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.