Valentine's Day and Beyond................

A warm smile, a firm hand

Careless whispers that never end

The weekend plans, the movie waits

Sometimes a small tiff or a little irate

Sometimes it’s made for each other

Sometimes it’s mismatched

Call it love, infatuation, or just a passing phase

Love is in the air or is it just a haze

Valentine’s Day.....is it for real or is it hype, some swear by it while others abhor it, for some it is the day they have been waiting for to share a special feeling, while for others, it’s just Archie’s’ way of making more money.

Maybe I am outdated or old fashioned for this young generation, but I believe in Love. Love is special, love is waiting for that special someone to come and sweep you off your feet, love is sharing, caring, understanding, and adjusting. Yes, a lot of the younger ones may feel otherwise, but as I mentioned earlier, I am old fashioned when it comes to love.

It takes a lot of strength to walk up to someone and say ‘I Love you’. There are people who spend days, months and sometimes years to say it to their someone special, but then if you really love the person, just walk up and say it, coz, life doesn't give you too many chances.

Ours was a love story with a difference, a little old fashioned, a little strange but it was love nonetheless. We met as classmates for the first time during our college orientation and the fact that we both belonged to same city, brought us closer. Somewhere in the four years of college, we realised that we liked each other but that was that. We did not talk about it and it only gave our friends a reason to have a good time making fun of the situation that we were in. Four years passed and it was the last day.....the next day we would return and we knew that probably we would not get to see each other ever again....it was our last chance, we met for one last time ‘as friends’, said our goodbyes, yet we chose not to speak about it and walked away with heavy hearts. It was probably a very difficult situation to be in, to act normal and yet knowing that there was so much pain inside. After three years, we met again, and no, this too wouldn't have been possible, had luck not been on our side, but we were given a second chance, and this time, we both somehow knew, there would be no more chances.  So we met, looked at each other, held hands and decided to get married and today fourteen years later, aren’t we glad! Unlike other love stories, our love story was different; there were no dates, no candlelit dinners, no huge Valentine’s Day celebrations, yet we were there for each other, he in one city and I in another, till we got married. We moved into this cute little home of ours that we worked hard to set up.  We discovered little things about each other along the way. He helped me become a more confident person, gave wings to my dreams, and encouraged me to outdo my fears.  We stood alongside each other, helping each other achieve our dreams.

Today as I watch him working away on his laptop, a person, who I first met as a friend twenty two years ago and today as my husband, a person who is the way he is, no pretences, very caring, very special. No he is not the mushy, holding hands and saying ‘I Love you’ twenty times a day kinds, but I see his Love when I see him concerned when I am a li’l upset or the time when he sits by me listening patiently to all the jabbering I do, or quietly eating a new recipe which might have turned out wrong and just say, may be next time it will be better, or the time when I am sick and he wakes up multiple times at night just to check if I am fine. I see his Love when he is upset with me for not giving it back to someone who might have hurt me, or the fact that he has started liking dogs because I like them.

All this would not have been possible had we chosen to keep quiet. The regret would have pricked us all our lives. Maybe we would have married different people, but I guess it wouldn't have been the same.

So all you people out there who are in love but haven’t told your someone special about it, go ahead and say it.....that someone might just be waiting for you. You may brighten up someone’s day or someone’s life and yours’.

 But remember love is beyond dating and talking endlessly on the phone, or movies and parties, it is standing by each other and for each other at all times, it is knowing the flaws in the other person yet letting them be overshadowed by all their goodness. Love is not having too many expectations and walking away when they are not met, but love is dreaming together, and being together in the journey of achieving that dream, some dreams come true and some come half way to being true, but it’s the journey that makes the difference.

When you truly, madly and deeply fall in Love with a person, nothing else matters.  For all you people who are or have been in Love, you know what I mean.........so while Valentine’s day may be a gimmick for some, it still give us a chance to step back and Thank that someone who has made our life special, or a chance to make someone’s life special by letting them know how much they mean to us.

Call it a Valentine’s Day or any other day, but just remember that we have been lucky to have certain people in our lives who love us and care for us. Let’s not take them for granted, coz who knows what happens tomorrow.....it might be just a li’l too late!!

Happy Valentine’s Day people.......go out and spread the happiness...Someone Somewhere cares for you and it’s time to let them know that it matters to you.

Life’s embarrassing moments

I somehow have a knack for putting myself in situations that are....well to put it simply, ‘funny’...funny at my cost...some have been so bad that even today when I recollect them, I tend to shut my eyes in embarrassment .......be it my attempt to speak a fluent Assamese line in front of my friend’s mother (who was from Assam)and landing up laughing loudly without saying anything (coz when I was framing the sentence in my mind, Kannada words kept coming in), leaving the lady looking at me in surprise and me turning red faced or the time when I received a call from an international number and I answered thinking it would be my mom-in-law who was expected to reach the US that day and I start off, ‘Ma, have you reached, did you have a good journey?’ and the person at the other end turns out to be my Boss, who incidentally was abroad at the same time......and I go...oopsss...or the other day when we were in a Bengali restaurant where the staff was speaking in Bengali and I wanted to join in too, so I started  by asking for some dish in Bengali and I say ‘Onedu plate Luchi kori’  which is in kannada instead of ‘ek plate luchi diye den’in Bengali.......the guy started staring at me and my husband had to come to my rescue by correcting my sentence.

This one I had to share coz this hilarious episode happened this morning and the ‘bakra’ was none other than me. And yes, I am writing this soon after it has happened so that I can pen down exactly how I feel...we have just had a good laugh about it in the kitchen when I shared it with my maid.

Its the 17^th of January, just a couple of days after the popular ‘Harvest festival’ – Lohri, Sankranti, Bihu etc...etc....  that was n the 14^th. Two days ago, I met this lady from our building and she told me that she had come to my place to give the ‘prasad’ but did not find me there and that she would come over again to hand over the same. So this morning, while I was busy surfing the net, lost in my ‘job hunt’ (since I am now planning to take up a job again)) when the door bell rings. I expect it to be the dhobi (the guy who irons the clothes) who might have come to return the finished garments. I see that my maid is busy in the kitchen so I decide to answer. As I look out, I find the same lady standing with another lady with bananas ad betel leaf in their hands. I call them in and ask them to be seated. I assume that she might have come to give the ‘prasad’ that she was talking about.

She is also fond of our new puppy ‘Choco’, and asks for him. I fetch the pup and while she plays with him, I ask her to excuse me so that I could wash my hands (assuming that I would have to take the prasad she gives and will not be able to do so with dirty hands). She interrupts saying that they wanted to inform me that there will be a meeting at 11.30 am on Monday to discuss a few issues of the building and goes on chatting. The banana and the betel leaf are still safe in her hands. And then she keeps jumping from one topic to the other. She seems to be in no hurry to give me the prasad, I think, and since it’s considered rude to ask for it, I politely smile and continue to listen to her.’ I offer her tea and she refuses and continues to chat.

And now, before you think that I was being greedy, well no, that was not the case, but it was the flow of events that led me to thinking what I was - first she tell me that she will be visiting me, then I see her at my doorstep with the banana and betel leaf, so what else was I supposed to expect? Well, she was here for about twenty minutes and then she got up to leave, without giving me the prasad......

She says ‘Please ensure that you come for the meeting on Monday’ and I nod......and she goes away, with the banana and the betel leaf safely in her hand leaving me wondering why did she come? I come to the kitchen and tell the entire episode to my maid and she bursts out laughing so much that tears flow from her eyes. After she is done with her uncontrollable laughter, she explains to me that the banana and betel leaf was not for me and that were hers. So I question, ‘Why would anybody come to someone’s house with the fruit in their hands and then leave without giving it to me?’ She explains to me that probably the two ladies would have visited another house before coming to ours and that as per the tradition in south, whenever anyone comes home, people offer archana kumkum (sindoor and betel leaf along with fruit) as a mark of respect (probably similar to the way we offer tea), the stuff they were holding in their hands was offered to them. So the banana and betel leaf were actually theirs and not for me. And the reason of her visit would have been just to inform about the meeting on Monday.

I put my hand on my head and I was ‘Oh God! Why was I so dumb?’ I could almost feel myself blushing at the thought that the two women must have guessed that I assumed that the content in their hands had been brought for me and that’s why I kept telling them that I would wash my hands and return.......... L  They must have their daily laughter dose for the day at my cost ...just like my maid  L L L

After fouteen years in Bangalore, I should’ve been aware of this small ritual that is followed in most South Indian homes. At least that would have saved me from this embarrassment.........

MERRY CHRISTMAS FOLKS!!

Soft snowflakes whisper in the cold

Hiding everything under its fold

Strangers pass by on busy roads

Hiding a story beneath those robes

There’s no time to talk or even smile

As the busy mind’s chatter takes a while

To mark off the list of things they must obtain

For their kith and kin,

And sometimes even for those who are a pain

Cold shoulders brush past each other

No time to greet, no time to bother

The year is ending but there is hope

As each one struggles to steer their boat

If only someone would pass a smile

If only someone would wait a while

The burdened hearts would be li’l light

As they helped the other to be a li’l bright

If only masks were pulled off without a shame

If only Santa was not just a name.

Christmas is here and there is cheer all around

Time to leave a mark and ease other’s frown.

The fireplace is warm with banter and cheer

Bright warm wool, and hugs from all dear

Gifts pile up under the tree

As children look on with hope and glee

Santa’s bounty they wait to explore

Their innocent minds let the spirit soar

Let hopes never die and dreams never end

As we learn to walk together hand in hand

Let there be peace and happiness resound

As a New Year ushers in with joy all around

November.......

November, a time when another year is almost coming to an end, people are already making plans for the New Year, the weather is beautiful and brings in much relief from the hot Indian summer, the leaves of a few trees have turned into red and gold giving the entire neighborhood a romantic charm perfect for those memorable photo shoots; a time for introspection of the year passing by and a time for festivities and plans. 

For me November is a special month, special, coz in November is the birthday of a lady who I owe my life to....my mother.... a super talented woman. From the time that I can remember, she has always been good at all things ladylike, a good cook, a wonderful host, an excellent mother. When she was young she was good at knitting, stitching, sewing, reading tons of books, cooking yum food and doing up the home and yet be always well turned out in spite of managing two children. As for me, never getting more than a ‘B’ grade in the craft and SUPW classes, and a ‘C’ in drawing classes, I could never really match up to her. As she turns sixty seven this year, I can confidently say that she still is much better dressed than I am, I consider her a picture of elegance and grace.

So the benchmark for me was really high, and I don’t think I could get half as close in being as efficient as her. As I was growing up, she tried her best to teach me all the nuances that she excelled in, but I was a poor student. The cross stitch project that she made me start in my sixth standard was kept pending till finally she gave up trying and it was used as a dusting cloth, the sweater that I had promised to gift my Dad on his fifty third birthday couldn't have been possible without her knitting half of it to help me out of this difficult assignment.  As for cooking, well she did manage to blackmail me to learn that a bit. The only thing that excited me was sewing. So while was in college, I would get fabric and get her to cut it for me while I’d stitch it over the weekend and I’d have a new outfit for Monday morning, sewing was something I would do happily, but not perfectly. The first time I tried sewing, was in school and I had landed up having passed the needle through my finger and sat crying till she came and pulled it out of my hand, thankfully it was the manually operated machine of the olden days, and it’s scary to think of the outcome if I had been using a motorized machine. Not that I am a tomboy, but somehow, during my growing up years I loved to spend more time in playing with my pets and looking after them and reading lots of books. While she loves meeting people and socializing, I am the completely shy kinds who prefers to be by herself to the extent that some people misunderstand and think that I am either snooty or plain cold, quite unlike a person who has always had a job that required a lot of interaction with a whole bunch of people should be.

She had spent most of her married life in Shillong and in the colonies where everyone knew everyone and  had a lot of friends there. Post retirement, when we moved to Delhi, my parents found it difficult to adjust initially, but after a couple of years she bounced back and today she has a circle of friends where she socializes often, whereas my father has found a friend in the television, making sure that he catches the latest news bulletins at least three times a day. Even at this age she goes for regular walks in the morning and evening and gets worried every time the weighing scales moves a little more than where it is supposed to sit.

I have had her as my support system all my life.

While at work, it was a routine to pour out my day to day happenings to her and then she would come out with completely professional advice.  There were times when I would sulk and she would tell me that I was being unprofessional in behaving like that and so on and so forth. She would be neutral in her feedback and not support me blindly. This is in spite the fact that she has been a housewife all her life. When I decided to give up my job, she was the first person who kept asking me ‘Are you sure, you want to do this?’

Well, living up to being her daughter is a difficult task and I am yet to catch up to being anywhere close to that. So this year in November, I decided to start something new as a way of saying 'Thanks' to my mother; As it is, these past six months off from work are now beginning to get on to me and I really had to find something worthwhile to do while the children were away at school. So one fine day I went out and bought a sewing machine leaving my husband wondering as to what I was up to. My next trip to the market and I bought some fabric, only a few to start with. My childhood experiences have taught me well not to get super excited coz if I get bored midway of the new assignment, all of it would go waste, the plan is to take one step at a time. Along with the fabric came the threads and the laces. The children were really impressed with all the new stuff and they wanted turns in using the machine, so I had to wait till they were off to school and then I started out, the first few cushion covers that I stitched came out okay.  And so I decided to send them to her as a ‘Thank you’ coz she was the one who had first taught me to sew.

The cushions were packed neatly and handed over to the courier and I waited for the next two days for her to call saying she had received them.

I wanted to surprise her and also was dying to know her reaction on seeing them. On the second day at around three in the afternoon, the phone rang and I picked it up excitedly, I knew she had received the package. And she started ‘Did you really make them?’ I was ecstatic, from the tone of her voice; I knew she had liked them, but the truth was that they certainly were not up to the mark, so I told her that I would be sending her better ones, once I improved in making them.

So, while I find what to do next, here’s to my new rendezvous ...........how successful it is going to be, I don’t know, but for my Mom’s sake, I better ensure that I do well J

Beyond the serene shores......

The sun has set and there’s a crimson blush

The shores are serene but the heart is forlorn

Another day tormented by reminiscences of the yore

Another day filled with anguish burns the core

Thoughts of the past explode as one lends a sigh

There’s more to what meets the eye

Flowing tears has blurred the vision

But this, alas! Was the best decision

He has a sad smile as he reflects on the last bond  

He had turned back but she didn't respond

She cared for him or so he thought

But today in his mind he was full of doubt

There is warmth in the hearth and cheerful noises all around

But sadness blinds the eye and deafens all sound

 If only she’d sensed the hurt underlining his smile

If only she would've walked back that extra mile

Time has passed and life has moved on

Yet when darkness prevails, the heart is torn.

Braveheart

She walked pensively as she tugged onto the broken umbrella trying her best to save herself from the heavy downpour. There was a strange melange of emotions and it felt as if the heavens were crying for her that day. It had been one more disastrous morning, one more dark dawn with one more round of thrashing that he’d often resort to if he did not find money for his daily alcohol. She was struggling through the puddles and tiny streamlets formed by the rain water as her eyes were blurred by the tears that flowed from them.

A few minutes later, she knocked on the teak framed door and two excited children ran out to welcome her. She quickly wiped her tears and broke into a smile. It was as if all her worries had suddenly melted away in the tiny hands that held onto to her hand and pulled her into their home. Here she was in another world; there was no time to fret as the school bus would soon be honking outside. The little boys had to be readied and fed and taken to the bus stand. The dog was waiting when she returned from the bus stop, it was his turn to be walked and fed now. The parents of the little children were off to work and would return only in the evening. All chores completed, she now settled down with a cup of tea, as her thoughts went back to where it had all started twenty years ago.

The rustic village where she grew up was where she was considered very pretty, and everyone thought that she could easily get the most eligible bachelor to marry her.  Alas! Fate had planned something else planned. She was married early, not to an eligible bachelor, but to a drunkard and a tormentor. Within a year she was the mother of a child. With her life already a mess and another soul to support, she decided to fight back. A few neighbors had helped her get her first job at a factory. The sum was paltry, but it gave her the independence from the miseries bestowed on her by her so called husband. The child was growing up fast and so were her requirements and the factory money was not enough. She had tried to save a bit from her small sum, but he would always smell it out from wherever it was hidden and use it to fund his drinks. She spoke to her friends about doing something else that could fetch her more money and so ended up working as a housemaid before leaving for her regular day job.

This is how she connected with me through a family friend when I was looking for a maid. Our first meeting was a tad difficult as she didn't know my language and I didn't know hers, but we managed and soon she was hired as a maid for our home. After the birth of my elder son, we offered her to work as a full time helper to take care of the child and the home so that I could join back work. This also meant that she would have to give up her job at the factory. She agreed and was soon an all time favorite of my son. She loved him and would be by his side the whole day. The initial days were a struggle as language proved to be a major hindrance and it took a good six months for me to master her language, by which time, she too had begun to understand bits of the Hindi and English that we spoke.  She was ambitious and though she was happy working at our place, she also had dreams for her daughter who she wanted to do well in life and not struggle the way she had been doing.

Something about her clicked and as years passed, our house became completely dependent on her. By the time we had our second child, she had taken up most of the responsibilities and, she became more like a family member, except for the fact that her husband didn't mend his ways. The story at her home was the same.

Today as she sat reflecting on the morning episode with him, she received a call from her daughter. Her husband had packed his bags and left, leaving the two of them to fend for themselves. This is when she took a big decision; she wasn't going to cry any more than she already had. This time she would fight back. She waited till evening to get back home and then she did something most women find difficult to do. She decided that she would not look for him or call him back. She had anyway been feeding him all these years as he had stopped contributing to the house altogether. In a society like ours, where domestic violence is  prevalent  in almost all strata and is often silently brushed under the carpet, here was one women who, given her struggle to fend for herself and her daughter, had chosen to fight it out, not caring about the stigma attached to a single women. There was a lot spoken about this in her village when she visited there, but she knew she was right and decided to stand by her decision.

Her struggle did not end there, as after a few months her brother too passed way and so the responsibility of taking care of her aged parents came on her shoulders. There were four people to take care of now and so that meant that she needed more money. She asked if she could take up cooking at our place so that we would pay her some more and also if we could permit her to take up another job during the day till the children were in school and we let her do that. Her struggle was now visible on her face, as she would complain of aches and pains. She would complete all the work at our home and rush to the other house to quickly finish the chores there and head back to our place to take care of the children till we returned from work. Probably what kept her going was her love for our children and their reciprocation of the same.

Years have passed and her daughter is now happily married with two children of her own. Her husband did try to get the villagers to intervene to convince her that they stay together again, but she did not agree. It was he who had chosen to walk out, so there was no way that she was going to call him back. And where was he when she was struggling to get the funds for their daughter’s wedding or when she struggled to put the house rent together each month, she asks.

Her struggles are not over yet, but looking at her fight from then to now and how she has adapted herself to whatever life had to offer her, she is a clear winner. Today our children are big enough to take care of themselves, yet she works with us but her dreams and ambitious have yet not ended. She now dreams of having her own tiny shop selling fast food. She has come a long way from struggling to make a proper meal earlier, to now, when can cook North Indian Rajma and Kadhi, South Indian Rasam and Sambar, Chinese noodles and gravy or Pastas, she can manage all of these and more.

Wondering, why did I choose to write about my maid ?

Well, coz, as years have passed, there’s lot that I've learned from her; her ability to smile in spite of all the odds that life offered her,  her love for my children, her honesty and self respect , whenever, she needed money, she would take up an additional chore and not take it as a charity. And above all, her willingness to learn and achieve more, the fast food store being her new dream.

A society that is filled with women who are filled with self pity and who quietly face all tortures meted out to them and refuse to retaliate, here is one woman who chose to fight the odds. Coming from a small village, being new to city life, she not only managed to take care of herself independently , but also had a good wedding arranged for her daughter, and has managed to foot the hospital bill for the birth of her grandchildren, this she says was her responsibility according to their community.

Yes, like all other people, I too have my grievances about my maid, but they are far smaller when compared to how much she has contributed to our family. She is as old as I am or could be younger too, but her life’s struggles have been far more than mine and I totally respect her for the way she has handled each one of them. She may come from a different stratum in society, but what connects me with her is that she is a woman and a fighter who lives with dignity.

Today as I speak about her or others like her, I realize that, all of them have similar stories, so while we complain that our maids don’t work well, or are taking too many offs, they are actually struggling to make ends meet, some managing the home without their husbands and some working together with them. Given a choice this is the last thing they would want to do, but this job is important for them as it means independence to them and a means to their meet their ends.

Innocence....................

Two gentle souls fill the air with cheerful resonances. Their naughty mannerisms, their innocent jokes, their cuddly hugs, have given life a whole new meaning and along with that is the realization of a huge responsibility, of being able to give them a good upbringing enriched with high values. Today, I tried to put down my thoughts on this beautiful child-mother relationship.

Tiny hands hold my fingers

Trustingly grip the little wonders

The heart skips a beat

As the innocent eyes meet

And carefree smiles

Remove worries for miles

Tiny hugs greet the soul

It doesn't matter if one has not met the goal

Doesn't matter if one’s rich or poor

After all, you are their mommy dear

Doesn't matter if you are fair or dark

Coz Mommy, you are your angel’s star

A tiny tear rolls down the cheeks

Overcome with all the love it receives

The head bows down in a silent prayer

Lord, give me the strength to handle with care

Their fragile hearts may never despair

Tiny dreams will soon have wings

 And they will go on to do their own things

The sun shall set upon today’s youth

While new horizons open up for the not so tiny brood

Wrinkled faces shall hold up with pride

Every time their angels strive

To win, without letting their values dive

They find their place in the sun

And come home with the trophies won

Yet when they are in the dark and cold

They come back to their mother’s hold

A place where every child feels safe

A place where there is never a room for hate.

Fighting the odds.....

A long bus ride along the winding Western Ghats lined with coffee plantations brought us to Coorg, a small town known for its home stays that are willing to let you enjoy the plantation life under the clear and carefree skies and raw wilderness. A place which is surrounded by forests and gurgling streams, where people light bonfires at night and watch the fireflies light up the horizons, where many an evening is spent playing their favorite game – football and where entertainment still means a trek in the wild or a day spent at fishing, where mobile signals are hard to get, thus, giving us every opportunity to escape from the humdrum of city life.

 We arrived at the estate owned by a middle aged gentleman and his family – it was so large that by the time he had finished telling us of the area that belonged to him we were wondering how he managed all of it. But Coorgis are a nice lot and the people are honest and he had been around this place for a while, so it had been easy for him.

After the initial conversations and welcome drinks, we were asked to carry our bags down a slope till we approached a tiny flat clean space filled with colorful tents much like in the movies; we were excited. A bunch of sixty people, all of us were really looking forward to the next two days of fun at this corporate outdoor activity. We soon settled down in the tents excited at the thought of spending the evening in this wilderness. This was going to be very different from our regular corporate schedule.

By late evening it was dark and all we had was torches to guide us, that’s when the organizers asked us to line up for a nature walk – ‘A nature walk in the dark, you must be kidding?’ we thought. But no, they were serious and soon we were heading into the jungle. We were asked to be very quiet so that we could ‘enjoy’ the sounds emanating in the night. ‘Enjoy?’, it felt like a horror story and they kept hissing instructions ‘please be careful if you feel something cold touching your feet, it could be a snake and try to stay on the track, if you move off track, you might be attacked by leeches.’ We froze, and held each other’s hands and we moved forward, chanting ‘Om Namo Shivay’ at least I did, though a few brave souls did declare that they were ‘cool’ with this.

 It was a good half an hour before we were back at the camp only to be welcomed by the warmth of a bonfire. We forgot all about the scary walk and enjoyed the rest of the evening singing songs and sharing stories. This was fun; it was a clear sky with thousands of stars twinkling down on us and a mild breeze refreshing our tired faces and the sound of the tiny stream flowing down the other end in the background. We wound up early as we had a long trek planned for the next day. I came back to the tent really happy. Couldn't have ever done something like this on my own, but thanks to this trip I knew I was going to cherish this forever.

The next morning after a quick breakfast, we lined up for our trek. We knew this couldn't be difficult as we had done treks earlier too, but they weren't letting us away with it so easily, so the deal was that we would be trekking up to the first hill top and from there to the next and our return would be by rappelling down the second one. ‘Rappelling and me?’ What with my heavy weight and never exercised body, I could never make it and if I failed, I would be the subject of many a gossip sessions in office. I tried to chicken out, but it was too late, we were already half way up the first hill and since this was not a regularly used track, the trail left behind was very faint so there was every chance of getting lost if I tried to return alone. I really had no choice but to move uphill, sometimes on my own and sometimes by being pushed up by my colleagues who were very helpful. Another thing that kept me going was the fear of being left behind in this wilderness, so I had to match my pace with everyone else’s.

Trek went on well and now was the big one – rappelling....we were given ‘time off’ before we started, when our guides were informed by the locals that they had seen a snake at the rappelling site. ‘Thank God!’ I thought, glad that it was going to be cancelled after all. My prayers weren't heard at all and the snake was soon removed so that we could complete our task. As I approached the site, I was almost shuddering in fear, how would I do this? ‘What if the rope snapped?’ ‘What if I just fell flat?’ ‘What if the gear didn't fit me?’ Soon the person before me went down and next was my turn......

Step one – put on the gear...the gear fitted me perfectly.... ‘Thank God’ and now I was holding the ropes with the rest of the office staring at me. I guess even they had the same fears like mine – ‘Will she make it?’ The lady guiding us at the bottom of the site kept asking me to look down so that I could have an estimate of where to go. One look at the bottom and I knew I had to move fast and get over with it as soon as possible. The longer I kept myself hanging there, the longer would the fear overtake me. So there I was moving downhill, not quite like a professional, but successfully nevertheless. This was the end of my first attempt at rappelling and once I had touched base, I could hear my colleagues clapping and congratulating me. ‘Yep, I had done it, with my fears, my heavy weight, my thousand excuses, I had still done it.’

Today, when I look back and think of this episode, I feel quite proud at this feat and secretly give myself a pat my back. Had I actually chickened out as per my plan, I would not be writing this today and imagine I would have gone back to office after a two day trip with no adventure and learning.

I don’t know if I would ever volunteer to do anything like this again, but if a situation arises, I know I am better equipped to face it.......  Thanks to my team and yes my willingness to ‘give it a try’.

Rakshabandhan....!!

I was a year old when you arrived

An innocent face filled with mischief revived

You played pranks on me galore

But without you my world was a bore

I was a girl and you were a boy

Yet we boxed each other

When we fought for the same toy

But when someone tried to harm the other

We hit back like a team no other

Years went by and we grew up

Our pranks made way

For secrets we’d never give up

Roles were reversed and you became

My guide and mentor who’d never complain

As I was stepping into a new life

That of a daughter-in-law and a wife

There you were standing by my side

As I was stepping out of our home

Lots of emotions I was trying to overcome

You held my hand as I cried

While your own tears you tried to hide

We went on to live our lives

Juggling our various responsibilities we strive

We may not be able to meet often

But if anything were to happen,  I know

You will always be with me, my Bro’

And each year as I tie Rakhi on your hand

I thank the Lord for Blessing me

With a gift so grand!!

One of the best gifts of the Indian culture is the celebration of a beautiful relationship, that of a brother and a sister. A bond that stands by us throughout our lives – as our Best friend, as our confidante, as a prankster,  as a protector, as our support system through our childhood and adolescence, through our first love and our first heartbreak, through our youth and middle age, someone who knows our strengths and weaknesses and yet continues to be with us unconditionally to guide us and to be guided, to laugh at us and to be laughed at, to help us come out of our mistakes and to hold great pride at our achievements, but more than anything else, to be there with us always...!!

Buddy......

Lost him to Cancer today 6th Sept 2013........stared helplessly as he sighed for the last time ...... Buddy where ever you go from here, hope you have a great life...... you will always be in our memories...Always!!

Love you tons sweetheart.....R.I.P 

He came wrapped in a soft cloth in a red basket on 9^th Mar’2001, a significant date because, he was my first wedding anniversary gift, an animal lover all my life, this was the best gift my husband could have got me.  He was, a ball of off-white fur when he came home, a small baby, whining because he had just been separated from his mother, but all he needed was a little pampering and he was back to his jumpy self again.

Cerelac packets were bought and a whole vaccination schedule worked out for him. When he was bought we were informed that he was a Pomeranian pup, but our first visit to the vet told us that he was a Labrador pup, and the one after that finally told us that he was a German Spitz, a name given to a cross between a Pomeranian and any other breed ( I think)....but as he grew up, he looked like a very handsome mongrel....whatever the breed, it really didn't matter as he was now a part of our family and no way were we going to let him go. We had named him Buddy, our best friend.

Suddenly there was so much life in the house; he had a character of his own ...it felt like we had a new member in the family who had to be included in all our plans. He hated to be out in the sun and would retreat to the nearest shaded corner as soon as he was taken out. He soon started teething and left his mark on everything – the dining table legs had his teeth marks, the sofa, the bed, clothes that he could lay his hands on, chews, toys, everything was bitten.

The first time that we had to travel out of station, we decided to take him with us. So there he was in Delhi meeting his extended family, my cousins, aunts and uncles, but the Delhi heat had stressed him out and we promised never to bring him out of his comfort zone again. After that whenever we had to go out, we would ask our maid to visit him daily and take care of him while we were away. He had grown up to be a pretty ferocious guy, and till today hates to be addressed as ‘kutta’ (the Hindi translation for ‘dog’). Whenever we tease him and call him kutta, he gets agitated as if he is being insulted.

 We were worried when we were bringing our first child, Vansh,  home from the hospital, I was still weak and couldn't play with him like I did earlier and  also had to take care of the baby. The day the baby was brought home, Buddy was excited, he wanted to sniff the baby from near which I let him do once and after that he calmed down.  I had thought that he would be jealous of the little one, but on the contrary, he became extra caring, kept himself away from the baby as if he knew that he should not hurt the little one.  When Vansh started crawling, he would keep following Buddy around the house and at times even pull his tail, but Buddy would patiently let him do that. And Aryan, our second child, was a terror, who would always want to sit on Buddy and ride on him and we would be scared that he would bite, but Buddy was a good big brother and would be gentle. He would growl to scare Aryan off, but never bit him.

When we adopted Champ (our little daschund and the youngest child in the family), Buddy was a bit jealous on the first day and refused to let him come near him, but later he became his mentor and for Champ he was like his entire support system. Champ would refuse to move out of the gate for his evening walk if Buddy didn't accompany him. They would play together on the carpet, in fact, Champ was the only one who was allowed to steal Buddy’s chews and get away with it.

As time went on we saw Buddy grow from a playful child to an aggressive youngster to a caring elder brother to my children and Champ, to now a twelve year old. Thankfully even the boys are very fond of him and in my heart he will always be special. Today he is an ailing patient and I am doing all that I can to make life comfortable for him. Dogs are known to have a lifespan ranging from ten to fifteen years and how much ever I try, I am not able to prepare myself to let him go. Prayers, medicine, hospitals, we are doing all we can to save him, he looks healthy except for the pain in his bloated stomach and his arthritis that has slowed him down. 

Buddy, an innocent face with mischievous eyes and a commanding personality, today (1st Aug 2013) he is old and sick, but still keeps his terror. He barks and limps to the door every time the doorbell rings. People in the apartment still make way for him when he goes down for his walk and the children are scared of him. My heart breaks to see him so weak, but all I can do is to be with him during his illness and just pray that he is back to his normal self soon........

Wish I could have saved him ...did everything I could, but was too late!!

Stories untold................

An unshared feeling

Reeling in the mind

An unwritten text

Waiting to be defined

An undone friendship

That keeps heart pined

An unspoken word

That could forge new bonds

An unreciprocated hug

That could turn things around

An unsaid apology

Waiting to gain ground

An unsent letter

Could give relationships a start

An unshed tear

Buried in the depths of the heart

An unpacked bag

Waiting to depart                

Mistaken to be lost in the realms of time

Till at dusk the church bells chime

The heart heaves a sigh

As memories unfold

And whisper the secrets untold

If only one chance was taken

If only that one word spoken

If only was feeling expressed

Life would not be a fallen crest

Egos clash and prejudice wins

But the heart knows the right thing.

Life goes on till it’s time to rest

And the broken soul lies depressed

Look around without a guise
There’s more to what meets the eye

Open your heart only to find
Stories untold in everybody’s mind.

Loreto Convent Shillong..........

The long driveway that looped towards the entrance was lined with elegant pines. The gates within opened into another world altogether, a world where our innocent young minds would be moulded and polished and readied to face life with self respect and dignity.  

Our little hands held on to our parent’s, jittery at what held beyond as we walked in anxiously through the gates and caught the first glimpse of the fountain surrounded by flowers bordering the fresh lawn that welcomed us.  This was where we would spend the most beautiful years of our lives.  The building represented old glory and grace of the British period, the doors had brass knobs that gleamed as the sun’s rays fell on them, and the wooden floors were polished.  We were called into the 'Parlour’ this was the waiting room where all the visitors were asked to sit. It was love at first sight as we walked in. Sister Celine met us – she was elegance personified. She spoke softly and led us to her office.

Forms were filled and formalities completed and we became a part of this institution.....an institution whose name we would hold in great pride throughout our lives....Loreto Convent Shillong.

For the next ten years this was going to be our home, a building which till today continues to entice us, the sloping flower beds maintained by the hard toiling malis, the summer house shrouded with  mystery, the main hall with its piano in one corner lined with chairs on both sides , the tennis courts which continue to remind us of the various fetes held during our time, and the campus, where we would play games like the Danish Rounders or have our march pasts each Friday when each house would try and outdo the other; the boundary walls lined with jacaranda trees where we’d spend many a lunch break playing with friends,  the light green and the dark green staircases that led to the senior classes, the water tank, the little nursery with its doll house, the smoke bellowing from the kitchen chimneys , the sports day, the annual concerts, the statue of Mother Mary that stood amidst the first floor senior classes, or the wall next to the old Dorm where picture frames of all the passed out batches were neatly displayed...these were just a few, amongst the various memories that would go on to bind all Loreto girls, irrespective of which year we passed out or where were we currently placed.

We came from different backgrounds, from tea gardens, family businesses, defense officers, government officials, doctors and some even from royal families. But once we joined school, we belonged to just one community – Loreto.

We were taken to our first dreamland - the nursery – a sweet cosy room in one hidden corner of the building where the small girls would play and learn. We then graduated  to the junior wing where many generations before and a few lucky ones after us would get introduced to Kong Irene – a loving lady with a stern exterior – she would help us sharpen pencils and shout at us if we misbehaved. Our teachers Mrs Ahmed, Mrs Warjiri, Mrs Dcosta....all of whom patiently laid the foundation for the years ahead.

While Mrs Shome read out stories from thick books as we sat listening intently, Sister Rita taught us how to pronounce correctly separating the ‘W’ and the ‘V’. Maths became more interesting under Sister Carmel’s and Mrs Dey’s supervision and geography under Mrs Lepcha gave the boring globes and maps a whole new meaning. Be it history or art, Mrs Bhattacharjee, Mrs Khan, Mrs Sagar,Mrs Wilson, Mrs Das, Mrs Hassan, Mrs Mahanta, Mrs Dutta, Mrs Roy ...we had the best teachers, some of whom were ex-students themselves.

The joy of reaching the sixth standard gave us a new high, because we were now going to be in the senior league. This was also the first time that we were assigned houses...Tagore, Nehru, Gandhi and Naidu – we continue to be loyal to them till today. But being in the senior school also meant a lot more discipline as we were now the ideals for our juniors.   Skirts should fall just at the knee, not an inch higher and not an inch lower, the knife pleats sitting sharply in place, the shirts and the socks were whitest white, socks had to be at knee length, no rolling them down, red ties, grey blazers and we were ready to go.....we stood with our feet joined at the heel and when we sat, our backs were upright, nails clipped and hair tied in a neat pony tail. We spoke in soft tones and knew when to use ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’. We were taught the importance of charity and dignity of labor, to respect our domestic help and to care for those less privileged than us. Our visits to the chapel, irrespective of which religion we belonged to, during exams was more like a ritual – the silence and serenity of the chapel could only be felt and not explained. Moral Science was an important class which was never sacrificed at the cost of subjects like Science or Maths, because we knew, that being educated meant more than just good grades. All this was a part of our metamorphosis from an unsure scared tiny-tot to a confident young lady.

Our teenage years, filled with secrets and gossips, not to forget the most looked forward visit to the St Edmund’s school for their annual sports day...we were expected to be on our best behavior and there would be no talking to the boys, we would be strictly watched over by the teachers accompanying us. In spite of that, all such trips lead to new gossips and relationships, out of which a few resulted in lifelong bonds.

Years passed and we branched out to give wings to our dreams.  We were in for a shock initially as we faced the harsh world, there was little place for our delicate mannerisms, but with our kind of training, we learnt to face it all as we had aptly learnt during our school days -  

And when our school days ended are
And our varied paths divide
O may the ideals of our youth
Still ever be our guide
High ideals of purity, of duty, and of truth
Learnt while we bore Loreto's flag
In the sunny days of youth.......

Loreto’s banner gaily floats

In lands both East and West

Loreto’s name each girl reveres

And holds it ever blest....!!

Oh! I love the music of the Raindrops on the window pane..........

Oh! I love the music of the raindrops on the window pane

The sound of the leaves swaying in its trail

The dull grey sky celebrates as it pours its waters

 And teases the fierce wind that chatters

The rains brings cheer and everything looks clean

The lively bean dazzles and the glass doors gleam

While the birds preen their feathers

And the dogs choose to snuggle

It’s time for some hot coffee and a nice book to smuggle

Old memories come rushing with every drizzle

The first romance, as if engraved with a chisel

The rain gods had cried and the thunder had roared

When the naive heart had broken and the dreams soured

The summer has ended and the dusty days are gone

Bring out the paper boats and lead them along

Splashing into the puddles as we break into a song

Bring out the child in you; it will do you no wrong..........

The rain gods were angry on a particular day

And while the innocent children were playing away

The rivers soared and boulders betrayed

The path of many a pilgrim lay strayed

It sometimes hurts and there is pain

Every time I hear the raindrops on the window pane.....

Houses were broken and lives were lost

The cries for help all exhaust

Everyone cried out in despair

Rich or poor, no one was spared

For nature has not learnt to discriminate

All races and colors met the same fate

Yet, I continue to love the rain

For if we had not messed up

 We would not be in pain

We had ignored the writing on the wall

And today we pay the price of it all.

Oh! But To be Fat.......................!!

A very apt subject for someone like me to talk about, I thought...., coz who knows better than me on what it is to be fat...

Hmm...where do I start from?

Well, what better way to start than from the beginning....so the beginning it is....I was born fat...a very chubby, fair (fair by Indian standards) baby.  The nurses spoke about me at lunch about how healthy (they actually meant fat) I was. I don’t know if I was a cute baby, but most people tell me that I was a fair chubby baby. All through my toddler days, my cheeks were pulled a thousand times...at home, in the park, in the cinema, in the market, at Dolly auntie’s house, at the playground, at my cousin Mira’s wedding......It was first day at school, and I was playing amongst the beautiful Jacaranda trees near the playground when I was summoned by a few seniors.... only to pull my cheeks....and No that wasn't amusing coz it hurt. I was embarrassed and scuttled back to my class.

 Even my maid had a problem with my weight. One day I was thoroughly enjoying, wiping off the Horlicks powder glued to my fingers (Horlicks in its powder form was tastier than when mixed with milk........... but who could explain that to my daft maid?) and she complained to my mom saying that if I continued to eat like this, it would be difficult to find a match for an obese girl, when I was older....come on ...I was only six years old then, and who was she to settle on what I could eat and what not?  But my mom took her criticism grimly and there I was waking up untimely, at the crack of dawn to walk my dog (my mom’s way to ensure that I got adequate exercise by walking in the morning), my meals were timed and I was forbidden to be anywhere near the kitchen other than the meal times L. Even the dogs would get their out of turn breaks when they asked for their favorite chews, but not me.....my mom was out on a mission...a mission to make me thin... she had tried to think the unattainable, she slowly realized that it wasn't worth it and so for the sake of having peace at home, I was spared.

Probably the most irritating part then was to find clothes of my size...the only saving grace was the fact that my mom was a wonderful seamstress  and her skills were put to good use while doing up my wardrobe. I would choose the clothes in the stores and she would make them in my size at home.

My nickname – I was born at a time when everyone had a nickname and somehow most parents found the most ridiculous sounding names...in those days even celebrities were not spared...haven’t we already heard of Lolo....... Bebo...... Duggu......Gattu....., mine wasn't so bad actually, provided I was addressed with it...I had a universal nickname ‘moti’....this was how I was addressed – by buas, chachis, biji, my elder cousins and sometimes my younger brother as well....except for my parents, thankfully, I was still ‘Sonu’ for them.

Every time photographs needed to be taken, it was a torture as the camera always tended to append another two to three kilos to the already over blessed me, so I always had to hide half myself behind my brother, or my mother, or my friend and if it was a solo click, then I had to be peeping from behind the sofa or, yes, how can I forget, ‘no close-ups please.....!!’

Days turned to years and I moved from being a junior school student to a high school girl.....there was a period in between (probably the only time in my life) when I was gaining height and I was looking thin (not thin as per normal standards, but thin by my standards, actually less chubby than my usual self) that was probably the only time in my life when I got good compliments...about my looks.  But this lasted only from high school to the time I had my first child. This was also the time when I was in college and met my husband-to-be......Thank God for little mercies, imagine if he had seen me in my earlier or present avtaar, he’d probably have sprinted in a record time and never looked back.

Once my elder son was born, I had got back the fat as if it was my long lost twin from the kumbh mela and this time it appeared to have decided never to leave me. Initially, I was consoled that it happens to all first time mothers and that I would lose all of it soon, but no one told me how soon.......a few days, a few months....or a few years??? The elder one turned ten last year and I am still waiting for the fat to leave me ‘soon’.

The worst time of the day is the mornings when I need to get ready for work....no matter what you wear you tend to look the same...sloppy and yes Fat!! The only respite is hiding in the cubicle and hoping no one notices you. I do my work and get back home........the best place where no one is staring, and people at home have gotten used to me the way I am......actually I guess they don’t have a choice, as they see my struggle to get back to being thin, but not without a once-in-a-while reminder........that I still have a long way to go.

When you are fat, there is no dearth of advice either.....hey listen, why don’t you go for walks, just half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the evening or, have you tried drinking lemon and honey in the morning or the GM diet, Orange juice diet, Cabbage diet....etc etc.....In fact, there is a big booming industry out there and a lot of rags-to-riches stories of people who have taken it upon themselves to cleanse the society of shoddy, obese beings.............................Gyms, diets, fasts, weight loss centers....walks, aerobics, yoga.....Hmmm......while we poor souls sweat it out, they are happily counting their increasing bank balance.....

So while I continue my war and hopefully come out victorious....... ‘SOON’, I hope you enjoyed reading this............ J

when the nest is empty......................!!

The morning alarm was yet to go, but she was awake already; it was four thirty in the morning, she just couldn't sleep any longer. At sixty, she suffered from insomnia. She switched on the lamp as it was still dark and went out of the room. Rajiv was getting disturbed by all the commotion but was still lying down as he did not want to be up early.....the early morning chill was not good for his seventy year old weak lungs.

She went about all the household chores; there was a lot to be completed before Adi and his family reached home. At this age she needed more time to finish her chores than earlier as her joints would hurt. He was coming back after two years and that too just for four days as he wanted to spend the rest of his vacations exploring other parts of India. She had made his favorite ladoos and stored them in airtight containers yesterday. She knew that would be the first thing he would want when he arrived. Arav and Rhea, her grandchildren, would surely love the remote control car and the Barbie she had kept in their room to surprise them. Adi’s room had been dusted and cleaned and the guest room had been converted into the kids’ room. She had changed the cushion covers and placed the new dining mats. ‘Aarti couldn't complain this time that her mom-in-law was old fashioned.’ she thought.

It was eight in the morning when Rajiv was woken up by the sound of the cooker that came from the kitchen and was surprised to find the house in perfect order, and filled with delicious aroma of spices. ‘Where was Sudha?’ he thought. He found her just where he had expected – in the kitchen. She was making mango chutney to go with the Puris that she had planned for breakfast. She looked at Rajiv and smiled and poured out the tea from the flask and handed over to him. She seemed to have gained ten years overnight. Where did all her energy suddenly come from? She had not complained of her joint pains ever since Adi had called and informed of his visit. Her friends had been informed that she would not be coming for walks for the next few days since her son was coming and she had to be with him. There was a spring in her walk and a smile that refused to leave her face.

The old couple was ready and waiting for their son. Sudha tried to hide her excitement by pretending to read the paper. Soon they heard a car stop outside; there they were, the kids came and hugged her first as Adi and Aarti pulled out their bags from the cab. As they settled down for breakfast, Adi said, ‘Ma, why Puris, it’s so fattening, you know. And these ladoos are full of ghee; I can’t have these too, Ma. Please can you give me some fruits and milk? That should be fine.’ Sudha was hurt, and only Rajiv could sense the hurt in her eyes. She smiled and got a glass of milk and fruits. After breakfast, Adi and 'his' family told them they were going out to meet friends and would be back only in the evening. Sudha had tried to stop him as she wanted him to be home with them for some time, but they had other plans.

Adi was soon out, leaving them by themselves once again.

Sudha sat pondering. How life had changed over the years? She was thinking of the day when she had held her bundle of joy for the first time. Her hands had shivered in excitement. Soon her world revolved around little Adi; she clearly remembered every milestone of his..... his first smile, the first time he walked, his high school, graduation all of it........ Time flew past. She had started seeing the world through his eyes and all her decisions were made keeping Adi in mind. She would be happy when he did well and feel his pain when he was upset.  Every penny earned or saved was for him. Adi was soon a grown up young man. He was going for his first job. That was Sudha’s moment of pride. She was sure that Adi would be always by her side. But then came an International posting after a year. Adi had come home excited... ‘It’s a big opportunity Ma, and I have been chosen to represent my team for this project. You know Ma, I will get a huge hike and once I have settled down, I will take you with me. Life will become so much better.’

Sudha had been very sad that day. Her little boy had grown up and was ready to fly......fly away and make his own little nest in another part of the world, leaving behind his memories for her old age. Rajiv could sense her sadness and comforted her... ‘This is how the world goes Sudha, let him go. You should be proud of his achievements. He has said that he will call us there; it’s only a matter of few months.’ She had let him go.......and let him go it was; years went by, Adi was married and had children. Initially his visits were once a year, which later became once in eighteen months and then once in two years......and so on. Each time he’d visit them, he would say that the next time he would take them with him, this time it was not possible as ‘his’ family was going on a vacation or he had a lot of on work pressure and they would get bored. Soon he even stopped making those excuses.

The parents had slowly learnt to rebuild their home, this time a lonely one. They had learnt to support each other during illness and pain. They had aged now, and at times found it difficult to manage the daily chores; at times the neighbors would help them with shopping for groceries or for visits to the doctor. She continues to do the house work till date, with her joint pains and insomnia, making it difficult each passing day, to support herself and her husband. Her brood has flown away into another home; Diwali, Holi, New Year...these have become just another day in the calendar.

There were other couples in the neighborhood too, that shared their story and together they bonded supporting each other and sharing each other’s pains and sorrows.  Theirs was a generation that had been left behind in the race for materialistic accomplishments. Theirs was a world that still believed in family bonds and emotions, that was mocked by the new world as unpractical and passé.  The new world was out to chase its dreams...speed, growth, money, power, fame and they did not want to wait for anyone, not even, for the people who had made it possible for them.......

Adi would be back in the evening with some other plan for tomorrow and the day after. Another trip would end and they would be back for another year...or two years ....or three. The old eyes and wrinkled faces would again wait in hope for another phone call..... Another visit.....another excuse!!

Shillong......... as I remember it !!

This was my hometown then, or so I thought, where the soft summer breeze whistled through the pines on the gentle slopes, the weeping willows swayed in gay abandon, the winding roads looked fresh and clean each morning after the previous night’s rain, the grass in the lawn would be still moist when the dogs played boisterously chasing each other amidst the sprightly daisies and the blue hills of Shillong seemed to protect all this like a sentinel. The clouds kissed the hill tops and sashayed down as if paying homage to the power of the Himalayas. The rich soil and the pleasant climate would caress the baby seedlings that would grow into beautiful flowers.

The houses were warm and inviting with sloping rooftops that would let the rain water gently flow through the cylindrical drain and assemble in drums for the dry days. The only decoration for most houses, big or small, would be pots of plants, lots of them in all shapes and sizes. The squeaky clean window panes gleamed when sunshine passed through them. The wooden floors would always be neatly polished smelling of melted wax mixed with the aroma of supper. The kitchens were the lifeline of the house and most guests would be invited in to share a meal, however small. There would be music in the air as people gathered by the fireplace each evening to play their favorite number. Each house was sure to have their own rock star strumming the guitar and dreaming to own the world through music. People on the streets would greet each other with a smile and everyone knew everyone. A quaint small town, then, with a heart of gold accompanied with the never-ending narration of old tales told with a glint in the eyes of old wrinkled faces as they recalled their youth and shared their stories with their progeny. Laid back and simple.....this was my Shillong then....my Shillong, coz I knew I belonged here; this was where I was born and where I grew up. I really never felt any less a local, or so I thought.

My first real memory of Shillong is of my school, yes, we lived in Barapani then, in quarters by the lakeside, a few kilometers away from Shillong. Prior to that we would come to Shillong with our parents only on weekends and hardly explored the place. School was the first place I connected to in Shillong. An old building of the British period with a romance of the bygone era where we were taught that along with having a good education, it was important to be a good human being first. The nuns had welcomed me into this haven and here for the next ten years, I grew up from being a little girl to a young lady (as the nuns would address us). Even after all these years, I can still feel the smell of burning coal in the nuns’ quarters which had always left a warm feeling during the cold wintry mornings. Through my school, I saw Shillong, as a culturally rich society which respected its women like no other society in India could.  The weekends would mean a small picnic to the nearby Golf links, or to stand on the bridge at Ward’s lake feeding the always hungry fish below. A visit from our relatives from the plains, would take us to Cherrapunjee and Mawsynram...... a place of pride for us. They would look in awe at the stately pines on both sides of the road at Upper Shillong that welcomed them to another world. It was as if we were showing off our trophies to them.

As I grew up, I realized there were unspoken walls, we belonged here but this place was not ours to be. Slowly the divide seeped in, the divide between a local and a migrant. They called us non-tribal and somewhere along the way, I was told in a lot of ways that this was not my place. Be it admission to my college, where the first preference was to a localite, or owning a piece of land. No, I couldn't own one, as I was a non-tribal......so what, if I was born here, so what, if my upbringing and sensibilities spoke every bit of being a Shillongite, so what, if I felt like an alien amidst my relatives in Delhi, whose culture and thought process was very different from mine. I was considered an outsider there too, as I came from somewhere else.

My father retired from work and we moved to Delhi.

Shillong....., my place, continues to live in my memory........I may not be able to claim to come from this place anymore, but my heart belongs to it. Every time I go back, I am looked upon as a tourist, but for me its another homecoming.  

Today, as I live in a another city and  people ask me where do I come from?....... I  find that the most difficult question to answer.........!!