for introducing me to folk music and patriotic songs. Masterji taught us Rajasthani folk songs which also helped me pick up Marwari, a language that amongst sisters and cousins probably I have the best grasp on. Oh of course this is not a modesty post; or was it supposed to be! Oops! One of the most memorable Rajasthani folk songs he taught is the fun filled "Anjan ki seeti mein mharo man dole" completely ruined by Bollywood's insistence to modernise almost everything! Yashoda ma'am's contribution to my musical memories is endless but the top one has to be "Himadri tung shring se prabhudh shudh bharti", a Jaishankar Prasad poem set to music that is a tribute and a call of duty to the armed forces.

As we moved to Malaysia we were introduced to the Organ. I described then as a combination of the keyboard and the Piano. Father insisted that we use the opportunity to acquaint ourselves with the Western classics. So a tutor came to teach us and an Organ was purchased (it still is with us albeit only ornamentally). Bonsai refused to learn and got away with it. Sequoia excelled at reading music and was the teacher's pet. I on the other hand, enjoyed playing by ear and could reproduce the melody with my eyes closed but abhorred reading notation. As a result I was an average and slow student. While this was not a mutually satisfactory relationship, it was this period that I delved deeper into the old Bollywood classics. And that started a love affair which continues to date. 

Going to school, across the border in Singapore seemed glamarous but was arduous. My classmates spoke Chinese, a language that todate is foreign to me. I had just a friend or two and for a people person like me it was an identity crisis. That's when music came to my rescue. The local radio played old Bollywood classics at night. So once everyone was asleep, I would sneak downstairs to where the music system was, switch on the radio and spend time with my one steadfast companion. It brought me peace, joy and hope. I would dream and smile and wait for times where I was more content. 

When we moved to Mumbai mother decided it was time to restart my training. Once again I was lucky to find a teacher who was a great Ghazal singer. His classes were strenuous but extremely intriguing. It taught me breath control like I had never experienced before. I got hooked to Jagjit Singh and must have spent tonnes of pocket money buying his music. This was also the time that country music came into my life and John Denver and Shania Twain were in my top 5. But this period too was short lived as engineering became the reality of my life. Music in varied forms stayed in my life but the discipline of practice and training stopped. 

As I moved to London, Opera and I made acquaintance and started to enjoy each other's company. I also started listening to Western classical, fusion, world and Hindustani Classical music. It was a period where my knowledge of music genres grew. Whether it was a Bon Jovi concert or a U2 concert, whether it was Pandit Vishwa Mohan Bhatt or Ustaad Zakir Hussain performing, whether it was the Opera or the Jazz club; I was soaking in regular performances. Pizzas with jazz became an event to save for. Mama Mia, Phantom of the Opera were seen twice or thrice over. It was a time that made me musically richer and monetarily more disciplined to be able to afford the musical  richness! 

Finally when I moved back to India the Benevolent One decided that it was time I restarted my Hindustani Classical training. He wrote a note for the karta dharta of Bhartiya Vidya Bhavan. I knew once I went there with that note I would get into the class I wanted. But I was probably not ready yet and so I tarried in indecision. It was next father's turn to twist my ears a bit. He called a family acquaintance asking for a guru for me. One was duly suggested, however, guruji's condition was that he would come and meet the family. If he found us to be musically inclined only then would he accept me a student. Wow! This was almost like a pre cursor to an arranged marriage proposal. And before your mind starts conjuring images there was no nervousness or display. But it was a judgement day just like that. 

Guruji took to father immediately and it was more because of him that he took me on as a student. The day of the first class the tanpura started and I was asked to just sing the Shadja or the Sa. All the efforts of all my earlier teachers, the inheritance of parents and the years of listening did bear fruit and I hit the note immediately and was in tune. Guruji listened for 50seconds and then asked me to stop. He heaved a sigh of relief saying, " after I accepted you as a disciple I realised that I had not heard you. What if you were tone deaf or had no idea about swar! These had been bothering me, but you have potential. And I will work with you." That was literally music to my ears, literally! 

So my courtship with classical music began and since the last five or six years Hindustani classical, old Bollywood classics and bhajans have been my go to music. In between I do turn to other genres of course and to Abhijit Pohankar's fusion music, but what brings me solace is the former. 

Once I started riyaz I started enjoying sitting with music. I became less hesitant to mother listening to my riyaz. In fact I liked her inputs from time to time. On nights that I worked late I would think if I should sleep in late and postpone class but the drive to improve kept me from cancelling. What I realised on the contrary was that even with less sleep, a music class helped me put in the same number of hours with the same energy. I started recording our sessions and would listen to them in the car. It helped me spot errors and improve. I was enjoying. And then as I broke out of the constraints of my range, my paternal grandmother passed on. Classes were put on hold for a month and a half. When we restarted I had lost some ground and so took time to get back to the pace of learning I enjoyed. As I got to that level and started enjoying, the Benevolent One decided it was time for Him to transcend to His abode in heaven. It was blow and a big one. But He had wished me to learn and so I restarted. Work had been mentally wringing which was having physical consequences but I kept learning and was growing slowly. It was one foot in front of the other. Music kept me sane through those times. And then when I found my mojo again Nani passed on. 

That 25th January as we landed in Delhi and Sequoia texted to say she and Pape Smurf were at the airport I knew Nani did not wait for us to reach. But it also struck me hard that everytime I was beginning to enjoy music I had lost someone. Was this a relationship that got me bad luck. Was this a relationship that was not meant to be. These thoughts paralysed my momentum and I stopped learning. 

Soon Covid hit and in person classes were not possible. Guruji called. We could do whatsapp and / or zoom classes. But my fear and anxiety had a strong hold on me. I was unable to get out of that mindset but I could not live without singing. So I started singing a bhajan every weekend. For accompanying music I played the keyboard and then later discovered a karaoke app. Slowly I was singing and recording more than bhajans. It became a nightly ritual to sing one song before going to bed. My bhajans got appreciation and the most validating appreciation came from mother who knows this kala so well. I started to feel maybe I could have music in my life and it was not a doomed relationship.

The thought to give music and me another chance was brewing in my head, when Guruji called again. They say you don't accept a Guru. It is a Guru who decides that he wants to invest in you, guide you and help you learn. In my case, his call demonstrated just that. Guruji called. We spoke and the next thing I know we are fixing a date to restart. 

As I wait to meet Hindustani Classical again, I am excited and I am nervous. Music is important to me and I want this relationship to succeed. I do not want to think ahead and I do not want to jinx it. I am soaring as well as I am hesitating. And because I want the universe to help me in my journey I took pen to paper and am writing this down, hoping that with all of it out there the Gods will have mercy and will help me attain my dream this time round. 

Keep tuned in for my progress...

 

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. 

The waves and the whirlpool

The second Covid wave was brutal. My days started at six in the morning and ended way past midnight. In between work and chores I attempted to connect the needy to the ones with means. Very often I felt like a hustler. On occassions I hated the fact that there was just not enough; enough time, enough resources, enough energy, enough compassion or enough decency. There were multiple extreme frustrations and there were some small wins. By the time May 2021 bid adieu, I started to look at this frantic pace coming back to a more bearable rhythm. Soon it all quietened out and life came back to normal or the new normal.

 

Tonight as the ambulance sirens once again tear the dark silence, I am taken back to those dreadful days and nights. Each time the phone chimed the adrenaline rushed and the mind sat upright. However, very thankfully today the phone remains silent. It's a milder wave or so they say. Those detected positive chime this. There seems to be comfort. But these terrorising ambulance sirens take me back to those day; those days that cannot return, those days that we cannot live again. 

Maybe it's time to share what has not been said. It started on 17th of April. It was a simple message of help needed in Indore. I reached out to an old acquaintance. He was gracious enough to lend some help. Well the help went some way through. The ship still seemed to be in control. The storm was rising but the vessel seemed to stay afloat. 

And then came the fateful day of 22nd of April. Like any morning I sat browsing the digital news when my phone rang. Usually one to ignore calls from unknown numbers I uncannily decided to take this call. And I had not even said hello when the lady on the other end started to beg for help, "Ma'am you have to help. He is unable to breathe. Please help his saturation is at 60". I could not have heard this correctly. So I ignored the last bit and with complete composure took stock of the situation. His fever had not taken a turn for the worse but his breathing had. What the doctors had labelled typhoid was actually Covid. The city of Kanpur was seemingly out of oxygen and an urgent hospital bed was needed. 

I hung up and called a known doctor knowing I would get some help or guidance. Instead I encountered pure unadulterated arrogance. "You do what you want and call who you want but we will not admit your patient". The lack of compassion is not what shook me. But it was the sheer conceit; the unleashing of power that this life saver held. Not to cower down I called HR for reinforcements. The machinary started churning. I was going to put all effort to ensure this life was saved. So I dialled someone with political connections. Worst case I would have another dose similar to that of the doctor but my skin was leather coated by then. The response had me humbled. Compassion came pouring out with a promise to help. So now I waited and my patience was rewarded. HR had found a bed and the connect had an order from the distric magistrate to admit the patient. Having hustled many oxygen cylinders of all shapes and sizes, team HR and family now prayed as the healthcare workers took him in. The air was ripe with anxiety. It had been a tough five hours but we now had hope. Suddenly my phone rang and it was over; the help had come a little too late. There was nothing more to hold on to, no more hope and no point in prayer. I slumped in my seat and I stared. Words, tears, emotions; I was bereft of all things seemingly human. Twenty minutes later I started going about my meetings and obligations to inform stakeholders of our loss and put the next steps in motion. Nightfall came, ambulance sirens filled the suspending gloom and sleep decided I had to repay for my failed attempt. The storm was a whirlpool. 

For the next three weeks I spent hours in trying my hardest to ensure that there would be no repeat of 22nd April. The first small satisfaction that came was when on a Sunday we were able to get timely help for an acquaintance's mother in law. The price was 3x but we got help. The next was when a desperate couple were led to a refilling station to have an urgent refill of their oxygen cylinder and rush back home. The wife was grateful and apologetic at the same time; grateful for finally having refilled and apologetic for breaking the queue. But the one that I feel most grateful for was being able to help the teacher who we got timely to the hospital. Both her children were away and God ensured we could be a conduit of help. The whirlpool was not sucking me in anymore. I was swimming on the top. 

A neat methodology was put in place to transport goods from one part of the country to other. A chain of people was formed to organise consults, oxygen and medicines. A number of strangers came together to provide help when the above two failed. It seemed that the whirlpool was ready to spit me out; and eventually it did. But when I landed I was fatigued. So July and August were spent in replenishing the energies and from there on life came back to normal. 

What I missed, however, were the bruises. As the sound of the sirens tonight send the bile up my throat I wonder why is the pain so excruciating? Why is the adrenaline not rushing to my rescue? Why is the body still? And in an answer to these questions I am seeing the unhealed bruises, those who with just the sirens are getting scratched again. 

Writing has always been cathartic and so I took the pen to the paper and started writing this piece. This may be a milder wave but it is a wilder wave. I need to regain the strength and the calm to tide this without coming in contact with the whirlpool. With this post out there, I am hoping that I will be able to deal with ambulance sirens without the bile. That every friend messaging with a positive detection news will be cheered and comforted. That every instance I will pull myself towards the life boat and away from the whirlpool. Here is hoping that this wave ebbs with the same pace with which it rose and that we will all heave a sigh of relief soon.

Sunday Ramblings

This is a war and not a battle; and to win this war, every small unit has to brave on. These were my thoughts as I woke up this morning. The night before I had gone to bed thinking of how the world has changed. How the daily sights and sounds have altered, bringing in regularly, the not so good ambulance sirens and the divine sunsets that previously one travelled far and wide for. It's really become a life of soldiering on.

The smallest unit in this war is the individual. And like in every way the units need to be patient, resilient, alert, prepared and most importantly adhering to protocol. It is tough following a daily routine of home chores and work, not being able to socialize, and cleaning and sanitizing every object one comes in contact with. Yet we need to be resilient in continuing with this new protocol. We need all our strength to be patient till that day when we can start socializing again. We need to be alert to our body and our mind because those are what we need to prepare the most against the vicious enemy, the virus! 

All units need reinforcement in the time of war. That timely call for help can draw the fine line between victory and a bravely lost battle. The help has to be for self care, mental and physical. The help has to be for those around us who need comforting or continuing with daily routines. The help has to be for the extraordinary circumstances that may arise. Being alert and prepared, one needs to draw on from others because right now we are all in the same boat! 

Community as a unit cannot be ignored. And that is where responsibility towards one another matters. We need to be empathetic in our approach of patient, resilient protocol administering. We need clear and alert communication of the situation, protocol and preparedness. And we need to respond in time and without discrimination in a call for help. But above all we need to know that if the individual does not do it's ask, the community accountability will not be of any use. 

Lastly it is the bodies of governance who make available the infrastructure, the enablers and the line of sight. Our governance bodies need to adopt more agility, higher tuning with the ground level events and suspend their own personal agendas till the war has been won. Once that their own battles can restart and they would not have lost much. But if personal ambition supercedes the larger goal, there will be no use of having achieved own goals. 

These are tough times that are drawing on mankind's ability to survive. And that not only means adapting ways we live, but also the way we think, execute and relate. Once this is over, those nations that come on top will be the ones who will emerge powerful, stronger and more united. Those that fall behind will have generations of pain that will be difficult to ease. We have the choice and we have the might. Question is whether our sight is fore or narrow...

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...