Of tearless goodbyes and cold welcomes.........

Its been almost four months since I relocated from Basel to Boston. My job makes me quite a globe-trotter and, trying to disguise my gypsy ways with a little bit of scientific activity, I find myself a malleable and, much to my surprise, lively person. Needless to say, the initial few weeks had been quite hard on me, in this alien land. Gradually, I am getting used to the pace of this vibrant and youthful city and somehow, I find myself willing to adapt myself to its rhythm and pulse.
One of the many advantages this country offers is that you can reconnect with your childhood friends, classmates, relatives and the whole focus of every Indian I have met so far is to make the best of this land. Most of my acquaintances have settled here and everyone among them seems to have a piece of advice for me. For the most part, I am an active listener, trying to take-in all the information I am being handed, but lately, I find myself getting passive. In spite of a quadruple work load, the technique of 'going-with-the-flow' has worked wonders on me. I am much less excitable, quieter and (you wont believe it) happier !!!
Earlier, in my beloved Basel, in most cases I witnessed, I was quick to blame misery on loneliness, depression on a broken heart and despair on being-wronged. Here, in Boston, such cases abound, each person is as lonely as the next, every heart has had the misfortune of a break, and every person is used to being wrong or wronged. As I step into the train each morning, I try to decipher the thoughts of the students around me, plugged into their Iphones or competing in a SMS Olympics. Most of them look older than their years and have the look of 'been-there,done-that, and-there'. No one speaks unless spoken to, never help others unless requested, but once they agree to speak or help, they do so with a wide smile and easy laugh. 'Lets try to be good to each other, if only for a little while", is the motto drilled into all of them. Their stop arrives, they board off with a wave and never look back.
This country gives me many opportunities to interact with my toddling nephew. He lives with my sister (his mother) far away from me, but extended weekends give me the excuse to breath-in his baby smells, read his cute books and listen to some unadulterated opinions about each of his train engines. Not to mention, his demands to go for walks or participate in his games with imaginary traffic-lights and zebra crossings !
When I left Basel, I was indescribably sad- I was leaving a life behind, possibly never to return. I had loved Switzerland and, the life it offered, with all my heart, and was unable to tear myself away from my lovely lab-mates who, alongside working with me, had stood by me through thick and thin and who had made me feel comfortable so far away from home. I was leaving not just a picturesque land, but also a land where I had almost lost myself, and where I had experienced possibly the weakest moments in my short life. It was difficult to say my goodbyes and I was always dreading my last day in Basel. But when it came, I was surprisingly tearless, I had said my farewells to all my friends long before , possibly weeks earlier, over a lot of tears, a lot of arguments and a lot of promises to meet again.
I arrived in Boston which was really cold and windy and was swamped with administrative paperwork. I didn't like my days here, didn't like the desolation and was yearning for home. Then, entered far-flung relatives, batchmates, family--- all chipped in to make my life easier everyday.
To my surprise, last month when I met my cousin's family and my sister's family, I was able to fit in very easily. My little nephew loves creating a mess, especially if he has some pop-corn. My cleanliness-freak cousin, had to get the vacuum cleaner out, much to the dismay of my nephew. To be fair to him, he was brave for the first two minutes, looking at the vacuum monster with wide-eyes, then the eyes filled-up, and he ran into my arms to escape the calamity !
In a world of cheating boyfriends and insolent superiors and crazy rules, nothing warms a heart more than a three-year-old body shivering in your arms, looking up at you as if you had the power to make his world go right again ...........

Long long ago

Yesterday, I chanced to speak to an aquaintance from my past. She used to be a good friend in those days, long long ago. Difference in choice of studies and careers separated us for more than twelve years. Isolation and loneliness in a foreign land does some strange things to people. My friend contacted me last evening across the Atlantic and I, sitting in my cosy room in Basel could not help reminiscing about our schooldays together.
Catching up on each other's lives, I came to know that her parents' marriage of 32 years had dissolved. It has been three years since that occurence but the children and the wife of teh marriage were still obviously traumatised. She then requested me to talk to her mom in Pune, just so that she could talk to another person of the past who still remembered her.
I spoke to Sheela Aunty ( in India, every person in the parents' generation becomes Uncle or Aunty). At first she was surprised to hear from me, then after knowing that I had already spoken to her daughter, she came right to the point.
"Chitra, I don't think I need anyone's sympathy anymore. I know you mean well, but it has taken me long enough to stand up on my own again. I do not want to repeat my version of the divorce yet again to anyone."
"I am sorry, Aunty, I didn't want to bring things in, in this way. Its just that I was surprised and was trying to tell you, that it is because some women as strong as you are that rightousness and
goodwill still exist on the planet. I also want you to know that just because you have had a raw deal, it does not mean that others talking to you have fared any better."
This seemed to calm and reassure her. Talking on different matters, I began telling her about the therapeutic affects of blogging. Suddenly, she was animated and told me, "Chitra, will you write about me on your blog? Maybe, there are other women like me, maybe they will benefit from my experience. Will you let my story be a part of your blog?"
"Aunty, for sure, but really, my blog isn't very popular or well-known. Maybe you should not expect too much."
"No, no," she said, "I just need to see my story by you on the web, so that I can feel strong enough to have told the world without blaming myself for hiding in the house for so long."
"I would be lying if I said Utpal's wish for living separately came as a blow. I remember that the day he told me he wasn't satisfied living with me and wanted out, I was feeling kind-of unreal. I had been in love with him for 40 years and married to him for 31 of those, and I had detected symptoms of his betrayal for close to two years. At times, he would lie about work assignments, about company meetings and work picnics. Whenever I would charge him about those, he would charge me back saying I was possessive, demanding and selfish. He often blamed my aggressiveness on pre menopausal hormones. So the day he finally told me that he was leaving home without any quarrel, all my doubts were righted. I was first in a state of rage and then came disbelief. He didnt take anything from home, just said he would ask someone from office to pick things up, I could continue to stay on in the house. "
"I spent the first week in a condition which came be referred to as "living in someone else's skin", as if these were things happening to another person, some person in movies, or in newspapers. I didn't tell my daughters then as reality had still not stepped in. I thought Utpal would walk in through the door one evening, home from office and ask for his usual cup of tea."
"It took a week and then the arrival of divorce papers via registered post from Utpal for realism to kick-in. I lived in a cocoon for three weeks till I got a reminder from the lawyers who recommended a meeting."
"It felt unreal to meet in a strange room with two lawyers and my husband, to hear them discussing settlements. This was the man with whom I shared a life, two pregnancies, two beautiful daughters, a long career which we both had shaped. This was the man who convinced me to stop working when our children were young and encouraged me to take it up again when they started high school. This was the man who stood by me thorugh our daughters' teen rebellions, who helped me when my parents fell ill. "
"I kept staring at the man who was now signing documents which said how much of the property would be returned to me and how much of it he would need for his subsistence. Finally, I willed my hand to take up the pen to sign my name on the document, just the way I had followed him when we had signed our civil marriage papers long, long ago. He was avoiding my eyes and I did not get to speak to him that day."
" My friends, wives of his colleagues argued with me about why I had given in so easily, why had I not fought? Somehow, to this day I believe, that God made me withdraw from him in time. I was sure he had fallen in love with the other girl whom he married a year later, just as he had fallen in love with me 40 years ago. If I had clung onto him, I would have succeeded in only tearing him to pieces. I wanted to always see him whole, being with and clinging to him would ultimately shatter him."
"Chitra, have you heard the story of Birbal and the two women fighting over possession of the baby each claimed as theirs? Birbal identified the real mother as the one who let go when her child was in the danger of being torn into two. It does not matter who ultimately got the baby, but it does matter to let Utpal choose his way of life. I could never live with the caricature of a man who was once in love with me and now forced to live with me. It was more difficult to let go then, but if I done anything differently, I would not be living with ease today."
"Everyone has a right to choose his happiness. The tragedy is that when we are happy, we never realise the price we would have to pay for it one day. Nothing in this world is free, you pay for everything one day or the other. I had 31 years of wedded bliss, I was not willing to corrupt all that by living with the rags and shattered bits of a marriage. I was not willing to participate in the mud-slinging and accusations Utpal had started."
" My only solace is that my daughters have stood by me and today, though they are able to associate and talk to their father, they also believe that letting him go was the right thing to do."
I was numb for a long time hearing such intense words. "But, Aunty, isn't it possible for you to dislike uncle now?"
"No, I cannot dislike him. I do blame him, I do hold him responsible for my depression which lasted more than two years, but I do not dislike him."
"Aunty, forgive me, I shall echo some words my best friend told me a few months ago. She told me that the opposite of love need not always be hate, it can also be indifference."
"Your friend is wise beyond her years. Yes, I know what it means. Hate can hurt and kill you, indifference brings solace and helps you heal. In time, every wound heals. For me it has taken two years of self-pity, self-loathing to get to this point of talking to you. I have become stronger and more self-confident. I try to be indifferent to him, indifferent to the fact that he ignored 31 years of happiness to live with a younger, beautiful and fairer girl, but I would be a liar if I didn't wish he would return to me one day. I would accept whatever apology he has to offer if he again started living as we did before."
It was then my turn as we had reached a pause in our conversation. "Aunty, excuse my audacity, but in my brief and comparatively uneventful life, I too have realised one thing about men. They may find millions of excuses not to live with you or be with you, but the only reason they need to be with you would be that they love you. I dont think any woman can live if that love is parodied or neglected."
Sheela Aunty supported this and gradually we came to an end in our conversation.
It was quite heartening to write all this and I hope I can believe and adapt my heart to what I said to her in the end. It is important to all.

Crystal Ball,eh ?????

If I can recall my schooldays correctly, I started this obsession with a crystal ball around the age of sixteen. I was a little stressed with schoolwork, high-flying expectations of parents and siblings, and the never-ending dilemma of choosing an appropriate path in life. I always felt (though I never believed it) that there would be a person somewhere on this planet who would look into a crystal ball and would be able to tell me what to expect in the future. I always felt that this way I would be prepared to face whatever was to come.

This was before the books of Harry Potter ridiculed Professor Trelawney. This was before I chose a career in science. This was also before I was exposed to an ever-varying circle of friends and well- wishers.

A few days ago, I chanced to speak to one of my senior colleagues of earlier days. I make her sound like ninety but she happens to be a thirty-five year old woman with a beautiful six year old daughter. She still possesses her distinctive tinkling laugh and an enviable ability to laugh at herself. I was pleasantly surprised at how much she remembered about me, given her extra-busy life and family commitments. After ten minutes of catching up on important events in life, I just happened to say my oft-repeated wish," how I wish I could look into my immediate future!!"

Contrary to my expectation, she fell silent for about a minute. Then she said, "Do you really want something like that? Because if you do, you might eventually get it, and then you won't want it anymore. If you can, be careful of what you wish for."

I asked her if there was a reason for her to sound so serious all of a sudden. She said that last ear, in the month of March, on an ordinary day, she and her husband got into one of those insignificant fights, whose details one never remembers, but the mood of the fight lingers all day. She said, " I wished that day that I could look into a crystal ball and see what was to come, just as you told me now. I was not to know then, that this wish would come true, in an inexplicable way."

"Two weeks earlier, owing to my husband's paranoia about increasing expenditure on medical bills, we had got our family insured with a private company at a huge expense. A few tests were done, and all of us, including my in-laws, were given a clean bill of health from the associated hospital. A few days before, precisely five days before, my daughter's school started a compulsory health screening for all children to stop the spread of some communicable infections. Like all the kids in her grade, her blood was tested and after three days, retested because some tests were inconclusive for many kids."

"That day, in office, I was still brooding over our morning quarrel, and revising what I would do next time a similar situation cropped up, my cell rang. I was overjoyed to see my husband's name flashing on my screen. "So, finally he has learnt to apologise!!!!!, " I thought gleefully."

"His voice was quite sober and quiet. He said that we had to go somewhere urgently and I should leave office and wait for him at the entrance in fifteen minutes."

"On other days, I would have asked for more time, or dallied a it. But that day, there was something in his voice which brooked no opposition. I left everything on my desk, scribbled a note to my secretary, grabbed my purse and left the building. "

"He was within the-said fifteen minutes. The minute I saw his face, I knew something was wrong. I sat in the car and waited for him to spill. My mind flitted with various possibilities ranging from his being sacked, to his having an extra-marital affair with my best friend. But, when he started the engine, I saw he had been crying."

" This was most unusual. He could be quite romantic and sentimental, cruel and heartless at times too, but he was not a tender-hearted guy. I was surprised and concerned."

"I found myself asking him what disturbed him so much and was it because of me? If it was, I was willing to apologize and not let it happen again."

" He turned the car back into the park and stopped the engine again. He turned to me and said," Tania's school called me. The principal has arranged a meeting with a hematologist at St. Mary's Hospital. Tani has leukemia,"he said and restarted the engine, unable to look into my unbelieving eyes anymore."

"I cannot remember how or at what time we reached the Hospital. How we even manged to find the doctor's room, I cannot recollect. All I remember is sitting in front of the desk of Dr.Rastogi, waiting for him to come into the room to talk to us. He came within five minutes of our arrival and he turned out to be much younger than I expected. I recollect I was thinking that this man would not be much over forty. He washed his hands, dried them on a towel and sat in his chair. He pulled out one plastic file and studied it. I wished he would go on reading and we would never have to hear what was in it. I wished time to freeze a this very moment."

"Eventually he did speak, he said that our daughter had acute lymphocytic leukemia, a disease which affects 5000 children each year."

"What followed was a series of questions which he framed himself and answered himself. My husband and I were unable to speak or think clearly. We were behaving like we were watching a drama in front of our eyes. None of it seemed real."

"What was real, was the therapy charted out for our daughter, and to prepare her for all the medications."

"For the next month, Tani underwent many medical examinations and her medication was optimized. She showed remarkable improvement after the first two courses of medication, but starting from this year, her little body has stopped responding to any treatment."

"She suffers from incessant colds and is fatigued after even the smallest exercises. She has started to lose weight, and I cannot help worrying for her and tying various threads around her little wrists, waiting for some God to help and cure her.

"Otherwise, she is very happy with all the attention showered on her by the whole extended family, and now for the first time in her life, she has the undivided attention of her mother. I have stopped working full time, and I work mainly from home. I need to see her every moment she is at home and I now grudge even the hours she spends in school."

"On our last chemo, the doctor told us it would the maximum which could be administered and she would need at least two months to recover. This was more than four months back now, and she still has a constant temperature, bouts of vomiting, followed by cramps and nausea and pain all over her body."

"Today, doctors don't give a frame on a terminally ill patient's life, because, according to them, there could always be a miracle. It seems wrong to say this but I know and so does my husband, that there are no miracles in store for Tani. She has deteriorated so much that walking even a step is difficult. We use a wheelchair or mostly, carry her around. She still smiles continually and what pains us most are the questions she asks us about her affliction. We don't know whether we should give her all the facts in a simplified way or make it seem like an ordinary childrens' disease."

"For the first time in our marriage, my husband has lost the will to control and dominate me. He spends all his time reading up medical books and watching medical documentaries on Discovery. For the first time in my life, I am praying everyday, and hoping against hope that some doctor somewhere will design some miraculous therapy for our daughter."

"Every night, as I lie down with my daughter (yes, I sleep with her nowadays), I wish I will see her better in the morning, but every morning she seems to weaken a little more. I have started making hand puppets for her so that she stays entertained in her room, she is also learning to read a bit of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, and I promised her a Tom Sawyer dress and a paint bucket for her upcoming birthday in August."

"As she sleeps in the afternoon, I find myself reminiscing about my pregnant days with her, her baby days, her first day at kindergarten, her first trousers, her first words, her first tooth....all in a jumble. I always wanted our baby to be more successful and happier than either of us were, and I wanted always to hire a sorceress to look into a crystal ball to see the future. Only, our sorcerer was Dr. Rastogi and his crystal ball was the medical file. He had clearly and unemotionally told us what we had to expect and overcome.

"So Chitra, I got my wish to know my future. It is so much difficult now, I don't know what a mother would feel if her baby died in a car crash instantly, but its terribly difficult for me to see my little girl sinking a little more everyday. It is difficult to lie to her and say that the pain will go away, and it is more difficult to know that everyday her pain will be greater and her dose of pain-killing medication will keep increasing."

" I got my wish to see my future, at least the immediate future. I know what to expect, but is it in my power to improve the situation in any way?"

"Chitra, never wish for a crystal ball. Because, you might get the chance to get what you wished, only to realize that you would not want it that way at all."

Needless to say, after this conversation, we were unable to digress to other cheerful matters. Its been a week, and now I feel a little apprehensive about what I will hear if I call her. Do I want the crystal ball anymore? No, I think not.

Friendship Day???'

Long long time ago, when we were in school, the three of us would sit up on the first Saturday of August in our respective houses, making Friendship Day cards or bands for each other. We were very good friends, though at that time it seemed immaterial. We would do all things as were popular among young silly schoolgirls at that time. Debu would go to the nearby Archies shop to select the latest and smartest card of the year, Monali would make bands from wool and I would make a mess with my water-colours at home, trying to turn out decent cards.

Those were not the days of www or of e-cards, or of internet deliveries. We would meet each other at someone's place on Sunday and would exchange these gifts. There would not be any polite "you shouldn't have", the indignant "this gifts were not required", or the snubbing "again?you gave me a gift just a while back"; just a heartfelt smile, a warm hug and the genuine words "thanks for being my friend". We formed a group, a unit really strong and shared a love for each other which we didn't realize in those days. We also had mutually exclusive friends who we kept away from this core group. Debu had other childhood friends who came to visit her later in the day, Monali had family friends who would call her up later in the day and I was a little lost in the world of imaginary (and some real) boyfriends.

At that time, we had some 'Value Education' classes in school. Our teacher had told us during one such class that the friends we made in school would always be our favourite people, and typical of teenagers , we didn't believe her then. After Friendship Day,we wore our bands for the ongoing week and she laughed at the long row of students sitting with at least one band around their wrists. She told us that we probably would not remember the bands, or the year of celebration, but we would always remember the friends who made this day special for us.

Monali, the most mature among us, would sigh and say philosophically, "Who knows? after Board examinations, we may not even be in the same school anymore? Will be even remember each other, let alone this Friendship Day?" Debu would shrug,"Who cares? We just have to enjoy now." I, would be mute, scared of being left out and loving the way these two friends would take care of me.

This happened more than twelve years ago. Our teacher was right. Though I don't remember that day very definitely, I remember my friends. Very soon after, our trio broke up. We lost Monali to a tragic heart attack when we were seventeen. Debu took up commerce after school and I stuck to science. My education took my away from my friend and my hometown, and when I returned, she moved to another country with a husband.

With the internet and chat engines, we occasionally talk to each other, often discuss our lives.
It will not be possible to tie bands around each other's wrists anymore, sending by post doesn't have the same effect. But this Friendship Day, I do remember my two childhood friends and, for the umpteenth time in this life, I wish I could turn the clock back.

No compromises

Today, I write about events which happened about two weeks back. At that time, I was looking for suitable accomodation in Basel, and I was quite sure about what kind of apartment I would like to have. I wanted a one-room apartment with a decent sized kitchen and proper bathroom, with the shower and toilet together (and not separated, and of course not, with the shower in the kitchen, as in some Swiss houses). Most importantly, I wanted the internet. I had lately come to depend a lot on contact with the outside world and had come to hate the cocooned existence of a room sealed against it.
It seemed a little difficult to get something like that, coupled with the fact that I am still not sure about the duration of my stay in Basel.
I was expressing my views to a friend, who was sympathetically (God knows why!!!, for sure it was not like countries were at war) listening to me. I happened to mention that I was taking the help of some online real estate companies and so far, nothing had turned up according to my liking. She said, "You really cannot have everything. You have to compromise something."
I heard that and then our conversation turned to other matters, more interesting and more fun.
After a few days, I found an apartment with all I needed and with a balcony as a bonus. The last week I spent in adjusting, decorating and furnishing my new habitat. And, frankly, it is the first thing in my life that I can mould and dress according to my heart. Its a new feeling and I know it will pass soon, but at the moment, it gives me a peace I didn't know before. I might have to quit soon with a heavy penalty to pay, courtesy the unsurety of my current job. But, I refuse to think of that now.
Life, as usual, is rolling over everyone, and it sure is rolling over me. Ups and downs, more downs than ups........shitty things taking toll on everyday life......it is the same for everyone as for me.......but hopefully, I have learnt something. I have no idea if anyone at all reads my blog, or if my writing can reach anyone, for me it is important to share this piece of realization to a non-existant reader. That there should be no compromises, no beginning which begins with a compromise can reach a desirable end!!! You either desire all or none!!! If reality doesn't give you all, you decorate your life around it to suit your need, but the essential desire should not contain a compromise!!!! Compromise to me is a sad word, a bad word.......a word that cannot justify a man's ability to furnish and decorate life around the eventual reality which in the end cannot be avoided.........

Memories of a warm day

I write today about the experience I had a few months ago when I was a resident at Utrecht, the Netherlands. I was still relatively new to my habitat and was always looking around for an Indian face or a friendly European one to talk for a few minutes to alleviate the incomparable loneliness all foreigners must feel in an alien land. I guess I was still attached to the apron strings of our huge family back in India and was smarting from the realization that life for my family in India could well continue without me.
It was a Saturday, and I had nothing particular to do. My flat-mates were students who had long departed to their respective laboratories and I was left with the day on my hands.
By noon, I found myself in the Saturday fresh vegetables market. I loved to eat 100 grams of 'Kibbling' (a special type of fish, eaten as a snack), and I had just started started to eat when I saw this beautiful floral printed skirt hanging in one of the van-turned shops. I walked over and was looking at the array of floral prints hung in one window, when I noticed a man standing right behind me. He said " Yeh to bees ka hai"("This costs 20 euros). "Excuse me, "I said, my ears not accustomed to hearing Hindi so directly. "Maine kaha, yeh bees ka hai;"the man repeated ("I said this costs 20 euros").
"Oh, good, but where are you from?", I found myself asking. The dialect sounded Punjabi and the man quite looked his part, tall, broad-shouldered, moustached and whiskered. "Amritsar, and you?, he queried. " I am from Calcutta.", I said, relieved to speak a few words in Hindi with this stranger.
"I want to take two of these but I need a lower price,"I said, the age-old habit of bargaining getting the better of me.
"We can talk about that, but first you select," he said, taking down at least six skirts from the hangars.
"Are you a student here?", he asked as I was looking at the skirts, my Kibbling forgotten on the desk of the van.
" No, I am a scientist,"I said.
"What is that? You work here?"
I smiled. To most Indians, either you are a student or you work for companies. It does not surprise me to explain to most people that you can even earn your livelihood through academic research.
"Yes, I kind-of work here", I said, finally selecting two skirts, one blue and the other red. "Are there many Indians here?"
"Yes, madam, many many Indians here," he said, taking down another rack with blouses on it. "I have been living here for the past fifteen years. My wife, she comes from Delhi. My son is now in Amsterdam with Kiger Securities", he said.
I smiled, noting the paternal pride and the readiness to exhibit to the world that their progeny was the best. Parents!!!! Is there ever any difference?
"I have a daughter too, but she is not well,"he said, his face suddenly becoming sad and long. then he made the universal sign of mentally retarded.
" Oh, I am sorry", I said, feeling really sorry for a dad unable to feel proud of his second creation.
I started fingering the blouses, they were soft and smooth. I felt compelled to pick a white one with pink frills around the neck.
" I will take these three things. How much?"
"So, it is 20 +20+15=55 euros, for you I give for 45," he said, smiling and extending his hand for a shake.
"No, I take all these three for 30 euros, or I don't take anything."
"Oh, madam, I am giving you special rate, I cannot go any lower."
I shook my head. "Okay, then 35 euros, you give,"he said. I again said "30 euros".
"Only for you madam, you don't tell anyone here, for you 30 euros", he whispered, smiling and once again extending his hand.
This time I shook his hand, noting with amusement his smile of appreciation at the display of true bargaining, Indian style.
" You have time Madam? I close shop and then you come to my house for a cup of tea with my wife? My house, not far, just 15 minutes by van."he implored.
I found myself unable to refuse such an impromptu invitation.
After about half an hour, I was sitting in the passenger seat of the van and the shop-keeper, Vishal Singh (as I now knew) was driving.
"So Madam, you like Holland?"
"No,"I answered truthfully. This country was still alien, with its cosmopolitan atmosphere, it still was unable to emote to me. Somehow, I felt, that somewhere the core of this country was not as uninhibited as was expressed on the surface. It was like living in a house where you could eat with the inhabitants but not talk to them.
"No, "I repeated, "I miss India a lot. I miss my Mum, my Dad, my granny, everyone."
"You, not married Madam?"
" No, not yet," I said.
" Do you see there?," he said, pointing at a road and then turning into it. "The third one is my house," he said with proprietary pride.
I peered outside as the van stopped in front of a typical brick-layered house. Houses in Holland looked all the same, same style, same exterior finish,same brick-layered walls.
I got out and Vishal Singh went to park his van. I walked upto the house and waited at the door. The door showed the customary lemon and chilli hanging infront as in most Indian dwellings to ward off the evil eye.
Vishal Singh returned and opened the door with his key. He led me to the narrow spiral stairway, again typical to Holland, where an unseasoned person may have to crawl up.
"Alka, we have a guest,"he yelled to his wife as we ascended.
We entered the living room where a life-size portrait of Guru Nanak occupied centre-stage. Vishal Singh set me into one huge sofa which kind off swallowed and I waited there till he returned with his wife.
She turned out to be a petite woman with neat long hair tied back in a plait, and small, almost child-like hands.
"Namaste, ji,"she said folding her hands. I got up and did the same.
"Vishal Singh ji brought me here for a cup of tea. I was buying some dresses at his stall in the market."
" Haan ji, welcome to our home, you from Punjab?"
"No, no, Calcutta,"I smiled.
"Oh, Bengali!"she said happily,"My neighbour here is a Bengali. She cooks very good mustard fish."
" You sit here Madam, I make nice tea for you,"she said, walking out of the room.
I again got engulfed by the sofa and was looking around the shelves in the room, on which stood many framed pictures of the the married Singhs in monochrome, the son at various stages and the daughter as a toddler. I noticed that the daughter bore unmistakable likeness to Vishal Singh, the same benevolent and smiling expression. She looked impish in the photograph and in the cute baby dress, she looked like a clown.
" That, my chair,"shrieked a voice in Hindi.
I jumped out of my skin. I saw a dark girl, about fifteen years old, with oiled and plaited hair standing in front of me in a salwar kameez.
I got up and let her sit in. She walked up, threw me a disgusted glance and settled herself in the big sofa.
Her mother came running. "Sorry Madam, she is not well. Please sit on the other chair. Her name is Rajni. Rajni, say hello to Aunty."
Rajni kept looking at the ceiling, ignoring me.
"Madam, she doesn't know English. Only Hindi. You wait Madam, I bring you tea."She disappeared again.
I kept standing. I didn't know what to say to the girl. She had the typical self absorbed look of a mentally retarded child, yet she was eyeing me from now and then when she thought I was not looking.
" So your name is Rajni?,"I said, settling myself right in front of her to get her attention.
She nodded. " My name is Chitra", I said, pointing to myself.
"Will you play ball with me?" she asked me abruptly. I nodded.
I expected some plastic balls. But she got out a game on a woodden board where you were supposed to use some stick to orient small coloured balls into pre-appointed holes.
Alka brought two cups of tea and said "My husband went out for an hour. He asked you to say, he will drop you home when he returns."
"Okay, thanks," I said, accepting the tea and settling down on a small stool to start the board game.
Within a while Rajni and I were engrossed in the game. I only noticed the time when I saw alka re-entering the room to switch on the lights and sit down with some needlework.
"Hey, thats kantha stitch, "I exclaimed when I saw her embroidery. "that is from Bengal".
"Yes, yes, my neighbour taught me. Do you want to try a bit."
"Sure, " I said, Rajni was beginning to get a little bored and was taking out her drawing articles from the drawer below a table.
Alka and I were making neat little flowers and hems in the light blue cloth and around two hours flew by.
"I think I will go now," I said getting up.
"No-no, my husband will drop you, you stay here, no problem".
"Its getting late, I have to go."
"No-no, I make some small dinner for you, you take with you when you go."She got up and before I could say anything, she disappeared in the kitchen.
I followed her, hovering around to help her in anyway I could, aware of encroaching so much on people who a few minutes ago were strangers to me.
She kept a constant chatter, talking about her children, enquiring about my childhood, telling me about her family back in India and then returning to the topic of her children.
I could not help wondering about the ability of the Indian woman to drown herself in the rearing of her children and maintaining a household, long after the children have grown past children and the house has stopped requiring polishing every alternate day.
I was quite fascinated by the elaborate kitchen this lady had organized. Starting from the back- dated mixer and crusher to the rolling pin, everything typical to an Indian kitchen was before my eyes and I felt almost at home, looking at the lady stirring dal in a pressure cooker.
"Madam, you come here whenever you feel lonely. My husband and I like Indian people to come. You can talk to Rajni, she needs company sometimes."
"I will, for sure if you make such lovely dal for me each time," I grinned, inhaling the aroma of home made Ghee.
Alka packed some sabji, dal and rice in a box and handed it to me saying, "for your dinner".
"My name is Chitra, please don't call me Madam anymore,"I said.
"You from upper caste, no? I cannot call you by name", she shrugged.
I laughed. " I am simply Indian and younger than you, its right that you address me by my fist name." She smiled and reached over to hug me. My, my, quite a mix of Indian and European culture!!!
Rajni walked into the room, holding a piece of paper.
"For you,"she handed it to me, staring at my face.
I looked at a sketch of a rose and a close resemblance to my face.
I was amazed at the girl's talent.
"You, like?"she asked
"Its great, you are so talented. Thank you," I said, tears prickling my eyes. No one had sketched my face before and I was touched.
"My daughter is very artistic,"said Alka, "she draws all the time. If she sketches you, it means she likes you. Its just God which makes her life so unfortunate."She turned away and started cleaning the burners.
Rajni kept smiling at me, and on an impulse, she reached over to me and kissed me on my cheek and then ran into the living room.
This was the last straw. I was completely floored by the warmth of the family and their willingness to make me feel as one of their own.
I was unable to say anything anymore.
After a while, Vishal Singh returned and I went out while he brought out his van. I looked up to see Alka and Rajni waving to me from the living room window. Vishal Singh came up to stand next to me. "See, my wife and daughter, they like you."
"You have a great family, thank you so much for a great afternoon."
I looked from the man to the wife and their daughter, all smiling at a person, who probably would never be able to be as warm as they had been to me.
I waved back. I got into the van, all the time, looking at the window.
I don't know if they would ever remember me, but I would never forget them.

mundane things in lilfe

Just when I was getting used to rhythm of Basel and starting to explore a little bit of the city, I received the confirmation of my moving to another country.Well, to be honest, it was not unexpected but I was expecting the impossible and hoping that the extension of my contract would get cancelled and I would get to stay with my new-found friends a litle longer. The countdown has begun, and I am really really annoyed at my nomadic ways of life. At first, it seemed really interesting.Then getting used to mundane things like laundry, grocery, shopping for gifts etc etc gets priority and you think only for and about yourself.After a while, you start looking around, making friends, get a little absorbed into the place -and lo, you have to move again.

again,the other mundane things become important-packing, distributing, selling, looking for accomodation in another land etc etc-and most important, being able to say appropriate goodbyes to different people.

well, I still have another month to brood and think about all this.I wish everyone who reads this post cherishes the time he/she actually spends with friends,there may not be so many friends where future takes us.It is the companionship of friends and colleagues which make a place special while it is work/employment which takes us to and away from them. It is good to give both things importance in one life,but maybe better to see what one remembers more:one evening among many at work? or one evening spend in the company of a dear friend?