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 ...........
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
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.
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.
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