Life is a Boomerang: 2013

Remembering my Boro Mesho

I can't concentrate. I have a major deadline tomorrow but no words seem to come out of my fingertips except this note about my Mesho. Today I am mourning yet another cherished person in my life. This is hard, very hard.

This morning he passed away after a massive cerebral stroke. Last night he went to bed after a normal dinner, but woke up in the middle of the night not feeling well. He fell on his way to the bathroom, threw up a few times, and then started sweating profusely. Maashi knew something was wrong, she got help, and they took him to the hospital in Kolkata. By the time they did a CT scan, his brain was swimming in blood, there was little hope. He was on life support for sometime and then passed away. Maashi did get a chance to say good bye. She is a strong woman, much stronger than many women I know. I could give anything to be able to hug her right now.

This is their story, gathered from what I have heard and pieced together over the years.

Mesho and Maashi fell in love in college. We are talking late 50s - early 60s. They were both super brilliant students of economics, award winning, first class first and all. They came from very diverse backgrounds. Maashi was the oldest daughter of a very renowned teacher in Hoogly. My grandfather did not have a lot of money but he was very respected all around for his learning, so much so that he used to host councils at his home to address the major socio-economic-political issues in the region. Maashi was always there, right and center, the apple of his eye, and deservedly so because of her intellect and commanding presence. Mesho was from a very humble background, grew up with great difficulty in a farming village. From that hard life, he struggled, through with sheer determination and tenacity to become an award winning graduate from one of the most prestigious universities of India. Maashi and Mesho were a perfect fit, only for one thing - he was not of the Brahmin caste like my Maashi, and at that time, it was a big deal. Also, choosing your life partner by yourself was not common either. Furthermore, Maashi and Mesho had resolved to not pursue further education goals with scholarship abroad or life in the City or any such 'typical' careers brilliant students like them usually did,instead they wanted to go to a village and be humble schoolteachers and seed knowledge in the next generation of students.There was a lot of societal opposition to their choices, but they went ahead anyways. My grandfather greatly respected my Maashi and Mesho for their choice, and my grandmother loved Mesho very much. They lived their entire life in Pandua, then a small impoverished village 80 kms from Kolkata, but now a bustling town of more than 30,000 people. They raised three charming kids of their own, and from their two little schools they inspired thousands of young ones. When they retired, they still lived not too far from their old school and students, an inspirational beacon of knowledge. Yes, we all fantasize of doing such a thing, they actually lived and breathed that life, by volition and sheer determination. Theirs could have easily been a life of material wealth and ego, but it was a humble and beautiful life instead. Their son, Soumyadarshan, definitely has those genes of selfless service and is carrying on their good work and the some.

My earliest memory of Mesho is from when we were visiting my grandma at Bansberia, I was quite young then, may be three or so. I remember him getting off a big shining black and silver motorbike, which was a big deal to me as I did not know anyone who owned a beautiful machine like that. Then I remember him standing at the door with his large structure filling up the entire doorway as if the latter was a frame, and light was streaming from the veranda behind him, he had an aura around him. He had these mesmerizing tan eyes, I had never seen those before. In my three year old little world, he was the handsomest man I had ever seen, larger than life, and I will always remember him that way.

He used to call my grandma, Moana. All my maashis and my mom did too, but I think he had the sweetest intonation. He would call out - "O Moana" - very affectionately. I am sure my grandma's heart melted every time she heard that call. He loved her very much. In 1988, when my grandma passed away, I remember his blood shot eyes, he did not talk much that day, but I could see he was crying and was in deep pain.

He had his trials in life. In 1998, his only daughter passed away, all of a sudden, it was leukemia. He mourned for more than a decade, I don't think he ever stopped mourning her passing. It was a deep hole in his heart. He used to say, he is ready for all trials in this world but it seemed that each passing year, he was being tested and life gave him even more to bear. Last year when my mother was on her death bed, he had come over to see her, along with my Maashi. I saw those tear-soaked pain-filled eyes again. He could not bear see my mom in such a condition. It was overwhelming for him. That was the last time I saw him. It's so hard to accept that I will never see him again.

I remember him for many other reasons too. He was an inspiration for having really dedicated his life to education, being a true teacher. I am sure he had touched many lives and made an impression in them, probably much deeper than he did in mine. I am sure there will be thousands of students flocking his home paying homage to their beloved teacher.

He was an avid traveler. If he was not to be a teacher, I think he would have been a professional traveler. I used to love to listen to his tales of travel, wide eyed and daydreaming of the places he described. I think all my maternal relatives have been on vacations with him one time or the other. This year when we went to see the Stupa at Rajghir, my Mama was jumping up and down the stairs leading to the Stupa remembering the time he had come to see this with Mesho after he had just graduated from high school. Mesho had this spirit for discovery that was unparalleled. When he talked about travel, his eyes twinkled, his entire face shone with intensity and passion. It was addictive.

One beautiful memory I have of him is with my father, relaxing after lunch, in the staff quarter of Radharani Girls High School, where my Maashi was a teacher. The two of them are 'ghoti', i.e. originally from West Bengal, and not implants from East Bengal (now Bangladesh) like my mom's family. They talked at length about how aaloo posto (potatoes and poppy seed) should be made, and how the 'ghoti' method was the best. I remember them talking for almost three hours, sometimes heated - about the right way of grinding the seeds, to economics of the international posto market, to how terrior affects the quality of the potatoes from different regions of Bengal and across India, on and on. I was very young, possibly 8 years old, and I remember my younger self thinking - I wish I could record this conversation, this is so interesting, it's like reading a book (thesis) on aaloo-posto!

He could be very stubborn at times and had somewhat a flashy temper. Maashi, I would say, was very accommodating. I suppose it came from the love they shared and nurtured through the years, that lent them to be understanding and adjusting. Their younger son and I were close buddies growing up, and we used to call Mesho, Boro Royal Bengal Tiger, and my dad, Choto Royal Bengal Tiger - a testimony to their roaring capabilities. Now we can look back and laugh, but when we were kids and either of them roared, we would pee in our pants out of fright. I suppose some of his students also saw the strict disciplinarian side of him when he was their head master.

I will miss him very much. Through the years, I have not been able to meet him as often as I wanted, and I regret that. Life gets in the way of the things you want to do, and you postpone them, and then one day the opportunity is gone. But I am happy that in 2011, exactly two years ago around this time, right after Lakshmi Puja, Baba, Maa and I were able to visit Pandua and spend an entire day with him and his family. I cherish that memory, for that was a happy time when both Maa and Mesho were with us, and may be now they are sitting up there, somewhere, chatting and sipping a cup of tea. I sure like to think so.

Remembering 1993

My love and me, 1993

Today I am very nostalgic, and reflecting on 1993. It was not a particularly happy year for me but then twenty years later, as life has evolved and it has turned out to be okay. When you look back from a considerable distance like I am doing now, the mountains of everyday life during that time seem mere ripples. You also thank your stars that you survived.

In 1991 I gave my ICSE (class 10 board exams). I did exceptionally well, no one was expecting it. My family always wished that I will do well in school, but I never met their expectations. I was all right, in the top twenty percentile, but not really among the toppers at school. I never measured up to their expectations and it was very hard for me. I used to very depressed, did not have any friends. In fact I was quite obnoxious, always blurting wrong things at wrong times, a spoilsport in every game, quite anti-social. I did not hang out with kids my age, and many of my school friends used to find ways to avoid me than befriend me. I deserved that, I was indeed quite weird. There was a tornado going on inside me, I was battling depression and anxiety. In those days, you did not go to a therapist, there was none around either. There was no one to turn to for help. Only two-three select friends knew about my situation. Few years ago, I met one of them in Mumbai and she commented: "Soma, I used to be so worried about you. I used to think that you will take some drastic step, I am so glad you did not and survived that phase." I am glad that I did too. And it makes no sense to slice and dice those days, the causes, and the rest. The important thing is that I am here, twenty years later, alive and happy.

After my ICSE, we immediately moved to Kolkata, and I joined South Point High School. That is where I met him, along with a number of very treasured friends. In this new environment I realized that life can be different, for the first time I saw how others lived. I also had this wonderful young man head over heels in love with me. He used to write long letters, wanted to spend all his extra time with me. I was blown away by the genuine affection, selfless and caring. Poor guy, I made him try very hard. One day I would say Yes, and the next day I would say No. And boy, was he persistent. Well, I had a great time during those two years, young and very much in love, tasting freedom for the first time, learning to think for myself and expressing. He helped me discover the side of me that was boxed in and locked up. It was beautiful. My depression faded away gradually.

During those days, 11th-12th years of school was considered very crucial. If you were to have a decent career, i.e. become an engineer or a doctor, you needed to leave everything out, box yourself and study for the very competitive entrance exams. Every middle-class family wanted their kids to take up either of those two professions. It was a matter of social pride and a passport to a secure future. Inspite of my family's dreams and wishes, I really did not see myself as an engineer. I wanted to explore, I wanted to be a scientist, a physicist. During those days, you would find me engrossed in Physics books and totally neglecting all other subjects. My new found love also supported me, with that I felt that I could take on the world! Ha! Ha! When 1993 came, it did not work out too well for me. Expectations and pressure was high to sit for the engineering entrance exams, so I did. And needless to say, I did not do well. I did not finish the scripts, I sat looking out the window, scribbled and doodled. Teenage defiance was also working here. I did not make the cut in most of the tests. I was secretly happy, I was free to follow my passion, Physics.

So, in 1993, I joined the Physics program at a prestigious college in Kolkata. He went to IIT, we were no longer in the same city. That's when the dark cloud descended on me. My support was suddenly gone, my parents were very upset with my not being able to get into engineering. He used to write sweet letters and visit me on weekends whenever he could afford. There were no phones, no emails, and no money either. It was tough, very tough. He was steadfast in his support of my dreams. But whenever I used to get home after college, I used to have a deep sense of guilt that I have let down my family and all who had hopes for me. I was very hard for me. I was slowly falling back into depression again. My sense of self-worth was at all time low. Everyone I met then used to look at me as "the-brilliant-girl-who-wasted-the-two-most-crucial-years-of-her-life-falling-in-love-and-now-is-a-total-loser." I wanted to scream and yell: Just you wait! It's funny how social pressures can erode self when we allow it.

My brief 'dates' with him was all I had to keep my sanity. These meetings with him were brief, and I lived from one letter from him to the next. And, I had couple very close friends who understood my pain and tried to help. The picture above was taken by one such friend, this individual was (and still is) my mentor, my brother, and my confidant. This picture was taken during a winter picnic at Gorbetha, on a boating excursion. This picture sits on my table as a constant reminder of what matters most in my life, the support and love of the man in my life, and the friendship of the people around me. These are the folks that have supported me during my hardest times and I hope I can do the same for them.

So, in 1993, during the darkest year of my life, I slowly came to terms with the fact that I cannot go against the grain, that I have finite strength and to survive I have to let it be and go with the flow. By the end of that year, I made up my mind. I stopped going to college, what was the point? I started to study for the engineering exams, for real this time. In 1994, I 'got through'. I picked civil engineering as a field of concentration, somewhat out of spite. My dad and his granddad was a civil engineer, and from the same university I graduated from. After that, I moved away from home to the school dorm, focused on being a good engineer, moved to US for my Masters, and so on.

As I look back at 1993, with the wisdom that age and distance has granted me, I am glad I survived. I feel fortunate that I have few people in my life who still care for me. I am happy that I understood my limits and persevered through that year. I realize that no matter what life throws at you, you can make it work out eventually. It's never too late. The trick is to look at the distance and take baby steps on the winding road of life.

Here's a life-quote from one of my favorite characters in Finding Nemo:

Crush: Alright, we're here, dudes! Get ready! Your exit's comin' up, man!

Marlin: Where? I don't see it.

Dory: There! I see it! I see it!

Marlin: You mean the swirling vortex of terror?

Crush: That's it, dude!

To that Soma adds: Yes, that's life, dude!

The pain does not go away

Mum n Me (1976)

My mum passed away on February 15th, 2012. It has been more than a year. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her last days. I reached Kolkata, after a long 36-hr journey on 10th February only to find her non-responsive. She was breathing, on IV, but did not respond to touch. Her body cavities were filling up with water. She was at home, on her own bed, just as she had wanted, and not stuck in a cold hospital room among electronic monitors. She was surrounded by her brother and sisters, their kids - all her loved ones. The next five days were so painful to watch her fade away, ever so slowly and painfully. She had trouble breathing and we could not help her. We would pump out liquid from her mouth, give her oxygen, and had to sit by her side and watch her suffer. I hardly slept those days and was by her side all day and night, hearing her heave, trying very hard to breathe. I still shudder when I think of that noise of labored breathing. It was the worst five days of my life and brings me to tears so often.

Maa is gone, but I can't seem to forget that pain and sense of helplessness watching her die. It is so hard, I can't even explain it to anyone. No matter how often I talk about her passing and sometimes in great details, it does not help ease the pain. I feel the pain coursing through my veins, and it envelopes me like a flash flood, shaking me through the core. Memories of those five days hit me at most inopportune times - a light breeze may remind me of her last breath. I had felt it sweep over me. I had felt the earth move from under me. All her family and friends were around her at that time, but I felt so lonely and empty inside. I did not cry then, not a single tear, and now a light breeze brings a deluge of tears that I can't control. I can't seem to make peace with it. I still feel so very lonely in my grief, can't share it with anyone. Most people have not been through this, they cannot understand or comprehend the all consuming vacuum.

Today Nelson Mandela is going through his last days. He has been my hero, my inspiration since I was a little kid. I can sort of understand what his daughter is feeling, when she touches her father's hand, and I feel her helplessness. Yes, he is 94, he has lived a vigorous life, been a guiding light to the world. It is his time to say good bye to the world. But in a daughter's heart, it is very hard to see your parent go through this last struggle of life. You wish it to be smooth, but it is not in your control. You have to watch them suffer, and you can't share the pain. It is excruciating. My mum was 61 when she passed away, she had lived a hard life, nothing compared to Madiba, but in her own little world she too had to overcome momentous challenges.

Today as I cry for my mum, I also cry for Madiba because I love and admire him. But more so, I cry for his daughter who is probably going through the same experience I had last year. The pain does not go away, you can do nothing but learn to live with it. And it is very hard, much harder than anything you have ever done in your life!

From the people before me, To the people after me

An artist friend asked me today - Do you always have an example for every thing you say or think? Then where is your creativity? - I really liked that question. My friend and I talked for a bit and then I thought I should write a post on it.

I am an engineer, or you can also call me a scientist. When we are young, we are trained in thinking a certain logical way. The hallmark of our training is development of new ideas and 'creation' based on work previously done by others. Every thesis we write, every calculation we do, we cite references of others who have done work in this field before us. We stand on the shoulders of giants who have lived before us. No article we publish starts with the sentence - This is totally brand new. Instead, the entire ethos of the scientific community is to honestly refer to publications in the past.

Come to think of this, art is no different. The artist first learns to copy from works of people before him/her, even if it is a photograph or an object. Then, over time he/she develops his/her own style to deliver. It is a long process of learning and then creating. The integrity of a new creation has foundations in the vigorous search, authentic appreciation, and absorption of means and methods of greats before us.

In a person's lifetime, I believe, we spend most of our time in three parts - appreciation, intention, and activity. Appreciation applies to everything that has happened in the past and is happening in the present, appreciation of the happy and sad things in life, the beauty of a flower blooming, and imbibing the knowledge. We are also focused on intention, which is directed to the future where our hopes and aspirations lie. That's the 'dreaming'. And then, there is activity, without which we cannot exist. Activity is essential. The trick lies in keeping all three in harmony. It is like trying to stand on a beach ball. Just when you think you got the balance right, you fall off it. But there are moments that you do get that balance right and you understand deep down what it means to be 'in sync'. That is a feeling of nirvana! The 'Aha' moment!

Maybe the better example is trying to ride a bicycle - you eventually figure it out. It happens when you are relaxed, when you have struck a balance in dogged determination (that intense will or desire) and relinquishing a bit on effort (letting go). It is about training the mind and body to act as one, in resonance. When one stands back, watches, becomes quiet, and lets go; it happens. Creation happens! Magic happens!

The fun thing is that when you create something new, you actually lay the path for the next generation to build on it. It is like you put your own little brick in the creation of the the universe. That brick is yours and yours alone, but it is a part of the whole. Today we have space exploration projects because in the past the pyramids were built, because Galileo had seen Saturn's moons, because Newton had figured out the three laws. No one can take your brick away from you, it's your organic contribution to eternity that future generations will take and nurture to greater heights that you cannot even fathom today. And that is OK. That is life!

Oh! How I wish I had a house keeper

"I never wanted to be Jane. I always wanted to be Tarzan. I didn't want to vacuum the tree house. I wanted to swing from the vines."

Yes, I am of the female species, but I do not like to keep the house. I like it to be orderly and clean, but I do not like to do the chores. Here is the list of chores around the house that I am always behind on:

Clean the bathrooms.
Keep the kitchen clean and tidy.
Dust all the furniture, everyday.
Vacuum and mop the floors, at least once a week.
Organize all the closets and then maintain them.
Organize the garage - that is a HUGE task! That 'room' is our junkyard!
Put things in their right places. Pick up that towel on the floor, the clothes on the bed, shoes that lie around the house.
Load the dishwasher.
Wash all the do-not-put-in-the-dishwasher utensils, and glasses by hand; dry and put them away, I mean right-away after use.
Take the garbage out.
Put the garbage cans out on the pavement on garbage collection days, and bring them back.
Keep the tabletops clear and organized, including the large bar we have.
Water the plants, right amount at the right time.
Weed the garden.
Put out ant baits in summer.
Sweep and keep the patio clean. Power wash patio once every season.
Plant new annuals during season to keep the house looking cheerful.
Fertilize the garden and house plants.
Pick up Freo and Ozzie's toys.
Make a list of all the groceries to buy.
Buy the said groceries.
Collect all clothes to be washed, sort them.
Do the laundry. I have a strict rule to only do laundry when there is enough for a full load. I am VERY water conscious. Hey! It's my job!
Fold clothes after laundry.
Iron clothes, hang them in the closet, coordinated.
Organize the dressers - that's huge! Dressers are notorious for becoming chaotic over time. Each sock needs to be with it's pair, and the intimates folded and stacked.
Label and organize the DVD and CD collection.
Organize the wine collection.
Mend clothes, fix those buttons and tiny rips in otherwise perfect clothes.
Serve dinner at the dining table each night, and clean right after.
Pack lunch. Prepare for next day's breakfast.
Cut the vegetables and meat for me when I cook. Especially grind the masalas as I instruct.
Clean refrigerator regularly.
Call the plumber to fix the kitchen tap.
Figure out which pipe in the house tends to vibrate when the tap is turned on at the other end of the house - that pipe will break someday and we will have a big leak!
Change the light bulbs, especially the ones that are high up and I cannot reach.
Get the electrician over and take care of few annoying switches around the house.
Get match-up paint and paint over some scratches and drywall patches.
Synchronize all the house clocks, twice a year. And check the fire alarm batteries.
Deep clean the cupboards in the kitchen, at least once a month.
Label and organize the pantry.
Maintain a running list of all the things running out and all the things we need to buy, sorted by which store to visit - Costco / Target / Trader Joes / Other.
Sometimes, walk Ozzie and Freo when I am feeling particularly lazy or tired or simply want time out.
Once a quarter, take all the silver / crystal out and clean them.
Change out the bed spreads, curtains, etc. and get them laundered and pressed, and re-installed.
Get seasonal display items sorted and organized, stored for the future.
Sort and set out donation items.
Put together a 'gift box' with all-purpose cards, wrapping paper, ribbons, gift bags, etc. ready to go.
Print out photos, get them framed. Move decorations around the house every season to give the home a 'fresh' look.
Pack and put away winter clothes in spring and then bring them back out in late fall.
Get the mail every day, sort mail and get rid of the junk. Then process the mail promptly.
Sweep the front yard once a month and get the leaves and other 'stuff' out of the yard.

And many more....

Kudos to all those women who take care of all this, and kids, and work hard at the office, and also find time to put their feet up with a glass of wine and watch a movie. I cannot do it all!!

So I sit here, in my messy imperfect home, and just hope that someday I will be able to make enough money to hire a housekeeper and delegate all these chores that do not give me any joy to perform.

Aah! Someday......

A Truck-load of Dung

You know that feeling when you are searching for solutions and it was right in front of you all the time, waiting for you to 'see' it. Often the solution is easy, simple to the core, and you go 'duh'! But the solution is also often very difficult to implement. One such a situation is happening in my life right now. One person very close to me is going through a difficult phase, the answer sits in front of us, but it is extremely difficult to implement.

Shell on Sand

Today I am particularly in a reflective mood, and in such times, I often open some of my favorite books to get a shot of strength. This story below touched me very much, once again.

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"A truck-load of dung" from the book "Opening the door of your heart", by Ajahn Brahm.

Unpleasant things, like coming bottom of our class, happen in life. They happen to everyone. The only difference between a happy person and one who gets depressed is how they respond to disasters.

Imagine you have just had a wonderful afternoon at the beach with a friend. When you return home, you find a huge truck-load of dung has been dumped right in front of your door. There are three things to know about this truck-load of dung :

You did not order it. It's not your fault.
You're stuck with it. No one saw who dumped it, so you cannot call anyone to take it away.
It is filthy and offensive, and its stench fills your whole house. It is almost impossible to endure.

In this metaphor, the truck-load of dung in front of the house stands for the traumatic experiences that are dumped on us in life. As with the truckload of dung, there are three things to know about tragedy in our life:

We did not order it. We say 'Why me?'
We're stuck with it. No one, not even our best friends, can take it away (though they may try).
It is so awful, such a destroyer of our happiness, and its pain fills our whole life. It is almost impossible to endure.

There are two ways of responding to being stuck with a truck-load of dung. The first way is to carry the dung around with us. We put some in our pockets, some in our bags, and some up our shirts. We even put some down our pants. We find when we carry dung around, we lose a lot of friends! Even best friends don't seem to be around so often.

"Carrying around the dung" is a metaphor for sinking into depression, negativity, or anger. It is a natural and understandable response to adversity. But we lose a lot of friends, because it is also natural and understandable that our friends don't like being around us when we're so depressed. Moreover, the pile of dung gets no less, but the smell gets worse as it ripens.

Fortunately, there's a second way. When we are dumped with a truckload of dung, we heave a sigh, and then get down to work. Out come the wheelbarrow, the fork, and the spade. We fork the dung into the barrow, wheel it around the back of the house, and dig it into the garden. This is tiring and difficult work, but we know there's no other option.

Sometimes, all we can manage is half a barrow a day. We're doing something about the problem, rather than complaining our way into depression. Day after day we dig in the dung. Day after day, the pile gets smaller. Sometimes it takes several years, but the morning does come when we see that the dung in front of our house is all gone.

Furthermore, a miracle has happened in another part of our house. The flowers in our garden are bursting out in a richness of color all over the place. Their fragrance wafts down the street so that the neighbors, and even passers-by, smile in delight. Then the fruit tree in the corner is nearly falling over, it's so heavy with fruit. And the fruit is so sweet; you can't buy anything like it. There's so much of it that we are able to share it with our neighbors. Even passers-by get a delicious taste of the miracle fruit.

"Digging in the dung" is a metaphor for welcoming the tragedies as fertilizer for life. It is work that we have to do alone: no one can help us here. But by digging it into the garden of our heart, day by day, the pile of pain gets less.

It may take us several years, but the morning does come when we see no more pain in our life and, in our heart, a miracle has happened. Flowers of kindness are bursting out all over the place, and the fragrance of love wafts way down our street, to our neighbors, to our relations, and even to passers-by. Then our wisdom tree in the corner is bending down to us, loaded with sweet insights into the nature of life. We share those delicious fruits freely, even with the passers-by, without ever planning to.

When we have known tragic pain, learnt its lesson, and grown our garden, then we can put our arms around another in deep tragedy and say, softly, 'I know.' They realize we do understand. Compassion begins. We show them the wheelbarrow, the fork, and the spade, and boundless encouragement. If we haven't grown our own garden yet, this can't be done.

I have known many monks who are skilled in meditation, who are peaceful, composed and serene in adversity. But only a few have become great teachers. I often wondered why.

It seems to me now that those monks who had a relatively easy time of it, who had little dung to dig in, were the ones who didn't become teachers. It was the monks who had the enormous difficulties, dug them in quietly, and came through with a rich garden that became great teachers.

They all had wisdom, serenity and compassion; but those with more dung had more to share with the world. My teacher, Ajahn Chah, who for me was the pinnacle of all teachers, must have had a whole trucking company line up with their dung at his door, in his early life.

Perhaps the moral of this story is that if you want to be of service to the world, if you wish to follow the path of compassion, then the next time a tragedy occurs in your life, you may say, "Whoopee! More fertilizer for my garden!"

It's Too Much to Hope For

It's too much to hope for a life without pain,
It's wrong to expect a life without pain,
For pain is our body's defense.
No matter how much we dislike it,
And nobody likes pain,
Pain is important,
And, For pain we should be grateful!

How else would we know,
To move our hand from the fire?
Our finger from the blade?
Our foot from the thorn?
So pain is important,
And for pain we should be grateful!

Yet,
There's a type of pain that serves no purpose,
That's chronic pain,
It's that elite brand of pain that's not for defense.
It's an attacking force.
An attacker from within
A destroyer of personal happiness
An aggressive assailant on personal ability
A ceaseless invader of personal peace
And,
A continuous harassment to life!

Chronic pain is the hardest hurdle for the mind to jump.
Sometimes it is almost impossible to jump,
Yet, we must keep trying,
And trying,
And trying,
Because if we don't it will destroy.

And,
From this battle will come some good,
The satisfaction of overcoming pain.
The achievement of happiness and peace, of life in spite of it.
This is quite an achievement,
An achievement very special, very personal,
A feeling of strength
Of inner strength
Which has to be experienced to be understood.

So, we all have to accept pain,
Even sometimes destructive pain.
For it is part of the scheme of things,
And the mind can manage it,
And the mind will become stronger for the practice.

This lovely insightful poem was written by Jonathan Wilson-Fuller when he was just nine years old. He suffers from an unusual condition that makes him allergic to the world we take for granted. He lives in an artificial sterile environment.

Whenever I am down and feel that I am running out of strength to deal with all the issues and problems crushing my life, I think of this poem. We are indeed made by the pain we overcome. If a nine-year old can 'get it', so can I. This poem is a constant reminder for need to understand and bridle my hope and desire with reality.

Of babies and more

Hubby and I will be married for 14 years this summer. The intrusive questions about why we did not have kids have not stopped yet. And I often find myself defending our decision, as if we should be guilty about not having kids. Whether we have kids or not is our private decision and I expect the world to respect our decision. Unfortunately, it does not work that way.

I spent little more than two weeks in India and the following people asked me: neighbors, couple cousins, my uncle, few friends from school, and shockingly an ex-professor from my engineering school whom I met after 15 years! I am tired of replying. I have also observed that these questions do not get asked to the husband, the curious people waylay the wife. Most of these people are looking for an item of gossip, like paparazzi after a juicy story.

Hubby and I had a very long courtship and then marriage. We will have known each other and stayed committed for 22 years this summer. When we were young, of course we had thought of having a family. That is what we saw everyone doing, it seemed to be a part of being a couple. We copied that dream. But as we matured, it did not make sense to us.

We do not feel the need to procreate to propagate our genes. There is nothing that remarkable about our genes that need to be preserved. We both come from messed up dysfunctional families and there seems no reason why such such genes need to transfer to the next generation. We are not very proud our genes.

Many have implored that we have kids so that they will look after us when we grow old, or fill up our time when we grow old, or be a source of fun to our aging parents. We do not subscribe to that philosophy of kids being sort of an old age insurance. Both hubby and I live very far away from our own parents and cannot afford them the satisfaction of 'being there' for them. We do not expect our kids, if we ever had any, to do the same.

Next ridiculous argument that we find ourselves fighting is that kids are the vehicle by which parents fulfill their life's work and purpose. Some love to evoke the rules set by the mysterious man in the sky, but I am not going there. We feel we have only so many years of productive energy. We want to invest that energy in doing something to make the world a better place. We both have our own pet projects. We are not very keen on investing 60-80% of that energy on kids with the expectation that they will make the world a better place by being our proxy. We do not want to delegate our work effort to our kids and burden them. They should have their own dreams and purpose. We rather do the hard work ourselves. This is our choice.

And no, we do not need kids to act as a band-aid or crutch for our relationship. When we go through ups and downs in our relationship, we will 'fix' it ourselves. We refuse to use a kid as an in-between. We have observed first hand so many cases where the poor kid has to act as the tiebreaker all his/her life. That is a very wrong reason to have a kid, we believe.

Lastly, we have never felt the overwhelming feeling of the 'biological clock ticking'. We feel that given the billions of people on the planet are already fighting over limited resources, the 'bright future' of the new generation does not look that bright. We have Freo and Ozzie, our poodles, who make our lives complete enough. If we ever feel the need to nurture another human life within our household, we will adopt. For now we do not feel any such need or desire. May be in the future, who knows....

So, there you go, I have laid it all out open on the internet. We will not be making babies.
We respect every couple's personal and private reasons for having kids of their own, we expect to be afforded the same respect for having decided not to have any.

Where is Home?

I have been back in India a bit longer than a week. Last year I was here for almost three months but was very busy working on my mother’s sickness and subsequent issues. This year, I am a bit more relaxed, and it has given me the opportunity to observe with a detached mind.

As it probably happens with everything, as time passes, life changes, people change, circumstances change. We had left India to study in the US in 1998. Now 15 years later, I find that the atmosphere here is familiar but also very different. It is like a painting - I had drawn the outline, but someone else has filled in the details and colors. This is a very strange feeling. Even relationships seem so real yet faint at the same time.

For people like us, where is home really? What do you define as ‘home’?

I grew up and lived my parents’ dream – school, engineering, study abroad, etc. Now I find that their dream has changed, morphed into something that is unfamiliar to me. I trained to score a goal on their behalf, only to find that the goal post has moved. It is a strange unnerving feeling. Makes me question evermore – what is the purpose of all this?

In the US, we have a ‘life’ – pretty satisfying work, a comfortable house, great friends, nice vacations, time goes by fast and we live the years one by one. Here in India, we have caring relatives, great food, pollution, heat and humidity, busy and noisy atmosphere - complete with its own charm. But as I stand in between the two, I find it very hard to define either as my true home.

Growing up we moved a lot, every two to four years we moved because my dad had a transferable job. It did not affect me so much, infact I used to like it. Every move implied a fresh start, new friends, and new sense of discovery. I never felt out of place, even on the first day in a new place, new school, and new people. I loved the new smells, sounds, and tastes of new places. But today, two very ‘familiar’ places are making me feel so distant and insecure. This feeling is very new to me. I have no name for it.

Today I share with you this pervasive feeling that has come over me that I may never know my purpose, my home. I may never get to realize the true essence of the things around me. I am on a path, but I am not sure if this is the right one or if this has a destination. I feel I have to let go of everything and ---

“Let the blow fall soon or late,
Let what will be o'er me;
Give the face of earth around
And the road before me.
Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I seek, the heaven above
And the road below me.”

-- Vagabond, by R.L. Stevenson

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