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Pappa

When my father suddenly passed, it was shocking for my family. Yes, he had been unwell for a few months now. He had been suffering from Parkinson’s, and battling it for nearly 11 years. But he was fine otherwise. No sugar problems, no pressure problems. Nothing, except for a debilitating disease that attacked his nerves and muscles, causing him pain.

So when he passed of a sudden brain clot in May, we were in shock. It was unexpected, especially because it had been one of his better days that day. The weeks that followed numbed me, and I just ran through each day solely on routine. I’d see my sister and mum cry on the phone to each other, and I’d wonder if I was really so stone-hearted that I didn’t even feel like crying over one of the most important persons in my life passing on.

And then my mum went to the US to stay with my sister, and my grief came crashing down upon me. I found myself having to rush to my room so many times a day, simply sobbing over the photo of my father in my phone. Just the thought of him would choke me up, and I’d be unable to speak. Even today, as I type these words, my eyes tear up at the memory of his calm, comforting eyes.

Grief – it never ceases. It comes in waves, ebbing at time, and rushing in at others. But it doesn’t go away ever. And why should it? It isn’t like the love you have for your lost loved one is any lesser. It stays there, just waiting to catch you unaware.

I felt this sudden grief when my cousin shared with me an old video of his birthday with my father in the background. I became so lost in the video, so absorbed in my father’s smile and his loud singing of the birthday song, so happy in that six-year-old moment, that when I looked up, his loss sprang up on me all over again.

It felt shocking that he really was gone, that he would not sing for me ever again, or that he would not be there for me ever again. Because he was there, every step of the way. When I had depression and literally needed a shoulder to cry upon. When I was upset about my book being rejected by a publisher and needed a morale boost. When I just needed him – anywhere at all – to be picked up after a bike accident, to be picked up from school or college, to be my listening ear, to be the one who understood.

HE WAS THERE! And now, he isn’t. No matter how spiritual a person I am, and I am very so, I keep preaching about the soul, and afterlife, and the beauty of physical and non-physical  life – I cannot bear the thought that I will not be able to ever again have his arms wrap around me, or that I will never be able to kiss the top of his head again.

A couple weeks back, I made my husband take a detour on our way to visit someone, to my mum’s parents’ home. It was a trip I’d made tens of dozens of times with my family in my childhood, stopping at a particular bakery on the way, where my mum would buy cookies and biscuits for us.

As my husband drove me down the familiar roads, my heart contracted and yearned for those old days. It wasn’t that I wanted to buy anything at that age-old bakery, or actually visit my uncle and aunt at their home (though that felt good too). I had wanted to capture those moments again. I had wanted to see my mum gossiping with her sisters in the courtyard. I’d wanted to see my sister sitting with my father in the balcony. I'd wanted to be there with them again.

I’d wanted to feel the love and security of those days gone past again. And that is all we want, isn’t it? The warmth and security of their love that only their presence allows.

But now, I only have some videos and photos in my phone to cherish.

I miss you Pappa.

The Indomitable Soul That I Have Mined

Many a wave have washed my face, 

As over the rocky surface I race

The salty tang from the sea touches my tongue, 
Or maybe salty from the cry my heart has rung

Push me down the storm may, it's mighty power strong, 
But down under the water, I will not stay for long

More often than not, I have been fooled and led stray,
By a fallow light, which turned out to be darker than the darkest day

But no matter how rough the sea, or how sharp be its lash,
Through it all my boat will sail, sometimes careful, often rash

Till now I have sailed on this sea, and sailed all alone I know,
And today I awake to see, a hundred helping hands to row

Not a word, not a peep, never need anything said,

They hold me steady, they hold me strong, simply there to guide me ahead

The Embrace

Cuddled in pillows and blankets, warm soothing breeze a-wafting,

Down below you are nestled so precious, little bean stay safe, stay floating.

Fingers hover over the womb unassuming, dipping, stroking, yet not touching,

Little bean curls deep below, growing, budding, beating, throbbing.

As the hour grows longer, and the night grows colder,

Fears race through the mind, crashing thoughts asunder.

In tissues and fat and warm ribbons you lie cocooned,

And yet past losses fester unchecked old wounds.

But through the pain and the fears you rise,

I see a tiny head full of hair when I close my eyes.

Black shoes with pink ribbons unfurled,

To my heart those visions are clearer than the real world.

As the night passes, and the day rolls by,

The evening comes bringing with it the shadows of the sky.

Again come the blankets, wrapped by pillows on all sides,

Hope and faith and Love and fear, all crash like the wildest tides.

So I let the dreams wash over my soul, cleansing like a soothing kiss,

Of large bellies, tiny onesies, baby showers and tender kicks.

The night breeze calming and bringing newer imaginings,

Of wonders that never cease, of faith of new beginnings.

The Shores that Keep Me Afloat

My parents are my idols. My Mother and my Father; they have stood against the tyranny of life, and faced the struggles to bring forth happiness to their family. Through their long hardship, they did not stop to look back at any point. They were too busy building a life so their daughters could enjoy their futures.

And yet, through these tough times, they found it in themselves to pursue their passions. In the mid-90s, when computers were just beginning to emerge in the markets, my father acquired a large system, and he’d spend hours studying the tiny characters in DOS. The CPU came apart and was put together countless number of times. To bring his family into his passion, he introduced us to Mario, Windows and Solitaire.

My mother immersed herself in her kitchen, emerging with exotic dishes cooked out of hors of poring over cookbooks. She mastered reverse engineering of foods she liked at restaurants, for which recipes she could not find. The microwave became one of her primary tools of experimentation, the delicious outcomes of which kept the table well-stocked.

As their daughter, I should have the perseverance, the urge to fight for my passions. The pull I have towards writing should be sufficient to push me towards a career in the literary field, and yet, I find myself held back.

There’s a fear which rests within. A fear of failure, a fear of losing the current comforts. A lackadaisical attitude which pulls at my strings, keeping me from approaching my passions head-on!

There was a video released on an interview on J K Rowling recently, where she talked of the time she had reached rock-bottom. She had failed EVERYWHERE, in her own words. Personally, professionally… She was a jobless single mother, and had to turn to the one thing she knew she was good at. Writing.

Is that what is required to turn us to our passions? Utter failure? Because, the majority of the world would not be able to turn to their passions if they had a choice of struggling for their passions, or to keep living as they have. Do what you love, and you’ll never have to work another day, they say. But the shove people need to get started, that’s what’s missing.

That’s because we’re all trapped in out Comfort Zones. I, for instance, am happy in my cocoon. I write pages and pages, cram my laptop with ideas for novellas, and sigh every time I read about new authors. But to take time out and seriously approach publishers, editors or literary agents; it becomes a chore which is difficult to get completed.

I have a friend who’s crazy about acting. He’s a part of more drama clubs than I care to count, and spent over months’ worth of nights practicing for plays, where he started off in small blink-and-miss roles, to larger ones, to plays which are now entirely written around characters he portrays.

His dream is to star in Bollywood, and once, his wife showed me a drawer full of profile photos he had had taken professionally. And yet, this acting-crazy guy hasn’t sent a single photo, a single auditioning CD to anyone linked to the movie world. He’s been to Mumbai so many times, and yet, not been to a single audition. A couple years ago, his excuse was family finances. Now, he says he’s fine with his job, so why ruin it?

Comfort Zone, that’s what got in his way..! He’s still crazy about acting, still dreams of making it big in B-World, but the easiness he finds in his daily routine is just too comfortable to give up for the struggles he’ll have to put in to make it Large.

I once read that Risks are not taken by the Fearless. That, that statement was a myth. Risks are taken by Rich People who have safety nets. Because, let’s face it. If I have to throw myself into the world of Writing, I’ll have to give up my current life for one of constant struggles. I’ll have to adapt my style of writing for the one which the Publishing Houses favour. I’ll have to write on genres and demographics of the ‘popular’ variety, and not what I really love.

It’s going to be a long, hard, uphill walk to reach the pinnacle where I can write what I love. Either that, or spend hours researching publishers and pursuing them.

The Comforts outweigh the Risks. And there’s also the worst of them all. Success is not only effort and risk. It’s also Luck. I’ve dipped my feet twice in that pond, and been so spurned by Luck, despite the power my manuscripts have held, despite having an eager audience to read my books, despite putting my all in it… Failure pulled me down. I prefer to not venture out a third time…

And yet, here I am, writing about it. Writing. So long as I breathe, so long as I am able to wield a pen, my passion thrives. And along with it, so does my dream.

The tides of Love, of Need, of Want, of Passion… They dash against shores of Failure, of Fear, of Cowardice..!
And yet, the bough of Hope, of Yearn, of Dreams… It dances on the waves, Pulling at the strings of the Heart,
Shoving, Pushing, Hustling, Compelling…
To move on, riding high on the tide toward the Island of Zest, the Port of Fervour, the Ocean of Success…

Mind Your Business!

We live in a world in this age, where nobody seems to care about anyone else. Genuine care and regard is rare, and precious, but also, few in between. At the same time, everyone wants to poke their nose into other people’s business.

Where is the neighbour’s son working? Mr K’s daughter is going out with Mr M’s son, do you know! The family on the fourth floor are pregnant; again!

There’s no dearth for gossip, and with so much fodder lying about, it is easy to pick up upon it..! Such is the state of affairs in today’s day. I have to admit, I have a love for picking up information passing down the grapevine too. It’s the easiest way to stay up to date on everyone’s lives.

Gossip is a source of information, a common ground, upon which people come together, bond and rally forth. No two people are closer, than those who have shared a particularly juicy bit of titbit on the latest happenings on the people around them!

In fact, I say Facebook and Twitter are two of the largest Gossip Queens ever. A common platform where people can pick up on the latest natter, a place where wannabes can advertise their current successes in life; a public stage where the internet bullies can strike, and the online heroes can swoop in to save!

The problem arises when a person does not understand when to put the gossip aside and resume his own life. When he has to have a finger in every pie, and offer good-natured advice, which he fails to realize is ill-received.

I mean, seriously, how does it matter to anyone at all that the 3^rd floor neighbour does not have a baby after years of marriage..? It is a private matter, and therefore, absolutely closed to anybody who is not the husband or the wife! But, we have the well-meaning duennas of the family, meddlesome neighbours, and even pesky cousins, all asking about the couple’s family plans..!

And the sad thing is, the couple may be putting off having a baby because they’re waiting to be financially independent, or because they’re not ready to be parents and do not want kids yet, or because they do not want babies, period. Or perhaps, they have been trying desperately for a baby, and have not had success yet…

How heart-breaking do you think it is to be pestered for a new addition to the family, when the wife has suffered a miscarriage just a month back..? How completely shattering is it to be given ‘friendly’ advice on early parenthood, when the couple has faced failed IVF treatments?

Or, for that matter, to be asked after multiple failed interviews about the latest job prospects? To be asked after a terrible heartbreak about future marriage plans? To be asked exam after entrance exam, when they’re going to get on with their further studies …

Well-meaning meddlers and malicious relatives aside, even parents sometimes fail to recognize that sometimes, their children just need some time and space. To be able to face new experiences and challenges. To grow. To heal…

And it is the fault of this society that illnesses which are common, and for which patients should seek treatment, are hidden and made to suffer. Illnesses such as OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or depression and anxiety, which are common, diseases, and for which help needs to be sought are hushed up, and pushed under the blankets.

Where there is a need to speak about the problems, to express and to garner support for the patient, gossip mongers send them into hiding, worsening symptoms of a disease that already causes so much of havoc in their lives.

There really should be some ground rules set up about this sort of thing. A set of guidelines which can define what is taboo, and what is not. For instance, guests who are couples should not be told to come in ‘threes’ on the next visit. Sexual orientation of any person is not to be questioned. A person suffering from depression is not to be targeted for any gossip.

Anyone with common sense should be able to understand that these are common courtesies, and need not be instilled especially. But as we all know, common sense is no longer common anymore…

She sits at the window, with red-rimmed eyes… Hands on her stomach, unsteady her gaze lies…

When the summons come to demand an heir for the dynasty, her heartbreak seems naught in the face of their ‘tragedy’…

She sits at the window, with books and quills abound… Envelopes scattered, piled in a mound…

When the summons come to question her intentions on her travels to study, her shame seems naught in the face of their curiosity…

She sits at the window, with her face bowed… Hands quivering with anxiety, her spirit crushed and cowed…

When the summons come to question why she is sad when all are merry, her fears seem naught in the face of their illiteracy…

The Not-so-golden Silence

My company is downsizing. It means they’re deleting some roles they’re not sure they want to pay for. It started off with salary cuts, longer hours and shorter breaks, but by the end of the month, they decided they’d had enough, and started to simply shift-delete.

One of those roles they cut was mine, so, as of the last day of last year, I am out of work. Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m happy to be a stay-at-home sort of wife, taking care of the HubMan, and my home. But the sting of watching all the other ladies in the block catwalking their way to work refuses to go away. The surge of power of being an independent in life is intoxicating. It has lured me to the workplace time and again, if only to walk out in the early morn, looking employed and elegant.

And yet, I find I’m a very homely kind of person. I cannot stand office politics, the pressures of deadlines, or the annoying shades of fickle-minded managers. What I like are the smells of sun-dried bedsheets, cooking up a storm in my own kitchen, taking time out for myself. Time to write, to read, to pursue my own passions and to build a career upon those passions.

So on my last day at work, I was quite happy to give in my name-tag and sign-off for the last time. What followed were two days of utter bliss, as the new year celebrations kicked in. The shower of fireworks in the hazy smoke-filled sky signaled an arrival of a new me, a stay-at-home me. It was a time for new beginnings, all over!

But then, Tuesday dawned, and the HubMan set off for work, and alongwith him, so did an army of ladies dressed to the nines. Wearing smart blazers, carrying chic purses, off they marched, tip-tapping in their lovely office heels. The envy in me lasted until the last of them had walked out of my sights. And then, the silence set in.

It was deafening, in all its quietness.

The sad thing about being a stay-at-home person, is the quiet which comes along with it. For the majority of the day, you find yourself alone. Especially in the metro cities of today, where high-rise flats have increased the number of neighbours, but decreased the number of friends, there’s no one to talk to during the whole of the day.

It brought back painful memories of years gone by. Of the close-knit group in my old city, and the efforts I had made to find new friends; efforts which had failed miserably when I found there were such little avenues to meet new people. Of when I had moved cities as a new bride, and found myself alone and friendless in a huge city. Of being in an office campus of over a hundred thousand employees, and yet, not finding one face in that crowd which could be identified as a friend.

More devastatingly, it brought back memories of when I first moved to this new country. I had loved the role of being a stay-at-home person then, too. And it had taken less than a month for that silence to eat me alive.

That was when I realized what it was about working that I loved most. The people, the noise, the constant chatter of a hundred voices growling over missed deadlines and panic-inducing meetings. The having someone to talk to when things became too quiet, or lonely. That was what I missed.

My HubMan tells me I turn quiet when I move places. I switch off that button which makes me, ‘me’, and instead turn defensive and nostalgic about all the things I’ve left behind. He’s partly correct. When I moved cities to be with him, I found myself missing even my old company, despite the fact that I’d found a better role in my new one.

It’s tough moving to a new city. It’s easy enough when you’re young and impressionable. Children make new friends easily. But as an adult, a sort of barrier sets in, and you weigh each new person you meet on a hundred different criteria, unsure if they would fit into the life you have built for yourself. Sometimes you click, and new friendships are born. Other times, you part ways after a single meeting. More than once, as I sat in a crowded lunchroom filled with people sitting alone with only their cellphones for company, have I thought, that the greatest need of the day is not Tinder, or Facebook, where you search for dates and old connections scattered over the world.

The greatest need of the day is to do away with that silence, be it in the air, or your heart. To find like-minded people in a new city. To find and make new friends. The day someone creates an app for that, will be a happy day for all.

As I walked to the grocery store today morning, the quiet on the road revealed a bird’s song to its mate. It unearthed the soft footfalls of an elderly lady walking with her grandchild. The soft signing wafting from the community club, and the squeals of children in a park. And for the first time, the silence fought to turn itself into peace.

For now, I sit at my desk, basking in that birdsong-filled silence, fighting with myself to not get stifled. Last year with my move to this country, it had won, and I had faced a half years’ worth of depression and anxiety in penalty. But this year, with two weeks under my belt, not to mention last year’s experience on my stay-at-home resume, I just might be able to conquer the quiet and find my peace…

It’s not hard to face the world if I have a friend by my side. It’s not hard to face the world with a foe along the ride.

But ask me to cross a bridge alone, and you will find I fail, for the silence of the journey is something my soul cannot abide…