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

Kolkata, Thammar Badi

While on the Bandel to Calcutta trip, here's another one:

Mini just adored her Thakur-Ma, Thamma for short. (Paternal Grandmother for the uninitiated.) So whenever we made that trip, she knew it was to visit her grandmom.

But there was a firmly fixed idea in her three-year-old little head - When we reached Howrah station, the main railway station for Cal, we'd all talk about having arrived. Getting off the train and all through the ride to Dover Road where they lived, we'd try to tell her that we were now in Calcutta.

But no. She was not to be kidded. "Kolkatta aekhono aashe ni." "Calcutta has not yet come." She was VERY FIRM in this knowledge and would watch the roads very intently.As the car or taxi turned into the drive-way of Number 10, Dover Road, she'd turn to us and announce smugly, "Eyi to Kolkatta, Thamma-ar Baadi!" "Here it is, Calcutta, Thamma's house!"

As if to say, "You guys! You know nothing!"

And guess who enjoyed it the most? Big, wise older brother, Bozo, of course! - he thought it was tho thweet...

Mini Bus, Bozo Bus

With only one week of school holidays left, I thought I'd get some 'snapshots' in.

When we were in Sahagunj, where Dunlop had their factory, we'd travel every other week to Cal to visit Arup's parents. Often, the whole 3-hour-or-so-journey would be by car but sometimes we'd take the local train and then a taxi from Howrah station to Dover Road.

Whenever we were on the go, I'd mostly have the kids VERY close to me. - Yes, both of them! - Mini propped up in one arm and Bozo perched on one knee. Sometime he'd slide off onto the seat, but still keeping pressed to me, his hand clutching my knee...

Well, I did say 'mostly'. If we were by ourselves, no other Dunlopian travelling with us, for him to talk to, Arup would have Bozo on his knees and talk to him. If Subir (Sengupta, Subir Kaka) was travelling with us, Mini would sleep in his arms - and do unspeakable things to him.

I was in the habit of talking to them all the time if they were close by, and getting them to respond. They'd be wonder-struck by the most mundane of things. "Look at that tree. How BIG it is!" "Watch out! There's another train going in the opposite direction, flashing by us." "That's Howrah Bridge. Why do you think it's there?" (Bozo's answer? "So people don't have to get wet if they want to cross the river.") "That yellow car's a taxi!" ('Tah-sheeee!' Bozo'd say.) And his favourite was the mini-bus. They were all brown in those days. Our Mini was a late talker (and did she make up for that!) so she'd just chortle and chuckle and gurgle and bounce up and down on my knee when she began to sit there. Each time we saw a mini-bus, there was much excitement.

On retrospect, I doubt if they knew why it was a mini-bus. Obviously, they only associated it with our Mini. Maybe they thought it belonged to Mini. Or maybe they decided it was the name of the bus - one bus that mysteriously appeared all over the place, just because it WAS another Mini, so had to be part of us. Who knows what deductions such little ones make from things we grown-ups take for granted, so don't bother to explain?

One day, Bozo came up with the clincher. I suppose he'd deduced from his learnings at school what a 'bus' was, and what 'mini' meant. So he brilliantly put the two together and on one trip, he shouted out, "Oi to! Oita Bozo-Bus!" "There it is! That's a Bozo-Bus!"

It was one of the usual, larger buses and most pleased he was when we agreed heartily...

And from then it was "Mini-Bus", "Bozo-Bus" all the way home!

Snapshot

I never saw this sight myself, but it has been described to me several times, by different people, Purobi or Tutu or both amongst them:

Brother and sister are studying at the Dunlop English Medium School. School used to give over at about 1230 hours, and all the kids were naturally famished and tired and often cranky. Mini is a year and eight months younger than Bozo, so there's not that much of a difference in their sizes.

The sight described to me is like a photograph in my mind -

They're returning home from school. Bozo has his school bag AND Mini's slung about his shoulders, but on his chest. Mini is riding piggy-back!

If that's not cute enough, Mini on several occasions had this stick in her hand, pretending to be riding a horse. Cute, because I've never heard it told that she USED it!

Yaad-e-Daag

November, 1975:

Mini takes her very first flight on Indian Airlines. (There wasn't anyone else to fly with, those days!) For some reason, their Dad is already in Calcutta and I'm following him with two babies: 4-month-old babe-in-arms Mini and 2-year-old toddler Bozo. (Take note, Y, ....)

Bozo I knew would pose no problem. He was easy-going even as a baby and would be happy with me talking and pointing things out to him or even going off with the air-hostess for a while. Mini? From the last snippet you'll remember that this is one smart kid, who's not likely to keep very still during the 2 and a half hour flight, not to talk about the long wait at the airport. And she was VERY wary of strangers, very choosy, actually, for she'd hold her arms out to one stranger and cry murder with the next.

So I'd been wracking (racking? where does that expression come from, anyway?) my brain for ideas. Cough syrup? Even Phenalgan? Na-ah! Not on a flight, anyway... so, what?

I remembered the flight was an afternoon one, and had a brainwave - DON'T LET HER HAVE HER MID-MORNING NAP. That worked out fine. She was a bit cranky, but fell asleep in the cab on the way to the airport. She slept soundly through the ride and the wait at the airport. The three of us got onto the plane. Lots of compliments all round about how well I managed, how well-behaved my two were, etc., etc.

She slept through it all like a...like a...well, like a baby, what else!

Then they began serving the snacks. That's when my inexperience showed. "Tea, Madam?" Tired as I was, I couldn't resist the cuppa that was extended towards me. "Yes, please," I replied and carefully took it my free hand.

Well, I don't know if I got down to that. Taking it in my free hand, I mean. For all I remember is the cup of hot tea hovering in the air, with the saucer hovering below it. As if in slow motion, the two tilt and begin to tip and come down, perilously, pouring the tea onto me and the wriggling baby in my arms.

Had she been waiting for the right moment to kick? Had she had that gleam in her eyes, keeping them half shut so I'd think she was asleep? Whatever. Her aim was good and her tiny foot had soundly kicked that cup and saucer into the air.

Of course, there was a huge fuss. The baby's screams had heads turning, some annoyed at having their naps so rudely disturbed. The hostess ran for the BurnAll (they were caring still, back then) while I brushed the hot liquid off my now screaming baby. The hostess came back with two others and they grabbed Mini and rushed her to the loo. I followed. We poured cold water over the now angry, red patches on her stomach and then applied the Burnall. She quietened down only when I put her to feed, still making angry, protesting noises as she fed!

Fortunately, Mini does not have any scald marks. Baby skin and all. I have one still, very faded, very light, on my thigh, which I can see only because I know it's there.

Pyar ka daag...the mark of love.

Thanks, Mini.

;-(

And Bozo slept through it al...

Snippets

Now here's another "occasional" one... only the second this year, tch, tch ..... and this time it's Mini's birthday.

I've been racking my brain for ideas, but a certain lethargy seems to have come over me these past few months. I know I don't have to write anything at all, but I couldn't bring myself to just let the day go by without a mention of it here. So here I am...

And why would I talk about just Mini when this is a Bozo blog? Because, for me, they are inseparable. That's all I'll say to that question, for those who know the Deb family know what I mean.

I so wish I had more snaps of my daughter as a little girl! But, well, no point crying over spilt milk, is there? I do have scores of her as a girl and a young woman, though, and some videos as well. So, you see, I do seem to love her, after all! ;-)

I do also have lots of mental snaps, little snippets, so thought I'd "develop" them today and "print" them here for you.

Obviously, the first memory is of that night in the hospital in Madras. It was K. J. Hospital, on Poonamalee High Road. Very posh, not something we could really afford at that time, but the doctors knew us and had been taking care of my pregnancy, even though they were still building their maternity wing then and were not really ready to take on delivery cases. So ours was to be the first baby ever to be born in that hospital.

I went in just after midnight. It was one looooong labour, as this kid didn't want to come out. She had actually grabbed the cord and wound it firmly round her neck several times, so by the time Doc Vis (Jagannatha Vishveswaran, the 'J' of K J Hospital) pried her out, she was black and blue - - and - - very silent.

A few sharp slaps on her back-side, and she was protesting VERY loudly, I tell you!

But those were the first really bad moments of my (then) 24 years. I was so afraid I'd lost her. And then when I heard her, I was sobbing with relief and happiness. It's a girl, said Doc Vis.

Of course, my first question was the same as every mother's in the labour room: Is she alright?

And then, they put this tiny, squirming bundle into my arms. And it went still at once, snuggling after a moment, searching, ....

Of course, we hadn't known it was to be a girl. And of course it was what we had both secretly hoped for.

And here's my snap-shot of my first glimpse of my daughter's face (only another mother of a daughter can know what that word really means to me!):

She had a head of very black hair. She was wheatish-complexioned, still a bit bluish in patches from her earlier trauma. Her nose seemed tiny compared to her cheeks, which were round and plump and rosy - flushed! Her lips were a bright pink and perfectly shaped, a rose-bud! I looked deep into her eyes. They were large and very dark. To me, beautiful, even though rather sunken, as a new-born's tend to be!

Of course, she had lost no time nosing around and instinctively finding her source of nourishment, and sounds of her feeding filled the room. There are no words to express a woman's emotions when her baby suckles at her breast, so I shan't try....

Coming back to her eyes. She gazed up at me as she fed and suddenly, it struck me - Hey! A baby's eyes are supposed to stay shut for the first few hours. Bozo's had, all the books said so.....And here was this one, hardly 15 minutes old, and I had not seen her close her eyes! I thought then, she was special.

When she was through, satiated, she closed her eyes and fell asleep. I had to burp her, though, so put her to my shoulder. She woke up and - LIFTED HER HEAD TO LOOK AROUND THE ROOM!

Now Bozo had not neen able to lift his head on his own for a couple of weeks. And here she was, about 30 minutes old, .....I KNEW now she was special!

Well, it's late and I'm somehow inclined to sleep tonight with this first image of my own little girl in my mind. I know I'll sleep blissfully.

But I will be back with more snapshots from DE LIVES OF DE DEBS.

In the meantime, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Mini. WE love you to bits.

On the wings of poesy....

What with having been disabled for so long after my accident and still in pain after a full day's work, the pain of Aditya's anniversary seems more acute than it should be. It's been a depressing few months and heaven alone knows how long it's going to be before I walk normally again. I've tried to stay positive, but it's taking too long and my patience is wearing thin.

It sounds selfish, but I've missed him a lot more these past few months than I had begun to these past few years. I find I think of him more when I am sick and / or in pain. I took heart when Ma told me that she felt terrible when she missed my brother more when she was sick! I was able to see then and tell her that was perfectly natural and okay...

It's been fourteen years. Images of him at age 14 keep popping into my head. I can't figure out why this is happening. Yet, somewhat depravedly, some would think, I am thoroughly enjoying reliving those days in Kankroli. He had joined us there in 1985, after leaving Narendrapur (which I always think of as Narakpur, or Death's Place, for reasons I might disclose some day). He had been miserable there, mostly, I suspect, because he missed Mini so much! But there were other very valid reasons too and he was so thrilled to be back home. He bloomed into this talented, confident young lad. I could go on for ever about him and I daresay my reverie would at times seem exaggerated and I would see him in a better light than he actually deserved.

No, he was no saint either, but rarely does a mother really dwell on the darker side of her child. Do they even have one in her eyes?!! But he was my sun and Mini was my moon. They are the joy of my life, the light of my light.

Not being in much of a mood to write a lot today, no, hang on! having started, I find I actually am in the mood! But methinks me shall stick to the original plan for today. I hadn't really felt like coming here to write anything this time, but thought it somehow diminished Mini's initiative in starting this blog. I know she wouldn't have minded at all and would have understood. Still, I wanted to honour her effort. So I thought I'd just pop in and put up a few of the poems I wrote after Aditya left us. These are not exactly works of art, but they do reflect some of my feelings at different stages, and I thought it a good way to share my feelings with any of you that might be interested.

THE VIEW

We have walked down this road before,
Yet I know not what lies in store;
Our feet were swift, our eyes were blind,
Unheedful of what we’d left behind.
The only views are within my head,
The things I fear and the things I dread;
This view of fear and this view of pain
Sits like amber within my brain -
My dreams won’t let me be,
My ears can’t hear,
My eyes can’t see.

There are views outside my head, I know,
I can no longer see them though -
Yes, I know you walk, you walk by me,
What you look like I can’t see!
The wind is cold, the path is steep,
My body aches but I cannot sleep;
I move forward to empty skies,
Searching for the view to open my eyes:
A room with a view, they call it -
I call it an empty one!

We’re both together - and it’s true -
But I must walk on until I see the View.

[Written by Aditya, March, 1994, about 2 months before he died...]

MY CACTUS FLOWER

(30th November, 1994)

You are as rare as a cactus flower!
You are as fair as a cactus flower!
Who looked on you was enamoured of you,
Who knew you - knew but One of you;
In the bloom of your youth you fill my world
With such happiness and peace, I feel I’m blessed
In a way no mother has been before -
My Aditya, my son, you’re twenty one today!

Well do I remember bringing you home,
A bundle of joy in your father’s arm -
We strutted proudly as we walked along,
Our lips smiling, our hearts full of song;
The fruit of our love, the love of our lives,
We vowed to protect you - we thought us so wise!-
We dreamed of your youth, and here is this day -
My Aditya, my son, you’re twenty one today.

From baby to child, from child to boy,
I watched you grow with increasing joy;
I watched over you, I nurtured you -
So many things I taught you to do;
You learned to read, you learned to write,
People said you were so bright -
And brilliant you are, As bright as the sun -
My Aditya, my sun, you’re twenty one today.

I remember the day you came running to me,
Your first prize at six - held aloft for me to see;
A little book you showed me with such glowing pride-
“Second in his class,” it said inside.
I hugged you and returned it, and said, “Well done!
I’m proud of you, my darling, my precious son!”
“But Ma,” you said in your sweet child’s voice,
“I got it for you, it’s for you - it’s yours!”

That one little book is still cherished and dear,
As are all the prizes you brought me each year;
Be it singing or painting or a story to tell,
Whatever you do you do so well;
You composed music and on the wings of poesy
You soar to such heights, - it makes me dizzy!
What brought you into my life?
My Aditya, my son, you’re twenty one today.

Mini would say, ”Ma, your tense is all wrong,
For Dada is now ‘most six months gone;”
Cruel, but practical, for ‘tis true;
In your twenty first year we mourn for you.
Yet you are here, I know you are -
How can anyone so dear go away so far?
Your creations are here, your dreams, your songs,
So are you here - you’re not gone for long.

My Aditya, my love, you’re twenty one today;
In the bloom of your youth, like a sunflower you sway;
Does the sun ever fade? Does the moon ever wane?
Do the stars ever loose their lustrous shine?
Even so are you here in the sands of time;
The birds and the flowers tell me you’re still mine;
In the rush of the wind, in the splash of the waves,
I can hear you talking, comforting always.

Alas, poor heart! You delude yourself!
He’s gone, you’ve lost him - accept it well;
But what else can you do, a mother forlorn -
Alive in this world while your baby is gone?
Blessed is she who never Motherhood knows,
Cursed is she whose grown son goes:
Yes, cursed I am, or why else this pain,
That grows each day in a cancerous chain?

You were as rare, as fair as a cactus flower,
And you did grow fairer by the hour;
I watched over you, I nurtured you,
How precious you were, I hope you knew;
The beautiful flower that we all did love
Was also loved by the gods above;
We needed it here, but They wanted it there
And they took you from me - you’re in their care.

We walked together, yes, that’s true -
But you rushed ahead - did you find the view?

WILL I BE WHOLE AGAIN?

Well nigh three years have passed us by
It’s difficult still to say
If it happened such long ages back
Or only yesterday;
The days go by, the nights stay on
I scream into the dark ­­­­­-
When will I be whole again?
Till in death I do depart?

I care not what I look like now,
My mirror I still do shun;
The reminder shrieks at every step -
You have outlived your son!
What right have I to be alive?
Yet must I remain;
But will I never be whole again?
Will it never end, this pain?

I try my best, - God knows I try, -
To get on with my life;
I succeed a little bit by bit,
But most of the time I lie.
I fool the world, even fool myself -
Unannounced the tears do come:
When will I be whole again?
When will my grief be done?

Dear God, if I must keep going on
In life’s now meaningless toil,
Give unto me some glimmer of hope,
Not this shining foil -
This camouflage of a smiling face,
These easy ways, this strife;
Make me whole, My Lord, I beg,
Give me back my life.

My son, my sun, my Aditya,
Brighter than a thousand stars,
My wretched heart won’t let me see
You’ve gone away so far;
I look around, I miss something -
I know ‘tis there somewhere;
I will be whole once more, I will,
Once I know it’s there.

But when! - When will I be whole again?
I ask of Thee once more:
Will this broken heart mend itself?
Will my family again be four?
If four we’ll never be again,
How can I be whole?

Only death will make me whole again -
Till then this life I hold.
This life that Thou hast given me
Must I hold as dear as that
Which Thou hadst given unto my care
Till Thou hadst need of it;

Thus shall I live on on earth,
As true to Thy name as I can;
Yet the longing still does linger on,-
Make me whole, My Lord, if you can!
(17.02.97)

LONGING

These empty arms
These aching eyes
Pierce the dawn
As it bursts through the skies,
Longing. ……

The years stretch out
Into the millennium
No succour in sight
But to be with you,
Longing. ……

The darkness lingers
The puzzle unresolved
The puzzle of your life
The puzzle of your death -
Longing. ……

The dawn is here
Where is the light,
Though my lamp I tend
Burning so bright,
Longing. ……?

Aditya, you are
Brilliant as the sun
Why don’t I see you
As the new day dawns
Longing. ……..?

My hope is my death:
Nay I fear it not;
This life’s a farce
And I know it not.
Longing. ……..

(22nd March, 2004)

Feeling a bit low

My baby hasn't been well for the last four days. She caught a chill, probably on a two-day trip we took outside of Mumbai recently with the family - in any case, it's suddenly turned cold and dreary here, and she hasn't shown any visible signs of improvement for the last couple of days. She coughs and coughs, her nose drips, and she hasn't smiled for what feels like the longest time.

All this has put me in a rather contemplative mood. I might even be a little depressed - and I realise as I type this that I haven't felt this way in months - since she was born, I think.

I suppose I should feel lucky that I didn't go through Post Partum Depression - I definitely was very jumpy, tired, defensive and annoyed at people's advice and comments - but there has been this underlying euphoria since then. That euphoria is definitely overwhelmed by a grey cloud today.

I think many things are bringing it on for me just now. First and foremost, is the fact that Peanut is not well. For the first time in 5 months. Everytime she has had her shots, the doctor warns us that fever is likely, but it never happened. She was absolutely fine. A related point here is that my maternity leave is coming to an end soon, and I can't imagine leaving her behind, - and it's heightened by the fact that she is so out of sorts just now.

Of course, and this is the second thing that is bugging me, is the fact that it has been implied that 'Nazar lag gayi'. Of course, this is the very smart but uneducated maid talking, but I've also heard this from other sources in more subtle ways. This thing about superstition, knocking on wood, not saying stuff like 'she hasn't been ill before', nazar lagna - all this is very annoying. Is it my fault for not putting some lousy kala tika on her beautiful face that she has fallen ill? Am I inviting trouble again by calling her beautiful? What is all this nonsense that we believe in? Which century is this, again? Oh, and gee, thanks for making me feel guilty in addition to feeling sad about my sick baby.

But the third thing, I suppose, is this post I read today, which is really just so sad. I know I've been thinking too much about my baby's safety and am actually what my own mother calls 'totally paranoid'. But the thing is - if it's not some students shooting another classmate in Gurgaon, or a recent road accident in which someone just lost his fiancee when a truck rammed into them on Lodhi road, or countless other incidents, then it's something just as random and senseless as this - a little toddler running around, falling and hitting his head, never to get up again.

Now, the thing is - I know most people would say that I'm just looking at the negative side of things. How you can never be prepared for everything. How you need to let go. How you need to live in the moment, and live without fear ( Jo dar gaya, woh mar gaya?). Or how it's all fate. Or God's will. Or a part of life. Or repayment for past sins. Or...I don't know, it's quite endless, isn't it?

The point of my writing this today is very simple:

How does someone make their peace with something like this?

And another related point - how does one live without paranoia of this sort, regarding something bad happening to your child?

I read a quote somewhere about how motherhood is 'when you decide to let your heart walk outside of your body'. This is the only quote I've found to be even remotely adequate as a description of what it feels like to be a mother. Most other words fail, especially when I try to articulate this feeling. So I usually resort to being flippant, lighthearted and write about the funny stuff.

But not today.

So, my dear Mashi. I was thinking that while we use this blog to remember and celebrate Bozo Dada's life - maybe you could also provide some perspective to younger mothers about these questions. How do you move on? How do you make your peace with something like this? And how do you live without being fearful and paranoid about your other child (yes I know Mini isn't a child anymore, but she's your child always, right?). That'll be another useful thing to know - how motherhood evolves as your baby grows into a toddler, and then a school going child, and then a sulky college-goer, and finally, an adult. When exactly do you stop worrying? Does it stop at all? How does this thing work? But I am getting ahead of myself and asking too many questions - it's just that they're all related in some way, aren't they?

Please write about this at your own pace. And of course, only if you want to. And by the way, I've been feeling since we started this blog that I never really knew Bozo Dada at all. I would really love to know more about him, his early days, what you remember of him as a baby - everything. As you find the time to write about him. All I know is that he was such a wonderful person - who I missed out on. It would be really great to know him through your memories and thoughts.

Happy New Year. Love you.