The Invasion of my Inbox

I have been lamenting silently on multiple counts since Lockdown was announced in this part of the world. It was a routine weekend visit to A and now after three weeks, we are staying put for another three. Till recently my lamentations could have been ignored by my own 'greater' self on account of their trivial nature. But now that this space has been devoted to airing of grievances, I better lighten myself by recounting them.

• Of all the things, I missed being unable to go out anymore- for the runs, the walks and general contemplations.
• In the absence of an oven, baking (one of my greatest loves) was ruled out too. Not that one would have obtained the ingredients. And yes, I missed the regular cheese sandwich due to unavailability of good bread. 
• The fact that I am stuck in a place other than my own home, meant my urban jungle of an apartment would be withering due to lack of water and sunshine.
• And since the place where I am has only the nature's bounty to placate you, I miss being unable to capture the russet sunsets and pink supermoons on my DSLR; Or paint the myriad hues of spring in watercolors.
• Further, selfish as it may all sound, I lamented wearing the same set of clothes every few days too. 
• To make things more difficult, A was constantly away with his work responsibilities.
• And lastly, the fact that for the first time since I became a mom of two, I have been stuck with both 24*7 without any family member to offer reprieve. 

And yet there were a million blessings to be thankful each day for. The fact that four of us were together, that all of us were healthy and safe, that our plates were full, that I have rarely had this kind of time with kids at home, that the kids still had a place to play outdoors, that there was time and access to any book on my Kindle and that it was a  beautiful place to be locked in (just as spring was receding) meant we were managing pretty well in the beginning.

Till of course the school announced the beginning of online classes. At first, we thought at least the elder one will be gainfully engaged in the pre-lunch hours and I might actually get some breathing space to do the little ones chores. It was not to be. The Little One (all of 4) too had to join a half an hour class at 9. So far, we are operating on the assumption that all daily chores (including feeding and bathing the kids) would be over by nine and there would be at least two electronic devices on which both kids could attend separately. (Let's not even think of the explicitly stated requirement of separate space for both kids without any household disturbance.)

Still, I (leave out A because he has to attend a 24*7 emergency job) decided to play cooperative-modern-voiceless-computer educated-devices possessing mother of two. I thought I could connect (older) N on my tablet and the little (S) on my phone. Worth mentioning that after six months of persuasion since A took over this place, he finally managed to retrieve and share the wi-fi password for seamless connectivity. As instructed in the mail, I promptly downloaded ZOOM and installed on my devices. Yet it occurred to me that since teachers too were operating from home, each subject teacher would have a distinct username and password. On reading the fine print of school mail and repeatedly pestering the (virtual) class teacher, I was enlightened about student email and received the login and password for the same (please do not confuse this with the subject teachers' zoom id and passwords) only hours before the first class. Its important to clarify that all correspondence was mailed on student id, and only as and when the teachers deemed fit on one or both of the parents email. And since all assignments were to be viewed and submitted through Google classrooms and Google Drive, I had no option but to bite my lip and curse the heavens, while deleting my account and configuring the tablet with N's email id and specifications. Lastly, it was also not as if all teachers could get Zoom going on their ends the very first day and at least one had sent the link of google hangouts, which again had to be downloaded and installed.

Complicated as it may sound, so far each and every word of this post is true. Now on the D-day, we managed to stuff breakfasts into the little mouths and the first class for both could be connected somehow. I had failed to take the credit for bringing up my kids without any exposure to screens of any sort- TV, mobile, tablet etc. Only now I may not be given any, since N constantly fumbles with the mute-unmute feature and I have to rush to her aid, every time teacher announces her name. Also, to our horror, after each class, we had to help her key in the username and password after copying from the mail. And till date, sometimes we are just unable to connect at all.

While I considered myself deft at technology, how do you excel when the rules of the game (read username and passwords) are changed every day. S refused to sleep soundly for nearly a week and we gave up on his class for the last week. Yet, N had to join and learn and grow. Every night before sleep I prepare a primer of each subject username and password to help her navigate if I am temporarily stuck (inside the bathroom or in the kitchen). But all of this is nothing compared to the deluge of mails we receive in our inbox. (Sometimes, I even smell patriarchy when some teachers decide to write to A alone.) One could have helped writing this post, if there were only assignments to be submitted- there are rules on how they are to be submitted, then there is advice for parents on how students should submit, further there is further advice for sending a notification once the scanned pages of the notebook are uploaded and there is a deadline. In addition, there are videos to be made and uploaded (Trust my internet to (fail to) support anything above 10MB). Still, the teacher gets N's name wrong (say N became some random M) while reviewing her work online- so much for the child's recognition! 

And while I write this, I realize teachers too are moms and/or perhaps have loads of household work to deal with just as well. Also, the school S and N attend was chosen specifically for its no stress curriculum and it has been a beautiful journey so far. Despite the overwhelming goodness, I can not see a single mail from outside school contact in my inbox. Of all the things I hate about Corona, and its multifarious invasions into people's lives, the invasion of my inbox is what hurts me the most. It seems that my identity has been erased by my role as a mother of two school-going children. And while I had indeed erased my identity from my android tablet, the computer science resource sheet tells me N is supposed to be learning Windows!

Slipping through my fingers..

It seems only yesterday that little N was four months old and I wrote her a poem. Now, with her fourth birthday barely a week away, I sometimes wonder if she was ever that small, and if yes, then when did she really grow up. For all the things she says, all the ways in which she shows her love for me, A and her pet brother, S; I find it hard to believe that I was actually capable of bringing something so beautiful to this world. While words can never truly capture the churn of emotions inside a mother's heart, even now as I pull her close, I already dread the day she will grow wings and fly out of my nest. And when I saw this ABBA song in a movie early today, it was as if someone had channeled my feelings into words..

"Slipping Through My Fingers"

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning 

Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile 

I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness 

And I have to sit down for a while 

The feeling that I'm losing her forever 

And without really entering her world 

I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter 

That funny little girl 

Slipping through my fingers all the time 

I try to capture every minute 

The feeling in it 

Slipping through my fingers all the time 

Do I really see what's in her mind 

Each time I think I'm close to knowing 

She keeps on growing 

Slipping through my fingers all the time 

Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table 

Barely awake I let precious time go by 

Then when she's gone, there's that odd melancholy feeling 

And a sense of guilt I can't deny 

What happened to the wonderful adventures 

The places I had planned for us to go 

Well, some of that we did, but most we didn't 

And why, I just don't know 

Slipping through my fingers all the time 

I try to capture every minute 

The feeling in it 

Slipping through my fingers all the time 

Do I really see what's in her mind 

Each time I think I'm close to knowing 

She keeps on growing 

Slipping through my fingers all the time 

Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture 

And save it from the funny tricks of time 

Slipping through my fingers all the time 

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning 

Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile

Its hard to say goodbye to my doll everyday. Irrespective of how good or bad my day might have been, her little stories make it all worthwhile. And for the rest of my life, I will remember this.

First Lessons..

Background: Sometimes parents have to live separately (in different cities) as an occupational necessity and in such cases; children invariably end up living with one of the parents. One such hapless single parent had the monumental task of sending the 3 year old kid to school while being ‘dedicated’ to another six month old in the house and also rising to meet the professional expectations whenever called upon to do so. The fact that this three year old (henceforth 3YO) was moving between places and joining a new school in July (as against the beginning of ‘Academic Year’ in April) certainly did not help matters. Yet, with all the enterprise (and uncharacteristic humility) at the command of the Not-by-Choice-Single-Parent (henceforth NBCSP), the 3YO managed to get admitted to the elitist pre-school (where the children of city’s glitterati learnt what it takes to obtain a seat in the Famous Fives (say five of the best schools in the country located within the city). Needs to be mentioned, that in this case, the NBCSP was not bedazzled by the promise of the fabled Famous Fives but was rather swayed by the fact that a time-twin of the 3YO (child of two dear close friends/batchmates) attended the same school (even the same class) and would have been a sort of anchor for the 3YO to look forward to school each day. Just a word of mention for elitist-preschool-Principal (henceforth EPSP), who needs to be thanked for accepting 3YO to the school without much fuss (as long as the rules of the school were strictly adhered to by NBCSP!). 

FORGET Scene 1/Scene2/Scene 3 as non-existent episodes of rudeness on the part of EPSP towards NBCSP or better still blame NBSCP as being over-sensitive! Only that perhaps in any other major city while such episodes will not even register as a blip on the radar of basic decency, in this city of tehzeeb it definitely could raise a few eyebrows.

FAST FORWARD TO Scene 4

NBCSP (Standing): Ma’m, Could I please speak to you regarding my child?

EPSP (tersely): Regarding what?

NBCSP: Ma’m, regarding her homework.

EPSP (already visibly irritated): What is it?

NBCSP (even more politely, trying to make her understand): It’s just that 3YO has just changed places last week and is unable to adjust to the new routine, so sometimes she may not be able to complete her homework.

EPSP: What do you want us to do?

NBCSP: Give her time to adjust. She knows her alphabets and numbers and colours but sometimes is just not willing to write it in her notebooks. She will take time to get used to it.

EPSP: Make her practice. Practice makes a man perfect. 

NBCSP (wondering about the ‘man’ part): Just that in her older school they were not very strict with the homework part.

EPSP: Put her in Playgroup then. We don’t have any homework for playgroup children.

NBCSP: Why would she go to playgroup if she is three year old and knows everything that is expected from a child at her age?.

EPSP: In other schools, they give up to five pages of homework. We give only two. And you want us to do everything and you want to do nothing.

NBCSP: She does her homework everyday but sometimes its just too difficult to make her write. Also, I have been in the education department for the past one year (looking at all the primary schools of the State) and understand a little bit about early childhood learning. I was just requesting you to give her time to adapt to the new environment.

EPSP (rolling her eyes): We could completely exempt her from any homework in that case.

Also, there’s a big school here which expects your child to write ten pages. And whatever power you have gained in the education department, use it there.

If you still wish to talk more, you could wait in my office.

NBCSP (completely quiet, appalled by EPSP’s rudeness and  at the same time controlling her instinct to give a befitting reply) : She has been regular with her homework so far. I do not see there is anything more to talk about.

Afterthoughts:

• It is actually impossible for people who live in fixed places all their lives to understand what it takes to call a new place home every six months, grow roots there, knowing you will surely be uprooted again. (Not even trying to suggest that one needs to look from the perspective of a 3YO who cries herself to sleep each night, hoping when she wakes up both her parents will be there to comfort her like always)
• Sometimes people who are in the business of imparting education (including myself) too need an education especially when it comes to children as young as 2-3 years old.
• May be there's a certain bit of pride in sending one's child to a famous school (not to mention the 'label' you carry for the rest of your life, and I include myself in this too) but how many things can a 3YO whose heart is constantly elsewhere, can be made to drag through forcibly in the course of 24 hours.
• What if the child of a famous set of parents fails to make it to institutions like Famous Five. Is it end of life before it has even begun?
• What about children who might have the calibre to make it to any top school but complete their education in small towns for a variety of circumstances (like the above mentioned 'occupational necessity').
• Lastly, thank you Maria Semple for writing Where'd You Go, Bernadette.
  

Losing Ronnie and Finding Rudolph!

Dear N,

It will probably be years before you are able to decipher the true reason for narrating this story but as your Mom I have been meaning to write this for you for long and no matter how late you ask me about this, this memory will always be my amongst my hardest lessons in life and  a parable I will probably reflect upon often.

When you were barely six months old, my favorite boss (Uncle A) and his wife (Aunt S) returned from their sabbatical in London and amongst several things, brought along a stuffed puppy for you. As Aunt S still vividly recounts she picked it for you during the Christmas week sales in anticipation of your imminent arrival into our lives. It was not the only stuffed toy you had and definitely not your first one, but from an early age you took a liking for it. When you would need to cuddle something to sleep with, we would give you the same pup and soon it became your inseparable companion who even traveled with us on long journeys to distant places. As you learnt to speak, we taught you to call it Ronnie (because it wore a leather name tag which mentioned the same).Each time we would visit your either set of grandparents, I would fear that if Ronnie got left behind, how will I ever calm you and procure it back.

In the winter of 2015, your Dad got transferred out and as it was nearly time for P to come to us, you and me had no option but to continue staying all by ourselves in Lucknow. Each afternoon, I would send you to the park outside and you would spend hours playing with your toys and ball in the sun. Needless to mention Ronnie always accompanied you. I still clearly remember that afternoon as I was putting you to sleep after lunch and you started crying for Ronnie. As we began to search your pram, your room and gradually the entire house, it became clear that Ronnie never came back with you that day.

While I managed to put you to sleep somehow, I myself could not find any peace. Not just that Ronnie was exorbitantly priced and pretty difficult to buy anywhere in India (and I learnt it only when we lost it and I mounted an internet search to find a replacement for you), I could not come to terms with the loss myself. As you continued to cry (for days afterwards), I felt miserable and helpless, for being unable to save you from the pain of losing Ronnie. Sometimes, my instinct would tell me to request one of our several friends living abroad to help me find a replacement. It took your dad a good amount of time to explain to me that it was okay and you will gradually get over it. 

When you read this story years afterwards, you will perhaps not find it to be such a big deal at all. But at that point of time in my life, it was. May be I was emotionally fragile (at that stage) and tried my best to keep you happy (while you missed Dad) with my limited energies and alone-time with you. For a while, I even turned selfish and would have done anything to restore Ronnie to you. But something kept me from doing so. I slowly began to realize that no matter how much I may try to protect you in life, you would sometimes get hurt (both physically and emotionally) and agonize over it for days afterwards. While I will always tell you to get over it soon, the hurt will take its own time to heal. You will devise your own mechanisms to deal with pain/loss and hopefully, emerge stronger in the process. And with all the resources and comforts at my command, I would not be able to prevent any of it from happening to you. Much as my parents loved me and still do, they could do nothing about the pain it entailed as I grew into a Mum of two.

Now, it would shortly be six months since Ronnie went back to live with his Mom (that's the story everybody in the family has to repeat). While it was difficult for you initially, over time, you not just brought Monkey and (a Pink) Ronnie to accompany you everywhere, Nanna even bought you a Rabbit you now love. And the biggest surprise of all, Masha brought you an elk from Finland and we decided to name it Rudolph (after Santa's reindeer). While you are unable to pronounce Rudolph even though you are three, Rudolph is clearly the current favorite and am sure Ronnie is already a distant memory to you.

Each time you lose something as precious as Ronnie, I hope you will remember there's always another (pink) Ronnie, Monkey and Rabbit waiting to be discovered. And just when you least expect, you might get Rudolph. Even if you had Ronnie now, am sure life would not have been much different and you would not be willing to change one bit of it for anything. In the process of writing this to you, I am also reminding myself of the lesson I have learnt both as a parent and as an individual.

With lifelong concern and my heart,
Mum

A page from the everyday life of an about to be 33 year old!

“I’m the kind of person who likes to be by himself. To put a finer point on it, I’m the type of person who doesn’t find it painful to be alone. I find spending an hour or two every day running alone, not speaking to anyone, as well as four or five hours alone at my desk, to be neither difficult nor boring. I’ve had this tendency ever since I was young, when, given a choice, I much preferred reading books on my own or concentrating on listening to music over being with someone else. I could always think of things to do by myself.” 

― Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

As March Madness makes way for 'May Mellowness', and friends and family grant a lifelong extension to my license to be mad, for the first time since school I find something to look forward to each day and for the first time 'everyday' seems more interesting than some 'special' days. While there a million thoughts running through my mind and at least half a dozen blog posts (which require dedicated writing time) traipse half-baked through my imagination, I earnestly wish I could freeze a slice of my time and relish it at a later stage in life. While time travel remains a distinct improbability at the moment, I could always mark this great time of my life with chosen reference points which will be my memory aids in days to come. If I were to present a cross-section of my daily activities, this is what it would look like:

• Enjoying- Summers in Pratapgarh (I know its 43 degrees outside!) and long evening walks 
• Listening to- MTV India Unplugged (all seasons)
• Loving- my disconnect (not yet freedom) from cellphone/Whatsapp/Facebook..
• Learning- to drive around and observe the beauty/architecture of country homes
• Feasting (my eyes) on- Gulmohars in full bloom and Mahua leaves which appear red in sunlight
• Relishing- home-cooked 'Litti-Chokha' (typical meal of this part of the country) 
• Playing- Two Dots (my meditation)
• (Night time) Reading- David Levithan (all books), Murakami (What I Talk About When I Talk About Running)
• Organizing-Craft Supplies/ Digital files/ Photographs
• Clicking- Parakeets and Hornbills and Hoopoes flitting about in the fields in the evening
• Dreading- Return to office in July and managing two kids by myself
• Hosting- People over lunch/tea and serving meals they do not expect in Pratapgarh (We never host dinners because its kids' sleeping time)
• Sending- love and wishes in the form of self designed cards to dear friends all over
• Hoping- to complete my Tapestry of Dreams before younger one turns one
• Reflecting upon- being emotional and instinctive (and its fall outs) (As Murakami says, "Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.")
• Smiling- over the little things my kids do and amazed at God's kindness.
• Thanking- Everyone and Everything that has made all of the above possible

When the earth shook but time stood still...

There was a strange commotion about the place. Even before we approached the heart of the town, everybody seemed to be out on the streets. It could not merely be explained by the fact that it was a Saturday, in fact Saturday is not even weekend in this part of the world. Suddenly the vehicle stopped and the driver lurched out suspecting a puncture. It was then that the realization of an earthquake sunk in. It was then that the 'commotion' began to make sense. With a hectic schedule lined up for a long day ahead of us, there was little one could do except dismiss it as a minor aberration and go ahead with one's life as usual. Yet, there is always an unsettling feeling about the safety and security of our loved ones when we are far from them. The fact that we could not contact our families immediately afterward just reminded us of the similar need everybody must have felt at a juncture when the ground beneath our feet shakes and this time, quite literally!!

Alone in my room as we reached our destination, I began to ponder if the tremors we had dismissed as minor aberrations a little while earlier had indeed upset the happiness and lives of a chunk of humanity somewhere in a not so distant corner of the world. Before my thoughts could even find an expression, the aftershocks began. As the door swung like a pendulum, and the walls swayed, no uncertainty remained about the magnitude of the catastrophe unfolding somewhere in the neighbourhood. As we silently prayed for the lives and safety of our loved ones across the world, the news updates streaming in from the mobile apps, just served to lend credence to our worst nightmares. Not only had the upheaval affected millions nearby, but also where we were standing while reading these news, was dangerously close to the epicenter of the seismic shocks. 

Next couple of hours as we flitted in and out of meetings, a new realization began to dawn upon me. I could no longer content myself with the fact that everybody in immediate family and friends was safe and secure, rather being at the helm of affairs in an assignment which concerns young children, I was hoping and praying that none of our kids suffer in any manner. As it took time for my faculties to respond, we could only send directions across the State to relay any information of any damage whatsoever and put any rumors and misgivings to rest. Thankfully there wasn't much.

Despite all the damage and the losses that the quake brought in its wake, it was not what had hit me the most. What I saw over the course of the next 24 hours was far more devastating to me on a personal level. Not that anything is terribly wrong per se but just that while we rue about the lives that had been lost in the wake of a
disaster, how I wish we could develop the empathy to rue over the precious lives we are letting go of unknowingly and unhurriedly each day. As we make tall claims of being modern and civilized and enlightened, as we go about showcasing and marketing stories of our success and as we begin to believe in the truth of the stories scripted by us, we could not be more wrong. As one of my favorite authors Khaled Hosseini puts it, "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors." Yet this is precisely what we have been doing all along. It is one thing to be apathetic but quite another to feel something for our own kids but not the same for others'. It was different earlier but now when I look at these angelic souls I see the face of my two year old in each one of them, as if asking me some questions with absolute faith and innocence. Much as I may wish, it is beyond my belief and power to answer all the questions they silently put forth or to even give them hope of a life that they are building dreams of. In moments such as these, I find myself and these little ones being stuck in a time warp. I shall never be able to find the courage to acknowledge that their lives will perhaps be no better or different from the lives of hardships that their parents have led and much as they may strive there will always be a huge chasm separating them from their 'truly blessed' counterparts in the gleaming metropolises. At the end of the day, the questions we ask of ourselves determine the type of people that we will become. Whatever I may do, I can not help but say..

“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.” 

― W.B. Yeats, The Collected Poems

An eventful February and the advent of spring..

February in this part of the world that we live in, has always been a season of change. As students, it was that part of the year when our academic session would close, we would write our exams and wait for our promotion to the next class. When life taught us to appreciate the seasons of the year, February marked the beginning of Spring. February coincides with the month of Falgun as per the Hindu calender and augurs a time of festivities all over the country. As a student of economics in the University, February meant the economic budget and year long repercussions of the same. Even on the personal front, February marked a time of family celebration as we would gather to celebrate the anniversary of our parents. As if it was not enough, me and A tied the knot in this very month and later welcomed little N into our lives at this time of the year. 2015 was no exception.

Little N's birthday Winnie-the-Pooh inspired birthday cake

                         
Before February could even knock on our door, the season of change had begun. It was not the first time that I had to change assignments in the month of February. Thankfully, the same did not involve any change of places this year. Yet, when it comes to 'moving' of any kind or at any time, I become a living example of the 'Law of Inertia' and its always the bonds which unite humans, that I find most difficult to deal with. It was not easy saying goodbye to all those fabulous people who had brought up my daughter since she was 7 months old, who helped us move houses, who worked extra hours to keep their commitments and who did much more than their job title demanded of them. Needless to mention, they become family for life.

Much as I believe, my stint as an academician was truly wonderful in terms of fulfillment of my personal and professional commitments, nothing can compare with the sense of satisfaction one achieves while working in a social sector program. Nothing could be a bigger education than working in the education sector in a state as huge as ours. Thanks to a wonderful and committed team, it took no time settling in and barely a month later as I write these words, it feels as if its always been an integral part of my existence and I always belonged here. At precisely these times, I strongly feel, much as government in our country faces bricks and bats for anything under the sun, the devotion of these unsung soldiers who chart the country's progress can not be acknowledged in terms of being on the government payroll alone.

Change of assignments apart, the month of February is also considered auspicious for weddings (that explains ours too!) and celebrations and hence one could easily correlate the same with a packed social calender. Add to that the responsibility of contributing in every-which-way to our annual service week, and we end up juggling our roles as parents who have to organize their child's birthday and as not-so-senior members of a service that we are proud to be part of and feel committed to contribute to in every possible manner. Our experience last year had equipped us with a fair idea of how things are to be managed and neither A nor me found it difficult shuttling between lunches and dinners and yet be able to choose a design and place the order for a wonderful Winnie-the-Pooh cake for little N's second birthday. And yes, service week also brings its own sets of rewards as we ended up winning a Nikon camera, a  power-bank and a 500 GB hard drive as prizes for our entries in the Photography Competition.

Our submissions for the service week Photography Competition

The biggest event however remains little N's birthday (the fact that we too completed six years of marital harmony this year is often relegated to the category of 'mundane' in the larger scheme of things!). While N's both sets of grandparents could not join us for the celebration, N still ended up spending her day with the people she loves most. The fact that Mamma took an off from work was of little significance as she was surrounded by the love and blessings of those familiar faces who have seen her grow each day and have contributed immensely to the same. These generous souls have not just kept our lives chugging smoothly since our arrival in Lucknow but also showered their affection and care upon our little one which was not part of their 'duty' from any stretch of imagination. The only guests who were 'invited' for the birthday party were two little playmates of little N she grew up with in our old house and who still visit her on play dates in the new one. The day was a truly memorable one for us as well. While our zero-guest-policy did not bog us down with the formalities of preparing and serving food and drinks, the fact that little N was also exultant in the company of her own set of people (and wasn't intimidated by the presence of too many strangers in the house) was a blessing for our little family.

Each day we are thankful to the Almighty for our small cocooned existence spun by webs of happiness and contentment.But above all, we are thankful to our family and friends, who have stood by us over all these years , showered us with unconditional love and welcomed our little one into their lives. And now, the little story about advent of spring..

In my older posts, I have often mentioned of our memories of places being entwined with the flora and fauna around us. Yet, a special story that I am reminded of remains unsaid. In the February of 2013, barely 2 days before the arrival of our little one into this world, we too had newly arrived in the city of Lucknow. Strangers to this city as we were back then, and newly shifted to our one BHK accomodation, little else as I could do at that point of time, sitting on our (newly purchased) bed, I would look listlessly at the life outside our huge glass windows. On day one, as the sun was about to set, I remembered a tree at a little distance, with a slight tinge of red on top. Back then I thought, it could be a new leaf gleaming in the orange light of the fading sun or some resplendent bird from the riverbank nearby. Next day, as I was preparing to go to the hospital for the last medical check before the big day, I noticed a small red flower as if it was some omen about the impending arrival of our little one. A week later, by the time I returned from the hospital with the baby, the entire tree was full of red blooms and it was then I realized it was a Palash tree (Flame of the Forest) in its full glory marking the advent of spring. Over the next couple of months, that tree was some kind of an anchor of my faith while I made the slow but difficult transition into parenthood. And over these months, the tree took roots in my heart forever. Looking back, I fondly reminisce about the same tree growing outside Cauvery hostel in JNU and covering the narrow road in a lovely shade of red. Or the lovely forest of Palash on both sides of the NH connecting Chitrakoot to Allahabad which stretches for miles on end and is often the only splash of color against a dreary landscape in summers. Today, as I travel to office each day, I look forward to the crimson canopy of the Palash growing outside CO Mahanagar's office and I often wonder how long will it continue to thrive on one of the busiest thoroughfares of Lucknow. To borrow the words of Stefanie Brook Trout, to me the true nature of the tree no longer is "in the bulk of its shape but in the way its form alters my vision of the world".

As our trio (me, A and N) completes two years of our stay in Lucknow, and we live each day like none before- watching mini adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh, baking fresh cakes and pastas and spending time with family and friends, I often imagine myself asking my two kids (the older one and the little one), the words I reproduce below:


“Would you like some warm Spring pie?
Then, take a cup of clear blue sky.
Stir in buzzes from a bee,
Add the laughter of a tree.

A dash of sunlight should suffice
To give the dew a hint of spice.
Mix with berries, plump and sweet.
Top with fluffy clouds, and eat!” 

― Paul F. Kortepeter, Holly Pond Hill: A Child's Book of Easter

Monochrome Memories- Banda Revisited

                                                

A popular superstition in our part of the world says that when you leave something behind while saying goodbye, it means you will revisit the place. For me it worked the other way round. It seems when a place gives you so much in terms of contentment, warmth and above all a treasure of memories, it can't be that you ain't gonna be back soon. It can not just be fate which brought me back to Banda exactly two years later to the place that was once my home for over a year.

Dappled sunlight over the golden fields of wheat

                         
So much and yet nothing seems to have changed. For one, the house has seen quite a few occupants in the interim and much has been modified by each one of them. But certain things are intrinsic to a place and much as we may try, they remain unvaried. The flocks of parrots on the Neem trees in the garden, the constant hip-hop of the peacocks in the courtyard and above all, those last rays of sunlight filtering through the bedroom window each evening- these alone suffice to provide me joy and justification of revisiting the place. 
                          

Leaving Banda in the August of 2012, I carried a monochrome image of the house in my eyes,  and expectant hope of a new life inside me! Retracing my footsteps in the March of 2014, as an apprehensive and overly cautious mother of a one year old, I could not imagine living in the same house in a new role and performing old duties alongside. Not just my worries but every imaginable misgiving was laid to rest soon enough- little N not just enjoys the immense feeling of space and the lovely outdoors, but also spends half her day chasing peacocks and the other waking half answering their calls!!

Leaving this place, irreligious though we are, me and A had prayed to the presiding deity of the region (Lord Rama in the form of Kamta Nath at Chitrakoot where he spent his years in exile) that if our child was born safe and healthy, we shall come back to the shrine for his/her first ritual shaving of the head (mundan sanskaar). When the time came we could not live up to our vow; but the benign presence of our dear friend M this time around, as Collector Chitrakoot in his new avatar, ensured not just best hospitality at Karwi while we fulfilled our promise but also the blessings of an affectionate Uncle for our little N.

Family of peacocks in the garden

I continue to believe that it was unfinished business which has pulled me back to this part of Bundelkhand- there were quite a few places left to be visited, quite a few journeys to be made and yet another Bundelkhand Summer to be lived and felt. I hope to be able to record some of those unsung stories this time around and be able to capture some pictures of a place which is often derided at thanks to misconceived notions and falsely painted pictures portrayed by our 'vigilant' media persons (many of whom I recently learnt, can not even pronounce the name of the district well!).

During a visit to the vertical metropolis of Mumbai, a few months back, I realized how little time and open space there was and pined for the relaxed lifestyle of our recent hometown Lucknow. Visiting the distant pockets of habitation in far-flung areas of Banda, we realized time stands still in this part of the world in many ways. Its not just about open fields and clear skies as far as the horizon stretches, in terms of progress also nothing seems to have moved for the last 200 years when the British must have first brought this area into their dominion way back in 1811. Except for the ubiquitous mobile phone (which too did not work on the Kamasin road where we went for a routine official visit!), the majority of houses are still kutcha (as they appear to be in the paintings of the Raj Era), people still fetch water from miles sometimes, electricity supply is pretty much a matter of luck, there is not much difference between roads and dirt tracks (how else could a journey of 25 km take 75 minutes) and agriculture is not just rain-fed but also geared primarily for subsistence alone. Yet, it is precisely on these trips that I truly begin to appreciate the meaning of words like- vivacity, resilience and exuberance. Despite all the decades of wrongs done to them, (either on account of neglect or willful omission), even the people of remotest hamlet seemed enthusiastic about casting their vote and choosing some candidate who will bring positive change to their lives and villages.

Flitting in and out of the house (read headquarters), I sometimes feel as if one is alternating between dream and reality- a house beautiful as a dream and a reality so harsh it jolts you from deep within. For all the people whose lives could change even marginally by our efforts, one feels happy and encouraged, but for all the millions who continue to nurture hopes of a better tomorrow, one prays one is able to reach out to and give wings to their aspirations and dreams of change!

It is precisely this reason that my memories of Banda are not colored but monochrome for I truly hope that in my own lifetime things will improve and the monochrome images imprinted on my mind will be filled with all the vibrant and vivid colors of a rainbow!

"When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.” 

― Ansel Adams

PS: The above pic featured as one of the Design Team favourites at Artistic Inspirations Challenge MonoChrome/ Anything Goes and here's my badge

                                                             

Party(ing) Politics!!

Just as we have active smokers (those who smoke themselves) and passive smokers (those who happen to inhale the smoke emitted by smokers) and both seem to be affected equally; the same could be said about the party lot in this part of the country. On one hand there are people who throw and attend a party and on the other there are those who partake vicariously (and without much choice) through the effects generated by former's activities. To elucidate, as I write this blog post, my mind continuously drifts towards the sounds emanating from the party-scene in the lawn below my house. Much as I try to concentrate on any job, I can not help but notice the loud music playing in the background since morning, the  hum-drum of vehicles bringing in provisions and the constant clatter of crockery.

Surprisingly, the experience of passive partying has been similar across the years and cities that I have lived in. The predictability of the event managers is even funnier. Without actually knowing the occasion one can guess the same through the music playing in the background. Certain songs for certain occasions have remained unchanged since even our parents' time. And it must have been some major lapse on the part of Bollywood(-inspired) music industry that the newer symphonies have been largely unsuccessful at displacing the older and the popular ones. Needless to mention, an occasional burst of western music is considered to be reflective of somewhat higher status (that you can actually appreciate music in English!) And Yes, Vengaboys' Brazil remains an eternal dance favorite since the days I was writing my class 10 exams to this day as I celebrate three decades of my existence. 

Before one actually moves on from music, I have never been able to understand why the music for a party scheduled in the evening is put on in the afternoon itself.. Even if it were to keep the workers in good mood (which they are rarely in and I hope to do something about it by opening a butler finishing school after retirement), am sure even they must be bored with the same music blaring at different locations day after day. Alas, we have people with ailments in this society who can't stand loud music, students who have to prepare for their year-round exams and little babies who fuss endlessly finding music to be just another excuse.

I do not even find myself qualified and capable of being able to write about the dressing-up part. For one, being a lady who is in a profession which calls for utmost 'simplicity' when it comes to meeting people, on umpteen occasions it has been presumed that for me (and the likes of me) it must be impossible to possess any 'real' fashion sense. At a few important theme parties it was even thought by the esteemed lady wives that the lady officers could be given a skip for perhaps the reason cited above.

When it comes to food, the guests are completely at the mercy of their hosts (and their VIP guests) in India.What will be served and when and how it will be served has nothing whatsoever to do with the socially acceptable norms. Understandably, it is not everyday that the guest gets to throw a lavish party at the leading venue of the city and attended by the glitterati at their chosen hour. So what if one of the posh-set decides to carry on drink till the wee hours, the dinner can wait and the lesser guests can benefit from the extended happy hours!!

I do not consider it appropriate to spoil the party season by raising 'politically incorrect' questions ranging from how the garbage generated at such venues ought to be disposed or why millions are spent on outrageously extravagant decorations. Even as I begun to ponder about these, I know well enough that any expression of such politically incorrect views will be straightaway attributed to my JNU-ness (if there is a thing such as this).

And yes, it needs no prizes for guessing that there ain't any invite received from the guests hosting the soiree in the lawns below!

The Tapestry of Dreams-I

The onset of this year also marked the beginning of our lifelong journey as parents. No joy in the world could compare with the joy of holding one's baby in one's arms for the first time. Every parent in the world aspires to give the very best to his kid, often more than what he/she got as a child. Its a pure joy to watch her grow before our own eyes and perhaps even before we would realize, she will grow wings and will be ready and set to embark on a journey of her own. Much as we would always strive to provide her everything we can and perhaps even more, right from the day her angelic smile illuminated our lives, I wished we could give her something to remind her of how much more her parents love her with each passing day and what an absolute delight she has been to us. While it is our duty as a parent to bring her up in the best manner possible, something I strongly wish she comes to possess is the power of imagination and the perseverance to translate her dreams into reality.

After much thought, bickering and planning, we zeroed in on a grand hand-embroidered tapestry project and decided to label it as 'The Tapestry of Dreams'. For days on end, me and hubby kept sketching and visualizing objects to incorporate into our tapestry and scanned every source of inspiration (books, internet, signboards  etc) for hours on end. In a random Ikea catalog, I saw an interesting doodled fabric and hours of image search led me to Tidny by the amazingly gifted designer duo of Sissi Edholm and Lisa Ullenius. I have incorporated several of their doodles into the tapestry and hope to embroider it as beautifully as we can.After hours of deliberation (and endless baby related jobs), we started upon our project bit by bit. The progress has been slower than we expected but, without hubby's contribution it could have very well been a zilch!

In this first post in a series on 'The Tapestry of Dreams', I restrict myself to the top most panel which depicts the sky/space/ weather and elements there of.The coexistence of sun, moon and stars, as also the aeroplane and the UFO speaks of our attempt to combine the real and the imaginary. Isn't that what dreams are made of? Am also linking it up with Artistic Inspirations challenge. 

Our collective fascination for the colours of the rainbow is manifest in the double chain stitched rainbow rising over the horizon and an aeroplane flying across the sky leaving contrails. Reminds me of my recent flight when I witnessed the same while landing in Lucknow.

While they say, every cloud has a silver lining, nobody must have seen the same but ours definitely has one to boast of. Needless to mention, this silver lining proved to be the most difficult one to accomplish! The clouds outline has been done in running stitch with rain in single chain stitch. The filling of the cloud has been done in multi-colored button holes.

As is often the case in my life too, while it pours in Lucknow, Delhi boasts of a sun in its full summer splendor! Our vibrant sun however,shines beautifully over the city in our tapestry and is nothing like the scorching sun of Delhi one grew up under. The sun rays have been done in superficial herring-bone stitch and the disc has been done in button hole stitch.

The thunder of Lucknow lightning strikes can be seen in the purple blazes in the left corner but need not be feared in the presence of a benevolent planet and twinkling stars.

Lastly, the UFO in the right hand corner does not drop unfriendly aliens but stands for everything mysterious that our current level of scientific progress can not explain. Like its eager antennae extending outwards, for the rest of our lives, we too will be eager and anxious to receive any form of communication from the Small One. 

Hopefully when she will look at it sometimes in a ponderous mood, she will remember and understand a lot of things said and unsaid. As they say, 

 "It is the unspoken ethic of all magicians to not reveal the secrets." (David Copperfield ) 

Will you

Will you ever be
five months old again..

Will your coos and squeals fill the house with mirth
forever and always, again and again

Will I always be able to protect you from hurt 
and shield you from any worry in the world

Will your tiny eyes always sparkle with joy
finding me somewhere around

Will your little hands always grasp my fingers
at the slightest of my moves

Will you still reach out for me even in your dreams
every day of my life

Will you come back to sleep snugly in my arms
and cling to me at the end of each day

Blessing Indeed!

Was blessed with a baby girl on 16th February this year. Can not compare the experience with anything else in the world. The joy of holding your child for the first time in your arms. For the practical and stoic person that I considered myself to be, could not sleep a wink all night when she was laid close to me for the first time by the nurse. The reality is still hard for me to accept sometimes that the little doll who frolics all day has come from inside me. GOD must have worked hard to craft such a tiny being with functional limbs and organs. 

Hubby says if we humans did not have this innate fascination for diminutive objects and in this case, the Small One, the perpetuation of human race would have been difficult. Reasons alongside that unlike in the case of other animals whose young ones start walking within hours of birth, human babies are completely helpless and dependent for a long time after their birth and unless provided for by others, could not have survived, since times immemorial. The cuteness bestowed upon them by their diminutive form is what attracts and impels us to love them and bring them up as we do!(Rude Science) 

As for me, am thankful to GOD (or the Supreme Power there is) for the miracle that I consider it to be and the marvelous feat of science and engineering that it is! 

Had been scared by the experiences of countless parents before us who nearly made us believe that life comes to an end and there is no time for sleep, food, drink, TV, guests when the young one arrives. Partially true but not as scary as it was made out to be. Despite all the luxuries and freedoms that we enjoyed, life had begun to stagnate for the two of us. How many trips to mall, how many vacations abroad, how much shopping or how much of food and wine could we possibly indulge in. It was beginning to get boring and we yearned for a new and completely different experience.Needless to mention, that the relatives and family too had been enquiring for the "good news" for quite some time now.

The Small one sleeps soundly through the night. Night time feeds too have gradually reduced from three-four to one. TV and food have never been a problem so far. Never missed a single episode of Packed to the Rafters except for the period of hospitalization and one week recuperation thereafter! The fact that am blogging bears testimony to the fact and is also partially inspired  by Julie's blog 'Vintage Mum' in the series.

Now the baby is four months old and the leave period comes to an end this month. Can not bring it upon myself to leave her yet. Against all the wise advice I have been given, have decided to extend my leave by another three months. Since she has come into our lives, don't know how the days have passed. Its about her all day and all the time. To the point of reiteration, the career minded and ambitious person that I considered myself to be, no high profile assignment or fat pay check could compare to the joy of enjoying her childhood and see her grow  each day.