From Russia, with Love!

There are a few memories from your college days that leaves a lasting impression or even changes your life!.......Little did I know, that a chance meeting at a University Library would impact my life more than I could have ever imagined.  

As an UG Scholar, and an avid reader, I would visit the UG Library at the University after classes and leisurely browse through the Literature Section for the 2 hrs that it remained open in the evenings.

Having heard a lot about Russian Literature, One day I happened to pick 'The Idiot" by Fyodor Dostoevsky.
Since it was closing time and my curfew time at the
hostel was nearing, I rushed to the counter to get the book issued.
The clerk at the counter was finishing some entries in a ledger
and I restlessly waited for him to attend to me.

Just then, came rushing this tall lanky boy, apparently a student,
in a hurry to return his book.
Seeing the clerk busy with his work, he got more fidgety
than I was.

Being the only 2 waiting at the counter, we exchanged civilities.
He eyed the book I had on the counter and remarked 'good book'.
I noticed his book too and smiled.

Thereafter, we bumped into each other in the University campus
quite a few times.
Soon enough, many more 'planned' chance meetings
happened at the library followed by long hours of talking
outside the library in the pretext of discussing books.
We realised that we were getting naturally drawn to each other.

Then Life Happened!....
While I continued my Masters and Research Fellowship programs
at the University, the man changed his course towards Military.
In spite, of long distances which tested the connections
from time to time, some Alchemy ensured
that we held together and joined in Marriage!

Both, Lighter moments and domestic batte-fields of married life,
have many times led me to remark that the book title (‘The Idiot’)
was an Ironic reference to what I was getting into in life.

Well the husband, could not pull any such punches.
After all, the book he had come to return on that fateful meeting
was ‘Resurrection’ by Leo Tolstoy.

Cut to now!...
20 years, one lovely daughter and with many military & corporate moves…..

‘The Idiot’ and ‘The Resurrected’ have been together since 😃.

Poetic Justice?

"Had I accompanied her, she would have definitely got through..." I have heard my father often say this line. Over the years, I realised that it was a statement related to my school admission.

As the story goes, when I was ready to start school, my Mom had taken me to one of the prestigious schools nearby which my parents were keen on. (Later, I realized it was prestigious for snob values than academic accomplishments). As it was/is customary in such schools to grill children with a volley of questions, I too was asked several questions. Owing to my stubborn nature as a kid, I refused to answer any.

My mother an ordinary Government employee was always shy of speaking in English in public. Her English was restricted to the formal types such as 'Received your letter and noted the contents.' When asked who would teach the child at home, she had coyly replied 'We' (meaning herself and my Dad.) Understandably, the Headmistress was not so impressed & I was denied admission.

Alternatively, I was put in another convent close to our home. As there were many students in my colony studying in the 'Prestigious school,' my father had ample opportunity to use his famous line. As a result, my mother was always keen that we should never have such complexes and constantly encouraged us to speak in English at school and with friends and catch up on reading as much as we could.

Years passed by and I came out with flying colors in my tenth board exams. Since it was a close community where people of the colony worked together in various offices, performances of children & schools were public knowledge. I was the school topper in English in my school in the Board exams. Incidentally, the topper in the school where i was denied admission a decade earlier, had secured just one mark lesser than me.

Though my mother did not show her happiness outwardly, I could sense she was jubilant. My brother commented saying the achievement was not a big deal as the difference was only by a single mark.

My mother thought otherwise. She felt it made all the difference between a winner and a runner-up. For her it was a sweet revenge rendered after a decade.

Talk about poetic justice!

"From Mama, With Love............."

Friend, this one is for you! A parting gift as well as your wedding gift from me. Though I enjoy writing I frequently get affected by 'writer's block' and that's the reason you find the blogs posted at such long intervals.

You asked me to write about motherhood and my daughter. Of all the roles of a woman I got to live so far, motherhood has been/is the most rewarding, gratifying, and fulfilling experience for me. My daughter is my need and necessity. Everything else and everybody else come a distant second in my life." You must be wondering where does my husband stand then? I don't belong to the clan which gushes and praises about the man in their lives.

My daughter is a part of me and wherever she goes and whatever she does, my thoughts and prayers would always be with her. I look forward to everyday and every minute with her. I enjoy the simple pleasures of life with her like going out for an ice-cream, reading out a story for her and smile to myself when I catch the curiosity in her face (eyes and mouth wide opened), seeing her off to school, playing her favorite song and watch her dance moves, seeing her apply lipstick (smeared all across the chin and cheeks), the list is endless. I call them the 'Pedestrian Pleasures of Life,' which I strongly feel no amount of money can buy. You got to live through those moments to realize how valuable they are.

Motherhood also teaches you a lot of things. It reveals your ability for patience, to take responsibilities and make sacrifices. I remember being ridiculed, when I took a 3-year sabbatical and gave up my job to be with my new-born and be a full time mother during those formative years. People around me called me 'worldly unwise'. Though, it was a 48-hour job to be done in 24-hrs, I was ridiculed saying that it cannot be put in my resume.

Motherhood is a big time job! Every word you say, every action of yours has a profound effect in shaping and molding your child's character. It is always a pressing concern and priority as to what kind of individual am I going to contribute to the society.

Motherhood is definitely not for wimps. It has its highs and lows, challenges, conflicts, resistances, responsibilities, and bouts of guilty feelings. I remember reading somewhere that 'Parenthood is a huge guilt-generating business.'
Motherhood! More So !!! At times, it could be a thankless job even. But certainly, it has its moments of sweetness, satisfaction, love, gratification, and pure joy too.

I've my fears too. I often wonder how it would be when she gets out of her pig-tails and frilly frocks. Will I become the 'grumpy Mom' disputing her choice of clothes and friends and make life suffocative for her or will I be the 'understanding Mom' sharing her excitement and dreams. Will I force my likes and dislikes on her, or will I be ready to accept and respect her independence?

I'm looking forward for those challenges and changes. I find motherhood a work of my heart. In spite of all the anxiety, challenges and hardships involved, I feel I'm living my best life.

I will conclude by quoting Roosevelt's words on motherhood, " The good mother, the wiser mother........is more important to the community than even the ablest man, her career is more worthy of honor & is more useful to the community than the career of any man, no matter how sucessful."

I wonder what my child would think when she reads this years later. As for you friend, you asked for it!

More power to you Dear Friend to face the challenges ahead. Good Luck for all your future endeavors and God Speed!

The One-Eyed King!

Writing about Lucky brought back memories of another pet 'Raja, of our childhood days.' He too came into our lives on a rainy day, lying bundled in the staircase of our building that housed 16 apartments. All our attempts to shoo him off were in vain. We noticed that his left eye was hanging out of its socket.

Our fears turned into pity and we wanted to keep him, much to the annoyance of the elders in the building. After deliberating on several names, the children decided to name him 'Raja.'

Raja's day would begin at 5.30 in the morning, hopping on everyone coming from the milk booth and upon the milk vendors. Nobody would have the heart to deny his share of milk. There was a huge stone in front of the building which became his dining table. Of course, such an outward expression of his love did send a few to the Dr., for he would forgetfully leave his nail imprints.

8.30-10 would be a hectic time for Raja too, for he would accompany every kid and adult till the bus-stand. In the evenings when the children play in the ground, he would hang around till they return back home.

He was a boon to the ground floor Aunties who till then had to sit watching their papads and chips in the afternoon. But with Raja around now, they could fearlessly have an afternoon siesta as he would watch over their papads. It would be a sight to see him chasing crows and hanging onto the tail of a cow with the poor one struggling to get rid of him from her back.

Our worst moments were the times when the corporation van used to come to pick up stray dogs. It would be a tough task to lure him indoors with biscuits and eatables and keep him there till the van leaves. He, on the contrary, would be curious to know the reason for the barking of so many dogs from the van.

Come Diwali, and Raja would abscond somewhere for a week. That was the only time when he would not respond to our call of 'Raja.' This behavior led credence to our assumptions that he must have lost his eye due to an accident with crackers.

How much everyone had developed a liking for him, nobody realized until one fine morning when Raja while playfully chasing a young goat, accidentally bit him. (just a small gash on the animal's leg). The owner's of the goat from a nearby slum came in a big group with the intention of stoning Raja to death, ignoring our pleads to spare him. Sensing our attachment to the dog, they realized they could bargain for a huge sum. Finally, all the residents pitched in and a fat sum was paid. After the mob left nobody complained about the money they had to spend, but instead everyone was relieved that they could save Raja.

How affectionate Raja was, became evident, when one of the residents moved into their own flat in a neighboring locality. One morning when they opened their balcony door, they were surprised to find Raja waiting for them and wagging his tail when he saw them.

He was a very intelligent animal too. When the ground floor residents were away he would come upstairs and scratch on one of our doors reminding us to give him food. Also, during rainy days he would come to our house to cuddle up comfortably in the cozy little bed my father used to make for him.

It was six years since Raja came to our building. The eye that was dangling initially had fallen during the course of time and the scar had also healed. But as all good things must come to an end, one night an auto-rickshaw which came to leave a visitor accidentally ran over his leg. Though there was no visible wound outside, after 2 days the sweepers of the block found him lying on their way. It was an usual habit with him, but would generally move away when told to. But that day he did not respond. He had passed away in his sleep.

When the news spread, every resident came rushing down. A pit was dug in the area adjacent to the building. One resident filled the pit with salt, Raja's body was lowered into the pit. Before it was closed, the ground floor Aunty came rushing with a glass of milk and poured it into Raja's mouth with tears in her eyes. (as it is customary among some people to do so when someone dies in the family)

Everyday we children would go and see the fresh mound of earth. We continued the practice for sometime. As time heals all wounds, Raja was slowly forgotten. But during certain conversations, Raja would be remembered and a silence would prevail for sometime.

Raja was not lucky to be with us, Instead we were lucky to have known Raja. He taught us a lot of things. Foremost, he brought all of us together. The residents of the block were of different religion, backgrounds, spoke different languages and followed different customs. But everyone loved Raja the same. He taught us the power of love that could overcome all barriers. He taught us the art of tolerance. If we could tolerate the pranks of a stray dog, we could tolerate the short comings of fellow human beings too.

Raja brought happiness into our lives. Happiness that comes by doing a good deed everyday. By feeding, protecting, and loving a stray dog all of us were doing something good everyday.

He lived the life of a Raja! He was an one-eyed King, indeed!

Lucky!

The low pressure in the bay was creating a heavy downpour. The stillness of the stormy night was broken by tiny snivels. Going by the direction of the sound, we located a plastic bag amidst thorny bushes in a vacant plot opposite to our house. Five 'just-born' puppies presumably abandoned within minutes of their birth. We were on time to save only two. Already home to 2 dogs and a cat, our house was overflowing with 2 and 4-legged occupants. Not having the heart to leave the puppies to their fate, we brought them home.

One of our neighbors, were constantly asking us for a male pup, if our pet dog litters. So, the male pup was happily given to them and we decided to keep the female pup until we found someone interested in taking her. A week later my brother who dropped in at our neighbors place, came back with a morose face. The pup had been abandoned at a tea-shop, as they could not cope up with the constant feeding, cleaning, and whining of the pup. They hoped it would survive licking on the milk strewn around. He had rushed to the shop only to be told that a small white pup was run over by a motorcycle as it was running amuck in the road without a sense of direction, petrified by the sound of traffic.

Who was more cruel? They who abandoned the pups minutes after their birth or they who abandoned after showing one a hope of life, or we, who were so impatient to give it off hurriedly? All of us were, the difference being only in the degree of manifestation.

We decided to bring up the other, I christened her 'Lucky' as she was the only one fortunate enough to survive amongst her siblings. My brother named her 'Buxsie' which according to him signified ' a little tough guy.'

A year passed by. Lucky grew up to be a very affectionate dog, as though she owed her existence to us. Her eyes conveyed much more than any words could have done. Our pets had a very soothing effect on all of us. They helped us find our best and truest self.

But thrown inside a thorny bush, exposed to the vagaries of nature, and deprived of her mother's care, all had a telling effect on the health of Lucky. She was easily susceptible to infections, skin rashes, and so on. We tried our best with supplementary foods and medicines. But Lucky, developed serious skin infection. The vet put her on a staggering list of antibiotics, creams, and injections. He advised not to let our other pets mingle with Lucky.

A separate enclosure was created for her in the terrace under the water tank. Feeding her, giving her medicines, constantly wetting the gunny bags in her enclosure to keep it cool, required a good deal of mental preparation, hard work, and pointed attention on my mother's part. In the evenings, Lucky would come down the stairs and sit at the gate. After dinner she would silently climb back the stairs and turn to look at the last step.

Four months passed this way. She would let out a painful whimper when touched. The medicines did not seem to help. We realized that her luck was running out. One afternoon Mom who went to feed her found her lying still. When called, without lifting her head, she opened her eyes to look at her. Mom raced down to tell us that she had a gut feeling that Lucky would not survive this time. By the time we reached, she had already breathed her last.

Though upset by her death, we were completely at peace with ourselves, for we were not guilty of any lapses on our part. We had tried everything within our means to help her survive.

Our neighbors dropped in to express their concern for our lost battle of helping Lucky survive and on our spent money and wasted energies. They hinted that they were worldly wise in abandoning the pup at the right time. But, little do they realize there are some defeats more triumphant than victories.

The Ever Eluding Extra Room

Seeing me and my brother take turns in increasing our decibel levels on the pretext of studying, I heard my father worriedly say, 'If only we had one extra room.' The Government quarter we were staying in then was a very modest one-bedroom house. Hot-desking was not for my father who preferred everyone having their own cupboard, desk, boxes, etc., This left little space for free movement.

With Father's transfer, the quarter had to be vacated. "He's sure to look for a bigger house with an extra room,' said my brother. But with spiraling rents and demanding house-owners, compromises had to be made on space, facilities, and convenience. 'If only we had one extra room,' was the line we got to hear even more frequently.

Finally, came our Home Sweet Home. Everyone chipped in with their ideas on planning and designing. But with the house becoming bigger, the pocket seemed to become smaller and a balance had to be drawn between comfort and resources. Finally, the house took shape with 3 bedrooms, hall cum-dining, kitchen, portico, and a small garden around. Things seemed to fit in neatly. Even Uncle's visit with his wife and two children did not bother us at all. All our space problems seemed to have come to an end, or so we thought...

With the arrival of two of my brother's friends for an examination at a center close to our house, crowding and congestion started showing up again. 'If only we had one extra room," murmured my brother as he moved to the hall with his bed that night. 'Does every house have such a problem?, I wondered. "Rubbish, Celebrity and designer houses will have rooms unused for months," he replied.

But Mom disagreed. 'The more we have, the more we aspire for. It is only the circumstances that alter the cases. To worry about what we don't have is to waste what we do have,' she went on philosophically.

Her words set me thinking. This extra-room seems to be ever-elusive. Will we ever have all the extra rooms to our hearts content? Are we confusing luxuries with needs and wants? Or have these one-time luxuries become necessities in today's world? Is it called avarice or is this the aspiration that pushes man forward in life? Nothing concrete seemed to emerge from this soul-searching exercise.

With ten people now, the uneasiness in moving around freely was palpable. Everyone appeared to be confining himself or herself to one place. I seemed to be the odd one loitering around. I left for the library, venting my anger at my Mom with the standard line, "If only we had one extra room."

As I uninterestedly flipped through a magazine at the library something highlighted in red caught my attention. It was an excerpt from Javed Akhtar's collection of poems titled,'Tarkash.' It read,

'Sab Ka Khushi Se Fasla Ek Kadam Hai
Sab Ke Ghar Mein Bas Ek Kamra Kam Hai.'

(Everyone is just one step away from happiness. Everyone's house has but one room less)

I rushed back home to share with my family what seemed to me like 'A Universal Phenomenon.'

The making of a "Ma'amSahib"

"Fork on the left hand and spoon on the right hand-place them apart to close your plate and crossed to open your plate". My husband went on and on with his 'etiquette lessons' during our visit to the Indian embassy at Pokhara, Nepal immediately after our marriage. Back home idlis and vadas were best eaten with bare hands. Hailing from a civilian background and someone not used to the service ways, the week long stay at the embassy was a great ordeal. I would go for boneless chicken all the time to avoid 'ting tong' noises on my plate. I would get up on seeing any senior officer enter the lounge inviting curious glances from everyone around. "Ladies can remain seated"-my embarassed husband would whisper.

Back at Gorakhpur ( where my husband was posted then), I was greeted by a bunch of officers from my husband's unit. Normally used to names like Iyers, Pillais, Nairs and Reddys, the introduction to the Aptes, Nenes, Pantris and Poplis sounded foreign to me. "Good Evening, Ma'am," 'Welcome Ma'am,' seemed to be the standard line. Wouldn't 'Hi' or 'Hello' be more appropriate from guys of my age? Was that 'Ma'am' a gentle reminder to shed off my college colours and act more 'Lady-like' to go well with the 'Officer-like' qualities I've heard my husband often mention....I wondered.

My greatest dilemma was how to address his fellow officers. "By name, how else?' clarified my husband. "You must be joking, I cannot be addressing your superiors by name, when you respectfully address them as 'Sir'." "But, that's how it is," came his pat reply. However, I must confess to a momentary sense of power and pleasure whenever I saw all the officers up on their feet when I entered a room. After all, who doesn't enjoy women empowerment?

"What's your colour Ma'am - Black or Orange?" enquired an officer during a party. Colour!!!! "Black" I muttered confusedly. He brought me a glass of coke - another subtle reminder to shed college habits of saying "Coke Please".

Once after a party, my husband admonished me saying, "You have to hold your drink." "I was holding it in my hands," I replied in all my innocence. 'You should not gulp down your drink in a jiffy," he clarified. 'I didn't, I had only 3 glasses in 3 hours, Normally I empty a full bottle of Coke in 3 minutes." My husband was at his wits end. A close friend joked, "You are not to sip your drink, Take it close to your lips every time and bring it back. That way, you can hold one glass for long."

So here I was growing richer in experience day by day.

Back home I advised my brother not to pile up rotis on his plate and to go for it one at a time and the importance of having a good 'turn-out' (fauji term for a neat and clean look).

I heard my father say, "Isn't she becoming too finicky?". Can I be blamed? I was metamorphosing into a 'Memsahib' or rather a 'Ma'amSahib'.
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