Arrivals and Departures

ARRIVALS

The climax of the anticipation and preparation. The eager wait to be ensconced in all things familiar - the sights, smells and sounds of homeland. The familiarity and warmth of the arms that embrace you. Or the excitement of going to a new country, city or even continent. Of stepping into uncertainty, not knowing what this vacation or relocation bodes. The simultaneous buzz of excitement and anxiety that seizes you as you step into the unfamiliar. 

***

Months of waiting and hours of pain. But there is ecstasy at the end of this agony. Of seeing the tiny creature you created and incubated in your body. Celebrations and jubilation at the addition of the newest member to the family. The excitement of bringing the new one from hospital to home. The new arrival after which life ceases to be the same. Ever. 

DEPARTURES

Preparing to transplant oneself back again. The end of the getaway that was temporary. Overwhelming emotions that eventually find it's way as a trickle down the cheek. Happiness at the memories made and time spent, overcast with the imminent end of it all. The hesitant goodbyes. The collective sigh at the retreating figures, for those remaining behind. Of hoping to see them soon. 

***

The dreaded wait outside the OT or ICU. The endless pacing back and forth. Imagining the worst-case scenarios and yet praying for the best outcome. Sometimes it's a long drawn wait for Death to come calling. And sometimes, a sudden and cruel quirk of fate - an accident, an infection, a sudden downward spiral of health, a heart attack. The goodbyes that one's never EVER prepared for. Coming to terms that the person you knew has vacated the body; that it's the last you will see of them. Of the disbelief that they no longer exist. Of life with them playing as a random slideshow in the head. And imagining a future without them. 

***

Footnote - Airports and Hospitals. They share the irony of being the place that witnesses joy and despair in parallel.

P.S. It has been ages (specifically, THREE whole years!) since I posted here. I was casually checking my blog the other day and alarm bells went off in my head. I, in fact, scrolled through my blog, read random posts and sat in disbelief for a minute (or two). Did I write those? Was it me, really?

I don't know what excuse to offer - well, that's what it'd be - to get writing get away from me. Or vice versa. This is a blog I started in 2006. And although never prolific, I have always come back to it and penned down my thoughts. Since I've turned up after such a hiatus, I won't make tall promises. But I'll try to be faithful to this little piece of myself on the WWW. There's a part of me reflected here, and I would like to keep going for as long as I can.

To New Year

It’s customary for me to write a New Year post, reminiscing on how the year went by. It normally comes up before/on New Year’s Eve. But since change’s the only constant, here I am, doing it on New Year's day.

Looking back, it’s one of those years that flashed by. Well, I said the same about last year too. Is it something about the life we live today? I guess it is. Each day gone even before we realize it dawned. The fast pace of life coupled with being busy at work, makes you live life from one weekend to the other (and still it seems so transient). Minutes rushing into hours; hours into days; days into weeks; weeks into months – and then into a whole freakin’ year! When it ends is when it suddenly dawns – a year actually did pass by. What did I do?

I remember the last New Year. On Jan 1, 2012 I watched a movie – Sherlock Holmes 2. They say what you do on New Year’s Day in an indication of what lies ahead. And I did end up doing that for the rest of the year; and in plenty! I think I watched more movies at a theatre this year, compared to what I had watched in my entire life till then! I was disappointed, surprised, depressed, bored, impressed…
Yes, my list of movies at the theatre include the kinds of JTHJ, Mausam and Heroine (yes, I do make bad choices!) to Talaash, Barfi, Ustaad Hotel, Thattathin Marayathu; to a bunch of animated 3D ones too – Ice Age 3, Brave, Hotel Transylvania et al. And I closed the Year with a movie too – The Rise of the Guardians. This came as a surprise plan – I really didn’t have anything cut out for New Year’s Eve. But I am glad I watched it. It is an endearing movie which makes me reaffirm my belief in hope and goodness.

If I had to summarize my year – it was like the movies I had seen. This year, I have been disappointed, surprised, depressed, bored and impressed – for reasons that affect me, my family or friends. I don’t remember being put on such an emotional roller-coaster  any time in the past. There’s a part of me that died; a part of me that grew; a part of me I saw, which I didn’t know existed. I've been pushed into the abyss; I have been on the clouds. It’s been quite a year – nothing much has changed at the face of it – I still work at the same place, I still live in the same place, my marital status is the same, I pretty much look the same (except for some weight I managed to gain!). But something inside me has changed; and hopefully it’s for the good. And I enter this New Year on the note of hope and optimism, just as in the last movie I saw. The headlines, ‘breaking news’ and general bleak outlook notwithstanding – I hope for the best; because as one of my favourite quotes go, “I hope for the best, since hoping for less doesn't seem to improve the results.”

So here’s to a New Year sans resolutions, only hope. Let it bring all what you need, and not what you want. Cheers!

Pretense

So, do you pretend? Yes, you…

No? Really? What did you just say; you are ‘yourself’? Straight as an arrow?

We all pretend. We all do. We all need to.

You pretend that you are not bothered by the aimless drifting of your life. You pretend that you do not see others’ miseries. You pretend that you don’t care that your life has no meaning. You pretend that you don’t see the running tap, the burning light or the wasted papers. You pretend to not see the growing pile of waste, the growing concrete jungles, and the reducing greenery.

You pretend that your son’s behaviour didn’t hurt you. You pretend that you are fine with marrying a man you don’t love. You pretend that you are not hurt that your daughter chose a guy she met yesterday, over you. You pretend that you didn’t notice the lipstick marks on your husband’s shirt. You pretend that you can’t see the inches of flab that has been piling on you. You pretend to not worry about price tags. You pretend that your break-up doesn’t hurt. You pretend that the volatile argument you had with your boss is not affecting you. You pretend that you are okay that your job’s not giving enough time to be with your family. You pretend that your failing marriage isn’t making your life miserable. You pretend to not see the single digit that your bank balance account becomes every month end. You pretend that not finding time to pursue your hobbies does not matter. You pretend to ignore the growing silence between you and your friend. You pretend that not having time to read a book is okay. You pretend that getting or giving bribes to get things done faster (or easier) is perfectly fine. You pretend that giving up on something you love to do, just because it won’t earn you money doesn’t take away something from you.

You pretend that you have all the time in the world.

You pretend. You do – all the time.

To Life

I took all of it – my disappointments, my misgivings, my heartaches. I took all the sleepless nights; all the tears. I took the hurt; the despair I felt. I took the anger that was boiling within, like molten lava waiting to surface. I took the sense of self-pity which laid on me like a cloak. I took the frustration, the dejection, the sense of rejection. I took the pain that stung like a thorn perpetually lodged within me. I took all the dark clouds storming my mind. I took all the ‘would haves’, ‘should haves’, and ‘could haves’. I took all the ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’; the ‘why nots’ and ‘what ifs’. I took the feeling of worthlessness, which had gripped my heart in its brutal fists, paralyzing my existence. I took the frown from my face, the gloom in my eyes. I took the droop off my shoulders, the knot in my stomach. I took the fear of loneliness, of not being understood; and far worse, of being misunderstood. I took all the unanswered questions. I took boredom by its horns. I took the indifference I had for the world. I took the impatience I had with life. I took it all.

I dug a hole in my heart. I patiently layered it all – looking at it for the last time. I had buried it, just like that. Years of torment lay compressed. Like a man buried alive. Clawing to come out in the open; dying to be alive. But I had buried it once and for all.

I sowed the seeds of hope. It lays there, dormant – unwilling to try. Unwilling to sprout. But I’m sure one day it will burst with all its vigour. It will nourish and flourish. The pain and all that lay beneath will be its succor. It will be a plant, a tree tomorrow. It will flower and fruit. It will be the mainstay of my existence. The sun will kiss it, the rain will bless it. The bees will hover, the birds will nest. The squirrels will run up and down, the rabbits will hop about. And in its shade I will lie down and smile. Tomorrow, I will not see the hurt or the pain. I will see that tree. The tree that grew despite it; or perhaps, because of it.

Lights Out

There are a few things I’m scared of. Not cockroaches (really!); perhaps lizards (I think I’m disgusted by those than scared). Snakes! I’m petrified of those. It doesn’t help that I dream of them once in a while. But nothing scares me more than death. Not mine actually; but those close to me. Any accident, natural disaster or calamity, robbery gone bad, terrorist attack – I’m thinking, what if it was someone close to me there? It scares me to lose any one of my family members. But it’s an inevitable truth. An uncomfortable fact we sweep under the carpets and hope that it’s gone. It never is. It’s just hidden. 

Perhaps I hadn’t given it much thought, until I witnessed my Achachan die. And it’s something that made a lasting impression on me; more than I thought. Achachan had Alzheimer’s disease and was slowly caving in. He could do most of the things on his own, but it was as if his childhood had revisited him. Those who know about this disease would know that they behave like kids – they are adamant, forgetful, angry, moody and at times playful too! It is quite something to see an able man lose his memory; and it’s with a sense of sadness we realized that he’s losing his sense of self. Memories come in snatches; they remember far back into their life than the recent past. And they could scream at you, annoy you, go wild – and you know you can’t take it personally; it’s just the disease catching up with them. His helplessness, coupled with your own on seeing him like this is something everybody in the tharavadu took time getting used to. We used to visit regularly and Ammamma would have her share of stories on his antics. 

My uncle was around; he had come down from Dubai for a short leave, and was planning to return on that fateful day. It was early in the morning; I was wiping the car or so. I am not sure what exactly happened. The details are a blur – I could hear loud crying sounds from inside the house. And I remember rushing in. Achachan had tried to stand up and then his limbs started failing him, I suppose. My Amma was hugging him and crying ‘Appa…Appa…’ relentlessly. Everyone had gathered in the bedroom and had surrounded him. Achachan was slowly falling back into the bed, he had gone limp. His eyes rolled back, I think. It was certain the end was near. But it was a truth no one wanted to accept. And yet, there they were, pouring the last drops of water into his mouth. A physician was called in immediately. Of course, he only arrived to certify the one truth no one was ready to deal with, at that moment. He said the needful and quietly left. To this day – the scene haunts me; it’s been eight years since then... and yet. Seeing Amma crying out loud desperately; the anguish, the pain. I don’t know how I can describe what I felt. I was quite shocked, I think. I hadn’t been around when anyone was dying, till then. And it’s something no one is ever prepared for. To see the lights go out of someone’s eyes. I don’t think it has prepared me any better. It is something I don’t wish on anybody. But again, it’s a tough situation – everyone wants to be around at the last moment. You would hate it if you weren’t there; and yet, to see someone so close just slip by. A breathing, living personality becoming just a body – sometimes you think, is that the last thing I want to remember him by?

It’s at times like this that I wish our ages would just freeze – me forever young, a child to my parents; my parents forever of the same age. And we just wouldn’t die. No one would! But then, that’s just wishful thinking on my end. Those who are around today won’t be there tomorrow. That’s the ultimate truth.

'Item' Songs!

Madam Malai…

For the uninitiated, this is not what the Amul girl  will be called when she’ll grow up (if at all). This is Veena Malik in a very nondescript, can-and-will-be-forgotten-before-it-hits-the-theatres movie called Daal Mein Kuch Kaala Hai (thanks for the warning, makers!)

So why talk of her? Or Madam Malai? It’s because I’m going nuts!

Firsts

“Something about first love defies duplication. Before it, your heart is blank. Unwritten. After, the walls are left inscribed and graffitied. When it ends, no amount of scrubbing will purge the scrawled oaths and sketched images, but sooner or later, you find that there’s space for someone else, between the words and in the margins.”


- Tammara Webber

Now that's a quote I loved. There's something about all 'firsts' in our lives. And why are our firsts so important? Perhaps because it is the first of its kind – sets our expectations, becomes our benchmark, our immediate point of reference.

The first love, the first car, the first impression of a new city, the first time you talked to someone, the first drink you tried, the first trip to a place, the first smoke you had, the first date, the first job, the first live show/concert you saw, the first time you went on a plane, the first kiss, the first time you walked into your office/school, the first time you wrote with a pen, the first time you got appreciated, the first dish you cooked, the first time you drove a vehicle, the first pregnancy, the first salary you earned, the first time you went on stage…

But how many firsts of these do you actually remember? Not many. Of course, some because they are among the many mundane ‘firsts’ we achieve. Some, because they weren’t really memorable – it could be something you want to actually forget! Very few ‘firsts’ are treasured, remembered wistfully, appreciated silently. And first love is something like that. With luck (?) it may be your last. Else, you will find space between the words and margins.

Finger Lickin' Good

Among the many things stereo-typed as South Indian, the one that’s gaining maximum ground (or already has) is that we eat with our hands. Not to forget how a curly-headed, ‘Aiyyo’-spouting Shahrukh made a complete mockery of it, with his spaghetti-with-curd routine in his (very forgettable) dud Ra.One. Oh yeah SRK, you thought that was being funny. I think when the movie bombed, the joke was on you!

Mystery

Some I come across like the rose petals I once placed in an old book. Once cherished, once dear. As I accidentally chance upon them, they remind me of why I had left them there. They are now withered, dry and only a shadow of what they once were. But there lingers a fragrance; I smile as I take the dry petals – ready to fall apart. The very sight evokes thoughts which I like to revisit. I place them back and close the book. I am sure that I’ll come across them again; accidentally, of course. And I’ll still smile – however tattered the book; however dry the petals. The fragrance will live.

Some are like the cookies a Mother places on a shelf, out of reach from her child – well not quite. Tempting thoughts, seething desires. My head puts it on a high shelf; my heart tries to reach. And I’ve to blame my head; why place it out of reach (tempting me to try?) and yet so low (that I will get it, anyway?). At the end of it, you give into your heart – it reaches for the cookie; the very temptation you were trying to avoid. You know you will regret it, but you reach for it anyway. Like the Mother who will feel sad at the disappointment of her child, my head relents to the heart.

Some are like the files you save into the remotest and most random folder in your computer. You furiously click, navigate the various paths and keep it away, hoping that you will forget the way back to it. And yet, you will find yourself, somehow searching it up, revisiting them – although it only gives you pain. Again you move it to another folder – somewhere into the maze that is the system. But never do you Shift+Del. It might reach the Recycle Bin – but you will restore it, anyway. A pain you hold onto.

Memories – Exasperating. Exhilarating. Depressing. Defining.

That’s why they confound me. 

How 'Online Smart' are we?

The other day, I was surprised to see a status update on Facebook. So yes, a zillion inconsequential things appear on one’s timeline, but this took me by surprise. Or was it shock? Or disbelief? Or was it a sense of confusion?

Here was a person announcing his father’s death (I am sure, quite promptly) on FB. Now I was very uncomfortable when I saw this. I don’t know about you, but FB is the last thing that would be on my mind if I were in his place; forget announcing this news to all and sundry over there. To give him the benefit of the doubt, let me add that his father was a well-known artist and hence, he probably decided to let a wider audience know of it. But really? An FB status update saying ‘my dad is no more’ is the LAST thing I expected to see (okay, no – there are far weirder stuff going on there). And what’s more, there were 70+ odd comments on it and idiotically enough, one ‘Like’. Thank God there was only one!  But I’d really like to ask that one person who ‘liked’ this post – what’s there to ‘like’ about someone losing his father?

I’ve always believed that we haven’t quite learnt how to use social networking sites. No one’s discreet about what goes up there – some really personal honeymoon snaps and/or crazy party pictures that people have uploaded (among others) drove me to this conclusion. I am not saying that one must fabricate one’s online persona so that it appears ‘cool’ on FB; it’s another thing that people are doing it to perfection with no instructions! But then, you must know what is okay to be seen and what’s not. I’ve also seen many girls (yes, ‘girls’ not ‘women’ – because they’ve not obviously grown up!) post how they miss their ‘better halves’ (probably he’s away on a trip, or she’s away from home). I mean, really? If you miss him, then you need to let him know that, not the rest of the world! And it’s anybody’s guess that phones exist, and they are already talking – but hell no, we need to know that she’s missing him oh-so-much. Give me a break!

I deviate – but not by much. There’s another phenomenon I’m not comfortable with. And that’s posting ‘RIP’ on a person’s FB Wall after he dies. I am sure you are also familiar with this. I had a senior pass away, a month or more back. And then I saw his wall being flooded with the ‘Miss You’, ‘RIP bro’ and the likes. I fail to fathom what this kind of solidarity is supposed to mean. Bereavement, I thought, was an intensely private experience. I am sure that you are sad at his demise, but is it essential to make a display of it by putting up such statements on his Wall? Is he going to read it? What purpose does it serve? If you need to offer any condolence, what you really need to do is go out there and offer some to his parents/relatives; if it means that much to you. Not mark a commiseration of sorts online.

I don’t know where this is headed, but I only wish people were a tad more sensible and sensitive, especially when it comes to personal tragedies. I still believe that some parts of our lives are sacrosanct. It’s for only us to know and for us to decide whom to share it with. Maybe collectively, we haven’t reached that place, where we know how to deal with things online – but I wish it was sooner.

***

P.S. I know, lame title. I couldn't get anything sensible to express what this post conveys. Suggestions?

Digging Deep

A casual discussion with a friend today and memories of this revived a latent thread of thought in my head.

We know a host of different things about different people in our lives. They know a host of different things about us. And in all probability, our parents know us the best. But is it true, the other way around? How well do you know your parents?

I mean, really? As far as I know, I know my Mom as ‘my Mom’. What was her past like? If not down to the minute details, do I know how she was – or what shaped her thoughts? What did she aspire to be? (She keeps saying she’d have loved to be a lawyer)

Now that I am over my turbulent teenage (and its share of ‘crushes’) – I wonder, did she also ever like somebody? Have an infatuation? Fall in love, perhaps? Given that she went to an all-girls school, I doubt she had the opportunity; but did she? Was she a romantic? What did her friends think of her? What kind of a person was she at school – nerd, geek, the meek or the bold? I know she was a real sporty person. She was known to have a ‘serious’ façade; and then she made a great friend. And this girl was so happy to know have discovered a sweet friend in Mom, that she wrote her a poem dedicated to her, and gave her a pet name!

One day, during a casual discussion my uncle mentioned how Dad used to go to the paddy fields and enjoy playing flute – and for a minute, I couldn’t believe my ears! He used to play flute? What other talents did they have? Were they into singing or performing arts? (One thing they both agree – they weren’t into writing or anything remotely literary, and are surprised that we do!)

There are some things our parents don’t talk to us about; there are some things we don’t talk to our parents about. It could be the financial situation, familial problems and rifts, matters of the heart, or a discordant marriage. We end up remembering and piecing information from others or from what we see – later when we come of age, they probably discuss or we try to understand; else, it still remains a mystery in patches. And we do the same – after we ‘come of age’ we don’t discuss certain things with parents. It could be our new found habits (say, drinking, smoking or drugs) or our relationships (and allied activities!). I remember, as kids we used to report right to the colour of our teacher’s sari to Mom. In a couple of years, it became ‘It was as usual’, if Mom asked ‘So how was school today?’

Just as we piece our parents’ lives – they do piece ours, in some ways.

It is not intentional – some parts of their life remain hidden because it never came up. Or they never felt the need to discuss it. Time changes things, and so does our changing age (and theirs). There’s a part of them, their lives, we’ll probably never know. And there’s a part of you, or your life that they’ll probably never know.

And even though I may not entirely know who they were, I could still try. That’s why when we cozy up with Mom on lazy afternoons, tightly hugging her – we gently cajole her to talk about herself. She very vividly describes her childhood, how it was to live in a joint family. About her marriage, how lonely she felt in Dubai, how she raised us and how life has been for her. Sometimes I think I should document it somewhere; make a story of her life. For now, I am busy unraveling it. One page at a time.

Ahead

It’s that time of the year when we indulge in retrospection, introspection and prospection (one, either or all). Why now? What’s so great about 31st December? We could do it on any day of the year too; but perhaps the onset of a ‘new’ year gives rise to hope. And as you all know, hope is a good thing. Maybe this newness gives us an impetus to try and set things straight, to mend our ways, or explore unchartered avenues. But of course, for that we need to reflect on the year gone by.

Book Browsing

It had been a while since I actually visited a bookstore. Flipkart ensured that the kua came to the pyaasa, instead of vice versa. And as convenient as it maybe to order books online, the charm of actually walking into a store and browsing books is irreplaceable. The joy of randomly picking a book, checking out the summary at the back cover, reading about the author, flipping the pages and judging the book by its cover (quite literally!) is a pleasure of sorts. And so, I went to Reliance TimeOut a couple of days back.

Tangled

A convoluted mass of thoughts. She tried to pick through the noodles that was her mind, with reasoning as her chopsticks.

She tried. Real hard.
They failed. She would manipulate and manoeuvre. There were times when she almost managed. But they would slide off the sticks; the very second she thought that she had got it right. Practice, she thought. She had to get better at it. Some day.

Or maybe she had to change her chopsticks.

Perspective

You really don't know how good you have it. You really don't.

You complain about your long working hours. You complain about how you have no ‘life’. You hate the city you are in. You hate the fact that you are far away from home. You are upset ‘coz you have zilch savings at the end of the month. You hate that you miss your parents. You feel sorry because you feel lonely. You feel empty. You wonder about how your life has become ‘boring’. You have a zillion things that don't seem right. Somehow it appears that the whole world is conspiring against you.

And yet, you must be thankful. You must be thankful for your boring life. Someone above hasn’t rocked your boat. Just yet.

Never ever think that you’ve got it bad. There are problems in your life; and they do matter. But every time you think of how life could be better – remember, it could be far worse.


Life is not fair. But it is not fair to anyone. That makes life fair.

Or so they say. I have my doubts about it, though.

Meet

I knew it, somewhere.

In the back of my head.  A feeling in my heart.

We had to meet.

Now as I stare into your eyes and taken in the vision that is you – it becomes clearer.

I cannot fathom how I can be so certain, when we are meeting for the first time ever. I haven’t seen you or heard of you before; I don’t recognize you from the past. And yet, I am sure I was meant to meet you.

I wasn’t surer of anything in my life. Than this moment.

The comfort – of being in familiar arms.

The gentle warmth – of the sun at daybreak.

The trust – like a friend’s promise.

I feel it already.

I look at you. You look at me. We search for something. Perhaps, in each other. But what?

You smile. My search ends.

 *******

Ok, let me frankly say that this is quite an impromptu post. I don't know the why or how or what of this post . Left open to your interpretation (and mine).

Toodles! 

12 Million Killed!

Goodbye!

A: Goodnight

B: Take care

A: Take care 

B: Goodnight

A: Cya

B: Sweet dreams

A: You too

B: Cya

A: Keep in touch

B: You too

A: Goodbye

B: Keep in touch

A: Cya

B: ------ 

A: ------

*Relieved. Both parties finally close their chat windows*

Has this happened to you? If it has (or it hasn't)... read on.

I have encountered the scenario above in many forms. Of course, it's not written in full, like I've illustrated; people in general prefer textese versions which go like 'gn', 'sd', 'kit', 'ttyl' and so on. But there's this reluctance in closing off a conversation. I don't know if it's a cultural thing, but I am guessing it is. We are bad at signing off!

If you doubt that for once, think of the last time you had a guest at home. They'd first get up from their seats, swearing that they have to push off. You do too, and then you are all making a conversation at the door! Then again they are going to leave, and yet... the group now converges at the front verandah. Few minutes later, the goodbyes are said, handshakes given, people reach the gates (while you thank the stars).... and yet, we end up stuck at the gate! You talk some more, exchange a few more jokes and laughs, the guests finally enter their vehicles. He starts it, and lo, someone's reminded of something else. The engine is turned off, you are peering into their car and exchanging few juicy details about whatever-that-got-them-to-stop-their-damn-car! Finally, when they do take off, you are left wondering if they'd make a come back! Athithi tum kab jaaoge? No, I don't have anything against guests - just that sometimes, they never seem to be leaving!

Seriously, we just can't do a one-time, fine job of saying 'bye'. If you still have doubts, check out the airports or railway stations or the bus stands. You have a whole battalion of people to send off one person. And everyone's perpetually saying byes - as you board the bus or the train; as you check into the airport and go to check-in your baggage. Extended are the bye-bye rituals too. You are being handed your lunch/dinner (train journey); or being constantly reminded of passport/visa (plane journey). Beta, medicines sab hai na? Theek na lage, toh khaa lena. Aur haan, pani ki bottle hai na tumhare paas?  Sometimes prayers are being said, pujas are being done, you are being mauled (read: kissed, hugged, patted, hair ruffled, shoulder rubbed, cheeks pulled, petted......list is endless).

Wistful byes, those are. A collective sigh at the fading vision of the person who's going; hand waves in the air. The train's long left, the plane's took off, the bus has sped on. And yet, they are still waiting. Looking at the path you just left.

I think the online phenomenon I mentioned above is a spill-over of this real life scenario. We just can't say bye; atleast not too well. We are forever closing the chat, only to end up saying a few more phrases neither the sender or receiver means. It comes to us automatically. Like some unwritten protocol - "While you chat, you must deliver a set of standard, key phrases - you should not skip these phrases at any cost - goodbye, sd, kit, gn, bbye'".

Someone once asked 'Where's the good in goodbye?' Now you know there isn't!

And yes, why am I rambling on and on about ending a conversation and not doing it myself..... Goodbye!

P.S. There, I ended it.

P.S.2 Shucks, I missed out on the standard phrases, so here it is: Goodbye, kit, sd, gn

P.S.3 Have I missed out any other good bye scenarios? If I have, let me know!

Burn bright!

You know, maybe the most insignificant of actions reveal a lesson. And though I don't want to sound all high and mighty, imparting my gyaan to the world here, I feel like sharing it. It's just a thought that brought a lot of after thought in me.



How many of you have lighted a lamp? Any kind...the small diyas, to the conventional lamps at homes? If you have, probably you've observed something. Fill the lamp with oil to the brim, and burn a wick. Chances are that it will burn dim. Instead, pour oil about till half of the lamp, and try burning a wick. It will burn brighter.


As I lighted the lamp one evening and observed this, I felt there's a lesson here. If life provides you with aplenty, you will never shine (quite literally). The very abundance is a distraction from reaching your excellence. The oil here almost snuffs the wick, because it's upto the brim. And so also in life, if you have enough and more of anything... would you really try hard? You would be like the wick swimming in the pool of plenty, little realising that it's actually preventing you from burning bright.


Instead look at the half-filled lamp. The wick there makes the most out of each drop of oil and burns brightest. It utilises whatever it has of the resources to spread light. The lack of abundance makes it try harder to burn and.... it does.


It's easier if you translate it to real life. I, for one, have seen that people with abundance of wealth, love or food don't quite value what they have. They believe they have got all they need. The most industrious of people are those who don't have plenty. Their lamps are not brimming. And they set out to burn bright.


The desire to strive for more, the need to try harder, the dissatifaction with status quo will drive you. Sometimes the best of you comes out not when everything is going right; but when everything is going wrong.


So what did I pray for New Year? To leave my lamp half filled.

To my Parents...

I don't know how I'd be here today, if not for my parents.

Yes, all parents do their best for their children and it goes without saying that they make immense sacrifices, adjust their lives and plans so that they can provide us with the best. But the sheer force of the random memories flooding my heart right now needs to be shared. So for my sake, reader, bear with me on this.

As little children, my sister and I, we used to sleep at night on our dad's arms. Yes, that meant he looked like the crucified Christ (albeit on bed!) with his arms outstretched. And we used to lie down; each tiny head resting on each of his arms. Now... think of lying like that the whole night, night after night, not being able to turn on your side, lying still with your arms oustretched for 8 hours or more. Now when I look back, I wonder how he managed it and didn't say a word. Every night we slept well... but I have never thought if my dad did...

Getting us ready for school was another task our parents endured during our early childhood! In Dubai, school timing was from 7am to 2 pm. That meant waking up in the wee hours of the morning to catch the school bus. Needless to say, I resembled a zombie at odd hours in the morning. But the funny part is, the 'getting us ready' bit was accomplished by an assembly line of sorts! Mom would wake us up, get us to the loo, thrust a brush with paste on it, get us to brush our teeth. Then she would bathe us, pat us dry and send us out to get dressed. I would still be sleepy and groggy and dad would put on the uniform; whilst I would move my body parts to a bare minimum; just enough to get the dress on me! I don't think I even used to bother buttoning the shirt! I'd just stand there as if it was expected of him to do that also for me. Then my mom would comb our hair, put on a little of make up (kajal, bindi, powder) and she would tie our hair for us too. I had very thick and long hair as a child; those who have seen me now would find it hard to believe. Managing such volumes of curly hair is quite a task. But she used to do the combing and tying part. All I had to do was doze off in a chair! And then, they'd put on the socks and shoes too! I did zilch in getting ready to school... all I had to do was subject myself to their instructions. It might seem like we were pampered, but this was the only concession. But I wonder how they used to do all this for us, when I now see my little cousins being expected to even wash their tiffin boxes.

Of course, it's another story how after coming back to India for good, my mother suddenly decided that we had to learn to do things on our own. It was in 5th standard and one day, she just refused to tie our hair. She asked us to learn on our own and figure out how to plait the hair. My self-reliant cousin saved the day then, but later we were forced to learn to tie our own hair! So that was my first lesson of being self-reliant, I guess.

Another naughty prank that we were upto was when my mom would come with a cane in hand, to thrash us! Yes, she was a strong advocate of using canes...mostly to frighten, but occasionally to strike too! Living in a flat in Dubai , we never had any place to run to or hide. But once in India, we had a huge courtyard at our ancestral house. Mom with cane meant danger alert and out we'd go and keep running around!!! She couldn't keep up with us and eventually, the use of cane fizzled...coz she couldn't get us to thrash, in the first place! Good times those! (my mom would say otherwise, I presume).

But if not for all that, I don't think I'd remember my multiplication tables, wouldn't know how to pronounce 'February' (yes, I had a serious problem in getting that right when I was a child), or a zillion other things that has made me capable today. My early memories of my parents go back to when I was a toddler. I had fever and mom was lying by my side, softly singing into my ears and gently patting me to sleep. It goes back to the umpteen bed time stories she told that I wanted to listen to. It goes back to the number of times dad bought ice-cream, sketch pens or little knick-knacks for me to get over each fallen tooth. It goes back to the number of years he toiled alone in Dubai so that he can provide for his family back here. It goes back to a thousand little things they have done. 'Thank you' is too small a token of appreciation to give. I still haven't figured out if I am worthy of their love or deserve to be their child. There have been a zillion times I've hurt them (teenage and beyond) and caused them worries.

Now, living in a different city, claiming the freedom I wanted and working to stand on my own feet, I realise that when you get what you 'think' you want, you realise the value of what you had. Every time I get mad at them (it works both ways, you know) I try to think of all what they did to help me reach where I am.

So this is for them... the two people without whom I am a nobody.

Mom....Dad.... I love you!