DUSSHERA

A nip in the air in the month of October heralds the most beautiful time in India. It also revives the most beautiful memories. As a child it was a signal to get the smart winter uniform ready, it started the run up to my birthday, and closest to my heart, it was about visiting my grandparents and celebrating the festivals with them.

Every night during the Navratris, covered in shawls, we would visit the Parade Ground around 8 pm, buy moong-phalis, and find our space in the crowd to watch the Ramleela. This culminated on the evening of the 10th day when we watched the effigies burn. There is no memory of pollution or noise, only of the warmth of my family around me.

Growing up meant somewhere this ritual got lost, running from one stage of life to another. Hostel life, changing cities, grandparents saying their final goodbyes. And that is how I discovered the beauty of memories. They remain imprinted, deeply embedded in my soul, making me forever grateful that I had the privilege to live those moments many years back.

Not all dreams got realized, not many plans saw the light of the day. But yes, building a life in Ghaziabad meant making new Dusshera memories! It the same simple Ramleela, the aroma of chaat and the thrill of the jhulas, just a walk from home. The kids must be inheriting an emotional gene as well. My daughters push me every night to the mela for ‘one last time’, and this year I ended up going every day. It can get exhausting, but I am definitely not complaining. With sleep in their eyes, they eagerly sat through ‘Ram Baraat’ and ‘Kevat ki Nav’. 

Many times during my early professional life I was asked, why I didn’t go elsewhere for studies or practice. I wasn’t sure then but I always said, ‘Iss desh ko meri zaroorat hai….’ Now I am surer. I need this country more. I need the mele ki tikki, I need the Ramleela, and I need to be around my families during festivals. I need to hear the annual roar of Raavan. When his laughter echoes loud and monstrous in the air, I am comforted that no matter how terrible a year has been, it is still a good life.

#chandigarh

#littlethingsthatmattermuch

When Papa Snores.. (for once, breathes, slow and deep)!

We were all gathered in one room at the end of an exhausting day during a recent vacation. Chitter-chatter about the weather, the monuments, the food of the day, the clothes of the locals filled the room. When suddenly there was this soft sound from deep inside a slowing down machine. A rare one. A snore. Dad's. The cacophony fell silent. All exchanged a quick look. Felt a happy warmth inside. And tip-toed out of the room.

We all have heard of that one busy dad who didn't make it to his child's sports day. But do you know of an even busier one who made it not only to that one sports day but to each of them, for each of his 3 kids, for all their PTAs, annual days, counsellings, graduation days, bachelor parties, break-up get-togethers (!), shopping sprees, post-wedding festivals at in-laws? 

He has not only made it to these, he has stood their like a rock, he has been a wall to fall back on, he has been an enthusiastic participant along, a charmer, with a joke for a failure or a champagne for victory.

My earliest memory of my dad was him holding a 2-3 yr old me in his lap and pressing my apparently bad aching feet. Dunno who has grown more older since then. He can sure do that again anytime. He remains the balm of my life. The go-to 'Dost' forever.

With all his 'Dak' the he keeps clearing, the long calls instructing his employees of his huge company, the meetings day-in, day-out, touring all over the place, he still manages to keep a tab on the pulse of all of us and beyond. Before boarding his plane to Laos he'll enquire from Shakti where her birthday flowers should reach. While taxying in Rwanda he'll ask bhai if his interview went fine. Between his meetings in Stockholm he'll ask ma her waist size for a quick shopping of the traditional pants. Checking out of Nairobi he'll stress upon Komal that she must plan a Kenya holiday with bhai soon. From a distant call from Rio he'll enquire about my health or Rohit's clinics. Sitting alone in Beijing he'll message a request for the littlest baby's pic before calling it a day.

I haven't panicked in years, or have never known to, because I know, if he's around nothing can be too big to spoil my day. A day is still long rather.

He has rarely rested. He has rarely had a completed to-do list with all our endless demands or his surprisingly well-calculated unanticipated needs of ours. That list is not even physical. He jus knows. He jus remembers. 

Papa I smile today, laugh so loudly, sleep that good sleep, because of you. All of us.

U deserve that li'll peaceful moment. When you snore. For if you are in deep sleep, all must really be well with the world.

Love you.

Happy Birthday.

Warmth of Memories

'Ujale apni yaadon ke hamare saath rahne do,
Na jane kis gali mein zindagi ki shaam ho jaye...' .. Bashir Badr

Crossroads

Daddy's integrity,
badi mummy's innocence,
papa's more than jus' half a DNA,
ma's nerves of steel,
bhai's joie de vivre,
Shakti's strength of character,
living and loving in the south,
a million hugs and laughters of best friends and girlfriends,
over three decades..
They are, therefore I am.

Yet so incomplete.

Love me,
provide me protection,
keep me secure,
let the child within me keep on jumping,
be my witness,
and let me fly..
Come with me,
I wish to fly!

Answering to destiny's call,
with stars in my eyes,
and the promise of a 'happily ever after',
I let you into my life.

Welcome to the li'll world of the li'll me!

South.. The Spring of My Life

At the age of 17 I left the comforts of my home to settle in what will become my second home for the next ten years. And it will remain my home away from home, forever. I can say I grew up as much in Mangalore and Bangalore as in Chandigarh and Delhi. And its my life there that makes me what really I am today.

Early morning temple bells,
rangoli at every entrance,
the flowers in the hair,
jasmine in the air,
inherent simplicity of people everywhere,
akka and amma,
thick moustaches,
a bindi for every girl,
the extra 'h' in names,
sounds of the sea,
warmth of the sunsets,
rains that never end,
summer breeze that chills,
the high of filter coffee,
melting-in-the-mouth idlis,
some really tender coconut water;
strains of 'mungaru male' from the distance,
every moment, a memory.

I know I am home when they ask me, you've arrived aah?!!

That home is a precious chamber in my heart. I find solace there, just thinking about it, whenever it gets too tough, mundane and tiresome.

Quoting Rabindranath Tagore here..

'This day my heart seeks not
To count that which I never got.
Today, amidst the light and shade in my soul,
There plays that music still.
I did love this earth,
Yes I did love it.
And the memories of those flowers
that blew in with the southern breeze
Still lingering on..'

Cry a Hearty Cry

Academic failure. Friend's betrayal.  Family falling out. The aching heart. Broken dream(s).

There is blood, so we bleed.

At the age of 27, I am sure now, life can get brutal.

And am also sure that each one of us 'has seen a lot in life'.. And no pain hurts the other lesser.

The highest of highs. The smaller, more constant, joys of life. The lows. And the dungeons. Each experience of life merits a blog (!). And this is about life in the abyss.

The event may follow a boring pain, a looming fear or may be totally unprecedented.

You can never be mentally prepared enough. I was never.

There is loss of blood in the face. The heart pounds. The gut wrenches. The legs tremble. The feet are cold. When there's sweat on the forehead.

And then comes the lump. The choke. The choking choke. Which anatomical layer of the neck holds and develops that, I do not know. Yet its presence longer than a few hours or a day makes  me painfully aware that I'm falling. How I wish I could dissect that layer.

We all know how it feels to smile with that lump. Or say a bright, 'hey! how are you?!".. And we admire our bravery. We run away in a corner to release the choke, because our bravery arouses only self-pity.

I have given a lecture with that pain. Seen a hundred patients in the OPD. Stared at questions in the paper for other answers. Walked lengths and breadths in shade or sun, feeling just as cold. And sweaty. I have envied people laughing away in front of me.. Will I be that happy again? What makes people so happy? I know.. I've been there too.

I have rushed through the day's worldly affairs to run to my room. Locked the door well. Found the cornerest corner and sat there so I can atleast start weeping more easily. Clutched the Hanuman Chalisa.

Then I go to the bathroom. Look at myself in the mirror. The same that I used to smile into and be amazed at my happy beauty! Damn! Am rather ugly!

I look for bits of happy foods.. Chocolates or cookies. I drink some water so the glands remain hydrated.

Music is forbidden. Cell phone is the worst creation of mankind.

Its a lucky day if people do not come knocking.

There's no appetite for food. Atleast we can loose weight more easily now!

Making sure all are well asleep and the pillow is comfy, I lie in fetal position. They say you were most blessed and peaceful then. I swear! And then I let go. I cry. And more. I breathe. Slow and deep. And then I cry some more. Bury myself in the pillow. It becomes difficult to breathe. What with the nose clogged and the mouth stuffed. The voice becomes hoarse. And then I care a damn. I howl. I cry a hearty cry. I feel healthier with every bout. It makes me stronger to dare and curse God. Why me.

The night helps. Crying well helps. I wake up braver for the day.

Love

To love and be loved is a complex state of existence. You are not just you. You have a half that adds more and perhaps even a better meaning to your being. There is an extra dimension to each and every aspect of your life (even your past.. that was just a story to be shared!). Everything, anything ever about yourself, makes more sense with it. You are achingly incomplete in its absence. You so don’t mind the lesser there is of you in yourself. There is love, therefore you are.

It uplifts you. You fly. You soar. You feel the continuous warmth of the sun. Music plays on end. You smile long. You feel more beautiful. You always have company in solitude. The day breaks early and the night runs longer. Every moment of the day is in levitation. All of the above endlessly. Love uplifts you endlessly.

You reflect. You long. You dream. Even when you have it all. To have more. Just some more more. It fulfills you so.

You jump in his happiness. You bleed more in his pain. You are more tired in his fatigue. You dream more when he sleeps better. He makes you want to love him more. Love makes you a better person. You are selfless. You discover you have so much of love to still give away. To just see the other happier, more complete, more easy. And there seems no apparent reason why you wanna do this or why you feel so. Or perhaps there are a thousand. The basic, guess, that  he gives it back.

Together you live the rollercoaster ride that life is. Scream, laugh, hold tighter and longer. Look back. Watch ahead. Look at each other. Look down. Smile. Your footsteps are in tandem. You walk further, fearless. The pain that comes around is, and will always be, worth it. The love, if you have, or ever had it, the look, the smell, the sound and the touch of that hour, will make you feel warm forever.