Safar

(Something I wrote for my father on his retirement. The English (literal) translation follows after the original piece in Punjabi)

Nadiyaan, pahaad te registaan

langh taa gaye ne par aane vi ne,

Saal maheene din te pal

bhull vi gaye ne par yaad vi ne

Kayi rahvaan sang tu vageya eyn

Kayi chhavaan heth vi rukeya eyn,

Ohnaa raahvaan laage lagge rukkh

tur vi gaye ne par khade vi ne

Paaley vich tu dhupp baneya

Jad challi loo, tu aa varheya,

Tere har mausam de mitthde phal

digg vi gaye ne par lagge vi ne

Tu kuli vi eyn tu neta vi

Tu rabb vi eyn te banda vi,

Tera har kirdaar te saare roop

mamooli ne par ehem vi ne

Ikk cheez layi bas duniya to

te modi kayi guna kar ke,

Tere pyaar de bhare kayi dil

chhutt vi gaye ne par naal vi ne

Turdi si teri sadak hi hun takk

Hun tere turan di vaari ey,

Kayi rang, mausam te lain-den

mukk vi gaye ne, shuru hoye vi ne

The English Translation

Rivers, mountains and deserts

have passed by but are yet to come too,

Years months days and moments

have been forgotten but are remembered too

You have flown along several roads

Have taken shelter under many shades,

All the trees along those roads

Have walked by but are standing too

In the winter’s cold, you became sunshine

When the hot ‘loo’ blew, you came and rained,

Sweet fruits of your every weather

have fallen down but are growing too

You’re coolie too, you’re leader too

You’re God also and man too,

Your every character and all the roles

are ordinary but special too

You took just one thing from the world

And gave back several times of it,

Many hearts filled with your love

have left you but are with you too

It was only your road that walked till now

It’s now your turn to walk,

Many colours, weathers and gives-and-takes

Have got over, but are beginning too

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 4

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 1

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 2

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 3

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 16^th, 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 16^th, 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! :-)

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 3

“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…

A Tale of Four Rakhis - 2

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.

Love... Actually

I am thankless when I get irritated on seeing Your SMS, just because I am waiting for someone else’s.
I am thankful that Your SMS asks, “Have you reached safely?”, and that Your life depends on the answer to that question.


I am thankless when I get angry if You ask me to switch off the computer since its light disturbs your sleep.
I am thankful for the innumerable nights You’ve spent awake just because I couldn’t sleep.


I am thankless every time I’m in awe of someone with a bigger house, a bigger car, or a bigger wardrobe.
I am thankful that when I need it the most, Your arms have the biggest hug to give me.


I am thankless when I label every little question of Yours unnecessary and extremely insignificant.
I am thankful that everyday, I come back to a home where Somebody eagerly waits to hear answers from me to little-little, unnecessary, insignificant questions.


I am thankless when I yell at You and tell You that You can’t stand up for me because You couldn’t tell someone my truth.
I am thankful that You not only faced and braved my truth, but have made it Your own truth too.


I am thankless every time I vent my entire day’s frustration on You, and hate You when You do that to me.
I am thankful that You rarely do the latter, and that You rarely miss doing the former.


I am thankless when I throw a fit and make Your life hell because I’ve had a break-up.
I am thankful that You will never ever break-up with me, that leaving me is not even the last option in Your life.


I am thankless to not remember often that even though You never say to me that You love me, there is nobody in the world who loves me as completely, as selflessly, and as unconditionally… as You.
Need I say what I am thankful for?


I am thankless to You on most days of my life.
I am thankful that I’m not, on this day.


I am thankless, I think, because I am not a Parent.
I am thankful, though, that I am and will always be Your child...

I met a Man...

He must be half my height!

Alright, exaggeration!
Correction: He must be a little more than half my height.
Age: No more than 23 years would be my guess.
A calm in his eyes turns his otherwise seemingly ordinary face into a captivating sight.
His bright orange shirt tends to make him look darker than he actually is.
And something about the whole air around him tends to make him (much) taller than he actually is.

As I sat alone at McDonald’s today, waiting for my friend R and his friend D, I thought there were a couple of pairs of eyes which kept screening me from time to time (for whatever reasons). That got confirmed when R & D entered, and I waved at R. The curious couples of pairs of eyes turned most apparently in their direction to know who the awaited was. And no sooner had they seen the 2 guys that their faces registered a most obvious expression of amusement.

I happen to be taller than R and D. They’re the kind of guys who have a boy-like quality about them as against man-like (this quality also includes as one of its facets, what they must be doing as they read this – Hating it!). And I’m the kind of girl who has a woman-like quality about her however much she might try to be girl-like. [Quick EFT: Even though I seem like a mature woman, I choose to feel like a young girl ;-)]

McDonald’s was apparently not the best of places for the kind of conversation I’d have liked to have with D. R, showing as much brightness as D’s orange shirt, pointed this out and consequently, drove us to a more peaceful and spacious place, albeit a bit far.

And so, in between crunchy bites of Aloo Tikki Chat and fishing for the Chilli Cauliflower in the pool of onion and tomato dressing, I got to catch small pieces from D’s rather unusual trip on his life journey. His story could actually be straight out of a movie, just that nobody would make that movie in India, for it would challenge every milligram of ‘our culture and sensibility’ right from ‘masses’ to ‘classes’.

The boyish D is a married man. His sweetheart of eight years is now his lawfully wedded wife. And their love seems nowhere near the fizzle-out phase. Their cell phones are their lifelines. And they, clearly, are each other’s lives.

The twist, however, is that D and his wife, even though they’re in the same city, don’t live together. Her family is not aware that she is married. His family is, but they couldn’t care less about anything to do with him anymore. He doesn’t live with them either.

Her family, when they had discovered about their relationship a few years ago, had been scandalized, and she had been barred from keeping in touch with him. They still live under a happy misconception that she has no contact with him whatsoever – he, who is actually now her husband.

6 days from now… they’re going to celebrate their first anniversary. D has been thinking the time to be ripe for the indispensable revelation to her family. I don’t notice a frown on his face as he says or thinks about it. However, I can feel deep burrows on my own forehead.

Aren’t you scared? – I ask him. There are countless instances of couples being made to go through hell for going against their family’s wishes. Sometimes even killed. (Touch wood). D’s is anyway such an unusual affair. Why can’t I see fear on his face? He brushes away the question as he bites into a cauliflower – “Whatever has to happen will happen. What’s the point in being scared? We’ll see what happens”.

At that instant, I ask myself – Is this guy a fool? Or is he too carefree? Shouldn’t he at least be scared for the girl he loves? What if some trouble falls upon her? I can’t stop myself from asking him this last question. And his expression changes instantly.

“Of course I worry for her. But then, is there an alternative except facing it? And if we have to do that anyway, what’s the point in being worried endlessly about it now? We’ll die when it’s written for us to die. And there’ll be no changing that”.

It is now that I notice his eyes. Besides the peace that pervades his entire persona, there is an unmistakable reflection in them of something that can only be – Courage. His whole story is that of courage. He hasn’t had it easy in life. A number countable on fingers, in the name of ‘family’; and that too, just for the name’s sake. Decades of being trapped, of being hopeless. Mountainous days still lying ahead of him. And despite all that (or maybe because of it), he is the bravest person sitting on this table right now.

Not only because it must have taken him an immense amount of strength to live for years and years in a body that was not even his own.
Not only because he would have had to endure countless days of being taunted and laughed at for being a tomboy.
Not only because he chose his own body last year with nobody in the world except his now-wife waiting for the news from the operation theatre.
Not only because he has the courage to take head-on whatever comes his way on this path of love, even though he might not have the physical strength for it.

But most above all, because he has fought with and won over the demons that lived inside him… something that most ordinary inhabitants of this planet struggle to do until their last breath.

I salute you, D. And even though I haven’t met her, I salute your wife.

My First... Visitor

May 10. He enters my life.
May 27. He becomes the first person to enter this space.

Orkut.
G-Talk.
Facebook.
Vodafone.
Gmail.
Blogger.

Checklist!
Male? Mmmm… Y.. y.. yes.
Caring? Yes.
Cute? Yes.
Rich? No.
Tall? NOOOOOO! (;_;)
Sense of humour? YES!!!
Confused? Who me or him?

5-6 “I like you”s in a day.
5-6 G-Talk hours in a day.
5-6 calls in a day.
1 fight in 20 days.
5-6 “Sorry”s in a day.

Trust Psychology issues.
Height Geometry issues.
Sociology issues.
Geography issues.
History issues.
Chemistry – no issues!

The fastest “I love you”.
Actually, “I think I’m falling in love with you”.
Without a single meeting.

Unreal!
Immature.
Foolish.
Nutcase.
INSANE!

Sweet.


P.S The fastest “We’re just friends”.
Status quo.

My Angel

I’ve been thinking of how to start writing this for over 3 days now. And as you can see, I opted for one of the most unimaginative openings. Well, I don’t write very often. In fact, my writer’s block is my closer buddy than my writing. But never earlier have I had to wait for so long to be able to get the first few words, never earlier have I felt so inadequate in writing about a subject, because… never earlier have I written about a perfect human being!

And mind it! That’s not a tall claim! Perfection has only one way to prove itself – that it should seem perfect each time you come across it. Time, place, mood, notwithstanding. If I calculate, my total number of meetings with this man would perhaps not be more than 5-6 – on an average, a meeting a month ever since our paths crossed the first time – and each time, I’ve found him to be more perfect than ever.

* * *

In Sep 2007, I received an email from a name I couldn’t quite place anywhere in my memory. Apparently, he was replying to my “Coming Out” mail – a mail that I had sent out to a 100-odd important people of my life, telling them who I really was, and expecting a miraculous acceptance from each one of them. [Reminds me: I must put that mail up here sometime…]

I got some 30-40 responses. The rest chose to remain quiet. This man, however, who was not even a recipient of the original email, had got to read it by a mere chance. Co-incidence! – One would think… But today, as I look back at that co-incidence, I can almost see Mr. God winking at me, and almost hear Him say – “Your angel was long due… Co-incidence is what?”

* * *

How else would you describe this? A little girl used to play with a littler boy in her village. The two were very fond of each other – almost brother and sister. But as the boy grew up, he went abroad to study, and as life would choose for it to be, they lost touch. This boy, after 3-4 decades, now writes to the daughter of that girl – the name of the daughter being ‘Monsoon’ – after having read a “Coming Out” email from her, which was not even meant for him!

Sumu, let’s call him! That’s a variant of the name he often gives to those characters in his stories which are or could be manifestations of his own self. By the way, he hates the name I’ve given to myself, and I’m afraid, if he ever reads this, he might hate the name I’ve given him too!

* * *

Sumu is a 53-year-old man – a writer by profession, and beautiful by countenance. I know, I know! You wouldn’t normally use that adjective for a man, but believe me, seeing him, ‘beautiful’ is what you’d want to say too. It’s a different matter, however, that beauty that lives beneath the skin often chooses to reflect outside.

I grew so fond of him in the first meeting itself that subconsciously, I started to look for similarities in the patterns of his and my life. His stories helped me in that analysis. He, like me, as a child, used to pray to God to let him die before his parents, for he wouldn’t be able to bear their departing. I, like him, had left home for education when I was 17 years 4 months old. We both had had our hearts broken (more by fate than by the ones we loved). Of course, his pain was many decades old, and mine, just half a decade.

Yet, looking at him today, I wonder if I would ever be able to be half as successful, as content with myself, and as positive a person, after having lived alone with such an intense heartache for 30-odd years! Sumu is an extraordinary person… And our similarities end here – for I’m too ordinary in comparison.

* * *

He lives with his octogenarian parents. A flourishing career possible anywhere from Delhi to Russia to the US behind him, he doesn’t once turn back to long for what could have been. Apparently, the choice between caring for his parents and an independent life of his own, for him, was no choice at all… His father, somewhere in the second stage of Alzheimer’s now, defines the axis of every subtle movement of his eyeballs. His mother, who is mirrored in the beauty of his entire persona, shares the deepest bond with him… a love that has no space for expression in day-to-day life, but that completely pervades the air around them and somehow, engulfs you into its cozy balmy embrace – as if here, you would always remain protected from the miseries of the world that lies beyond it.

From buying the weekly ration of vegetables to deciding the daily menu, from managing a newspaper office to writing for his own satisfaction, from being a delightful host to an excellent cook, from having countless friends in every corner of the world to being a friend to even his subordinates, from being a son that any parent would die to have to being my dear Sumu, I’m yet to discover a single flaw in this man that I’ve known almost on a daily basis for over six months now!

* * *

If there’s one thing that you think you could do for a stranger like me writing a strange blog like this one, I ask you to pray for Sumu. Please ask whichever God you believe in to send somebody really special in his life – somebody who would hold his precious heart and look after it for all times to come…

And you, Mr. Angel! Welcome to my life! You’re late!... But I guess, I was not worthy of having you before this anyway. Not that I think I am now… but alas! Now that you’re here, I’m afraid you’re pretty much stuck with me!!!