Which me I enjoy?

 

For the past few years, I have stayed in places which many would envy. Big sprawling houses with a lawn, might be twice the size of the house. I am still very much inclined to gardening, I know the names of various flowers, and this at times gives me an edge when I visit the plant nursery. They see me as a pro! I adore this life but when darkness descends, an occasional owl hoots, chirping of the crickets and katydids only stirs the mind other than the kids' screaming, and in such times the city girl in me tries to scrape out, tear apart the Mother India cover and run away and breathe in the chaos and noise of the traffic.  There are people who know me as a perfect homemaker, devoted mother, gardener, cook, and someone who can arrange for sumptuous dinner for guests at a resplendently laid-out table with translucent porcelains, pristine linens. and a tidy platter. Nothing is untrue, but do I weigh heavier with those tags and I should embrace a part of me who would live every day not by smelling roses but the smell of fresh bread and coffee or the stench of bus diesel or even enjoy the fog of unpleasant aroma created by industrial waste and dusty roads. Which me I enjoy? A slice of both (would be a perfect answer) or at times just coming out of the cocoon of perfection or perception?  

Our black beauty

I observed him carefully as he walked to the door. I knew that time was running out but suppressed the urge to check my watch. I took a deep breath and started counting in reverse under my breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven..." and as I counted, panoramic view of life with Ditto flashed in front of my eyes. I looked in his eyes. He agreed. We understood each other. It’s a bond for over twelve years now. I touched his paw, frail with the burden of cancer, yet responded with a little tremble. “Wait for me up there…”, I whispered. There was calmness in his look.

Somehow I could pack trillion moments or more in those ten seconds. Fifteen day old puppy to a colossal black Doberman , he had been with me for so long and now ready to play and run freely up above. No leash can restrain him, no command can stop him.

Choosing euthanasia over painful death for him, was the hardest decision I ever made.

He never did any great deed, like catching thief or thwarting a bank robbery, but his every deed was great to me!

Married into the army, attimes I felt lost. I took long strolls and wandered in the cantonment. The planned shopping complex, childrens' park, swimming pool and gym seemed such a contrast to my  locality in Kolkata with unwanted and loud horns of rickshaw, private bus, occasional honking of trucks and hustle bustle from the fish market in the vicinity.

Gradually I started liking the quietude of the cantt. I had many queries regarding my new life. Well, I chose to observe and learn, yet I needed to unwind. I wanted to share my thoughts, woos and worries, constantly.  But with no avail, I got perturbed more until one day when a family friend gifted me the little black dog.

A pet lover to the core of the heart yet I had my reservations, because a dog meant a minimum ten year  commitment. With constant shiftings of army life, why to tangle another life. But my anxieties assuaged, when  I looked into his eyes. “Ditto”, I called, and he snuggled in my arms. And life took a turn.

I was thinking less about my new life. I was in toes always, judging his next chewable prospect and trying to outsmart Ditto. He was a hyperactive young dog, chewing all – from socks, brand new shoes, to worn out mops. But his favorite was toilet cleaning brush and any mobile charger. Attimes I thought God must have sent him to destroy all lines of modern communications! Sometimes, I regretted the decision of getting a dog. Like, one day, when I was busy writing my blog, I heard a squeaking sound. Atfirst I ignored, but then curiosity and suspicion regarding Ditto’s uncanny silence got better of me. I scurried to the drawing room, from where the noise came. To my horror I found Ditto  completely turned white. Not a spot of black was left and it was all due to the flour! The packet was ripped open and the floor was slippery white. Aaaaaaghhhh…I cried out. It was out of sheer anger. Ditto was petrified. It was not due to my anger but his own reflection in the mirror scared him! Later when I thought of the episode, I found it amusing!

When my daughter was born, I was apprehensive of his reaction to the new member of the house. I heard stories of dogs getting jealous and that they harmed the infant in some cases. When I came back from the hospital, with my daughter Juhi in my arms, Ditto greeted us. He jumped once to have a closer look at the baby. I was a little scared. But then I sat down, and he slowly came to me. He licked her feet. Then, got up and brought his chewable bone (his most favorite stuff) and placed beside my daughter’s head. I patted him gently and I knew, he would protect my girl, always. I was right. He was her play mate. But yes,  attimes, tried to eat her porridge and had an added attraction to her feeding bottle, too! He hated the day when Juhi would get her vaccinations. She would be cranky and Ditto would stay right beside her all night, refused to go his kennel. When Juhi started going to play school, Ditto was particularly unhappy. He missed her and stood near the door till she got back. He received her with such gusto, that atimes she would loose balance and fall!

Ditto greeted my son, with equal love and affection. He was happy to get another playmate. By that time we have moved around seven places, and Ditto adjusted to every place with ease. Yes, I tried to follow him. Pets teach us a lot, only we have to silently get connected to understand it! It was a pleasure to watch Ditto and my children play together. He was particularly careful about my son, Jai. Even during snatching the ball games , he left the ball when Jai crawled towards him! When I got tired managing two rambunctious children, I sat down with Ditto and shared my worries. He listened. He got used to them for long!

Another day, I remember, Ditto’s non stop barking alarmed every body in the quiet Army Mess in Poonch. He would not stop for anything. He seemed to get off his leash and became very aggressive. Within minutes I got the news , that my son banged his head while playing in the nearby park and was bleeding. I rushed to the park, which was just about 500 meters away. To my surprise , Ditto already, broke off his leash and was by Jai’s side. My son, was bleeding, but his fear was much alleviated by Ditto’s presence. He followed Jai to the Field Hospital about 3 kms and back.

Gradually, Ditto became less active. Recoiled more in the house, by the fireplace, refused to go out and play with the kids. His look disturbed me. He wanted to say something. Even when my husband came back from office, he reluctantly looked or stood up. Noticing a lump on his neck, I took him to a Vet Dr. Jagdish. The Vet, told me he feared cancer, but would only confirm after the scan. He called me the next day confirming our worst fears. Ditto’s days were numbered. The metastasis gripped his whole body, but being a brave dog, he only recently showed signs of discomfiture. The Vet praised his grit and determination. He had to undergo a series of tests and he went with me to the hospital with slow and steady strides. He stopped attimes and gasped for breath. We walked all through the way, paused in between, looked at each other and perhaps tried to understand everyword.

Children, cared for him. They knew his time was limited. They hugged him often gently, cautious not to hurt him. One day, I was as usually brushing him, when he looked at me for long. I saw tears in his eyes.  I watched how he dealt with pain, but at that moment I felt the pain. I had to free him and he wanted so. I  discussed it with my husband and he favoured the decision. Now the biggest worry was how to break the news to my children. Ditto had been their part of Fairy Tale. Ditto was their pride and a most faithful friend always waiting eagerly at home. My son would threaten his friends after a quarrel that he would get Ditto to settle the matter. Well, eventually he had the privilege and always sorted the matter in the field. So, Ditto always played an important role. My daughter would spend hours with him specially when she got upset. Whether being berated by us or ignored by her friends, she would seek solace in Ditto’s company. Ditto stored many secrets!

I consulted the Vet and he promptly agreed stating that euthanasia would be the best decision, to relieve Ditto from the excruciating pain. He also told me to tell the children the truth about the condition of Ditto and the measure that had to be taken. The same evening, I asked the children to sit by Ditto. He was his happiest best, his expressions changed for good. He rested his head on my daughter’s lap. I told them the truth. I mentioned them about the decision. I fully expected the barrage of questions, and howling cries. But there wasn’t any. Tears rolled down my daughter’s eyes. My son asked, if Ditto would suffer in Heaven. When I said , that there was no pain in Heaven, he was relieved. They loved him so much that, they were ready to let him go. Next day, when they were going to school, it was the longest good bye ever. Ditto stared as long as they were in sight, and even after that.

The pungent smell of various medicines and sound of heavy breath of my pawed love brought me back to reality. Six, five, four, three, two, one….zero. I counted involuntarily. My beautiful friend, lay still. There was not an iota of pain. Our family became incomplete but he would compensate by being the first one to greet us in Heaven.

By the time I hope he would get free space to play, and lots of goodies to chew!

Click Here for another story on four legged friend.

 

Time Warp

The gleaming disc of the sun seemed to turn the leaves in patchwork of colours; scorching yellow, lava reds and burnished browns. Somehow  rain was promised and the wind already unleashed: but there would be sunshine and warmth by morning. Time to rebuild and repair. 

The leaves of the gulmohar tree, waved happily upwards greeting gale which started to gather pace. An unwanted stray dog with light brown coat seemed to dart away , probably looking for a shelter. Attimes cry of few birds could be heard. Maybe they were distressed and worried for their young ones in the nest. Continuous croak of the humorous frogs attimes got unpardonable, as it widely meant harbinger of deluge. One or two daring and curious squirrel climbed down the tree but then vanished rapidly again in the leaves, sensing that the rain would last long. Shamita, sat quietly by the window in a small stool. The stool belonged to her grandmother. Kalbaishakhi, or Nor'westers during April, is nostalgic.

The gentle patter of the raindrops grew louder. During the afternoons Shaamu, as grandmother lovingly called her would affectionately would sit on the floor and her grandmother gathered herself on the stool. She narrated stories of Indian Freedom Struggle or read out famous stories from popular Bengali book, “Tuntunir golpo’’ or “Thakumaar Jhuuli.” Shamita, would live those stories even long after. A strange unknown insect like creature popped out its head from a nearby puddle, probably waiting all tiny water bodies to merge and be one, or so Shamita thought. Her life has been the same, she is waiting to connect the dots, attimes looking up dreadfully to find out a way. Love , hate, anger, desperation, all formed a volcano of emotions. Always known to be composed and measured in gesture, her nature somehow is defying her reputation now.

Advik, her six year old son remained asleep in the other room. She now can afford to view and review the past. He keeps Shamita busy, always. Today she asked her maid to go early, she wanted some space. Feisty journalist at some point, is now a school teacher, but this suits her requirements, as she can give time to her son. Besides, Aniket is no more. Capt Aniket Raheja is a martyr.  He eliminated three terrorists before he breathed last in the valley…miles away from Mayur Vihaar, Delhi, where Shamita lived with their son.  Advik then two, was cutely notorious to the extreme.  He took hours to eat and favoured late night sleeping. He had the potential of breaking anything any time. But, he was his papa’s favourite. Aniket loved to hear his son’s lisping over the phone. He waited every moment to come back home. He was toying the idea of taking premature retirement from the army. He wanted to spend time at home. He was tired of the uncertainty of his life.

Shamita, leaned against the wall, put the cup on the saucer very slowly so that it would not make any sound, who knows Advik might wake up! She spotted an odd bird, probably a mayna with its wet and  heavy wings flew from a nearby tree to the other. She remembered the day, 9^th July 1999. The telephone rang, with bated breath she picked up the receiver to hear Aniket. During those days either she watched the news or waited for her husband’s call. "Ani ", …she couldn’t hear her husband’s response, instead a husky voice  introducing himself as the Commanding Officer of Major Aniket’s Unit, spoke. Her heart pounded heavily, she couldn’t listen to Colonel Mohan’s voice properly. The words, fatal injury….brave..true soldier, incoherently moved in her ears. Words receded as a distant dream. She fell on the floor. Her looks were vacant. After a few minutes a shrill cry filled the air.

 Everything followed. Media coverage, relatives pouring in, sympathies and everyone made her realize repeatedly that she was the widow of a martyr, therefore not entitled to cry. Aniket’s parents who came down from Gurdaspur, went back. They did not stay with Shamita as she expected. After their tumultuous love marriage, where a lithe yet intelligent Bengali girl married a dashing Punjabi Army Officer, Aniket’s parents kept away. They never could agree to the match, and Shamita’s parents were equally unhappy.

She moved to Kolkata after a long wait. Wait for Aniket’s remains. His body couldn’t be recovered. Advik, till date wanted to see his father, though he doesn’t have any faint memory. But now actually he demands a father! Shamita prefers to keep Aniket in heart more than the wall. She actually hated to put up pictures of Aniket, it pained her more. Her son was growing up hearing stories of his father’s bravery and some how the little mind visualized that one day his father would turn up and proudly he would take his papa around. He would show his latest minions and hot wheels car collections. Advik’s papa in uniform would command respect and even the friends who bullied him, will never dare to do so! He shared his secret vision with Shamita. She maintained quietude thinking it would be cruel to crush her son’s dreams but ardently prayed for the day to arrive when he would understand the reality. It’s difficult to rear up a child alone.

 Shamita didn’t stay with her parents in Dhakuria, though she is their only daughter. She stays in a two bedroom rented flat in Alipore, near her school named Morning Glory.  She was trying to build her life again….until Rahul called her.

Thunder rolled across the sky, seeming to crack the world in half and reveal the fury of Gods. The violent wind made way through the window and whipped her black wavy hair around her face. A numbing coldness gripped her heart.

So how come, after so long, Rahul found her? This question rattled her. He alienated himself during Aniket’s and Shamita’s marriage. This made Aniket curious but he preferred not to speak about it. She never heard from him even after Aniket’s death. She hated him every minute, her every breath cursed him. She would never forgive Rahul, or rather Colonel Rahul for Aniket’s death. Today after four years of her husband’s death, he called up. He did not ask  her address, but quietly yet resolutely mentioned his time of arrival. Shamita’s voice quivered and she switched off the phone.

She took a sip; the tea by that time didn’t taste good. She liked hot tea always. Her mind floated back to the 90’s when all three, Aniket, Rahul and herself were at Delhi University, and termed as best buddies by others. Gradually Aniket and Shamita got closer day by day. By that time Aniket had joined army and hailed as a hero in the university. Rahul harboured strong feelings for Shamita but never let her know until the day he got heavily drunk and came over to her hostel. He cried holding her hands. It was strange for a young man to do so. Shamita was equally flabbergasted. She regained her composure blurted out..“Rahul, you must go…and we are not even friends from now…,” said Shamita. But somewhere she did not want to. Rahul joined the army and got commissioned in the same Unit as Aniket. Relations between the friends strained but only Shamita and Rahul were aware of the reason. Aniket could only speculate. But he never demanded answer. Kargil war broke out, and both were posted in the same region. As some story goes, on the fatal day, Rahul and Aniket were scaling steep hill, which was captured by the terrorists. While Aniket got hurt and eventually died, Rahul escaped unhurt. 
Shamita believed Rahul could have saved Aniket, but he wished otherwise. The fact that Rahul never called all these years, repugnance against him took a deep root in her.

Shamita was so engrossed in the past, she could not even hear the footsteps halting right inside the room. Major Rahul Sinha, entered. Suddenly a familiar fragrance filled the air, Shamita turned around. The Armani perfume was always Rahul’s favourite.

 She became oblivious of Advik sleeping in the other room. She remained bemused for a moment. Bit her lips in a way to control the long pending outburst.  But eventually her composure gave away, barrage of emotions let loose.

The storm outside brewed on the horizon brewed promising nothing but winds to level the mightiest of the trees to the soil. The damp air threatened to  devastate every roof.

"Killer”...she shouted, as tears welled up in her eyes, hysteric anger engulfed her. “Why now? Why have you come to ask for forgiveness after four years?…You hated Ani so much...you couldn’t get his body, even . Why did you snatch Advik’s father from him? Can you give him back?” She dropped on the floor…Rahul remained quiet. He let her cry

 

The rain was cascading in diagonal sheets in full glory. There was a certain rhythm to the downpour. Fierce yet pleasant. Probably the smoldering earth was quenched, the unrestrained brutality of the sun was answered and every raindrop was welcomed.

Few minutes passed. It seemed like years. Slowly, Rahul came to her. He sat beside her, placing his barret on the table. Cupped her face. He narrated the incident of the day of Aniket’s death. “Shamita”..he cleared his throat, “Aniket’s body was battered beyond recognition…had we tried to recover his body we would have lost more men. I never cared about myself, you know that”, he continued, “when the terrorists were gunned down, the bunker caught fire. Nothing was left to bring back. But I could understand your feelings about me, so I never dared to face you. You were wrong but it took me four years to come to you, to muster enough courage and make you understand the truth.”

Whistling and shrieking, the wind raged though like a vexed bear. The noise enveloped the room and  its surroundings. It demanded to be heard.

 

“But you hated him…you …” her voice choked.

 Yes. I did, initially. As luck would have it before the final assault on that day, I told him the truth. He was not much perturbed or angry. Perhaps he knew it. He trusted you and cared for you and Advik beyond words. He just smiled at me. We shook hands and hugged.”

Rahut stopped and took a deep breath. “ I saw myself as a loser there, probably  I couldn’t have given you such selfless love. Somehow I couldn’t face you all these years. But after getting my posting order in Kolkata, I decided to come to you the day I land here. I was dying each day, I couldn’t take it anymore,”…he looked at her …as tears rolled down her eyes like the unremitting rain outside.

With muffled voice, the man in uniform continued, “ Shamita, I have lost many things, too. I lost you, lost my best pal, lost my parents a year back in an accident in Mumbai. Probably you heard about it. I live with memory now, atleast you have Advik. I just want that…,” he tried to gulp down the lump in his throat. “Your son, should not hear stories of hatred about me, it’s not true.”

Shamita looked up. Somehow hatred and anger against Rahul lost its intensity. She felt relieved, rekindled and happier, after a long long time.

“You must know something…,” Rahul cleared his voice, looked into Shamita's eyes deeply and spoke with some authority, “I am a true soldier, I would have saved my fellow brother officer if I could have at any peril. But this truth will be buried with me. ”

He stood up to leave.

She knew Rahul. She knew he spoke the truth and his veracity cannot be questioned under any circumstance.  She didn’t need any validation. Little Advik stood at the door wondering about the man in olive green. There was wonder in his eyes. Was he dreaming?  Rahul, turned towards him and ushered the boy but he remained nonplussed. Too overwhelmed with awe to respond.

Shamita wiped her tears.  The rain had stopped. The bright yellow beams of sun, teared through the dark clouds and softly touched everything. A slice entered the room through the open window. The flecks of golden sunshine mixed with a few wispy clouds in the sky, gradually wore the look of an azure sea overhead. All signs of rain and storm vanished into thin air. There was no struggle to be seen.  

Shamita whispered to her son...

Meet your Father.

 

 

Love peeps...

The morning rush was on. I scurried around the house for meeting various deadlines. Making sure bread pieces do not get an overtime in the toaster, pulling out my son from the shower, looking for my daughter’s school diary as she was unable to find it and all the time straining my ear to hear the first beep of her school bus.  My husband was completely aware of the conundrum between 6 am to 7 am. When at times he called during that period my so called “Love You, ”seemed to be like a howling on the phone.

“B—Y—E ..”..I said aloud from the kitchen as I heard a loud thud. My daughter left for school.  So now I geared up for Act II. V-r-o-o-m v-r-o-o-m ..aa-cc—ii---dd-e-n-t…my son screamed as he was busy playing with his hot wheels car. He was quite unawares of the time schedule. Its so natural for a five year old, yet I try to bribe God by offering extra ladoos and in return ask Him to make my son grow up fast.

It was almost 7 o’clock.  I had to keep pace with time. I fed him with one hand and buttoned his shirt with another. Well as you grow in the vocation of “Motherhood” you can master many such things. I call it Art of Motherhood- it just makes me feel better.  Next moment I was almost dragging him through the door and just then in the doorway the smell of rotten flowers hit me. I grabbed the bunch of yellow roses from the vase and prepared to throw it in the dustbin, just adjacent to the corridor.  

“Mumma…no don’t do. Papa sent those roses, you cannot throw them. You have to keep it,” pleaded my son. “But dear, the roses have withered away now, and we have to put them away,” I said as I firmly walked towards the dustbin. “No. Papa will be sad. ..if you throw it then I am not going to school. Those are papa’s flowers..my papa…,” he almost started crying. I was startled and in a fix. My husband sent the bouquet of beautiful yellow roses to me four days back. We celebrate every little event in our lives starting from the day we first held hands or first kiss. ( I know it sounds clichéd...) But now in such bustling life these have become a mere calendar events. Where we say things or just perform but neither hear or feel.

“Okay, I wont,” I told my son. He wiped his tears and almost instantly his face beamed with joy. As I dropped him at the bus stop my mind raced through different phases of my life.  I walked back into the house and placed bouquet where it was. The flowers have faded away, the stems have taken a brown colour from green. I looked at the flowers for an extra minute. Not even I enjoyed the sweet fragrance or marveled at their beauty when they were fresh.  When I received the bouquet I diligently put it in the vase. Ensured that my crystal vase should be kept in a safe place out of my children's reach . Every day we focus on living life, rearing up children, and even expressing love or making  phone calls - with a dash of perfection and sense of duty.

Until a voice , here my five year old son- urged me to feel the love he felt in withered away flowers.

Share! Respect! c'mon can that be in PTM?

It was 10th of September and I jotted down things I had to ask the class teacher. After all Parents Teachers Meeting now hailed as most important stuff in the parents' and child's life. When I reached the school the surrounding could be mistaken for a Jam session. Parents and children turned out in their best outfit. I was no different either!

When I reached my daughters classroom I could see the anxious faces of the guardians. Some unhappy with their wards' first term marks, a few calculating the numbers from answer sheets again and others reprimanding their children for low scores. There was another category too. Vainglorious parents bragging about their precious wards to others. A lady showed off her Louis Vuitton handbag at almost every instant and the reason for her outlandish behaviour majorly was because her son scored the second highest in the Class 2 A First Term. I made my way through this myriad crowd.

When I reached the table of the Class teacher she quietly asked me to take a seat and placed my daughters answer sheets in front of me. I grabbed them and like other parents scanned through the sheets with enthusiasm. The adrenalin rush was like last ball decider of an Indo-Pak cricket match. I could sense a parent craning her neck just to look at the papers in my hand. And by the look on her face I would know if her child was better or mediocre than mine. Comparisons and Competition right from budding!

'Can I ask you  few questions please?' A Sixty something lady 's voice made me look up. She was suave and composed. Her smile was infectious as I too responded with her gesture though her target was the class teacher, not me. Yet she acknowledged it. The teacher reluctantly got ready for barrage of questions as it came already from parents demanding reasons for their child's marks which did not satisfy their expectations. 'I am Anand's grandma. His mother is bedridden for past six months and father is out of station, so..,' the lady couldn't complete her sentence as another parent asked the teacher why her daughter's pencil box got missing two days ago. Well the teacher tried to maintain her sanity and focused on the aged lady. 'Yes', please continue Mrs...? 'I am Mrs. Jairam,' came the reply.

Anand stood shyly but always smiling.

' I am not concerned about his marks but tell me is he well behaved in class? Does he share his things? Is he friendly? Does he respect the teachers?  Is he polite?  Does he accept his mistakes calmly? Is he willing to learn? I could see a few like me were stunned. Her questions were enough to draw attention. The teacher looked at others and finally her eyes rested on the lady. 'Thank you Mrs Jairam for asking me these questions. Anand is the  most well behaved, gentle and best mannered child. And now I know why!'  The old lady was beaming with glory. 'This comforts me a lot. I just wanted to ensure that my grandchild has imbibed all moral values. A good human being is rare and I want him to be that.' She thanked the teacher and left with Anand. I glanced at the table where Anand's answer sheets and report card neatly placed. He topped the exam.

Others in the hall appeared so trivial to me.All of us looked such an incongruous contrast to Anand's grandma. I had many questions for the teacher. But left without asking any. I had enough questions intriguing me on my way back.

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.