A bit of sun, a bit of shade, and a lot of laughter...

Blog

August 06

Life after marriage

Ok, this one threatens to be really long, but I'll try my best and keep it short.

When I got married, I thought life would be a bed of roses, and that it would drastically change from the moment I put a garland on my husband while taking the vows. Well, yes and no.

Life has changed drastically, but it's not a bed of roses. Now, don't get me wrong here, and if you are looking for a sob story, cut it!

My life changed, but not the way I had imagined it to. Well, it was more like an unproportional, irrational and funny mix of a fairy tale and a stark realistic tale.

But If given a chance to make the choice again, I would not want it any other way.

I mean, it's a great life, with all the shortcomings, and little needs and wants.

My husband is a darling. A very unconventional husband, who does not think twice before cooking for me, making the bed, buying veggies (and he's getting better with each day). I can proudly say that I've taught him a thing or two about home management (from whatever little I know) and he has taught me a LOT about everything from how machines work, how to make the right career moves (not that I have made the best), and of course, short cuts on the comp keyboard :-)

There is a lot of give and take involved. But when you are with someone you love so much, it does not strain at all.

Marriage has meant a lot of responsibility. Suddenly, instead of just for yourself, you start planning for another person as well. There is the home, finances, relatives to be considered- stuff that I did little of before marriage. You are responsible for a life of togetherness ahead of you. But again, when you have really found your match, you know you can count on him. You know things will fall in place. (This, however, does not stop me from nagging him).

While marriage has changed a lot, some things are the same. Earlier there were times when I was so besotted by him, I would think of what he said, what he wore, etc all the time. It's the same now as well, though it's not as maniacal as before. My mind is still mostly occupied by his thoughts and whatever happens in office I think, "I gotta tell him about this, he'll be in splits" or "Hope he has a solution to this, cause I don't!"

My nearly 2 years of married life have been bliss, the shaky terrain notwithstanding! It's been a joyride. Now I just wish that it remains so for as long as we live!

6:15 PM | Add a comment | Send a message | Permalink | View trackbacks (0)

July 29

Grandpa

Now this is something I've been meaning to do since a long time- blog about grandpa. For as long as I can remember, summer holidays always meant a three-day ardous journey throughout the nation to reach my hometown- Mangalore. The beautiful coastal temple-town of Mangalore- but more about that some other time.

And ALWAYS, Grandpa would arrive at the station, well ahead of the scheduled time, to receive us.

My sister and me, we were two giggly, naughty and totally crazy girls, who would monkey around the train and cause near rampage, much to the amusement of fellow passengers- or chagrin, depending on the situation !

But I very clearly remember getting goosebumps when the train would almost touch Mangalore city. We would suddenly get all shy and nervous (yes, for some really strange reason, nervous) about meeting all our relatives at the station. I guess the thought of two months of gay abandon, ripping about through the rice fields, plucking mangoes, frog-hunting, climbing hills etc etc etc, was just too overwhelming!

Anyway, so there would Grandpa be, waiting eagerly for his darling daughter and granddaughters (dad would always come a few days later) and the moment we would alight from the train, we would run to him and he would swoop down, lift us up and hug us tight. I miss it so much now...

Granpa was a bunch of talent- a great cook, an amazing singer, an articulate and dedicated agriculturist, great at analyzing people, solving crosswords and had an amazing sense of humor. And of course, exemplary vocabulary and love for literature.

Our summer holidays were a splendid time for grandpa to show off his skills!

Everyday, he would whip up delicacies the way ONLY he could. Even now, we try and make dishes, "the way Ajja did...". With EXACTLY the same ingredients. And it's NEVER the same.

He would cut vegetables in a way only he could. He would painstakingly chop, pound, fry, steam, roast...; the way only he could. And make exquisite dishes/drinks/sweets that we would have over endless gossip and story telling sessions- he was good at those too!

Babies in the family would be treated to lovely lullabies and just the right dose of heavy Carnatic classical. The two of us- Sis and me- would hang around all the time and there have been instances when the babies would continue to be up and awake, and we would be in near slumber!

When grandpa would go to bed, he would call us too. And tell us tales from epics like Ramayana and Mahabharata, recite shlokas, even as he would command us to massage his legs. We would do so gladly, but the initial enthusiasm would eventually wear out and we would be waiting for a chance to dash off. We would try and be clever, and try to very slowly, slip off. But he would ALWAYS know and glare at us, signalling us to start all over again...

His life seemed to be a treasure-trove of funny & witty experiences. Our evenings would mostly be spent listening to tales full of his experiences in the army, in a hotel in Tirupati, from his travels, of his childhood... It was like he had a bottomless basket (if there can be such a thing) of stories, and he would pick one out every day and rapture us with it.

Our holidays would be the BEST time of the year- mostly because of him.

And when we weren't in Mangalore, He would send us long (really long) letters talking about life in Mangalore and how he was missing us all.

He isn't with us anymore. But I miss him every single day of my life. For a long time, I was ignorant about the huge infuence he had made on my life.

Ajja, you will always be a part of me. Thanks for being the best Grandpa ever :-)

6:02 PM | Add a comment | Send a message | Permalink | View trackbacks (0)

February 20

A few of my favorite things!

Here is a rough compilation of things that exhilerate me, make me go weak in the knees, give me goosebumps, or just plain happy! Haven't numbered them, coz i don't know what takes precedence over which!!

Freshly watered plants, specially if the little droplets on them glow in the sunlight.

A huge sundae

The smell of wet earth

First drops of rain on my face

A long drive. A really long one....

Rain swept roads, lanes, plants, houses...

A gulp of cool water after a bite of Amla

Finding a pack of instant noodles, when you thought there was nothing to eat!

Cute babies. The happy ones, that is..

Paanipuri on a rainy day

Junk food, any day !!

Gifting people stuff when they least expect it

A tall glass of chilled Lassi

Endless cups of tea over mindless and purposeless chat

Being able to capture a precious moment on camera

Waking up to a freshly brewed cup of coffee

An engrossing read

Beautiful bay windows and sun-kissed balconies

Watching a marathon run of my favorite sitcom, Friends

The sleepy feeling you get after having stuffed yourself with really tasty food. Bliss!

Being able to complete a crossword :-)

Heading back home after a productive day at work. Hmmm.. very satisfying.

Moonlight reflected on water

2:55 PM | Add a comment | Send a message | Permalink | View trackbacks (0)

February 07

The journey

It was a good 20 minutes before Anu could speak again. The woman offered her some water. Anu had a few sips and said, "I really don't know why I am saying all this to you. Maybe it's just that I need to talk to somebody right now.

The woman smiled. "My name is Sulochana. And I guess you are Anuradha?"

"How do you know my name?"

Sulochana pointed at Anu's worn out bag, it still had a label with her name on it.

"Oh!", Anu exlaimed.

So..?, she asked.

"It's.. I... My father passed away. I'm going to his funeral. Oh, I don't know if I really can. It's just been a day. I don't know. I cannot see my mother as a widow. I.. ", she blurted out and stopped as abruptly.

Sulochana took a deep breath. "The loss of a dear one is always difficult to get over. The feeling is so overwhelming. There is a lot to deal with. A tumult of emotions. It happens. Happens to each one of us, no matter how strong we are emotionally. Or rather, how strong we take ourselves to be."

"Yes. But somewhere, I feel guilty."

"That is preposterous. How can you blame yourself for what has happened?"

Anu remained silent for a few moments. "No. I know I'm not to blame for what has happened. But certainly for what could have been avoided."

Sulochana gave her a quizzical look.

"I was actually not on speaking terms with my father since 5 years. It was just a difference in opinions that somehow got blown out of proportion into a cold war of sorts. Till we just stopped conversing with one another. Having lived a sheltered life forever, I had never tasted what living on the edge could be. I had never known what it was like to be on my own. To do my own thing, you know? Now when I look back, it all seem, but at the time, leaving my plush job as Head of HR, Asiatix Solutions and heading to the Godforsaken Ranighat to "empower" people there seemed like the best thing to do.

We had days and days of debates, arguements, and later, full-blown fights about me leaving home and living with the TB-affected in Ranighat. Once during one such heated arguement, I simply packed my bags and left home. Just like that."

"Oh my! Your parents must have been devastated!"

"Yeah, devastated to say the least."

"Where did you go to? Ranighat?"

"Yes I simply caught the next train to Ranighat and joined my friends there. We called ourselves 'The Hope Group'. We did a lot of good work there. And i used to write home every week about our work there. But I never got a reply. Eventually I stopped writing. My calls too, were never picked."

"That is sad indeed. It's excruciating when a loved one goes away. Having lost a son to the cruel hands of destiny, I know."

"Oh, I'm sorry", said Anu, suddenly ashamed for having heaped her own misery on someone already troubled.

"Live moves on, dear", she sighed. "So, did you ever get back home again?"

"No. After working in Ranighat for a few months, a few of our friends quit. Some got married and flew off to posh jobs and richer husbands, and a few others simply lost interest! We began to face a huge problem with funds. Funds from individuals in countries like USA began to taper. We simply could not sustain ourselves. But I was too proud to go back home. I went to Delhi, where I had a good friend. She had told me of a vacancy in the newspaper she worked for. They wanted a reporter. It was not a very widely circulated paper, but I needed to survive! I joined them and have been there ever since. Moved a few jobs, but work's good now. I'm an Assistant Editor for the Lifestyle section."

"That is great indeed!"

"Yeah, it's mostly good! But for all of these five years, I haven't once spoken to my father. Hadn't, actually. And now, when he could finally be proud of his daughter, he's no more. It is so... so unfair... so...", Anu started to weep again..

"And Sulochana, you know what hurts the most? Its the fact that both of us have lost out on so much time together, missed so many memories, so many cherishable moments that did not have the chance to happen... All because I was so full of myself. So vain. Oh and now, I cannot even ask his forgiveness. I would give anything to just lay my head on his lap and tell him what he means to me. If only I could do it, just one time. Just once?"

Sulochana was quiet a while. It was evening. Both hadn't realised. The train was now at some station. Both didn't care.

Sulochana stopped a tea vendor passing by in a hurry and asked for 2 cups of tea. She handed one to Anu. Both women sat in silence and sipped on their teas, lost in thought.

Suddenly Sulochana spoke. "You cannot bring back the dead. That, everyone knows. But not all of us realise that they never really go anywhere. We carry them with us. All the time. They are with us when we sleep, with us when awake. In every decision we take, small or big. In every smile and in every tear. Anu, I know, circumstances are too overwhelming for you right now, to even begin to comprehend what I say, but you will think of it eventually and realise how true it is. It may seem harsh right now, but there really is no point thinking what could have been done, and what should have happened. You can dig all you want, but you will reach nowhere.

Your father would have now wanted you to be brave, to fulfill your responsibility as a daughter.

Go home, be the ideal daughter to your grieving mom. Get her to realise that the loss of her husband may be irrepairable, but she has her daughter, who will be by her side, no matter what. For you, Anu, this is not the time for mourning. This is the time for realisations. A time to complete what your father intended to do. The time to take charge.

Do not be guilty, for everyone is entitled to his or her share of mistakes. It is okay to make them. But it is important not to repeat them. You left your family once, do not do it ever again. You can bicker all you want about how unfair things are. But they're not going to change.

So go, be daddy's daughter and do him proud."

___________________________

Anu picked her worn out bag and sat on the cold railway bench at Panjim station and watched the train speed out of it. It was early morning. The familiar stench of fish was omnipresent in the air. She realised she had almost forgotten what Panjim smelt like. As the crimson in the horizon turned brighter with the rising sun, Anu took a deep breath and stood up. She lifted her bag and started to walk towards the exit. For a fleeting moment she thought of how this very station had been the starting point to almost all their happy vacations together. And today, there was no-one to recieve her, simply because nobody knew when she was expected, if she was expected at all.. Anu brushed away a tear stubbornly.

She had to be Appa's daughter again, and this time, she would live upto it.

6:53 PM | Add a comment | Send a message | Permalink | View trackbacks (0)

November 02

The Journey II

Anu's mind drifted to the past. Ah! The past. Her carefree childhood... Spent under the strict guidance of her father. The caring indulgence of her mother. Her thoughts wafted to the imposing white bungalow on Pratap Godbole Road.

The structure, facing the sea, was unlike any other on the road. Or so it seemed to little Anu's eyes then. Majestic, with huge windows and doors, a cared-for garden outside, a sprawling patio, a small pond with lilies on the left side of the courtyard. Home, for her, was where she could find Amma waiting for her to come from school.

As Anu would de-board her bright yellow school bus, open the huge white gates of the house and come skipping in, her mother would stand at the kitchen window, waiting for her. Everyday, news smells from the kitchen would greet her. An avid cook, her mom would whip up delicacies in a matter of minutes. A helpful skill, specially with Appa bringing in his friends over almost every evening or so. Amma was, however, never at dearth for culinary ideas to feed the perpetually hungry souls at home!

While in college, every morning, Anu would lazily curl up on the arm-chair in the central hall of the bungalow, newspaper in hand. Soon, Savithri, the maid would hand her over a hot tumbler of coffee. Anu would spend the next few blissful minutes reading, till Appa would march into the hall, that is. Just stride into the room and demand for the paper. "As enthusiastically as a Tax Collector", Anu would joke. Anu knew protesting was of no use but would give the paper only after mild protests. Which of course fell into deaf ears. Both father and daughter were voracious readers. They could read, that too very keenly, even the scraps of paper in which vendors would sell 'Chana', 'Pakoda' and such stuff. Even the nearly illegible pamphlets accompanying the newspaper were not spared.

Anu recalled the guffaws she and Appa had shared over typos on such pamphlets. "As if the two of you are award winning writers", her mom would remark...

Appa was usually busy, even on weekends. Even when he was at home, he would be immersed in books on law. Or sit doing crosswords. All this was done with Amma lamenting, "No respite from work even on weekends. Why do you want to stay at home when you will have nothing to do with the family even when you aren't in the court? Why not sit in the court premises with all these books"..... and so on. Appa, of course would turn a deaf ear to all these aomments and allegations levied on him week after week. Anu would be sitting and chukling away in some corner. And this would be like adding fuel to her mother's ire. "Like father, like daughter."

They all were, however travel bugs. Everyone at home and Anu's cousins and their families would go on long trips all over the country. They would traverse the sands of Rajasthan in scorching heat and get suntans on Kerala beaches with equal enthusiasm. And, of course, savour local delicacies while at it! The younger lot would also go on extended adveture trips, while the rest of the family would cool heels at safer places.

Anu was rudely shaken out of these pleasant memories when the Ticket Collector called out to her. Once again, she surveyed her surroundings. It had been nearly an hour since the train started. People around her were readying for lunch. The young girl, the fat businessman, the young couple.. They were all eagerly waiting for the lunch packs to reach them. Children in the compartment were following attendants demanding to know why lunch hadn't been served to them yet. The attendants themselves were busy scuttling to and fro delivering the packs. Anu wasn't hungry. She began to wonder if, in the other world, people needed food. Appa always ate on time. Even the delay of a few minutes in serving food would make him restless. Would he be hungry now? Tears welled up in her eyes when she realised that her father would never be around to praise her Matar Paneer or Aloo Paratha. The two things, which he said that Anu cooked the best. She rushed to the loo to cry in solitude. She could never cry in public, however huge be the reason.

Once back, she found her lunch pack kept on her seat. Wearily she removed aluminum foils covering each of the small packets. The fare was pretty usual. A couple of rotis, some sambhar, rice, curds and pickles. She spotted brinjals in the sambhar. She hated brinjals. Anu gave the sambhar a slip and just had rice and curds.

She held the magazine in her hands again. Just then, a woman, with salt and pepper hair, brightly attired. came and sat next to her. Anu smiled, wondering whether the woman would ask her for a seat. People usually exchanged their seats with strangers, for more comfortable ones. "Maybe she is too old to climb up to her berth. Maybe she wants me to take her seat."

"Hello. Where are you travelling upto?", the woman asked.

"Madgaon. I need to go to Panjim", said Anu.

"Oh. great place. Your hometown?"

"Yes. My hometown.", Anu smiled.

"Don't mind my interference, but I have been noticing you for a while. You appear very tense. Is everything ok? Do you need help?"

"Tense? Me?", Anu was astounded. She was usually clever at hiding her deepest emotions.

"Yes. You have opened that book, but haven't turned a single page since the train started. You look lost. What is the matter?"

"Nothing", said Anu sharply. She always grew intensely defensive if someone tried to intrude her privacy.

"I am sorry to have intruded.", said the woman and turned to leave.

"Sorry aunty, I did not mean to hurt you. Why don't you sit here for some more time?", Anu could not believe she actually said those words.

"Sure", said the woman.

Anu looked at the woman carefully. She did not look older than 50. In a bright pink and blue saree, she was a picture of serenity. Her long hair was tied in a loose bun. She hardly had any jewelry on her. Just a pair of earrings, a thin necklace and a bangle.

Anu compared the woman to her mother. Even she loved to wear bright sarees. Nothing drab would do for her. She revelled in her ability to dress up elegantly, with minimum jewelry, but going overboard on bangles. No makeup for her. Just kohl and bindis. She would never leave home without bindis and kohl. Anu shuddered at the thought of seeing her mother now. She had probably never seen her mother without jewelry and bindi. Would she have the courage to do that now? Anu felt the corners of her eyes moisten again. Desperately, she looked around, trying to distract herself. Her eyes settled on the woman again. She was looking at her. When their eyes met, she gave a smile. Anu cringed and looked away. Strangely, Anu felt this woman could sense the deepest of her fears.

"Do you want to talk?", she asked.

Anu could not contain herself anymore. She burst out crying, for once not minding the crowd around her. Not minding whether crying was a sign of weakness and was a prerogative of the meek, as she always said.

Years of pent up frustration, desperation and dejection probably erupted together, as Anu wept, bitterly.

To be continued..

View more entries