Packing Day

I watch as she packs up 
her childhood 
into neat little boxes.
And looks at the future 
With the same
Diamond eyes
That shone for me when days were bleak

And I know as did others
That when roots are strong
And wings are too
The flight is joy
And unfettered bliss

As I watch her stand on the threshold 
Of independent life
I smile
As she takes with her
The wish lists of all her mothers
Radha, Kamala, Veena, Niti, Vishakha, Sushma, Suniti, Selvi and 
Me, the one who will write the stories.
22nd August 2012

The laughable hypocrisy of some relationships

They start falling off like leaves in the autumn, these loosely tied human relationsips. They can be those joined by blood, or from a long shared life path, it doesn't matter. The invitations to tea,  dinner, Thanksgiving and what not dissipate like mist in the sunshine. Sometimes, people are so wary of even saying hello while passing me by in a narrow corridor that they look straight ahead. They amuse me, these people who pretend that they care about me and my children, that they are not afraid of the contagion of separation and divorce, They pray at their temples and clap rhythmically at bhajans, they lend their mellifluous voices in collective devotion, yet they lack the one thing that a grieving family needs: they lack courage and they surely lack the honesty to face their own hypocrisy.

With a chuckle in my heart, I say hello to them when they pass me by. This startles them and they stumble over their own self righteous tongues to say hello. OMG, she talked to me, now I have to say something. I cannot pretend I didn't see her: Their eyes shuttered, they walk on by.

Others leave frantic messages on my answering machine when they know that their deliberate exclusions have been found out by the sharing of photos by well meaning friends. "Call me, we MUST talk. We haven't been in touch for so long" they shout breathlessly into their phones. This hammering of my virtual door leave me unmoved. Really.

It's okay, I want to tell them. Don't feel ashamed of your hesitation to invite me or my children to your homes, parties or shindigs. I know you are confused and scared. You have seen death and lived through it, we all have by this stage in our lives. But this is new for you, perhaps. The signing of papers leading to the systematic dissolution of a relationship that was considered to be picture perfect. But I am not washing my hands relentlessly like Lady Macbeth, just so you know. I did not kill anyone, I did not wish anyone gone. I am not contagious, neither is my condition. I am not out to ruin your party.

I have a busy life and a happy one. I know how to raise my children and they know how to raise me. We are okay, in case you wondered about that. The Village Grocer makes a yummy Thanksgiving dinner and we had fun. I am sure New Year's Eve will be wonderful for the children and me as we are happy together, We don't miss any forced bonhomie and shifty glances. You don't have to pretend anymore. You don't have to shout into my answering machine with your hilarious excuses.

You are encouraged however, in the interest of your own journey, to know that life does change. It's changing, even now for you. So don't add to my amusement with your shifty glances please. And please, oh please stop pretending that you care. It doesn't matter, really. Free yourself from this weight.

Amma used to say that when one leaf falls to the ground, new ones take their place.

The kids and I are fine. And better off without the hypocrisy of your pseudo solidarity.

Hissab

Tajurbaa batoar liya hai buss
Itney saalon mein
Tum kaudi kaudi ka hisaab rakhna zaroor
Hum toh yun hi yaadon ko tarashtey rahey
Rashmee Karnad-Jani

Another winter

First snow of the year. Mixed feelings
The passage of time
One more year
One more rhyme
Shovelling, 
Heavy lifting
And hot chocolate
Walks at Milne maybe
And long moments spent reading
First snow
And mixed feelings
(C)
2014

Fall leaves and consoling people

I wonder as I speak consolation to a grieving woman, how did I get to this point? I am at the end of my fourth decade and already have 27 years of parent-loss under my belt and 42 years of caregiving. Surely, I can retire now with full benefits? I am told that "isn't a thing" as teenagers would say. I am not allowed to stop doing what I have done for so long. I just have to keep doing it as long as I live.

I speak of the binary of loving someone so wonderful as a parent recently (or not so recently) lost and the excruciating pain of missing them with every breath. I think of the dissonance of knowing that the striated muscles of my face are incapable of controlling the steady leaking of tears that run out of brimming eyes at the sadness that I see in fall pictures, two brothers walking together in the distance or a green tree behind a soon to be bare one. And I wonder at the swag I have on the basis of having done all this when I was 21. Of being left to fend for many, including myself.

My son explained some economic concepts to me yesterday on a short walk through Main Street where he used big words kindly to share his learning about how the actions of some affect the lives of others. I hear ya, kid.

And as I watch the flurries swirling this Saturday morning, I acknowledge the many parts of me that are jostling for attention in this busy life. I will get to you, I promise.

Until then, there's a fridge to clean, a plumber to call, a roofer to chase, marking to complete, transition plans to write.

I guess it is good, this busy-ness. It leaves less time to wallow. And even less time to bawl. I know that if I chose to do that, it would scare the kids and everyone else.

I am the Elder, I just have to lace up those winter boots and keep on walking.

In the face of death, there's the promise of life

On Saturday, my Pappa's teacher passed away. He was a brilliant mathematician and an ardent follower of the arts. He was also my uncle, in that special Amchi way where people know their roots are intertwined yet with the loss of one link, it is possible to lose a dropped thread into the ball of yarn.

I sit with a rapidly cooling cup of tea beside me. I am reflecting on the single thread that ties the grieving family with my own moment in December 2010: when one loves a parent deeply and completely, one does find the courage to say to them: you are tired now. It is okay if you want to go. I will always love you. Four years ago I had done that too. The relief that the one you love is not living a life trapped inside their failing body but is free of this cage to let their spirit soar with each sunrise is perhaps the most unselfish love of all.

What does it mean to live on the path set for me, for us? What does it mean to wake up and look for a familiar form, hear a beloved voice,in the neighbouring room, reach for the phone once a week or daily to chat? What does it mean to know that one is surrounded by people who love the departed as deeply and richly and are as evolved spiritually, to be there, unconditionally for one another. That perhaps is the lasting legacy.

Because that is not a given. Not all families stand strong after the pillar is gone. The glue dissolves and bits and pieces fall off. That is why that which is precious must be cherished.

And through the tears, we continue to reach out for those who love us and we cobble together our new normal. One where now, we are the elders. Amee chi mhalgadeen.

Fast forward to a time when our children will pay us tribute. May we make them as proud as our forefather and foremothers have made us.

On this heartheavy Sunday evening, my writing is not as coherent as I would like it to be. It will have to do. This is the way, of grieving, of reflecting. This is the way of giving thanks that I am fortunate enough to have lived in the same slice of time as the Elder we honoured today.

I must practise walking now, for that is indeed a tough act to follow.

The secret of growing sunflowers

The secret of growing sunflowers is the ability to believe: in the possibility that lies inside the hard coated seed, my own common sense and an inexplicable tenacity that doesn't let rodents, rain or reality ruin the results.

Before all else though, I guess it begins with a firm and unshakeable belief in possibilities. 

Broken stems do not decide the outcome of the blossom. 

You tie that stem to a strong support so that it bypasses the need for the broken stem. You look at the root bed and cover it with more soil, you water it, relentlessly love it and whisper to the whorl of leaves that tower our your head now: I know you're there. I know you got this. I got this too.  

You know I'm here and I believe you're going to be fine. And then one grey sky day the little curled up tendrils spring up and smile at the sun. 

I'm the proud mamma of a gorgeous sunflower that is sticking it's tongue out at the stem that gave up mid way through. I did this without you. I did this in spite of you. 

Yeah you. Yeah us! 

(C) 2014