My First Baby

I was 3 years old when a tiny baby entered my life. She was severely premature and my family worried that she might not even make it. But the little spitfire that she is, she got better and grew up far too quickly. I remember our childhood years – we used to drive each other nuts over absolutely nothing at all. She’d bonk me on the head and run away and I used to become red-faced with anger and chase after her. Or she would run down the stairs and announce that  she’d ‘reserved’ the front seat of the car (despite the fact that we had a weekly car seating arrangement that had been cemented in stone). Sometimes we’d be playing with each other, tickling each other and she’d say something that would tick me off instantly. A tickling session would turn into a full-blown fight. Bodily scratches and pinches were not uncommon, and Amma used to go crazy trying to keep us from ‘going at the other’. We would be made to go into separate rooms, not allowed to talk for a whole hour, or we’d be blasted until one (or the both of us) started crying. But somehow, the instant that Amma intervened, a divine light would shine on us both and Amma would become the enemy, creating conflict between two sisters who loved each other very much.

As we stepped into our teenage years, the nature of our fights and subsequent apologies changed. A fight that usually ended up with both of us crying, would now end with one of us apologising. Numerous hand written (and often ornately-decorated!) apology notes were slipped beneath bedroom doors, with the message-bearer knocking once and then running away quickly… We started telling our parents to give us the space to sort out our fights by ourselves.

Eventually, we grew up – a little. But not much has changed. We both still know exactly what buttons to push to make the other furiously angry in an instant. Amma  is usually chased out of the room when we fight, so that we can sort it out by ourselves. We live in different cities now and heart-felt ‘whatsapp’ messages have replaced the hand-written apology notes. Bodily scratches and pinches are much rarer, and long nights of gossip have replaced the tickling sessions. And we both know (and remind each other often) of how much we mean to each other.

But if there’s something that I’ve learnt from this all – its that its important to fight. Its important for parents to give their children the space to sort out their own issues. After all, if they don’t pick up this skill as children, what would happen when they grow up? What would happen when parents are no longer around to resolve issues?

And so.. its important for my sister to know that regardless of how much we might annoy each other, regardless of the other people who enter our lives, regardless of the stupid things we might say (or the important things we might miss to say) and regardless of where we live, or how busy we might be, she’s still one of the most important people in my life. Regardless of anything, she’d always have my unconditional support. Its important for my sister to know that even though I might call her an idiot and yell at her (even unreasonably),  it still doesn’t change the fact that I love her more than she could ever imagine. And its very important to know that no fight – big or small, changes things. And even more important to not let other people/other events get in-between how much we love each other.

My sister holds a very special place in my heart. Its something I’ve told her several times and its a position that she holds with a lot of pride. And so, I remind her again, ‘Patta, you always are and always will be my first baby’.

 

 

A fleeting moment, captured forever…

A picture of me as an 8 month old baby, holding onto my mother’s knee and trying to stand, giving her a broad baby grin – that beautiful expression of wonder, captured on the face of a young new mother.

A picture of me and my sister as toddlers, grinning at the camera with a triumphant look. We had emptied an entire bottle of talc on the floor and mistakenly thought we were going to get away with it…

A picture of me and my fiancé taken on our first date as a college-going couple… I look at it and realise that I’d forgotten just how geeky we both were back then!

I’ve always loved taking pictures and being in them – treasured moments and special occasions deserve to be captured.  Sometimes, we lose the person who shared that moment with us and looking at the picture brings back a tear and fond memories. Sometimes relationships change, and a photograph brings back a memory of what once-was.

And those incredibly treasured moments – the dewy-smiles of a newly-wed couple, the adoration on the face of a new grandfather, or the toothy grins of childhood friends with their arms around each other – these are moments that deserve to be cemented in stone.

In the rush of life, and in going about our routine, we often forget so many things… So pause for a moment, pick up an old photo album and flip through its pages… you’d be surprised at what memories it brings back!

P.S. I’ve been missing from the blogosphere for a while and it feels good to be back… January has been an incredibly special month. And in case, you missed the little announcement I slipped in, in the third line there – I got engaged! More on this later, perhaps… Leaving you with a picture

 

And then the old Tiger died

Reblogged from Mashed Musings:

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The tiger was getting old. He was a fierce killer when he was young, clawing and tearing animals in the jungle, roaming around like a king with his extended clan. He had made a pact with the other carnivores in the jungle. An army of hyenas was raised and was let loose on the hapless rabbits, deer, buffaloes, zebras and giraffes.

Read more… 675 more words

An absolutely brilliant post from one of my favourite bloggers and a must read.

A lost daughter…

“….. I can’t live without seeing my daughter.  I only signed the child custody order because my husband had my daughter with him and was threatening to kill her if I didn’t sign the papers….’

She finished reading the brief and leaned back, a weary sigh escaping her lips and the back of her hand brushing away the tears that were beginning to prick.

This particular case hit too close to home. She was transported 20 years ago to the day her psychotic husband had kidnapped their 3 year old. She had given it everything she had, but she hadn’t seen or heard from her daughter or husband since then. She couldn’t imagine what Jahnvi would look like now, as a young woman  - in her mind’s eye, she could only picture her as the little girl she’d been – twinkling eyes, an impish grin, her face framed by a mop of wild curls as she pressed a sticky chocolate-smeared kiss on her mother’s cheek.

The telephone rang, startling her awake from her personal nightmare. “Ms. Manya Tiwari is here. I had placed her case papers on your desk earlier today. Can I show her in?”. She nodded, “Yes, I just went through the papers. Give me a few minutes.”

She turned to the desk and flipped through the documents once more, a look of determination in her eyes. It was a difficult career choice and each new case left her emotionally drained and exhausted. But she would not stop – she had vowed that she would not allow another person go through what had happened to her.

She picked up the telephone, “Yes, Indu – please show Ms. Manya to my cabin.”

Edited to add:

I was recently working on a case at work. While it wasn’t a child-custody dispute, the parties involved were fighting a separate case for custody of their infant daughter and unfortunately those documents were presented as evidence here. It was heart-breaking to read through the papers and I cannot even imagine the pain that families go through in such situations. My heart goes out to all of them… I can think of very few things that are worse than fighting for/over your own child.

Because somethings need to be said.

I remember it like it happened just yesterday. I was about 18-19 years old. It was the summer holidays and we were attending  a cousin’s upanayanam. Since it was during the school break, the entire hoard of my cousins had landed in town – we were close to 15 of us and were having a great time chatting and goofing around.

I was dressed in a silk pavadai-dhavani or half-sari – I still remember the exact dress I wore. Soon enough, it was lunchtime and we all headed to the dining hall of the mandapam which was filled with several rows of steel tables and chairs. I sat down at the end of one row, my younger cousins seated next to me and we waited to be served on banana leaves, still chattering amidst ourselves. I remember the caterers being dressed in identical white shirts, veshtis folded up, standing around and waiting to serve.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my waist, grazing against my bare skin, pinching my waist hard, and trying to grab. I froze for a moment and  by the time   I recovered, the man had melted into the crowd. I couldn’t identify him among the crowd of the 7-10 catering staff who were standing there. I remember scanning their faces – searching for a man with shifty eyes or a smirk on his face. I couldn’t find him and till date, I regret that I didn’t see his face.

I was both angry and upset and my eyes were filled with tears, but the ‘elder sister’ instinct in me took over instantly. My skin had turned red and I pulled the pallu across to cover it.  I leaned back to check who was seated at the other end of the table and breathed a sigh of relief when I realised it was a tall and much older cousin brother. The younger girls were between us – thank God for that.  My mind was on high alert for the rest of the day and the next day -I carefully refused to let my younger sister or any of my cousins go to the dining area alone, and till today, refuse to let them sit at the edge of the table. I remember wrestling with my feelings – wondering if I should tell the elders of the family. It was not a fear that they wouldn’t believe me – my concern was that they would, and that my grandfather would cause a huge fuss and commotion. I didn’t want to be the cause of any unpleasantness at a happy occasion, and so, I kept quiet.

Some might dismiss this as a minor offence, considering that scores of women and young girls face the same and worse every day – I don’t know, but it has stayed with me for over 5 years now.

A couple of weekends ago, I had met my girlfriends for dinner and one of them was telling us the story of how her marriage of 6 months is falling apart – with her husband abusing her emotionally and sexually. We all listened, tears in our eyes. And then she said she’d told her parents and in-laws about the abuse – every sordid detail, and together they’d confronted her husband. She filed for divorce the next day. Another of my friends, ‘X’, then asked, ‘What? You told your parents and in-laws about your husband’s sexual abuse??! Why would you? Its too sickening to be shared!’

Something inside me snapped when I heard that and I yelled at her. Its sad enough that a friend is going through such horror but to question her courage in dealing with it angered me to no end. My relationship with X has changed since that day, but it doesn’t bother me – there are somethings that need to be said. 

A letter to my Grandfather

My dearest Thatha,

I think this would be the first in a number of letters that I would write to you. Its been exactly 12 days since you left us and the last week has passed by in a blur. Except that you haven’t really left us, have you? The house still has your presence and every room holds such rich memories of you.

I see you when I look at myself in the mirror – when I notice my long nose that people say is yours. I see you in my sister’s sparkling wit and in my Appa’s helpful nature. I see baby photos of myself and I remember the new grandfather who was delighted to be behind the lens. Each time I get into my car, I will remember how we both went to the showroom to pick it out. I will remember how you always loved seeing me dressed up and telling me that I looked beautiful because, after all, “Whose grand daughter was I?”

I’ve learnt SO much from you, Thatha. You taught me to value people over money and that sometimes friendships are stronger than blood. You taught me that a soft reproach works better than a harsh scolding and that its absolutely acceptable for grandparents to cuddle and spoil their grandchildren. You taught me to nurture and treasure relationships and your own difficult life was often a reminder of how blessed we are today.

I will miss seeing your smiling face every morning and evening – your sulkiness if we left the house without giving you a kiss and a hug. I will miss curling up onto your lap, doing the crossword together, teasing you about your tv serial addiction. I will miss calling you up at the office and hearing you say, ‘Hello darling!’ on the phone. I will miss the Shakespeare buff, the English enthusiast, and the passionate teacher that you were. I want to remember you as a tall, fair, handsome man who loved me very very much. The coolest grandfather I could have ever imagined.

I always thought that your death would be a nightmare for all of us, but you died so peacefully in your sleep, exactly the way you always wanted it, so its difficult to be angry with God. We miss you SO much, but I want you to know that we are all doing alright.

You will live on in so many hearts and minds and you will continue to be a HUGE part of my life, wherever I am, because a part of you resides deep inside my heart. You’ve left us with your footprints to follow and your legacy to live upto and I promise you today that I’m going to make you very very very proud of me.

My dearest Thatha, my shining star, and now, my very own guardian angel… I love you very very much. Rest in peace.

 

 

Earlier posts:

The Circle of Life

Trying to grab hold of memories

The Circle of Life

I return home from work and run to my thatha’s room, eager to surprise him by having come home early. I see his face light up with a big smile and his arms reach out for a hug. I put my bag away and climb onto the bed, lying down beside him. My cheek rests against his shoulder and he presses a kiss on my forehead, his arm idly patting my back. The rhythmic action makes me close my eyes and I almost drift off to sleep, enveloped in the quiet joy that even at the age of 23, I am still a little girl to him.

He suddenly says, ‘Khanna… I’m feeling uncomfortable. I’m suddenly feeling breathless and very tired.’ I get up instantly, my eyes scanning his face as I ask him if he’d like to go to the hospital immediately. After a moment’s hesitation, he nods his head and I call up the doctor to let him know we are on the way. My aunt pulls out the relevant medical records, my sister escorts him to the car as I back it out of the driveway. Within 20 minutes, we are waiting at the hospital…

We return home an hour later, with a prescription of ‘Complete Rest’ and a set of new medicines. Thatha makes his way to the bedroom and I peek in a little later to find him sleeping soundly. I sit at the edge of the bed watching him quietly – a tall and handsome man, one whom I love so dearly, and tears prick my eyes at the thought that old age is fast catching up to him.

My mind drifts back to the past couple of hours and I realise that life has this funny way of coming full circle – within the span of a few moments, the grandchild turns into a responsible adult and the grandfather into a young child who needs constant care.

PostSecret

There’s a website that I follow regularly – it started out as a blog and its grown to something of a movement across the US. Its called “PostSecret”.

People from all over the United States send in their secrets anonymously on a homemade postcard, and selected secrets are posted on the blog every Sunday morning. The site is read by thousands, talk shows are regularly conducted at universities across the country and are filled to capacity. Members from the audience are invited to come up and share their secrets.Books containing collections of secrets are published regularly, and are often purchased and given as gifts.

Some of these secrets are meant strictly for a mature audience. The Indian mindset might not relate to/understand some of these stories. You might find some secrets offensive/gross – in which case, feel free to close the window and stop reading.  Some secrets are funny or silly, some painful to even read, and some heart-warming. But most of all, I think reading these secrets is a reminder that no one is truly alone in this world. There’s always someone out there who is going through a similar joy or similar pain – and it does help to remember that.

For those of us who have had a happy childhood and a well-adjusted and comfortable life, these serve as reminders to us to always empathise with the pain of another and to be grateful for how fortunate we are. For those who haven’t been as fortunate – remember you aren’t alone and sharing your pain might be cathartic.

There have been so many secrets I’ve read over the past few years that have given me food for thought. This isn’t a traditional ‘blog post’ –  I just had something to share and wanted to put it up here. A secret that I read on PostSecret – a story of strength and positiveness shining through even in the darkest of circumstances. This woman is an inspiration and her secret deserves to be made into a poster and put up all over our country. 

This is her secret:

I'm a survivor, not a victim.

Please step over to PostSecret if you want to read more. Perhaps, we need a movement like this in India too.

Are people born evil?

I was a law student not too long ago, and part of our course curriculum required that we visit a Juvenile Home in our final year. Our college arranged for it, and we all put in money to buy packets of ‘Frooti’ and biscuits for all the boys there. We entered and we were given a small orientation, telling us what the daily routine of all those boys was like – it was your basic prison routine, except that they had classes where they were taught basic Math and Thirukkural by an incompetent teacher. We were then told that we could walk around and mingle with these boys, but not to ask any ‘provoking questions’.

What followed was both heart-breaking and frightening….

We came across a bunch of boys who were destitutes or from broken families. With fathers/brothers who were thieves themselves and who would give up their kids and force them to surrender to the cops just so they could escape themselves. Most of these boys were children – aged between 10-15 and were already into petty theft, chain/car/bike stealing and the occasional street brawl. It was scary hearing them recount their experiences, but we all felt bad – these were children who stole because they didn’t know how else they would get food that night, or because they didn’t know it was wrong. [One boy told us that his dad told him to go and get some iron rods from near the railway tracks and he brought them. The child didn't realise it was stealing and once the cops came close, the dad dropped the rods near the child and ran] These are children brought up in broken homes and with almost no sense of right and wrong.

We came across another set of boys.. a couple of them, they coolly stood apart from the rest and seemed to almost survey us. One of my friends walked up to him and said, ‘We are lawyers. Please let us know if we can help you in any way – any legal aid/representation’. The leader of the gang, a 15 year old, gave him a cocky smile and said, ‘I raped an 8 year old girl. What will you help?’ My friend stood speechless for a minute and asked, ‘Why did you do it?’ And the 15 year old replied without the slightest hint of regret, “Anna (elder brother), I wanted to. Supera irunthuchu (translated to mean, ‘it was super’) Neengalum try pannunga (You should also try)”  A 15 year old boy with a psycho look in his eyes and not the slightest sense of wrong for what he had done – a chill ran down my spine when I heard him and looked at him. He laughed and walked away with his buddies. And that was the moment when I started believing that maybe some children are just born evil.

My best friend called me up last night and said, ‘Do you remember Uma Maheshwari miss?’ I was out having a late snack with another best friend, so I just casually asked her, ‘Yep, I remember her well.. what’s up with her?’ And she replied, ‘She just died today. Apparently a student stabbed her to death’. I was so shocked that I couldn’t think of a minute. And I kept asking her as to what had caused this, she didn’t have any answers except to say, ‘The killer student was apparently angry with her’. I somehow thought there would be another reason, not an excuse, but atleast something more serious that would in some way explain (not justify) this rage. Read the newspaper reports here, here and here.  This lady taught at my school for a couple of years when I was in high school. I remember her hanging around the Physics lab and helping us out. A harmless woman, quite friendly and someone whom the guys in my class used to tease and annoy/irritate a little. She had apparently called the boy’s father to the school and told him the son wasn’t studying enough. The boy got angry, bought a knife and brought it to school, found her alone and stabbed her repeatedly, even chasing her until she eventually collapsed. She is survived by two daughters and a husband, I think. I still remember two bright eyed little girls following her around during school events like the Annual Day and Project Day. How will they come to terms with such a senseless loss?

I sometimes feel we live in such a dangerous world. A world where rage is sometimes uncontrolled, where vicious and unprovoked acts go unpunished. And where sometimes, violence is even excused. There was a debate on this at IHM’s blog – click and read it here.

But whatever said and done, I’m not able to think of anything that would justify such random acts of violence and brutality. Premeditated, cold acts with full knowledge of its consequences by a person who is just an adolescent.

Makes me wonder, are people sometimes just born evil?

The Liebster Blogging Awards!

I started writing my own blog after being a lurker and occasional commenter on some blogs that I found interesting. And as I read, I realised, that apart from picking up new perspectives on something old, and reading about things that I would have otherwise not thought about, bloggers could become good friends.

A different kind of friendship – one based almost completely upon the character you portray through your writing. I’ve always had a childhood dream of having a penpal, and I think blogging fulfills that, to a certain extent!

December 8th, 2011 was a very special day for me. I logged into my blogging email id to find a comment from cynicallyengineered that read ‘You just got yourself a Liebster blog award! Check it out.’

Here’s a little about the Liebster Awards and the person who gave it to me:

Liebster is a German word meaning ‘dearest’ or ‘favourite’ and the thought behind it, is to award those blogs that you think are your favourites.

These are the rules as displayed on Cynically Engineered’s blog:

1. Showing appreciation of the bloggers who nominated you by linking back to their blogs.
2. Choose your top 5 favourite blogs and award them by linking back to their blogs.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Lastly, enjoy the love and appreciation you’ve got and share the blogging karma!

Your chosen blogs should have less than two hundred followers.

If you get more than one award, you are supposed to name another five of your favorites.

Thinking about it takes me back to that day when I was grinning so much all day, thanks to having been conferred my very first blogging award!

Cynicallyengineered is one cool dude A geek, a bit of a poet, and although perhaps not intended, someone who shows off his brilliant writing skills. It’s witty and might make you laugh aloud at times, and yet provides enough fodder for thought to be more than a timepass read. And also, a guy-feminist on the Indian Blogosphere. CE became immensely popular on the blogging circuit, but I guess the fame and fortune became too much for him He’s on a temporary sabbatical. But subscribe to his blog – You won’t be disappointed, I promise Thank you, CE, for giving me this award!! It made my day

Its been a hectic month leading up to 2012 what with having to prepare for and write a few exams, a little bit of travelling and a busy schedule at work.

I missed my blog, and I’d like to begin the New Year by putting up something that smacks of goodness and appreciation!

Presenting to you…. *Drumroll please!* … the Liebster Blog Awards! 

These are my favourite bloggers and blogs in my short blogging journey… and in no particular order.

1. Never Mind Yaar

KayEm/K.Mathur says that she writes at the heart of India’s problems – communal tension and the environment. In reality though, her blog is much much more… She writes about clashing and intermingling of cultures, of women’s rights, and corruption among other things. She has a side widget containing interesting reads,  and oh, she’s a novelist too

2. Scribby’s This & That:

Scribby is a mommy blogger With a super cute daughter, Chirpy – the image in my head is of a bubbly-mommy and an even bubblier baby girl! But click and read, and you’ll find a lot more than just stories about her baby girl – although those are super cute too

3. The Era I Lived In:

My Era writes a deeply personal blog. Chronicles of the life she has had, the difficulties faced and the little drops of joy and hopes for the future. Some of these are written in the form of letters to her darling daughter, Pari… its almost as if from a movie, and I’m sure that Pari would one day love reading them.

4. Souldipper: 

Souldipper’s blog reverberates with positive energy. She calls herself a ‘Spirit Builder by Design’. Even if you aren’t spiritualistic, its worth a read – you’re bound to come away feeling better about yourself. I love reading her comments on my blog – the thoughtfulness behind each one feels like she’s dipped into a part of my soul.

5. Priya’s Partial View

Priya’s Partial View is the first blog I subscribed to after reading her on Freshly Pressed. Deeply recommended for the brilliant photography and the simple, soothing and beautiful way of writing. Even if you come from a different country and a different way of life, its bound to transport you to another place. Priya makes you smile, although sometimes with a little tear Truly magical!

CE, thank you so much for my first ever blogging award! It will always remain very very special

And to my list of Liebster Awardees – Thank you for giving me something fun, special and meaningful to read! Spread the blogging karma and the joy!

Here’s wishing you all a BRILLIANT 2012, good health, and all the happiness in the world!