Winkie's Way celebrates the arrival of a brand new sister!!
My heart is full. We woke up to this Friday morning with the most beautiful news waiting on my cellphone. A baby girl has been born to our dearest brother/brother-in-law Balaji. You may have caught his comments on and off here and he remains one of the most cherished people in our lives. And now, he and his wife have been blessed with a daughter.
To think that Winkie and Thambi now have a little sister! Wow!!!! The thought is sweet beyond words. I don't know when we will see her and hold her and have all of them in the same room together...but for now, here's wishing her a beautiful life.
We love you little one and are proud with the brand new promotion you have given us,
Yours lovingly, Periamma & Periappa.
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Balaji is in the process of collecting names to consider for his daughter. The letter 'S' and names starting with 'Sri' are preferred, and something a little different, with a spiritual resonance. We have all been assisting him, and if any of you have any valuable suggestions, do pass them on.
Here's the thing about childhood friendships. They're not always clued into every little thing that takes place in the 2 disparate lives over the period of time. So many things, little little things that you would have communicated to the friend that occupies the same country, will not be considered significant subject for conversations long distance. But when what is lodged deepest in the heart....the crippling fears, the stumbling disappointments, the most sublime happiness...when all these find a mode of expression in the precious, dwindling hours of 2 days....you know you are faced with the idea of eternity. For what is lasting...what is timeless, has risen from the core once more and asserted itself.
This is the realisation now. But it wasn't that way that morning when I woke up knowing it would be the day I would meet my Juno Swan (JS). The night had been rough, what with Winkie writing and groaning in bed, unable to sleep from the debilitations of his growing pains, and Thambi wide awake at 4 AM from his jetlag! I woke up feeling sore and crabby and sleepy and unenthusiastic. Little wisps of thought came by, reminding me of the significance of that day in my life. I acknowledged them without the rising wave of excitement. Perhaps, it wasn't hitting me yet. Or maybe it was just a little hard to make the immediate shift from Patti's little world at the fag end of life, to a world that put me right back to sweet 16 again. I don't know...all I know is that I was feeling quiet and subdued.
The 3 hour drive was not of much consequence, except that the driver made me car sick with the sharp maneuvers and erratic speeds, under the full blast of a very sunny Thane afternoon, leaving us all hot and tired. We turned into the building where she lived and parked by the garage, and before I even got out.....there she was! Rushing down to meet us, barely containing her excitement, her little one on her hips, her mother...my friend....
I had pictured this scene in my head before...before I even left Chicago. And when the moment happened, it saw us enacting that high pitched sonic squeal, and rushing into each other's arms for that big, warm, open, long lost hug! This was the mental reunion of all my fondest imaginations. What happened in real....was a little different.
Allow me the luxury of this digression here, for without it, this story and that moment, cannot be told. I believe that each one of us has perhaps, this one thing, one single thing, that cripples us. Something that has left us with some trauma, and also shaped and defined the way we think about ourselves and look at ourselves. For me, that something is my weight. It has always followed a very unsteady yoyo pattern all my life, that has swung my mood in turns and dictated my confidence. Such that even when you grow up, and fancy that you've grown up and made some strides, there are moments that teach you...that you haven't.
For me, that moment and this moment, collided. Imperceptibly. For when I saw my best friend, the first, instant, undisputed thought was....that she was thin and I was not. Horrible, isn't it??? Sad...even more. It was very painful for me, because it blighted what had been a heavily anticipated moment. And it spoke itself in the half hearted hug I gave her, in contrast to her pure, beautiful one. And what is amazing is that the words not spoken...the thoughts unbroken....they were the loudest vibration of all. And she heard them just as surely as I had said it myself, but it didn't have the opportunity or confidence of figuring in our conversation until much later....
As a result, she was a lot more at ease with me than I was. I carried the feeling of being spaced out a little longer before I finally began to ease into my own skin. By then a delicious, hot lunch was enjoyed and little bits of catching up from the surface was done. Thambi appeared smitten by that little lady she had been carrying on her hips. He followed her around wherever she went, making it an interesting watch...a 24 month old tailing the skirts of a 16 month old. History repeated itself when Winkie and her firstborn met. To say they took to each other like a house on fire would be playing it down. They just fit together perfectly. It was of some surprise to us, because boys are picky about boys and girls are picky about girls. Usually. A moment that stood out was when we were walking home from taking both the kids to the park, and it just so happened that I caught hold of the little girl's hand and JS cupped Winkie's hand in hers. It all happened so casually, as we held the hand of the child nearest to us, to navigate them safely across the road and realised the cross matching. It made us look up at each other and share a smile, the kind that speaks devoid of words.
It would have been customary for us to pass the wee hours of the night in deep conversation, but not this night. My bleary eyes and sagging shoulders earned her sympathy and she let me off the hook to go and sleep. And I did. The next day (Jan 28th) turned out very busy, and we spent some part of it shopping for something nice and ethnic for the boys to wear on Thambi's birthday the next day. And we hurried back home to be on time to receive another dear friend from our closeted group of 6 schoolgirls. Seeing her was like getting a whiff of an old and favorite perfume. A mixture of fondness and familiarity. It was at times surreal and totally fun to see all the little ones (each of us had 2) bounce off each other in random interactions. The noise levels hiked, delicious snacks were laid out with the most awesome tea (oh wait! I made it!!:)), and we managed stolen conversation in all that din and confusion. Moments were frozen digitally, as we each held onto our respective restless forms and consigned it to posterity. But the moment that I will take away from the 3 of us reuniting, is this walk to the park. Walks to the park seem to trigger sentimental meanderings, I know...but you will agree with me when you know that this is when that picture above was clicked. The two of them were deep in conversation and I lingered a little way behind to see if my lens could do justice to that intimacy. I hope it has, because it was one of the most beautiful sights of my life. [In case you are wondering, JS is the one on the left, in yellow. :)]
This was where we managed the most heartfelt conversation, the kind we wished we had more time for. Much more time, than that measly 1/2 an hour. Even now, as I think about that scene, I miss it as much as I miss them, and the feeling of unfulfilled desire knots tighter in my heart. K, left soon after and the rest of the evening drifted away in the necessities....preparing dinner, ensuring kids ate, eating ourselves...! And once the rest of the house called it a night, it was f.i.n.a.l.l.y...our time. Prior to this, a little trigger of a carelessly spoken word ruptured the dam of my pent up emotions, the complicated ones that I had described earlier. Tears flowed unhindered, helped along by the pain of many years of thoughtless remarks and rigid perceptions. Tears that were received with dignity and respect and full and complete sympathy....empathy even, by a beloved sister and a beloved friend. Sisterhood became more than just about blood ties, and friendship could also be found in family...that was the beautiful resonance of that painful, joyful moment. I am lucky to have these 2 people who interchange these roles so lovingly.
With the release that that cry afforded me, I now spoke of all the things that have challenged me over the years. And I also spoke of the strength of the divinity that was growing in my life. She spoke of her life and its growth for her. We spoke of present struggles and some words of advice that are as profound as they are startlingly simple. She said....whenever you face problems with another person, just remember that it's not personal. Its not PERSONAL. It just means that there is something missing in that person that makes them act and react in the way they do. But its got nothing to do with you. And when you realise that its not personal, all you will have left in your heart for them is sympathy.
Lord! There is nothing more delightful than feeling the exact current of the divine through the voice of your friend. It was so deeply satisfying and I loved hearing her talk, sensing the wisdom in her words and at the same time marvelling at how much she had grown. Calm, grounded, sane yet passionate, life experience speaking volumes, addressing the exact issue pounding my head, applying the balm of perspective in just the right place, perfect pressure and all. *sigh* Friendship!
That friendship carried us through till 4 in the morning, when only the practical consideration of being physically functional and lucid for the coming day, persuaded us to end our midnight tryst. And we have come away agreeing that this was the exact recharge our friendship needed, and that it has always come about at regular intervals and important junctures of our life. I know a little bit more about her life now and the intricate details.....for instance, I know that she downs several cups of tea during the day to keep going. I know that she gets worried and preoccupied with her maid issues. I know what time her husband comes home. And I know what challenges her most as a parent. I know the exact layout of her house and her building, and the upholstery on her sofa. I know how she cooks and that she makes the most awesome cabbage vadais. I know the design of the mangalsutra that she wears around her neck and the tone her voice takes when she talks to her daughter. I know all the things that I would not have known from our regular phone conversations. And that makes all the difference in the world.
What more can I say about this friendship that I haven't said in a few dozen different ways already???? Oh yes. There is one other thing that I forgot to say. It was what she said actually. Let me leave you with that. She said....before you love another, love YOURSELF!!!
The age of change is well and truly upon us. And it starts with a question and answer, tinged with innocence but ringing with curiosity, both mine and his. The question I ask innocently, the answer belying his underlying curiosity. And while my curiosity is satisfied, the innocence in the openness and earnestness of the answer, is equally satisfying. Its the one thing that comforts when faced the immediate maelstrom of emotions that this exchange evokes within.
We look at him more closely, the smile with which I asked the question never leaving our faces. In that I am proud. We did good. We masked the feelings and doubts and questions, churning uncomfortably inside and just presented a blank and smooth exterior...the one that doesn't seem to judge, doesn't flinch in the face of something we are clueless about dealing. It makes him remove the shield of his hand from his covered face, and look back into our eyes, as he faces the aftermath of his silly secret. We have accepted his feelings, his thoughts, without question, while exchanging quizzical stares amongst ourselves, which seems to say....do you know where this came from? No...do you? I cannot wait for that private talk that we will huddle together for. But that comes much later. It is night, and the kids need to be put to bed.
The morning has a feeling of the morning after. Thoughts come back in a more orderly fashion from the restive sleep of the night before. And without the immediate flush of emotions to confuse the perspective, we are able to think more clearly, and individually. And the conference happens soon, and as parents, we share insights. He sounds his off, I sound off mine. We agree that we are faced with yet another aspect of his growing self....yet another milestone, only it seems so significant when pitted against his 5 and something self. The overriding feeling from the night before was a feeling of being unprepared to deal with this aspect of parenting. Now that feeling has thankfully subsided and a real acceptance has been born, not the masked one of our initial reactions. And with acceptance, comes that beautiful peace...that awesome spectacle of faith in life, and in the scheme of life. Its as tangible as the sense of the hand that touches the tightest knot of tension in the back of your neck after a long, hard day, easing the muscles out of their strain. You visibly melt with the care and lose yourself to the feeling....where nothing else matters, only peace, bliss...
The feverish mind now rests and in that calm induced state, the quiet introspection continues and you come away with only what you must take from it. Thankfulness, that yet another opportunity was given to adore what still hasn't changed, to firmly root oneself to these sweet glory days where innocence still reigns with supremacy over curiosity; thankfulness for the realisation that the dialogue must be open and flowing whenever possible, that communication and understanding is essential; recognising that what came before this was perhaps a small corner of the parenting panorama, that what comes henceforth will require every ounce of creativity and love that one can muster; and a growing need to a smile and laughter...to celebrate the age of change, tinged as it is with innocence, ringing as it is with curiosity...it is still beautiful!
Again, a number which assumes significance in the blog world. A century and the successive ones..
This time, I want to take the opportunity to tell all you readers and commenters, how much you are an intrinsic part to my blogging and my life. I have often boasted to R before, how I blog only for myself. I blog to write, and I write for pleasure. That readers and commenters are only incidental to the process, a fun aspect of blogging. But that is not true. For it is actually you who fuel my efforts to write...who leave me with the desire to share these slices of my life, knowing that it makes some difference to someone without an immediate face, but with enough character and personality packed into that one letter, or 2 letters or more of nicks and names.
All of you are readers first, before you become commenters. And I have loved this silent world of readers as much as I have the spirited voices from the comments section. Because it has been proved to me from time to time to time, that when the moment is ripe, a reader becomes a commenter. There will always be some point of connection somewhere, that will make you click one extra time and leave a voice for me to hear. And I am grateful for that. Deeply grateful.
And in order to balance out the sentiments from the last few days with something a little lighter, I want to do a fun poll. On this recent trip, one of R's Mama's shared a pearl of wisdom with me. He said that he was yet to come across a couple that unanimously agreed on the usage of the ceiling fan! I was stunned to hear it, and in the course of the next few days proceeded to conduct little surveys of all the couples who were around me. And even more stunned to find that yes, he was right. Starting with R and me. On a perfectly pleasant day, it will be me wanting the fan at the lowest speed at least, for that minimum circulation, without which I would come close to acute suffocation. R will take the diametric opposite end and curl up shivering and pleading for some compassion for his trembling state. We asked 6 more couples and each of them were situated on the opposite sides of the spectrum, making this observation a promising contender for a quotable quote!!! I am now continuing this survey with you...for what is a finding if it is not supported by the maximum population. So go on...humour me, think about your own partner and you and tell me which one likes the fan on!
The last time I saw Raji Patti was at the house in Tambaram, sometime in July 2001. I was already married by then and Pops had come down on vacation. And all of us, together went to Tattha-Patti's house. Tattha's sugar levels had spiked, and there was a period of brief hospitalisation and he was back home.
To me, it was one of the most painful visits. Tattha had lost some weight and was looking weak and drawn. Sooo... unlike his regular active, strapping self. Patti had more worry lines written on her forehead and together, they somehow managed to pull on. One of their sons, my Mama, lived in Pune and they were hesitant to make the move to him, and leave behind this house they had known all their lives! It hurt so much to be there like a guest, eating the puris that Patti made and served to us like we were royalty, only to wash our hands a while later and leave after a polite spell. This house...which had been my home...and now I was leaving it behind. The sight of these two old people standing at the gate, smiling and waving, waiting till the point we disappeared at the bend, before they walked back slowly inside, to their own little lives, now so much more challenging and difficult. Even now, I can feel the desolation of that picture, and the feeling of irreparable guilt that I still have that I could not do more to give them happiness...that I left them behind and moved on with my life.
Tattha's health took a turn for the worse after that and soon, they moved to Pune. It was the last time they would be seeing that house. It was probably one of the humblest and least stylish of all the houses in that locality. But I loved it. The easiest way to get there would be to get on board an electric train from whichever part of Chennai we were in, and get off at the station which said...Tambaram Sanatorium. I learnt the exact order of the stations from the many trips to and fro on the electric train. From the station, it was a short 15 minute walk to their home, and it was all I could do to not pick up the pace and make a mad dash for it. Right from when I was young, I knew where to make a left, and how far to go on that road before making that final right. Till that point of time, I would have walked decorously along with my parents and my Tattha who would always always meet us at the station. But once we came on that final stretch of road, my legs would break into a speedy trot, and each house that came before the one I was seeking would give me the equal measure of happiness, as each of them had a confirmed character in my mind, because of how familiar they were. Even when I was just 2 houses away, I would still not be able to see it, because of how small it was in stature compared to the rest of its more jazzy counterparts. It was only when I came to the last house, that the rusted iron gates in peeling-off green paint would come into view, and beyond it, past the hedges of an overgrown garden...the house. I have forgotten what colour it was...not out of fading memory but because of the faded paint! I can't remember the last time it was painted...it always looked blackened from all the dust and washed out, in every rain that poured.
And at the sound of the creaking gate, which we try to open as quietly as possible, so we retain the element of surprise, that sweet, well loved face comes into view behind the grills of the verandah. Patttiiii...we squeal excitedly, and her whole face erupts into a beaming smile as she welcome us in. We hug her, we squeeze her, we kiss the top of her bent head, and she chuckles shyly, as she turns around to Pops, her son-in-law for a more formal and respectful welcome. His manner is decidedly casual in return, more to set her at ease.
*siighh*
Tattha succumbed to blood cancer which took ahold of him in the last few months of his life. I was in mid pregnancy with Winkie at the time, and nobody clued me in to the real state of affairs. They might have even withheld his passing to me, but thank God they didn't. I was told that he suffered a lot in the end. That his passing was welcomed, so one didn't have to watch him go through the ravages anymore. It was around the same time as the Space shuttle Columbia disaster. To my mind, these 2 events will be forever linked, and the more personal grief of one, poured over as unstoppable tears in the television viewing of the other. My Tattha came in my dreams a few days after he had passed away. And when we found out that our first baby was to be a boy, I liked to think that perhaps, it was his soul...returning.
Since then, Patti's health too weakened. She lost a lot of weight and became a ghost of her former self. She was never plump or full to begin with, so this was not a pleasant thought. I too got busy with motherhood and my life, in general. I would speak to her from time to time on the phone, but here was a person who was always mindful that it cost money, and she would never want to burden anybody like that. As a result, calls were always brief, and it always ended with me telling her not to worry about us...because we were all healthy, safe and happy. She worried about things constantly...not for herself, but for all of us. Her kids, her grandkids, her sisters, their families....she always thought of everyone else but herself.
8 years have passed in this manner. And my family became complete with the arrival of Thambi. 2 speedy years hence and he was on the verge of turning 2. And Patti still hadn't set eyes on a single great grandchild. It was a big deficit in my life and I have tossed and turned over it many times, and shed many tears thinking of how life had changed and taken me out of her folds. We all grow up and move away, that is a part of life, but from time to time, we need to make the effort to go back to our roots...give it a little care, a little loving, a little moisture, so that it holds strong and holds as us aloft, in turn. So when the wedding was fixed in Mumbai, I knew it was the sign to go back. I am lucky that it worked out the way it did....that we had a few days before the festivities began to make this rendezvous.
Only, I was scared. I wanted to remember Patti the way I had always known her to be. Sweet, smiling, with a red kumkum in the middle of her forehead, walking in little steps with her hunchback, the strength of her character always shining through. And I wanted no part of reality to slice up this remnant of my childhood and make me face its glaring truth. That times change, that people change, strengths fade away, that the body weakens and succumbs to old age, and that the one I looked to as my source of strength would be needing that same kind of strength from me. When we climbed up those 3 floors to my Uncle's flat, my heart was sinking with each step. But I knew, I must see her, and accept her the way she is now. I knew how important it was to look beyond the shell of the body and recognise the person that she had always been. I needed to give her the meager pleasure of spending a few hours, a day...in the company of her great grandsons. I owed her this much, at least. And so, with that resolution tucked away, I walked through the doors and entered the flat.
She was sitting on a diwan in the living room, waiting for our arrival. Her smile, was just the same. Her body, had shrunk to 1/2 its former size, but it didn't leave me as shocked as I thought it would. Unbeknownst to me, my mind had prepared itself. My heart also, a little. For when I saw her, I felt only happiness. That I had finally made it to her side. We spent one day with her, though my mother stayed back for a few days more. In that one day, we talked to her a lot. I related to her all the little things about my life with them, which had given me so much at that young age. She listened intently, as we told her all our remembrances of Tattha....the day he told me that he loved me, the day he came to the airport with a garland in his hand, which he promptly hung around my neck because I had arrived there as the bride, a few weeks before my wedding. I told her about my childish anger that the house in Tambaram was named after my sister, and not me the eldest grandchild. To this day, they have never been able to justify that to me with a satisfactory answer. I laughingly told her about the time she applied sunnambu to my navel, because I complained of a tummy ache, and how that burnt some of the skin around it. I told her so many more things, which simply cannot be frozen into words, because they are one memory too many. Instead, they will rise to the surface from time to time and cast a spell on me, which I will swim in before I wade to the shores of reality once more.
Significant at this point is how Winkie and Thambi took to her. Thambi has this intense preference for the males of the family. So while his Mama and Tatthas get the full benefit of his love, the Pattis and Chitthis are sorely neglected at the sidelines, though he is benevolent enough to flash a particular smile every now and then. And so, it was no different with Raji Patti. He stared at her curiously first and then a few hours later, the smiles began. On request, he climbed up over on the diwan and gave her a hug and a kiss, his best kind. She was almost giggling and thanking him sweetly. She watched him a lot as he walked about here and there, following his curiosity. To me, that was quite enough for the one day that we spent there. Winkie, on the other hand had a more complex reaction. At first it was a little heartbreaking, because I don't think he has seen many people who are really old. I guess for a little kid, it might be a little scary at first to see wizened old hands and face and just generally someone who looks so different from the people of his usual encounter. He kept a distance from her and wouldn't look at her directly. He wouldn't even sit next to me, when I was sitting next to her. It hurt more than a little to have him see her only for the external, and know that so much more lay inside, that was now dormant. But he is 5 and a 1/2. When I had my own fears to wade through, I need to make allowances for his. So I let him be and just focussed on being with Patti. The next day, just as we were about to leave, my mother asked Winkie to give Patti a hug. I nearly glared at her for that, because what if Winkie denied it? Then it would be so obvious and would that not wound Patti's feelings? But then, the most amazing thing happened. Somewhere within himself, he found it in his heart to come over and fling himself into her arms, and when his hug was returned, he bent his face and kissed her right cheek, ever so softly. It was the last thing that I had expected, and the gratefulness I feel, even now, for this bit of flexibility he showed.....aahhhh! It was the simplest act of acceptance for me, my son on the one hand, my Patti on the other. And with that, the visit came to an end. And I felt this incredible peace in my heart, mixed in with some sadness, at leaving her side again...with a thought that I could not shake off....would this be the last timeI was seeing her?
I have never enjoyed looking at reception pictures before. Who wants to look at scores and scores of people posing with a very tired couple at the fag end of the wedding festivities, giving out a formal smile, in response to the photographer's prompts??!!! But usually, when you have a callous attitude towards something, things turn around in such a way that you are forced to appreciate the very thing you disdained so heartily before. For me, this one picture from my own wedding reception is a fitting example. It is perhaps the only picture I have with my Tattha and Patti, as a couple. Tattha gives out a shy smile, and Patti is not even looking this way. But the Raji Patti of all my beautiful memories from the days that were good, and busy and full of life...looked like this.
Come Saturday mornings and the scene at home is set. A big batch of sesame oil is heated in the pan together with some peppercorns right until they start popping and fizzing in the hot mixture. And while it cools, I ready the boys for the rigorous procedure. They're not always willing participants, and on such days, the effort required is more, as I try out the firm strokes on their wriggly heads. It is not a task for the weak hearted. I will meet with tears and protests and much struggling at times, but I have to remind myself that it is for their good. The strokes have to be persistent and firm, steady and thorough. They have to be the strokes of love...the strokes that once worked through my own head of curls in what seems like many centuries ago.
Post two pregnancies and I have effectively lost a lot of my memory storage capacity. Whether it is owing to the fabled momnesia or just a simple precautionary measure of my mind not to overload itself with too many past details, I simply cannot recall a lot of things which once gave me great happiness. The only exception to this blight is the memory of the times I spent with my grandmother, my Raji Patti. Till today, I can close my eyes and go back to that little house in quiet suburban Chennai and watch it come alive for me. And the easiest trigger to this time capsule is the daily Saturday oil massage routine.
As a kid, I used to spend a lot of time at my grandparents' place during vacation time. And during one day of every week, the oil massage routine would play out. Only, my grandmother was a hunchback. And it would have been that much more difficult for her to sit us down and apply her strokes. But sit us down she did. Right in the outer-most courtyard of the house, on a little wooden palagai, and she would lean over us and apply her strokes with a sure and steady hand. At times it would even hurt and she would explain it away saying how the oil needed to seep in. The remainder of the procedure would be carried out, but before the mind can dwell on that, it races to attach itself with all the abounding memories that are surfacing by now...
Early mornings as I lazily loll about in bed listening to the creak of the latch as Tattha forces all the doors open to let in the sunlight and fresh morning air; the sloshy sound of the milk being being poured from the large milk can and into the waiting chombu in Patti's hands; the slapping sound of the water as it hits the ground, when the maid washes the entrance to the house and readies it for the kolam....these are the sounds that greet my ears in my half-dream, half-awake state, and tell me that all is well with the world. But it is a good 2 hours later that the will to arise comes into my legs, and I rise to properly greet the day. A cheerful good morning awaits me, as does a hot cup of filter coffee with just the right dose of sugar to render it divine. A quick brush later, I sit in Tattha's cane armchair in the patio and watch the street as the neighbours' kids walk to the bus stop to go to school, whilst I take dainty sips from my little steel tumbler. It is a short rest as my day, like theirs, will get busy soon!
Patti always believed in chores, and always divided the housework and assigned little bits for us to do. One of my earliest tasks in the day was sweeping and swabbing the entire house. It was not easy to do, because of the primitive tools I had to work with. Patti never bought brooms. She always made them. From the dried stalks of the branches of the coconut trees which she would have collected over a period of time, she would bunch them all up together, tie a very rough knot with thin rope, and thrust them in my hand for the cleaning. In the process of sweeping, the knot would loosen and little sticks would fall out much to my annoyance, making the process cumbersome. But with only 2 main rooms in the house, the living room and the bedroom, it would get done soon enough. And this next process was something I enjoyed more, starting with the way the few drops of dettol would merge into the water in the pail, leaving pretty white trails, until they disappeared fully.
Next in the line of chores was picking flowers for the puja. Tattha would give me his walking stick and precise directions on which flowers to pick from which plant and how many. This pursuit took me to many corners of the house. To the front yard, where the jasmines grew, to the sides of the house where I would find the kanakambarams, to the wild yellow flowers that I could pluck only from the terrace! Happy was the day when I managed to pick out many of the same kind, careful always to pick the ones in full bloom and leave behind the little buds to grow out to their full. Then, when my little green basket was full, I could consider my job done, and the basket was placed before the altar, awaiting adornment. If I managed to have my bath early, I would even get a chance to string them into a garland, which means I will have to check if the water is hot and ready for the bath....off I go!
The boiler stayed in the bathroom at nights, and every morning, it was brought out to the backyard, right next to the well. There it sat and awaited the time of its services, when the inner chamber was full with water, and the bottom loaded with roasting coals and fuelled up by the coconut husks thrown onto them. That's when it begins its day, slowly warming up the water, until it became steaming hot and just about ready to be tapped into our waiting pails!
Once the bath was done, I could report for duty in front of the altar, where more pleasurable tasks awaited me. Patti with her infinite patience had taught me how to string flowers the traditional way....the way in which the flower sellers strung them together in articulate knots in expert fashion. My fingers were neither nimble nor deft, but I ploughed on and the result was always appreciated by both Tattha and Patti and proudly used to adorn the divine pictures. Which left me free to do this next thing that I loved no end. Making the chandanam or the sandalwood paste, by rubbing the sandal stick on the circular base stone, adding drops of water every now and then to dilute the essence, until a smooth, creamy, fragrant paste of sandalwood emerged, to be scooped into a little silver cup, which Tattha would then apply to the pictures.
By the time all this was done, I would be ravenously hungry. But it was not to the dining table that we headed but the floor of the living room. There, me and Amma would set all the plates in a wide circle, and all the cooked food in the center. Patti would serve all of us first and watch us eat, prompting us with more servings of vegetables and kootu, before she sat down at Tattha's used plate and had her lunch. Clearing up after the heavy three course meal was not an enviable task and if I could have slithered out of it, I would have, but the sight of my toiling Patti always roused me to this last bit of action, before I finally succumbed to the inclines of the cane chair in the verandah once more. There I would spend the drowsy afternoon, sleep heavy on my lids, the sound of the far whirring lazily and the call of the odd bird or two...the only sounds to intrude on this slothful afternoon. Tattha would be snoring heavily, his near bald head resting on the hard surface of the palagai (a wooden plank), and Patti asleep in a little heap on the sofa, her arms acting as pillows for her silvery head. She was a very light sleeper and would awaken at the tiniest step we took, and still flash that sweet benevolent smile of hers, that always warms my heart. We walked on tiptoes all the same and I would help myself liberally to Tattha's postal goods, and plonk back on the armchair, put a little plank across the arms to serve as a desk, and write out letters.....to friends and family. That was the time I truly became familiar with the wide range of inland envelopes and aerogrammes, and postcards, the joy of which can never match even the lengthiest, most detailed of emails!
In about an hour, they would both rise and go about their work again. Patti to the kitchen to make the afternoon round of coffee, and Tattha to his turn on the armchair as he caught up on the day's Hindu. As for us, we could be found scrounging in a little corner of the poorly lit kitchen, where hung a container (thooku) with an array of munchies, soft and sweet, chewy and crisp! Murukku, adirasam, kadala mittai, appam, yellu urundai etc etc etc, all packaged and bunched together in that huge container that hung on a little hook from the ceiling, where eager hands wrested to find the biggest piece to bite into.
All was not fun and games though, and Patti always insisted on study times, where we applied our minds to the piles of holiday homework, a torture in the name of ongoing education! In the early evenings, she would make us watch all these educational programs on TV, that we really didn't enjoy. But she seemed to think it was important for us and we would. Quiz shows, science stuff, language programs...she was well informed on what was aired at what time on which channel. To give her due credit, she was the kind of person who believed in keeping your mind informed and abreast of all the latest things. For a grandmother, she was very much in touch with the times and had very shrewd insights on most everything! After it was done, however, she allowed us to go out and play, but we were to report back home by 6:00, the time that the evening lamp was lit. Sometimes, when we didn't play, we sat with her on the steps of the verandah, where she patiently combed and plaited our hair and groomed us for the evening prayer, while we irritatedly swatted away the hovering mosquitoes.
Tattha would have already left much earlier on his cycle, for the vegetable market. And when he came back a little after sundown, we would race to open the gate for him as he alighted from his cycle, tall and well built, a picture of authority and thoroughness. We would take the cloth bags that he carried and race inside to deposit the spoils of his market expedition on the dining table, wherefrom Patti would inspect each one and comment on what was missing from the list she had provided him. He would be quick to defend himself, complaining of high prices for the tomatoes, or the worms in the brinjals, and each one would walk away from the scene, annoyed. Spirits fell at times like these and blind loyalists that we were, we always sided with our dear Patti, the sweeter voiced of the two. But the sound of the pail hitting the bottom of the well always lured us out of her folds and to the backyard, where Tattha readied himself for the evening japa. He carefully washed his hands and feet, and wet into a paste, some vibhuti, which he carefully applied with the 3 fingers of his hand, one by one to all the places....3 broad strokes, the broadest on the forehead, another on the upper one and one in the mid wrist of each hand, two on the chest, and two on either side of the tummy. The marks were wet at first, so you could hardly see them, but in a few minutes when they would dry up, they glowed on his person, bright and radiant, giving him an almost celestial look.
Being in the backyard after dark always required some courage on our parts. Since the house backed onto a plot of land with overgrown grass and wild plants, it was infested with a variety of insects and creepy crawlies that were always attracted by the light of the bulb. Every step we took involved careful inspection of the premises, and even so we would meet with some nocturnal creature that had just managed to hop out of our way. In this manner, we have come within inches of deadly scorpions, supersize cockroaches, slimy frogs and the worst of the lot....the lizards! Looking into the eyes of a lizard is not a pleasant thing and I have had this honour, one time too many for my liking. We were so paranoid about all these sundry beings, that we would use the bathroom up until the last minute of going to bed, in order to avoid a scarier middle of the dark night rendezvous! If there's one part of staying with my grandparents that I did not like, it was this!
Dinner was almost always a simple dry vegetable and soupy, tangy rasam, polished off with the staple curd rice. One winding down routine that warms the cockles of my heart with love and adoration for my Patti, is the part that came after dinner. My mother and aunt would attend to the clearing up, releasing Patti from her kithchen duties and she would finally come and sit with us in the living room. The minute she did, I would go and rest my head on her lap and plead for a story. Her saree would be damp from all the washing up and the chores, but that was hardly a dampener. I would find the little tassles from the edge of her pallu and as I thumbed through them in a habit of comfort, she would tell us the story of Seetha and Geetha, who were given the same allowance of money to be used in an upcoming fair. Only, Geetha would have already spent hers in treats and candies, whereas Seetha would have delayed the instant gratification and opted to wait for the fair. There, she would buy herself a pretty pair of glass bangles and enjoy herself at the fair to the full. Geetha would of course, miss out on these pleasures and learn her lesson the hard way...that greed never pays. I knew all these stories of hers by heart, but the comfort was in hearing the steady drone of her voice, knowing what her next sentence would be, enjoying the musty smell of her day long saree, feeling the soft tassles as the tip of my fingers as the most beautiful state of restiveness stole over me, paving the way for sleep...
These are the stolen days of a childhood which I spent in 2 months of vacation every 2 years in a washed out house in remote suburban Chennai. It is amazing how a mind that has withheld crucial details of everyday life with parents and siblings in Bahrain, could still conjure up in vivid detail, all the glory of the moments that I have spent with my grandparents! I have no reasoning for it, except that they gave me an assurance that my childhood was still intact, even when I was thrust into the role of the eldest of the family, separated by a good 5 years from the nearest sibling. Perhaps it lay in the fact that they were the only real grandparents I had, what with the early demise of the paternal grandfather that I know only through a single photograph, and the frozen moments of his civil engineer life recalled with some effort by his 7 children, and very few warming interactions with the grandmother who was more often plagued by preoccupation and self conflict to be a loving figure in our lives. Maybe it was because of the romance of the life with them and the rustic things that I was exposed to, were my only claim to a near village life...the charms of which my Dad and his brothers and sisters have experienced first hand and regaled us with often, to our acute envy. Perhaps, all this appealed to my more fanciful and sentimental writer side, thereby storing away these simple days to a place deep within me, which could be recalled at will many many years later, to the smallest trigger of an oil massage on a Saturday morning....
[All pics are courtesy of searches on google.com. Each of them have been hyperlinked to their respective sources!]
Aaapi!....he says with a big grin, showing off all that is white and cute inside.
No Aaapi...Aaaaauto!...says a delighted someone, persistently.
Aaapi!....he says again, in the evident delight of having set up a game, the patterns and outcome of which he knows only too well.
No Aaapi....Aaaaauto!...repeats his Tattha, just as he anticipates...
And so, the game continues. The smile on both their faces is the kind which stretches from end to end, and when there is no more room, pours out into the surroundings and into our upturned hearts. To an onlooker, it is a treat in joy...the kind you are privileged to witness, and feel a sense of satisfaction that yeah....I managed to create one of the participants in this exchange of love.
But even above and beyond this loving spectacle that could have ended with the end of the trip...what is truly humbling, is how the same stretch of that smile could easily cover and wrap over the vast distances that now physically separate these two people, and still afford them that same bubbling over of happiness, that same pure joy and seamlessly unite grandfather and grandson, in a few split seconds.
A phone call back home, and the two of them are at it again.
Aaapi! No Aaapi...Aaaauto!
And this time I am privy to only one side of this exchange. And when I see him, I am amazed at how connected he looks. I wonder for a moment...how much does he realise that many things are now different about this game. That the person who plays the other end is far away, only sensing his smile and his dancing eyes, but not seeing them. That he does not really see an auto on the road, which is how the game begins anyway. An ache builds up...and if I could close my eyes, I could try and mentally put them back in that same scene, and trace the same set of playing patterns and comfort myself. But the distraction of the moment proves too great and I keep my eyes open. And in that vacant, thoughful stare at my little Thambi, it slowly dawns on me, that no effort is required to be undertaken in this regard! For we are already transported to that playing field, and it is the waves of love and laughter across the telephone lines that have taken us there!
********************
I was lucky enough to capture this exchange. There is a lot of background noise and cluttering sounds, but if you try a little, its easy enough to tune in to their world!
Edited to add : Ever since uploading this video, the boys have been replaying it constantly. And now, I see that the game has begun again, this time with Anna at the helm, and Thambi in his usual spot...Aaaauto and Aaapi it is, and continues to be!
So I land in Mumbai at midnight on 25th. And by the time I get out of the airport, its 1:30 AM. The bride's parents have come to receive me and I feel guilty about messing up their sleep, when there are only a few days left to the wedding. I am told that R and the boys, and my sister who had also flown down, have already left for Pune that morning. Our plan is to go back home, catch a few hours of sleep. Come early morning, around 7 AM, I could be on the road too and reunite with my family. It was perfectly thought out. Only, after all the action I had seen, I could barely sleep those few hours, coupled with the jetlag. So I lay in bed watching the curtains blow gently in the motion of the fan. I mark the passage of every 1/2 hour by checking out the time on my walkman. Finally, its 6 AM, and there's not even a glint of dawn outside. Seems like daylight savings is on here too!
15 minutes later, the alarm rings and Aunty awakens. I am relieved from ending the pretense of sleep. I sit up in bed, looking and feeling fresh. She makes me a cup of coffee, while I go in and wake up my SIL. We chat for a little bit and they tell me what the boys were upto while they were there. Soon, I go in for a shower and by the time I am ready, the driver has come. I can barely contain my excitement. There are so many dimensions to my happiness. One, I couldn't wait to see the boys! Two, I couldn't wait to see my family. Three, I love the open road between Pune and Mumbai. Four, I would be able to catch a sunrise. So armed with all my enthusiasm, with the Canon in my hand, I bid gay farewells to this new family I am getting to know, for the next time I see them will be at the start of the festivities!
Its Republic Day and the roads are open and free. There are ample distances between the vehicles, and there is a light nip in the cool morning air, which awakens my senses even more keenly. This is my first sight of my country by early daylight. I am emotional about it. I am grateful to be here, all the more. The familiar and the not so familiar sounds of desh greet me at every corner of the road, and gladden my heart. From time to time, I see the flash of the tricolour, sold at every street corner.
Pretty soon, we have left behind the denser areas and are headed towards the highway. And I get a chance to view a Mumbai sunrise. The big round fiery ball from pictures of science appears to me now, in a clear arc of diffused glow. I love the feeling of having gained in on the day. An early start is always a cheerful prospect. I take out the camera and click. Ahead, the driver flashes me a curious look in the rearview mirror. I must seem soo.. touristy to him. I take out my walkman and plug my ears, adding some background music to the passing scenery...letting the mood flow to the tenor of the song I am listening to...sometimes full of beat and rhythm, pulsing with life...sometimes a tad wistful, ringing with nostalgia and bygone days, but everyone of them rich in meaning and implication. I cannot imagine a more perfect time or place than the here and the now!
Soon, we are on the Pune highway and the traffic has thinned out even more, and the driver steps on it. A part of me gets alarmed from time to time at the way he swerves the car in and out of lanes and gets ahead. But soon, I relax under the skilled navigation and go back to enjoying the passing countryside. From time to time, I slip from the spell of the moment and my thoughts drift to my family...imagining the face of each of them, anticipating the warmth of welcome. And I realise how woefully incomplete is a phone conversation. No, nothing could ever come close to breathing the same air, sharing in the same moments of a day, occupying spaces right alongside. Nothing can come close to this kind of personal contact, I realise with resolution.
The tunnels have begun to appear. And this particular one transports me back some 15 years ago, to a train journey from Chennai to Pune. There used to be a lot of tunnels in that segment. And in that beautiful monsoon of a time, me and Appu pressed our noses to the pane of a first class window, and counted each tunnel we crossed, gasping in awe at the marvellous spectacle when we emerged from each one! At the time, the count was 18. On this journey, it was a mere 4. But to make up for that fledgling number, I did manage to take a photograph to substantiate an oft used metaphor....the light at the end of the tunnel...Now I know why it is used so much. :)
Soon, I began to tire of my own enthusiasm and feel a wee bit carsick. I think I am ready to be done with travel. We are making good time and soon are in the outskirts of Pune. I can tell by the way the roads have narrowed and from the way the people are dressed. My heart races when I am on a familiar road....which I recognise even with all that has changed. We turn into the lane with the white picket fence, auto stand at the corner. My heart picks up a beat...and this is it. We are here. I am home. It is all I can do to wait patiently as the driver unloads my suitcase. He motions me to go ahead, thank the Lord. I race up the stairs and the screen door is shut. And just as I begin walking towards it, I see Pops' face peep out. A huge smile erupts as he exclaims to everyone else...she is here!
I walk in to warm smiles and Thambi's puzzled face. He looks at me dazedly for a long time. Then, slowly he comes into my arms and puts his head on my shoulder. I am definitely home.
I say 24th because it was close to midnight by the time we got home, and started researching the Indian Consulate website. No, there were no last minute miracles where they asked me to board the flight after all. I spoke to R when I got home, and he was on the flight, with another 20 minutes to takeoff. He put Winkie on the phone and never had his voice sounded sweeter. I could hear the catch in his voice as he told me he missed me. Thambi came on next. He heard my voice and the piteous sound of amma...amma...amma...filled the line. R told me that his face had fallen when he heard my voice and it registered that I was not there with him. He kept going in that same vein for awhile, when R finally pulled the phone away and we said goodbyes and good-lucks. He was going to switch off the cellphone after that.
A being there was a huge boost to my spirits at this point. He checked out all the fine print with a thorough eye and shortlisted the things we would need to get done first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I spent some time gathering all the documents I would need to take to the Consulate the next day. It was very hard at that point to focus and be practical for the next step, rather than lapse into a staggering thought process filled with emotions and disbelief. But it was good to have a purpose in life just then. And to know that there was a sliver of hope. When you know that one door has interminably closed, you focus on that one window that could still be open for you, isn't it?
Another 1/2 hour later, we were done. The plan was to wake up at 7:00, leave the house by 8, get to Kinko's, make the copies and get to the Consulate in downtown Chicago by 11:00 sharp. With that decided, we retired for the night. Trying to sleep in the bedroom which was full of the life and spirit of my travelling family was a bit agonising at first. I noticed all the little things that can pinch one's heart....toys that were played with until the last minute, lying around on the floor. Thambi's blanket, still laying open and unfolded from his afternoon nap. A cup of milk we had forgotten to deposit in the kitchen sink. And most of all...that chair. R had been working there all day, and now it sat vacant. By its side were 2 little kid sized chairs, arranged neatly alongside. The boys had occupied one each, and Winkie had been reading to Thambias usual. All the chairs lay in the exact same position of their last use. Seeing that was gut wrenching. I got inside the covers and tried to distract myself...thinking positively...that this was one night I could sleep without any distractions...without having to pat another little body back to sleep, or take another to the bathroom. The whole night was mine...to rest!
It worked for a bit, and then I called up the friend who had been doing all the initial research. We talked for a bit, and she knew all my feelings...the ones I didn't spell out. She told me it was brave of me to send the boys off like that. Looking back, it didn't feel like there was any other choice. :) I finally slept, though it was not restful. I woke up every few hours remembering that I was alone, and that my family had gone.
When the early light of morning streaked in through the blinds, I jumped out of bed gratefully. It was time for action again, and I wanted action. Had a quick shower, and quickly got dressed by which time A was ready too. Prayed briefly in front of the altar, where I had left all my papers, and we left the house at 8:00 AM. We reached Kinko's only to realise that it would open only at 9:00 AM. So we decided to take the time to have a proper breakfast. From the time this whole thing began, breakfast was the first time I actually began to lighten up. The morning was like a cool balm of sense and perspective that I could apply to my situation and see that all was not lost after all. There was still so much left to be thankful for and smile about. Having the company of a good friend was surely one of those things. Having the love and thoughts of my family showing up in caring sms'es gave my day some very positive vibes. My brother's voice on the phone as he spoke his concern, my sister's I love you message on my phone, just as I was finishing breakfast, the bride-to-be's message of support that she was praying for me, A's light and cheery conversation, the wonderful and warm breakfast on that cold morning, the amazing cups of coffee that I downed liberally...everything was such a blessing, and I was more keenly aware of this bountiful energy now that I was coming out of the fog of my disappointments! I actually began to accept my situation and began making plans for what I would do for the next 2 weeks if I had to spend it alone here. WatchingSlumdog Millionaire was definitely a part of it! :) Life was good!
And thus, with the renewed sense of purpose and a lighter heart, I finished my work at Kinko's and we headed to downtown. We reached the Embassy doors about 5 minutes before 11:00. It was locked, and there were no lights inside. My spirits took a quick dip again. How much of a yoyo of emotions we subject ourselves to! We tried the help no. that had been listed. No answer. We decided to wait it out and see. Sure enough, within 5 minutes, a casually dressed gentleman walked out of the elevators, looked at us disinterestedly, unlocked the doors and walked in, while signalling for us to wait. Once he had switched on all the lights inside, he motioned us to enter. And while he was doing all this, I tried to calm my wildly beating heart and briefly did my own simplified version of the the jyothi meditation. I had taken to doing it lately, and it also gave me some measure of peace and a sense of control in a situation...that even if everything else was beyond my control, this was still the one thing I could do, and do well....wherein I close my eyes, and mentally picture the divine light within my heart, which grows bigger and bigger with concentration, and then radiates out of me touches everything around me, till all is engulfed in this bright radiant light of love, and any sparks of ignorance is completely annihilated with the energy of my thought. I love this form of prayer, because it releases me from asking anything specific and thus imposing my will on God. Rather, by spreading light, you submit to the glory of God and His Will. And thus, while that gentleman was opening doors and switching on lights, the brightest of lights that I could envision in my mind's eye, spread throughout that room and everywhere around, through the channel of thought. And now, it was time to go in...
We briefly explained my situation to him. His face was inscrutable as he replied that they were visa officers and the office was open for emergency visas, not passports. Still, there was no note of finality in his voice...it was open ended as if saying....let's see what can be done. That was my first real glimmer of hope. Another gentleman walked in and they discussed it together. He took my passport in to show a senior officer. The rest of the exact details are blurry now. They put me on the phone with another senior officer who said he would do what he could. The main problem was they could not issue me a fresh passport at that point because the lady handling it was not on duty, and it was a lengthy process anyways. What was obvious right from the start though was that whey were very open to hearing out my plight and helping my situation. That was the kindest thing of all. How much of a difference it makes when you have a sympathetic ear at the official end of things. It took the whole 2 hours, for them to offer me a viable solution. They gave me options, to come back on Tuesday and get a full 10 year passport, since the wedding was only on Feb 1st. But then I had all these plans for reunions for all those days before the wedding. So given my urgency to travel, they gave me the last option....an emergency extension for 3 months on my passport, enabling me to travel out and in for these 2 weeks and a chance to renew my passport properly after I came back. I took it!
Looking back, this whole thing was a miracle. It could have completely gone the other way where they showed scorn at my lapse, and refused to accommodate my desire to travel asap. They could have dismissed me and asked me to come back the next working day when passport services were open. But they didn't. Those 2 gentlemen got on the phone with the passport officer, followed all her instructions, hunted around for the right stamps and made the comment in my passport and legally sanctioned my travel. What a huuu...uuuge blessing. I am forever grateful to those 2 men for the extra lengths they went through, and it is clear that the love of the divine opened their hearts as well and facilitated the process smoothly. I folded my hands in grateful supplication, and one of them shook my hands warmly and wished me luck. We left the Consulate. It was now time to call the Airlines.
I called them on our drive back home. There was an available seat on that day's flight at 6:45 PM. It was earlier than the flight I was initially supposed to take. It was already 2 PM. I would still have to get home, get my bags and head back to the airport at least by 4:00. I asked them to book me in and en route, called up a neighbour friend of mine and requested her to print out my e-ticket and drop it in my mailbox to save on time. She did. We picked up a burger at a drive in on the way and got home by 2:45, I should think. While I was checking the mailbox, A walked in and tried to disarm the security system with the code I had given him. Only, I had not given him the right code. The strain of all the recent events had taken its toll on my memory and presence of mind and I gave him the wrong numbers to punch in. The system did not disarm, and I punched in more possible nos. none of which were right. The alarm went off in a deafening roar, and the system locked us out. Calls came in from the security company, and we tried to reset the system above the din of that horrible noise. It took well over half an hour to set things right again. By this time, my patience was stretched to the limit and I just wanted to give up on the whole fight.
Somehow, we managed to get out by 3:15, and got to the airport by 4:00. Ample time to check in and report to the gate. A did a couple of rounds of the airport, while I checked in. Once I was well and truly through he made his way back home, mission accomplished.
Me, I was in a huge state of relief and exhaustion. But the adrenalin rushes kept me going. It has always been a dream of mine to travel alone. Ever since I had the kids, I had forgotten the pleasures of travelling with a single bag, with the least no. of things thrown in, watching the movies to my satisfaction, sleeping whenever I chose and not worrying about diaper changes in the bathroom. In fact, as recent as 2 weeks back, I had been telling a friend how wonderful it would be to travel alone. You know what they say about being careful what you wish for, for it might just come true. It proved so in my case.
When I got on the flight, I made a series of calls...to the folks in Mumbai who were to pick me up, to my father, my in-laws. Everyone was delighted, amazed and relieved that the tension was over. When I spoke to my in-laws I was told of the intense prayers of a grand-aunt, who had been unable to sleep all night, thinking of me. When I spoke to father, I heard the happy relief in his voice as he contemplated seeing me again. When I spoke to the bride's side in Mumbai, they put me on the phone with R who had just landed.
I will digress with a small narration at this point. After R had switched off his cellphone after talking to me, he was still very tense about how things were going to shape up. How would he manage the kids by himself? How would it go for me the next day? All these thoughts bogged him down, and as he looked around quietly, he noticed a flight attendant some 3 seats ahead of him, standing in the aisle, talking to one of the passengers. In her hands, she held a magazine, the cover of which now became visible to him. And there on that cover, in a corner was the unmistakable picture of SathyaSaiBaba. He does not remember any vivid details about it, just that His face was on it, and looking directly at him. This was the highest sign of benediction for him at that point. In that frazzled state, that pictured conveyed all the blessing and all the strength. And immediately, all worry left him. He knew that everything would be fine. We all were being taken care of, so what more need to worry??? The rest of his flight went off very well. The kids didn't sleep much, but neither did they trouble him. They remained in cheerful spirits, and R was labelled the hero of the flight....the only single father to fly unaided, with 2 young kids!! This story, he told me much later, but the blessing of which he was reminded of, when he landed and the first thing he heard was that I was already on the next flight out.
With all the necessary calls made, I switched on my walkman and settled back to relax. I was really going to enjoy my solo travel status to the full. It was a very rare opportunity. :) But thoughts still swam in my head. To me, this coming trip was meant to be about celebrating friendships, and the bonds forged in childhood. It was to be about family and reuniting with the dear ones. And in all these aspects and more, I was already finding fulfilment through the events that had unfolded. Already, it was the celebration of friendship, through the lovely souls who gave me the support I needed. It was a complete celebration of family...through the emptiness I felt without the presence of those who have always completed me...through the love across the miles that made its warmth known. In all essences, the object of my trip was already fulfilled. Now, only the specifics remained...
The journey was uneventful and smooth. I even managed to take some pictures on the plane...of a beautiful dawn just breaking on a clear blue sky, and a sea of milky white clouds frothing beneath. And even though I was travelling alone, I always managed to gravitate to those moms who were travelling alone with babies. It was a wonderful feeling to carry the bags of one of them as she struggled with a handful toddler in the transit lounge. I guess I could have stayed well out of everyone's way, and kept to myself and enjoyed the peace. But, once a mother...always a mother. And she was so grateful for the extra pair of hands. And that's the power of blessings....when they are showered on you, you just have to shower them on another....it is very hard to keep it contained.
The last few hours of the flight stretched a little, but we were finally in Mumbai at midnight on the night of the 25th. I was back in my homeland to usher in the new Republic Day...the one day that could have delayed my entire journey, had it not been for that spark of divine light that moved the mountains for me...
So we are back! Its been 2 days since, and we are yet to unpack, and yet to settle back in. Winkie is yet to go back to school and I am yet to have a chance to collect my own thoughts and have the chance to communicate every significant highlight of this whirlwind, eventful mini vacation of ours! But it has to start somewhere, so let me begin with how I ended up missing the flight that fateful Friday night....
It was one frenzied day of packing. R was working from home that day and would wrap up by 5:00. Our flight was at midnight and the cab was to come pick us up at 7:30 PM. It was a completely crazy day and there I was popping into the doctor's office for a last minute followup for Winkie, and last minute stops at the pharmacy for stocking up, and last minute drop-offs of books at the library! And somehow, miraculously and to the point of drop dead exhaustion, we we were ready to roll by 7:00 PM. The boys were downstairs, all dressed and eating some upma at the table. I hastily spooned some into 2 bowls and rushed it upstairs for R and myself. I am halfway up the stairs when I see him at the top, a harried look on his face.
Please tell me this is your old passport...he says.
I am irritated. What is the man going on about at this late hour. The cab was due in 15 minutes. What do you mean...I ask him in some confusion. He points to the expiry date in the passport. December 02, 2008. 2008!!!!
Oh my God!!!!!!!!
My heart literally stopped, and then picked up with some heavy palpitations. I cannot describe the complete horror of that moment when the full impact of that particular fact washed over me. A million images in split seconds. Things I would miss out on. The only one not being able to travel. R looked haggard. Defeated. He had been slaving at work, and he was just not in a position to deal with this. Neither was I. There was some conversation then....about what this could mean, what we could do. Some of it useless, helpless....some of it, a measure to gain some ground on the situation. Looking back, those 15 minutes of early (relatively) realisation helped us with the course of action later on.
Slowly, we overcame the painful impact of that moment and resigned ourselves to whatever was to happen. At that early hour, I did not think very positively about getting any help from the Indian Consulate etc. All I could focus on was that I would not be to travel that night. We decided to go to the airport as planned. R had this crazy idea that perhaps they might let me travel after all, since I was going to the home country of which I was citizen after all. Yes, yes, we had very little lucidity by then.
The ride to the airport was sheer agony. Thambi was on my lap and inundated me with so much love and kisses that I realised another new dimension of what I would miss if I didn't make it out that night. His 2nd birthday!!! How could I ever miss that! R and I held hands and tried to calm ourselves down. It was horrible. Even now, as I relive that evening, I am filled with dread.
We reach the airport and hand over the passports to check in, hoping it will be ok. But no. It is not. The check in guy sees the expired date, looks inside for some extension stamp, finds nothing and looks over at us, confused. The situation is now painfully clear. I will not be able to fly. So what do we do now???
We step aside from the counter and collect ourselves. Its time to be practical. By this time, my heart is beating at its regular pace and I feel the cool head of sense rising to the surface. I urge R to travel as planned with the boys. He looks skeptical. He is truly exhausted and wants to take the easier way out and not have to travel with them alone. Besides, how would I manage what needed to be done alone???
After we had found out at home, I had rung up one of my best friends and she and her husband started researching on the Consulate website for possible options for me. Their feedback helped us make our decision now. As it turned out, the Consulate was open for just 2 hours...from 11:00 to 1:00 on Saturday for emergency visas. Note that it was for visas, and not passport services that it would be open, but this was my earliest option. Other than this, I would have to wait until Tuesday, because Monday was Jan 26th. Republic Day.
And so I urged R to go. The Airlines had told us that there were enough booking available during this lean period of travel. An d it would always be easier to find a booking for one person as opposed to 4. And I would be easier for me to run around for my passport, without the kids in tow. And worst comes to worst, it was R's brother's wedding. And he should not miss the wedding of all people. Better 3 people attend the wedding than all 4 miss it, somehow. And thus, with all these thoughts, and my own sense of bravado that I would be fine, R decided to go ahead with the boys. But not before calling upon our friend A, to come pick me up and take me home. Being a weekend, he could take me to the Embassy and lend the moral support we needed at this point.
While R checked in with the boys, I called up our family back home and gave them the news. It was taken very calmly, and they gave me sweet words of support to say that everything would work out well and to give it my best at the Consulate the next day!
Saying goodbye to R and the boys was the hardest moment. We explained it to Winkie and he was upset for a few minutes but then gave me a hug, told me to come soon because he would miss me and then got excited to go on the plane. Thambi had a milk cup plugged to his mouth and looked at me curiously as I waved him goodbye, not knowing whether it would just be a couple of days or 2 full weeks before I set eyes on him again. A was waiting at the curb and as we pulled away, I watched my family disappear inside the airport.
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