Of Cacti - dead and alive

Twenty years ago, we planted a small cactus on the little plot of land where my brother's ashes had  just been buried, in Harare, Zimbabwe. The last time I saw it was about 18 years ago, on my 21st birthday and it looked beautiful and vibrant.

I must have told Russ this at some stage, and a couple of years ago my usually-ever-so-forgetful husband surprised me with a lovely little cactus, on Bozo's birthday. It had pretty, dark pink flowers when he bought it, but that was the one and only time it flowered. Looking back through our photos, I can't seem to find any pictures of the cactus - there is one of it in the background in this picture but that's about it. (Cool picture of me though, eh?!!)

There's the little cactus next to my right hand

Anyway, other than not flowering, it seemed happy enough, shooting up pretty steadily, if in a slightly bent, spindly way. Then Russell tried to fix it, because, you know, that's what he does. And to be fair, he is generally very good at fixing things. He stuck two skewers on either side of it and tied them to the cactus with a rubber bank in an effort to "straighten" it. (I should have taken a photo.) Two weeks later, the lower, plump half of the cactus had shrivelled up and the skinny top half had actually detached from the bottom. (I really should have taken a photo then!) The poor little cactus was dead. To paraphrase Monty Python: "It ceased to be. It was bereft of life. It shuffled off this mortal coil. It is now an ex-cactus." ;-)

He tried to blame it on the pot - the same pot it had been thriving in for 2 years - but I was having none of that. My husband is a cactus killer. (Okay, so it's not like I have a particularly green thumb, and he is the one who primarily tends to our motley collection of plants, but still...)

So last week I reminded him that he had killed the cactus and that the 5th of June was approaching and we needed to go get a new one. Understandably confused, since by now the Bozo-cactus connection had slipped his mind, he asked if the two were linked. Assuring him they were indeed linked, and having made him feel sufficiently guilty about the whole thing (no, not really), and having reminded him several times over the course of last week, gently and not so gently (yes, really), that this would be the 20th anniversary of Bozo's death, I was promised he would return home early to take me to buy a new cactus. Knowing how busy he is at work, and just how hopelessly absent-minded he can be at times, I told him to let me know if he couldn't make it back in time, and was half-expecting to go cactus shopping by myself this evening, which would have been fine, incidentally; it's just that I was hoping for his company and his help in selecting the right plant.

But at 4.15pm - 45 minutes after he was supposed to leave work and yet 45 minutes before I was planning on leaving for the shops, so really, perfect timing - he messaged to say he was on his way. So we go to the nearest Garden Centre only to find a rather sad selection of cacti. There were really only three, none of which appealed to us, so I gave up and was ready to leave, but Mr. Wonderfully Persistent found a whole shelf of delightful little cacti in a different section of the store.

30 minutes later, we had two cacti, because we couldn't settle on one, two beautiful pots for them to go in, and voila! Now I just need to make sure my darling husband does not try to 'fix' them.

Mammillaria Marksiana and an Autumn Cactus

AKA Bozo Cactus and Mini Cactus

Tributes

Last night I updated my Profile Pic and Cover Photo on Facebook. This seems to be something of a tradition I have formed for myself - of using photos to reflect dates that are significant to me, and the reason behind their significance, whether happy or sad. A typically lazy way of expressing myself :-)

It also seems I have become less hesitant of sharing my sadder moments on as wide a forum as FB - such is life in the age of social media.  I do, however, wonder when posting pics or status updates about Dada whether I will be making some people uncomfortable, especially because so many of his friends are now on my Facebook. Does being my FB friend mean they should be subjected to what may be unwelcome reminders of someone they used to know so long ago? For that matter, do my friends, who never knew him - or even of him for a long time - really want to know when the anniversary of his death is each year... do they wonder if I want them to say something to me; is this my way of seeking their attention? I do hope they know me well enough to know that if I need anything from any of them, I will approach them directly. I expect nothing from posting on Facebook... it is just the simplest way for me to remember him and find pictures and reminders of him that I may not have seen in a while. And while every comment or "like" or message I get as a result is touching and special, and shows me that at least some people do like seeing his photos and don't mind being reminded of him, it really does not mean that the converse is true. No one should feel obliged to do anything they don't want to on social media platforms, so I do hope I don't make anyone uncomfortable.

Hmmm so I may be over-analysing the whole thing. Oh well :-) Funnily enough, while this blog is "public", the audience for this is far less than on my Facebook account, so it almost feels like I can express my feelings more "privately" here, not just because of the number of people visiting this site; but also because people who come here are usually actively choosing to do so; and even then they can choose whether to read these posts or not, and it is easier to avoid the blog altogether if they so wish.

So the blog continues to be a special place even though it's not that active at the moment, and this year I have chosen to collate the lovely comments and stories about Aditya that people have so sweetly shared on various posts over the years:

My lovely Purobi Kaki said: 

It was wonderful to read about Bozo. I remember him so well during our Dunlop days. Such a lively child, full of exuberance and wit.We miss him too. 

My lovable Piya (she was so little when Bozo passed away) wrote:

I have never spoken to you about Bozoda since so many years, maybe because sometimes reasons fail you and anything you would say wouldn't add meaning to the already messed up meanings we all have to deal with. And maybe also because I don't have very thought through memories of him. Just passing incidents (the typical Dunlop-y ones with crazy kids around) in glimpses and heaps of stories of the Dunlop days heard from ma and baba!!!

But the last time I saw him, when he came to Calcutta, at our place....he was narrating hilarious tales of a trip they had, travelling on tops of buses...if I remember correctly, he was in Rajasthan then.

I have got hazy memories of him. But the pictures and the narratives from baba quite establish the facts that you two were the cutest kids around..

From my Mishty Mou, who is one of my dearest friends:

The last memory I have of seeing Bozo was in Calcutta somewhere in 1992 i think.... Suddenly the memory flashes right in front of my eyes. I remember during our Dunlop days Bozo n you would escort me home after every "ganer class" (singing lessons) with Ashit da.... we used to play a silly game about rescuing the princesses... remember? It was so exciting. Gives me a warm fuzzy feeling now that I think of it. Miss you dearly Mini and love you lots.

Deepak Joshi, my brother's classmate and friend in High School (KV Karanja):

Aditya was my classmate and there were 5 of us in the class. Paramjit is a doctor now and I am in touch with her and then Nandu Pattar and Prashant not traceable till now.

We all miss Aditya a lot. He would have been very happy had he been here today. I had had some fond memories with him; we use to play table tennis in the classroom and post Paramjit outside to watch for a teacher.

Although even I was very shy in beginning but Aditya was a lovely person and we did go out a movie with him, that was after our board exams. Though my younger brother Satish and Jeetendra Dahiya were frequent visitors to Aditya's home and so their acquaintance with Aditya was a shade better then mine.

Aditya was a very good natured guy he must be studying till wee hours and used to sleep in class as we were few guys; it was nice. In lunch break we would sit and enjoy. Nandu was closer to Aditya though because he knew him from some time.

However how much little experience I had with Aditya is not forgotten. I still talk abut him with Paramjit, my classmate.

He  was probably out of this world; a lovely character who was very intelligent and very humble. I wish he would have been around and I am sure he would help anybody for he had a good heart and pure soul. My interaction with him in KV Karanja was good and I still rate him probably as one of my best friends ever. Last when I joined shipping I met him in Karanja and he was very excited for me and then I never heard anything until his bad news 

I still love the person he was and feel that all those who care for him should make some efforts to remember him.

Dulali (Upala Sen) from our Dunlop days:

I am not sure Mini if you guys will remember me. But I remember you and Bozo from one summer possibly in the late eighties. I can’t recall now who you guys were visiting and why your parents were not there. We were then living in what was known as the 'Highrise'. And the two of you came over once or twice to borrow Baba's sci fis. And the third time I opened the door for you and silently led you to the bookshelf in the corridor, both of you put the books back exactly where you had taken them out from (I can vouch for it because that was something I never did, and I remember thinking, 'I hope Ma doesn’t get to hear of this.’)

Then one night there was a dinner at our place. We were playing hide and seek with Rini-Jhini. Bozo was not playing. He was sitting in one of those uncomfortable white cane chairs we had, holding my two-year-old sister Hia. (She told me later that the dada had asked her “Bhoi korche? Are you feeling scared?”) Possessive elder sister that I was/am I mentally appreciated his two words to my baby sis. When it was my turn to be ‘den’ I found a figure in the closet. But before I 'won' I had to identify the person. I remember Bozo prompting, 'R-I...' And I whooped RINIII. Suddenly Rini was upon Bozo, “That’s cheating,” she accused, hands on hips.

Another time, same trip, there was a drawing competition. I did a purple-blue monstrosity, a done-to-death river scene with boats et al. Bozo did a night scene. I remember he had painted everything black, save the paper-white moon. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I got the first prize --- a box of crayons. Shy as I was I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that his drawing was faaaaar better. But I remember he had the calm assurance of someone who was effortlessly good, knew it. And perhaps because it came to him so naturally there was no trace of arrogance. That was one box of crayons I never treasured. It just never felt right. 

The year I heard about Bozo I had just given my ISC and was about to join college. I gave my ISC in 94 so that makes it 14 years. 

When I was not living in the Compound, when you guys were in the Estate I had heard of you a lot. Joy-Jeet, Apu-Reshmi, Mini-Bozo… I was yet to get my brattier half, so I gobbled down the tales about these various units very greedily. 

I didn’t know your brother or you well at all. And I can’t even touch your grief. But your loss did touch my thoughts then and it remains in my thoughts now. If that makes any sense… 

Glad I came across this blog. 

Rituparna (Reena) Venkatesh from our Dunlop days:

I remember Bozo and Mini very well. I used to live in Dunlop Sahaganj. Lalita Aunty taught me History in Auxilium Convent for a year. I came across Bozo's blog when I was searching about Dunlop Sahaganj on Google. My dad Sutanu Saha was working in Dunlop Sahaganj. My mom was Gopa. I hope Lalita Aunty would remember me. 
I am sorry to know about Bozo.  I used to come to your house sometimes, my mother sent me to give something to Lalita Aunty. It was the years 1981-82, I was in grade 6-7 then, probably 4 years elder to Bozo. I have a younger brother, Rana, who is 5 years younger to me. He went to school at the English medium school too. He played with Bozo, called him Bozo-da. You guys were there for few years and then moved away again. I remember your mom exactly the way she looks in the black & white photos you posted, with dimples on her cheeks when she smiled. I still tell my kids about her sometimes and how she taught the song, "One man went to mow, went to mow the meadow" to her students at Auxilium Convent, the school beside Bandel church. Your mom used to get the door in her Kaftan when I rang the bell. I have very short but vivid memories of you all.

Pushkar Nath Sen, Aditya's friend from BITS:

I remember Aditya very well. I was senior to him in BITS. We were in the same wing and I have a few cherished memories of Aditya. How I discovered this blog is another story. I am active on facebook, got linked to Murali and recalled about Aditya. Googled his name and the rest is history. It is really commendable that you are doing this and I hope to add to this over the coming days. He will never be forgotten. Aditya was a gem of a person and whoever knew him, loved and respected him. His loss was felt by one and all and we grieved in our own private ways. May his soul rest in peace.
he had a unique way of walking. In BITS, we used to wear rubber slippers and whenever he walked past my room, even though my door was closed, I knew it was him from his shuffle. We had a joke about this - if memory serves me right, his sun sign was Taurus (like mine) and we agreed that a Taurean characteristic was that they are a bit stubborn and stubborn people drag their feet when they walk.
I also recall borrowing his cycle on many an occasion to go to connaught for a quick bite and he was ever obliging.PS: I have a 3 yr old son and we have named him Jaiaditya. Coincidence !?!

Sivakumar, Aditya's batchmate at BITS:

I went to BITS with Aditya in the same batch. His loss still hurts us all who knew him on campus.

Praveen Hariharan, Aditya's batchmate at BITS:

Mini, its very strange that I thought of searching the web for my dear friend Aditya Deb today..don't really know why I remembered him today after almost 18 years...but certainly this is not the first time that I remember him. He was in the room right next to me in BITS in our first year and was a very dear friend of mine.When I heard about his news many years back, I was quite shocked but did not even have the basic infrastructure in hand to find out what happened...when I read your blog on 'what happened' it still sent a chill down my spine. I have pages and pages to say about him but there is one most unforgettable incident that I would like to share....We had a computer course and I think the language was 'Pascal'. The night before we had our first test, Aditya came to my room and said- I give you one hour - teach me this thing....I had studied this thing in school for 2 years and this was probably the only subject where I had an ability to teach this brilliant guy. He had no clue about what this language was - he did not know how to write a single line of code...I explained to my best on what I could and he would grasp even faster than I explained...However I always had a doubt on whether this guy actually understood all that I had downloaded in about 1.5 years based on my 2 years in depth understanding of this computer language. Next day he wrote the test, came back and said 'thank you' - I managed to answer...Well, the real shock came when we got the results. While I had scored a fairly high 17 on 20, our man Aditya who learnt the basics from me only the previous night had scored 20 on 20 !!!. That day I realised that this guy was so gifted and naturally brilliant. I still cant digest that he is not with us..he would have been among the most successful BITSians of our batch if he was around..how I wish he was still around.

Allow Me My Grief!

I have had about SIX 'friends' tell me what a good thing it is.
"What a relief it must be," said one.
"No more travelling, at least" said another.
"You don't have to worry about them any more."
"You don't have to keep calling to see how they are."
"Oh, so they were both past 90. So, . . . " (So that's okay!!???)
"You don't have to dread that phone call any more, . . ."
Etcetera, Etcetera, Etcetera!

Don't people THINK before they speak? I'm grieving, damn you! You don't say those things to someone that's just lost a loved one! You don't give out platitudes like that! Allow me to grieve. THEY WERE MY PARENTS! I've known them ALL MY LIFE! They were always there. And now they're not there any more!

HOW can it ever be a GOOD thing? How can it EVER be a RELIEF for me? I looked forward to seeing them on each trip to India. I longed and prayed for them to be there. I wanted to feel their arms about me just ONE more time, each time I came away. I always wanted another chance to tell them how very much I loved them.

No more travelling? Yes, that was one difficult part of it. But a small part, really, as I travelled to and fro out of choice and not because there were those 'emergencies'. Undoubtedly, I was always torn between wanting to stay with my husband, make sure he was okay on the one hand and wanting to be with my old parents, taking care of them, spending some precious hours with them, on the other. But, like I said, it was a choice. I was not obliged to. And Arup always encouraged me to go, never once reminding me of the expense.

"You don't have to worry about them any more"? It's almost as if they meant "bother", not "worry"!

What's so special or unusual about worrying about someone that lives far away? It's natural, I think. I worried about my old parents, just as I worry about my young daughter in far-away Melbourne, even though she is well and happy; just as I now worry about my younger sister because my parents had been living with her. She had been doing all the looking after and must find herself at a lose end, with the house so full of memories. I worry about my older sister too, who puts up a brave front but also misses them sorely.

Worry is natural! In their old age, our roles were reversed so dramatically. They became the children. Who does not worry about their children, even if they've just gone out to play?!!

As for the phone calls home, . . .  that's something I miss SO MUCH! Planning a time when Ma would be available to talk, undisturbed: Would she be resting? Would she be in the middle of a meal? Watching one of her favourite TV serials? I miss texting her every day: even if she did not always reply, I knew she knew I was thinking of her. Her replies got fewer and farther between as she grew weaker, but that didn't matter at all. What mattered was that I was able to text her. How I miss that!

I'm still trying to get used to how my phones lie idle. I was always so particular to keep them with me at all times, every moment by my side. - NOT because I was expecting "that dreaded call" but because I didn't want to miss it if she messaged me. I wanted to be able to reply AT ONCE. So often she would just wake up in the morning and just send off a little sms. It would be any time after 3:30 a.m., my time, but of course I never let her realize that! And because my phone was always near me, on my bedside table, I'd always reply as soon as I saw her message.

Don't I miss that?

And now, my phones are often left out in the living room, . . . I am not even so particular any more, about having them charged and ready all the time.

Small things, little things, so, so many of them, . . .

So, they were over 90! Does that mean I should have been ready - and willing! - to let them go? To me, they were still Daddy and Mummy, just as they had been all my life. I loved them. I respected them. They were my treasure, my wealth. I knew I had to lose them at some point in time. I knew they were ready to go. They WANTED to go. And because I loved them, I thought I was ready, willing, to let them go.

It was only when they were gone that I realized I was NOT ready; NEVER willing. I want them back! I want to feel my mother's arms holding me close, one more time, her soft kiss on my forehead. I want to hear her voice. I want to watch her as she watches her TV serials, - so intently! I want to see her. I want her back.

So don't give me any platitudes, please.

Let me be. Let me grieve.

And now for something completely different...

Dead Parrot Sketch from Monty Python's Flying Circus, featuring John Cleese and Michael Palin.

I have no idea if Bozo ever saw this or not - he would have loved it. 

On a funnier note...

Russell monkeying around on my birthday last year

Funeral Blues

Clip from the movie, Four Weddings and a Funeral. John Hannah, playing Matthew, reads WH Auden's poem "Funeral Blues." The poem was first published by Auden in 1936 and became famous after it was featured in this film.

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.