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.
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.
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