The yellow dress

“Is this yellow dress for sale?”

I hear the anxious voice of a lady behind me. I turn back to see a middle aged, slightly plump, short lady in a faded purple cotton saree and a red blouse craning inside the small doorway of a 12 by 6 feet tailor shop I am in. She is a little dark, but her face looks friendly and lively. She has long hair that is plaited and she is wearing a big red bindi. Her clothes and the way she carries herself, show that she is from a lower middle class family.

There is mixed emotions on her face as she holds the bright yellow dress hung on the mannequin of the tailor shop.

“How much will this cost? “

The tailor shop I am in, also sells few dresses.  The lady is asking about one of the dresses on sale. “2500 Rs,” says the lady inside the tailor shop.

“Ok!” the lady replies with a smile.

The cost of the dress does not take the smile off her face.

“I haven’t got the full cash - can you keep the dress aside if I give you a token amount?” she says. Almost in a plea. I can see she is worried that the dress will be sold out. 

It is obvious that she loves the dress and is imagining her daughter (or was it her daughter in law) in that dress. I can see that she likes the image that is forming in her mind. 

But there is a hesitation too. She is trying to restrain her excitement. Perhaps she is thinking, What if her daughter did not like the gift?

“I can always exchange the dress if I bring it back within three days, right?” Her voice breaks my trail of thoughts.

I smile.

“Can I see the other choices too?” she says.

She eyes brightens as she sees the bright red, pale green, voilet variations of the dress. She picks each one of them and admires them. I can see she loves all of them and is suddenly confused. She brushes her thoughts aside, smiles at the lady in the shop and says,

“Ok. Please keep the yellow dress aside. I will pay the full amount and take the dress tomorrow.”

She pays the token amount and rushes back home.

"Mothers!" I think with a smile and get back to looking at the catalogue on the tailor's desk.

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The girl at the park

It was a tuesday morning that day. Since tasks at office were a little less, I decided to take the day off from work. I greeted my daughter with a good morning hug , ate our breakfast together and decided to go to the park.

Nishka broke herself free the moment she saw the play area and ran towards the swing. But unfortunately there was an older girl , about 10 years or age, already sitting on the swing.

It was a swing meant for below 5 year olds - so I was surprised to see the girl sitting on it.

I looked at the girl a little closely, and I noticed that I had never seen her in the park before. The girl must have recently moved into the apartment I thought. I did not want to be rude to the girl, so I told Nishka, "Its ok dear. Akka wants to play on the swing. Why don't you play on the slide?

But Nishka wouldn't pay heed. And insisted on playing on the swing.

I turned to look at the girl again. She was tall for her age and thin. She had a dark complexion and her oily hair was cut short. She was wearing black coloured tights and a faded shining orange short kurta. She had clipped her hair and was wearing a cheap glass necklace on her neck. From the way she dressed, it seemed to me, that she must be one of the caretakers of the little children who came down. Most of the residents in the apartment, who had small babies, had a live-in caretaker for their children.

I was about to pacify my daughter again, when the girl got up from the swing, smiled at me, turned to look at a cute little two year old playing nearby and said  "Keerthu.. Illi baa.. "( Keerthu, come here ) in kannada. I smiled back .

I put Nishka on the swing and had started swinging her, when I heard someone from the back asking , "What is the time aunty? "

I turned back and to my surprise it was the girl from the swing. I was surprised because she had asked that question in very clear and polished english. Maybe the hosts had put her in a good school, I thought.

"9.30 " I said to her and got back to swinging.

"What is her name aunty?" I heard the voice again.

"Nishka ", I said.

But I couldn't hold my curiosity any longer and I asked the girl, "Do you go to an english medium school?"

She nodded with a smile, confirming what I thought. I couldn't help noticing her pretty smile. Though dark and not dressed very well, she looked sharp. She carried herself with surety and poise. I continued to watch her for sometime.


Another girl about her age came to her and said,  "Baaa Bhakti… Slide hogans…"( Come Bhakti…Lets go to the slide.. ) It was obvious the two girls knew each other very well.  This girl was slightly plump, had a wheat-ish complexion, and wore a well fitting cotton dress. Her long hair was neatly plaited into two plaits. Maybe Bhakti stayed in her house, I thought.


"Beda… Ivaga baralla…."( No… I don't feel like it right now… ) Bhakti replied back.

There was a silent confidence about the way she spoke and the girl turned back to find some other friends.

I was taken aback by the authority in Bhakti's voice and I asked her, "Are you new here?"

"Yes aunty, We are from Bijapur, a town about 500 KMs from Bangalore.. "

"The girl who just left and the two year old girl, Keerthu are my cousins," she replied back with the pretty smile.

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A day at the registration office

"Nishka, come back here," I called to my daughter who was running in all the directions at the property registration office. 

A while later, Nishka began to play peek a boo with a middle aged lady( she seemed to me in her early 40s) sitting next to me. I looked at the lady and both of us instinctively smiled each other. The lady was wearing a faded green chiffon saree, the pallu of which hung loosely on her shoulders. She wore a long bindi on her forehead, her long dishevelled hair was plaited loosely and the plait thinned as it ended. She looked as if she had not slept through the night and her face looked tired. 

Next to her sat her aged mother grimly. 

"We came to sell our land in BTM layout" she said with a smile that betrayed the painful emotions that she was going through. It was obvious that she and her mother were parting with something very dear to them. Also BTM layout was a prime locality in Bangalore and I was a little surprised when I heard that.

"Are you getting a good price?" I asked her. "No, madam, price is just ok. Recession has hit the company where my brother worked and he has lost his job. He needs the money to pay off a few loans," the lady said. 

"My husband used to work as an engineer in BESCOM and in one of the Govt sponsored schemes got this land for a very good rate 25 years back. We would have never sold it - but times have changed, " spoke the mother with her eyes filling up. 

"Who is the buyer?" I asked.

"Some muslim family . They plan to build a multi-storied house here," the lady said. 

I nodded.

Even though I did not show it, I was unhappy that a multi-storied house was being constructed on the land. BTM for me held memories of a residential layout. It was in such a peaceful layout that we had stayed as newly weds about 10 years back. Even though I had noticed that BTM had metamorphed into a buzzing commercial area, I would be frustrated everytime I saw or heard of construction of a multi-storied building.

That day, as I sat in the registration office, I picturised a rich muslim businessman supervising the construction of a multi-storied apartment that would eventually be rented out to IT professionals at high rents. 

I shrugged the thought aside and smiled understandingly at the ladies.

A few minutes later, the ladies were called inside. A group of muslim men and the lady's father discussed last minute terms and signed a few papers. The proceedings were all over in a few minutes and the ladies bid my daughter good bye as they left.

I got a book out of my bag and started reading it. I was engrossed in my book when I heard my daughter's voice, " Anna(brother,) I would like to see too … " Nishka was trying to befriend a 10 year old boy who was completely engrossed in to the video game in his hand. I tried to distract my daughter, but she would not pay heed. 

"Its ok" said a voice from the side. I turned to see the boy's mother - a young pretty burqa clad lady smiling back at me. I smiled back instinctively. The lady looked kind and friendly. Her eyes looked sharp and it looked as if she was well educated. We started talking.

"We have come here to buy land," she said with a smile and a hint of excitement in her voice. "We have a big family and our current house in the old city is small for all of us. My husband and his brothers are very close to each other and we were looking for a good land where we all can stay together." 

It was nice to hear that people liked staying in joint families. I smiled back affectionately.  She was very graceful and the manner in which she spoke was polished and respectful. I was instantly drawn to her.

"Where is the land you are taking?" I asked her curiously with a smile. 

"In BTM," she smiled back. She paused for a while and then said.

 "You remember the ladies you were speaking to about an hour back."

"We are taking their land," she said. 

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Real Gems

It was a lazy afternoon and I was sitting reading a story on the net, when I heard a plonk. It was a mail from my college friend Hari.
I smiled as I remembered those days. 

Hari was not exactly a close friend. He was a nice pleasant looking person and had a nice smile. He could be warm and friendly if he chose to be. The thing is he would choose to be aloof most of the times. Academics was his only priority in life and more often than not, he topped the semester examinations. The distance he kept from his classmates, gave him an aura and for most of our classmates he seemed like God. On certain days when we struggled to understand the complex engineering formulas, we would seek God's help. And if the God was free, ( read, if God had completed all the assignments for the day), he would help us out.

But I must be fair to him. He was very a hard working person and atleast he did try to be helpful. Also I can't really blame the way he was. He had been forced to make himself tough and competitive. 

A particular night in the year 1992 had changed his life for ever. 

That day had been a week before the twelfth standard board exams. At ten pm in the night, a stranger had knocked at the wooden door of their small house on the outskirts of Ahmedabad. He remembered opening the door and talking to the stranger. But after that moment, everything had seemed like a daze. The next thing he remembered was that he was running to the hospital. The stranger had said that his father had been found lying unconscious outside a provision store. His father had been declared "dead on arrival" by the time they had taken him to the hospital. 

The doctors in the hospital said that his father had had a heart attack.

Hari had not known how to react. He did not have time to cry. There were too many things to be done - taking charge of the house, paying off his father's unpaid loans, providing for and completing his as well as his siblings' education. His mom was a house maker and did not really understand much of the world outside. An uncle helped him take charge of the house. After his twelfth, which he passed with distinction, he took an educational loan, joined engineering and ended up being the gold medalist. It was in engineering that Hari and I got to know each other. It was there that he had earned the nickname of “God”.

He did well in his career and soon he started his own company. Out of sheer hardwork he earned the respect of his clients. He always kept in touch with me and called to share the joy of buying a beautiful two storied house in upscale California. He based himself out of the US and came to India on yearly visits. And every time he came to India, he never failed to meet me.

However, every time Hari came down to India for his yearly break, I would feel that I was meeting a loner. 

Hari had all the wealth in the world - However he seemed empty from inside. 

Hari had always been very caring person. In spite of the fact he wasn’t exactly the kind of person that I liked to spend my free time with, I could never decline his invitations. He never really kept in touch with any of the other college guys though. And eventually other guys started to ignore him too.

It was around this time that I heard a few rumours floating around about his shrewdness. He was said to have double talked and taken advantage of a friend who was in a difficult situation. His over competitiveness during the college days had always put me off, but I started to disconnect from him after I heard about his shrewdness. 

But I couldn't really disconnect from him. I had known “God” for 20 years by then and I had begun to accept him as he was.

Hari had always been very ambitious. He hardly socialized. Which was why, one fine day when Hari commented on one of our classmates travel pictures on facebook, it really surprised all of us.“Nice pictures Arun!” his comment said. 

My first thought was, "Hari on facebook! why was he not working?"

I couldn't help thinking, "Wonder which part of the world was he then!"

But something did feel good that day. After that day, much to our surprise, Hari commented very regularly on our friends' pictures and updates. “Was Hari really trying to reach out to everyone?” I wondered.

On a fine sunday morning, a few days back, my phone rang. I was pleasantly surprised to hear Hari on the line and more so when he very warmly said, "How are you ? When are you calling me for tea?" 

I waited with eagerness that evening for his arrival. Hari hugged me as soon as he saw me and shared all the beautiful gifts he had got for my one year old daughter. He sat on the floor and chatted with my mom and completely relished the hot powa that she had made for him. 

We were all overwhelmed. 

Something had changed around Hari and for the first time in years, he seemed at peace. His shell had softened and he seemed more connected to the people around him.

It seemed as though after going all around the globe and earning all the wealth in the world, he seemed to realize where his real gems lay.

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The home coming

Murthy aunty looked very happy. I had noticed that she had been busy cooking for the past ten days and had prepared a lot of sweets. Uncle had got some new furnishing done and had got his second car repaired. The daily routine that both of them followed did not seem to change much, but there was  palpable joy in the air.   It was as if their lifeless house seemed to have life again. Those days as I would go on my morning walk, I watched aunty singing as she prepared the morning tea. I noticed uncle smiling as he was watering the potted plants in the garden.

I could understand the joy. We all were waiting for Shriya who was on her way back from US.

Shriya was the Murthys' daughter and was round my age. She had been my friend since childhood and we had practically grown up in each other's house.

"Tell me if you need something from here. I am so looking forward to seeing you all - especially Nishka.," she had said when she called. Nishka was my one year old daughter and Shriya was meeting Nishka for the first time.

The joy of meeting Shriya at the airport after her last visit two years back was inexplicable. We hugged each other and held each other's hands as we made our journey back home. Shriya looked pretty much the same. The first two days we ate and slept over at each other's places. We shared our life with each other. She had got pretty dresses for Nishka and creams and perfumes for me.

The next day we went over to few of the good Indian restaurants nearby and Shriya ate all her favourite indian delicacies to her heart's content.

Her vacation had just begun and I looked forward for more fun filled days with my dear friend. However I was in for a surprise.

"We are going to be back in Bangalore only on the last week of our vacation now, Veena," she told me on the third day at Bangalore . Knowing that she was in India for a four week vacation, I wondered what happened to the rest of the days. "Oh! We are going to Darjeeling with my parents and in-laws for a week. That way we will be able to have relaxed time together and we can see the Himalayas too," she said with a beautiful smile.

"Once we are back, we are planning to visit Mysore to visit a friend's marriage and going to Mumbai to see a new born child of a cousin. And then we need to go for our visa renewal to chennai. Also once we are back, we will be busy signing the documents for the new house that we have taken,"she said.

I smiled as I calculated. "Yes, that was 4 weeks complete,"I thought.

Life had become busy after all.

For the next few weeks, we got to meet Shriya only fleetingly between her visits. I got busy too. Office, child, and home took most of my time.

Shriya came back from her visits and left back to US.

It was raining heavily that early morning as I returned back after dropping Shriya at the airport. I sat watching the storm and the rain sipping a cup of hot tea on the porch of my house. I watched the beauty of lightening and thunder, I watched the downpour of heavy rains, I watched the swaying of trees and I watched the birds hiding themselves below the roofs of houses. I watched the people on the roads running around , trying to finish their tasks on hand and get home. After about an hour of heavy rain, there was silence. The roads were wet, the smell of wet mud wafted through the air.  The trees looked clean and bright. And there was peace.  But there was also the emptiness of a beautiful moment having passed by.

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The new year surprise

"Shreya and Priya are going to love these chocolate biscuits," thought Sudha as she picked up the packet of biscuits from her table and headed towards the washroom. Her friend who had returned from the US had brought the biscuits from there. It was new year in another two days and she looked forward to gift these biscuits to her 9 and 7 year old as a new year present.

As she drove back home, she imagined the excitement on her daughter's faces as she told them about the surprise that she had got them. She smiled to herself as she imagined her girls' squeals and "wow!s" when she presented the biscuits to them.

She parked her car in the appartment parking and felt for the pink coloured plastic biscuit box on the next seat. To her disappointment, it was not there. Had it fallen from the seat? she thought as she began searching for it frantically under the seat.

She remembered then! She had left it in the wash room! She stamped her foot mentally. But she recovered immediately. There was one more day for the new year and she could get the box from the security of her company the next day, she thought to herself.

The next day, the first thing she did when she entered her office was to check with the security if anybody had reported anything. The security manager replied in a negative but he promised to check and assured her that if she had left the box in the rest room, she would definitely get it back.

That day when she went out for lunch, one of the security guys came to her. With a wide smile on his face, he told her that her pink biscuit box has been found and she could collect it from the security office. Why did the smile look a little forced? why did the guy look a little scared ? she thought. But she shrugged the thought aside - there were other things she could rejoice about. The biscuit box had been found !

She rushed to the security office to collect the box. But to her surprise it was empty. She was too stunned to think or say anything for a moment. She thought about the joy and excitement that she had imagined with her daughters. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she wordlessly walked out of the security office and went to her seat for some quiet time with herself.

"Did you collect your box,madam?" she heard the afternoon security gaurd ask her with a mischievous guilty curious look on his face as she left for home that evening. She did not know what to say. But she managed to conceal her upset and smiled back a yes.

She went to a bakery and bought a few coconut biscuits of various shapes and sizes. With a broad smile she gifted the new year gift to her daughters. Both Shreya and Priya sqealed and jumped just as she had imagined. They danced in excitement and gave her an extra hug that evening. Her daughters feasting on her biscuits managed to bring a smile on her face. She relaxed for a while and sat with the evening newspaper absentmindedly. Her thoughts drifted to the stolen biscuits - but this time she did not know what to think.

The next morning she knew what she had to do. She went to the admin manager of her group and asked her to send out a box of buscuits to all the admin and support staff of her department. She said she would sponsor it.

She thought of all the children in all the homes of these support staff feasting and enjoying the various kinds of biscuits she had sponsored. She thought of all the excitement, love, hope and freshness this new year would bring in those homes. She then went back to her seat with a smile on her face.

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Chaya aunty

It was not that there was not enough help in the house. It was just that Sunita liked cooking for the family. She had just finished cooking lunch and sat with a cup of tea and the morning newspaper. As she skimmed through the newspaper absent-mindedly, her thoughts drifted to the party that she was invited to attend that night. She shifted uncomfortably as she thought about the gathering that Naveen, her husband's colleague and his wife,Preeti had invited them to. Having been brought up in a small town, she preferred small get-together to big parties. The loud music, the dark ambience, the women in loud dresses, men laughing loud just did not make sense to her.

The evening of the party was not much different than what she had imagined. Women in thick make up, high heels and stylishly made up hair styles filled the party hall. As she stood in one corner watching the crowd, she couldn't help but wonder, "Why did they all look a little lost?"

She shrugged the thought aside and went inside the house to help Preeti. She made her way to the dining table, began arranging the dishes, when she heard a loud excited "Hello madam.. !!" at her back.

She turned around to see Chaya aunty, the family's help for five years, smiling broadly as she was waving at her. Sunita couldn’t help but reciprocate back. She could see that Chaya aunty was as happy to see her as she was, to see Chaya aunty. Sunita and Chaya aunty spent the next few minutes chatting with each other as they arranged the dishes on the table. Chaya aunty's company made Sunita feel completely at home at the party. once she came out of the dining hall, she started interacting with a few people and made a few friends.

By the time the party had ended, she was completely at peace. As she waved a goodbye to Naveen and Preeti, she could hear Chaya aunty's soft humming from the kitchen. She couldn't help smiling and acknowledging to herself, that, in the sea of people that both she and Chaya aunty did not understand that day, perhaps they had both found a friend in each other.

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Hope

"What did you tell her the last time you spoke to her?" I could hear Priya's husband asking Priya.

"Beats me.. I don't remember saying anything that could influence her to take such a quick decision to buy our product"

Priya was at my house to sell her special learning packages. The packages though good were extremely expensive and were not something that I would have normally bought. But something about Priya had touched me.

I will not forget that day.

We had just shifted back from the US and were still settling down. Some of our stuff had come to the Bangalore flat and we were expecting another shipment in a week. Our house was filled with unopened cartons lying around. The climate change and the excessive traffic was getting on to us. But the thing that we found most difficult was getting admission for our 13 year old daughter.

Even though Ria was getting called for the admission tests in all the good schools, she was finding it difficult to pass the exams because of the change in US and India syllabus. Since she was about to get into high school, it was really important for us that she got into a good institute.

That day yet another school informed us that Ria had not cleared the admission test. I was getting a little desperate and worried, when I heard my phone ring.

"Hi! your reference was given to me by Amit", the lady on the other side of the line who identified herself as Priya informed me. Amit was my brother who lived in Bangalore. "We sell some educational kits for teenagers. And Amit thought you would like it."

An educational kit was the last thing on my mind that day. And I told her so. I also told her that we had just relocated to Bangalore and it was more important for me that Ria got admission in a good school.

"Oh..! I am so sorry! Can you send me Ria's details? I would like to help," she said. We spent the next half an hour on the phone, talking about the various contacts that she had in the numerous schools.

From then on, she called me once a week to check on the progress of Ria's admission. 

I was surprised and touched. Priya's presence in my life, changed my mind from despair to hope. I did not know Priya before that call and I wondered why she went out of the way to help me.  With new found energy I continued applying for schools and eventually, Ria got into a school that could identify Ria's potential beyond the difference in  syllabus taught in the US and India schools. The school was also one of the best known schools in the city and very few children got admission to it. We all were ecstatic.

Earlier, I had also contacted the two schools that Priya had referred me to - though Ria did not get selected in those schools.

I had promised myself, that once Ria got into a good school, I would call Priya in for the demo of the product she had initially called me for. 

So as soon as Ria got in, I called Priya for a demo. The day Priya came in, I did not think much and told Priya that I would buy her product. My quick decision must have surprised Priya's husband. Which was why he asked her the question "What did you tell her the last time you spoke to her?"

But then for me, it was not about the product. It was about Priya. No money could ever buy the hope that Priya had placed in my heart that day. 

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Prerna

"My husband is a investment banker in the US," said my friend on the chat. I smiled. I had suspected that she was wealthy by looking at her pictures in front of their two-storied well designed house in upscale NewYork city. The clothes that she wore were also expensive.



I remembered the time we were girls. Those days most students went for tutions during their high school. The tution teachers were generally professors in the local university. They were acknowledged experts in their subjects and had several published papers in renowned forums to their credit. Needless to say, the quality of teaching in these tution classes was much higher than the quality delivered in the schools. Mysore, being a university town, was especially known for its teachers and the tution classes were much sought after by students like us.



Prerna and me went together for most of the tutions, including the Trigonometry tution. The Trigonometry tution teacher, besides being an subject matter expert, was also an excellent communicator. She was able to connect to the students very well and also had a good sense of humour. However sometimes she would be inappropriate.



Prerna's father was a middle level officer in the near by textiles factory. The cost of the multiple tutions was always a strain on the family every month. But the family managed - managed with pride. Prerna was always taken into confidence whenever there was a financial strain in the family and I never noticed her feeling small or guilty when she was short of cash.



That month, the family had got a new car. A car was a necessity for the family of five- two adults, two grown up children and Prerna's grandmother. Hence the cash flow that month was a little tight. During the month end, when it was the time to pay for the tution fees, Prerna, very innocently told the teacher, in front of the class, that her father wouldnt be able to pay that month and she would pay the complete amount the next month. Maybe she should have been discreet, but childhood is not discreet. A child trusts unconditionally. Which was why we, her fellow classmates, understood what she was saying.



The teacher did not. None of us were prepared for our teacher's reaction.



"If your family is short of cash are you not buying any groceries this month? If you are, how come you cannot pay the fees? Next month if you cant pay, maybe you should discontinue the tutions," she said. The class suddenly became silent. If someone dropped a pin at that moment, we all would have heard it.



The teacher and her family stayed in a huge bungalow and were quite well off. Her husband was a director in a company.Her response was totally uncalled for.



I dont know what Prerna felt that day. But I was shaken. That day as we walked back home, I told her, "If I ever become a teacher when I grow up, I will give tutions for free." I consulted my parents in the evening, and offered to pay her fees, but Prerna declined. She paid up the whole amount the next week.



Prerna was a very beautiful, graceful and well mannered girl. Other than the financial crisis the family faced, I did not find her lacking in anything. We were the best of friends for 3-4 years more. But eventually we lost touch with each other.



Therefore one fine day last year, when I got a friend request from her on facebook, I was more than glad to accept. I saw the pictures of her various Europe vacations and I was very happy for her. I could see that she was doing well in life. I knew she was not working, so I was curious about had caused the wheels of fortune to turn for her. Which is why I asked her where her husband worked.



And when I saw her reply, I couldn't help smiling.



"God ultimately levels everybody's life" I thought.`

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Note: Some parts of this post has been fictionalized to protect privacy of the people involved. 

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Two conversations

There was a new Skoda Octavia in the neighbourhood. It was blue in colour and had all the latest functionalities. Our neighbour uncle, a sixty year old retired banker, threw a party when he bought the new car. We were given "just one turn" to ride it around and uncle seemed to beam with pride when people told him how smooth the ride was. His half concealed embarrassed smile showed how much he enjoyed the "wow!what a car!" We enjoyed the attention too - it was as if there was a new member into our community.

That night, after all the excitement, when we all sat together to have a quiet dinner, uncle confessed, "Let me enjoy life at this stage. What will I do with my money if I don't enjoy with it now?" We all agreed heartily!

Another favourite uncle of mine, a distant relative, was also due for a car change. I loved this uncle for his practical, down to earth tastes, simplicity and friendliness. The Zen that he drove though functional had become old with use and had started incurring a lot of maintenance costs. Uncle kept talking about buying a new car. All of us who knew him asked him to buy a big car, now that he was done with the small one. He definitely would be able to afford it. He would just laugh our request off.

One day, on a silent Sunday afternoon, as we sat drinking a hot cup of tea sitting in the veranda of his house, I asked him jokingly which car was he thinking of buying. He thought for a while and looked at me in the eye and said with a smile, " Innovaa" Wow! I thought and teased him.. "Innovaaa...!!" “Down-to-earth tastes, uh!” I thought, smiling to myself.

"Yes.. " he said.. "If I buy a new car, I might as well buy something that can take the whole family in. At-least we can all go out together on rides. "

I couldn’t say anything after that.

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The grace of "taking"

"Why does mom get me Nisha's dresses?" I thought looking at the neatly spread white colored frilly gown spread on my bed. Nisha was mom's best friend's daughter and older to me by one year. Sometimes mom would get me  dresses that Nisha had out grown. Though most of the dresses were pretty, hardly worn and well preserved, I would always cringe at the thought of wearing someone else's dress. Mom would never understand what the fuss was about and would always brush me aside.

As I stood there in confusion, I heard the gate open. It was Radha! Radha was our maid's 16 year old daughter and once in a while when  Radha had a off at school she would come home to help her mother out. Radha was around four years older to me and two years younger to Didi. Radha's mother had worked with us since my childhood and even though Didi and Radha had a lesser age difference, Radha and me connected more. She would humor me, play around with me, guide me and sometimes take me around. I loved being with her. And knowingly or unknowingly I learnt a lot about life from watching her silent, well mannered conduct and mannerisms.

That day, Radha asked me if I would like to visit her at her home. I willingly agreed and with my mother's permission we walked the one km to her house. Her house was a small place in the near by low income housing community. It had one small room that served as drawing room, bedroom etc. and a kitchen. The stuff in the room though old and worn out looked warm and clean. One side of the room was a Godrej cupboard and on another side was a small TV. I recognized the TV instantly - it was our old one! I smiled. I looked around a little more - the room had two old cane stools and a old diwan. I remembered they too had come from our house.

I looked at Radha. She was beaming - ear to ear. "Come, sit! Sit..!" She said as she took a old cloth out and wiped the torn cushions on the cane stool. "I will bring you a glass of lemon juice" she said and ran inside the kitchen. She was a simple pretty girl and the joy on her face made her look prettier.

I chatted with her for sometime and after an hour or so, we walked our way back to my home. Her sky-blue dupatta brushed my hand and I looked up. I noticed that she was wearing didi's old salwar kameez. It had been one of my favorites. Now didi had outgrown it and like many of didi's earlier dresses, she had passed this dress on to Radha. Honestly, I thought all the dresses suited Radha more than it suited didi.

I looked at Radha lovingly. She never ever complained that she had to wear another's dress.  I remembered the pride and pleasure we felt to see Radha looking so beautiful in didi's dresses. I remembered the stuff at Radha's home. How gracefully she and her family would accept what was passed on to them. I smiled as I held Radha's hand tightly.

Back in my house, I ran to my room to relate the day's events to didi. My gaze fell at the beautiful lacy white dress still lying on my bed. My face beamed with joy looking at the intricate laces.

I had no questions any longer and ran inside the bathroom to immediately try it on….

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Where did Murthy aunty's laughter go?

"You know Veena!" 65 year old Murthy aunty's voice was all animated. Her eyes were round and her expressive face was ready to share an "important" news. "The lady on the ground floor - she fights with her husband every evening for no reason. I sat with the lady and her husband and tried to make both of them see sense." And then with a satisfied proud look on her face she continued, "I think I was successful. But I cant help wonder why does the lady fight in the first place?" said Murthy aunty. 

Murthy aunty was this "all-friendly" neighborhood aunty. She was unbelievably talented and would easily manage functions and ceremonies organized in the apartment. And since she was so talented, she would want to make a difference in other people's lives too. However, I would find this very "caring" trait of hers a little interfering. But since she was very innocent and childlike, I would brush off her intrusions.

"Did you know about the Khannas downstairs?" Murthy aunty waited to watch the reaction on my face before she proceeded, "they have bought a two crore house in the heart of the city. They are planning to shift there in a month's time. However I am concerned about the children. I am not sure if the children will have a good company there. I have heard in that locality, people pretty much keep to themselves. I had a talk with Khanna. He asked me to not worry.. Lets see."

After a tired day, when I would walk down the garden with my daughter for our evening walks, I would spot Murthy aunty sitting on the garden chair. And as much as I liked the 15 minutes chat with her, I would honestly and sincerely wish that she would keep her thoughts to herself and not worry about people's matters. I would try to explain to her that people are power houses of energy and they were pretty much capable of solving their own situations. Once or twice when I had alluded to her that she might be interfering in people's life,  she had felt a little shocked and her eyes had filled with tears. I had let her be. I continued to enjoy the daily gossip along with my evening walks and would get back to my own life and world.

One particular day Murthy aunty was sitting on the garden chair looking a little forlorn. Apparently she had fought with one of her favorite sister-in-laws and she was lost for words. The pain that she was going through was very visible on her face. The next few days, she was unusually silent and somehow it looked as if this small incident had grown her up. 
She did not gossip too much and every time she spoke there was so much maturity in what she was saying. 

She sounded grown up and I should have been happy about it. But honestly I missed the old lively chattering aunt. I had never seen aunty so grim and I was concerned for her. But there was nothing much I could do and I let things be. Besides that weekend I was going on a long vacation to Mangalore with my family and that was more on my mind those days. 

I had a wonderful time at Mangalore and the day I came back from vacation, I met aunty again. The frantic wave of her hand showed me that she was excited. "You know I went to a party yesterday and the Sharmas and the Nairs were there. Sharma aunty and Nair aunty were avoiding each other." With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she added, "You know why? Nairs had proposed their daughter's hand in marriage to the Sharmas and even though Sharma uncle was OK about the proposal, Sharma aunty was not. Nair aunty had been very upset by that. hehehe :)" She was hardly able to speak out of excitement. Controlling her laugh, she continued, "The men had long forgotten about the proposal and were on one table with a glass of drink and laughing away. While the two women spent the whole evening avoiding each other. hahahaha " 

Murthy aunty was laughing so much by then, that she could barely stand. I myself couldn't suppress a small chuckle. I made her sit on the chair and smiled my way back my house. 

Murthy aunty was alive again. I knew that I no longer needed to worry about her.

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Ramu Uncle

"What is it about gratitude?" said my husband looking a little dazed. He was reacting to a phone call that we had received from a friend, Ramu uncle.

Ramu uncle was thin, short, friendly, with a mickey mouse like face and a lively smile. He wore spectacles and his curly hair was soaked in oil. His face looked sharp and kind. It was in a marriage function around three years back we had chanced to meet him. I and my husband were drawn to him instantly. As it happens in marriage functions, we got talking. He told us that he came from a small village in Tamil Nadu and worked as an accountant in a private limited nearby for the past twenty years. His family comprised of his wife who was a home maker and his twenty five year old daughter.


As we were talking to him about his family, his face set into a gloom for a few seconds. We gently probed him. Apparently about two years back, his daughter had run away from home to marry a guy with whom she was in love. He had not approved of the guy and had felt betrayed. He had been really angry with her and had snubbed her off when she had tried to get back in touch.


It was painful to see him. It was clear that he was very angry - but beneath that anger was a deep hurt. We let him share his heart out and when he was done with telling us his life story, very gently asked him to call his daughter. But all the hurt of the past days was not about to fall off so easily and he very stubbornly refused. We left it at that at that moment.


We went and had our lunch. We implored him again to call his daughter. He showed the first signs of relenting in the evening, when with a stern face he told us that he did not have his daughter's number.


I smiled back at him.


I went home with hope in my heart.


The next day we went to the reception a little early. One look at Ramu uncle, showed that something was different. The stiffness on his face was gone and there was love there. I knew something had happened.


Uncle had got his daughter's number from her best friend and they had had a tearful reunion on the phone. By the time we left the marriage reception, uncle had managed to thank me a thousand times. I felt overwhelmed with his love and gratitude. But that was three years back. I had not known Ramu uncle before that marriage and even though we had exchanged our phone numbers, I had not expected to hear about him any more.


But I was in for a surprise. For next three years or so, be it holi or diwali, and even our birthdays, Ramu uncle would be one of the first ones to wish. I guess for him, we had changed his life and it was his way of blessing us.


On the new year this year, we got a missed call from an unknown number. The whole of last year had been about our new born daughter and friends and acquaintances had taken a temporary backseat in our life. When I called back the number, I was surprised. It was Ramu uncle wishing us for the new year.


I had forgotten Ramu uncle, but he had not forgotten us.


He wished me a 'happy new year', blessed our little daughter and wished luck and prosperity to my husband.


Ramu uncle's love overwhelmed me again and my husband was really touched. It was at that point, he sat back on his chair, put the phone aside, looked at me in disbelief and said, "What is it about gratitude?"

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Uncle, Aunty and a hug

Mansi spotted them - uncle and aunty. They were sitting on one of the backseats of the marriage hall of a friend's wedding. She was seeing them after a good 15 years and she was happy to see the there. No. Happy would be an understatement. She was thrilled!

"15 years was a long time. The present day Mansi would be very different than the Mansi, aunty and uncle would remember," she thought. The families had stayed close to each other in Mysore. Uncle had been so much fun. He was in the forest department and when she was a little girl, he would regale Mansi and her sister with the stories of his adventures in the forest. Mansi's father and uncle got along very well and had been the best of friends.

Uncle had a daughter - Divya. Divya was a very active teenager - extremely good in studies and very involved in her extracurricular activities. And since she was such an active teenager, she was rarely visible at her home. Once she finished her studies, she got "campus-recruited" in a good position in one of the MNCs in Mumbai. Whenever Divya was in town, Mansi looked forward to meeting her. She was one of the most interesting teenagers she had met. They both got along very well and knew each other's deepest secrets. Divya was not the only reason she liked going to the house. She liked the family itself.

That day when Mansi saw uncle and aunty at the wedding function, she ran across the room, holding her two year old son's hand.

"HIII..." she called out.

To her surprise, the “hi” that was returned back was restrained.

She did not understand that. “Were they not happy to see her?"

"That expression must have been a mistake,” she said to herself and called them again.

"Hello!!!" she said as she waved her hand. "How are you both doing?"

Uncle and aunty gave back a restrained smile. "We are doing fine. Just fine." they seemed to say.

Uncle and aunty's facial expressions seemed to show regret along with some arrogance.

“Why were they sorry?” Mansi thought in confusion. Putting the thought aside, she pushed her son forward and said "Aunty, see my son!" She smiled widely hoping to see some of the old friendliness. She saw some more arrogance on their face.

That put Mansi back to reality. "Meet my husband," she said - this time with a peaceful smile. Her voice was back to normal by then and she had made peace with herself.

As Mansi sat with some time to herself, she thought over whatever she had heard about the family from her father. Uncle had long retired from the forest department. Divya had continued working in the company she had joined 15 years back and had by then grown to be in the top management of the company. Mansi herself, in contrast, was primary school teacher. She also remembered a bitter fight that had happened between Divya and her. There were things that had happened that had left Mansi deeply hurt but that was long back and she had long moved on.

As she remembered the regretful face of aunty, she couldn't help wondering with a little sadness, "What were they sorry for? For Divya? In spite of her good career, was she not leading a happy life?"

"Were they sorry for her that she did she not scale up to Divya’s professional achievements?"

"Or on second thoughts, were they still carrying the burden of the 15 year old incident?"

She shook her head in disbelief as she turned back to her son, who was calling her by then and felt bliss as she scooped him in her arms.

"Wish I could hug them both and get them to smile too," she thought as she playfully ran behind her son.

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39 years

"Do you love me?" I heard, sixty five year old Murthy aunty asking uncle. Uncle almost chocked and coughed at that. And then he replied, "Yes… I do". "If you do, let me go to my brother's house for a week," Aunty replied. I could hear the conversation through their slightly open bedroom door. I could only smile. I was staying at the Murthy residence in Chennai to attend a marriage function of a friend. Murthy uncle and aunty had been our neighbours at my parents' house. They have been close family friends for close to 30 years now.

Aunty came out after a while, muttering to herself and complaining to me. "He has grown so old and yet behaves so childish. We have spent 39 years of life together and yet some basic things have not yet changed. Even at this age I need to ask his permission to go to my own home. I am not going to any stranger's house. I am only going to my brother's place!" she said.

I nodded sympathetically at aunty, while suppressing my smile. But I was also overwhelmed. 39 years was a long long time. I have been married for 10 and I knew what a marriage was. For all the love, beauty and fun marriage is, it could be a real struggle sometimes. Marriage like any other commitment needed constant introspection and evolving. For a "young" marriage like mine, I atleast had the liberty to complain and compare with other couples every time I was faced with a conflict.

But 39 years is a longer time. It meant that uncle and aunty have been together for a far more years than the years they have been with the people who have brought them into this world. They have been each other’s friend and guide to the huge unknown maze called life. They have nurtured each other and grown in these 39 years.

Clang! Clung! I hear Uncle take food on his own noisily. I smile. I hear their bedroom door bang shut and another argument between the two of them behind the closed doors. I close my room’s door and go off to sleep. I know like all other conversations this one will get resolved too. After all I have never heard any argument between the two of them go beyond the night. Mornings were always a fresh start again.

" Kowsalya supraja Rama poorva sandhya pravarthathe... " I can hear the "suprabhatham" being sung on the CD player as I lazily rub my eyes. “Did you have your BP tablets?” I can hear the concern in his voice, as uncle calls out to aunty. I can hear morning coffee being lovingly placed on the coffee table in the drawing room. I shake myself awake. I lean against the drawing room window and watch the two of them.

Uncle has a newspaper in one of his hands, and a cup of coffee in the other. Aunty is enjoying the morning breeze as she is sipping the coffee sitting on the cane chair in front of uncle. They are smiling as they are talking to each other.

Love, comfort and peace was written all over their face.

"Soulmates and life-mates," I think.

I smile to myself.

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The thousand rupee note

"The management committee in our Netaji Subhash Chandra Government School, has decided to give a special prize this year. It is called "Special award" and will reward a extraordinary act done by a child. This year the award goes to eight year old Ananya. I would like to call Ananya's teacher to relate to you all what was the special act done by her," said our beautiful short motherly principal madam on the annual day function of our school. Of all the teachers in our school, the principal madam was the kindest.

"I am very happy to share Ananya's story with all of you," said Alka madam, our young, fair, tall class teacher, with a beatific smile on her face. Alka madam was wearing my favorite stiff white saree which had a blue lace on its border and small blue flowers on it. Her straight long hair reached her waist and was neatly combed and tied into a pony with a flowery clip. She looked taller and prettier than usual. She continued, "One fine afternoon Ananya returned from the playground, where she had gone in the Physical education period and came running up to me. She had a shining pink coloured pencil in one of her hands and  a "thousand rupee note" in the other.”

She paused for a second before she continued, “She gave me the note saying, she did not want it to be trampled by students walking and running over it. I was so proud of her honesty. I immediately nominated her for this award."

Alka madam then searched for me in the crowd and once she spotted me gave me a big smile. I smiled back. 

"Ananya's parents - Can you please come on the stage with Ananya?" 

I heard the thunderous applause as I went up the stage with my parents. I definitely seemed to have done something right.

After the function were the snacks. Rasgollas, pasteries and sandwiches lured me from various counters. It was my day. Ma and Babuji were ready to give me anything I asked. All the uncles, aunties and teachers looked at me with amazement as I walked and ran across the school campus. Ma was a sweeper in one of those big IT companies near our house and Babuji, a mechanic.

I looked for Bhaiyya who was eight years elder to me and studied in the twelfth standard. Bhaiyya was my friend, philosopher and guide. He was always cleanly dressed and the silent humility in his nature brought an extra glow on his face. He was the wise one in our house and supported and comforted our parents whenever they were in difficulty. When he was not at school, he was with my dad at his mechanic shop oiling or tinkering a few machines. He was my window into the world I did not understand. When I was not playing with friends, I tagged along with Bhaiyya on his old bicycle.

On some Sundays, Bhaiyya would take me on long rides on his bicycle. Together we would go into the unexplored areas of our city. We would go to the hidden lakes and unexplored forest areas behind our house. On our way back, we would always have a plate of ‘pani puri’.

"Anu! Anu!!" the familiar call of my brother snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned and rushed into my brother's open arms. My brother hugged me a congratulations. And then we made our way back home.

I sat on the pillion seat of Bhaiyya's bicycle as usual. That day Bhaiyya was walking with the bicycle instead of riding it. We were passing through a small road in a small residential area, when he turned towards me and said with a voice chocked with pride, "I am so proud of you Anu...” I continued licking the icecream which we had bought just a minute back.

When he did not hear a response from me, he turned a little more to face me directly and with eyes full of love said, “I am talking about the thousand rupee note incident..."

So many people had wished me by now. And now Bhaiyya too…I did not understand how to react...

So I asked him...."But Bhaiyya...I don't know what is all the excitement about..."

"I did not want a child to get scolded for losing a thousand rupee note the way mom scolded me last time when I lost a hundred rupee note.That was why I returned the note to madam." I paused for a while and lowered my voice and said,

"Honestly if it had been a twenty rupees, I might have taken Sahira with me and bought the both of us a huge bar of Dairy Milk Chocolate."

"What use is a thousand rupee note to me?"


And then I got back to licking my icecream. After I had gulped in a huge lump, I asked Bhaiyya to stop walking.I then turned him with one of my free hands and looked at him curiously and asked,

"Tell me Bhaiyya, what can I do with a thousand rupee note?"

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One fine day...

It was early morning. Nishka and me were sitting, playing with each other and giggling loudly when the door bell rang. We paused as my husband opened the door and craned to see who was there.


When I saw who was at the door, I was surprised!


It was the maid Kamala.


Kamala had been at our house the previous day and had been cleaning up the house. She had cleaned all the cupboards under the kitchen platform. When she had stood up on a stool to clean the upper cupboards, the stool had turned over and she fell down hurting herself badly. In fact she was so hurt on her back that she could hardly sit or stand for some time. She had to be lying down for about two hours before she could get up and go home.


So naturally I had not expected her to be there the next day. But she had come. When I asked her, how she made it in-spite of the pain, she said, "No issues akka. I came in an auto. I did not want to trouble you with all the work."


Again I was dumbfounded. Braving the jerks of the auto rickshaw and spending 40-50 Rs from her meager salary to come to work, just did not make sense. (Her house is quite a distance from our apartment and she commutes to work in a bus everyday.) Also, though she said she had come to make our tasks easier, from my past experience I knew she was not so overly committed to her work.


Even though she did not say so, I knew what had pulled her to work. I turned back to look at my little one. My daughter's face was all excited. She was waving her hands excitedly and babbling loudly asking Kamala to take her in her arms.


I thought of the 50 rs. Kamala had spent. I thought of her back pain, which might have got aggravated in the bumpy auto rickshaw drive. And I turned around to see total and unconditional love and joy of the little one in Kamala’s arms.


I thought to myself, “Can you really measure the worth of a child's giggle and love?”

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The photograph in this post has been taken from http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/dotshock/dotshock0907/dotshock090702578/5285236-happy-young-woman-mother-play-and-outdoor-with-beautiful-child.jpg Due credit goes to the photographer

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Mother

This week's post is very special to me since it has been written by my mother in law. She lost her 87 year old mother a few days back and she wrote this post as a tribute to her. My mother in law has studied in the marathi medium school and has studied till the 10th standard. Whatever knowledge she has today( including this writing in english) is what she has learnt out of her own interest and quest for learning.

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Have you seen the picture "Mother India"? Every mother treats her children like that mother. These days children have no patience and don’t understand their Janamdata( the person who has given birth to them). They especially don’t understand their mother's feelings.

My beloved mother is no more. She expired on the 18th of December 2011. She loved us a lot.

My mother ! Oh ! My mother ! She was love and happiness itself. She was a teacher but she loved her children like their mother.

I was in the second standard and my class teacher was my Aai( I used to call my mother as Aai, which stands for mother in Marathi ). Those days annual examination was held by AEO( Assistant Education Officer ). That year, I got the first rank. My mother told the headmistress that "Good that my daughter got first rank in an examination conducted by the AEO. If I had conducted the exam and my daughter would have got first rank, people would have teased me." This incident taught me that I should not make a difference between my own people and others.

She had gone through many difficulties in life but she never grumbled. She never complained.

Those days most women had a lot of gold jewellery. My mother too had more than 5000 grams of gold ornaments. She lost all the jewellery to handle family problems. But she never uttered a word about it. She lived her life like any other person. What a wonderful personality my mom was! I have always been very impressed by this character of my mother. From this I learned that we should not be attached to material things.

I was in my fifth standard. I wanted to participate in the Nishani drill in which I was supposed to be holding a small national flag. I needed to wear a white dress while doing the drill. My Aai did not have enough money to buy me a white frock but my little mind could not understand her problems. I would cling on to her pallu and be after her about wanting the dress. She would always provide me for my needs, even though she would later struggle to manage the household expenditure.

She studied in the teachers training college in 1950s. There in one of the functions she sung a song in Marathi

Mana mi Kiti tuz shikavoo re

Ram smarawa ghadi ghadiss Ram smarava re

Mana mi kiti tuz shivavoo re

Saandooni Sukh he smaran hariche

Fukat kal ka davadi re

Mana mi…

Durlabha nar tan jaayeel jevha

Kay karil dhan raashi re..

Mana mi…

Patit pavan prabhoo hari smarata

Jashil moksha padhala re..

Mana mi…

( Oh! Mind! How many times should I guide you?

Remember Ram moment to moment.. .

Oh! Mind! How many times should I guide you?

You lose the happiness of remember God

By wasting your time in useless activities

Oh! Mind!…

The human body that you value so much, will be soon gone,

What will you do of your wealth then,

Oh! Mind!...

All your sins will be washed away if you remember God

You will attain moksha(salvation),

Oh! Mind!...)

She lived like this song. With this writing, I am doing a "Aakhri Salam" to my mother.

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Twilight years...

“Come here.. ! Wipe the kitchen... then clean the utensils... !” She calls the maid as she is cooking the morning breakfast.

“Lakshmi... where are you... I need you to chop a few vegetables...” Priya can hear her Ma in law calling out the maid.

Priya was watching the interaction as she sat sipping the morning tea, “Why is she monitoring the maid so much. The maid can take a decision. The job that she calling for is her routine one”

“I don’t believe in over monitoring…” thinks Priya.

“Lakshmi... the baby is crying...” Priya can here the voice again...

“Priya...you need to watch over the maids...they have become very lazy...”

“Hmm… Hmm...” Priya mutters. Her expressions clearly show that she doesn’t agree with it. Before she can reply back, she hears,“You need to keep the baby’s utensils clean. And you should drink a lot of water…”

Priya frowns at that. “I know that. I can think for myself. Does she think I can’t take the right decisions? Why does she have to advise me so much? Why doesn’t she let me be?”

“Can you tell Lakshmi that she needs to work for an extra half day tomorrow? We need her help to clean up the house. She will listen to you – she tends to ignore me.” Ma tells Priya, with a voice really soft. Priya can see the silent request in her voice.

Priya’s face is curious. “Wonder why does she think the maids will listen to me better? She is the older one. They will definitely listen to her.”

Ma then sits to work on her crosswords. “Which is the only animal that lays eggs? Is it the Platypus?”

Priya goes blank in ignorance. And then Priya’s face lights up in admiration. Ma's intelligence still surprises her. Priya mumbles an “I dont know...”

And then, Priya looks a little closely. She sees a bright face. Ma’s and Pa’s had been a love marriage. She can see why. “Ma’s beauty can still flutter a few hearts,” she thinks with a smile.

She notices the prominent grey veins in Ma's hand. She remembers the umpteen stories of gratitude told to her by the relatives of how Ma in her younger days, had been host to multiple family functions. People in the family, still like to call her whenever there is a marriage or a pooja in their house. After all she knows all the rituals of the house by heart.

She has brought up her two children to become an engineer and a doctor. She has lived through life and yet managed to retain the life in her.

She is now staying with Priya and her husband, who is one of her sons. There isn’t much work to do. There is a cook and a maid. Priya takes care of the baby and of course there is Lakshmi to help. Much as she tries to help around, there is not much to do. There is nobody to guide – What with, internet taking the place that traditionally belonged to the wise and the elder.

Sudoko and Crosswords don’t occupy her completely. Priya can see her Ma in law now. She sees a lady, who is missing being in action, who is missing being the center of the universe of her family.

Priya turns back to look at the dosa batter that she is pouring in to the dosa-pan. In childish desperation and with a childlike curiosity, she asks Ma with a smile... “Damn.. ! my dosas always stick on the pan... What can I do about it...?”

Ma’s face brightens up. The gleam in her eyes is visible. “Oh! That's easy... sprinkle a little water on the pan... and then pour the batter. There you are! all set! Crisp thin dosas... !”

Priya sneaks a glance at Ma. She sees happiness written all over her face.

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Stay Hungry... Stay Foolish...

I was pregnant with my child then. My grandmother had not been keeping well at that time. I had had a bad year. I had had a misunderstanding with a childhood friend of mine and few of the decisions I had taken had proved wrong. Perpetually in confusion and resisting the new changes that life was thrusting on me, I would be in a lot of discomfort. And then one fine day, early morning, my brother called me - He informed - Granny is no more.

No more! Huh!

Misunderstanding with a childhood friend!? :)

Ego was coming in the way of my friend and me getting back? :)

I went and visited granny in the hospital.

Was it true? Was this person, with whom I grew up - whom I admired so much - a person of determination and grit, a person with life and joy - just a body - Was there no soul anymore? Would this person never talk to me?

I mean, was there really no life anymore? - How was I supposed to come to terms with that?

My decisions had gone wrong?:)

Why did I feel so heavy and yet so light again..?

Though I still found it difficult to comprehend the reality of what happened, the inevitability of death hit me. A burden seemed lifted off my chest. And all my confusions seemed silly. I got in touch with my friend and told her about my pregnancy. I noticed that she seemed genuinely and honestly happy. I felt the tension waning away and after a long time I felt happy within.

It was at such a time, that I chanced upon Steve Jobs’s commencement speech at Stanford. Among the other things he talks in his speech, he mentions about his close shave with death and I couldn't help agreeing with it.

I know this is a much heard speech, but I couldn’t help reproducing some parts of it here again -

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself.

Stay hungry, Stay Foolish... !

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