Best Friends

I can't believe I saw my tears
Reflected in your eyes today
No one has cried with me, for me...
Just listening to what I had to say

You...

So many people
Around me
But not...
You...

And yet all I am
Or ...no....
Not all
But a good part of me....
My laughter, my kisses
My forgiveness, my courage
My children, my songs
Yes...
All the good parts are
You...

Not my dreams
For
They're but my own
But their languor
Their pulse
Their heated glow
What else is it...
But you...
Yes
All the good parts are
You...


Not my life
For
It is
But my own
But its breath, its breadth
Its rhythm
Its rhyme
Where else is it
But in you...

You...

And yet all there is
In this room
Is me
With all the good parts...
For you...

I saw you crying....

I saw you crying
Into your tiny arms
Looped around your father's neck
You did not like the shoes you said
But I heard something else instead
Don't leave me behind
Don't leave me today
Let me stay with you today
And forever
If you leave now
I won't see you till sunset
An eternity will pass
I will be older
How will you know me?
How will you find me?
Love me now
Let's go back home
Lets cuddle in bed
Or sleep instead
I am tired of leaving you
Just keep me with you
I'm only here awhile
A few blinks and
Poof! I will be gone
Soaring out into the wide wide world

And you will wonder
When did he grow up?

And I will say father,
In those busy moments
When you left me behind.

My darling Ma (published in Savadati)

Ma always takes a long time to fall asleep. She tosses and turns and fidgets forever.

Baba of course falls asleep at once. But I am not waiting for him. I want my Ma….

I have to be very careful. If I tiptoe in too soon she will chase me away. So I stand outside her door and wait patiently every night.

Tonight I have timed it right. I slide in right between them -onto the hard protruding edge where their wooden beds meet. It’s uncomfortable, but this is my usual spot.

I bury my face in ma’s breasts. I breathe in her cinnamon-spiced sweat. I press into her chest. She frowns and twists in her sleep.

I wriggle down to her stomach. It’s a band of warm chocolate brown above her saree. I press into it. I know I am pushing too hard. I know I am hurting her. But I press on.

And now Amma is crying. Baba shakes her awake. He is angry and tired.

Ma is trying to stifle her sobs. Baba is impatient and sleepy.

I slink out through the window into the moonlit night. I will wait again outside ma’s door tomorrow night. I am crying too.

I was your darling baby girl ma. How could you let them kill me?

Love Story

Nandini sits hunched over the wrought iron table. Her short brown hair is glowing softly under the late evening sun. You could get mesmerized by the rainbows in each strand if you stared too long. Its beginning to get chilly. But Nandini is oblivious. She is scribbling furiously, stopping only occasionally to wipe her sweaty hands on the hem of her denim shorts. Her smooth brown back is breaking out in goose bumps, barely covered by her spaghetti strap shirt.

Suddenly she pauses and reads through the paper with an intense scowl. By the time she reaches the end she is shaking her head in exasperation. With one swift move she tears up the paper and sits back with a groan.

“Love story. …. Love story……” she mutters, drumming her long fingers impatiently on the table top. “Where can I get one?”

Scraping back her chair, she saunters over to the edge of the balcony. Leaning over the iron rail she contemplates the world with a preoccupied air. The view from her townhouse is reasonably decent. She can see the gentle rolling hills of Palo Alto, covered with lush green grass, freckled with outcrops of strangely slanted trees growing out of hillsides. Snaking between them are the busy roads. Students….teachers…. lovers….. going to and fro from Stanford. Surely there must be a love story somewhere in there!

Absorbed as she is in her reverie, she doesn’t hear the click of keys at the front door as Ankit lets himself in. It’s been a long day at his start-up. He is glad to be home. She also misses the smile that breaks out in his eyes at the sight of her. Dropping his laptop bag at the door he tiptoes across the living room and then lithely crosses the balcony to plant a kiss on her tense neck.

“Aaaaeeeeeee!………Oh my God! Ankit!” gasps Nandini swiveling around. “You scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that ever again” she reproaches him, even as she plants a swift answer back onto his cheek; blissfully unaware of the contradiction presented by her grinning lips.

Ankit grins back unrepentantly.

“So ….how was your day?” he asks walking back towards the table littered with pens and papers, his eyes ruefully taking in the littered floor.

“Not good. I need to write a love story for my writer’s club. Where the hell do I get one?”

Ankit shrugs laconically.

Irritated by his lack of response, Nandini resumes her scowl and sits back down again. She drops her head into her hands, trying to refocus her concentration. Ankit eyes her slim stooped figure.

If Nandini looked up now, her heart would skip a beat at the tenderness in his expression. But all Ankit asks is “Why don’t you get a laptop like the rest of the world?”

Nandini throws him a withering look. “I need to THINK. If you can’t help, can you at least go away?”

Chuckling loudly, Ankit makes to go back into the house. At the door he throws out another question “Hey Nan, what should I make for dinner?”

“Oh just toss up some salad and maybe pasta?” she returns absent mindedly.

“OK” he waves over the back of his head, disappearing into the house.
Soon the kitchen is alive with sounds of cooking. Running water, clanging pots, clinking lids, pasta poured into a vessel, pasta spilling on the floor, the local radio channel blaring through it all. Exasperated Nandini gives up her efforts and leans back in her chair. She can see glimpses of Ankit moving around in the kitchen. It does feel good to have him around, she admits. Ankit fills the house in a way she never can. After spending the whole day in almost complete silence, her senses are slowly awakening- enticed by roasted garlic, wooed by golden nubile spaghetti.

“I am sorry I didn’t have it ready” she suddenly calls out.

“Hey! After five years I think I know what to expect!” he calls back, laughter distorting his voice.

“Yea! Yea!” she mocks. Then sobers down.

“Ankit?”

He appears at once, sensing the change in her mood.

“Ankit I got an interview call this morning. They have a temporary vacancy at a private clinic. It’s a group practice. They are looking for a pediatrician who can come in three times a week to fill in for someone who is …….”Nandini takes a deep breath “ …on maternity leave.”

Ankit’s expression is dead pan. “And…” he encourages her softly. “What did you decide?”

“I don’t know…..I don’t know Ankit. How can I?” Nandini’s voice is an anguished whisper. Their eyes are drawn simultaneously to the dusty blue teddy bear sitting in the potted tomato plant near the balcony’s rail. With synchronized movements, they both look back at each other again. And then Nandini is moving towards him, her eyes welling with tears. And Ankit’s arms are ready for her. For the next few moments the only sounds are Nandini’s soft sobs and Ankit’s gentle caresses.
The teddy bear is silent. Laden with a year’s worth of grief – and guilt- and dust. He sits quietly in the exact spot where Akshay dropped him a year ago, riddled with a coughing fit.

“How could I Ankit. How could I? I thought it was just a cold….just a cold….”

“Hush….I know jaan. I know….it’s over now. Let it go” croons Ankit.

Yes, it’s been a year. A year since Akshay fell fatally ill with a rare case of bacterial meningitis. A year since Nandini failed to diagnose it immediately. A year since they rushed their baby to the ER, burning with sudden fever. A year since they returned home with an empty car seat, to stare in dull shock at the blue teddy bear.

With visible effort Nandini pulls herself together- and away from Ankit’s arms.

“I know” she sniffs “I’m trying. I am. …..But…And this god damn story! Why the hell did I join this club??!!???”

Ankit is prepared for this mood swing. They both know why Nandini needs the distraction of a writing club. But he plays along. “Yes god damn writing club” he exclaims in mock fury. “Taking my wife away from me.”

He pulls her back into his embrace. He is a full head taller than her and has to stoop to kiss her lips. Eyes closed, lips locked, they sway in gentle rhythm until suddenly something tightens between them. Their touch is harder, rougher. There is a rush to their breath. He swings her up completely into his arms.

“Ankit, you are totally ruining my muse. Stop distracting me like this," she complains; but her eyes are heavy with desire.

His breath is labored too but he throws her a wink, smiling wickedly.“To hell with your muse,” he growls.

Then he is striding into the living room, laying her gently on the couch. And then striding back to draw the blinds.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I won’t follow them in. After all he just damned me to hell. But I can’t help smiling too. She will find me soon. I am not that far away……

MJ

Porus says there was nothing like him. Porus knows best.

My Distant Grace

In June 1998, I moved from New Delhi, India to America -irrevocably separating myself from my mother, uncles, aunts, friends and cousins. Since then, life has been a finely balanced act of blending the present with the distant. I discovered fairly quickly it’s easy as a customary weekly phone call – and yet as painful as an awkwardly silent phone line. It’s about realizing that a loved one’s life can and does move on without you, but it’s beautiful and important to be an audience to that change. It’s about sharing the responsibility of communication and not retreating into wounded silence if someone forgets your birthday. It’s about believing you are missed - even without the certainty of a physical hug or the reassurance of a loving look.

So, armed as I was with these brilliant insights and experience, you would think being away from my then-boyfriend and now- husband - would have been a breeze. Hah!

We met as graduate students in University of Florida, in 1999. A year-long separation occurred when he got a job in Chandler, Arizona and I got one in Princeton, New Jersey. Our time apart was fraught with tensions and tears. While I cannot recall any specific incident that rocked our relationship to the core, that year remains a not-so -pleasant blur of nagging arguments, unspoken fears and gut-wrenching farewells. A missed or delayed phone call would whip me into cold fury; a terse tone was interpreted as indifference; any sign of pre-occupation was attributed to fading interest; waving goodbye at the end of a stolen weekend would reduce me to weeping hysteria……the list can go on. You get the picture. Thankfully, the ordeal ended soon enough. We got married and I moved to Arizona. And lo! And behold! I was transformed!

But I often wonder. What was so different about this relationship that I could not nurture it from a distance like I do so many others? How is it that we remain peacefully in love with our parents, siblings, children and friends even after years of separation- but flounder hopelessly within days of separating from our husbands, boyfriends or partners? Is it that this manifestation of love is deeply grounded in physical intimacy? Or is it that the distance demands loyalty and morality beyond human endurance? Or is it simply that boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives are far more easily replaced than sisters, mothers, fathers or sons? If the last is true, then was it fear that spurred my actions? Did I fear rejection? Did I dread being left behind as his life raced on? I don’t know… I don’t have answers…. just quick silver questions stoking my conscience.

But I do have hope. I hope that after all these ruminations, if I am ever tested again, I will finally accord this relationship the same faith and grace I have offered to all other long distance relationships in my life. I hope so for me- and you.

Do I?

Lazy, exacting, judgemental, cloying, unpleasant, unforgiving.
Do I like you?
Hell - NO!!!!!!!!

When...

When a child cries
Its important to know why

Vaidehi (published in Savadati)

I enter our apartment and toss my keys down on the elephant-shaped side table. I have just dropped off Vaidehi at the San Francisco International airport. I pour my customary glass of scotch and let myself out onto the front deck. The apartment is unbearable.

Vaidehi and I met twenty-two years ago. It was a chance meeting in a coffee shop. I was reading Virgina Woolf, she stopped to comment on it - and stayed chatting for three hours. She was a first-year undergrad in Berkely, California. I was a Doctoral student. She was so utterly beautiful! Her eyes alight with smiles. Her long dark brown hair silkier than sweating coffee beans. It was all I could do to not stare hungrily. Suddenly, half-rising, she had kissed me full on my lips. I was shocked. Certainly not what I had expected from an undergrad clad in a demure salwar kameez, with a pink bindi to boot! She had smiled back at me with wicked delight. And that was the start of our relationship. The first of many instances when Vaidehi would gracefully flex my perceptions.

We became inseparable - an official couple on campus. Born and brought up in Berkeley, I was completely at home. But she hailed from Hyderabad, Andhra Pradesh, India. An only child of fairly well-to-do parents, she had been entrusted to a family friend (also a senior in her department) and sent abroad for higher studies. Needless to say, by now she was not on speaking terms with that friend - or with most of her Indian friends for that matter. She must have suffered countless jokes and jeers. I say ‘must have’ because I never heard about them. She flicked them all off with a toss of her long hair.

Informing our parents was solely Vaidehi’s idea. I did not see the need.

She first sent a letter to her mother and father. It sank wordlessly into the enormous void separating them. She then tried calling repeatedly; repeatedly they left her calls unanswered. Finally, her father sent an e-mail - she must leave me and Berkeley, return home and marry her uncle’s son in Hyderabad; otherwise she would be ostracized. That is the only time I ever saw her falter. It was as fast as two rapid blinks of her moist brown eyes and then she resolved things with typical passionate logic. Had he only asked her to leave me, she could have forgiven him that. But his remaining conditions were beyond forbearance.

Next we tried my parents. They lived in Palo Alto. Both were professors of modern literature at Stanford. She was delighted when in answer to our e-mail, they invited us over to dinner.

But I was filled with dread.

We dined with them on a crisp Saturday evening in October. I dressed in my usual black jeans and shirt. But Vaidehi chose a light green chiffon saree. Her hair lay open, swaying lithely when she walked. She added a slim gold chain, small gold studs and one gold bangle. She looked impossibly delicious.

As soon as we entered my house, she touched my parents’ feet. She smiled at my father and thanked him for having us over. Then with unflappable calm she linked arms with my mother and sashayed off to the kitchen. Soon we could hear gentle giggles assaying from within. My father and I stared at the floor in awkward silence. My parents had not known what to make of me for a long time. For my part, I had spent considerable energy snubbing them into silence. Yet there we were, watching my girlfriend woo my mother. Seeking approval…even acceptance. The evening climaxed when Vaidehi acknowledged that understandably our relationship must have been a shock, but we hoped they would accept us and let us be one family. Mr. and Mrs. Chakraborty, my distinguished parents, positively beamed us out of the room with their smiles. I drove home furious. “You gave in! You showed me down!” I kept shouting at her over and over again. “No” she said, serenely confident. “Sometimes it’s ok to give in.”

And so the years passed. I earned my Doctoral degree in Child Psychology and was offered a teaching post at a community college. Vaidehi also completed her Bachelors then Masters in Information Management and Systems. We settled into jobs and life was replete with everyday cares.

It was around this time that Vaidehi started chatting with a young Indian woman, Shivani, who had moved into the apartment below us. Shivani was a Journalism student by day and a waitress by night. It took us two months to realize Shivani was pregnant. And another two months to realize she was painfully alone.

I watched with silent anxiety as Vaidehi became increasingly attached to Shivani. We were childless. A fact that Vaidehi and I had accepted. But now I worried Vaidehi was pouring her expectations into Shivani’s womb. Sure enough, Shivani offered us her baby the minute he was born. I was aghast. But a look of utter understanding passed between Shivani and Vaidehi. Neither was doing any favors. Shivani had no means of supporting the baby. (She had separated from an abusive boyfriend). Vaidehi was only too delighted to accept the baby. However, none of us wanted to go through the red tape of an actual adoption. So we worked out an informal arrangement by which Shivani stayed around to sign off on official documents etc. But the baby, Kedar, lived with us. Vaidehi devoted herself to being a mother. At first I mocked her, and then humbled, I allowed myself to be sucked in as well. Soon the three of us were family.

One day, about six months later, out of the blue, Vaidehi got it in her head that if she could just get her parents to see Kedar, things would fall in place. I felt motherhood had softened her. Hmph! I scoffed. But then I remembered sometimes it’s ok to give in.

So we flew to Hyderabad; all four of us- Shivani, me, Kedar and Vaidehi. Of course we were greeted by a silent, locked door. We sat in front of that door the whole day. Finally Vaidehi shuffled to her feet. I wanted to tear down that door and shoot them all.

And that’s when we realized Kedar had fever.

Stifling our guilt, we rushed to the R___ L___ hospital. At the entrance I grabbed a registration form and started filling it out. I was brought up short at the second line itself. It asked for the father’s name. Point blank. There was no option for “mother” or “guardian”. I crossed out ‘father’, wrote in ‘mother’ and after a slight pause filled in Shivani’s name. I quickly filled out the rest of the form and handed it in. A red pen ran down the form and made a big circle around Shivani’s name. We don’t need mother’s name here, said a masculine voice. We need father’s name. But he does not live with us, he does not even know the baby, I explained. Never mind, came the retort in impatient tones. The baby has a father right? Give me his name…..and the pen hovered over the form. Did I imagine the mockery in the voice? I opened my mouth to argue, when someone intercepted. It was Vaidehi. “Sir” she clipped, “this baby needs help. Get him help now. His father does not care if he lives or dies, and you want his name over his mother’s who carried him for 9 months? How about we put in your name- how about that?”

I stepped aside and watched the fireworks. Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned! The poor man stood no chance. He retreated and fetched his manager – who was also lambasted by Vaidehi. The manager now rushed to get his senior manager. Oh boy! We really raised a stink that day! It was the four of us ranged against a veritable army of pot-bellied, pompous old men. Finally a senior doctor suggested we could write the father’s name and the mother’s name. His suggestion was greeted with a great roar of approval - clearly everyone was impressed by his brilliance. We finally gave up.

But I remember a nurse who smiled and stuck her thumb up at me, signaling victory. I also remember my sadness at her gesture.

In the end, it turned out Kedar only had a minor heat stroke. Much relieved, we cut our trip short and returned home.

My world has turned many times since. Memories cartwheel around my head like tumbleweeds……

Vaidehi cheering at Shivani’s graduation, Vaidehi puzzling over Kedar’s assignments, Vaidehi beaming at an unexpected promotion, Vaidehi laughing at my first (and only) attempt at wearing a saree, Vaidehi marching to protest the Iraq war, Vaidehi buying a hand fan to celebrate my first hot flash, Vaidehi accepting Shivani’s move to Boston, Vaidehi quietly acquiescing when Kedar followed suit.

And more recently- Vaidehi stunned to receive a call from her newly widowed mother… Vaidehi disappointed by my cold silences…Vaidehi sobbing quietly in bed last night……

And finally, Vaidehi departing for India today.... without a backward glance.....

Draining my glass, I come back in and start my laptop. I pull up the screen for Singapore Airlines and click on the tab ‘flights and fares’.

Departure city: San Francisco. Destination city: Hyderabad.

It’s time to let my world turn again. Sometimes it’s ok to give in.

Krishna

Krishna Nee Begane Baro

Krishna......Krishna.......
I never tire of singing your name
Tasting it over and over again
I sit drenched and drunk
Your name spilling over my unsteady lips....

Sing to me, play to me, play on me Krishna
With soft golden notes splay open my soul
Absorb me, cherish me, nourish me Krishna
There's not much left here for me to behold

Deceptions

An outright lie is a welcome deception.
Beware instead of secret dreams, of a sidelong glance, of a sudden double-take, of a whispered name.
Silvery, slippery veils of deception. Baring both - the deciever and the decieved.

Laundry

I wish my life was
Like my dirty laundry
Happily blooming
Without qualm or quandary

Saagar Manthan (The Churning of the Oceans)

The Hindu mythology tells the story of Saagar Manthan (The Churning of the Oceans). Once upon a time gods and demons came together and churned the milky oceans to find the elixir of life. Through that churning were born many things- great and small, noble and vile. Such is our life.

My Churning

For the first time in my life I am a stay-at-home mom. I have no classes to rush to, no meetings to attend, no paychecks coming in my name. Some days I wonder why I did not do this earlier. Other days I want to find a shrink and get my head examined.

I worked as a market researcher in the pharmaceutical industry for the past 9 years (since Jan 2000) – and 8 of those 9 years I worked from home. This industry thrives on the East coast, especially in the New Jersey/New York area. But my husband was based on Chandler, Arizona. So telecommuting was a good compromise as we began our married life in December 2000. I considered it a temporary arrangement while I settled down in Chandler. The plan was to find an on-site job within a year or so. But inertia set in and I decided to let things ride for some time. Soon we decided to have our first baby. Advait was born on August 5th 2003. After his birth, telecommuting became a logical solution to managing a baby and still keeping a full-time job. Advait did go to daycare but only for 3-4 hours. My husband had a 10 minute commute so he could drop him off late in the mornings and I worked East coast hours so I could wrap up by 3PM PST. I could earn a six-figure salary and still be home with my son by 4PM.

I should have been happy. But I was restless.

I was the only telecommuter in my office and was passed over for promotions again and again. I saw others who had joined the company at the same time as me rise up to managerial positions. I watched my husband flourish at his job and get promotions two years in a row. One a more emotional level I envied my friends who dressed up each morning and walked out of the house. I hung onto every story they regaled about fantastic social events happening in their office. I also tolerated endless jokes about people who ‘worked from home.’ I patiently pointed out my generous salary to friends and family who were not quite sure what I did at home. And to stop work at 3PM, I had to actually start working by 5AM! Not an easy task with a little one in tow.

All in all, I worked myself up into solid discontent.

So we decided we would move to California. We felt this would not only be good for Advait since we have lots of family in California but would also be a great move for our careers. The Silicon Valley is the final frontier for my husband who works in the computer industry and I had renewed hopes of getting a full-time on-site job in San Francisco, which cradles most bio-tech companies.

And that’s when we discovered we were expecting our second child. Torn between laughter and tears we postponed our plans for another year and settled down to welcome Vedant.

Vedant was born on November 15th, 2005. We spent an idyllic year in Chandler after his birth. I needed to get back to work but we could now afford a full-time nanny, Shawna, who also helped around the house. Shawna and I became very good friends. It was wonderful to have someone to chat with during breaks. It was equally wonderful to hear Vedant gurgling and playing downstairs all day. People told me I was lucky. Indeed I must have been. But at heart I was still restless.

And so in November of 2006 we moved to California, San Ramon.

Our family welcomed us with open arms. The kids were now 1 and 3 years old. Neither of them were babies. I felt the most challenging part of parenting was behind us. After all we were finally sleeping through the nights (yes I can see experienced parents laughing right now!). I felt I could now put the kids in daycare and get out of the house. I found a new job with great ease. It was another company on the East coast so I still worked from home for the most part but they had a West coast team as well. So there was the promise of flying out for onsite meetings, driving to San Francisco for client meetings, travelling to conferences for important presentations. I was given the title of Associate Vice President of West Coast research. I was on a high! I discovered I excelled at client servicing. Every project I touched turned to gold- we got repeat business, new business, glowing referrals. My team was on a roll and I was in the driver’s seat.

But now the hours got longer. And the work became high pressure. With all this responsibility came impossible deadlines and enormous amounts of politics. Having worked almost solo for almost 6 years, I was blown away by the ugly e-mails, friction filled meetings and barbed back-biting. And as the year progressed I realized I was still very much treated as a telecommuter- the only difference was we were now 3 of us on the West coast- all ignored by the main mother ship. So I was restless again! This is bad I finally cried to my husband one night. All this politics! No training. No development. And still sitting at home! I really hated it when friends caught up with me after years of silence and started their greeting with ‘Hi! Still working from home?’

So once again things were in a flux. I quit this job and within a week I had another one at hand. That was certainly a great boost for my ego! And this time, it was a truly an on-site, full time position in San Francisco. In fact I went from no commute to an almost 2 hour commute each way. I had a 20 minute drive to the BART station, then a 45 minute ride into the city, then another 20 minute ride by MUNI to my office. And god forbid if I missed any connecting train, things could get really crazy.

In the mornings I left for work before anyone was up. On good days I could get back in time to pick my children up from daycare by 6:30 PM, but on most days I just managed to get back home in time to tuck them into bed. At office things were more hectic than ever. This new job was with a consulting firm vs. a traditional market research firm. To the uninitiated, let me explain, there is a world of difference between the two. The former has crazier deadlines, works 24 hours around the clock- and has a do-it-all-yourself structure – which basically means there is no team to hand off any phase of your project work. I was also relegated to being behind a desk most of the times vs. servicing clients, which I loved best and really excelled at. And to top it all, it was a start-up with a current staff of three young earnest girls. There was no talk or laughter during the day. All of us sat in our cubicles working furiously for hours until it was time to go home; There was no fancy social life as I had imagined. I also felt awkward leaving the office at 6 PM. The other girls came in before me by 7AM and left after me at 10 PM. They were young, single and without kids. I felt like an old Cadillac trying to race against two hip Mustangs!

Did I not know what I was heading into? Of course I had an inkling! But I was so delighted at the prospect of finally stepping out, that I ignored every word of caution uttered by any well-wisher. At that time I was determined to succeed. I actually lasted all of 4 months.

Meanwhile my husband, who worked the same hours as I did, put away his laptop on most evenings and took charge of the house. While I fretted and fumed over a report due the next day, he fed the kids dinner. While I typed up a client response, he read them stories. While I finally dropped into bed exhausted, he cleaned away the kitchen and planned next morning’s breakfast. Even on the weekends as I worked and worked, he took the kids to swim classes, cooked Sunday brunches and played with them all day. And never once did I hear him complain. He understood this was important to me - and accepted it peacefully.

But now in my heart reared something more powerful and painful than any discontent I had ever experienced before. I hated being away from my kids day after day. I missed their faces in the mornings. I missed their hugs in the afternoons. I was absent from their school parties, I could not take them to play dates anymore. We only had weekends in which to cram in homework, co-curricular classes as well as precious family time. All the things I had taken for granted earlier, were now so difficult to accomplish! Our house was running purely on my husband’s ability to sustain.

The final straw came, with diabolic luck, on the day I was slated for my 3-month review. It was the meeting in which I would be accorded permanent employee status. Just as I pulled out of the garage at 5:30 AM, Advait came running out of the house. He was bawling his head off. I leapt out of my car in alarm. I just want to see you, I just want to see you, he cried, hugging me tight. How I got to the office that day, I do not know. I cried and howled all morning and in the review I acknowledged things did not look too good. And finally two weeks later I resigned from my job. That was February 2009.

Right around the time I resigned I got another rude shock. I attended back-to-back parent teacher meetings for both my kids. Teachers at both schools remarked on their lack of self-discipline, their rowdy behavior and their restless attitudes. Take him home earlier, urged my younger one’s pre-school teacher. Let him be with you, let him be in the house around you. She was asking me to calm him down.

I was angry and resentful. There are so many kids in daycare! They all looked fine to me! And in response the teacher said something I will never forget- Yes there are, she said. But we are talking about your child and what he needs.

My husband and I thought things over. We knew one of us needed to slow down- the kids needed us. After much soul searching I decided I should step up to the plate. So I postponed my job hunt. For the first time ever I focused on my children with complete attention. I reduced their daycare hours and established firm routines for work and play. I let them do chores around the house and worked with their teachers to define a system of daily checks and rewards. I served them milk as they played outside; I gave them time outs when they broke house rules. At first my children were decidedly confused. They were not sure what to do around me or the house. Then with enviable equanimity, they quickly adjusted and welcomed me home.

And lo! Suddenly! I was at peace.I did not know I could be this content. I was hugely astonished. And not a little dismayed and ashamed! Growing up in a staunchly feminist household, this was the last thing I imagined would give me comfort. I worried about my family's reaction, I feared my friends' ridicule. And then I think with wisdom born of despair, if not experience, I decided, for once, to follow my heart. At stake was not just my pride or sanity- it was my family's peace and happiness. It was time to give back a little of what I had taken from them over the past two years of constant turmoil.

So now I don’t know what the future holds. I certainly don’t wish for a full-time job that will pull me away from my kids again. It’s a joy to see them happy and relaxed instead of being hurried to daycares and back! Perhaps I will get a part-time job. Perhaps I will go back to school for higher studies. Perhaps I will do no more (and no less) than manage my house and kids, full-time.

While all this mulling hasn’t got me an answer yet, it has certainly given me some insights. I call them my emerging elixir.

My Emerging Elixir

To understand and accept- I finally understand and accept that I have responsibilities more demanding than any corporate job and more urgent than any personal ambition. It takes a lifetime of hard work to raise decent, healthy children. I cannot and should not hope to switch off anytime soon. I also accept that everyone’s life flows in different patterns and at different speeds. Every family has their own needs; every child has his/her requirement, every person has their own distinct desire and destiny. I must never, ever forget that. Just because most people behave in a certain way, does not automatically make it the best choice for every individual. I must never hesitate to go off the beaten path if I truly think it’s the better one.

I also understand and accept that what I am today is not necessarily what I will be tomorrow or what I was in the past. We are all forever morphing; our motives, priorities, fears, desire, ambitions, needs are all ever-changing. It’s important to accept that change and allow it. It’s important to not box yourself into stereotypical roles and saddle yourself with lifelong labels. Life churns constantly- we respond to each situation like a chameleon changes colors. No color is ever permanent- but all colors are beautiful. Enjoy the color you are today- and don’t worry you are stuck with it for life. You will likely change color pretty soon- even if by just a shade.

To appreciate: I now take time to appreciate. I appreciate my life. I am grateful I have the luxury to make errors and rectify them; I am thankful I always have a choice. There are millions who live lives forced by circumstances; who don’t have a choice regarding which path they tread; who don’t have children to love and protect; who don’t have marriages replete with unfaltering loyalty and respect. How did I forget to be thankful for all that I have?

To trust and be patient: So far life has not brought me a single moment that has been utterly destructive. Even in my darkest moments I have been granted strength and compassion. Life has taught me to trust her- and trust her I will! So even when the benefits are not obvious or immediate, I must be patient and persist with the right actions,trusting that things will always work out. Life shifts patterns relentlessly, falling into alternating tableaus of hope and despair. We should try to play along, trusting that the scene will change again soon.

All right! I think I have said enough. I am going to sign off now- with one last thought. I spent a lot of time worrying over what was important to me. The day I changed tracks and thought instead about who was important to me, things became much simpler, if not easier.

Happy Hours

Happy Hours was my brain child. Well, the idea was mine, but the name was Yasmin’s genius. What kind of a twisted mind names a childcare facility Happy Hours?

This should have been warning enough.

Yasmin and I arrived in San Berman, California about 11 months ago. It’s a beautiful little county- a poor man’s Switzerland if you will. Rolling green hills, picture perfect clouds, cool crisp winds. The population is predominantly young Asian families spawned by the Silicon Valley nearby.

Perfect!

We rented a 2200 square foot ranch style house in an old neighborhood, near a first class elementary school. The realtor shook her head in sympathy as I exclaimed over the steep rent. But the house was so perfect! It had a beautiful stucco façade, graceful palms in the front and delicate pink roses in a sprawling backyard. The house was L-shaped with three bedrooms at the back, a double-car garage and two full bathrooms. The living and dining areas formed the front of the house, the shorter arm of the L.


We loved it that the bedrooms were set away from the street.

After six months of frenzied cleaning and unpacking, at last things looked ready for launch. I went online and put out an ad. It highlighted my status as a former pediatric RN. It also candidly acknowledged that Happy Hours did not have a license-as yet. However we begged parents to give us a chance. In return we offered personal one-on-one care, fresh home- cooked meals and snacks-at prices significantly lower than other daycares. We even waived the diaper-stocking fee and security deposits for the first few parents that signed up with Happy Hours. We advertised for babies between 6 months to about a year-and-a half old.

We did not have to wait too long. Within three days we got our first call from Mrs. Valgapalli. She turned out to be a pleasant young thing of twenty-five – who asked me to call her Sumeeta. Sumeeta’s daughter-Nisha- was 8 months old. She had wide black eyes, curly black hair and dimpled black skin. I almost drooled at the sight of her. So perfect! Perfect! Perfect!

Sumeeta had a thick Indian accent. Apparently she had arrived in California only a year ago. In fact, she was married only about 18 months ago! And now she had this baby in a strange land, with an almost equally strange husband. She was overwhelmed. Tired. She hadn’t slept well in days. Sumeeta’s husband worked in the Silicon Valley and could not fathom what his wife was supposed to do if the baby was in a daycare. He also failed to understand why he had to shell out enormous amounts of money for this luxury. To top it all, Sumeeta could not drive. How was she supposed to get to and from a daycare? So things looked quite bleak until Sumeeta chanced upon my ad. The location was close enough for her to walk over. But more importantly, the rates were perfect.

I hid my smile.

Sumeeta was a diligent mother. Why is the price so low, she wondered? I assured her it was a promotional stint. The fees would soon be raised to match other centers – but I promised to keep them lower for her as the first parent to sign-up. I could see Sumeeta’s eyes sparkle at the thought of bringing home a good deal to her husband.


Bulls eye !!! exclaimed Yasmin.

Sumeeta then spent an hour checking around the house. She checked the backyard. She requested the weekly menu and inspected the kitchen closely. She went into the bedrooms lined with clean little playpens and checked the linen and the ventilation. She was about to pronounce herself satisfied when she spotted the door at the end of the narrow hallway. She turned to me, clearly expecting to be shown that room too.

I was caught off guard. But Yasmin stepped in seamlessly.

It’s the door to our bedroom, gushed Yasmin. Would Sumeeta like to see it? I walked purposefully towards it, but Sumeeta backed away with a laugh. No need she waved. How could she broach my privacy? She pronounced herself satisfied and signed the papers. Nisha would be dropped off the coming Monday- three days from now. She was scheduled to come for three full days every week, 9-5PM.

Just as she was leaving I remembered. Sumeeta, I called, here take these. I thrust the slim green folder into her hand. This has a couple of letters of recommendations and my RN license number, I explained. Sumeeta smiled as she flipped through it while holding the baby awkwardly in one hand. Excellent, she said and thanked me.

I was uneasy about this. One attempted call and it would be all over. But Yasmin was elated. She's like that, my Yasmin. Such a thrill freak.

The next call was from Mrs. Cairns. She was calling to confirm if the price was really as low as advertised online. Did we have any openings? I took the call and informed her we had already reached our capacity. Yes, yes, we were already full! Mrs. Cairns hung up sounding disappointed.

Well done,said Yasmin.

That afternoon we got another visitor. Sudhir walked in unannounced with a whimpering six-month old boy. The boy had startlingly light eyes and silky brown hair. He was referred to us by Sumeeta. He came alone, clutching a messy diaper bag. Sudhir did not offer details about his wife but said he needed help for a couple of months till his parents arrived from India. The baby whimpered again. Sudhir shifted the baby uncomfortably from arm to arm and asked to see our license. It should be here soon, I assured him. He looked unconvinced. Clearly he was not used to picking daycares and the lack of a formal license was not a good start at all. I think he would have left, when by some stroke of luck, the boy started bawling and screaming in full earnest. Sudhir was completely flustered. I jumped into action. Within minutes I had Sudhir seated and the boy cuddling against me sipping warm milk from a freshly sterilized bottle. Slowly Sudhir relaxed and his face lit up with grateful relief. We chatted idly as the child quietened down. Sudhir was amazed how the child took to me and remarked perhaps he thought I was his mother. I looked so much like her with my long brown hair and wheat colored complexion. I smiled back at Sudhir with easy familiarity. Once the child was sleeping, Sudhir took the perfunctory tour, grabbed the slim green folder and quickly signed all necessary papers. Stuffing his copy of the agreement into the diaper bag he told me this had been the first of 5 centers he had planned to visit that day. But now he had the entire afternoon free to catch up on important office work. It was an omen of good things to come, he smiled.

Indeed chuckled Yasmin.

Don't forget to get the immunization records on Monday I called after him.

We did not get any more calls or visits over the weekend. We were wondering whether to move forward with the two children in hand ......

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is 7AM Monday morning. Our doorbell is ringing.

Confused, I open the door to find a big brown man blocking the doorway. Behind him there is a petite woman wrapped in a flowery saree. The woman is cradling a baby boy about six months old. The man-Mr. Karanidhara- is walking into the middle of our living room. Are the rates as advertised? He is fairly yelling his question at me. I find myself nodding. The woman looks embarrassed. She wants to tour the facility. She looks so dumb and harmless. I tell her to go ahead.

Do we really offer fresh meals and snacks at no extra cost, the man hollers again. I am beginning to get angry. Yasmin steps in. She nods. Can the child start right away? Again Yasmin nods. Am I really a pediatric nurse who can handle a medical emergency? Yasmin is nodding again politely. The man relaxes and smiles. Good! Good! He booms. Good fresh food is necessary for young brain to develop, he pronounces. And the rates! The rates of course! He laughs loudly.

The man owns a jewelery shop in the strip mall two streets down. He has fired his assistant just the night before. Going online to place an ad for a replacement, he chanced upon my ad. That gave him an idea. If we have an opening, his plan is to get his wife to help out for some time. Our location is perfect and the rates are an added advantage. Of course if he had been looking for something more permanent, he would have done a lot more searching and thinking, but hopefully the boy would be here for only a week or two. Would that be all right with us? Yasmin is getting impatient as well, but she nods.

Good! Good! he booms again. Then as as an afterthought he asks if we have any other Indian kids in the daycare. Yes, we have two other children, both Indian, I chime in. He looks delighted.

And so we remain talking in the hallway waiting for his wife.

Suddenly there is a slight disturbance behind us. The woman has crossed the hallway into my bedroom. Flushing with anger I rush after her, but she is already inside. I find her looking over the room with idle curiosity, her eyes only briefly resting on the framed photo and the newspaper clipping. I send her out and take deep breaths.

I come out of the bedroom to find the couple in whispered conference. The father turns around with an apologetic smile. I am sorry says he in his oily voice. Vibha,my wife here, wants to know who that baby is in that photo frame. He pauses delicately, but I stare back in silence. I am so sorry, so sorry he continues hastily. Not our business he says. He yells at Vibha in some foreign dialect. She looks suitably chastened and apologizes to me in turn. Now we are all shaking hands and I hand over the papers necessary to finalize daycare arrangements. Vibha promises to bring over the required medical records the next day.

And then, at last, it is time for them to leave.

Now I am ushering them outside. Their boy, Shankar, is in my arms.

We reach the front gate just in time to greet Sudhir and Sumeeta on their way in. I motion them to go in while I wave farewell to Mr. Karanidhara. There is a brief delay as he hunts for his keys and another 10 minutes pass before he is able to extract his car sandwiched behind Sudhir’s truck. But finally they are gone.

I turn around and am surprised to see Sumeeta and Sudhir are already coming back out. They have left the packed diaper bags on the dining table along with the immunizaton records and tucked the sleeping babies into their tiny sleeping cots. Both are running late for personal appointments and promise to call me in the afternoon.

As Sudhir’s car purrs out of sight, the street descends into utter silence.

I have locked the gates and am strolling back in now.

But before I go.... I am going to tell you.

The clipping’s headline proclaims “Shoot out at happy hour kills local barman and baby.” The article goes onto describe how a drunken Indian man opened fire during happy hour at a local bar in Indiana. He was apparently suffering from depression. Apparently a victim of the crashing automobile industry. As most patrons rushed out in panic, the man leaned over the counter and shot the barman trapped behind it. He also ignored the barman’s plea and first shot his baby.

The article does not describe the terror in the barman’s voice - but I know it. I heard it. I was there, hiding behind the old jukebox. It had been my idea to visit Sam on the way to Turan’s daycare. My hand clamped tight over my mouth as the first bullet entered my baby’s head. I think I fainted as the second one pierced my husband’s heart. Actually I am not very clear on what really happened. I know I made it out of that bar only because Yasmin took charge. At least that's what the psychiatrist says. Logical, he says, since she was the only one to stand by me when my parents got divorced.

Yasmin died 7 years ago in a car crash.

The article, of course, does not mention any of this. It does mention though, that the Indian pleaded temporary insanity and filed bankruptcy.

And the forty-three year old widower moved out of town.

Now go! I need to lock the front door. No you can't follow me in. Husshhhhhhh!! QUIET!!! ...Yasmin is singing...

"Three little babies lying on their bed, one fell down and now he's...."

THE END

Yanni

I like Yanni. There I admitted it out loud. Now what? How uncool am I?

3D sidewalk chalks and paints

Seriously????? 3D sidewalk chalks and paints??? The world is ending. In 3D.

Request

Dear God, I know this is you working through my kids - teaching me with innocence and love what my parents could not teach through discipline and rules. But can we go easy on the experiments?

May 1

Its May 1.

Advait reminded me.

I told him it is your birthday.

He said "But he is dead."

I have to agree. All evidence supports this conclusion. You are absent in form, spirit and even memory. When you are gone from memory-you are indeed dead.

I was shutting the door on you fast when Advait intercepted.

"How old would he have been today?"

"I don't know. Sixty or seventy something." I hazarded. I felt a sharp stab.


"Did you cry when he died?"

I nodded.

He looked intently at my face. Thats a perceptive child I tell you. At -6 my glasses are not easy to penetrate. But he did it. He saw my eyes.

"How did he die? Did he catch a cold?"

"No he fell sick and they took him to the hospital and he died." I said

"Did they try and try and try to save him? Like ET?" Effectively mixing ET and your dramatic death forever.

I nodded again.

"That's just like AShley's grandpa. He smoked. And he died. And she cried a lot."

I turned away "He smoked too" I said abruptly.

"But you are grown-ups. You know how to take care of yourself."

Boy! you would think so!!

"You are lucky! You still have you mom" he said.

Gosh! This child does not pull his punches.Can't he let me wallow for a while?

Advait came closer and hugged me. "What if Appa dies?"

"Don't worry he won't" I lied.

"Ok what if you die?" he persisted.

"Well what will you do then?"

"Don't worry mom. Appa will take care of me."

And thats that. That's all there is to it. Advaita - we are all one. No one indespensible.

But today for a tiny tiny moment, Papa, you felt indespensible.

Cheers!!!! may the best scotch reach you up there in heaven or down there in hell- wherever dads go without giving proper notice.

Riyaaz

She sang every afternoon. In the dry dusty heat of Delhi. She sang in a tan-colored room. Patterned curtains closed against the sun. Windows open in the hopes of a breeze. She sang to Bhairav and Bhairavi, she cuddled Yaman. She lingered over Khamaj and fancied the Bihaag. But most of all she sang to that shadow that stopped under her window. Every day at 3 PM. A figure right under her window that she could not see. That she spotted only as a shadow cast against the tarmac. That she noticed by chance when reaching for a sheet drying over the rails two weeks ago. That shadow appeared everyday. She would pause in the middle of her riyaaz and quietly tiptoe out to check and then tiptoe back. And resume singing. And when she stopped at 4PM the shadow would be gone. She did not wish to confront. But who can curb a young heart's fantasy? And soon her notes flew from her to that shadow - pure, golden notes carrying her youthful crush, resonant with hours of riyaaz. And now she sang of Krishna playing holi. She described the torment of unrequited love. She wove dreams into taranas. And all the while her heart bloomed. Her voice carrying a sweetness that no teacher could bequeath - that scorched her mother's heart. That scorned the hearts of dry dozing housewives. That burned into the minds of stern old men lounging in front of TVs. It burst through the sleep of slumbering toddlers and beckoned them with foreign urgency. It stirred passion in docile housemaids. It reminded the watchmen of their youthful dreams of glory.

And they all cried STOP! For the love of god STOP!


She was 19. Her name was ....Riyaaz.

Once upon a shower

As I showered today
In misty hot water
The sill of the window
Did cause me to totter
There lying quite still
In a tranquil heap
Was a tiny mosquito
In soundless sleep
I peered intently
So difficult to tell
Death from slumber
But I did it well
Why it is quite dead
Not asleep at all
I thought to myself
And made a wise call
I turned away softly
Letting it be
If thats what it wanted
What is it to me?

Tendrils

I stepped out of the rat race- into my house - to create a home. And ironically I detect a loss of my sanity within this peace. Without the experience of a struggle, the mind is fogged by peace, my heart is riddled with attachments. When I slow down to really view life, I realize how utterly beautiful she is. How gorgeous is every second spent alive.
So how do I love my children - and not fear death? How do I live with a loving husband - and not fear loss? What is this about life that every turn is full of conundrums? Little ironical twists that have me plunging my innards for rationality, equanimity, humor, courage. I am told to stand in the midst of this tempest- clothes billowing, hair streaming- but not blink!
A while ago I could have honestly say I did not fear death. That I did not dread my absence, I did not cringe at nights. Now I feel tendrils all around me curling, tightening, lulling my awareness, dulling my alertness. Fragrant tendrils of decieving sweetness.
Perhaps life is so full of care, because if you do stop and stare- the withering rose can break your heart.

Thinking idly.....

Was I tricked into life? By a charming cheating God?
Or was I bullied down by an enraged deity?
Or did I choose to arrive and someone waved fond farewell?
I wish I knew.
So I could move on with living.
Know its pointlessness or appreciate its significance.
All this mystery.
Do I own it or does it own me?
Perhaps it was conspired by the sky, so occassionally we stare up in wonder.
Or by the oceans, so we search their depths with keen eyes.
Or by babies, so we are full of wonder at their birth.
So in the end do we resign or get the pink slip?

Vedant-ism

Mommy! I only think in school! (in response to what are you thinking?)


That cloud is not happy (pointing to a black rain cloud)


No! My poo poo is inside my butt (when asked if he has had a poopy accident)

Pink sunrise

How wonderful, wonderfully peaceful are my days.
Brimming with contentment.
I am bursting to write.
Wax poetic, spurt effusive.
Alas! my words don't flow when my cup overflows.
I am smiling at this screen.
No torment to denote.
No conflict to resolve.
Just butterfly kisses and sunrise tickled pink.
How wonderful, wonderfully peaceful are my days.

Travel

I don't know where I am headed, but am sure as hell enjoying the ride

45 minutes

My Dear Friend

I spent 45 minutes with you today
Over the phone
We connected.
Our voices echoed
Entwining, recognizing
Laughing, empathizing
Just 45 minutes
To affirm my faith
Polish my viewpoints
To stop second-guessing
To stop spiralling with self-doubt.
Just 45 minutes on the phone with you
Is all it took.
How do you do it?
How do you say just the right things? In just the right words?
I don't need to know...
Just do what you do-
My dear, dear friend.

Its a small world

A little boy lived on the slopes of a rolling green hill.And all over were even more green hills. They swelled and dipped cheerfully all around his house.On sunny days white cotton clouds would saunter by the hills. The little boy would lie back on the thick green grass. The clouds made funny faces and made him laugh.
On stormy evenings, the wind would howl around his house and angry dark clouds would come knocking on the tight shut door. Rain would lash against the windows and pester its ways in.The little boy would stare out the window. The helpless clouds outside would make him laugh -and clutch tighter to his mother's hand.

Oblivion

The world is burning
Decapitated, truncated
Bloody, muddy, fearful
Shine down Lord
Shimmering rays of peace
Burst out from within
Our goodness, Narsimha
Through pillars of hate
I cradle my children
Shielding, praying
How long? For how long?
They tore me asunder
And fought out their way
For what? This hell?
I will not let go
You owe it, to me
Lull our hearts
Soothe our brows
Help us sleep
Gently, past the sun, the moon, the stars.....
Into deep, peaceful oblivion.

Cats

Yak! Yak! Yak! Yak!
Could I get some silent cats in this house instead?

A minute

Just a minute.
A minute of me.
Just me for myself.
Just me for myself
Kowing full well and strong
Just what I did right
And what I did wrong.

Its raining.....

Its raining disappointment.
Glass drops
Of liquid dreams
Slipping down windows
Dripping down roofs
Trickling down poles
Into dark dirty puddles
Left lying on the road.