"No one else can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten"

- Natasha Bedingfield

It’s been a long two months. The vacant look in mum’s eyes is slowly giving way to a twinkle – very slowly but surely.

 I suppose letting go of 40 years of togetherness is a tall order for anyone. When she reached Mumbai and I saw her, my whole being froze up. A forehead sans the familiar vermillion and the mangalsutra gone, her appearance gave a fresh life to my ebbing pain. As she cried in my arms and I soothed her gently, I could not help but grieve myself for the man who had strived to hold the smile on our lips intact.

 Every conversation was peppered with what dad would have done and how he would have reacted and what he would have said and how he would have laughed. Sometimes it made us both cry and sometimes it made us both laugh and we were both bound by a loss perhaps time would take long to heal.

 My mum is currently cross with God. She feels cheated and abandoned. She believes she should moan. She believes she will bring bad luck wherever she goes. She does not want to be part of any celebrations – she believes she should punish herself by staying away from all things fun. She also generally believes that she is all set to die and pass on to be with him.

 Sometimes we talk about her I-will-die-soon theory. That’s been her pet rumination, ever since she and dad were in the road accident in 2003. She would always express her concern of about what would happen to dad, if she passed away, who would take care of him. Those conversations would always end with me volunteering to take care of dad in case she died. Then one day, as I called her first thing as I reached office(that’s my habit), she told me I wish I die first - it would be terribly lonely for your dad to be alone.

 And so her wish came true and she struggles with the acceptance. She often stares at his picture for long hours with stained eyes. I let her grieve. Its important for us to grieve as much as it important for us to move on. Its important to make peace with that event and then move on. The tears are as important as the smiles. They leave us with all the flavours of life.

As I write this, my mum is planning her trip to UK, to spend some time with my sister there. Her season of acceptance has begun, and as the rains dry up and the sun smiles, I hope amma finds her peace…

Cheers,

T

There are several types of love stories in this world. I had the opportunity to be witness to a simple, strong one - perhaps stuff that legends are made of - the love story of my parents which now remains as a warm memory with the passing away of my father in early April.

My dad was 24yrs old when he was married, my mom was 18. He had a salary of Rs 50 per month and 6 mouths to feed. My mom’s trousseau consisted of two sarees she wore for her wedding and two sarees for everyday use. On weekends when they were just married my dad would cycle her to a little park in Udupi, where they would entertain themselves with boiled peanuts and ice candy. They were content and willingly stretched to make ends meet.

I don’t remember a single instance where my dad raised his voice on us children or my mom. He would always express his displeasure by stating in a flat tone that he was saddened by our behavior. He and mum had a pretty mature way of discussing their view points out. Dad would never sound patronizing or belittle the views of my mum. He would involve her in all decision making and truly listen to her take. Perhaps all the open communication was the foundation of their strong marriage.

 After their near fatal road accident in 2003, my mom stood as a rock by my dad, goading him on to become the person he used to be – my dad had severe brain trauma and was in coma for two months. My mom’s unflinching belief that he would get back to driving on the roads, kept pushing my dad to work hard on becoming better. His left side had been left paralyzed by the stroke. With regular exercise and physiotherapy and my mom being an active member of his cheer squad, dad got back to literally standing on his own feet.

 In the last few years with the passing on of several of their peers a cloud of insecurity had grown around them. Owing his brain trauma, dad could not make decisions and had no short term memory. He was dependent on mom for deciding on whether he should get up from the dining table and wash his hands for instance. There was one thing he was sure of though – that he loved mom dearly and that she was the medium through which God was helping him survive. To every visitor he had he would proudly exclaim, how the unending faith his wife had, had helped him to come close to being normal.

 When I visited them the last few times, they would say that they prayed that they should die together. My dad would get emotional and tell my mom that if ever she died before him, she should leave a pill or something behind, so he could consume it and join her. To him there was no life without her.

 When he collapsed on that sad Friday, she ran to his side – began to gently beat his chest. She desperately tried to keep him going with mouth to mouth resuscitation. She kept blowing in to his mouth, till the ambulance came and put him on oxygen. He held her hand tight and looked into her eyes almost as if he were sorry to go and then as he lay looking into her eyes, God carried him home.

 The truth about our lives is that our parents are the only ones who love us no matter what we do, no matter how we look. They are proud of us and look out for us always. God uses our parents as the medium to keep us taken care of. He protects and guides us through them. I am thankful to God, for having blessed me with the best of the tribe.

 Thank you daddy, my daddy is bestest!

T

She drew concentric circles with her finger on her palm. Her eyes lowered as she sat before him in his cabin. He was on the phone with a customer. She drew these circles every time she was drawn into a conversation where she just preferred to be quiet. The ringing of his cell, had broken the deep silence that had surrounded them after he had announced – “I am committed to my marriage and it’s important to me that I continue to be a committed husband and a committed father.”

Outside the traffic snarled and hollered. The dull drumming of the air-conditioner did not do much to alleviate the discomfort, the statement had prompted. The parallel line broke into a ring and went silent – his secretary must’ve picked the phone. The conversation he was having had moved beyond niceties and issues had started rolling in. She shifted in the chair and began to gather her notebook. With a gesture of his hand, he asked her to wait.

The picture of his family seemed to mock at her. There he stood next to the Eiffel tower with his arms around his wife and their daughter. They had happy smiles on their faces. It seemed to confirm what he had said to her.

“Thank you, I will connect with you later.” With this, he shut off his cell and looked at her. The awkward silence seemed to rise between them again. Her fingers got busy again as she dropped her gaze and looked at her footwear.

“I want you to know that you are a very nice person. You are bright and smart and I’m convinced that you have a great future with this company. I admire your grit and determination and after everything you’ve told me about you, my respect for you has only increased. I’ve agonizingly agitated over what happened between us. I believe that our spouses repose a certain faith in us, when we work together. I don’t think we should violate that. I have a responsibility to your spouse as well. Do you agree with what I said?”

She looked up at him and her face seemed awash with a memory of a kiss they had stolen when they had traveled together on a business visit. They had been immersed in a presentation and in the midst of all the editing her hand had found his. He had held it at first. Neither of them had spoken. He held it longer and then gently squeezed her palm. She closed her eyes and allowed the warmth of that moment to stay in her palm. He had continued to speak about the presentation, his fingers mingling with her hands, until she had closed the laptop. She had turned to look into his eyes. Their faces had been so close, the air so taut with intimacy, she had turned in and kissed him. He kissed her back. For the rest of that trip they had been around each other – laughing, joking, working hard, like that moment in time had been God’s gift.

“ I am not ashamed or agitated of what happened between us.” She said in a calm voice, devoid of any dramatics. “Its not an ideal situation, but I am not cut for ideal situations. I do not have any demands on you. I respect your philosophy. Do you suggest that I should stop working with you?”

“No, I don’t want to stop working with you. You are brilliant in what you do, there is so much value add we can bring in here together. However, I do not want you to be in love with me. I am not in love with you.” He said.

“I don’t have control on whether I love you are not. I don’t operate those feelings at will. I don’t want to draw boundaries on what I have with you. What I have with you has nothing to do with what I have with my spouse. You are two completely different people. Its not about physical needs. If it were, I would have told you that.” She said

“I can’t be the one to comfort you. I can’t be the number one in your life.” He said.

“There has to be some meaning to what happened between us. We have a choice to kill it or nurture it and give it direction. I hear you tell me that you don’t need me. But I did need what you gave me. After having worked with you, I guess inside me, I have always admired and loved you – which is why what happened, happened.” She paused for a while and then added “I got to get home now. I’m leaving. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

As she gathered her things he had noticed that her eyes had begun to flood. All this calm talk, had a volcano simmering beneath he knew. He knew about her abusive marriage. He knew about how much she missed being loved and being taken care of as a woman. But he had to be honest to himself. He wished they had not kissed. But, the truth was they had and in a strange way he had found himself thereby bound to her.

As she attempted to hurry out of the room with her things, she tripped and that broke the dam of emotions that had been struggling inside of her. Tears washed her face as she tried to gather her things as calmly as possible. “oh, please don’t…” he said softly as he helped her with the things strewn down. All she wanted to do was to rush into his arms and cry away all the lovelessness she had accumulated over the years.

“Ssssh”, she said as she walked to the door of his cabin. “Don’t forget you cant be the one to comfort me, boss.”

Later that night, she lay in her bed, she pondered – in so many ways, through so many people, in so many said and unsaid ways, in so many unseen and exhibited ways God sends us love…“I am committed too, I am committed to being loved” she murmured as she closed her eyes to sleep.

I have often found myself agitating over others opinion about me, my work, my words. However, I have found that I have been less critical about myself in my moments of quiet.

As I lazily switched channels last evening, the serene face and calm words of a young Brahmakumari sister arrested my attention. This woman had a beautiful, attractive glow and spoke a delectable Hinglish. I have always been a sucker for good spoken English, so I stayed uncharacteristically on the channel to hear her speak.

 She spoke effortlessly about packing into our mind, only what we would actually use the next day – clear away the crap she urged. She spoke about how we drag on in our minds the unnecessary baggage of hurt and travel very very “un-light” on life’s journey. Every insult, every hurt, every disagreement is carefully packed , thereby leaving little space to pack in the things we really need – like our lessons and our happiness.

 Why do we pack in the hurt? We do so, she says, because we weigh ourselves by the opinions of others. We glow in the praise others heap on us, we simmer in the anger and hurt of unkind words we hear about ourselves. Figure out who you want to be and be true to yourself on that count. If anyone hurls something uncomfortable at you, take a moment to see if what the person says is true. If it is, then you need to change. If you find yourself disagreeing, there is no problem, everyone has the right to an opinion – you don’t have to compulsively agree with it. It’s that simple guys!! Evaluate yourself on your own judgement.

 Be like the tree laden with fruits she says. People throw stones at the tree. The tree reacts by letting go of the fruits on her branches. All the tree has to offer in return is fruits. The tree would never throw a stone back, it would always b a fruit. Be calm like the tree, receive every unkind word, once you have accepted who you are, you find no stones to throw back. It takes wisdom and humility to be a tree. Empower yourself to be that tree.

 I delve into my own life and I see that up until now I have evaluated myself, on the opinion of my parents, my spouse, my family, my friends, my colleagues and my son. Its been a compulsive need to seek the acceptance and admiration in their eyes and therefore get rewarded by their love. When I found the engagement lacking in one zone, I’ve switched to the more rewarding zone, giving it my all, looking for redemption from lovelessness. Somehow being loved has always been an equation of others feelings toward me – never a reflection of my own comfort in being who I am.

 I feel blinded by this new philosophy. Suddenly there is no performance anxiety. It’s an inward looking thought process -one which urges you, to hold a mirror up to yourself and see who you truly are. There are no masks inside of you, no compulsions to conform – just a soul which is on its journey to learn. I need to empower that soul with the freedom to learn. I need to unfetter it from unnecessary baggage.

 Yes..a much lighter journey has begun…

 Cheers,

T

As the train leaves the station the excel sheets that I’ve been working on and all the various financial models that have been usurping my mind-space start to fade to the back of my mind. Hazy pictures of the contents of my fridge and the undone abacus homework of my dear child, begin to form clearer images. The train journey home is literally my transition point from office-goer  to home-maker.

As I look back at the ten years of my career, I feel pride in the success and recognition that I’ve been blessed with. I stand at the threshold of the prime 5 years of an individual’s career – year11 to year 15. They are referred to as the slog years, the make or break big time of one’s journey in the corporate world. I also stand at the threshold of my son’s academic foundation – year 6 to year 10. I stand also at the threshold of an important time in a ten year old marriage. Juggle, juggle – don’t drop any balls – all too precious.

The recognition at work has had this effect on me – I’ve become emotional about my work and clinical about home. A part of me wants to soar into the corporate world, a part of me wants to stay grounded to home. A fourteen hours work routine, including two and half hours of commute, six hours of sleep and four hours of home time, is pretty skewed. The four hours of home time grab another hour or two for conference calls and reports that were needed yesterday.

Increasingly I’ve begun to question my work and home imbalance. On my train journeys home I often think, my workplace could replace me effortlessly, but could my family or my friends? I question myself, am I really ambitious? What is it that really thrills me about my work – is it the ability to solve problems, is it the ability to identify potential issues, is it the opportunity to utilize my potential, is it the recognition of work well done? My work certainly does add dollops of brownie points to my sense of self worth and security about my ability to earn a living. Work is workship, right?

My mother was a home maker. She was there at the door each day, when we came back from school, college and even work – waiting to hear our download on the day’s breaking news and trivia. She would absorb the ups and downs of our day – offering advice and cheers as appropriate. I am the last one to get home, on most days. There is some frenzied cooking and some frenzied teaching which follows. I’m losing out on the absorbing bit. I know we cant have it all. I wish I could add a few hours more in a day!!

Everywhere I'm turning
Nothing seems complete
I stand up and I'm searching
For the better part of me
I hang my head from sorrow
Slave to humanity
I wear it on my shoulders
Gotta find the strength in me – Alicia Keys – Superwoman

Cheers,

T

Shadows of you

In my moments of quiet on cold evenings

Thoughts of you wrap themselves around my shoulders

And it feels like it’s the right thing

So I don’t push them away

I bask in the warmth they offer me

Suddenly every thought seems to land at your smile

The belonging in your eyes haunts my nights

The familiarity of your touch lingers on my skin

I can’t do without you and I can’t do with you

I fret on all the “right” reasons we should not be “we”

But inside I believe that you are God’s gift to me

Only God could help us “make love out of nothing at all…”

Shadows of you fall on my soul…

Cheers,

t

"Positive pictures come out from negatives developed in the darkroom.

So if you find yourself lonely in the dark,

Understand that -

Life is working on a beautiful picture for you..."

Anon

Prior to the quantum advancements in the fields of medicine, people died of kidney failure and heart attacks, with no second lease to life. Today, neo medicine gifts sight, longer life, new kidneys…. It indeed is quite overwhelming.

Now lets juxtapose this new lease of life with elderly people. I watched helplessly as my father in law battled Parkinsons over a span of 30 months. Every time he sank a little more, we would rush him to the hospital. They would pump him up with vitamins and the works and then we would come home. Sometimes we went right back in a span of lesser than 48 hours!! So ultimately when his tongue refused to help him to swallow, we resorted to a rhine tube. The last two weeks of his life were spent on an assortment of liquids which could be sent in through the rhine tube.

He developed a sore in the back and his speech become incoherent, but his daily dose of medicines - one for every ailment, only prolonged his losing battle. The last two days were particularly filled with anguish. The Parkinsons had taken complete control and his whole body would tremble every five minutes. Finally he succumbed to this illness on a still, late November morning.

I sit here now and ruminate about the course of nature. What it means to hamper to it? Is there a benefit in changing it? All things/events/even weather conditions in my mind have a logical end. Its my understanding that we allow our arrogance, to make us believe that we can overpower nature’s course as it were. We believe that we can control things and we have a responsibility to do it. Isn’t evolution real? Should we force ourselves to slow the pace or change the course of evolution? Are we always privy to the reason why an evolution happens?

There will always be rich and poor. There will always be healthy and diseased. Starvation is not a new finding of our century. Isn’t this all about balance? Can the effort of an entire universe ensure that we are all happy, well fed and inhabiting a green pure world?  The imbalances of our lives turn into causes for some people’s lives. It remains a cause which is tried to be watered down, but does it imply it will be eliminated? Then again there is merit in believing every tummy which is fed, is a little hunger gone…

There is a will of GOD...and it is not limited to creation and health and beautiful and white happenings, it includes extinction and disease and ugly and dark happenings...and we have this compulsive urge to iron out all imperfections...

Cheers,

T

She stirs lazily in bed as the sun creeps from between the curtains to wake

her up…

Rays dodge the stray locks on her face to light up her face…

Thoughts of him lay strewn by her pillow…

The memory of his divine kisses brings a rush of colour to her cheeks and her heart beats a tad faster…

She curls up on the satin sheet, her pillow held close to her bosom…

Her skin breaks into goose bumps as his thoughts cruise through her…

She buries her face between the sheets, protesting day break

She wants to go back to her dreams and hold on to him for a while longer…

Sometimes the stillness of the night and the power of imagination is all it takes to relive memories…

And this way he meets his promise of always being there in spirit..

Cheers,

T