Tranquility. Follows the storm. You're not moaning. Or mourning. Anymore. Just tranquil. Numb perhaps. The worst has happened. And the devastation lies in front of you. Or within you. A battered heart, tattered self-worth and shattered faith. Destroyed beyond recognition. Oh, at least the storm is over.
Spoke too soon. Here it comes. Back again. But then, what’s left for it to take?
When the New Word Document open in front of you continues to be just as empty as your Virtual Memory…
When you know there’s tons of data in your Random Access Memory but your CPU refuses to process it for the benefit of the New Word Document…
When your Keyboard seems to be missing just the letters that the New Word Document would like to show off…
When your Mouse wants to play Tom and Jerry with you – and you, the Tom, keep losing, even though Jerry has no place to hide on the wide open New Word Document…
When your Monitor is tired of looking at your pointless blank face, and agitated at being a partner in the crime of scribbling nonsense on the stupid New Word Document…
When the Internet is mean enough to connect you to a friend who is just not friendly enough to give you some help for the biggest waste of a New Word Document…
When the New Word Document smiles wryly and says to you, “Are you done, Ms. Writer? Do you think I’m ready to join the trash on the World Wide Web? Or you’d rather make me a little trashier yet?”
Ans. I guess you should do what I did… Forgive the New Word Document, for it is not its fault that your Operating System has decided to throw a tantrum today!
I’ve discovered a magic therapy. Of late, many times (if not most of the times), I have seen and experienced it working wonderfully on myself. And I believe it has got to be effective if it can help someone with symptoms of hereditary Clinical Depression.
That reminds me. Over two years ago, when I was visiting a psychologist regularly for my certifications, she had told me quite clearly that I had a tendency to develop a mild Clinical Depression, especially since it has been being passed on, on my mother’s side, particularly amongst the women. She had advised me to keep psychiatric help accessible, especially through the most important forthcoming period of 3-4 years in my life. A lot was going to happen and even though it was all for the good, there was no guarantee of the period itself being good.
And surely, there were times when I would wish to skip life on particular days. I’d be desperate to find a way to just jump to the next day, or to somehow discover an Invisibility Cloak and simply carry on with life without having to undergo the pressure of being SEEN. How I wished that nobody would see me, nobody would look at me, that people could just see past me, like I was nothing but a molecule of air.
Today, however, I don’t see the point in thinking or talking about those days. Yes, they made me stronger, braver and all that, but today, I also wish I had tried the magic therapy in those days. But then, I didn’t know about it then. Well, actually, perhaps I did. Perhaps all of us do, because it is one of the earliest story lessons of our lives, but we forget about it. We grow up seeing most of the people around us complaining, cribbing and self-pitying; and somewhere along the way, we unknowingly learn it and make it our way of life too.
It’s simple. It’s the lesson we all learnt from the story of the poor man who didn’t have shoes, who went to the church to complain to God, and there, saw a man who was thanking God, even though he did not have legs.
About a month back, on NDTV, I happened to watch a special report on a 2 feet tall man, who was born without legs, without arms, without speech and hearing abilities. All you could see was a tiny torso and a little face. But what was most striking about that face was an absolute absence of complaint on it. The report showed the man going through all his daily activities by himself without any help whatsoever. And I found myself wondering whether it was right of me to make myself hopeless and helpless when there is such a vast landscape of hope and possibility in the world.
These days, when I am morose and basically carrying out an eternal crib-fest, I try to remember this man’s courage in the face of the cruel fate meted out to him by nature. And invariably, I find myself feeling guilty for not thinking above just my own self.
It is not always possible to think of another, when you’re busy thinking of the ‘unfairness’ of life you’re dealing with. It is only possible when there is that little spark existent somewhere deep inside you – the spark of a genuine desire to rid yourself off pain, the desire to be happy. I have a feeling that I just might be igniting that tiny spark inside me these days, that I might be succeeding in letting it prevail…
This spark which is gradually making me believe that despite all the flaws that I might be made up of, I’m likeable… because I like myself, I love myself, I want myself to be happy, and not on the parameters of the world, but on the scales of happiness that I have to define for my own self.
I wake up early and confirm to myself the plans for the day, plans – that I have been making since yesterday – will go shopping today, will meet Massi today, will watch a new movie today! Finally, a day when I’m not going to work and not even stay at home!
A nice long soothing wonderful shower starts the day. I wash my hair at length and pamper them with the lovely mint-flavoured conditioner I have recently discovered at my aunt’s!
With luxurious applications of a world of body lotions – varying from Peach to Plum to even Tea-flavoured – I let myself smell like an orchard, and revel in the concoction of fragrances that I have become.
Mmm… It’s just 10 am… A little too early to step out. Besides, my hair is wet. I’ll let it dry and catch a little nap right under the fan, wake up in an hour and by then, it would be the perfect time to start with the PLANS!
I spread the wet minted-hair on the bed, cover myself with the blanket and shut my eyes, loving the bundle of fragrances the blanket has become, thanks to me!
I half wake up, take my hand out of the blanket, touch my hair and realize that it is still moist. It can’t have been long since I slept. The hand comes back into the blanket and I go back into my fragrant sleep.
I half wake up, and begin to take my hand out of the blanket to touch my hair again, but vaguely realize that it seems to be going towards my tummy instead. “Grumble”, says the stomach, and I wake up with a start. The aromas seem distant and dying.
I push the blanket away to look at the clock. 3.30, it says! I’ve been sleeping for 5 hours! My hair is all dry and crumpled. Thankfully, it does still smell of mint. I don’t smell of fruits and orchards though. I just smell of sleep. My face is inflated and distorted. My plans are deflated and distorted.
I’m hungry – extremely hungry!! I haven’t eaten a thing since dinner last night, and there’s nothing cooked at home right now. I pick up one of the only two options available, and finish the half-eaten packet of Haldiram’s Kaju mixture. Clean!
“Grumble”, my stomach still says. Hence, I pick up the second option – the pack of Hide-and-Seek biscuits – and finish it clean too, while watching crap after crap on TV.
5 pm – Should I go out now? Should I not? I can’t meet Massi or go for a film alone now – it would get too late to come back alone. I can still go shopping though. And I can get myself some nice inexpensive dinner packed while coming back. Should I? Should I not?...... Doorbell!
Of all the options of days available in the week, the maid has chosen this particular day to perform her weekly duties towards this house. And so, for the next hour or so, as she cleans every nook and corner with utmost dedication, I carry on watching crap after crap on TV, including a film which has a younger-looking Akshaye Khanna with some hair still intact on his head repeating every 10 minutes of the film, “Agar mere dil mein eeshvar hai, agar mere dil mein sachchai hai, to woh mere paas zaroor aayegi”. I watch and hear him say that every time until the end when… surprise surprise! Ms. Aishwarya Rai does goes back running to him after all!
As I say Bye to the maid at the door, I can see that the world outside the door is getting dark already. I can’t go shopping.
Now? I can go take a walk in the Botanical Garden in the vicinity. While coming back, I can go to the market and pick up a packet of Maggi noodles.
I step out and head towards the garden. I can’t believe how totally dark it has become in the 5 minutes I took to struggle with my messy hair before coming out. I’m not accustomed to this area, and the absolute absence of human beings on the long stretch of the dimly lit road makes me unnerved. It doesn’t help that within 2 minutes, three different automobiles with three different sets of men in them pass by me and slow down right next to me to take a good look.
I turn back and head towards the house. On my way, I call up Domino’s and ask them for their cheapest pizza option available. I keep sitting on a slab outside the house waiting for the promised Pizza and counting the minutes, since it is Domino’s.
30 minutes have elapsed, and I don’t know whether to feel happy or sad that the Delivery boy is still not here. It means I am getting the pizza free. I do wish I had placed a big order and included Garlic Breadsticks and the Cheesy Dip and all the other yummy side-dishes. But I am not sure whether I should ask for the pizza free. I have been told that the delivery boys, when they’re late, start begging you to pay them, else the money would be deducted from their salary. If he does that, there’s no way I can’t not pay him. So, I call up the Domino’s number again to tell them directly that their delivery is late. I am told that there is no guarantee of 30 minutes in my area! It makes no difference to me… I say, “Oh, okay… May be you should have told me that at the time of taking the order.”
The delivery comes 40 minutes after this. I make the payment, take the Cheese & Tomato Regular Pizza, go inside the house, turn on the TV, realize that both the Oregano Seasoning packets are torn and empty and eat the bland cold Pizza while watching some more crap on TV.
The pizza over, I take my pills, change the channel, watch the entire length of one of the really cheap and funny multi-starrer Hindi films released of late and find myself laughing…
The cellphone hasn’t buzzed much all day. Not many people in the world needed me today, except yes, two friends - one of them calling to let me talk, and the other calling to talk. I talked in one call and listened in the other, although I don't think I remember much of either.
Now, the cellphone buzzes. An SMS. I reply, turn off the lights and turn myself into the blanket. A distant ghost of the ‘orchard’ engulfs me and I shut my mind before I shut my eyes. Thinking is not allowed… Sleep, Sleep, Sleep, Don’t think, Just Sleep… Don’t think… Just sleep, sleep… Just…
Days, Weeks, Months, Years… It’s so easy to get entangled in units of time. So easy to forget the fluidity of Life.
When too much is happening, it’s so easy to forget companions of the times when nothing much was happening.
And when one comes across those companions again, it’s so easy to decide to break the ice, another time.
So much Life has passed in the middle… It’s so easy to avoid the decision of what to tell, how to tell, how much to tell.
It’s so easy to make it a pattern… To avoid. To ignore. To turn away. To forget.
What is difficult is to say to them, “I missed you. Yes, I could manage… and manage well, perhaps. But I missed you, and I realize it more today when I’m meeting you after so long”
What is difficult is to acknowledge that you’re actually saying this to a beautiful part of YOU, that you have left with this companion – a part without which you would always be incomplete.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I missed you… and I realize it more today when I’m meeting you after so long.
I haven’t met Amu, my Bua’s son, for almost a decade now. We did exchange emails and talked over the phone, once in a while, until last year.
And then, when I announced THE decision to everybody, he stopped corresponding. His wife would write to me sometimes and tell me that Amu has been keeping very busy, but that he supports my decision. She wrote twice, he never wrote… For months. Even after the biggest day, when almost everyone in the family called me or wrote to me, Amu didn’t.
And I knew what was going on. Vira and he had always been mirror images of each other. Actually, I think it’s a thing about Men in general. It’s hard for them to see the inside before the outside. I’m not saying it’s impossible. I’m saying they need time… and well, honestly, I’m in no hurry.
But Amu surprised me four months back. He stopped being Vira’s mirror image! He wrote to me – an email as beautiful as there can be – and not only did he apologize for being late in writing to me (he said he wanted to do justice to his thoughts and never had time enough to do that), but in fact, asked me to send him a Rakhi by all means… His closing line made my day – ‘Love you little sis’!
So, 10 days ago, when my favouritest aunt was saying to me, “That’s very expensive, Monu! It makes no sense to spend so much! Besides, in the US, they hardly know the dates of festivals and all. The day it reaches him, he will tie it… I think it is foolish to spend such a big amount on this!” because the courier guy was charging 1150 rupees for it, I decided not to argue with her. I lied to her that I would send the envelope by normal post the next day. I decided not to tell her that even if it had been 11500 rupees or more, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I had got late in sending it for various reasons, but they didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered, except for the fact that I had to ensure Amu got the Rakhi before Aug 16!
The only option was to wait for 2 more days and send the courier when I had my own money, although that meant that the delivery would happen either just on the 16th, or a day later. I was feeling inexplicably horrible!
The next morning, when I was leaving for work, my favouritest aunt placed 1500 rupees in my palm. “If you’re convinced with what I said, then you won’t use it, but if you’re not, which I know you’re not, then you’ll definitely send the courier later. So, it’s better that you send it today, and at least achieve the purpose… I would still say it’s a humungous waste of money, but the choice is yours”.
I smiled at her. She knew what I was going to do. I hugged her. She hugged me back.
Aug 16. I kept checking my Inbox through the day, hoping to see an email from Amu, hoping to read that he did get it in time after all. I was doubtful about him writing because it was a Saturday. He never checks or writes mails on weekends. The entire day went by. As I feared, there was no mail from him…
As I was going to bed, a little before midnight, I checked mail one last time… and there it was! His three-liner email, written from his blackberry, saying that he had received my Rakhi on the 15th.
~~~~~~~~~~
Whatever the relationship, it is the little things that matter. To me, if Amu had not got the Rakhi by the 16th, it would have lost its worth. Yes, love and relationships are not about ONE day, but then, if there IS one day to celebrate it specifically, then either you don’t value the day at all, or you live by it thoroughly. It can’t be about convenience then; it HAS to be about the day.
So, all said and done, this Rakhi, for me, was about buying Rakhis! The next one would hopefully be about tying Rakhis too! :-)
“That you’re my sister would take some time for my cognition” – that was Vovu, my Mama’s son, in an email almost 9 months ago. Yes, it’s quite open-ended. ‘Some time’ could be a month, a year, several years… or a lifetime.
Ever since childhood, I was the closest to Vovu amongst all my cousins. I’d still be, but somewhere along the way, and I don’t know where and why, he just distanced himself from almost every human being around him. You can’t talk to him anymore. There’s always this uncomfortable air between him and… everybody. Everytime I try to prick this balloon of discomfort, I’m forced to realize that the balloon and Vovu are not two separate entities. Yet, I do keep trying to separate them…
Three days before Rakhi, I was going to stay at Vovu’s place. My mother had asked me to deliver her Rakhi to Mama. And even though I knew it didn’t make any sense because Vovu’s ‘some time’ would probably still be going on, yet I bought a Rakhi for him – perhaps the most beautiful Rakhi amongst all the Rakhis I’ve shopped for in my life until now!
No, I was not going to offer to tie it to him, but it’s always good to be prepared. What if he asked me to tie him one? What if, when I gave mother’s Rakhi to Mama, he asked me why I hadn’t got Vovu one? No, I’d rather not face that embarrassment! Yes yes, it’s best to be prepared!
I finished mother’s assignment. I finished the one I was assigned by Mama after that too – of delivering the money to mother. However, the most beautiful Rakhi amongst all the Rakhis I’ve shopped for in my life until now would stay with me for ‘some time’, at least a year. But then… I’m ready for the next year! After all, it’s best to be prepared…
Vira was the first one in the family to support my decision. And it didn’t surprise me one bit. His tough macho exterior and grumpiness aside, I knew (know) that the real guy within is highly emotional and extremely innocent. He can’t deal with complicated situations, and he had always seen my complicated life from perhaps the closest quarters, hence his immediate reaction was – Go ahead with it!
I did go ahead, after all… In fact, I’m still going ahead! The ‘going ahead’ goes on and this process of going on has created an even more complicated situation for him.
He hadn’t expected me to take a break from Bombay and come home for this period of my life. He hadn’t thought he would have to deal with my phase of ‘being in the middle’ almost on a daily basis. And just like me, he hadn’t imagined this phase would be so long (although a year and a half is not so long after all).
And so, even when I was buying a Rakhi for him last week, I had no plans of tying it. I knew he wouldn’t be comfortable, and he wouldn’t know how to say that to me, and so, he would feel like his hands were tied… I didn’t want that.
And yet, I guess he was apprehensive that I would land in his house on the D-Day and claim my right of being his sister.
So, two days before Rakhi, when our mother asked if he would come home to take our cousin’s Rakhi, he said it loud and clear to her that he didn’t want ANY Rakhis from ANYBODY this year. “These are all pointless, unnecessary things”!
So, obviously, this ANYBODY got the point that she had never lost anyway! The pretty non-bling-y Rakhi stayed back, but on Aug 16, I did make our father deliver the cousin’s Rakhi to Vira’s place. He gets it tied every year. It should not be any different this year, just because his mind can’t acknowledge as yet, what his heart had accepted in an instant.
“That’s very expensive, Monu! It makes no sense to spend so much! Besides, in the US, they hardly know the dates of festivals and all. The day it reaches him, he will tie it… I think it is foolish to spend such a big amount on this!”
I nodded. Half-heartedly. And being my favouritest aunt, besides of course, being a woman of extraordinary sensitivity, I guess she could see the half-heart reflected on my face. So, her frustration on my ‘silliness’ mingled with a sadness for not letting me do what I so wanted to, topped with 63 years of middle-class sensibilities left quite a helpless expression on her face.
“I wouldn’t be adamant. I shouldn’t be. I’ll do this on my own, the day after, when I get my salary”. It was unfair to ask her to shell out 1150 rupees because I needed to courier a Rakhi to America, even if it was just a 2-day loan from her. It was unfair to expect her to understand what it meant to me…
~~~~~~~~~~
A year ago, I had couriered another Rakhi. On behalf of my best friend. To her brother. Rem was studying in the US, and she was atrociously late in posting the Rakhi to her brother in India. So, she had called me up two days before the festival and asked me to do her the favour.
That evening, I travelled from one shop to the next and the next and the countless nexts, spending a good few minutes at each shop, but I just couldn’t settle on a Rakhi. Most of them were rather bling-y – and I have always hated too much bling in everything in life. Most others were quite sad – the singly thread-y ones did not evoke a happy festival-ish feeling. Besides they did not seem to symbolize the ‘unbreakable’ bond…
I hadn’t realized exactly how many shopkeepers I must have left cursing me, until it dawned on me that it was dusk. Bulbs glowed bright, hanging right above the Rakhis spread out on the pavements, in the stalls, in the shops. And it was then that I also realized that my feet felt sore, my legs had a feverish pain in them, and my throat was dry. I had been out shopping for one Rakhi for more than three hours. I wasn’t exactly satisfied with the one I chose finally, but it sure was the best of the lot.
Another half an hour, and the couriers would send today’s dispatch away. I was new in the Mahim area and still had to figure the location of a good courier. As I ran from pillar to post asking for DTDC, Overnite and the likes, and as I finally found one and begged the guy to give me 5 minutes to put the address on the envelope with a pretty colour and in my best handwriting, I acknowledged to myself the real reason behind my taking so long in this whole activity…
I was not doing it for Rem. I was doing it for myself – for the two decades behind me when I couldn’t, when it was not RIGHT for me to do it…
And I thought it was only right for me to write what I eventually wrote on the envelope:
Monsoon is the most beautiful of all weathers, and yet, it could be the most devastating.
I have just about stepped out of the scorching Summer, and am all set to discover the many shades in the rainbow, this Monsoon of my life.
In hope of merry winds, clear waters and limitless lush green valleys...
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