Peace

It is an interesting process we follow as if pre-programmed for it. We live through the scripts written for us by someone else ( as Don Miguel Ruiz says so eloquently) and we believe them to be true. If I have to get out of the door by 7 am, I have to rush; if I have the kids to pick up tonight and cook dinner and work on my report cards, I must complain; if I live out my dream and publish my book, I must... Oh, I must PREEN!! Sez who??

"Are you proud?" I have been asked often these days. Well, I am not proud. I am thankful, hugely so. There is nothing extra special that I have done in this lifetime to deserve this moment in time. I feel very blessed that I was chosen to accomplish whatever I have.

"What's your next book about", I have been asked. "More poems perhaps," I think to myself as I tuck away 'the one that got away' from this book: one I had written during Diwali. or the story that I had written for Disha when she was 2. I don't know yet. For now, I am too busy giving thanks to think about anything else.

The flowers that my friends brought me at the book launch are thriving. Here they are as a colourful reminder that Saturday, June 7th 2008 was one special day.

Blessings come down

This morning was special. I had invited a few friends and family to a restaurant in Richmond Hill.

My book launch lunch at Saravana Bhavan went off very well. Deval went to bring the Naimpallys and I took the kids to the restaurant. As we neared the place, we realised that the video camera had been left home!! Ashray graciously accepted the responsibility for forgetting and Deval went back to get it after dropping our first guests to the venue. This is the advantage of being ahead of time, we had 30 minutes to spare. ( ahem ahem).

The kids helped me set up my little display: a cotton bedspread on a table was covered with Pappa's photo , the large Shantadurga picture that Kshitij had sent years ago, Amma's picture that I had 'borrowed' from Vikha and the roots from which I come: Shama, Shashank, Advita with us at Hiranandani, from the Karnad blog, kids with Maams,( maternal uncle = maam: Shashank and Kshitij) Kaaveri with Vikha ( people commented on how much we look alike, sisters after all), Kamlesh and Kaaveri. I could not get Shilpa off her Facebook posting due to technical difficulties but she was with us in spirit.

There was also a picture of me with Ajja at the door of Shantikunj ( we must have some Naigaum folks, else what's the point?). Naigaum is the slice of Mumbai where I was raised.

The small blue idol of Lord Ganesh that I had bought in Vasai in 1997 and had taken with me into OR when Ashray was born as well as my tiny bronze Goddess Saraswati ( who is revered as the Goddess of Learning) from the bylanes of Saigon. ( I have bought many such small statuettes of Brahma, (the creator), Lakshmi ( the Goddess of prosperity) and Lord Ganesh from Saigon. "Indian Buddha", the vendors used to call out on Le Loi Street. So many years ago, yet the memories are fresh as ever.

The first flowers, red carnations, from Sudha Pachchi, I placed at Pappa's photograph: This was quite fitting, as he was the first person to always say to me: "you write well, keep at it." As the guests arrived, the conversation got richer and finally at 12.15 or so, Somshekhar maam and Sudha pachchi released the book. Somshekar maam was my Pappa's math professor in Ruparel College in Mumbai long ago and is also my mother's cousin. Sudha pachchi is a gifted musician and poet herself as well as a KARNAD ( what a wonderful combination, it does not get better than that).

We had packed the books into individual brown bags with a red ribbon strung through the top. And many friendships were made anew: Leah got together with Disha, and friends; Deeksha hit it off with Ms. Hyles, Cheryl and Akka found common connections. Shaila met with Sonja and Helen after a long time. York University days were relived in a flash. Ahhh, the fragrance of Tim's at the entrance of TEL building!!

The food, friends and laughter ( cannot manage an alliteration every time, folks. I have to take a break sometime) were wonderful. There was the beauty of togetherness, and the celebration of a milestone that was a long time coming. 20 years of writing, 8 years of dreaming, 2 years of planning.

Late this evening, as the kids played basketball with friends in the front yard, I lit candles and arranged the flowers in vases. Jagjit Singh reminded me :

Apni marzi se kahaan apney safar ke hum hain?

Rukh hawaaon ka jidhar ka hai, udhar ke hum hain

The house is resplendent with the fragrance of friends who went their way at 3 pm. The memories of this day will linger long after my roses have dried (I save petals of roses from special occasions, hang them upside down and save the dried petals in glass jars!!)

As I stood there, watching all the people who made this day special, some in the physical environs, some in the cardiac; I was very mindful that all this is not a GIVEN. I am grateful that I was chosen to receive these blessings. I was chosen to be the one to fulfil this part of my destiny. It was decided by the Soul of the Universe that its energy should flow through me to become this day. For this and more, I am thankful.

My mind goes to the Maid of the Mist where I stood three summers ago holding my mother's hand. As I looked up from the tiny boat being tossed about under the force of the gushing cataract, I could see the sun shining down. Rainbows danced about in the spray and I was drenched. As I stood there laughing, I remembered that 3 years before that (2002), I was standing at the ledge high above when I had prayed for Amma to recover and I had said silently to the Universe as I watched with fascination the ceaseless pouring of the Niagara and the glorious rainbows: You can make this happen, then how hard is it to cure my mother? And that hurdle had been removed. In 2005, I had been given the chance to ride the rapids with my mother, the survivor. And there we were, on the Maid.

Blessings do come down,, friends. All I had to do is send the prayers up first.

Stay well

Anyone can publish a book....

I love the critical voices in my head, simply adore them. They strengthen my meditation practice and calm my self doubt. When I hear these voices, spoken or unspoken ( if only people know how much their postures, and body language give away even when their mouth is passing out saccharine sweet congratulations), I am more centred on what my purpose is: to keep my focus and merely observe this detritus of emotions.

Right now I am humbled by the joy of friends: the thrill with which Traci opened the box, the sunshine that spills from Eda's smile, Jaleh's hug, my students' excitement. These unadulterated thoughts shared by these people in my life simply shimmer with their goodness.

I felt a surrealistic calm today, as if watching myself from the outside. Who were these people who cared so much and why?

To echo Julie Andrews' famous lines: "Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good"


And I agree 100%: anyone can publish a book, but they gotta write it first.


Ahhhh, this was one well lived day!

It's A Book!!!

Got the book at 4. 30 pm last night. I had taken both the children, picked up early from school. Drove to the printer and there it was, a little brown box packed to the brim. I looked through the copies, the smell of the printing ink that permeated the place indelibly printed in my mind for all time to come. Always one to deal with business clear-headedly, I wrote out my cheque for the balance amount. I had 8 more boxes, large and small to pick up and had to drive my car to the docking area. My little Hyundai was a bit cramped both ways: to the printer, it had filled up with all my loved ones, who slipped in even as I thought of them. "Move over", each one of them said to the other, as they adjusted their presence beside me and the children.

The boxes were at the height of a pick up truck, and the helper had to lug them over down to the car. Ashray reached out to pick up one, like the squirrel from the Ramayan, my son, wanted to do his bit. Disha, living up to her name, directed us to make room in spaces here and there. Finally, books packed snugly into our shared space we left. The sky was still overcast and this was a profound moment.

I felt exactly as I had done when I first held my babies in my arms: after all the tossing and turning, heartburn and nausea, after all that waiting, I remember being awed by the sheer presence of a squirming living being placed beside me. Both times, as I did yesterday, I had asked this question to my amused doctor: " You call this a big baby? This tiny person?" 102 pages are a lot when you agonise over them. Bound nicely into a book is an entirely different matter!

The euphoria will come, I know: when I meet friends, family: tomorrow, Saturday, next month. I sense ripples of feelings around me as well: genuine joy at where I am, a quiet knowing that I have done what I wanted to do and yes, oh yes, the subtle resentment: "Who does she think she is?" The realist in me smiles at these, the Vipassana message whispers in my ear: "This is not about you, it is about them. Observe your feelings and let them go."

Today, I also mourn a sister: Dr. Sheela Basrur, who touched many lives and who I had the pleasure to meet 4 years ago has moved on. All day I have been thinking of what her life meant to so many people. I have been thinking of sadness, of loss: parents, child and sibling left to sift through memories. And the rest of us who will continue to cherish fleeting moments with the precious gift that her life has been.

Grey skies have a lot to offer me today. For now, at 1.10 am on June 4th, 2008, the offer me a quiet peace that matches the breeze that plays with my curtains.