Life is what we make of it

She used to live in Ashbourne,Ireland. Alanah, was a deceptively frail looking girl with pale skin and long red hair. Hair that ran below her waist in wild tresses, her only visible stamp of rebellion. She did the regular things that every girl in high school does. Untill she met Pegaso. He was from beyond the land of her text books. He was from Greece. Tall, dark and unimaginably handsome.

He took up a job at the nearby garage. Alanah saw him everyday on her way to school. He was exciting, nothing like the boys in her class and he always had a ready smile for her. There was nothing much that interested her after that. Her world started spinning around the morning smiles. Love can be many things, it can affect the young heart in many ways, but it is always beautiful in its first tentative steps. And so it was with Alanah.

Irish winters are known to be mild. But that year the nights turned icy. On one such dreary night Alanah swept across the streets from her home with a blanket tugged under her arm. She reached the garage and knocked at the side door. The door opened and Pegaso filled its frame. At a loss of words, as the surreality of the situation gripped her, Alanah managed a shy smile and thrust the blanket towards Pegaso and ran into the darkness, her hair a halo behind her.

Thus started a new chapter in Alanah's life. She would grow with this, she would learn, she would travel outwards and deep inside, she would gain, she would lose, she would reach her core and grow again. She did not know all this then. She was not even 18. Her pale cheeks had a glow in them. Her eyes shone like emeralds. her hair carried the spring of Ireland in them, and her heart carried the love of Pegaso.

Spring turned to summer and before she knew it, the school finals were looming in front of her. At times when you love someone, you distance yourself from every other relationship. Its sad, but it happens, friends and family become strangers in the crowd. Love can be selfish in its naivette, love can be ruthless in its single mindedness and love can be foolish in its blindness. Alanah had set her mind on travelling with Pegaso to Greece. Exams were not on her list at all. her best friend, Fionna, tried to talk her out of this, but to no avail. her parents fought tooth and nail against her decision, but Alanah was determined to start her life in Greece.

Every evening at 7:30 a bus left for Belfast. The summer of 1970 saw Pegaso and Alanah take that bus out of Ashbourne. Pegaso had a small case, he gathered no moss. Alannah had a bigger bag plus a case. She had taken all the money her father, a school teacher, had saved for her university education and marriage. She would return them, of course, as soon as Pegaso's petrol pump became a success in Lipsi, the island in Greece he called home. The island that would be home to Alanah much more than Ashbourne could ever be. Her friend and also her sisters had come to see her off that day, they gave her cakes and sweets for the journey and wished her well. And so started the journey of Alanah. She was 18 that summer.

to be continued

of minor things....

Have you given birth? Well, I have, and I had presumed that after delivering two kids, my 'lajja' would have been lying in some trash bin in a desolate place. I can see nods, yeah ! yeah! the deal starts with the first chec-kup does'nt it? The apprehensive wait on that table with a white sheet, inside the doctor's chambers. The ever smiling doctor, the gloves that go up her hand and the pulse that starts racing in your heart as you begin to comprehend her action. Every time now that my kids trouble me, it's the familiar pulse rate that I feel, and I can trace it back to that first check-up on the table at the doctor's chamber. "Relax" she says in a voice that is softly matter of fact and breezy, "How the hell?" you wonder.. the scene here is best left unmentioned as those who have gone through it know it only too well, and those who havent, well, I dont want to discourage you from entering one of the best moments in a woman's life.(hahahhaha!! did I say that?)

Another scene that follows a few months later, especially if like me, you have had your kids in India, this will be familiar. A crowded waiting room, the women looking around trying to gauge, who's ahead in the race to the delivery day, the husbands not far, nor close, an aloof, safe distance(maybe they think its a communicable thing..and they might just catch it if they sit close to their wife), messaging, leafing through magazines, checking the time, and at times , asking if the wife needs something( well she does..she wants him to lay prostrate on that table in there and get checked up in the insides!!) How about that, but she just smiles like a fool and says "water". A nurse comes swaying into the room and shouts at the top of her voice, "Sonography ka pati." And a few of the husbands by the magnificent grace of linguistic skills understand that phrase and respond by walking towards her, she hands out forms to be filled and says in a not at all soft and breezy voice, "Make your wife drink water till she's all full and wants to go to the toilet, but dont let her, we will call them in one by one." Well if that is not punishment what is? Like God's command and as if the life on earth depended on it, the husbands fill up the form in a precise manner and queue up in front of the water dispenser to fill bottles for their respective wives. I think they are happy to have been given something to do at last, and they feel blessed that they are a part of the process towards bringing a life on this planet. So they make sure that the last drop of water enters the squirming wife, who has her legs crossed tightly and her face in a pinched frown praying for the ordeal to end. Since then, how many times have I prayed for ordeals to end? The neighbourhood bully teasing my boy - "I wish this ends", the pre teen rage of my daughter - "Oh God how I wish we get through this soon" . Yah !Yah ! you got that right, I trace it back to the day I waited for a sonography to check whether my unborn kids had all her limbs in the right position.

There's more, the water breaks at the most inconvinient of times. Fortunately in my case, I did not have a hard time locating my husband, many a times that is the case too. So we manage to land up in the hospital, the husband looks a mix of joy and panic, I wonder, what on earth for? Its me who is going to get that coconut out of my nostril in a few hours is'nt it? So why the hell is he panicking? All this while I keep timing my contractions, to take my mind off the unfairness of it all. And then the actual horror starts. It's not just about pain... It's humiliation of the worst possible order. You are given a room and a flimsy gown to hold on to for dear life and shame. Your mind is a blank apart from the pain, and thankfully so, atleast the first time round, you are till now blissfully ignorant of things to come. Suddenly the door opens and a young guy comes in and has a dekko..just like that!! Thats the moment when I felt I woul;d never be able to face humanity again. leave alone the men! I cannot believe what just happened!! The husband is a mute spectator, its not violation of human rights you see, its a junior doctor cheking up on the dilation!! This continues for the next hour or so and each time a different doctor, till I start feeling like they are joking about me at the end of the corridoor. "There must be something you have to say to these people, where the hell is my doctor, why is she not here? I opted for a female doc just so that at the last moment any tom dick and harry comes in and takes a bloody peep? what do you think you are doing standing there?" How many times since then have I said this, "What do you thing you are doing standing there?" I think that day was the first when I screamed my lungs out at my husband, I wanted to blame him for what I was going through, desperate, uncomprehending, insecure, on the verge of hysteria and delivery...all these emotions, I can trace right back to that lonely, sterile room in the hospital.

There is more but it gets boring after this point, because the pain overtakes the shame and you just dont care beyond the fact that you want to have the baby out and go to sleep! The point I started this was because I thought after two such harrowing experiences, I would be better adjusted as a female with unknown people looking me up like a course book, but thats not the case, it seems. An annual checkup, a pap smear and a mammogram makes my blood drain, my feet get cold and my pulse well that has never stoped racing since that day. So I guess the 'lajja' never really got deposited in the trash bin, maybe it was the husband who was asked to throw the trash that day!

Motherhood does bring in unknown emotions in all of us!

Of Bond, policemen and guns..

It was the last day of school for bond this year. He was evidently over excited and full of plans. The plans however had not changed anything in the slot between 4pm and 6pm. That remained a religious slot for cycling, cricket and football. As usual at 4pm he collected all his stuff, pinched his sister just for kicks, drank water, slammed the main door, opened it a bit again to hear me shout, smiled and closed it with a bang again and scampered down to be with his 'guy friends' for what he calls his only 'guy time'!!

Nothing out of the ordinary so far, but then in an hour the bell rang. A ringing that makes your heart beat faster, a hurried, cannot wait even for a minute kind of a ring that follows incessantly till one drops everything one was doing to open the door. We have all seen leaves shaking in the chill of a frosty winter, that day, I saw my thin bond shaking like an autumn leaf. His wails made it difficult for me to comprehend what he was trying to say, but one word that was clear was 'police'!

I made him sit on my lap and held his tiny, shaking body. All sorts of thoughts cropping up in my head. With one eye on the door, and the other on bond, I tried to soothe him as best as my agitated self allowed me to. Then he said, " dont go down they will shoot you!! They are calling you down, the police, you dont go, they will shoot you!" I realised I needed to act, but didnt know how to. I gave bond a glass of water and drank one myself, I was by this time convinced that he had witnessed a shooting scene on the streets of my peaceful neighbourhood. Locking the door, I went to the windows that overlook the street below, the police car was there, and so were a lot of other moms, there was a discussion going on, but no spilled blood as I had imagined. By this time bond had snuggled close to his sister, It was a rare moment for them, and amidst all the confusion, I could not help smiling at bond being comforted by Toshali - small wonders.

Getting back to the point, I eased myself out of the door and hurried down the stairs to where the action was. A Morrocan woman, who lives in the building next to ours had called the police, complaining against the noise the children were making. The scene in front of me was confusing to say the least. There were two officers in their smart uniforms with shining guns, a parked Mercedez benz, which is the usual carrier of the police force here, there was the Morrocan lady in agitated conversation with the police and there were the moms, helpless and uncomprehending spectators to an unfolding Arabic drama. I silently added myself to their side of the battle.

Police man : "No loud noise ok, quiet neighbourhood, no disturbance ok..(smiling all the time)"

Morrocan lady: "They dont let me rest, I have a demanding job, I need rest, these kids are shouting all the time, how can I sleep? (wilding flailing arms)"
Representative from the group of moms: "kids no? vacation for them, where to play? they are small, all of you must be having kids at home, they make noise, what to do? Sorry, we will tell them to be more quiet in future."

Police man: "Ok good good(smiling even more now )"

They climbed their shining merc and raced away, the lady said a few more stinging words and also cursed I think and left as well, the mothers looked at each other and smiled sheepishly, gossiped about the morrocan who lives alone, and is apparently frustrated and so all this, I left them to their gossip and went up to see bond waiting by the door his face still very fearful.

Me : "Why did you think the police would shoot me?"

Bond : "Thats why they called the moms, to shoot them."

Me: " I dont see the connection, you all were creating a racket down there and so the neighbour complained and the police came to attend to that complaint and obviously they had to talk to the parents so they asked for the moms, why would they shoot us?"

Bond : "Thats what they show on tv, the police shoot people!"

Aha, he gets his overactive imagination from me.. and the TV helps too!!Toshali was on facebook by this time, and she glanced up and smiled. "Such a duffer he is mom, really all his bravado is in front of us, look at him, how he got scared today!!"

I looked at him and there he was scared that his mom would be shot by the police because of him, he ran to me and hugged me, a bit embarrased now, and a bit shaken still.

Such things happen all the time, boys are naughty they get involved in fights, at times the authorities are called in, this was a first for bond and a first for me as well. I gathered him to me and said whatever you do always remember that it will never be so bad that somebody will kill your mom for it. Whether he believed it or not, is another thing, but I felt good saying it to him.

Is there more to chats than meets the eye?

I was trying to be persistent, inspite of kicks on the butt and pokes to my sides, I was seriously trying to be persistent with my routine. Infact had slowly started getting comfortable with my work-studies-walk-studies-dinner-sleep-work routine!!

But the itch does take over in the end. The nag that simmers and is shoved behind the daily chores, finally reaches the boiling point and overflows with all its gusto at the moment when you are most susceptible.

Something similar happened to my blogging. I have been away from my page for a long time now, have not even replied to comments and thanked my readers, I plead guilty. But with just a pair of hind and fore limbs and with kids who are gleefully riding the wave of independence, I am at a serious loss of me-time and that is the only reason I can offer as justification.

But what drove me to this page then? What strain of thought boiled and over flew while I was preoccupied? What made me rush to my lap top early today morning to key in this post? Well, all in a minute guys..

'She sent him kites'.. thats how the story starts. The story of Miyage and Snehomoy. A mathematics teacher from a village in Bengal, India and a girl from Japan. The story traverses twenty years of their life through their letters to each other. It is surreal in it's innocence, tragic on a materialistic level, fulfilling in a soulful way. The Japanese wife, I read it a few days back, and could not let go of its fragrance. Through my daily chores the characters lingered, played, wrote letters to each other, fell in love, married, lived an almost normal life apart from the solitary fact that they never met.

It happened over borders, transcending swollen rivers and mighty forests, time and age, sickness and solitude, images of a smile that remained as enchanting since the first photograph carried by a postman, inspite of accumulated laugh lines and numerous crows feet over the years.

The days of pen friends are gone. The changing times have given us access to chat rooms, gtalk and texting. We no longer put pen on paper, no longer do we have time to play with words, to delve into their beauty and lyricism. The restless wait for the local postman on his creaky bicycle is over. What we have instead is a green light against a name on gtalk and a ping!!

A lot of men I know chat with strangers. While their wives sleep, they test waters as well as try their limits. What are they looking for? Are they just killing time? Stimulating their brains(above or below the belt) from the sanctity of their homes? Or is there a Snehomoy lurking behind every man? Wandering through meandering courses in search of a companion, whose omnipresence is so comforting that the actual meeting becomes unnecessary.

This is not a book review..this is a culmination of a book that I loved and an incident that occured.

some famous love letters...

Victor-Marie Hugo (1802-85) was born in Besan on, France, the third son of an army general. He was a sickly infant and was not expected to live, but grew more robust from the age of two when he went to live with his mother in Paris--"the birthplace of my soul."
As a teenager he began to fill notebooks with poetry. In maturity he was a prolific and very successful poet, dramatist, and novelist, and the most celebrated author of his generation. His most famous works include The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1831), Les Chants du Crepuscule (1835) and Les Miserables (1862).

December 31st, 1851

You have been wonderful, my Juliette, all through these dark and violent days. If I needed love, you brought it to me, bless you! When, in my hiding places, always dangerous, after a night of waiting, I heard the key of my door trembling in your fingers, peril and darkness were no longer round me--what entered then was light!
We must never forget those terrible, but so sweet, hours when you were close to me in the intervals of fighting. Let us remember all our lives that dark little room, the ancient hangings, the two armchairs, side by side, the meal we ate off the corner of the table, the cold chicken you had brought; our sweet converse, your caresses, your anxieties, your devotion. You were surprised to find me calm and serene. Do you know whence came both calmness and serenity? From you...

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91) was born in Salzburg, the son of Leopold Mozart and Anna Maria Pertl. From the age of five he performed all over Europe with his sister, Maria-Anna.

By 1772 he had composed 25 symphonies and two string quartets. He was appointed honorary concert master to the court in Salzburg in 1774, and after more tours--to Italy, Manneheim, and Paris--and a spell as court organist in Salzburg (1778-80), he moved to Vienna in 1781. Mozart wrote most of his best work in the years that followed: 12 piano concertos (1784-86); six quartets; and the operas The Marriage of Figaro (1786), Don Giovanni (1787), and Cosi Fan Tutte (1790). In 1791, the year of the Requiem and The Magic Flute, he died of heart failure, at age 35.

This is a portion of a letter sent to his wife Constanze

Mainz October 17, 1790

PS.--while I was writing the last page, tear after tear fell on the paper. But I must cheer up -- catch! -- An astonishing number of kisses are flying about --- The deuce!-- I see a whole crowd of them! Ha! Ha!...I have just caught three-- They are delicious!-- You can still answer this letter, but you must address your reply to Linz, Poste Restante-- That is the safest course. As I do not yet know for certain whether I shall go to Regensburg, I can't tell you anything definite. Just write on the cover that the letter is to be kept until called for.

Adieu--Dearest, most beloved little wife-- Take care of your health-- and don't think of walking into town. Do write and tell me how you like our new quarters-- Adieu. I kiss you millions of times.

In the times of texting, when even the spellings are compromised for lack of time/credit, do we really have the time to romance, to woo? If "UR d lite of my life" is love aajkal, I am terribly terribly old fashioned!!

To the beauty and charm of putting pen on paper, this valentines day make your beloved feel special!

Life etc (2)

The drive to the school is about half an hours time, and it helped that I was driving. kept the mind from wandering to the classroom before the appointment. The kids were quiet at the back lost in their own thoughts. They usually dont speak much in the mornings, sleepy-eyed, tounge-tied kids in school uniform and bags, tiny adult figures! Thats what I think when I see them at this time of the day. But then I was just concentrating on the road and keeping the reigns of my imaginary conversation with the class teacher in strict control.

To get a parking anywhere in the vicinity of the school gates is an impossible prayer, but that day, we got one bang opposite the gates! "Lucky", said my daughter, Bond still didn't utter a word, I remember thinking," hope the luck prevails for the next hour or so!"

Got out, got the kids out, forgot to take the keys out of the ignition, went back in the car took the keys out, locked the doors, double checked, got muddled up with the keys, the glares, the hand bag and the phone, stopped, put everything inside the handbag, saw daughter shaking her head in indulgent acceptance. Saw Bond taking my hand in his tiny ones. We crossed the road and entered the school.

Both my kids have their classes in different blocks so it was a kiss and a pat on the back to my daughter, who in turn hugged bond and said, "Just stop being naughty and things will become alright." Then she was off. Bond and I trudged along the steps to his 2nd floor classroom. the teacher greeted us with such a smile that for a moment I thought, I was being mistaken for somebody else, but then she called his name and said come dear, let's go the class, and I shook myself and followed the teacher and the student to their classroom. Sitting beside bond I awaited the teacher to open the conversation, as I kept looking for the smile that was now hidden behind worksheets and notebooks.

Teacher: " Sujata, your son needs discipline. He needs to get into the study mode, he has to get serious. From class 3 they will have long question and answers to write.."

Me:(nodding my head like noddy and taking hope from the last sentence of the teacher): "What exactly do you see him doing in class? When I teach him, I feel he is good at grasping any new topic, but then his retention is not strong, he forgets the details."

Teacher: "Why does this happen? Haven't you wondered? It's not because he has memory problem, because in that case it would reflect in other ways, It's only because of his lack of disciplined study time. He has to sit down and study, revise, do sums,write and do all this regularly for atleast two hours everyday. This might not be true for other kids his age, but for him its required, as he is still very restless and gets distracted very fast. Once he gets into the habbit of studies, all that you percieve as erratic will slowly go away."

Me: "Has he made no progress at all this year, at home I do see improvement with his spellings, with his writing, he is still very bad in hindi, but the note did come as a shock as I did'nt think he was performing that bad as to be called minimal"

Teacher: "Had the letter been not strongly worded, many parents would not have bothered to drop in, He has improved, he is a very social boy, very good in his interpersonal skills, I have no complaints against his oral work, his framing of sentences, but he needs to work on his writing, on his spellings, on his hindi and in general neatness and upkeep of books. Sujata don't spare the rod and spoil the child, be strict, its okay he will still be yours, but if you dont discipline him now, you will lose him forever and then it will be too late.. boys are different than girls, and it should not happen that your weakness towards him is taken advantage of."

Me:(looking at bond and seeing him visibly shrinking in his chair found it very difficult to imagine him taking advantage of me, but in some far corner of my almost non existent logical mind, I did see that as a possibility) "Thank you teacher for having this conversation with me. I will ensure that he sits with me for 2 hours of study time regularly and will come and see you again in 3 weeks time and take it up from there."

Teacher: "For me he is a student, however dear he maybe, he is still one of the 40 kids in my class, to you he is your future, your son, just be strict and ride him for the next couple of years and then there is no worry, you lose him now, and he is out of bounds forever."

Those last lines made quite an impression, I know in my gut that I am lax with him, much more than I was with my daughter but I didnt realise that it was going to take this magnitude. On my way back I kept thinking of how much time I spent teaching my daughter, how rigorous I was with her in her early school years, how insistent on a page of handwriting everyday, on 10 sums everyday, on reading each chapter thoroughly, on answering questions, I guess that was study time. My mind forwarded to the time when bond started school, was there too much on my plate then? Why did I get so relaxed with him, why did I keep thinking of him as just a baby? Frankly I have no clue and there is no point rummaging through the ifs and buts!

Pull up our socks!! shall we! And that is what I have been doing with bond for the last week, a page of handwriting, 20 sums, spelling dictations, question and answers, a stern eye whenever he tries to wiggle through, a pat on the back for a difficult word correctly spelled.

There is improvement in the fact that he sits with me regularly and concentrates for the complete hour, there is visble improvement in his writing, he is still weak in hindi, but the spellings are better, and he still likes maths a lot. Its too early to say where his destiny lies, but if the road has to be through study hours and discipline, I dont see any reason not to comply! Do you?

The picture is from 3 years back at the sports prize distribution ceremony at the preparatory school!

Life etc..

This slot was for the calcutta trip. I was prepared to write about the city's never ending hope. But writing cannot be planned, just like life. A lot of things happened in the mean time that compelled me to take a short break from my travelouge and note them down instead.

One afternoon, Bond, returned from school with a note that said,' Parents, please come to school and meet your ward, Soumya's Class teacher and Hindi teacher on the 6th of february between 7:00 am and 8:15 am. His progress in academics has been minimal throughout this year.' The note also said a lot of other things to soften the blow of the first line, but that I guess is irrelevant.

The regular followers of my blog, am sure, know by now that bond is my weakness. And am sure most of you also know that given two options, I usually take the most illogical and the most complicated one.. I dont know why, but that's how it is .

I sat down with the note, had a series of traumatic motion picture clippings run on east man colour in front of my eyes, showing mercilessly my poor boy's trauma on being singled out in a class full of bright kids. Steadying myself and my feet I went and had a glass of water. Also I mentally prepared my script to deal with the kid, who was innocently untying his shoe laces and giving me sidelong glances. Best not to say what those glances did to my heart. My mind was by this time reeling under the hostel departing scene from TZP.

Almost 15 mins had elapsed by this time, and I had not even broached the topic of the letter with the kid. So I eventually started..

Me: " Did the teacher say anything when she gave this letter to you?"

Bond(opening his shirt now): "Yeah, she said I will remain in class 2 while all my friends will move on to class 3"

Me(collapsing in a nearby chair): " Are you that bad?"

At this time I was trying my level best to garner some anger into my system, but that's all I could manage.."are you that bad?" I know its pathetic..

Bond:( On his way to the shower )" Are you going to tell dad, about the letter, or will you sign it yourself?"

Remembering for the first time in this series of events that I had just overlooked the fact that he has a dad, who needs to be informed about this and who will thankfully deal with this much better, I galloped to the phone and called the husband.

Me: " Bond got a letter from school saying he has not shown any progress in academics this year"

He: " hmm, okay"

Me: " We have to meet the teacher on the 6th of this month."

he: " okay, we will be there, anything else?"

Me : "Is that not enough?"

He: " okay, later"

Me:(under my breath): "life can't get worse!!" On turning my gaze from the phone towards the bath, I saw bond dancing under the shower and singing "all is well" accompanied by the now famous whistles, from the latest hindi flick! My thoughts dashed to Aamir khan..maybe I should have married that guy, he would have made a perfect dad!

Towelling the boy dry, and slowly coming out of my reverie, I once again attempted to gather from him, what exactly the note meant. He was vague, he was more interested in the menu for lunch, and a bit later on knowing, who would sign the note and who would meet the teacher?

Met the teacher today.. That's another post, coming soon your way! until then "All is well.. tweet tweet tweet" I guess.