Photos

Ma and Dada

This is one of my favourite photos, and just one of many baby pictures we have of Bozo... he was a cute kid after all. I, on the other hand, must have been a supremely ugly baby, because apart from one lone photo of Bozo and me when I was a few months old, all other pictures of me are age 3 or so upwards, which I assume is when my loving parents thought I was cute enough. Bah!

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.

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

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)