My family and other animals

*Long, rambling blog alert*

Appreciating something while it is there does not come easily. I let my brother go, postponing that chat, that movie, that gossip session, when I had spent so much time with my friends, some of whose names I can’t even remember properly, whom I might not even recognize if I saw them now.

My new year resolution this time around is this – I will count my blessings, and when I consider someone a blessing in my life, I will tell it to that person. I will see the colours of the rainbow in everything I see, and will try to also see those overlapping colours. No more regrets, no ache-in-the-throat evenings spent wishing things were different.

My father: An engineer and a brilliant student himself, and having a very brilliant couple of sons, he could never quite fathom how my mind would go into a tizzy trying to understand how to do square roots and algorithms. But he is the person who taught me to be comtemplative, to read so earnestly that it resonates in my mind for months and years, and even now, when I start reading a book, the sound of his support rings in my ears. He gave us enough sun, metaphorically, to keep our attitude bright. But he also made us aware of much rain, so we could appreciate the sun more. The quintessential artist stuck in a job which had nothing artistic about it, ( for years there had been a pencil sketch of Venus de Milo which was framed in our house I thought was a photograph – I found much later that my dad had sketched it), he still was a huge success in his job, and is admired and remembered for his integrity and honesty and acumen and knowledge in all things engineering by people at his place of work. And today, if my son needs to draw something for his project, he turns to Nanaji, (obviously, the aesthetic gene did not travel very far). When the plumbing goes wrong in my house, the wiring gets crossed, no puns intended anywhere, we just need to ring Baba and tell him, and it gets sorted. He’s nearly 80, and we are in our forties. Still.

My elder brother. IIT Kanpur graduate, went to the US for his MS/Ph.D and then post doc., he had no real intentions of coming back and settling in India. But after my younger brother passed away, he did not think twice, just finished his post-doc in 3 months and was back with us, to be my support while I was handling this huge loss of and on my own and taking care of my parents as they coped with theirs. He, to me, is the epitome of sacrifice – not once in the last several years have I heard him express any yearning for what he left behind to be here. Always fair, always honest – he is a very hard act to follow. He has taught me how enough pain in life can be used to tranform it to appreciate happiness more, and to keep our spirit alive. We were dying each minute, those years ago. He taught me how well he utilized his loss to prioritize his life. He taught me how, when life gives us lemons, we need to just make pickle and eat it. Through him, I saw how I should appreciate what I do possess.

My mother. The ever protective. The ever optimist. The one fiercely protective of her children. So much so that the day after my older brother came and 4 days after my younger one had left us, she came to the kitchen and took over the kitchen from myriad relatives, because she thought we needed normalcy in our lives, my brother needed to see we would do fine and he need not return. He did return, but that was his personal choice. My mother. Displaying colossal strength in adversity. The exuberance in celebration. The stubbornness in the given word. The teacher of integrity and morals. I can unabashedly say that my mother’s showing us that despite losing one son, she showed us very clearly how much she valued what she had left. She showed that she still had reason evey morning to open her window and let the sun in because we, her other two children were still there.

My parents, together this time. It was the strength of my parents’ conviction and not the command of their voices which spurred us on to take up battles we were not at all sure of winning. They taught us not to be materialistic and taught us that while it was OK to be introverted, it was not OK to be indifferent to the world around us. They taught us aggression, but also taught us when to use that. Aggression to fight for one’s rights and for the rights of others, for one’s principles, one’s beliefs. Aggression to fight fear, to not succumb to injustice or inequality. They exposed me to culture and art, to personalities of great talent and fora of great discussions and debates.  We learnt that MS Subbalakhsmi could be heard after listening to Don Maclean, Tagore could be as rewarding as Akilan and Kovi Manisekaran, even if the latter were in translation. They are also the ones who showed us that reading Louis L’amour was as important as reading Chekov. They taught us to be eclectic in our choices, of books, music, movies, friends – in everything. They taught us to appreciate differences in others and to be fair in our assessment of them. I think I take these to lessons very seriously even now. They taught me my incessant hunger for things new and novel and progressive. They taught me “the more you read, the more things you will know, the more things you know, the more places you will go”. I had two left feet, but it was my dad who showed me how to waltz and do the tango and manage to even do it elegantly.They taught us to acknowledge good deeds and to the prevalence of truth and just beings. They are still teaching me the power of tolerance and the bearing of pain. Of the goodness in life and the exuberance of living it.

My younger brother. Lost to us now, but what a life it was, while it was. Came out 2nd in India in ICSE, won the National Talent Scholarship, Rotary International Youth Award amongst many others…….I think my first moral science lesson (that I can remember) was from him. He had to do a calendar with egg shells. Not artistically inclined at all, he asked for my help and I helped him with it. All set for next day. Only I woke up to find this calendar all scrunched up and in the bin. Apopleptic with nervousness, I wondered if the dog had done it. Turns out  it was my brother, actually. He couldn’t sleep through the night because of his guilt, as he had not done it himself, so would be essentially cheating, although his teachers would never have known. 3 years his senior, and I was about 10 – and I felt humbled as I have never felt afterwards. I wish I had enough hellos with him to see me through the final goodbye, – one which never happened anyway.

My husband. Irritating to the core with his obsessions. But rock solid in his convictions and integrity. In a dog-eat-dog world of practising medicine, he is one corner that is pure, uncorrupt, incorruptible even. Definitely a lot poorer than his peers, but happy. His patients always get 150% of his time and attention. He screams at them at times when they come with inane questions, but they still come back. Because the good doctor is a good person too, brooking no compromises with his morals and ethics. Very caring, still able to cry when an 85 year old patient dies. That speaks a lot.

My son. He is constantly teaching me. That there is nothing as fulfilling as watching him grow, that I need to teach him all that my parents taught me, and more. Because our childhood realities are not their realities any more, hte world a more complex place. He brings beauty into my world, makes me see things differently. I see him and realize there is a reason why children write with pencils and grown-ups with pens. It’s because what they write can be erased, and erased out of memory, hopefully under happy circumstances, by their parents. How adults carve their lives out is more permanent. Like ink – although even that can be erased. There’s hope yet for us.

And then finally, my dog. He shows me that it is possible to love someone more than one loves oneself. He has no survival instinct separate from mine. If I move from the cold of the bedroom to the toilet for a few minutes, he still prefers to sit in the cold floor waiting for me to come out. He makes coming home a thing of joy. He brings fun and laughter into our staid sedate lives.

They all teach us something. It’s for me to imbibe them.They say it takes a minute to find a special person. An hour to appreciate them. A day to love them. And an entire life to forget them

Lessons from everyday life

I remember, when I was still in college, my cousin and her husband had taken me out and we were having phuchkas from a roadside hawker. As was our wont in those days, I started haggling with the man over whether he would give us 3 or 4 to a rupee. My cousin’s husband told the man, just keep giving and we will sort out the price later. When we were done, he gave the man a few rupees more than the asking rate. Quite irritated by this  what-I-felt-was-needless generosity, I asked him why he did that. He said, ‘ those few rupees are not going to make any difference in your life, but it will make substantial difference in his.’ I have never ever haggled for anything minor ever in my life after that. I realized there is heavy irony in the fact that we are not allowed to do that for the really expensive things- electronic items, designer clothing, where the guys are all essentially conning us completely. But something about the hawker’s helplessness, his poverty, his lack of so-called polish, dares us to do that with him. And the people – these people in the fringes of our existences, are not even aware that they might actually deserve better.

Today, I was  unable to leave home and was pondering about sending our driver  to pay the electricity bill. And then I looked at the figure. With the sweltering heat, this was not unexpected – it was close to Rs 5000 and summer has barely begun. Even after calling him up, I had to fob him off with a lie. I could not, just could not, give him Rs 5000 to pay as electricity bill when his salary was Rs 6000. For similar reasons, I can never ask him to get me any take away – spending so much and asking him to get it somehow seems to make me more of a criminal. I do help out with his kids education and clothes etc, but don’t I do it more for my conscience than anything else?

I have often noticed in cars with other people, how we, the middle and the upper middle-class (especially in India) have a tendency to completely ignore or be oblivious to the presence of a driver who is privy to all the conversation happening in the car. People talk of jewellery, eating out, buying new cars, or worse – their life’s secrets and emotions etc etc as though the person at the wheel does not exist. I cringe, – why do we forget to dignify his presence in the car by having these conversations later? But ask them, and they don’t even know or feel they are slighted, such is their level of expectation from life. Do these poor men/women really have any control over the course their lives have taken? I would think not. And such being the case, why is it we feel superior to them? Why are we more concerned about doing things right than about doing the right things?

When my neighbour’s maid stole a couple of thousand rupees from her drawer, she was sacked forthwith. Why do we keep expensive things lying around as bait, tempting the ones less fortunate? I am not trying to justify any theft, but do we really know how we would have reacted if we found , say, a million bucks and was sure we would not get caught?  We don’t, not really – we just think we do, and the fact that this is a hypothetical situation makes it easy for us to pontificate. We don’t know how we would have reacted if that money could be useful to save a relative’s life or get my child much wanted education. I always look at my maid – with her squeaky-clean honesty, with wonder. She finds loose cash lying around and invariably puts them inside a drawer. That to me, speaks of her moral fibre, those loose change could have got her son some snacks, some books, maybe some clothes. The fact that she misses out cleaning one window, to me, is less important.

My father held a very high post in a public sector company, and he had opportunities galore to take the wrong route of bribes and ensure himself a grand apartment somewhere posh. He did nothing of that sort and now lives on the 3rd floor in an elevator-less building. He has no regrets, and is very happy with his books and music and the fact that when he goes to his erstwhile office, people still, 15 years post retirement, come up to him and respectfully greet him. He used to tell us life always gives you back what you give – that there is some divine plan and the good and the honest always get rewarded. I am not so sure of that one – my good and honest parents lost their final-year MBBS studying son to a freak drowing accident. Reason killed my god then, and it remains dead and I know everythig happens at random. If anyone anywhere could give me one single reason how my brother’s death could have benefited anyone, I would love to change my view – but that has not happened. But that has not made my dad err  in his path either.

 As for me, I remember telling my mom in the morning, after that darkest of nights when I lied and lied that my brother was in the hospital and when dawn arrived, I took a phone call (it was all planned ) and looked at my mom and told her her son was dead. I saw her fall - not straight, not banging herself and getting hurt. I saw her implode. Every time I see the Twin Towers on 9/11, I think of my mom. She fell in a heap and I just left her there to pick herself up and went to the fridge and drank some water. As I was drinking, I remember thinking - I can do anything - I have just told my mom her son, my brother, is dead. That perverse confidence has remained.

It has taught me though, to give importance to people that are important in my life. To take nothing for granted. To tell people I love, that I love them. While I still have the time. And the time is now, everyday.  I feel so grateful that I was able to tell my brother how much I loved him when I saw him last.  I know very well who I would like to visit today if I were to die tomorrow, and so I never go for a movie with an acquaintance/friend -who might tomorrow not even be in my radar – when I can sit and chat with my mother, my father, my brother, husband and child or close friends. I know I should not judge people, because everybody is fighting some kind of battle of their own. I know who matter in my life, who never did, who wont any more and who always will. I am thankful – not to any god, because remember, I don’t believe in him/her (I have no issues with anyone who does though), – that I have aching and weary muscles at the end of the day, because it means I am capable of work. I see my mother losing her capacity to work each day, little by little and it scares me. For her. I am thankful even of my shadow which follows me, because it means I have light in my life, sunshine ahead.

My mother often gets very agitated when after a big party, some crockery and china- expensive doubtless - gets broken. She can’t understand how I take it so casually. But I really do. To me, it shows I have friends who care enough to come to my party and have a good time. And they come and do have a good time, I know that. The mess, to me, is the perk that comes with it. If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many that we don’t do? When is the right time to stop calculating risks and rewards and just go ahead and do the things that one wants to do? Maybe now?

I want to be able to march into the dark with only the soft glow of an idea I strongly believed in…..