लाखों हैं यहाँ दिलवाले...

We were coming back from somewhere last evening. It was late in the night. FM channels on radio play lovely songs at that time. We were listening to Purani Jeans on 98.3 FM.

"laakhon hain yahan dilwale, par pyaar nahi milata (there are so many loving people around and yet it is so difficult to find love)....", crooned Mahendra Kapoor,yesteryear's romantic singer, from the Movie Kismat. It reminded me of an incident which happened over 27 years ago.

We had been to a group picnic in Neembu Park in Lucknow. Everyone coaxed my father to sing a song. He somehow managed to wiggle out of it. Just as he was sighing a sigh of relief, his 9 year old daughter (yours truly) shouted from across the crowd, "Daddy, sing 'lakhon hain yahan' na....please".

The dampening demand for a song revived into a thunderous pre-emptive applause and he had no choice but to play along. If looks could kill, Neembu park was to be my burial ground. His long harsh gaze told me so.

He then turned to his friends and started singing with a smile. I clapped enthusiastically. As the song went on, my clapping hands kept their locked pose but slowed down to the extent of not making any sound anymore. They came to rest under my tilted head. I looked at my father in admiration and prayed for the time to stand still.

Last evening I looked at my husband with similar admiration and prayed for time to stand still. He was whistling along with the radio..."lakhon hain yahan dilwale"....(he has this talent, he can whistle any song with uncanny precision close to the original). I was listening to the same song in a new avatar. Spellbound.

The song got over. So did the drive. But the memory of that joy stays on.
I slept well and happy :)

*(Here's a song Partha whistled sometime back. "Ye Sham mastani....
I had recorded it in one take on my primitive Nokia E63 handset, so do pardon the playback echo.)

Warps & wefts of friendship

the warp & weft of a double ikat saree

The weaver sat there weaving, wanting to make a beautiful fabric. Each warp* was strung and placed with its surrounding warps on the beam. They all looked at each other and smiled. They were neighbours for eternity. They had to be the strong ones because they were to bear the trauma of all the weaving. They had already been through the shedding and twisting together, which was to strengthen them. They were like best friends who had seen ups and downs as one. The warps.

But sometimes history can be a baggage. They were permanently tied together. Still and rigid. Absolutely no interaction despite being so close. One didn't speak to the other. Soon they got tired of each other. They waited for the wefts** to come by. The wefts would be like a breath of fresh air. Always on the move, never a dull moment with them.

The weaver knew this. He started interlacing the warps with the wefts. The wefts brought new colours with them. As the interweaving progressed, the highly strung warps started swaying too. Fluttering to the music of the wefts. They criss-crossed, danced and created magical designs with each other. The warps were very happy. They had found new friends in the wefts. Someone they could talk to, someone they could relate with. They gradually started getting detached from the neighbouring warps.

All the warps had taken each other for granted that they would always be together. They were the original best friends. But they never realised how and when they got so disconnected that they belonged only to the wefts now, not each other.

This is how friendships fall apart.

Slowly. One warp at a time. Day after day.

The fabric looks beautiful. The motif is magnificent. The weaver has done a splendid job.

But the warps have lost out on each other. The wefts are their new best friends. ***




__________________________________________________________________________

image courtesy Wikipedia

*       Warp is the yarn that is permanently fixed on the loom in a lengthwise fashion. Called ताना in Hindi

**      Weft runs through the warp by way of threading. Called बाना in Hindi

***    I think I saw glimpses of one such great friendship fading away today. A little sad about it but then who knows what design has the destiny in mind for which this little detour was necessary.

Geometry of our lives

A line is straight. It is linear in progression and has but one dimension. No depth. This is what we learnt in school. We learnt the same about time. Passage of time was linear, never mind its cyclic appearances whenever history repeated itself. The same can be said about one’s responsibilities. Our sense of accountability towards obligations. No wonder it is called the 'line of duty'. Some people live their lives more in terms of a straight line. Executing all that falls on it. Only the people on the line, belong to the line. Just like the collinear point we were taught. 

And then there is a circle. Round. Bent. A shape that most of the nature seems to adapt to. The sun, the moon, the earth etc. Symmetric. Perfect ! Some people live their lives more in terms of a circle. The circle of love. You can start from a point, go the whole distance and still come back to where you started from. You could be anywhere in the circle and yet be a part of it. The rules are less and lenient. It indulges you.

Is it possible to choose just one of them as the presiding decree that your life will run by? I always find it to be a fine mix. These are the root binary codes that govern the programming of our lives. We do things because we either love to do them or they fall in our line of duty. The warp & the weft of living.

And here I thought I was a creative person, far removed from the laws of geometry and computing. Ha!

Happy Now?

Papa was here a few days back. He stayed with us for almost a month. This was the first time he was visiting me after I set up home post-marriage. I wanted to make a good impression.

What do parents want to see? Not a palatial house or cupboards overflowing with prosperity. All they want to make sure is that their child is happy. 

We travelled for almost 20 days. Me and dad. Just the two of us. From religious Rishikesh to royal Rajasthan to rangeela Punjab. With just a break of one day in between as a breather, we were constantly on the move. This trip was enlightening for both of us.

Baba & I - At the Rashtrapati Bhavan Interiors Tour

I realised that he wasn’t the same Col. Natu who was a picture of health. His knees hurt now. He worried for me and my brother constantly. He missed mom (we lost her few years back). He feared for his mother  who is 90. All he wanted was peace. He wasn’t what I always thought him to be - my daddy strongest, even though for me he always will be - He was tad bit older.

He realised I wasn’t the same either. I wasn't the bubbly, effervescent girl who would run to him with all her problems. I wasn’t asking him for any help. Instead I was offering him a hand as he climbed the stairs (which he refused fiercely). I didn’t let him pick the suitcases. I insisted he wear sports shoes. I wasn't what he always thought me to be - his little girl - I was tad bit older too.

During one of the train journeys he asked me why I wasn’t the same old me? I laughed and replied, “you are not the same old you either”. 

We came back to Delhi. He spent time at home. Partha (my husband) has this serene quality which can put everyone at ease in an instant. Baba adores him to the extent that he will squarely blame me for anything that goes wrong, not him. I guess that's a privilege most sons-in-law get.

One night Partha had to rush out for an emergency around 11:30 pm (he is a doctor). He phoned me once he had reached the destination and once more when he realised that he was going to take time. Dad was awake all this while. I had dozed off. He couldn’t understand how I could go to sleep when my husband is out. He asked me when Partha was going to be back. I replied sleepily, “ I don’t know.”

Papa looked a little displeased and scolded, “How can you not be worried about him?”.

Many previous worrisome nights flashed through my mind as I would go insane in the early months of our marriage whenever he stepped out at night. These emergency calls weren’t new anymore. I replied, “Oh don’t worry Baba he will come back when he is done. And if something has to go wrong with him, then somebody will surely call us and inform. What’s the point in worrying either way? Go back to sleep”. 

This present day husband-wife equation was new to Dad. My mother would have been worried sick if he were ever out. The logic that life is very demanding and one doesn't want to burden their partner for a lesser reason, doesn't cut ice with him. He flared, “Is there anything you worry about or look forward to?” 

One O’clock in the night was hardly the time to get into these discussions so I ended it with, “No I don’t look forward to anything. Now sleep.”

Partha was back by 2:00am. I opened the door. He walked in. There were no discussions about the patient (he never discusses his patients at home stating patient privacy and confidentiality). Of course I was relieved that he was back and the silent nagging anxiety over his safety was put to rest. We both slept sound and woke up fresh for a new day.

Baba didn’t sleep well. The root cries the most when it sees the branches dividing. That is what he imagined was happening to us.

He asked me as we were having our morning tea, “Are you happy?” I didn’t know what had brought this on. And then I remembered our midnight conversation. I knew just saying ‘yes’ was of no use. I was quiet. My efforts of making a good impression on him were kind of falling flat. What could I say? He thinks all this talk of 'giving each other space' is rubbish.

Silence has double edged undertones of coming across as sorrow at times. Just like a vibrant emotional spectrum sometimes resonates the falsity of a life lived well. I wasn't defending anything, that made him worry more.

Overjoyed photographs, public displays of affection, constant reaffirmations etc. are such widely accepted benchmarks of living in the pink cotton candy world that anything else seems like misery. Makes you look unhappy. The charm of these yardsticks is that they look the reality.

How does one tell elders who care for you that you don't anxiously look forward to being happy one fine day in the future because you are happy right now. You don’t wait to be at peace someday because you already are. How does one defend the calm waters?

Maybe the answer is hidden somewhere in...

चाह गयी चिंता मिटी, मनवा बेपरवाह 

जिनको कछु ना चाहिए, वो हि शाहंशाह

                                           -  कबीर 

एक ग़लती

हमें रिश्तों को खींच-तान कर, ठोक-बजा कर परखने की इतनी आदत सी हो गयी है के हर मोड़ पर हम उन्हें कसौटी पर रख धरते हैं. हर ढलान पर उनकी पकड़ जांचते हैं. हर चढ़ाई पर हौंसले का सबूत मांगते हैं. भूल जाते हैं के कच्चे धागों में पिरोया नाज़ुक सा हार है यह, कुत्ते का पट्टा नहीं जो घडी घडी खींच कर पड़ताल करनी पड़े.

फिर जब हमारी ऐसी ही एक ग़लती से ये माला टूट जाती है तो या तो दोस्तों की टोली मुट्ठी भर ले जाती है या हमसे भी ज़हीन कोई अपना लेता है उसे. एक छोटी सी ग़लती कर के खो बैठते हैं हम अपना कीमती जेवर. कभी वापस न पाने के लिए.

 खींचो नहीं यूँ जोर से
माला जांचन वास्ते
जहाँ-तहां पर भटकते
होंगे बिखरे मोती रास्ते

पंथी मुट्ठी में भर लें
या चुग जाए हंस कुलीन
पल भर में ही लोप भये
माणिक-मोती महीन



भूले से भी ना गिरे
ये जेवर अनमोल
कंगाल भिकारी बनकर भी
 मिले नहीं खैरात में
खींचो नहीं यूँ जोर से
माला जांचन वास्ते


बिनस गया तुझ से तेरा जो
संजो सके ना कोय
वो नाजुक, उस से भी नाजुक चाव
शब्द बाण प्रहार से
ऐसे तीखे घाव
संचा बचे फिर कुछ नहीं
ऐसे घातक अघात से

खींचो नहीं यूँ जोर से
माला जांचन वास्ते
जहाँ-तहां पर भटकते
होंगे बिखरे मोती रास्ते

Life Saver Ad

We were in Nawalgarh last week. A little getaway time we got for ourselves which we grabbed.

Nawalgarh is a small town (could be called a big village) full of narrow gullies and beautiful old havelis in the state of Rajasthan. A walk in the market takes you at least 60-70 years back. We stayed in a resort. We did nothing but laze around. We loved the lawns and the sun so much that we could be found there from 10:30 am to 4:30 pm reading books, having our meals, listening to Pallaji (a folk singer), getting Mehendi on hands etc etc.

Some of the local TV channels were fun to watch. One such channel was dishing out a time-streaked print of a movie we both liked. The movie was interspersed with cable TV ads. Some of them were of very poor quality. Some were just photographs strewn together by a decent narrator. No swanky graphics. No especially recorded background music. No deep baritone voice-over. No taam-jhaam generally one would associate with an ad.

One such ad of 'Jangid Hospital' made me smile. Maybe it had something to do with the name or the way they spoke about the facilities, the doctors available, dispensary, and other available machines in a hurried monotone. It made me think of all the big budget Hospital ads that leave no stone unturned when it comes to production or media blaring. What a stark difference.

I forgot about the ad soon and started ordering my dinner. Hubby wasn't hungry. The Aloo Tikkis and Bhelpuris of the evening were still sitting packed in his stomach. He asked for a Digene. I said I will get it from the front office after ordering my dinner. He insisted I get it right away. He generally isn't that way so I walked upto the reception area.

When I came back, I saw the door ajar. He was on the bed. He asked me to get the front office staff to get him a Disprin and a Sorbitrate. Till then I wasn't worried but now I was. I asked him what happened. He complained of chest pain.

We were in the middle of nowhere. All the doctors in Rajasthan in government hospitals were on a strike. There was no way any chemist shop would be open at 10:30 pm in this sleepy town. I cursed myself for two things - one not being able to drive our car and two for not having Digene, Disprin and Sorbitrate in our first aid box. If there ever was a Worst Informed Doctor's Wife Award, I would be the honourable claimant I am sure. We didn't know where to go.

Suddenly my husband remembered the 'Jangid Hospital' ad which had mentioned clearly the exact location, the doctors available, and that there was an ECG machine available along with a small dispensary. One of the Hotel reception boys was with us who guided us to the location. We reached there at 11:00 pm (can never forgive myself for the fact that Partha had to drive in those gullies in that condition in the dead of the night). By the time we reached, his pain had eased and it was clear that it was a case of gastric trouble but he didn't want to take any chances. We got an ECG done and bought the medicines we wanted from the dispensary.

We had both learnt important lessons in life.

Now in the comfort our house when I look back, I shudder to think what could have happened and if it wasn't for that little ad on cable TV. We would be running around looking for a hospital around midnight. Now this is what a hospital ad should be able to do - save patients by giving them exact information they need - not just a feel good ad that is made as a brand building exercise but does nothing for the patients.

Their ad was a life saver

Birthday Barometer

Courtship period is the childhood of any relationship. Not so much for its infancy but for the way we longingly recount it with wistful absent mindedness time and again.  

It is during this period that lazes around a moment which makes you look at the person in front of you and go ‘Ohhh I am falling in love with this person’. You slither down an imaginary water slide. Nobody can stop you. Not even you yourself. A movie that has come close to beautifully depicting this feeling is ‘Fatal Attraction’ when Michael Douglas tells Glen Close of an incident when he had gone to see the opera ‘Madame Butterfly’ as a kid. You almost blurt her sentiments out for her, when she looks at him over a cup of coffee.

This moment of ‘I am falling in love with this person’ can strike you any place, anytime.

It struck me when my boyfriend of a few months told me about how he had a friend who had lost a loved one and how our man had arranged for a joyride in a chartered plane for her at the cost of people assuming that she was his girlfriend.

‘He is such a nice guy. So thoughtful. Life with him is going to be such bliss’; I said to myself and slipped down the water slide. That is the moment etched in my mind when I fell in love with my future husband.

First Birthday together. We were single, living in different cities. He decided to pay me a visit. I kept waiting for a gift not realising that the meeting itself was the gift. I hid my disappointment of not getting anything on my birthday well. Didn’t mention it to him. Acted like his visit was more than anything I could ask for.

Second birthday together. We were six months into our marriage. My first birthday as a married woman. I waited for him to surprise me with thoughtful acts of chivalry. Nothing notable happened that day. The only special thing I remember was that my ma-in-law gave me a ‘haathbaxa –small wooden box to keep jewellery’. This time we were close enough and I told him that I was disappointed.

Third birthday together. I got a lot of flowers, cakes and congratulatory phone calls. He has nice friends. They always remember each other birthdays and make it a point to make the birthday person feel special. He took me out for a movie. By now I wasn’t expecting any out-of-the-box thoughtful gesture and he had explained to me that he saw everyday as alike.  He loved me the same every day and he would take care of me the same every day. No more, no less on special days. This was a 'rock solid bond' and I shouldn't look for reassurances at every step.

My fourth birthday with him. I didn’t expect much. I didn’t get much. If I think back to as far as I remember, it can be counted as one of the worst birthdays of my life.

I yearned for someone to surprise me, make me feel special and if possible ‘pamper me mad and not get angry with me’ just for 24 hours. It wasn't meant to be so.

I thought if ‘how your birthdays are spent’ is a reflection of what you mean to your spouse then I was in big trouble. How could that be? He had just taken me to Andaman’s for our Anniversary. Got me pea-fowl feathers one evening. Takes me out for long drives. Gives me the freedom to do what I want. Treats my friends so well. He does these nice things but for my Birthday….they are as non-existent as ever.

I was busy thinking all this when September 10^th arrived. My mother’s birthday. We lost her in 2008. I called up Dad. “Baba Aai’s birthday today….what’s for lunch?” I thought they would have made something she liked. “Ohh..haan…ummm…acchhaa….good you reminded me….I will see,” he replied. He had forgotten her birthday. His wife of 35 years whom he loved so dearly and took care of when she was bedridden for 5 years before she left us. He had forgotten her birthday. There was no way I was going to question his love for her.

I see what my husband means now.

Birthdays should never be used as measuring scales to gauge how precious you are to someone. These things cannot be quantified.  Coz here, the total is always greater than the sum of the parts. Or so one would like to think. There alone lies peace and solace.

ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है (it doesn't happen like that)

I am not used to having the TV remote to myself. I had the chance last week. There was no mode of transport, laptop, internet or husband around. Me and the TV became very good friends. I thanked the emotional immediacy it provided by merely being around, without asking for anything from me. Expecially in the night when reasons begin to clamour and every sound is magnified to its demonish magnificence.

On one such night I began watching an eposide of 'Grey's Anatomy'. We never see it when my husband is around. This is something about doctors that I don't understand. They don't want to watch movies or soaps about other doctors. They always look at it realistically and say 'ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है' (it doesn't happen like that).

I watched on regardless. In one of the episode, a pregnant lady (Callie) gets into an accident and is rushed for an operation. As they are wheeling her in, she comes out of her own body and starts singing. One by one other doctors are singing as the operation is going on. All the operatic drama ends when life resumes its rhythm and Callie is back to consciousness (in a Hindi soap this would have qualified for a jubilant relative running out of the recovery room screaming 'उसे होश आ गया है' mimicking a shrill falsetto).

This person coming out of her body and breaking into a song would have made me go 'uuugghhh' at the creative liberties taken. But it didn't. It took me back to the times when I had just regained consciousness after a seven hour long operation.

There a song 'Tumhe aaj maine Jo dekha' from a movie called 'Kuch na Kaho' (I have never seen the fiilm, nor did I have prior association with it ever) kept running in my mind. It was as if I was standing and looking at myself being wheeled out of the OT on the beats of this song. 

Doors being flung open...me swaying from side to side as if I am I am on the lower side berth of a superfast train....a young trainee holding me still in the side position so that the back doesn't touch the bed....a doctor shouting at him for not doing it properly.....'LD Flap LD Flap' he kept uttering in a loop....warm fluid running out of the corner of my mouth even though I could feel no sensation....wires stemming out as body extensions and attached to some beeping screens....lying with eyes closed even after regaining consciousness...the herculean effort that opening those eyes was (eyelids had vaccumed shut for the lack of any eyelash).....knowing that dad is waiting there with bated breath for me to open my eyes....the guilt of not wanting him to be the first person I wanted to see when I open my eyes....the pangs of not finding the person I wanted to see around....being extremely thirsty....dad requesting the night doc...finally being allowed to get a few ice cubes to be placed on my lips....a teenaged boy admitted on the bed next to mine that night....screen being pulled around him...machines brought in....doctors shouting something about 'adrenaline'.....him being declared dead....other doctors leaving....his father crying and asking the duty doctor 'how can he be dead.....he is still breathing'.....the doc saying 'it is just the machine hiss...he is gone....we take him off the macine and he won't be breathing'.....the boy, the father the machine being taken away at some point in the night.....my father peeping in from the door to see if I was being given the ice cubes (he wasn't allowed inside)....that night was probably the longest night I ever had....waiting for morning.....knowing that there definitely will be a morning even though the night seems endless.......the restlessness of the mind in a still body (truly understood the book 'Diving Bell & The Butterfly' that night)

My body or mind didn't feel, hear or experience these things. I was watching all this as a third person right next to myself....all strung together to the tunes of a song I didn't even like.

So next time you feel like saying 'ऐसा थोड़े ही होता है'.....pause....maybe things like that do happen. Imagination is one thing but Art does immitate life. Maybe sometimes ऐसा होता है........

(Note - It has been 6 years but all I had to do was look up the song on youtube and close my eyes. I was sitting on that slab again....seeing all this crisply edited to the beats of 'Tumhe Aaj Maine Jo Dekha')

SODA

If you ask any YO (Young Officer), "What's the best thing about the Club?", their answer will be, "The swimming Pool!".

Why so?

Coz it is full of, 'aadha Soda aadha paani'! (half Soda, half water).

Before your imagination drifts to a cellar full of oak casks let me clarify what they mean by Soda. They mean the bevy of beautiful young women who belong to an undisclosed faction of a mythical world called "Senior Officers Daughters Association". Not that any such union exists but that's the class these girls belong too.

Having been a SODA myself, I was aware of it from a very young age.

The Sodas are divided into two classes.

One, the effervescent convent educated extremely high maintenance kinds who have passed out from a reputed college and are pursuing happening careers. This indicates two things - Their fathers are the influential kinds who have somehow managed to get posted only in the metros or can magically afford exorbitant city rentals for families when they are away. Or maybe they were born rich. This breed of Soda is not interested in any alliance with a younger officer, friendship yes but nothing more.

Second kinds are the ones who have less fortunate fathers who tend to get posted into far flung remote areas.
They are less likely to be high-maintenance coz of their central government school backgrounds but they too would not want to get involved with a junior officer. They have seen the hardships way too closely .

Blissfully unaware of this mindset, the young officers continue to woo them. Sometimes they do get lucky but most of the times it's the Senior Officers who have the last laugh. After all, they can arm-twist the poor chap into marrying their daughter in case no one else is.

Then there are these '16 going on 17' Sodas. Eternal optimists. Super awed by their fathers and super duper awed by any youngster who assists them. "He is just like my dad" is what they are thinking.

All of the above is null and void when the cupid strikes.

Sometimes it strikes young.
And sometimes, when you least expect it to.

It will be soon two years since it struck me.
Happy Anniversary in advance dear Husband :)
You got me back into a world I had vowed I would never come back to.
And what a beautiful world it is :)

This SODA is happy to be back where she grew up.
I am home!

Friends

"You think I have no brains and I think you have no heart." Said Eve to Adam. "Neither is true but yet our behaviour substantiates this statement. I wish you showed me some consideration that you so naturally have for others and I wish I could impress you with a mere thread of the intelligent conversations I have with others. I wish we were friends." Sighed Eve.

But this wasn't meant to be.

Hence God created friends. Someone you can have intelligent conversations with and heart to heart talks as well. 

Being Baba

Maintaining two sets of lies isn't easy, especially when you don't believe in either one of them.

"It's going to be all right, don't worry", said Baba (my father) to me in March 2005 when I was detected with Breast Cancer, Stage III at the age of 29.

"Oh it's just for a few days", said Baba to Aai (my mother) in April 2005 when she had to go in for her first dialysis after a complete renal failure at the age of 58.

He was economical with truth.

How does one break the news to a daughter that it is going to be a long treatment full of insufferable chemo-therapies, extended surgeries and surplus radiations on a very long road to recovery. The fact that she was unmarried and living alone in a metro was too much for any father to bear. He told me the truth in due course of time.

How does one break the news to a wife when she innocently asks "how long do I have to take dialysis done" that these rounds of dialysis were just the beginning and would graduate from being a weekly affair to twice or thrice a week soon. There was no scope of a kidney transplant as her heart was beating at only 30% of its capacity. He told her the truth in due course of time.

He shuttled between Mumbai and Hubli for 9 months. He would take an afternoon appointment for her dialysis. Sit with her for four hours, holding hands. Drop her back home in the care of my brother (who had just started his business with family savings hence couldn't leave the city) and take the night bus from Hubli to Mumbai. Head straight to Tata Memorial Hospital where my Chemos would start at 9:00 am. Be with me through that. Take me back to my rented apartment. Take care of me for the next 6 days.

On the 6th night he would take the midnight train which reached Hubli the next afternoon around 3:00pm, well in time for Aai's next dialysis.

He did this for 9 months without fail. For two women who meant the most to him.

His greatest joy was taking me home in November 2005 for Diwali. His whole family was together, at one place. He slept well.

I lived to tell this story, Aai (mother) couldn't.

I called him up this morning. He sounded groggy and tired. I asked him if he was all right. He said "Yesss, I am fine". My sister in law tells me, he hasn't slept the whole night due to some discomfort in his eyes as he has just had a cataract operation.

He still lies, my Baba!

Aai, Baba & Me in 2000

Rest in Peace

My dear Sherry, it has been one year since you passed on to a world where you prance around without the fear of being hounded by the likes of those who took you away from us. Jojo misses you too.

(Jojo joined Sherry in heaven on 2nd Dec 2010)

Sherry
27 Apr 2005 - 20 Oct 2009

Sherry's video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3T5ePztSzNs

God is in the details....so is the Devil

Being a doctor isn't easy yet my husband never gets his work home. But it was different that day. He carried back two brown packets and headed straight to the room. He said he was going to be busy for a while. I didn't want to disturb him so I closed the door behind him and let him work.

Sometime later I walked into the room and saw him surrounded with ECG strips strewn all over the bed. He said "it is taking me longer to fold them back than to check them". I offered to help so that he could do what he should be doing ie. 'check them without the added stress of neatly folding those reels of papers'. 

As I sat there holding those strips I realised why he sounded so agitated. They all had different creases. There was no uniformity in the way they were pleated originally. So every time you gathered one set of it, you had to start from scratch and try and find its initial groove. It was quite frustrating. 

It reminded me of the times I would sit on a video edit and the editor would not name the clip correctly to save time or write just the tape numbers without elaboring if it was a digi or a beta or a dv. And then during the edit, because of these small oversights, we would waste time searching for one particular visual in various bins. It was quite annoying.

Even though these are things that are quite insignificant or small in stature, there is a neat and methodical way of doing them. There is a reason why all details have to be meticulously put together. It allows you to experiment, take liberties or creative freedom for bigger things! 

Taking pride in whatever you do and doing it right is the basis of dignity of labour which has got lost somewhere between the soap box union slogans and countless strikes demanding more and more rights.

There is a rhythm one follows when one is working. Flawless and smoother the rhythm, better the output is. But when you have to keep breaking it to take care of minor things, you lose the tempo and make mistakes. Just because you 'can', does not mean you should have to do things which others should have finished and handed over to you. Likewise when you dispense your services.

We encounter this everyday. Some brazen beings blatantly blame it on the system and wash their hands off saying 'we weren't given the right inputs'. But most will try and fix it at their end and take it forward. Is there something wrong in the basic training one is receiving or have we become so used to not paying attention to detail? 

Someday someone is going to put dangerous clauses as subtitles. It is true God is in the details but so is the Devil. Hope he doesn't catch us unaware on a rainy afternoon coz we never bothered to read the fine print.

Family

Newark Airport

13 September, 11:30 am

It is huge and I am at the wrong gate. They printed 102 on my boarding pass in Delhi but I am to be at 108. Luckily I have 8 hours to kill so if I please I can visit all 139 gates one by one and yet have time to reach mine J

So I wander around...looking at shops. I venture into some, come out with a thing or two in hand and a conversion table running in my mind. 3 dollar tooth brush, damn! Why did I have to rush and forget mine at home! Anyway, most of my friends had advised me not to convert, coz it would cause only pain n no gain. So I stopped my mind calculator.

Walked into the tributary of gates leading up to gate no 99. Vino & volo looked like a serene place. People sitting on bar stools gives one a sense of good times. Never mind if they are just sipping on juices, it’s the bar stool that counts. Right next to it were the rest rooms.

I saw a couple struggling with two trolleys full of carryon baggage, a pair of infant twins and one toddler boy. I was amazed at their capacity and will power. Producing three boys was ok but to travel with them, merits an award! The little boy wanted to rush to the rest room. His crossed legs, bent torso and an impatient yell left nothing to imagination. “Mommieeeee hurry!” he begged.

The mother was trying her best. Handing over the tiny twin strapped onto her to her husband (am assuming he was the husband, a boyfriend would have not looked so calm). The husband already had another child strapped to him. Holding two babies, one in his right hand and the other in left, he epitomised the sum total of miseries men have to go through at times.

I was more concerned about the mother. Baby safely transferred, she was ripping Velcro after Velcro, trying to discard the baby holder (or whatever it is called). Must have been so frustrating. It seemed as if the little boy was all set to grace the hallway with his body waste when Mommie managed to free herself of all her trappings and run after him. I wonder which one did they enter ‘mens’ or ‘womens’. I guess ‘womens’.

My eyes and thoughts then wandered to the poor father standing out with two children and two cart full of luggage. He was trying to restrain one of the trolleys with his foot, I saw another little boy just behind it. A copy of the one that had just dashed into the bathroom. He was quiet and had a small little backpack of his own.

O my God, they had two sets of twins. One set aged 4-5 years and the other under a year. All boys! My heart went out to the parents who were trying to manage it all so bravely. Such a contrast from those people sitting leisurely on the bar stools next door. I walked ahead. I am at the ‘leisurely’ stage in life right now. Never know when I will be standing outside the restrooms coping up with such challenges. Who says family values are lost on our generation???

is in a relationship with...

Facebook has become the lifeline of social networking. It has a wonderful application which announces to the world that 'so and so is in relationship with so and so'. I look at it and smile a heartfelt blessing for the new couple. I can see the rush on their cheeks, bounce in their gait, pink candy floss world that they live in. We have all had our moment under the mushy sun. We have all had a period of time which we refer to as 'the happiest days of my life'. Dew drop trance, pristine clouds that will take the forms that we want them too, open hair, breeze running through every pore, every breath so refreshing as if we were high on dope. You want to stand on a soap box and scream out your lungs into the universe to declare the new found status. One might be married for 30 years, but these recently baptized couples bring your own courtship days to life.

I smile at all this. Wish them luck hoping they will stick with each other for life.
As they turn away to walk hand in hand into the horizon, a little teeny weeny mean voice in my head giggles and says 'aage aage dekho, hota hai kya'!!!

Mahasamund

I came here 7 days back. Technically a part of my 'sasural'. I was a bit jittery before I landed. I met Susmita (Lizoo) on the Raipur airport. We had taken flights ten minutes apart. She is my sis-in-law Niharika's close friend. We were both headed to Niharika's house in Mahasamund. It is a district with a population of around 10 lac people in the state of Chhattisgarh. Almost an hour's drive from the state capital Raipur.

We were pretty excited about attending the 15th August Independence day parade here. Having grown up in small towns, we instantly connected to the place and each other. For the next two days there would be no 2 idle minutes. We talked so much!

On 15th Aug we got up and started getting ready. I realised I had put on too much weight and was in no condition to do justice to the blouse, let alone the Saree. Lizoo and Niharika geared up in their finery. They carry Sarees with so much ease and elan that it's no mystery why they started the 'Magic of Sarees' group on FB. If you get a chance do join in. It's fab!

The parade started with Mantri ji taking 'Salami' in a Jeep. Niharika stood to his left. The children would look up to her...literally! After the Salami, started the cultural show. Students doing PET, dancing, acting...it took us all back to our own childhood. It had been a very very long time since I saw the Parade in a small town. The do-it-yourself costumes, an assorted songs tape being played, the dancing...everything took me back to my school days. And then the National Anthem. Nothing can be as overwhelming as 'Jana Gana Mana'. (Never mind the fact that it was written for King George). It epitomises all the patriotic sentiments that make the sum total of us at this moment.

There were march pasts. They are my favourite. May it be the Republich Day Parade on Raj Path in Delhi or a Scouts & Guides drill, march pasts fill one up with pride for the different services that make up this huge fabric of uniformed personnel. It's a pity when people out rightly belittle them for the faults of a fraudulent few. Sometimes one needs to be in the system to clean the system. Sitting on the fence and throwing stones is no good sense.

The evening was even more fun. There was a colony
tree plantation drive. Everyone was invited and given teak saplings. Withing an hour, plain flat land looked like it had magically sprouted soooooo many trees. In Anagha & Niharika's words 'This is Hope!'.

We went to attend a cultural programme put together by local talent after the plantation. There were quite a few memorable ones but the best were a rock band called 'Rythm Divine'. They sang so well. Their lead singer Shubham Sarkar had even made it to the Indian Idol! The Chhatisgarhi dance was put together very well too. The girls belonged to a village near Sirpur. They looked so strong and well tones! I remembered my mom saying " घर का काम करो, gym जाने की क्या ज़रुरत है? " They danced with joyous abandonment only the super confident possess.

I had met Maahira once, last November. She is my niece. She was a quiet, observant little toddler. This time was a total transformation! Patar patar non stop fun things she utters. For the first time someone called me 'Mami'. I like it :) She goes 'Mami Mami....' and then says whatever she has to. I told her I was leaving in 3 days time. She insisted I stay for a few more days....and then suddenly as if remembering something she said " ok you go in 3 days....deepu mamu will get bored otherwise....he will have to watch television all alone on saturday & Sunday".
I leave in three days. How time flies!
I don't want to leave but I must. I had come here to meet relatives. In these 8 days...didn't know how they turned into friends. Relatives you can leave behind, but with friends - you leave behind a bit of you and carry a bit of them with you.

Right????