Bitter-sweet sixteen

***Wrote this in Fiji, posting upon return to Melbourne. Must try and blog more often!!!***

I am in Fiji as I write this, on the last day of our deferred honeymoon. I have been married over a year now, and it feels so normal to have a husband! “How’s married life?” is a question we get asked quite often, and “Great!” is the answer, of course, but more important to me is the fact that our “married life” is really no different to the life we had already begun together prior to tying the knot. In fact, in typical fashion, we decided to wed after we had established that marriage was not a big deal for either of us, i.e., we had nothing against it, yet it was not something that we felt would be the defining moment of our lives.

So here we are, 12 years after we first met, in year 2 of our “married life” and year 3 of our re-connection, enjoying each other (in oh so many ways!) and continuing to build our lives together… sharing the joys and angst of, amongst other things: house-hunting and subsequently settling into our new home; each other’s jobs or lack thereof; making career choices; the dysfunctional nature of each other’s families (ok, mostly mine!); planning mini-breaks and honeymoons and then of course actually going on these holidays.

In the 2 years since we met up on Brunswick Street in Fitzroy, this (monkey) man has become my best friend, my confidant, the core of my “support system” who cheers me on and cheers me up unfailingly. And, much like Dada used to, such a long time ago, he believes in me (blindly, almost!) and most importantly, stands up for me. I am pretty fiercely independent, as is Russ, and am quite capable of fighting my own battles, but on the rare occasions that I need proof that I have someone in my corner, it is good to know I have that unique brand of unconditional support once again.

So, 16 years after losing Dada, I find myself able to enjoy a fun-filled holiday in the days leading up to his anniversary, knowing my husband will appreciate the occasional lows in my mood and help me deal with my unexpected fears, and try his best to understand them, even when I don’t quite comprehend them myself. Let me explain…

We were staying at the Novotel in Nadi for a couple of nights last week, before heading over to Viwa, a secluded island resort a 3-hour boat ride away from the mainland. On the 2^nd night, he fell ill. Probably food poisoning / indigestion brought on by a suspect guava, but whatever it was, this was the 3^rd time in a 6-week period that he had suffered from acute abdominal pain and vomiting, and I was furious with myself for not having brought along any medicine to relieve his pain. Like Dada, he is really quite amazing at handling his pain and discomfort, and does not complain much at all about his misery, nevertheless we struggled through the night with hardly any rest.

We had set our alarm for 6.45 am as we had arranged for a pick-up at 7.30 am, but we were already awake when the alarm rang. I wanted to cancel, or at least postpone the Viwa leg of our trip, not wanting to be so far away from medical assistance, and he was seriously considering it too, when he threw up one last time. Considering he had already purged most of the previous night’s meal from his system in previous bouts, he threw up mainly water this time. Quite natural (and he actually started feeling a lot better and after a hot shower decided that he was feeling well enough to go to Viwa), but seeing him retch, I suddenly had a vision of Dada not being able to keep down water…

So there I was, feeling worried, helpless, ever so guilty, and exhausted… on the bus to the marina, to my mortification, the tears started rolling and would not stop… and the poor chap who had spent the night in pain and was still in a lot of discomfort, held my hand and comforted me in silence. On the boat I felt a bit better and then explained that it was it not just about Dada… that I had suddenly been engulfed by an irrational fear of losing him, Russ, too… the parallels were just too much for my sleep-deprived mind… a holiday overseas at the end of May with someone so important to me; an illness starting out innocently enough; medical help not being easily available or the most reliable; and then the violent vomiting…

He assured me that he would not take any risks… that he was definitely feeling well enough for the trip, and agreed to tell me if there were any signs of worsening pain instead of ignoring them as is his wont, so that we could organize an immediate return to the mainland if required. Luckily, he improved steadily and within a couple of days the pain was gone completely and we thoroughly enjoyed our 5-day stay on the island without any major injuries or incident, although we were both carefully scrutinizing every scratch and cut on both our bodies for signs of infection (see Note at end of post), and checking the food for suspicious smells! Not totally unfounded, the watchfulness, as another honeymooning couple had food poisoning the night before we left the resort. Plus I have managed to twist my right ankle, so it is quite swollen and painful at the moment, and Russ is recovering from a cold, but all in all, we are in good shape.

But bloody hell, the invisible scars we carry are the worst, as I have just re-discovered. I absolutely refuse to live my life being constantly paranoid about the well-being of the people I love, but this time (for a couple of days there) no amount of mental “shush”-ing from the sensible part of my brain could quell those annoying, irrational fears that the emotional, mush-ridden part kept conjuring up. Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay for love, I guess it is a small one and worth it… well, as long as it is kept in check as much as possible!

Note: My dad recently had Cellulitis, which is a bacterial infection of connective tissue leading to severe skin inflammation, and can apparently develop into sepsis if it goes untreated. It usually occurs where the skin has previously been broken, such as cuts, insect bites etc. He was quite unwell for a couple of weeks but luckily the doctor had diagnosed the condition early on and started him on a course of antibiotics, so he’s okay now.

P.S.: Over the years I have had many arguments with my parents, trying to convince them to move back to India where medical resources and help from family and friends is more readily available and where I can get to them easily in case of emergencies. Failing at that, I had fights with them about the importance of medical insurance… there was a long period of time where they had none, and in particular had no emergency evacuation facility in place. Finally I gave up, deciding that they were responsible for looking after themselves in the way they chose to.

And they do have their own support system there… a number of the doctors in Beira are their friends, so they make house calls, and genuinely care about their well-being as was evidenced when Baba had Cellulitis, and even when Ma had her accident. So, although I used to get agitated about the fact that Dada was sick there and was perhaps not helped in time, I do less of that now, accepting that it is their choice to live where they do.

Fifteen years...

Too tired to write today, but thought I'd upload some photos...

Little Bozo

More of little Bozo

Dada and me with Reshmi and Opu

At Narendrapur ... (L to R) Baba, me, Didu, Dada, Ma and Thamma

With Dadu

My first post of the year... on the last day of the year

It's the 31st of December... can hardly believe it's the last day of 2008 already. I haven't blogged at all this year, which is not good at all... but Ma has been keeping the blog alive for us, which is great... it is our blog, after all.

What a year this has been... like a roller coaster ride! it did not start off all that well... for me, anyway... there was the trip to India which was great in many ways... got to spend time with Ma, Baba and my Didu... and spent a lovely few days in Bombay with my cousin Y, her hubby V and their adorable little daughter, my niece. G, my other darling cuz joined us there too, and we had a ball. Christmas was spent with a lot of the family at Y and V's place, and we had fun watching 10-year-old home videos, playing Taboo, eating biryani and drinking Tequila and wine. But as always there are the unpleasant repercussions of spending time with family and friends, and this time it all got a bit too much. I also spent NYE being sick thanks to a meal of bad prawns, so that wasn't a good start to the year anyway :)

Then Ma had her accident in Beira, and that was a crazy time. Extremely worrying due to lack of good medical care and especially frustrating because there wasn't anything I could do to help. Much as they love each other, my parents tend to fight more than usual in moments of crisis, which is part of their relationship I suppose, but upsets me no end. I really want them to move back to India as soon as possible where help is more readily available, and family and friends are closer. But that will happen soon enough, when they are ready.

Anyway, so with all of this happening, and some events of late 2007, I went through a bit of a low phase early this year, and had to cut myself off from family and friends for a while to retreat into my shell. I also think that starting the blog, while definitely a good thing, had also brought memories of Dada and the associated guilt to the fore, and made me a little too vulnerable. (That is the reason why I decided to take a break from blogging, although it's been a longer one than I needed because I've been busy with work and other things lately.) Luckily, I realised that I was getting pretty close to depression, and seriously considered getting some help, and somehow, the very act of looking into counselling options did me a world of good, and soon enough I was back to my normal, mostly cheerful, sometimes-crabby self. Things were looking up.

And then a couple of months later, I re-connected with an old acquaintance, which has turned out to be the best thing ever. His name is Russell McInnes and has since become the most important person in my life; he is simply amazing and I've fallen head over heels in love, which, while not a new state of being for me, hasn't happened in a very long time, and nor has it ever been so delightfully uncomplicated; I find I am less cynical and more hopeful about the future, and it was the easiest decision to take what is a huge step for me; to marry him. Fortunately he is crazy enough (about me, and in general) to have agreed to put up with me for the rest of his life!

It was on the 16th of May, my Didu's birthday, that we first met up for dinner, and by the end of the night I felt quite nervous because I really liked him but was not ready to start a new relationship at the time. Thanks mostly to his easy-going nature though, we got past the initial complications on my part, luckily for me. We have been practically inseparable since July, but are able to pursue our own interests at the same time; have had a couple of awesome holidays in Queenstown and Tasmania and are in the process of moving in together; everything being so perfect, it seemed only natural that we officially commit to spending the rest of our lives together, just to mix things up a bit!

And so it is that 2008 ends on a very different note to what it started on... not only am I happier than I have ever been, I am also busy planning my WEDDING!!! We are in Traralgon at the moment, in country Victoria, where his parents live. We have come here with my friend Bhavna and her husband, Prashant; went on a road trip yesterday to swim in a gorge, and are going to spend New Year's Eve camping nearby. A good start to 2009 and hopefully lots of good things to look forward to.

Happy New Year, everyone, and especially to my dear Ma and Ba. Love you.

Poora Bola Karo, Honey!

This here is inspired by Y's post of 7th December on her blog.

This blog seems to have become more about der Debs than about Aditya. But it matters not, does it? For my part, whatever I do or think or say still includes him, as though he were still here, with me. And he is. Still here with me, i.e., perversely perhaps, but strangely, closer to me than he ever was when he was alive.

For those that have not read that post, it was about Y's family indicating to her that the sarcastic add-ons to most of her coversation were well left out.

Be that as it may, there are those of us that will think half our convversation and speak the other half.

Take this, for instance:

Arup (crouched on all fours behind the TV, which has not been working): Hmmm. This connection needs to be tightened.

Lalita (sitting in front of said TV, waiting to see if image comes back on): Hmmmm, ...

A whole minute passes by.

Arup (sounding rather annoyed): Koi! Where's the screw driver!

L, jumping up: Oh! You didn't ask for it. Here. Here it is.

A: Of course I did! I said this needs tightening. Pass me the screw driver.

To be fair to the man, he truly thought he had but - believe you me, he did NOT vocalize that second sentence!

Then there are the times when he borrows something or takes it to get some work done, and then 'returns' it. I'm still getting over the trauma of having 'lost' my D.I.R.E., or Residence Permit. I'd given it to my Mia to go and encash a cheque that was in my name. Then we travelled to Maputo, and I realized to my horror that I was not carrying it. In this country, you can be jailed for failing to produce it on demand by the police. Fortunately, they rarely ask for it if you're driving on a Mozambican number plate.

I remind my Mia that he had taken it to the bank.

"But I returned it to you!" says he.

This has happened before, so I'm able to remain calm.

"So where did you put it?" asks I

"On your table!?" he says, matter-of-factly.

"But you said you'd returned it?"

"Yes!?" even more matter-of-factly.

Well, the happy part of it is that after 3 weeks of looking high and low (the house got tidied up in the process!) I found my D.I.R.E. but tell me, dear friends! Which equation sounds more common? Sensible?

Returning = leaving wordlessly on table, me there to see or not?

or

Returning = Vocalizing: Here's your D.I.R.E. I'm putting the money in the safe?

I suspect a lot of wives have had this kind of an experience. Come on, tell us, do!

And where did I find my D.I.R.E.?

On HIS table!

God, I love this man!

And Bozo did it too, ...

One afternoon, Bozo and Mini had just come back from school and were playing a bit while I got the food heated up and put on the table. Mini sat quietly (!!!??) on the divan, giving her doll her feeding bottle. Bozo played with his dinky toys - he had these itsy-bitsy models of various makes of cars and trucks.

Well, there I am in the kitchen and I hear his cries, alarmed and desperate -

My FUCK! My FUCK!

WHAT?! Says I

My FUCK! My FUCK! Ma, I can't get my fuck!

Mystified, wondering, SHOCKED, I leave kitchen, walk into lounge. There he is, on hands and knees in front of the fridge. His bum's in the air, his face is to the floor as he peers underneath the said fridge, little arm stretched out under it to grasp something. All the while yelling, My FUCK! My FUCK!

Ki holo? Says I. (What's happened?)

Aamaar fuck chole gaeche! (My fuck has gone!)

So I go down on hands and knees beside my six-year-old boy, reach behind the fridge and retrieve it for him., ...

Did any of you ever notice that Bozo had a problem with his 'R's? Well, he did! Harare was Hawawe, Fire Engine was Fangine, etc, etc! So now, who can guess what had gone behind that fridge?

There's a prize to be won for the first one to guess, so be quick!

MINI, SHH-SH-sh-sh-sh!

Snapshot: Three Little Words

She's 3 and 5 months. Her first day at school dawns. She's all set and eager. Armed with brand new school-bag, brand new pencil-case, with brand new pencil, rubber and other implements, she goes forth to face the outside world. When we reach the school gates, she lets go my hand and runs off into the grounds. I watch with a twinge of regret. What? No crying and clinging to Mommy, as Bozo had done for days? Not even a hug and a 'Bye, Ma'? But that was ok. She'd been rearing to go to school ever since he'd started and it had been difficult sometimes to get her away when we'd gone together to drop him off! So I let her go. I watched as she joined up with Tania and Pum-Pum and said hi to Titli Didi. And then, Miss Rita scooped them up and took them into her playgroup.

She came home that day a tired but happy little girl. The crisp new uniform of white shirt and red gingham tunic was not so crisp or so new any more and the white socks and little black 'ballerina' shoes were well-soiled, but she fell asleep over her lunch and only awoke around 5.

That evening, we were all sitting in the lounge, generally chatting, Bozo and Mini happily playing with their Lego blocks. Suddenly, Mini began to shout something out, in a loud, strident voice. She kept shouting three little words as she got up and clambered onto the divan that stood under the switches. We watched in shock and horror as we realized what she was saying. "Shuck-a-Fuck! Shuck-a-Fuck! Shuck-a-Fuck!"

Obviously, we were stunned and didn't know what to say or do for a bit. Obviously it was something she'd picked up in school that day. She carried on her chant as she stood up on the divan and switched the fan off. And then, she stood there a few seconds, looking VERY pleased with herself, almost looking for approval. Then, she switched the fan back on and wordlessly returned to her brother on the floor.

We grown-ups sat there non-plussed, wondering what it was all about. Then I asked Mini. What was that you were saying? "Shuck-a-Fuck! Miss Rita bol-lo, Ingriji te fan off koro ke bole, Shuck-a-Fuck." (Miss Rita said, in English, 'Switch off the fan' is Shuck-a-Fuck.)

We grown-ups were even more mystified. Miss Rita? Chaste and a virgin, religious, 30-something Miss Rita? Did she even know the word, let alone teach it to her 3-year-olds?

It was Bozo who put our minds at rest. Apparently, instead of saying Switch off the fan, dear Miss Rita preferred to say Shut the fan.

Obviously with so much else having happened on that day, it got just a little bit twisted as little Mini remembered it!

To have or not to have .....

... A Birthday Bash.

It's been a long time (18 years, actually) since either Arup or I have felt inclined to celebrate our birthdays. Well, we really, really want to celebrate each other's birthdays, but since neither wants to celebrate their own, we just don't. Me, I still hate it when my birthday comes around, ...

Oh, we celebrate in our own small, low-keyed way: on my birthday, he'll take me out and we'll order a bottle of good, red wine and have a scrumptious meal at our favourite restaurant; on his, I'll make him his favourite meal of aaloo parathas and kosha mangsho (Indian bread stuffed with potatoes and fried and mutton, fried up with spices) or aaloor dum and Mughlai Parathaas
(a potato curry and an Indian bread stuffed with minced meat and fried with egg poured in). Then there's the traditional kheer, or rice pudding.

It was Arup's 60th last week. I wanted to have a really BIG BASH. And he actually agreed. Well, he didn't say his usual vehement NO, but said, "We'll see after my test." So we 'agreed' to do something over the weekend instead. We went out for dinner on the day after his test, and ..... that was it.

What excuse have I for not organizing it? I have none! I went to the extent of roping a friend in to help me organize it and came up with a great design for a cake. Even invited a few friends. AKD went along with it, but I could see it was only because I wanted it. His heart was not in it and I knew he'd be miserable. I knew because I knew I'd feel the same if it were my birthday. So I called the whole thing off.

And now, I'm not sure if I'm regretting it. Do you think I should have just gone ahead with it? I sound like a VERY confused person, no?!!!

Having written this, I'm now inclined to organize a belated party for him.

So, CHEERS, Arup! Happy 60th. As Mini said, "You made it, Fatso!

For some reason, I couldn't upload photos, so for pics, go to

http://picasaweb.google.com/elgeedeb/AKDSpecial