A difficult time

My mother broke her left hip on Wednesday morning. Since she's been on Ecosprin, a blood thinner prescribed by her cardiologist, the doctors have to wait for her blood to reach normal clotting levels before they can operate. She is presently on traction, and is scheduled for surgery on Tuesday.

Seascape!

My sister-in-law has started painting in her sixties. My sister had visited her recently and brought me one of her paintings. I couldn't scan it all in one go, but thought I'd share it with you in two parts. Bhabhi, you make us all proud!

Pondering Yama

Yama Bhaisahib bhi mazedaar hain.
Batakar nahin aate hain.
Kabhi toh darvaaze par khatkaaye bina hi ghus jaate hain,
Aur apna kam karke, moochen ponchte huey
Tahal jaate hain.
Aur kabhi toh itla de kar bhi
Itna waqt laga dete hain
Ki intezaar karte karte lagta hai
Ki yon hi dum nikal jaayega.
Kabhi toh aate hain, phir keh dete hain
“Abhi toh mein bahut vyast hoon,
phir aaoonga.”
Aur baithe rah jaate hain unke chahne waale,
joh kahte hain ki kitna aur bhugtaoge, mere dost?
Miyan , tum dost ho ki nahin ho?
Tum hamein samajh min nahin aaye.
Tumhaari samay saarani bhi toh ajeeb hai.
Kabhi ek nanhi si jaan ko le jaate ho
Kabhi bade buzurgon ko tadpate ho
Kabhi ikatthe hi poore ke poore gaon aur shahar
Havai jahaaz ya rail,kuch bhi utha le jaate ho.
Kabhi aspataal mein aankh micholi khelte ho
Kabhi kabhi doctor logon ko thodi der ke liye jeet jaane dete ho
Ajeeb ho tum, Miyan .
Phir bhi tum mere pyaare dost ho-
Ek na ek din tum aaoge zaroor.

Cochin, 11th December 2000

This post by Eve's Lungs reminded me of this old poem, written a few days before my mother-in-law passed away.

Edited to add the Devnaagri version. Thanks, Starry, for reminding me of the Hindi font!

यम भाइसाहिब भी मजेदार हैं,
बता कर नहीं आते हैं।
कभी तो दरवाज़े पर खटकाये बिना ही घुस जाते हैं,
और अपना काम करके, मूछ्चें पोंछते हुए
टहल जाते हैं।
और कभी तो इतला दे कर भी
इतना वक्त लगा देते हैं
कि इंतज़ार करते करते लगता है
कि यों ही दम निकल जाएगा।
कभी तो आते हैं, फिर कह देते हैं
" अभी तो में बहुत व्यस्त हूँ
फिर आऊंगा।"
और बैठे रह जाते हैं उनके चाहने वाले,
जो कहते हैं कि कितना और भुग्ताओगे, मेरे दोस्त?
मियां, तुम दोस्त हो कि नहीं हो?
तुम हमें समझ में नहीं आए।
तुम्हारी समय सारणी भी तो अजीब है।
कभी एक नन्ही सी जान को ले जाते हो
कभी बड़े बुजुर्गों को तड़पाते हो
कभी इकट्ठे ही पूरे के पूरे गाँव और शहर
हवाई जहाज़ या रेल, कुच्छ भी उठा ले जाते हो।
कभी अस्पताल में आँख मिचोली खेलते हो
कभी कभी डॉक्टर लोगों को थोड़ी देर के लिए जीत जाने देते हो
अजीब हो तुम, मियां।
फिर भी तुम मेरे प्यारे दोस्त हो -
एक न एक दिन आओगे ज़रूर।

Precious memories

These old photographs date from the late fifties/early sixties, when we were living in England. I'm the youngest child, and here I'm squeezed next to my Dad.
My brother took this photograph, wherein I seem to be displaying much attitude!
I seem to have just arrived from Russia!

My brother's peeping out of the bay window upstairs. There's an identical photo of my sister on the gatepost too.

Twenty five years ago, 31st October 1984

I suppose there had to be something prophetic in George Orwell calling his chilling futuristic novel '1984'. It was the year we had moved back to India and had settled into a new phase of our life, in Lucknow. We had our own little rituals. Going to the bank on pay day was one of them! It was a Wednesday, and I wonder what time the kids finished school that day, because we all went to the bank together, which was a good long 'tempo' ride away.( There were no ATMs in those days, and it seemed more prudent to keep less cash at home so that we'd spend less.) We then went to our favourite fast food joint for a dosa lunch. Those were the years when we had one 'family' dinner out each month, and one lunch out with me!
On our way home in another tempo, we heard rumblings that Indira Gandhi had been shot. We didn't know what to expect or what to believe. The news was confirmed much later in the day. The SRE worked at a location about 26km from home. We didn't even have a phone at home, and had no way of contacting him. Only when he got home, somewhat earlier than usual, did we learn of the harrowing fallout of Mrs. Gandhi's assassination. A senior colleague of his was a Sikh, and they all travelled together, in those days, in a breadbox like blue van.
On the way home they had to stop near a local polytechnic, where a mass of students were making sure that no Sikh was passing by in any vehicle. Since the van was high off the road, they could not immediately make out that there was a Sikh sitting in the back. The driver just raced away as fast as he could. The Sikh gentleman's house had security guards already, as there had been some labour issues at the factory. The blue van was parked in our garage, in virtual hiding! (We had a garage but no car). That evening, though, we did not really know how bad the situation was going to get over the next few days.
Early next morning I prudently bought whatever vegetables and bread I could. Schools and offices were closed, and later on in the day a curfew was imposed. My parents were in Delhi, and their downstairs neighbours were Sikhs. We couldn't contact them, and learned only later that neighourhood vigils had been set up to prevent mob attacks. My bread-wallah wanted to attend Mrs Gandhi's funeral in Delhi, and came back with horrible tales of the violence he had seen.
The horrors of that time cannot be forgotten. The potential for violence against our fellow human beings seems to be growing. How many times will our country have to face these horrors?

Limericked!

The redoubtable Maid in Malaysia tagged me to do this one, based on the wedding limericks tag that has been going around.
One awful limerick coming up!

It's been ages now since we first met
On a day I can never forget
The SRE and I
He's a strange yet wonderful guy
I think he is truly a pet.

Detachment

is tough! Even for something as prosaic as sorting out old clothes to give to charity, there are always things that you think you might still want to use, even if you haven't used them in the past few years.
I do know that these last three years in Kolkata have seen several additions to my linen cupboard. After living miles away from the city in our previous location, sheer accessibility has made me more indulgent than I was previously. I also do give stuff to my maid when her house inevitably floods each year. Somehow, I find it easier to give things to a person whom I do know than to a cause that is somewhat removed. Some unknown person will wear that saree or that kurta, or will tear it up to make swaddling clothes- it often seems abstract, apart from my reality. But as long as the things are used, it shouldn't matter at all to me who uses them. Before I finally do give things away, I do make sure that I'm not being impulsive in my selection. What annoys me about myself is my lingering over sheets that I'd only use to prove a point, not that they are needed in my house at all. And surely charity means giving things away that are usable, in good condition, but which are no longer so new that giving them away would seem foolish rather than generous.
If I were to die tomorrow, none of these things would matter to me at all. This house full of clothes, books, music, glassware and crockery, all my colour coordinated cushion covers, bed covers and dhurries, none of them would matter to me. I was the person who would count the good spoons after each dinner party, and be most distressed if a single one went missing. I think I've come a long way from there, but there's still a long road ahead. How does one live in this material world carefully and yet with detachment?

These lines resonate with me when I get stuck between wanting to give things away and wanting to hang onto them:

"Aagaah apni maut sey koi bashar nahin... Saamaaan sau baras ka...pal ki khabar nahin."

No one knows when he will die,
He accumulates the stuff of a century,
not knowing of the next moment.