Life is what we make of it - Part 3

By the summer of 1970, the people of Lipsi had grown used to Alanah. She was a part of the island now, her broken,yet enthusiastic Greek was indulged in, her tireless labour at the petrol pump was begining to bear fruit. She sent the first cheque home to her dad that year. The afternoons were spent renovating Christina's chicken coop. Her 'never say die' spirit and Christina's art was transforming the small unused space into a bright sunlit studio. They usually spent the late afternoon under the canopy of this studio, watching the setting sun over a bowl of fresh revithia(chick pea soup, usually flavoured with lemon and pepper) and some patata salata(potato salad).


Alanah was happy in her marriage. Pegaso was not lazy like his other friends. He did not waste time at the local bars. He had his moods, but he also had his endearing ways. He loved to sing, he played the lute to Alanah as she tended to their small garden, he cooked for her whenever she was over-worked, he was patient with her on nights when she cried for her parents and family back in ashbourne. He loved to braid her long red hair, arrange flowers in them, play with them. He loved this tiny, frail looking girl from Ireland whose beauty was in her energetic spirit, in her love for life, in her love for people. Pegaso was also proud of the fact that he was the only one to have brought home a girl from a faraway land.


A few summers down the line, Stravos was born. Alanah had hoped that the news of a grandchild would soften her parents, but there was no return mail from Ireland. Pegaso's parents, however, were delirious with joy. His usually reticent father even danced at the christening ceremony of his grandchild. Christina brought with her all the baby clothes she had made, when she was expecting Pegaso's child. Alanah kept her promise and every month a cheque travelled from Lipsi to Ashbourne, and with it travelled pictures of the house, the pump, of stravos and of her and Pegaso. She wrote about her life, she asked about theirs, but there was never a reply. Many a times she craved for a glimpse of her mother, for a taste of her home made jams, she craved for the smell of books that filled their small house in ashbourne, for her younger sisters, but none of them bothered to write even a line to her. Alanah's only touch with Ashbourne was an old man who ran the garage where Pegaso had taken up work. Maybe he blamed himself for this unfortunate link, but whatever the reason, he did keep Alanah informed of major milestones. He wrote to Alanah about her sister's wedding, her father's retirement party, about the tough time the family went through when her mother was hospitalised for almost a month. Alanah ached to go back and see her family for a few days, but she knew that she was not welcome there anymore.


Summer turned to spring and time kept pace. Stravos was five now. Pegaso had lost both his parents to old age and related afflictions. Alanah had paid off the entire sum of money she had taken from her dad. Christina got married to a painter from Athens. The pump was doing going business and life seemed to have sorted itself out finally.



Alanah was never vain. She rarely looked at herself in the mirror. But nowadays, she had started noticing the grays appearing in her hair, she had started noticing that her never very full cheeks looked a bit hollow, and also that there were shadows under her eyes that didnt go even after a good nights sleep. She watched these signs, and she smiled to herself. These were the fruits of her honest and tireless labour, these were her medals. She had never possessed the careless selfishness that usually comes when you are born beautiful. And so she never dwelt for long on these signs. Until Magda came into their lives.


to be continued ...

life is what we make of it - Part 2

A wonderful journey by bus, train and boat, had finally brought the couple to Lipsi. They had not touched the big money at all, it was for the petrol pump, a dream that Alanah had been convinced to see. They had travelled through Switzerland and Italy, surviving on bread and cheese and an occasional bottle of wine. Alanah had never been so happy in her life. Nobody was as happy as she was then.

Ireland is known for its forty shades of green. Greece made Alanah understand the depths of blue. The Agean island of lipsi was the definition of serenity. Wide sandy beaches dotted with white and blue tavernas, small two storeyed cottages with flowers in basket windows. A church steeple that could be seen from any point in that island, winding roads that went through the town to its many beaches and coves. small shops selling colourful pottery and artefacts, dark skinned, smiling people and lots and lots of children everywhere. These were the first impressions Alanah formed about Lipsi. These, and the image of Christina were to be part of her preliminary memory of Lipsi.

A blonde girl with an open, beguiling smile and the prefect set of shiny white teeth, that was Christina. Huge with Pegaso's child, she was standing by the bay, awaiting his return. The yellow ankle length frock with tiny red blossoms accentuating her beauty and youth. Complacent and happy in the knowledge that Pegaso was returning to marry her. And then she saw Alanah, A sea nymph with red-gold hair. She also saw her dark and handsome Pegaso, helping this nymph off the ferry, she heard him call her by the endearing names that were once meant for Christina alone, or so she had thought. Dreams shatter with a single jolt, they dont have to be hit again and and again to break into infinite shards that lie strewn till they are picked up again by another innocent passer-by. Maybe thats why dreams are so akin to glass. Christina's dreams ended that day. She tried to kill herself. It turned out that she killed the child she was carrying, not herself. She lived on in that island making peace with her destiny, and friends with this sea nymph whose name was Alanah.

Stranger things have happened since then in that sleepy town. This friendship was difficult to resist. Just like its difficult to resist the fresh dew of the early mornings, or the mild sun of winter afternoons, such was the presence of Alanah. Everyday since her arrival at Lipsi, Alanah went to see Christina, not out of guilt, neither out of a sense of duty, she went because she liked to be with her, she baked fresh breads and made nourishing soups for her. She spoke about Ireland and her folks back home, she spoke about converting the old, run down chicken coop behind Christina's house into a pottery studio, she spoke about irish recipes and the bravery that was synonymous with her land, everyday she came in like a burst of sunshine and everyday she spoke about life to Christina. What she never mentioned was Pegaso, what she never mentioned was the sorrow of losing a baby. And so, gradually, independent of the man who had brought them face to face as rivals, they managed to forge a friendship that would shine through the dark nights of pain and despair which one was facing now, and the other would have to in the future.

Alanah started her life in Lipsi with Pegaso. They occupied the ground floor of Pegaso's parent's cottage. Alanah learned to speak Greek, she bought the petrol pump of their dreams, she learned to change wheels and pump up tyres. In a civil ceremony in Athens, Pegaso and Alanah got married. Nobody took the marriage seriously. Alanah's parents didnt even write back. Pegaso's parents went about their daily chores as if it was just another day, not their only son's wedding. But the young heart does not bother with niceties. And Alanah didnt either. She sew her own gown, she picked her own flowers, she preened in front of Pegaso and his smile made her come alive with joy. There were Pegaso's friends of course, tough, stocky, dark, jolly guys. They drank and laughed, they held hands and danced in a circle to a merry tune, toasting the newly weds. It was a night of stars and a beaming moon, of music and of vows, of faith and of new beginings...

to be continued

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!