Loss......

Today it's one year since he's gone. One whirlwind year, in which so much has happened... but, when I think of it, it feels just like yesterday that he was with us.

So much has happened last year, which would have pleased him tremendously. He would have been so proud of Akka's US trip and my Zurich trip. He would have relished the 'foreign chocolates' that we brought home. He would have earnestly prayed for the umpteen exams I took last year, and, would have been "extremely happy" at the results of some of them. He would also have been very happy that I decided to stay in India. He would have loved to meet NiNa, would have enjoyed his company, esp. his humour. He would have loved to see akka's completed home. He would have extended his love for all animals to our latest entry, Sona. He would have, as usual, asked us to photograph the brahma kamalas that bloomed this year.

The last year has been one filled with achievements and accomplishments for me. Yet, there is something lacking. An absence that cannot be filled by any human or super human effort. Maybe this is what "loss" means.

Nostalgia...

The pictures speak for themselves....... Beautiful memories, rushing back, esp. when IISc interview is hours away :P

Summer snapshots.

Summer. A week filled with exams, the last day the toughest to get through, then - FREEDOM!!! Bags packed, a night's journey by bus - with ghat sections that looked menacing at nights; filled with snakes waiting to jump on to the bus from the trees and slither down through my window [I firmly believed they would till I was nearly 12 :)] ; and, then, Heaven!!! Long idyllic days spent with cousins; playing, fighting, driving imaginary buses to the tunes of songs from the latest Bollywood flick on the swing in the maaLi [room in the roof], mangoes, jackfruits, beaches, charmbura upkari, local colas and orange drinks, weddings, munjis, a trip to Udipi and Uppoond, both taken up with enthusiasm proportional to the size of the crowd that went, a visit to the Krishna math, ensured by the bribe of going to Hotel Diana and eating gudbud , the ice cream from Annayya's, kittens, calves, half-ripe guavas and ice candies for quarter annas; khambada aata, bluff, gaddava; Aanegudde and Hattiangadi - where the temples were only an excuse, Pepsis, sugar cane juice and Erola dolo [still unable to find what it is called in English :)], Kaju fruit, walks of 4 kms in the sun and crazy auto drivers; ghost stories made up during narration, some even enacted; plans of putting up a big show for the Elders and practice for the same - the fact that it never materialized didn't matter. In fact, most things didn't matter. Fights were much less complex and mostly binary, Feelings were more open. Adults were complex creatures from whom we remained, thankfully, aloof. Life was simple and beautiful.

Summer. Taste of first freedom. First time away from home. Hostel life. Room mate. Friends. Fun. Crushes. Disappointments and elations. A decision to move away from home.

Summer. A first hand experience of the 'judaai' that poets form Kaalidasa to Gulzaar and Javed Akhtar pen about. First realizations of the frustrations that my career holds. Heart ache. Confusions.

Summer. Parting - from the place that gave me so much. Pain of realising that the best time of my student life is probably over. That my best friend was going to be miles away and all the late night gappe would have to be only on phone from now on. On the verge of a break up - or, maybe it was already over and I was refusing to believe it. Struggle to readjust to home life. To get accustomed to my family. Illness. Death. Denial. Pain.

Summer. Fresh hope. Uncertainties but a few certainties too. Career decisions. Personal milestones. A search for my priorities and an attempt to decide what I really want. The comfort offered by the cocoon of love of my dear ones. The calm confidence that I can face challenges without collapsing. A silent longing for those good old idyllic summer days, but, the sense of loss of childhood made up for by the realisation that I have grown. Into a person I rather like. The joy now is not because of the ignorance of childhood, but by the mindset of choosing to be positive and happy no matter what Life brings.

Lost gold.

March 28th - usually, a time of celebration - cake, greeting cards and masala dosa. I wasn't around for the last two years, and, this year, the birthday boy himself wasn't. I miss him. I miss his unconditional love - the selfless giving, without expecting anything in return. I miss his presence in the home, on his chair, reclining on the sofa, watching the TV with me, eating dinner in his own sloppy way, which would irritate me back then. His silly jokes - I must have inherited my love for PJs from him , his singing, his meal-time stories, his little habits and quirks . I miss his hands - gnarled - and his writing - small and neat, in all those letters he wrote to me while I was in hostel. I miss resting my head on his pot belly and cuddling up to him. I miss him saying "Good night, sleep well, sweet dreams , sweet Chetana" in the sing song ritual that we used to have. I wish I could take back some of the harsh words that I had said to him, and give him one tight hug and tell him I love him. Funny how you sometimes get what you wished for and realise you never wanted it. Funny how you sometimes lose something you have always taken for granted and then, realise how priceless it was. Some losses are just nonrecoverable .

I remember, I remember.......

I Remember, I Remember

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

Thomas Hood

Read a lovely article by Vanita Dawra Nangia in the Times today. [The O-zone column]. She reminisces about her childhood days, remembering incidents from school days and how things that had affected her deeply back then seem trivial now. That images crumble and things diminish with time. She makes a lovely statement - "Childhood magnifies everything. Even buildings take on bigger dimensions than in reality. I remembered the school building to be much bigger than what I actually found it to be"

Experienced this when i went to Kundapur for Ganapati this year. Kundapur was a haven for us kids. A childhood paradise. Well, at some point all of us non-kundapur-ites have wished to have been living there. As kids, a huge one acre land - filled with mango and jackfruit trees, a rambling house, filled with wondrous nooks and corners to be explored, a lovely 'maaLi' of our own, with the huge swing, the river in walking distance, the sea at an hour's drive - was heaven on earth. The days spent idling away in the 'hittal' under the trees, by the lake; plucking mangoes and guavas; on the swing, swinging away with as much force as our little legs had, to the latest hit hindi songs playing on the tape recorder; trips planned by adults to Udipi or Mangalore, always with some 8 -9 kids in tow, ending with a Gudbud and Masala dosa at Paarijaata; the regular deliveries of 'Charmbura upkari' [Bhel] and Homemade ice cream from Annayya's little stall; the ice-candies bought at 25 p ; the countless games of cards, khambada aata and tons of other make-believe games; fights and patch-ups - Summer holidays at Kundapur used to be the highlight of each year. The house seemed huge, the town - confusing to navigate, the town temple - impressive, Kundeshwar seemed too far to walk, Mamamma was the omnipotent, strong matriarch, and Kundapur - the perfect heaven, resistant to change, resistant to adulteration, pristine and pure.

Went to Kundapur after an year - or was it two? - for Ganapati festival. This time, surprisingly, it felt as though I was looking at it anew. The house was not the gigantic place that existed in my memory, the doors [Hebbagila] didn't seem as impressive, the land - not as rambling as before, the swing - more compact, the town - much smaller, and, sadly, less populated; the town temple seemed like a small shrine. It was greatly unsettling. I couldn't relate this place to the memories I had of it. The town was the same - at least, in size and layout. Yet it seemed different. What made it so was the change in perspective. The Child had gone. It was an Adult now, trying to find the paradise of her childhood in the place that it now is. But an adult can never find the world as marvelous as a child does. An adult has seen the reality and found it to be harsh. The adult finds it impossible to shy away from the truth - that the town is changing; the shops selling home-made ice cream are no more; that Mamamma has aged and is growing weaker and, might not be around one day; that all fights can not end with a "forgive and forget"; that no matter how hard we swing, it is sometimes impossible to touch the sky; that the idyllic times of childhood are never going to return; that life is about earning enough, making a career, finding leave, short vacations, long and hectic work days, deadlines and appraisals, difficult choices, break ups and heart aches, adjustments, compromises, illnesses, responsibilities, separations and death. That people we idolized as kids have their own fair share of faults, and those whom we hated were not demons. In fact, there is no black and white, just gray; varying shades of it.

Yet, the adult finds respite in those brief lapses into childhood - where the mind, for a moment, forgets all that it's "learnt" and becomes innocent again and travels into a non-adult world. A world where Dreams are dreamt and they do come true, where situations are binary - yes/no, like/don't like, 1/0 - and not complex. The adult-turned-child then laughs, dreams, believes - and finds hope that life isn't meaningless after all. That no matter how dreary things might seem, Life is beautiful enough to Live - and to Live it whole-heartedly! The swings are still there, one just needs to believe that one can touch the sky - and, who knows, one fine day, it just might happen!!

Cluttered Mind

Recently while I was talking to Ram, he mentioned that I have started thinking negatively, looking at the dark side more often than ever. This was the second time he had made such a statement, so, it got me thinking as to whether I was truly becoming negative in my thoughts. Well, I feel that while I am not "negative' per se, I have become more serious of late. I don't sit around moping or anything, I still do smile, am talkative, can enjoy PJs and crack them too, but, in general, the effervescence has gone down. I don't know if it is "growing up" or it is because of my current state of mind, due to all the things that have been happening in my life of late.

Nowadays, I feel I am carrying around emotional baggage. Both consciously and subconsciously. At times, there is a continuous drone within my head. Arbit thoughts, images, dialogues running through it. I find myself wishing for some quiet, some deep sleep. At times, wish for telling it all out - if it were like before, I might have gone and eaten Rash's head. But, I am trying to tell myself, that no one would be there all the time, and that my peace of mind should come from within, not sucked out of anyone else. More so, because most of the thoughts are random, not constructed, formless and cannot be voiced. I wish I can go to Prati's home now. She would understand. She always does. But, I have to learn not to depend on her all the times. I wonder why this sudden turmoil, why this nameless confusion, why the desire to be comforted, to have someone hold me and tell me things will be fine, why this urge to cry at times - but the inability to do so. What is it that brought about this - is it Ajja's illness and death - the major change that has happened in my life recently?

True, Ajja's death has affected me - more than I ever thought it would, and more than I thought it did back then -though it might not be the sole reason for the unrest in my mind. Since the day Ajja fell, I have been the practical person at home. Thinking only in the present - just the question "What is to be done next?" Did not ponder over the past, like Amma, wishing, 'if only we could go back and prevent his fall'. Tried not to worry about the future, like Annu. Just the present. Took care of Ajja, spoke to doctors, tried to prepare for GRE, did all that I could do at that time. Tried not to feel too much, shielded myself against pain - 'cause pain would lead to misery, and being miserable was the last thing I wanted. Sadly, the shielding was far too good. I couldn't cry that night when Ajja died. Amma cried, Akka cried, even Bhavaji cried. Dad was silent, in his thoughts. I made hot coffee for everyone, made them drink it, told them they needed something warm to drink. Couldn't cry even the next day, as they took the body away. As they took my Ajja's body away. Held Amma as she cried. Consoled her. But couldn't cry. Friends and family members came to me, trying to console - but how could they console someone who wasnt greiving , who wasn't crying. I ended up assuring everyone that I was fine, that Ajja's death was a relief for him, from the pain he was having. But I couldn't cry. At times, I wished someone would help me cry. But all of us are trained to console, always telling others not to grieve, not to help someone do just that.

Later, I immersed myself in GRE prep. I had my exam coming up soon, and this was no time to sit and indulge in grief. Pushed all thoughts out of my mind. But now, with the exam all done, the thoughts are rushing back and I find myself helpless - unable to stop their infiltration. I find myself thinking of Ajja - more so of his last few days, during which he was unable to even voice what he was going through. I wish I could go back, hold his hand, tell him not to fear, tell him the suffering would soon pass. I felt this especially strongly one day when I was having stomach ache due to some indigestion. I remembered how bad his stomach had bloated on the last day. He was silently suffering it all. I ached at that thought but still, I couldn't cry and vent all that emotion. At times, I wish I could be a kid again, and lie down on the sofa, curled up against Ajja's belly, as he read out stories to me, hold his hand and go walking to the temple, eat with him the chocos that both of us so loved, go with him to the bank and hear him proudly introduce me to the people there, go back to those Janmastami days and sing along with him all the bhajans that he had taught me - listen to his melodious voice, atleast, pick up the phone and hear his voice on the other end , saying "Hello Chetana".

The day he got operated, he was groggy with all the sedatives he had been given. I went into the ICU to meet him. I can still see him now, face brightening up as he saw me, and telling the hosptial staff "This is my youngest grand daughter and I love her the most" . I , too, loved you Ajja, though I never told you often enough, you were the best grandfather anyone could have ever had. I miss you.

The Cup of Life

I have been a confirmed coffee addict since my childhood. The moment I had my first sip of coffee from amma's cup , I was hooked. Amma recounts tales where I would insist for "Taapi" in toddle tongue! There is even a small cup back home, which was exclusively meant for my coffee and I remember sitting, cradling my cuppa, slurping away happily. :D

Over the years, the only thing that changed was the cup size and the number of servings. I grew from being a small coffee addict to a big one [pun fully intended :D]. During my II PU exams, I was going steady at nearly 8 cups a day and, I am sure, if anyone made a study of the stuff flowing through my veins [though I can't say why they might want to do it :D], they would most likely find it to be coffee !

Amma is a firm follower of "too much is too bad". So apart from using minimal oil while cooking (which is good), she also believes in adding minimal powder while making coffee (which a'int :D). Annu, on the other hand, shares my love for strong coffee. The coffee he made for me, in the mornings on which I managed to wake up real early, was the best I have ever had. Nearly black, with minimal milk and a pellet of Sweetex, its aroma was enough to drive out the last wisps of sleep from my eyes and get me out of bed! Those early morning coffees with Annu, sitting at the dining table, planning out the study schedule for the day and winding up with washing and putting away the cups... it is a memory I'll always treasure..........

Being from a strictly coffee-brewing family, I never ever had tea till I was in my 10th class. Friendship with Prati started off a spree of new experiences, one of which was the introduction to tea. We had most of our discussions (which ranged from topics like Saankhya philosophy to the latest fad in dieting :D) over hot cups of tea that she prepared.

That initiation was a real boon, for I soon moved out of the 'coffee lovers' paradise'. Hostel life has its own sets of plusses and minuses [like everything else :)], but adding to my cup of woes here, is the lack of a real good Cuppa ! The people here believe in running through the day with tea sloshing away within them.. elaichi-waali chai, adrak-waali chai, masala chai.. and what not! But, none of this can substitute my beloved Cuppa and, I never miss a chance of going to the Shack and filling in on my dose of caffeine for the day.

Exam times still see me going faithfully to the canteen to have a cup of the sweet, milky stuff called 'Coffee' by the vendor. While I insist that the caffeine helps me stay awake, Rash says it is purely psychological, and tell you what, I agree with her. That vile machine-brewed liquid probably contains a speck of caffeine, just enough to keep a fly awake for a few seconds!! Most of the times, it seems to have a soporific, rather than a stimulating effect on me and I sleep much better after a cup of coffee from the canteen than after a cup of milk :D But we, humans, are creatures of habit and coffee is one such habit I haven't been able to shrug off. Bliss, still, is a cup of coffee - black, strong and totally life-giving :D