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

The Doors Have Been Shut

I was lonely
But did not seek anyone
Then I met you
And now I am
Lonelier than before

You took away my words
My songs, my poems, my prayers
How I wish I knew
You did not even understand
The language I spoke

There are ways to say things
Which remain unsaid
I wish you could
Hear my silence
That grows louder each day

A part of me knew all along
My anchor rests on loose soil
But heart has its reasons
That reason knows nothing of
And that is where it ends.

Do not look for me anymore
Do not even try to gather
The meaning of my words
You had it all
But now

The doors have been shut
The doors have been shut

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