Breathe. Slow and Deep.

DUSSHERA

2023-10-23T13:01:00.010+05:30

A nip in the air in the month of October heralds the most beautiful time in India. It also revives the most beautiful memories. As a child it was a signal to get the smart winter uniform ready, it started the run up to my birthday, and closest to my heart, it was about visiting my grandparents and celebrating the festivals with them.

Every night during the Navratris, covered in shawls, we would visit the Parade Ground around 8 pm, buy moong-phalis, and find our space in the crowd to watch the Ramleela. This culminated on the evening of the 10th day when we watched the effigies burn. There is no memory of pollution or noise, only of the warmth of my family around me.

Growing up meant somewhere this ritual got lost, running from one stage of life to another. Hostel life, changing cities, grandparents saying their final goodbyes. And that is how I discovered the beauty of memories. They remain imprinted, deeply embedded in my soul, making me forever grateful that I had the privilege to live those moments many years back.

Not all dreams got realized, not many plans saw the light of the day. But yes, building a life in Ghaziabad meant making new Dusshera memories! It the same simple Ramleela, the aroma of chaat and the thrill of the jhulas, just a walk from home. The kids must be inheriting an emotional gene as well. My daughters push me every night to the mela for ‘one last time’, and this year I ended up going every day. It can get exhausting, but I am definitely not complaining. With sleep in their eyes, they eagerly sat through ‘Ram Baraat’ and ‘Kevat ki Nav’.

Many times during my early professional life I was asked, why I didn’t go elsewhere for studies or practice. I wasn’t sure then but I always said, ‘Iss desh ko meri zaroorat hai….’ Now I am surer. I need this country more. I need the mele ki tikki, I need the Ramleela, and I need to be around my families during festivals. I need to hear the annual roar of Raavan. When his laughter echoes loud and monstrous in the air, I am comforted that no matter how terrible a year has been, it is still a good life.

#chandigarh

#littlethingsthatmattermuch

When Papa Snores.. (for once, breathes, slow and deep)!

2013-09-20T00:44:00.000+05:30

We were all gathered in one room at the end of an exhausting day during a recent vacation. Chitter-chatter about the weather, the monuments, the food of the day, the clothes of the locals filled the room. When suddenly there was this soft sound from deep inside a slowing down machine. A rare one. A snore. Dad's. The cacophony fell silent. All exchanged a quick look. Felt a happy warmth inside. And tip-toed out of the room.

We all have heard of that one busy dad who didn't make it to his child's sports day. But do you know of an even busier one who made it not only to that one sports day but to each of them, for each of his 3 kids, for all their PTAs, annual days, counsellings, graduation days, bachelor parties, break-up get-togethers (!), shopping sprees, post-wedding festivals at in-laws?

He has not only made it to these, he has stood their like a rock, he has been a wall to fall back on, he has been an enthusiastic participant along, a charmer, with a joke for a failure or a champagne for victory.

My earliest memory of my dad was him holding a 2-3 yr old me in his lap and pressing my apparently bad aching feet. Dunno who has grown more older since then. He can sure do that again anytime. He remains the balm of my life. The go-to 'Dost' forever.

With all his 'Dak' the he keeps clearing, the long calls instructing his employees of his huge company, the meetings day-in, day-out, touring all over the place, he still manages to keep a tab on the pulse of all of us and beyond. Before boarding his plane to Laos he'll enquire from Shakti where her birthday flowers should reach. While taxying in Rwanda he'll ask bhai if his interview went fine. Between his meetings in Stockholm he'll ask ma her waist size for a quick shopping of the traditional pants. Checking out of Nairobi he'll stress upon Komal that she must plan a Kenya holiday with bhai soon. From a distant call from Rio he'll enquire about my health or Rohit's clinics. Sitting alone in Beijing he'll message a request for the littlest baby's pic before calling it a day.

I haven't panicked in years, or have never known to, because I know, if he's around nothing can be too big to spoil my day. A day is still long rather.

He has rarely rested. He has rarely had a completed to-do list with all our endless demands or his surprisingly well-calculated unanticipated needs of ours. That list is not even physical. He jus knows. He jus remembers.

Papa I smile today, laugh so loudly, sleep that good sleep, because of you. All of us.

U deserve that li'll peaceful moment. When you snore. For if you are in deep sleep, all must really be well with the world.

Love you.

Happy Birthday.

Warmth of Memories

2013-07-25T00:25:00.002+05:30

'Ujale apni yaadon ke hamare saath rahne do,
Na jane kis gali mein zindagi ki shaam ho jaye...' .. Bashir Badr

Crossroads

2012-04-25T02:58:00.001+05:30

Daddy's integrity,
badi mummy's innocence,
papa's more than jus' half a DNA,
ma's nerves of steel,
bhai's joie de vivre,
Shakti's strength of character,
living and loving in the south,
a million hugs and laughters of best friends and girlfriends,
over three decades..
They are, therefore I am.

Yet so incomplete.

Love me,
provide me protection,
keep me secure,
let the child within me keep on jumping,
be my witness,
and let me fly..
Come with me,
I wish to fly!

Answering to destiny's call,
with stars in my eyes,
and the promise of a 'happily ever after',
I let you into my life.

Welcome to the li'll world of the li'll me!

South.. The Spring of My Life

2012-01-06T17:43:00.001+05:30

At the age of 17 I left the comforts of my home to settle in what will become my second home for the next ten years. And it will remain my home away from home, forever. I can say I grew up as much in Mangalore and Bangalore as in Chandigarh and Delhi. And its my life there that makes me what really I am today.

Early morning temple bells,
rangoli at every entrance,
the flowers in the hair,
jasmine in the air,
inherent simplicity of people everywhere,
akka and amma,
thick moustaches,
a bindi for every girl,
the extra 'h' in names,
sounds of the sea,
warmth of the sunsets,
rains that never end,
summer breeze that chills,
the high of filter coffee,
melting-in-the-mouth idlis,
some really tender coconut water;
strains of 'mungaru male' from the distance,
every moment, a memory.

I know I am home when they ask me, you've arrived aah?!!

That home is a precious chamber in my heart. I find solace there, just thinking about it, whenever it gets too tough, mundane and tiresome.

Quoting Rabindranath Tagore here..

'This day my heart seeks not
To count that which I never got.
Today, amidst the light and shade in my soul,
There plays that music still.
I did love this earth,
Yes I did love it.
And the memories of those flowers
that blew in with the southern breeze
Still lingering on..'

Cry a Hearty Cry

2012-01-06T16:33:00.001+05:30

Academic failure. Friend's betrayal. Family falling out. The aching heart. Broken dream(s).

There is blood, so we bleed.

At the age of 27, I am sure now, life can get brutal.

And am also sure that each one of us 'has seen a lot in life'.. And no pain hurts the other lesser.

The highest of highs. The smaller, more constant, joys of life. The lows. And the dungeons. Each experience of life merits a blog (!). And this is about life in the abyss.

The event may follow a boring pain, a looming fear or may be totally unprecedented.

You can never be mentally prepared enough. I was never.

There is loss of blood in the face. The heart pounds. The gut wrenches. The legs tremble. The feet are cold. When there's sweat on the forehead.

And then comes the lump. The choke. The choking choke. Which anatomical layer of the neck holds and develops that, I do not know. Yet its presence longer than a few hours or a day makes me painfully aware that I'm falling. How I wish I could dissect that layer.

We all know how it feels to smile with that lump. Or say a bright, 'hey! how are you?!".. And we admire our bravery. We run away in a corner to release the choke, because our bravery arouses only self-pity.

I have given a lecture with that pain. Seen a hundred patients in the OPD. Stared at questions in the paper for other answers. Walked lengths and breadths in shade or sun, feeling just as cold. And sweaty. I have envied people laughing away in front of me.. Will I be that happy again? What makes people so happy? I know.. I've been there too.

I have rushed through the day's worldly affairs to run to my room. Locked the door well. Found the cornerest corner and sat there so I can atleast start weeping more easily. Clutched the Hanuman Chalisa.

Then I go to the bathroom. Look at myself in the mirror. The same that I used to smile into and be amazed at my happy beauty! Damn! Am rather ugly!

I look for bits of happy foods.. Chocolates or cookies. I drink some water so the glands remain hydrated.

Music is forbidden. Cell phone is the worst creation of mankind.

Its a lucky day if people do not come knocking.

There's no appetite for food. Atleast we can loose weight more easily now!

Making sure all are well asleep and the pillow is comfy, I lie in fetal position. They say you were most blessed and peaceful then. I swear! And then I let go. I cry. And more. I breathe. Slow and deep. And then I cry some more. Bury myself in the pillow. It becomes difficult to breathe. What with the nose clogged and the mouth stuffed. The voice becomes hoarse. And then I care a damn. I howl. I cry a hearty cry. I feel healthier with every bout. It makes me stronger to dare and curse God. Why me.

The night helps. Crying well helps. I wake up braver for the day.

Love

2012-01-04T03:44:00.002+05:30

To love and be loved is a complex state of existence. You are not just you. You have a half that adds more and perhaps even a better meaning to your being. There is an extra dimension to each and every aspect of your life (even your past.. that was just a story to be shared!). Everything, anything ever about yourself, makes more sense with it. You are achingly incomplete in its absence. You so don’t mind the lesser there is of you in yourself. There is love, therefore you are.

It uplifts you. You fly. You soar. You feel the continuous warmth of the sun. Music plays on end. You smile long. You feel more beautiful. You always have company in solitude. The day breaks early and the night runs longer. Every moment of the day is in levitation. All of the above endlessly. Love uplifts you endlessly.

You reflect. You long. You dream. Even when you have it all. To have more. Just some more more. It fulfills you so.

You jump in his happiness. You bleed more in his pain. You are more tired in his fatigue. You dream more when he sleeps better. He makes you want to love him more. Love makes you a better person. You are selfless. You discover you have so much of love to still give away. To just see the other happier, more complete, more easy. And there seems no apparent reason why you wanna do this or why you feel so. Or perhaps there are a thousand. The basic, guess, that he gives it back.

Together you live the rollercoaster ride that life is. Scream, laugh, hold tighter and longer. Look back. Watch ahead. Look at each other. Look down. Smile. Your footsteps are in tandem. You walk further, fearless. The pain that comes around is, and will always be, worth it. The love, if you have, or ever had it, the look, the smell, the sound and the touch of that hour, will make you feel warm forever.

What the World Cup means to me.

2011-03-31T12:04:00.001+05:30

Growing up India is typical in every household. As soon as brother and me became a little sane, one of the better birthday gifts was the plastic green cricket bat and the plastic red ball. Then one day, dad told us the story of cricket. He described a summer of '83 when the country got up from the slumber of the ordinary. And roared in unison. It gave the goosebumps.

Over the next two decades we caught the images of that day. We grew up with our own men in blue. We realised that no, cricket isn't just a game here. When India played, the common man took a break from his own struggles. We all declared a personal holiday. It was ok not to study on the day of a match (Ma understands sometimes).

With all the CWGs, 2Gs and parliamentary affairs, there's little to feel proud of. The newspaper takes exactly 5 minutes to flip and you wanna pull your hair apart. A li'll extra minute spent on the details, you wanna go back to your life even more. Atleast you'll try to be a better citizen. Yeah, there was this odd olympic gold medal, Saina, the year without a terrorist attack or the happy bollywood movie.

As we gear up for the big day on Saturday, there's a silent prayer on every lip. We wanna be happy. Laugh endlessly. We don't wanna feel bad about life in general. It'll go on nevertheless. But we wanna take a break. Scream Indiaaaaah! Indiaaaaaaaaaaaah! We wanna win!

Its been 28 years. By the time its another four years, I'm gonna have a kid of my own. I'm gonna tell them the story of cricket. I'm gonna describe a summer of 2011.

Sachin

2010-02-28T12:07:00.000+05:30

I don’t read autobiographies. None so far. But I’m sure looking forward to one. I so hope he pens it all down one day. For people like me it’ll be a sacred book.

I didn’t watch the match but soon enough read the length and breadth of the newspaper. Since last 15 years I’ve been cutting out stuff that inspires me, moves me, makes my heart swell. Those to do with Sachin invariably do that. I often get tears even (that might also be because am kinda weird, emotionally). Added the latest ones too to the already huge collection – from sharjah to his twenty-years-in-cricket day. I have his picture with him lifting his bat to the sky, on the face of my cupboard, at the top. Below follow other great sports-persons, leaders, soldiers (whether rolls of honour or a rickety hostel cupboard, sachin can’t be lower down). That picture has become a tad bit yellow. This new one can replace it. It’s easy with Sachin’s pictures. A great moment is never too far to let the older one become too yellow.

“I dedicate this double century to all the people of India who stood behind me through ups and downs”.. The way he’s been talking like this for twenty years now, a silly girl like me has actually come to believe that he personally takes care of how I feel. I’ve come to believe that I’m someone really important in his life.

I almost didn’t care to watch the match highlights. But oddly wished I could watch him sleep that night. And get some well deserved rest. And see him get up lazily in the morning. Bum around the house. And then ask me, hey, Priya, how are you, girl?

And then I get filled with all this guilt. Gulp. I cover my mouth lest I blurt it out. I am sure he won’t mind. The way he’s so nice. But its bad, nevertheless, the way I feel. But can’t help it. Who else will listen to me. And Sachin always listens. Ok. ‘Hmm. Sachin, ab, sorry, umm, ab ek world-cup ho jaye?’

Sachin patiently listens to a billion voices everyday.

As Matt Hayden puts it best, ‘I have seen God, he bats at No. 4 for India.’

Take a bow.

AM A BAD GIRL!

2010-02-18T23:45:00.002+05:30

You came and apologized,
I said, ‘Its ok,’ without a hitch,
but did you hear me scream inside,
‘Fuck you bitch!’

I do walk out full sleeved,
and in baggy jeans wide,
but you know what,
am all pink and lacy inside!

Did I give u a lecture
that alcohol is toxic, and makes you quick older?
I forgot to mention,
am too carried back from parties on many a shoulder!

You caught me raising my eyebrows
when you went all swoony over that dude,
but you didn’t catch me go weak in knees myself,
long before you thought I would!

I show I get disgusted,
when you all rattle out all those gaalis,
but I was the first to run back and check out
the dictionary meaning of MC-BC waalis!

I tell mom-dad I can’t come with them
‘coz I gotta finish all the revision,
and soon enough I jump on the bed
to catch the best scenes on television!

I know its pathetic
to live a life so hypocrital,
but it’s a major kick, you know,
to be nice outside, and inside, such a naughty girl!

The Box/Boxes

2009-12-13T18:27:00.002+05:30

Women are not only born with a higher emotional quotient, rather with time they keep adding to their emotional baggage. Baggage, literally. From the tender age of may be 4 or 5 they start adding importance to millions of even inanimate stuff. It may be their first ‘good’ in class. Or the first paper boat. Pencil shavings. The first Barbie. Birthday candles. Ribbons. Frocks. Envelopes. Leaves. It may all seem useless. But dare you tell her. Ask her. Each of it has a long story and significance. And she’ll tell you with great enthusiasm. She’ll tell you with a heavy heart. She is missing that moment, even now, big time.
I spoke to my friend who was getting married in two days. She was packing her bags. It even included the new tooth-brush, new comb. Blah. Everything new! Got me laughing. I discussed it with my mom who by current standards was prematurely married. She said every li’ll or big thing is new. While the world is dancing and screaming, as soon as she steps into the new house, her gut is wrenching. She’s scared. She’s apprehensive.
She’s missing the old. Her family. Her friends. The child inside her. Her innocence. Her box. Her box of those wrappers, cards, bindis, pics of her dream heroes. She couldn’t have carried it to her new house. It would almost be abused of being some junk. And it may seem small. But it isn’t! My mom had this box too. I was shocked. You always expect your parents to be so mature. She said it so sweetly. Her wooden box with a million things. For a long time she would go back and check it in her old cupboard in her mom’s house. And the kid would feel nice. Then time passed. Houses passed. People passed. And guess today she remembered it for the first time after so long! I stupidly asked, ma where is that box..
In medical school we are often taught when a child first cries, smiles, recognizes parents, coos and babbles. But we haven’t been taught when a girl child realizes that she will go through something called ‘marriage’. That she belongs to the species that shifts base. May be the fact sinks rather late in life or she wouldn’t have made her box so huge n heavy.
Am in that age too, you know, where someone may appear anytime and fly me off to distant lands. Cool as it may seem, it does make me become a li’ll too protective and insecure about my stuff. Daddy’s letter’s, cards from friends all over the place, mementos of first dates, pre-digital pics. I may never have an autobiography but these things are the hard evidence of my happy eventful lifetime of 25 yrs. I so hope I am able to keep them safe forever!

OPD

2009-07-20T01:31:00.000+05:30

Telling a frail grand-mom to watch out for wet floors;
listening patiently to the long story of an old man;
warning an uncle to walk half an hour everyday;
comforting a doting father that his child will be alright;
teaching a young mother that her health is her most important job;
scolding a lanky fellow not to make mountains of a mole hill;
suggesting diet plans to a slightly healthy girl.
A hold on the arm. A pat on the back. A half hug.
A serious look with a smile.
Humbled by a fold of hands.
From a small desk, I live my dream of the most wonderful job in the world!

Bonded Labour

2009-04-12T23:49:00.002+05:30

I’ve never thought am growin old or becoming more in charge. That am mature or that am big enough. In my professional life so far, its either been independence or workin for someone as a junior or as part of a team. For a whole lot part of life previously, I was a student.

It’s a rather weird situation increasingly prevalent in my life that I’ve more powers. Have people workin under me and for me. They call me 'madam/ma'am'. Sisters and interns. I am in a position to decide how their day turns out or their night. How early or late they go home. Whether they are able to enjoy a festival. I am doin post-graduation.
I can’t handle it! I can’t stand someone subservient to me! I don’t deserve it! Either I do the work on my own or let there be no such work!.. They may not mind it. They may follow me and even like me. But I feel guilty! I end up telling a sorry while askin ‘em to write a patient’s discharge summary at an odd hour. To put a urine catheter. To shift a bad patient to ICU. Work-up a patient I admit in the middle of night. It’s a part of their job. But they are under direct orders from me. And I’m helpless. As part of our duties we all have well defined work. I couldn’t be doin everythin on my own too. It’s odd. This feelin. I can’t handle the power. I wanna finish asap. Not the least bit to end my odd bondage as a senior!

Dead Body

2009-04-12T21:28:00.004+05:30

Was it the eeky feeling or the shame of having been disrespectful. Stepping on a dead-body can hardly incite positive feelings. Rather fills u with disgust. How could u not realise. Yikes! But it was unintentional and inevitable. They were strewn all across the floor. Lots of them. Early morning dead honey-bees in the corridor. Lonely souls must have struggled all night.

Don’t they have a family? Who could burn them? Or carry them on a stetcher and bury them? Say a pray for them? I jus brushed the ones in my path so I could save any guilt of being the heartless human.
But then I was glad. I was a human. Atleast when we’re dead they’ll do these nice rituals. Cremation. Burial. A citation full of praise and respect. A touch of the holy waters. Nice. No human disregards a dead-body.
A terrorist won’t kill a dead man. They won’t build nuclear weapons if everyone was dead. If the pubs had dead girls they couldn’t pull them by the hair and throw them on the floor. The politicians won’t exploit dead people, their money or faith. No one will exploit dead poor children. No one will rape a dead girl. A dead pregnant woman shall be cared for better.
To be dead is good if u’re a human. There’s peace and lovin. I’m glad am a human. Such bliss in death!

A Breather

2009-04-11T00:30:00.009+05:30

I was feeling it last night. The pressure in the head. Flight of ideas. Gave a few missed calls. Had finished coupla chapters on ECG and roomie slept off too at the end of a healthy bitchin session. No calls returned. Had been a week I had breathed. Hopital, readin, hospital, readin. Home was distant in the past. Looks distant in the future. I wanna unload. Anythin to anyone.
It was the perfect bad mornin. Got up at 8.55. Dashed straight from the bed to check my patients and then attend the customary round with consultant. Phew! All's well that ends ok. A couple of lectures for juniors and I was looking at a long day unfinished. Some more ECG or The Reader? Pondering over a glass of juice when my colleague-friend joined me. A lazy horrible lunch. Draggin feet back to the room. She suggested I sat some with her though my senses wanted to take me back to books. I didn't think long. Thank God. Half lied down with her.
‘How was your friend's marriage, Siri?’
‘Was good. Got a major feelin seein them tying the knot. They were that couple of the batch everyone jus likes to talk about. Will they won't they? I met all the class guys I never used to talk to. Can u believe that. I didn’t speak to guys then!’
‘! That’s odd.’
‘I was in third when my friend in the colony told me we should have a guy jus for ourselves!! And we used to tie the one she liked and bring him to her!!’
‘Siri, yeah. That age of innocence. In Chandigarh we used to have this huge lawn in every block. We used to come back from school and catch a li'll nap. Take a bath, wear knee length socks and shoes and go runnin to play with till 8!.. Ah, what life!
The kids today are under so much pressure. I see these kids in class 4 goin for tuitions with huge bags in the afternoon heat. Moms are more educated but less tolerant. And then u speak to kids in middle school. So what ya play in the eve? Some comp game or TV.. What on TV.. Kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi. Bull shit. Siri what's become of childhood!
Siri and the cell-phones! Remember that life. Am so glad we had school pre telecom boom. There was no encroachment of one's personal space. Siri I think I wanna bring my kids up in a tiny town with gardens for very house and I wanna teach them myself and they'll play all day for greater part of school life and definitely no cell phone and no competition in school with rich kids, though am sure they'll always have enough money in the family. Siri are u gettin me. I owe them a good time in life. Siri?’
‘Ok ok relax. You not havin a kid already. Don’t get so stirred.’
‘Siri it was a good life. Our childhood. No pressure on the brain except may be a li’ll embarrassment if u standin outside the class because u made an ugly doll for the craft class. Ha! Art craft dance music, a new song for every season. Games period. Moral science lectures. We used to listen to them more seriously than today’s anatomy class!.. Gimme that life! Siri lets go back! In 5 yrs I’ll touch thirty! Siri am old. Siri I’ll commit suicide if I hit 30!'
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.. A good laugh. Silence. Staring at the ceiling. Smiling. Blank. Swellin of the lighter heart. Its been a cool life. Fun at that. And we had jus talked of inconsequential stuff, issues closer to the heart than the immediate life. Had been time we disconnected from the present. And glad we did. Life shall go on. What can u do or undo. Headed to the room. A happy peaceful nap and ECG.

The Quote on My Wall

2009-04-10T15:28:00.001+05:30

'Desire is the key. I don't feel it consistently. But when I have it, I can't be beaten.' .. Chris Evert.