An encounter with life

 

It was just another Monday for me, with barrage of anxieties. My daughter did not fair well in the first term exam, my 5 year old son, Jai suffered from high fever and the maid did not turn up. The bathroom tap leaked and the plumber did not come after repeated calls, I hardly got time to do exercise and pitied myself as I looked in the mirror. My work did not gain momentum as I expected and all these I could not have shared with my husband since he was posted in the Field Area. I was the Olive Green queen wearing the crown of thorns! First I berated my daughter for her miserable result, went to the Military Hospital again with my son, got back and cleaned the utensils, did the remaining household chores and figured out that my dog, Laila had run away. I endeavored to recollect the last time I saw her. Definitely around 9 in the morning when I gave her food. And it was late afternoon then. I was coping with challenging situation that day and did not notice her absence. 

I couldn’t muster more courage to beat the situation. I slumped on the sofa and wept bitterly. After couple of minutes, I got up and went to check on my son. He lay asleep and is fever seemed to subside. I went to my neighbor, narrated the string of events and requested her to keep an eye on my son as me and my daughter went to look for Laila.

Delhi Cantonment is quite sprawling and our Bakharwal dog was capable to go anywhere. A pure white beauty but fiercely independent and quite known for her Runaway Bride moments.  

Armed with a dog leash we called out her name repeatedly. Some one pointed out the way in which he spotted our dog couple of hours ago. My mind raced with many thoughts – What if she had ventured in far flung area or bitten by pack of strays and left to die elsewhere or kidnapped by breeders or may be hit by a vehicle and lay dead somewhere!

Oh! I forcibly halted my confounded and anxious thoughts focused on what was required on that hour. My daughter and I decided to go towards different directions for a more effective search. In the meantime I called my neighbor and found that my son was still asleep and that the fever had completely subsided.

I resumed the search with more gusto. An hour passed with no trace of Laila. I saw my daughter from afar walking towards me, alone. I was more distraught to see my daughter. She never spoke. But moist, downcast eyes and her dejected look spoke a lot. It was a tough day for her, too. I realized it for the first time, probably in several months. These years, while steering the ship all alone, made me only look at the shore and not the way.

We decided to walk back. There was a quaint charm in the air. The breezy yet silent late November afternoon with rustling of dry leaves,  occasional squeaking of the squirrels and chirping of the birds had a message to convey.

We walked slowly. Partially because I still hoped, though faintly, Laila might surface from somewhere and more because I wanted to initiate a conversation with Juhi.

Earlier that day I was quite peeved with her. But at that point, a calmness descended upon me. Maybe I accepted the situation instead of incessantly complaining about it. I nudged her affectionately and asked her about school and friends. It was her seventh school and she was in sixth grade, she studied in different cities and towns. Its part and parcel of Infantry life. The bag or rather the trunk is always half packed for  us.

‘I don’t have many friends here. Nobody shares anything with me,’ she said in a melancholy tone. ‘Don’t have to be friends with anyone, just do well in studies…be a leader ..you don’t have to follow others..,” I rattled.

‘ But maa..I am alone….,’…she raised her voice, not with arrogance but with a plead to hear. It struck me. I kept quite. After a while I asked her to be my best friend. ‘But you are busy….and I need someone of my age too,’ said Juhi emphatically. This time I did not lecture, instead mentioned that I will always support her. I assured her that all I wanted was to be her happy. She seemed contented and I knew that I was able to build a trust with her.

We almost reached our apartment gate. As we crossed the bungalow on the left with high boundary, we heard laughter and giggles. Nothing extraordinary. A dog barked and the laughter and giggles grew louder. Juhi suggested seeing if it was Laila. I thought it would be inappropriate to go inside. She insisted and I had to go.

We quietly approached the gate. There was no guard. So, we went inside. The beautiful lawn suggested a very well kept house. We tiptoed towards the backyard where the noise came from.

There…there she was! And what was she upto! She was jumping aimlessly, rolling over and running helter skelter- matched with her antics was a little boy’s giggles, confined to the wheel chair. His father sitting beside him and laughing heartily. None of them noticed us and we did not want to get noticed. As we stood beside the huge Erica palm, I also became one in their jubilation. Simple yet ecstatic. Common yet heavenly. Celebration without any serious cause or clause. Divinity which ruled over every compulsion. Happiness is not elusive which I thought to be!  I glanced at Juhi, as she watched the scene in front, intensely. Even her little soul was touched.

Laila sensed our presence and ran towards us. We emerged from the shade and introduced us.

The 5 year old, little boy named Naman, blissfully smiled at us. His father mentioned that he was a special child and always confined to his chair. According to him Naman loved dog but taking care of an animal would be difficult since all their attention was towards their only son. ‘His life, dosenot have much variety - after so many days he enjoyed today,’ he said wanly and walked towards his son.  I saw a doleful look in Naman’s eyes as were about to leave. I promised Naman to let Laila play with him everyday.

The sudden radiant glow in his face and gurgling sound which emanated from his throat as he tried to cough up words – all meant Thank You. He seemed elated. He would have ran and kissed me, if he could. But he did more. He was not confined to a place. I was. I was restrained to my unhappy musings, judgments and thoroughly critical of myself. As the sky wore a crimson hue, bidding adieu to the sun, he taught me to be grateful to life and look for happiness- stand taller than your situation-Win over yourself.

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The story of Laila - The Snow Princess - cut short.

The snow princess Laila in different moods and stages. She came to spread happiness and love. She did. She was in excruciating pain due to canine auto immune syndrome but unfailingly wagged her tail when we were in the vicinity. Tranquility pervaded her ever watchful eyes. There was age old wisdom and maturity during her final days. This transformation of someone who always provided us with many moments of outstanding entertainment and laughs majorly as a result of her cheekiness was too much to grasp! She knew it. Probably she knew us more.

As life ebbed away in a cold February evening she gave lives. Clenched her teeth and held on giving birth to wonders and miracles. Licked her pups gingerly, fed them yet all the while writhing in pain. But never once I witnessed empty eyes and broken spirit. She entrusted me with her little ones...and her life faded way in oblivion but not before I read in her eyes...Take Care.
My four legged companion taught me endurance, friendship, trust , value of time and motherhood. I learnt to appreciate life and Never Give Up.
To my children she was their confidante and partner in crime. With her they understood the real meaning of the labelled word " share" sans her meat piece though! She taught them selfless love and in death gave lesson of Dying as no teacher in the world would. Before this, the word "mortal", was a concept but now my kids could fathom the depth. They could gather that eventually one has to die, never to return.
They have learnt to cherish and respect every moment.

Laila in every stage of her life - our life
 

Laila knew many things. She knew her absence will be painful for us therefore while bidding final adieu she presented four snowballs as gifts or remembrance. She left us...but left us with hope. Let the barking , muddy paws marks all over the floor, half chewed slipper scenes continue and so does the legacy of Laila.
Life goes on.
Now I have Baloo one of her pups. We never wanted to part with any of Laila's pups but recurring shiftings and space constraint compelled us to do so. They are in good homes and are called Simba, Dora and Bela. This is my two and half years old Laila's short story...my snow princess.
Click Here for another story on four legged friend

Seven Ages Of a Woman and More

When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother "what will I be…?” I am far from humming the Dorris Day popular number, instead recollecting this question which I asked my mother especially on my birthday and that too a zillion times.  I thought Birthdays to be magical days, whatever you wish was granted and I surmised that by next birthday I would grow up enough to be what I wanted to be! During childhood my birthday was just my day, I was the crowned princess on that day. From distributing toffees in school, to surprise presents, dress and card - all was mine. Until, I came to know that it was my maa’s birthday too. Oh! It’s a little uncommon but not strange though. All these years maa patiently, meticulously and ardently prepared for my birthday. Why didn’t she mention that before? Because she wanted me to be the cynosure of all eyes on that day, probably that’s how she celebrated her own.

So, for me it was ignorance, whining and then acceptance that I have to share my day, or I thought so! Seems hilarious, now. Then, during teens, with hope, vivacity and sparkle in my eyes I was happy to exchange wishes with maa on our birthday. The day whizzed past with hosting friends, trip to movies, a touch of glitz and glam and ofcourse breaking the rules without worrying for penalty.

Back home, maa and dida waited to have the special meal with me. Oh! I did oblige them..(haa haa) ‘Payesh’ prepared by my dida with jaggery and a typical fried rice and chilly chicken, an exceptional dish by maa, made me feel on cloud nine. They were happy to see me share a meal with them, even though it was the fag of the day. A gift of giving, I couldn’t fathom it completely at that point of time.

As I grew out of teens and paraded towards maturity, my excitement knew no bounds on our birthday. The paradigm shift from birthday being my day to devise ways to surprise maa on her birthday and scouting for the best possible gifts with my permissible pocket money.

“…..Oh forget my birthday, you are young, it’s your day. I am quite grown up,” was her sheepish response. She never used the clichéd word “old”…the trait she got from her mother. My octogenarian dida detested if someone called her old lady. What amused me then…even amuses me now. Earlier I thought it to be humorous not to accept one’s age, now I glean how positive, energetic and young they were at heart!

Then came a day when I had my Birthday to myself again. Not to share with anyone, not even my mother. I reminisced quietly, wanted to hold on and go back to days where we blew out the candles together. Never counted the candles, probably merged with ageless love and affection.

A mother and daughter or creator and creation being one, all in revelry and celebratory mood.

I was pensive and huddled in a solitary corner as I missed my companion in celebration. When my thoughts drifted to faraway land,  I heard a loud thud as the door opened with utmost might. A cacophonous Happy Birthday song, in high decibel and in chorus-by my kids. My daughter darted in the room and hugged me while my son sprinted in and nestled on my lap. They gave me cute presents for which they saved their pocket money. My daughter placed a flower beside her nini’s photo and wished her Happy Birthday.

Who said I lost my companion in celebration? Part of me is gone but part of me is here too.  I was the world for my maa and now I am the world for my kids.

So, from ignorance, whining, acceptance, jubilation, contemplation, giving up and now celebration again…This is Seven Ages of a Woman and still to be continued….

Today I again celebrated…I celebrated the Relations.

Begin Again

                            

..and then words fell in love with me!

It was indeed a lazy summer afternoon. My little typhoon of five years fell asleep. It's a miracle but I don’t know how it happened. It was not a serious try for me to put him to sleep though I prayed hard for it. And God listened! So myself and my 10 year old daughter engaged in some girlie talk.

'Maa I would like to become a scientist, but then I love hair dressing too…' she started playing with her beautiful curly locks. I knew there was more to come… ‘what if I become an army officer like papa?’…I love history and want to become an historian and after that I will become an astronaut.’ She looked at me and wanted the assurance that I was hearing her with enough seriousness. I nodded and said, ‘’be good in whatever course or career you choose, we will always be there for you.’’ Well this egged her to probe more career options for future. ‘Best is that I become an artist. I love art and painting. I need to go for art tuition from tomorrow.’’ This was a sudden change of plan and I had to act fast. I said her, ‘what if I take your art class?’’

She was quiet. I tried to guess her reaction. Finally I said…’well then you are not keen to learn from me?’ ‘’Yes I am. Maa you were a journalist but hardly I see you write. I love to read the stories you wrote, but rarely you hold a pen now. Like my friends bost about their parents, I would also like to tell that my mother is a journalist, or a writer. I miss your unique stories..But…,”she fell quiet. But there was question in her innocent looks. I was stumped.

Late at night when children went off to sleep, I took out my old diary, moved my fingers on the worn out pages where I once wrote stories. I almost felt the words. I remembered my daughter’s curious and puzzled looks in the afternoon which silently asked me “Why?”….

In the starry and stilly night, I got the answer. My pen moved ..” It was indeed a lazy summer….

 

for another moving story on my dog- click here

My precious gifts are with me, I donot have to hunt happiness

We parked the car in Gopinath Bazaar and went to buy my favorite brownie. It was just one of the easy and lazy late evenings in otherwise demanding life of Delhi. The weather was perfectly romantic in the late October, or atleast my husband and I thought so!

After taking the brownie and ofcourse added sandwiches, patties with it, we hastily went into the car as we were excited for a drive towards the India Gate. Something caught my attention.

An aged lady sat on the footpath, the area mostly deserted at that hour, barring a few shops. Her frail body was covered with a worn out blanket. A stick was placed near her. My husband asked me to give a packet to her containing the food we just bought.I took out some money as well. I fumbled yet grabbed the packet as the lady’s calmness bothered me. I expected the usual begging for food or money, or both. She stared at me from a distance, but her facial expression didnot change much. Again I expected her to be elated while I stepped near her, as it obviously meant that she would gain something.

I faltered back as a dog barked. I failed to notice its presence as he was happily sharing the blanket with the old woman. I was determined to be the so called ‘giver’ and therefore I mustered courage and went near her though the dog grumbled.

       “Mere paass kuch khana hain, aap rakhlijiye aur paisse bhi le lijiye,” I extended my hand to reach her. There was no reaction from her, just about a slight hint to the four legged pet of hers to be quiet. I reiterated my offer or rather request, should I say?

Her lips parched and I felt happy that ‘for today I have done a good deed’ as I knew she would take the packet as well as the money and would shower a set of blessings. Its almost an everyday affair in Delhi streets.

"Mujhe koi cheese ki jaroorat nehi hai, main thik hu,” she said. Her voice had the right mix of tenderness and strength which stopped me from repeating my request. She took out a broom and cleaned a small area near her and made arrangements to sleep. I was surprised as well as bewildered by her denial. The dog grumbled again and I thought I must leave and let this happy family to take rest.

With sluggish steps I moved on. She had a dog to give her company, a broom with which she can clean up her place and make it liveable for the night, a blanket to protect her somehow from the cold, and an open sky that she called home.

In every moment in life the role of the giver and receiver changes. I went to give her mere food and money, but I received profound wisdom. To be contended in life either we need very little, or the list goes up everyday.

It was kind of weird!

                                     

I was trying to rush through the Kolkata traffic only to find one red light after another angrily staring at me. It was the Alipore crossing and I got caught into traffic snarl. Tensed..I glanced at the watch which showed 5:15 pm. Only 45 mins left to reach the hospital. Where my mother would be waiting for me. She was admitted due to high fever and severe stomach ache which was a fallout of her disease, cancer the emperor of all maladies coupled with equally harsh treatment Chemotherapy. She was in and out of the hospital. Her days were numbered.

I was getting late as I would also have to buy medicines, provide necessary things as well as meet the doctor. Its difficult to fight a losing battle. But letting go is even more difficult. I left my  4 year old daughter Juhi with the neighbour and for a couple of days, received no message from my husband who was posted in the borders. I was anxious, tensed dejected but ironically just had myself to pat and say...YOU HAVE TO GO ON. 

I wanted a miracle to happen that could iron out all creases.

A typical Sadhubabaa

Just then a middle aged man in orange outfit stood beside the window. He resembled a “ Sadhu babaa” with the trademark dhoti and a bowl which had a Trishul and photos of couple of Gods. And he started moving the Rudraksh garland before my eyes and chanted some mantras. I generally ignore these characters as they seem to be feigning. But that day I couldn’t.  

He assured me a miracle. As if he could read my mind. Then he asked me to give him the biggest number of note in my purse and promised to return it when the traffic signal turned green. Sceptically but with an underlined hope I gave him rupees 500. He rattled out something. Unintelligible of course to my ears. Honking of the horns prompted me to start my car. The man was strangely staring at me and finally I threatened him to call the police if he dared not to give back the money. I knew that would be difficult as he had the chances to disappear in the crowd. I glared at him and acted to get out of the car. Few watched the tamasha. Suddenly he threw the money to me. As I pressed the accelerator I found the 500 rupee crumpled but intact. I placed it in my purse roughly as I was driving amidst heavy traffic. From the rear view mirror I found the man standing though now appeared miniscule gradually turned to a spot and then disappeared.

Why I gave the money I couldn’t figure out as I never trusted such street Sadhubabaas. Had he been a cheater he would have never given me back the money. And why did he keep on standing? I wasn’t hypnotised because the moment I gave the money I realised to have been a emotional fool.

So was it a miracle then? Somehow I was elated for the moment. That day nothing exceptional happen. Maa was in pain, doctors prescription became even more lengthy and maa’s life short, I got late after the doctors visit and found my daughter asleep in my neighbours house. This scenario was almost regular.

But somehow I kept that 500 rupee note intact. From its crumpled state it was easily distinguishable from others.  I still have it. Certain things in life are devoid of reasoning. Do I still hope a miracle? Yes, why not?

Blink of innocence

How many times can you look at the same stuff? But seeing the unrelenting enthusiam of your better half attimes reluctantly you have to comply. Specially I have to compel myself when my husband, Ashish wants me to watch his favourite program with him on TV or downloaded in computer, repeatedly. Sometimes, he excitedly called me “Ooh its the Superstructures,” or ‘you can’t miss the Wings,’ or “Yeeeessss its Future Weapons On , come over darling,’ the euphoria in his voice would soon recede if I refused to be the spectator. Poor me. I had to bear it as I couldn’t hurt his emotions. Apart from this, he watched the video of Lorito many a times where in a Parrot mimics sound of other animals.  Every time he saw it, he would roll in laughter. How come everytime it evoked the same emotion in a person? I failed to understand.

Yesterday when I was occupied with daily work again he called me to watch Lorito. “Spare me this time, I am busy,’ was my desperate reply. ‘Come on, or you will miss it,” there was an urgency in his voice. What would I miss? I thought. Unwillingly I moved towards the drawing room where I knew Ashish was glued to the computer. Sensing me behind, he almost whispered...”Can you see?”

See The world As I see, will you?

I saw my one and half year old boy watching Lorito. He was awestruck.   His expression is inexplicable in words. The voyage from curiosity to discovery was discernible.There was something blissful about his wonder. His lips showed signs of slight curve and amazement written all over his face. His eyes spoke a thousand words.

My husband was correct. Had I not seen this I would have missed it. I saw Lorito as I have never seen before. All through my son’s eyes.

Every day wonder

It was raining and I was driving in moderate speed. My mind was preoccupied with the thoughts of new posting and subsequent concerns. The lane was narrow with variety of greenaries bordering it. From a distance I spotted something similar to black balls moving. The movement was not much. I somehow concluded those to be some unknown birds which will swiftly fly away...by this time I was very close to them and to my utter horror they hardly moved . I screeched to a halt but it was too late. I closed my eyes and the enormity of the crime engulfed me. I was still thinking what kind of a bird those might be who will never be able to see the sky anymore. I will never be punished but the guilt tore me apart. I should have been more careful in the rains and  focused on road than to my material thoughts.

I didn't have the strength to look back.  True that nobody saw me committing the heinous crime , how important are those little ones to the world? I never be punished for that but why is my conscience not complying to that. I felt immense pain and with a heavy heart  I summoned some courage and peeped through my rear view mirror.

 What did I see? I saw all of them, must be around four with their own pace moving towards the bushes. Am I  dreaming? Must be, otherwise how come all of them be alive! ALIVE!... Tears welled up my eyes. I ran back. Rain didn't matter to me as I was too happy. Oh they were little chicks! And merrily making their way to the bushes.  A tiny one was lagging behind. I picked it up placed it inside the bush. I heard a lot of chirping and I am sure the my invasion into their territory was not welcome. But I was too thrilled and wanted to live the moment. I watched them slowing vanished into dense bushes.

My tears merged in the rain. The little chicks taught me firstly that, you should not rush things or be oblivious to surroundings that you forget to appreciate small wonders.Secondly, nothing  in the world must bother you so much that you lose your focus and forget your priority. Thirdly, life matters no matter how small it is.

God, he won the battle already..what else can you take away?

It was 24 December’08. Maa completed the six chemotherapy cycles and with renewed hope we landed at Tata Memorial Hospital for another check up. It is a huge place filled with hope and despair. Patients, attendants, doctors and other staffs all fighting Cancer- the disease of the century.

Due to enormous rush we had to wait hours before seeing the doctor. Luckily I saw a chair vacant at the corner and grabbed it immediately for Maa. Cancer seems to create a bond. Even unknown faces flashed sympathy or at times encouragement. As there were more heads than the sitting arrangements most of us stood by and after the introductionary note conversation took off. Discussion revolved around “the disease” and I realised that Cancer is spreading like an epidemic. For a moment I looked at Maa. She smiled. It meant ‘my child don’t worry.’

In the crowd there was a man who was entertaining all with humorous and interesting anecdotes. Everyone seemed to enjoy this brief relief. He spoke to a person next to him frequently and therefore I concluded that he was the attendant with the patient. ‘Hello’,’ suddenly he turned towards me, ‘I am Normon Tshring, coming from east to west, and yes” candidly he continued, “ you got to wait long so get some coffee.” “Sure”, I said, and introduced myself. As we sipped the coffee Normon started describing the Christmas celebration at his place Haflong in Assam. There was some charisma in him and we all got engrossed in his words until suddenly with a jolt I heard the staff almost yelling out ...”Mr. Normon...This is the second call.”

As he hurriedly walked inside the doctor’s chamber I routed out the possibility he being a patient . “He must be there for some other reason,” I assured myself. Otherwise how could he stand for hours and chat so spiritedly? I reasoned with myself. I glanced at Maa. Again she smiled. It meant, “I’m fine.’ For the past two years since Maa was detected with cervical cancer and with innumerable hospital visits, doctors advises, medications and increasing pain there was a constant vacillation between optimism and sheer despondency we also developed some nonverbal communications which we both understood.

Normon stepped out of the chamber. A quick look around could tell you that a few more people have a question mark hung in their face. For him nothing changed. With same exuberance matched with a big smile, he came up right in front of me and said, ‘I was describing the Christmas celebration at my place, remember?’ I gaped at him as he gushed out, ‘I will fly back to day and celebrate this Christmas with much vigour. I donot have to stay back for more check ups.”

‘Oh that’s good!,’ all I could manage to utter.

‘Yes it is good,’ he reiterated, ‘I am lucky you know, because atleast I know that I have this Christmas with me, unlike many. The tumours in my bone have refused to bog down, just like me!” He looked around with a bigger smile wished aloud everyone, “ Merry Christmas,” and walked away without looking back.

What do you call that? Positive approach or sheer acceptance?

And I just learnt to celebrate life.