Moving Places

The moments race to become memories in the blink of an eye...and like Tennessee Williams said, that is what Life is...Life is all Memories….Just Memories. 

It's good to start a new year with new beginnings but we seldom realize that to make a new beginning we must also end some things. To make a beginning is to make an end and that is the most painful part about new beginnings. 

I close another window shut and seal it. I look in the kitchen cupboards and clear out all the half filled jars.  I go through the To Do lists and tick off the tasks. I go through the wardrobes and check again to see if I missed packing anything important that we must take. 

The rooms all seem bare, the cupboards look like hollowed out shells, the kitchen shelves have empty bottles and jars that stand forlornly. I open another cupboard and just like that in the middle of all that I am doing, a lump forms in my throat and my eyes well up with unshed tears. 

This task of moving places has been one I've gone through again and again. Yet, the only thing that has become easier with time is the flow of the tasks to be done, with mechanical precision. Emotionally, it still takes a toll as if this were the first move I ever made. 

This uprooting, this packing and trying to leave nothing of importance behind, seems like such a lost cause to begin with. In reality, we leave such important parts of ourselves in each place that we move away from. In these places, we called Homes, we have lived, we have loved, we have laughed and we have cried and the walls of our homes stand mute witnesses to all that we have enjoyed and endured. 

Yet, when we move, we hope to pack everything...and yet, we leave a little and sometimes a lot of ourselves behind...We leave a part of ourselves in all the places we leave, with all the people we meet, love and leave.  Bit by bit that is how we enrich our lives with memories and that is how we shed a part of ourselves everywhere we move...till we belong everywhere and belong nowhere...and so the cycle continues...

Then and Now...Now and Then, Again

I am back at the window again today with my coffee and I see the group has come to start their day's work. Last week, I had seen them for the first time. What drew me to the window was their noisy arrival in a rickety old vehicle in our quiet neighborhood.  There was a general buzz around the colony as they quickly offloaded the small truck carrying an array of iron poles and other assorted construction material.  Even before I've finished my coffee, the ladies in the group have effortlessly donned shirts over their sarees, giving the much used fashion term Fusion a new meaning. For all the noise on the TV news "shows" about women's empowerment these women have been walking and working alongside the men and are the backbone of most construction sites I have seen. The two young children accompanying them have now developed a routine in the neighborhood without much fuss. The older one has taken charge of the girl who's just a toddler. The mother, I presume, gives some quick instructions before joining the men a little away at the work site. There seems to be a spring in their steps as they get started with the day's work. 

The pandemic lockdowns have affected all of us but the daily wage workforce like this group of construction workers probably were among those who bore the maximum brunt. I am sure 'happy' is a misplaced word here. They must be relieved to be back, working on the site.  

Everyday now I unconsciously wait for them to come to work. They are engaged to repair some of the buildings and also paint the exteriors of the buildings in our colony. They have built a makeshift swing to paint the buildings and the younger boys in the group have been tasked with this. While one of them was painting our building, I almost came face to face with him in the balcony of our third floor flat. He was on the swing with an apology of a safety rope tied around his waist.  How callously we take the safety measures for construction workers is the thought that has been haunting me ever since I've seen them work at such close quarters here. But what got my attention that day, was this boy humming a song while going about his job oblivious to the precarious position he was in. 

Instinctively I warned him to be careful and mindful of his treacherous position and he laughed and said that this was a cakewalk for him! His laughter and my worry were definitely out of sync and for once I decided to go with the hope and optimism that the boy on the makeshift swing so apparently exuded. After all with a major festival like Diwali knocking on our doors, the work that these construction workers have got must be a blessing. Especially after last year's lockdowns and the deadly assault of the second wave, work is a harbinger of good tidings and good times.  The young boy continues to hum as he paints and as I look beyond, I can see the young children of the construction workers playing along with the children of the Colony.  They all have made new friends.  The ladies are laughing and talking loudly as they pass the cement receptacle to the men.  I can hear a hint of happiness in these voices and noises.  I put my worries at bay and compliment the boy on his singing and thank him for brightening up our buildings. 

Yes, the view has changed. From last year's silences and uncertainty, the streets have transformed into noisy and bustling places with people and traffic. The neighborhood is abuzz with noisy playful children and the construction workers going about their jobs. Today I want to put my worries at bay. These scenes seem to herald a new beginning.  We all have borne the cross of Covid in our own ways and are trying to get back to our 'old pre-Covid lives'.  Of course, we all are still cautious, still wary, still skeptical, yet it's time to focus on a more optimistic and hopeful tomorrow.  In our own ways, we all are taking one day at a time, one step at a time and that is the only way forward.  

To me, these construction workers represent a returning to the normal Pre-Covid times. In all honesty, these construction workers have not just brightened our buildings, they have inadvertently brightened our lives a little, I think.

Goodbye 2020, You Taught Us Well

A year ends and a year begins.  And that is how 'Time cooks all beings in its cauldron' (Mahabharata).  2020 is not a year that any one of us is likely to forget in a hurry...or even, forget at all for that matter.  For most of us, time and age blur and blend many years into vague memories.  We sometimes remember years gone-by only because of special events, milestone celebrations or heartbreaking losses. For the most part, the days just seamlessly flow into weeks, months and years and that is how it was till now. 

But the year 2020 made us all pause in our tracks, re-evaluate, re-centre, re-learn and re-focus. In all that was happening, the year also held a mirror and revealed a bit about ourselves. What we saw was not always what we wanted to but we did learn a thing or two about ourselves which otherwise would have gone unobserved and unexamined in the flurry of activities that dominates our lives. 

We began 2020 with a lot of plans and as the year unfolded, we realized what Herodotus, the Greek historian once said,  "Of all men's miseries the bitterest is this: to know so much and to have control over nothing".  This is a lesson we will continue to learn and relearn till we humans humbly accept that not everything is in our control. 

As we are set to bid goodbye to 2020, all of us truly carry a mixed bag of emotions.  Since I couldn't have described it anywhere near as deeply as Dickens did, here is what the year looked like to me and I'm sure to many of us:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way..."

Of course amidst all the events that happened the world over and at personal level, the one that affected all of us, one way or another was Covid-19. In a world that is so divided on so many different levels, we learnt to unite as One. Global village was no longer just a good boardroom catchphrase. Covid 19 united all of us in a unique way.  We realized, Feelings, indeed have no boundaries. We learnt solidarity and we learnt to be compassionate and empathetic. We all experienced pain, love, loss, loneliness, despair and hope, not just in our own lives but others' lives as well. 

Among the collective lessons we learnt, we paused to truly see and appreciate the beauty of Nature. We realized with remorse the abuse we have been subjecting the Earth and all other creatures to. We promised to mend our ways and re learnt to respect Nature. We learnt that in the greater scheme of things, we humans are totally dispensable while Nature is omniscient and omnipotent. 

In the midst of despair and hopelessness of Covid times we also saw some inspiring stories. We saw superheroes emerge from amongst us. We saw kindness in the face of strangers and from the most nondescript quarters and learnt to pay forward.  We saw selfless service and tried to emulate.  We had renewed respect for the doctors, nurses and all healthcare workers. We truly learnt the meaning of the old adage, Health is wealth. 

We learnt to stay apart to keep our loved ones safe.  We saw the frailty and susceptibility of our parents, grandparents and loved ones and learnt to give their safety precedence. We learnt not to take anybody or anything for granted. We learnt to be thankful and grateful for what we had and rediscovered gratitude in its true sense. We accepted and moulded, changed and adapted and embraced as best as we could, to the New Normal. 

We learnt that simple pleasures can give great happiness too. We learnt to value our relationships, our friendships and the unique bonds we shared with those around us. In the face of our own mortality, we embraced reconnections and realized that at the end of the day, the people we care about and love are all that matter. And we learnt to take that extra step to maintain and sustain relationships. Yes, we learnt a lot of lessons. Truly, in a huge way, 2020 was a great leveller and teacher. 

The all pervading feeling of 2020 was Uncertainty. But the only thing that remained an unchanging, unfaltering and sustainable constant, was the Spirit of human beings. We stumbled and fell many times.  We were broken and brokedown many times. Yet, we dusted off to rise, picking up our battered and bruised Bodies and Souls and learnt to bravely carry on.  And that is how we move into 2021, a bit weary from all that we went through in 2020 but with a brave face, a diffident smile, and a hopeful Heart. 

Dear Santa, Don't go!

Christmas time has that magical ring to it, which even the most cynical or practical of us, have to succumb to.  Especially with kids around, Christmas has that added zest and fervor.  A season of Santa letters and Santa gifts, the spell seems to be cast everywhere.

I remember how a few years back, my daughter, just a toddler those days would whisper into my ear, what she would like from Santa that year.  We would sit down with colored pencils, paper and assorted stationery and try and get the letter to Santa right.  The letter always had to start with a “Hi, how are you?... and what did you do the last one year?”  It also included the highlights of what she did the whole of last year (which usually didn’t get past the one week or so…), how good she has been, and how she wanted a doll, just like that one she saw in a shop nearby or a pencil-box like the one her friend had… The innocence of those words, the mischievous note in her tone when she would pester me to write that she had been good all year through…Oh, the magic of it all, of those chubby hands trying to guide my writing, those giggles, those whispers….those shared secrets…

The excitement as Christmas approached was palpable, the curiosity if she would get what she asked for and the gleam in her eyes when she found that gift under her pillow… On certain occasions she even imagined she could see Santa quietly slipping away from her window.  

Then the years rolled by, and she realized that the mystical and magical Santa who showered her with all the gifts she wanted was not ‘real’.  That it was we, her parents who were hiding all those gifts and ‘play-acting’ that there was a real Santa who was giving her those gifts.

I don’t know if she resented us for it, or if she took it in her stride, that this is what most parents do… But for quite a few years now, there are no letters to Santa, no whispering in the ear about what she wants for Christmas… How quickly time has flown and swept away the magic of Santa… I want her to know that though it’s good to be practical it’s not wrong to believe in some magic and indulge in it.

Today, as I attend a Christmas party and see Santa giving away gifts to the kids... I am overwhelmed with emotion… I can see my teenage daughter sitting with her friends, a ‘safe distance’ away from me, as teenagers are wont to do at this age… and I recollect memories of her in my lap jumping up and down with excitement and clapping happily as Santa walked in.  For a moment our eyes meet across the hall, bridging the gap of those years, as she gives me a shy smile before quickly turning her face away.  I want to hug her and shower her with the choicest of Christmas gifts... with love, happiness and whatever her heart desires…

Self-consciously I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye as Santa is leaving and my heart yearns to cry out,  “Dear Santa, Don’t go…not yet…”

First published in Chicken Soup for the Soul (Indian Mothers) 2010. 

Voice of the New Normal

 I hear his voice again today, after what seems like an eternity. He has an unmistakable, distinct voice. The kind that is hard to miss and impossible to forget. I find myself smiling and I feel lighter in the heart and head. His voice seems to herald a new beginning,  a fresh start.  

I remember hearing his voice more than a year back when  we moved to this community,  calling out from the street and announcing his arrival.  It was a typically, hot and humid Indian summer day with an almost cruel Sun bearing down on the black tar roads. In the midst of such a blistering day, his call cut across in a lilting tone reaching an almost musical crescendo. When I first heard it,  I thought it was a child's voice. There was something very childlike and enthusiastic in the voice that carried across the community. When I waved my hand from the third floor to indicate for him to come up, I realized he was a much older gentleman. When he rang the doorbell and I saw him up close I realized that he may have been easily in his 50s, if not more, a face weathered by the unrelenting forces of Nature and hardwork. Yet, his voice had a childlike enthusiasm unhampered by the mundane, routine work that he did day after day.  He said that he takes away old newspapers, cartons, and even old  electronic goods. He was the Community's 'Kabadiwala Bhayya'.  A nomenclature, that he asked me to save as his name for his mobile number. As he weighed the old newspapers he assured me that his scales were correct and he would give me the right price for all the old, unnecessary and useless stuff I was giving away. I assured him back that I was grateful he was taking away all the clutter and if anything I should be paying him for that! 

I offered him a bottle of water and he seemed very grateful for it.  Have we set the bar so low, for our collective societal behaviour,  that when an almost natural empathetic gesture should elicit such a feeling of surprise and gratitude? That is something to think about...

The months passed and he was a regular on the roads and at home too. As it happens, gradually his sing-song voice calling out for old newspapers et al, merged with the other background noises, which we tend to tune out. 

Then the Lockdown for Covid-19 happened. Suddenly, everything we took for granted came to a stand still. The regulars on the road and at home no longer were heard or seen. The silence was deafening.  We no longer heard the 'Kabadiwala bhayya', we no longer heard the children playing noisily on the street below, we no longer heard the househelps exchange greetings noisily as they passed each other heading to their respective houses of work.

But gradually, things are getting back to what we now call a New normal. The human spirit is such, it's like that shoot of a tenacious plant that grows in between the most rocky surfaces. I hear the 'Kabadiwala bhayya's call today and though I sense a bit of weariness in it, it is a reassuring voice to hear. He comes up to the house, without my actually asking him to and we exchange enquiries, we talk about Covid-19, and how life has changed.  He wearily confesses how many households no longer take newspapers anymore so the slump in his earnings may take a while to recover. Immediately I feel guilty for having stopped the newspapers. When we took this decision, I am sure I never really considered how such a personal decision would affect someone at such a grassroot level. 

As he hauls his scales on his slumped shoulders and leaves with a water bottle in hand, I know I have to make that phone call to the Newspaper guy to resume the papers.  I may still not read them, but I know it would make a difference to this man.  And I think, that is how we all can slowly and steadily resume our long walk back to the good old normal we knew.

Old Wine in a New Bottle!

Sometimes for days and weeks and even months on end, creativity just doesn't flow as it should. So, I re-visit old articles I've written in the past to get inspired and motivate myself to write.  Somehow, that whole process usually backfires and I mull over how terribly I've written an article or how I should have used a different word or phrase.  But I thrive on this self-flogging because in the end, it does nudge me to write...hoping to do a somewhat better job! 

And then there's today, like yesterday and the day before, where my mind just draws a blank and I tell myself that maybe I should no longer attempt to write at all.  In the midst of such internal trauma and drama, I get a message from a friend out of the blue, asking if I've written anything lately and that just pushes me into more despondency, as if that were even possible! 

So, I hit upon a brilliant idea, why not publish articles that were already published elsewhere.  I wrote those myself and this is a personal blog, so, I'm sure I'm not infringing on any copyright issues.  (May have to clarify this with my Intellectual Property Rights Lawyer/daughter).  

But for now, this old article which in fact, I realize, is a rehashed version of an older article finds place here.  There's irony right there, an old rehashed and published piece, getting a platform yet again! So, here goes:

Forever 21!

For most of us in our 40s and 50s the realization of our actual physical age comes as a rude jolt on a seemingly mundane day when we least expect it.   To me, this subtle-as-a-sledgehammer reminder came when I tried lifting one of the ubiquitous black boxes as I packed  for the umpteenth time.  My back initially groaned, creaked and like a rebellious dog on a leash just jerked and went stubbornly still and refused to budge! My spirit however wouldn’t succumb to such antics and I shrugged it off painfully, as a slight misadventure! 

All the gentle reminders about my age and how i must no longer attempt the things i once did when i was younger continued to fall on deaf ears.  Who cares?! In my mind and spirit I didn't age. While I was still stuck in a mental age of 30 something or maybe even 20 something, my body was surely and steadily gaining momentum and moving towards the 50s. The dichotomy of it all, “Hey, I am a “20  something” being dragged by a “nudging 50 body” didn’t seem right at all. 

It seems that I and the world around me are existing in parallel universes.  While I remained oblivious to my age, everything around me was changing…and changing so subtly that I never ever realized it. 

Like, one fine day, you move places and go to a new station with the husband and there you realize your name has changed overnight as it were, to Mrs. So and so. Subtle changes these. One is shocked at first of course and the spouse tells you that the others may get more comfortable about the first name-business with time. So, you take it in your stride and walk jauntily into the next party and go about re-introducing yourself by your first name. The others meanwhile continue to overlook  it  in a polite and embarrassed manner. Slowly, you get to hear that a saree you wore reminds them of a similar one their mother had or that something you had said was exactly what their mother would have said. While, here you were trying to have a one-on-one connection with the younger ladies, they are looking at you as a mother-figure.  Flattering of course, as long as the age-issue doesn't raise its dubious head!

Of course the inner voice is way stronger and way younger. So,  on it goes. Like the other day a friend and i met at a cafe to catch up. A bunch of young millenials took over the next table  and we couldn't but help overhear their loud conversations. "The  party was so lit man.  You missed it! Reena was looking savage in that dress." Another voice joined in, " She totally killed it ya. Could legit see the envy in Pari's looks"   My friend and I gave each other uncomfortable smiles. The words of course all sound familiar, but we had to only infer the meaning from the context. Had no idea when the words we grew up with came to mean something totally new. What am I missing here? Like, the other day I came across the word ‘bae’ and was racking my brains to understand its meaning when my daughter told me that in fact, it was an abbreviation for ‘before anyone else’.  Really?! What ?!  I thought I was quite updated and knew all the right words and lingua of the day, but everyday, the youngsters are coming up with words and phrases and  stuff that  seems impossible for people like me to keep up.  That feeling of becoming old gnaws again!

When I turned to my old friends(Ouch! Pun un-intended!) for comfort they agreed with me. None of us felt older than we did in our 20s or 30s and we definitely did not feel  "middle aged"!   Well, the white hair is in vogue right, and the wrinkles are just laugh lines and an assertion of a life well loved right?! While all around me there were subtle and not so subtle hints about my age, I want to scream "Hey, I'm the same, I'm not old, I'm no different than what I was!"  But something holds me back...maybe my new found wisdom! I shrug off the doubts and tell myself, “Chill ya, it's all cool! In my heart, I’ll be forever 21!

Winds of Change

It's a very windy morning in the Capital, as I scroll through the news on my mobile. The numerous news apps I have on my phone, all try to grab my attention with curated news matching my likes and areas of interest, interspersed with the most updated news from all over the world. Yet, there's something impersonal and unappealing about this solitary scrolling. It doesn't give me the same experience that the newspapers did. The Lockdown started it all, when I was forced to download all these news apps and replace the good old newspaper with an icon on my phone. Though, with a semblance of new normal making way, I'm still a bit wary of going back to the old ways. The whole process of sanitization acting detrimental to my craving, I am one of the many who have turned to the news apps in place of the physical newspapers, atleast for now. Though the newspapers themselves have been coming with digitalized versions for many years now, the lure of the physical form always appealed more even when weighed on the environmentally conscious scales. The winds today make me reminisce how I would have struggled to grapple with the papers had I been juggling them in one hand and the coffee mug in another! All that is a thing of the past now, as I scroll deftly handling my phone as I surf and scroll rather mindlessly. But my mind wanders off the screen...

I miss those good old days! Mostly because the whole process of reading the newspapers carried so many fond memories of childhood and growing up years. I remember how the rustle of the papers and the aroma of filter coffee preluded the deep throated voice of my father as he woke us up. He would noisily fold the newspapers and call out to us while my brother and I would plead for a few more minutes of sleep before getting up for school. 

By the time we were in middle school, reading the papers was a must at home. The school demanded that we read out the headlines in the classroom and the parents insisted that we read them out aloud at home first, which also served as a lesson in intonation, pronunciation, vocabulary, sentence structure, all rolled into one! Then came a phase when my brother and I would take the refuge of the newspapers to just pretend reading them while all the time we were fighting off the early morning blues to get through the days. There were times we would fight over who would get to read what pages.

During the teenage years in Chennai, the only newspaper worth a read was The Hindu, of course. It was as much a part of any household as was the morning cup of filter coffee or tea.  The merits of the choice of the hot beverage could still be debated on either side, but The Hindu was sacrosanct...above all discussions and  debates and unequivocally accorded the highest status for its newsworthiness. My father did subscribe to The Times of India, Bombay edition as well, probably to get some business news, but for us, it acted like a window to another world. While The Hindu was read for the news, the writing style, the vocabulary and journalistic excellence, we relied on the Times for our entertainment. Come weekends and my brother and I would invariably fight over the Supplements. Come what may, reading newspapers at home was pretty much a family experience with everyone who was reading it, voicing out their opinions on a news item. My mother usually was the last one to get her hands on it, which was generally by late afternoon. Looking back on it now, I know probably the umpteem chores at home kept her busy through the mornings and she never did get the time to read the papers, which seems terribly unfair. But she did make up for it...by reading out the most interesting news articles she sifted from the numerous pages. As my brother and I fought over trivial issues after our supposedly tiring days at school and college, my mother would read out interesting snippets from the papers and ask us what we thought about them. Most often than not, both of us would have missed these interesting stories and we would make a grab for the papers from her hand. This was our regular exercise and I, feel guilty, even now, for not ever letting my mother read her papers in peace! 

The areas of interest subtly changed over the years from the comic strips and general news to the Jobs section. It was the highlight of my weekend reading from day one in college.  I would diligently go over each classified advertisement to see how many jobs I could qualify for and how many I didn't. Those days, that was the  surfing I enjoyed! 

Another big pastime was to read the Matrimonial ads on Sundays and my brother and I would make fun of the requirements in the Brides Wanted section and try to compare and contrast the type of ads in The Hindu and The Times.  Sadly, the commonalities of "fair, good looking, homely" were found in most ads across regions and newspapers. Depressingly, watching the much-in-news show 'Indian Matchmaking' on Netflix, the other day, the idea of a 'suitable girl' seems to have hardly changed inspite of the passing decades. This is where the winds of change need to blow. 

Today, with Smartphones in our hands and live feed from any seemingly newsworthy location, there is no fear of missing out on anything if one so wishes to keep themselves updated. The latest news is literally at our fingertips…but the memory of the ritual of newspaper-reading  at home is irreplaceable. Winds of change are good, necessary even...but not in all spheres.  The rustle of the newspapers, the distribution of sections among the family members, the smell of freshly printed newspaper mingling with the aroma of hot coffee, the quiet, gentle, laidback breeze of yesteryears...sometimes this is good, maybe even better than the cacophony of deafening newsreaders and the constant buzz of news updates.