Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Looking ahead...

As I look back on the year that was, I can only give thanks. Just that.

Many new gifts came our way and the children and I are thankful for that. Many old paths fell away and that's okay.

I realised that there are different kinds of connections: ones that ask "what happened" out of a general curiosity, while there are others who ask "are you okay, how can I help, what do you need", few, therefore precious.

And wait, there is a third category who remind me that they are "luckier, happier, more fortunate" than me, as they are "loved, cared for, genuinely". I smile then as this ephemeral superiority is so fragile and insecure, where we think ourselves happier because others are perceived as unhappy.

It is very easy to get into a competitive happiness/wellness/fortunate-ness game. Walk kindly then, and gently.

It is what it is, for each and every one of us.

So, I can only give thanks, for all the love and laughter in my life. For all the wonderful friends and family, near and far who touch my life.

Living with gratitude and grace. Not a single bottle of wine was opened to achieve this peace, not one. Not sorry, LCBO.

It was a great 2014. I grew wings.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Little Bhaskar and his special raincoat


Here is a story I have wanted to share with you from long ago. So here goes. 


Your grandfather, BRK, was born on 15th May 1935. He was the only son of his parents. He grew up in Grant Road, a place in South Mumbai, which was also where I spent 2 years of her life. We called him Pappa.
His mother, Radha Heble-Karnad, was quite a story teller. As I was the only grandchild for a long time, until Shashank was born, Teeamma used to regale me with stories from days gone by. This is how I know many stories about Pappa's childhood. He used to always say, 'She is going to be the next generation story teller' as he reminded his mother to keep out the ' uh-oh' bits. But she persisted and told me all about everyone she could remember. What a wonderful legacy ! This is why, I feel like ' a keeper of memories'. 
Bhaskar went to Robert Money School in Grant Road. He loved to read and used to hide comic books inside his text books during class time! (1) He used to love helping his mother to cook, kinda like you do. He used to go down from his building to fetch vegetables from the vendors in the street, like Kaaveri does. Perhaps this early grooming led to his life-long habit of 'baajaar-haat' on Sundays and cooking 'tamata ma eendoo' for breakfast. We remember these memories with fondness to this day. This story from his childhood is my favourite especially because it has continued in a rich family tradition for us and now you. " Monsoon Moods" when we get wet in the rains every year!! 
One monsoon, in June, little Bhaskar started school (I have used his name just so you see your grandfather when he was a little boy. His Ayee (my Teeamma) had bought him a brand new raincoat (perhaps it was blue or olive green, just the right colour for a little boy) and gum boots (galoshes, if you will). He was very excited. He could not wait to wear the raincoat to school. He couldn't wait to splash in the puddles on his way home. Poor little Bhaskar, he waited and he waited and he waited. It did not rain at all, that day. Nor the next. Bhaskar was getting worried now. " Will it even rain this year" he wondered? " Will I ever get to splash in those puddles in my nice new boots". Dragging his disappointed feet, he slowly got ready for bed. He must have put away his boots at the door and folded his raincoat neatly in a bag to take with him the next day. Just then, he heard a loud clap of thunder. Crash, Boom, Shudder. Bhaskar was not one to be afraid of a little thunder. He had other things to do. 



When his Ayee looked around for him, little Bhaskar was nowhere to be seen!!! Then she heard an excited voice calling. She rushed to the verandah and looked down. There, in the now empty street, in the dark, dark night, was little Bhaskar, wearing his raincoat, splashing in those large puddles. Splash, splash, splash. He laughed and he called her. He danced around, all the while enjoying his new raincoat. 

He had got his rainy day after all, well night. He was overjoyed and could not stop smiling. After some time, when he had played to his heart's content, he came back home. With a HUGE smile on his now dry face, Bhaskar went to sleep dreaming of splashing even as the raindrops sang a soft, lullaby in his ear. 



That little boy grew up to be my father and do you know something? He always loved the rain. He used to take all 4 of us to the terrace or the compound , whichever house we ever lived in, to enjoy the rain. When Vikha and Kshitij were little, he used to carry them each on one arm. I used to hold Shashank's hand and away we would go. Amma would caution him to say " The kids will catch a cold" Did he listen? You bet he didn't. Dads are like that sometime. In giving us memories, they visit the little boys they once were. And this is why we love them so much.

So when you get wet in the rain, or watch me standing in the backyard blissfully drenched, think of this story. This is the RainDance Ajju left us. This is his wonderful gift!!
My Teeamma had told me this story when I was a little girl. I am writing to you the day before my 46th birthday. I think back to the stories I have heard from Elders and I look back at all the happy times I spent with them. Now as I stand at the frontline, I am the Elder. And I go back to my Teeamma's reminder that " the stories must be passed on, lest we lose them"
 January 6th, 2012

(1) 
The 'hiding comic books in text book' snippet was shared with us by Sunder maam (Hattangdi) when he and Lina Maushi (Balse) visited us in Markham. The kids were delighted at this information and so was I.
~Rashmee Karnad-Jani