IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO....

I was at loss of what to write for my blog when my hubby suggested that I write about the lives of wife’s of Cinematographers. OK, not a bad idea. Only that our lives reflect the lives of millions of women over the world. So, I will not generalize but stick to my story.

On an average, a cameraman stays away from home for 250 days in a year. Missing and forgetting birthdays and anniversary is not an issue at all. But, missing out on the birth of your first child?  My hubby had come down to Bengaluru from Ahmadabad to be with me at the time of my first delivery. But, the actual delivery did not happen on the day it was supposed to, so he went ahead and agreed for a day’s shoot. And that very morning my daughter decided that she has had enough of the warmth and security of my womb and took the decision to step out into this world. Professionalism and commitment made my husband to proceed to his work. What about his commitment to me? Of course, my parents, my in-laws and few family members were with me. But, what is the point? The person whom you love, the person who is going to be a dad for the first time, the person responsible for that very life, isn’t there to witness the beautiful and memorable moment??

My friend, Mangala, also went through a similar situation. Like any other profession there is a lot of competition in this field too. So, freelancers cannot afford to miss out a contract or an assignment or so they say. So, her husband went ahead to cover the Cricket World Cup in South Africa. She was in the last term of her pregnancy and her mother was there with her and of course some friends. She had to rush to the hospital as the circumstances required urgency, she got herself admitted to the hospital, her twins were delivered by C section and when the effect of anesthesia wore off, she called her husband to share the good news. She also informed her family and friends one by one…and as it was 1^st April and as she herself was calling up, everyone thought it was a joke! Today, she is bringing up her twins who are adorable, intelligent and very naughty, single handedly without any external help, not even a maid…just with true grit. Good going girl!

It so happens that some months after the birth of your baby, the dad comes home and says to his child- “Hey, look at you….you are all grown up! Last time I saw you, you were crawling and now, you are walking all over the place!” TO CRY OR NOT TO CRY!!! Like other family members and friends he has to be content watching the photos and videos of the milestones his baby has reached.

International Women’s Day came and went. Women have had lot more empowerment over the years. But, on March 8^th, a girl, Radhika Tanwar, was gunned down in front of her college by her stalker in Delhi. A day later, Nidhi Gupta, CA by profession, jumped to her death after throwing her kids from the 19^th floor of her building. Elsewhere in Kerala, a mother sold her 1 year old baby for Rs. 50,000/-. Some things remain the same even after 100 years. Ain’t this life?

“Women deliver more than babies” – Jill Sheffield.

Role playing comes naturally to woman. There are times when I say, ‘try me’, and then there are times when I want to shout, ‘let me be’. Of course, I do feel frustrated at times, I rant and rave, complain and fight. Next, I am back to the square one!

“The greatest part of our happiness depends on our dispositions, not our circumstances” – Martha Washington.

My dad, whenever he is here in Mumbai, interacting with his grand kids often comments, “I don’t know how you guys (me and my brother) grew up. I don’t remember anything from your childhood. I was so busy with work and your mother never burdened me with the household issues. Today, I regret missing out on your childhood.”

Men beware when you are old and have time to spare; your kids will be busy elsewhere! It doesn’t matter how many matches you covered or how many assignments you had. Will you remember the time you got to spend with your loved ones? One day, you will come back home, look at your wife and say –“Hey, look at you…you have changed so much! Last time I saw you, you were young…now you have grown old!”

AFTERMATH.....

After being holed up at home the whole day, watching the depressing news on the TV, we decide to go out for a breather. We are cruising on the Highway, myself ,hubby and kids when we come across a line of trucks being burnt.  We pass them, counting the number of trucks being burnt…4, 5, 6 and combined with the smell of burnt rubber, metal and wood is another stench. The smell of burnt human flesh...we double take, God! Hubby turns the bike around and we take a detour. The horror of it fills us with dread and also saddens us. Everywhere we go, we come across stores and restaurants being burnt. The riots and massacre which happened due to Godhra carnage was just beginning to unfold, in a gruesome way.

As a small girl, I remember asking my dad as to why there were no earthquakes or floods in Bangalore? He replied, that Bangalore is so situated, above the sea level, that these things were not a possibility. My dad’s answer seemed to quieten my young mind. By a quirk turn of fate, I had seen them all by the age of 30! The killer Cyclone, as it was called, that hit the coast of Kutch in 1998, resulting in floods over many parts of the state including Ahmadabad. The devastating earthquake of 2001, the monstrous human act following the Godhra carnage of 2002, and many more…It is joke in my family, that wherever I go, bad luck follows.

Barely a year after people had come to terms with death and loss caused by the earthquake, another tragedy struck the people of Gujarat. This time nature was a mute spectator for man’s atrocities. There was no limit to the crime and cruelty man inflicted on his fellow human beings. Every political party provoked and participated in this game of death! People crazed with the idea of religion and revenge played ‘tandav’ of death. And, more than 1,200 people paid with their lives- a price for either being a Hindu or a Muslim.

THE INCIDENT – We had been invited to a friend’s house for dinner. The riots were into its 3^rd or 4^th day.  Curfew was clamped over the city and we just wanted to unwind and relax for some time. Post dinner, we were returning home at around 10.30pm, there were men on the streets with lathi’s and choicest of weapons in their hands. Hubby, floored the accelerator of the car. Little luck! Few hundred meters later we were stopped by a group of men, who surrounded the car. We were too dumbfounded to react, too scared even to breath. We were facing our worst nightmare!! A guy approached and asked – “Hindu or Muslim?”  My husband said- “Hindu” and phew! We were let through. It is difficult to describe in words the dread we felt.  My dad, who was with us, started praying; my hubby’s knuckles were white gripping the steering wheel, kids huddled in my lap and me hugging them. We let out a collective ‘sigh’ when we reached home, too shaken to speak anything. Later, we came to know it was rumored that truck loads of Muslim men were coming towards ‘our’ part of the city and so smelling blood, every sworn Hindu was manning the streets.

      This picture says it all. The iconic photograph - THE FACE OF GHODRA RIOTS.

27^th February, 2011- A special court ordered death by hanging for 11 people and awarded life terms to 20 others for burning coach S-6 of the Sabarmati Express on February 27, 2002. This might have come as solace to the families of those who were killed in the train.

But as always, justice was delayed and denied to all those who died as a repercussion of the train burning incident. The real murderers, ‘the mob’, are still scot free! The verdict, does it make any difference to those people who were burnt alive? Does this make any difference to those babies who were killed in their mothers’ womb, without getting to see the light of the day? Would this have made any difference to those women who were gang-raped and killed in the name of religion? Will this make any difference to those children who were orphaned? The thousands of people who fled, will they get back their lives, their dignity, and their home? OR would this verdict have made any sense to me or to my family, if we were stopped by Muslims on that fateful night?

THE NEST

The little one is flapping its wings…wanting to be set free. Well, everyone is born free. It will take a little more time for the young one to taste the independence, and the impatience seems to be growing by the day. Mama bird watches from the branch above. She knows in some time she has to set her young ones free. The thought itself brings about a tug in her heart. But, she encourages them…she is indeed proud of the way they have grown into fine young birds. The nest is getting smaller for them, and she knows she will be the one to lead them when it is time.

I am feeling unusually low. Is it menopause? I wonder. No luck there, it is just that my kids are not at home and I am missing them. I really thought I would enjoy the peace with the kids away for the day. I thought I have the whole day for myself and I will do whatever I feel like doing...ended up doing nothing at all. I did watch a movie on my computer, but it was a half hearted effort. I missed the bickering, the fights, the general chaos, my son hitting his football over the din of the TV volume….these are in fact the MELODIES which make a house a home! But, that day the silence was deafening!

The kids are growing up fast…my daughter, being the eldest of the two, has tested the waters. She got a cell phone when she was 12, was allowed to go out with friends and commute by rick all alone, the little perks you get for being the elder one. My son says we are discriminating. The youngest is always the pampered one…and will remain the youngest forever!

Of the parents, it is the father who is the paranoid one! If the kids are 5 minutes late from tuition class, he just doesn’t worry; he panics! And, it is quite natural that the father is overprotective towards the kids. I am the more patient one. I will panic only after the 6^th minute….joking. I do understand the need of the kids to be on their own. So, it was no surprise when I agreed to send my son along with his friend to the school in a rickshaw without any of the respective parent accompanying, of course the dad was not in town to stop me ( yeah, but was calling up to check every half an hour ). The look on my younger one’s face as he returned from the school was worth seeing – he felt like a man. He is ready to drop the crutches. He is ready to take the baby steps towards independence…but, are we ready to let him be?

One more year and my daughter will be in college. College means more freedom and dating too! I am sure her dad will appoint a ‘Z category’ security to be around her all the time. My son will be in high school and will be embarrassed to be seen with his parents in public.  Pathetic, han?

When we moved from Ahmadabad to Mumbai, my personal world shrunk a lot. Given my hubby’s erratic work schedule, it was (and still is) just the three of us. I reveled in being hands on mom. I did not expand my world then. Now, it is not just the kids, who want to drop the crutches, I too am ready to drop mine. Even I am spreading out my wings and expanding my world….blogging for instance. Of course, I will have a lot more time with kids away from home, to do whatever I want, like learn pottery or Salsa. But, for now, the kids are safe in the cocoon. The day is not far off when they will transform into beautiful butterflies and fly away. I know, difficult as it may seem, I will let them go.  Maybe then, the pain of menopause will be more welcome than the heaviness of the heart!

LIFE ON A FAST LANE.

I was shocked when Nidhi told me that 3 of her classmates had been rusticated from the school. I asked her again...”Are they suspended or rusticated?”  “Maa, they have been rusticated; they cannot attend the school and wait till you hear the reason.” Breaking the chairs, desks, creating ruckus was passé. What else could they have done? Nidhi said, “They were caught red handed try to steal the logo of a BMW car near the school, and they were in the school uniform when they did it.” I am shocked! The thefts of the logos from the Hi-end car models are on the rise in the city for past 6-7 months. But I always thought that crimes like these are committed by petty criminals or street kids. These are 14 year old boys from well to do families.  An original logo fetches anywhere from Rs.20, 000/- to Rs. 45,000/- depending on the maker of the car.  A criminal record at the age of 14? I am confounded!

One 14 year old, again Nidhi’s classmate, boasts that he is betting on-line for this ongoing ICC World Cup. He has already bet on various matches to the tune of Rs. 40,000/- to Rs.50,000/-. His parents are not aware of this. Where will he get so much money? What if he loses? And why?

My domestic help is from a rural village in Maharastra. She and her husband work here in Mumbai so that they can provide good education for their children back home. But, last week her son who is, again, 14 calls her and threatens to run away from home as he is not interested in studying!  They somehow convince him to come here to Mumbai. He has been here since a week and his demand is that he wants to see Mumbai. So, every day after slogging for long hours at 4 different houses, his mother takes him out to show the sights. He is holding his parents to ransom.

What is wrong with this generation? Is it the hormones?  Is it the peer pressure? What do they want to prove? It is not just in the urban areas, but kids in the rural areas too feel the same peer pressure. When things like this happen, usually it is the parents who are blamed. The kid has not had a proper upbringing they say. But, today the kids have every advantage in life.  Parents do indulge their kids. We as parents want to provide the best for our kids. But, where are we going wrong? There is no fixed rule for parenting. (This is one topic of healthy debate between me and my friend Mamatha.) There are a quite a few ‘hooka’ parlors near my residence. And, these places are visited mostly by kids who are between the age of 12 – 18 years, both boys and girls. The kids resort to stealing to fund their addictions….to look cool, be cool and act cool. Branded dress, branded footwear, branded shades, branded accessories & gadgets…the net worth of the person is determined by how brand savvy a person is!

I met my classmates after a long gap of 22 years. Those guys who were the backbenchers, who were considered trouble makers and naughty, are doing very well in life today. It surprised me!  Were these the same guys? Why just friends? This has happened within the family too. Guess, ‘TEENAGE’ is a phenomena across the generations.  Maybe, our kids will turn out to be OK too, but the vices committed in the teen years should not leave a permanent scar either on their or on their parents lives. At the end of the day, all we can do is pray and hope that our kids will turn out to be responsible and good adults.

BACCHE TOH BACCHE.....

A couple of weeks back, my son got an application form for the Talent Hunt on Disney Channel – “Shooting Stars”.  Very excited to have got the form, out of the lucky few in his class...He started to dream about how the show will be, what he would sing…blah blah blah, even before the form was filled! Kids get really excited with these things…but, are we parents any different?

The form was duly filled and returned. I was skeptic though. Nishanth, my son, is not a trained singer. He got bored of learning guitar and so he thought he could sing…not a bad one at it, given his age. But, whom are we kidding?  There are thousands of talented kids out there. To further his enthusiasm, we even got a call from the channel guys giving us the date and venue of the auditions. My main reason for allowing Nishanth to take part was to show him how talented other kids will be...And how he should work hard to achieve this, something which my laid back son doesn’t fully comprehend. Well, he is of today’s generation, isn’t he? He wants to have everything instantaneously and without much slog.

The audition was today, 20th Feb. There’s no preparation from his side even before a week. He goes to the school picnic to Essel World and Water Kingdom on the 17^th of Feb. And he is down with cold and cough, a big setback for singing. He has yet to select the song/s he will sing. He wants to sing Justin Bieber’s – ‘Baby’. So, we get him the lyrics and so the practice begins at home…me and my daughter correcting him. She mostly.  We also tell him to practice some Hindi songs, because he is most at ease with the language and melody. He wants to sing Atif Aslam’s, ‘Pehli nazar mein’…I am like- no, and you can’t sing that. Your low notes are bad! As if I am “Sangeeta Visharada”! We settle in for “Aasman hai neela kyon” from Rock On. On and on he practices…a bit too much for comfort I must say.

The D day he gets up to realize that he has a sore throat… the combined result of having a cold and all the high pitched practicing. I am about to rattle off with ‘I told you so’, but restrain myself. I give a glass of hot water to soothe and clear his throat. Though it does nothing for his throat, he promptly goes to the john! We have to be at the venue at 3pm. He is a bundle of nerves by lunch time. I tell him, “This is not the end of the world if you don’t make it. Be confident. If you forget you lyrics…….” God! I am saying too much. He is just a kid! In fact, by telling him all these, I am making him more nervous. Do we parents ever learn? We teach our kids to let go, say it is no big deal. Unconsciously, we project our dreams and insecurities on them. And, invariably we make bid deal of small things. And, so I consciously refrain for talking more.

We reach the venue, the registration numbers are given. It’s a bad habit of mine, but I tend to add up the numbers, though I do not believe in numerology. Nishu’s number is 2233 and it adds up to 1. OK…cool no silly thoughts. Nishu’s friends’ registration number is 2275, adding up to 7, damn! Ok, I am being very very silly now. So, we proceed to the main auditorium which is the center of activity. I see hundreds of anxious, overzealous parents like me. The same hope, same aspirations, same tension and nervousness reflected everywhere. Last minute instructions from parents to kids…which go on and on, touching up of the make-up, some mom even dressing up her daughter, in front of everyone! We never leave them alone.  

                 

Kids are assigned the rooms in which they have to give audition. Nishu stands in the queue. I look at him, wink and smile…he smiles, nervousness written all over his face.  

There is this Malayali father – son duo. The father is wearing a T-shirt which says, ‘I know I am not perfect, but I am close and it is scaring me’...How perfect that can be? Anyways, his son comes out of the hall and says something in native Malayalam. The dad, being the near perfect guy he thinks, wants the people around him to know what his son said. So, he says, “The judge told you that you gave a good performance??”  He looks around to see who’s watching…I am listening but not looking up. It’s my son’s turn. Even before I take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself, he is back. Relief written on his face. The same look he has when he comes back home after writing the exam in school. I relate this expression to a bike ad which had the slogan…FILL IT, SHUT IT, FORGET IT. But, with Nishu it is FILL IT, SHUT IT, VOMIT IT, and FORGET IT. He is more than happy to receive some Disney goodies and a flashy eye shades…that’s it.  He moves on….but, do I? The organizers said, the kids who will be selected for the next round will be informed through SMS…and I know I will be checking my mobile a thousand times during this. Bacche toh bacche…Baap re baap, or here maa re maa!!!!!!!!!!

A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER....

I like birthdays. It’s a day when I feel glad to be alive and kicking. It’s a day when you receive the blessings and good wishes from friends and family. It’s a day when you feel special for no reason at all. The day acquires a festive mood and is spent in celebrations. Birthdays have a flip side too...You get a year older, but on that day age doesn’t really matter.

2001, January 26^th…my birthday:  Nothing was planned for the day. With hubby out of station it was just me and the kids. My mom and dad were always the first to wish me and as usual that day too they called me around 8 am to wish me. That done, I thought I would sleep for some more time, being the lazy person I am. But, again, I thought I would take bath when the kids were still sleeping as I would not have the luxury of a leisurely bath when they were up.

I came out of the bath, and sat down on the cot to apply some body lotion, when the bed creaked! My first thought was – “Have I put on weight that even the cot is complaining?” Seriously! Then the sound grew more louder.  Oh! Shit, it is an earthquake. First, I ran to the kitchen to switch off the gas where the milk was kept for boiling. Next, I ran to my neighbors’ house, but, they had cleared off by then. I went in and scooped up my son, who was 2 yrs at that time and picked up my daughter, then 5, by her shoulders and ran. Even now if I close my eyes and think back, I can still feel the earth shaking beneath my legs, each and every step of the two stories.  The sound was deafening, with the grille gates and windows vibrating, vessels falling off, furniture being moved...And of course the people screaming. All this happened for just 2 minutes, the 2 minutes which changed the lives of thousands of people.

The earthquake lasted for a little less than 2 minutes.  What was I thinking at that time? Nothing. The only thing was to get to safety. Everyone was relieved and happy. Though our apartment building was old, it did not succumb to the onslaught of the earthquake. No major cracks in the wall too. Everyone started talking together excitedly…what, when and why…it is then that I realized that  when I had come out of the bathroom, I was wearing my salwar top and nothing beneath it ! Of course, there was a towel tied to my head which I removed and tied it around my waist. Thankfully, no one observed, even if they did, it wasn’t important. Leaving the kids down, I made up to my apartment stealthily and covered up. Then the damage assessment of my apartment…the milk had spilled, some vessels had fallen off the rack and the fridge had moved from its stand and was tilted. It was nothing much, nothing at all as compared to what was yet to be heard.

The official report:

On 26 January 2001 an earthquake registering 7.9 on the Richter scale devastated the Indian state of Gujarat. It was the second largest recorded earthquake in India, the largest being in 1737, and was the worst natural disaster in India in more than 50 years.

The earthquake struck at approximately 8.46am local time, its epicenter located 80 kilometers north-east of the city of Bhuj. The place in the earth's crust where an earthquake occurs is known as the focus. The epicenter of an earthquake is the place directly above the focus. The shock waves or tremors from the Gujarat earthquake lasted about two minutes, followed by aftershocks for more than a month.

With nearly 20,000 dead and over 155,000 injured, this was one of the worst natural disaster India had seen. 600,000 people were left homeless, with 348,000 houses destroyed and an additional 844,000 damaged.

The picture shows the actual crater that was formed in a salt bed which was considered to be the epicenter of the earthquake.

The fissure near the epicenter.

Ahmadabad after the earthquake: With nothing to do and nowhere to go (as people were afraid of the aftershocks), people poured into the streets. It was a sea of people. Then slowly the news started to trickle down and there was a sense of disbelief among the people. It was like the whole state was blanketed in black... Deaths, loss, misery, pain…life had come to a standstill. People were afraid to speak loudly. Kids sensed the tension in the air and surroundings and they too were strangely subdued. Life moved in slow motion. Everyone opened their doors and kitchen and hearts for each other. People were seen sleeping and camping on the lawns and drive ways of the bungalows and popular clubs. People shared food with one another; there was a sense of camaraderie.

An hour later after the earthquake, I went back to my house against the better judgment of others. I had to feed my kids. Once alone, the reality started to sink in. I was alone with the kids. “What if” scenarios started to play in my mind. I started shaking and hugged myself, not wanting to be a sorry sight in front of my kids. I could not stay alone, so I packed a few things and went to my friends place. We stayed out in the open for two days. The atmosphere was grim.

My husband was assigned the duty of covering Bhuj, (he was a cameraman working for Doordarshan Kendra) and so he decided to send me home to Bangalore. I wanted to stay back and help in whatever way I could...like donating groceries and clothes…whatever little I could do. It gave me a sense of kinship. But, I went to Bangalore instead.

Life has become mechanical now. Time and again, I keep looking back at that day. Why? To stay grounded and to appreciate life. So many dead, and so many alive too. Generations wiped out, Heroes were born too…heroes who survived, who rebuilt their lives literally from the scratch. Miracles happened; people buried under debris were rescued after days of being trapped. Destiny, fate or pure luck…life gave me a second chance. Life offers us chances; it is for us to choose it. When we take a step forward, we find direction. Not a birthday of mine goes by without offering a silent prayer in remembrance to all those who died that day. I came out of this unscathed and it is a reason enough for me to celebrate.

My husband (in black) with his colleague amidst the rubbles in Bhuj…the man with his make shift ‘chai ketlee’, trying to earn a living.

“God made the world in six days, but what is the world? It’s what you or I see. Whenever someone dies, a part of the universe dies too. Everything a person felt, experienced and saw dies with them, and with them dies the infinite possibilities that the person would have created in this world.” – PAULO COELHO.

APPRECIATE LIFE!!

MAA....

Today is my mom's third death anniversary. As a tribute to her I am dedicating this blog to her. It is not easy to sum up in few paragraphs the bond we shared, maybe just the essence of it.

" A mother is not to be compared with any other person - she is incomparable."  - African proverb.

Me and my mom, we both got close to each other only after my elder brother went to Hassan to study engineering. With dad working late most of the time, it was just us. I, myself had started attending college and was euphoric with the freedom the college life has to offer. So, I was still distracted from her and still took her for granted.

" When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself."

Our real bonding happened after my marriage. It was then that I really started to respect her, her feelings and emotions. Mine was a love marriage which happened without the consent of each others' parents. It was my mom who was instrumental in bringing the families together.

Kaju Katli, the sweet is my weakness. So, whenever I was in Bengaluru, she made sure that a box of it was there for me to devour. Now, my son shares the same weakness for this King of Sweets. Remembering every one's birthday and wedding anniversaries, she would be the first person to wish them first thing in the morning. These little gestures of hers made everyone feel special.

"There is no friendship, no love, like that of the mother for the child."

We both had our mother-daughter moments. We both would usually lunch at a fast food joint in Gandhi Bazaar, ShivSagar (the old one). We both liked 'chats', after which we would order Pista milkshake. We always shared a glass of this. If not satisfied, which we never were, we would order another glass of Pista milkshake and still share it. We never used to order two separate shakes for each of us. Later, when she was in the hospital, she was being fed liquids through a food pipe and everyday it would be the porridge. One day, when I ask her if I should bring her the porridge, she made a face. Then, I asked her, "How about Pista milkshake?" Her face lighted up ! And it was Pista milkshake for her that day. It is ironic that I have not had Pista milkshake in these three years, never felt like it.

"It was when I had my first child that I understood how much my mother loved me."

My mom and my daughter, they were inseparable. Right from when she was a baby, my daughter slept with her granny. They were buddies, co-conspirators. They would go on talking and giggling late into the night so much so that my dad used to scold them for disturbing his sleep ! My mom had a stash of 'kisses' chocolate in the refrigerator which they would eat in the middle of the night. She was always goofying with my kids, pampering them silly.

" No language can express the power and beauty and heroism of a mother's love."

When she was first diagnosed with ALS, there was a gradual reversal of roles. I don't know when and how this transition occured, but she turned to me for advice, comfort, strength, support, and to confide. Such was her unswerving trust in me. In fact, we used to draw strength from each other.
We were never demonstrative of our love and feelings in our family. Hugs were non-existent. But, with time I started hugging her and it further strenghtened our love. As her disease progressed, I used to visit her whenever the opportunity arose. And, when it was time for me to leave, we would hug and stare at each other with unshed tears, not knowing whether we will see each other again.

"A mother's love is like a circle, it has no beginning and no end. It keeps going around and around ever expanding, touching everyone who comes in contact with it. Engulfing them like the morning's mist, warming them like the noontime sun, and covering them like a blanket of evening stars."

Finally, I did get a chance to say goodbye to her, to say all those things which I otherwise had never told her. But, it is still difficult to let go completely.
My Mom - she was simple, warm, caring, beautiful (inside out), and lovable person. Even in her death, she gifted sight to two blind people. Had she known that all her other organs were just as fine, she would have donated them too. Her heart was worth dying for ! She touched so many lives.
I pray to God that I look good in the eyes of my children as my mom did in mine.

"There are men and women who make the world better by being the kind of people they are. They have the gift of kindness or courage or integrity or loyalty. It really matters very little whether they are behind the wheel of a truck or running a business or bringing up a family. They teach the truth by living it."

That was my Mom !

A DREAM COME TRUE.

The Brighu Lake is situated amidst the snow clad mountains of the Spiti Valley beyond the town of Manali, at a height of 14,500 ft - half the height of Mt. Everest.

Eight hours of uphill trek and 4,500 ft later we are finally there...the most beautiful sight ever ! The Brighu Lake frozen ! All around us there are mountains far and near. Feels like the mountains are embracing us, welcoming us into her abode. Months of dedication and hard work has brought me to this conclusion. I am proud as I have surprised myself ! The travel guide of the tour organisers call this a mini - expedition. Macro, mini or maxi, this was an expedition in itself and I felt as if I had conquered the mighty Everest itself ! As Sir Edmund Hillary has said, - " You do not conquer the mountain, but yourself." - couldn't be more true in my case. Truly extraordinary moment of my life and I shared it with two most beautiful persons of my world, my kids.

The preparation for this trek started four months prior to the actual trek itself. I had to shed a few precious kilos off my body and trained a bit hard in the gym. The result was I had injured the cartilage in my knee and now they were painful. Getting up and getting by the day became a mean task. Knee supporters were second to my skin and painkillers included in my daily diet. I persevered.

We reached Manali, to our base camp without a glitch. This is my first journey where I am not being chaperoned by any member of my family. In fact, I am chaperoning my group of six..me and my two kids, my co-sister and her son, and my niece. I am in charge and so far have managed very well in spite of being tutored with many do's and don'ts back home. We don't know what we are capable of until we are really in a situation. My confidence went up a notch.
River Beas is flowing next to out camp site. The calmness of the place, the cold weather, the pristine air, the roaring of the river water....I feel like drowning in the sheer beauty of the place. I want to capture each and every detail in my memory so that I can reminiscence later.

Our top camp was at a height of 10,00ft, after the last village of Manali, Koti and 25 kms before the Rothang Pass. The weather here was too cold for comfort. Out of the 110 campers, around 85 of us signed up for the actual trek to Brighu. The air was electric with excitement on the morning of the trek.
There were three cut-off points where one could drop off and discontinue the journey. Some did, the rest of us tread slowly. At the third cut off point, I had almost given up owing to the condition of my knees..they were jammed and numb with pain. My family encouraged me to go on and I did. A few hundred meters into the climb in almost knee deep snow, I regretted going along. I have a phobia for heights, I could neither look up or down. I asked some guys to hold my hand and lead me. Sometimes I supported myself with my hands literally climbing on all my fours. I did slide off the mountain at one place, but a volunteer was behind me who was an experienced climber, he came after me and got me back in line. We reached the summit at around 3 pm in the afternoon. I was the first lady in the whole group to reach first..I like to be a part of many firsts. This was the first in the 25 year history of the tour organisers that a mother had successfully climbed with her kids ! That goes for my co-sister too. No words to explain the exhilaration I felt.

"If you believe in victory, then victory will believe in you" - Paulo Coelho. And I have never believed myself more !

Climbing up to the summit was half the battle won. Coming down was more challenging. We had to slide down from the mountain, the first was a sheer drop of more than 100 ft. Given my fear for heights, I was the last one to go. The only thing I remember was that my bottom burned ! Snow is something to reckon with, one cant just take it for granted. It is more meaner than it looks ! The whole group was dispersed by now, the key was to keep sight of at least one person so that we are not lost. We had to walk through slush...after my third fall, I stopped counting the number of times I fell. My low waist jeans was going lower as it was wet and weighed down by mud sticking to it. Finally, we reached the camp around 8.30 pm, after more than 13 hours of being on the road. The ovation we received is memorable. Everyone was clapping, hooting, shouting and cheering. A very emotional welcome.

Tired and chilled to the bone, the day filled with many falls, excitement and triumph...sleep wasn't easy to come by because my mind was drifting back  to the defining moment of my life, a moment where I had lived every moment and the moment when I realised my dream.
"Winning is not everything, but the only thing." I don't agree with this statement generally, but on that day I couldn't agree less.  I had won.

THE MIRACLE OF CHILD BIRTH

" The drama of birth is over. The cord is cut, the first cry heard: A new life begun....The mother -  seeing, hearing, perhaps touching her baby - scarcely notices the world around her, let alone how much her body aches. She just paritcipated in a MIRACLE. " - Carrol Dunham.

Does a mother's first child birth experience prepare her for the second one?? No...as each child is unique, so is the experience of child birth.

Compared to my second delivery, my first one was a piece of cake ! Felt as if it was over in a jiffy . It was because I was so excited, aniticipating each and every moment of the past nine months for that day. I never thought of the pain. But, I do remember a funny incident which happened that morning. I was already in labour and was sitting in the hospital lounge as my admission papers were being drawn up. My friends' cousin who was there to visit someone, came up to me and asked this all too stupid question : " Hi, How are you?"  I said, " I am fine", doubled over and puked !!! Oops !

So, almost three years on, I am back in the same hospital for the weekly check up, I am in my 3rd term of  my pregancy. During the examination it was determined that my son was not making all the right movements a eight month old foetus is expected to do. He had grown and there was no place for him to 'kick'. The Doctor decided that it was time to relieve him off the comfort of my womb.

I was being 'prepared' for delivery and pain was induced. When the first contraction came, I was jolted ! No, it was nothing like I had experienced before. So, I was officially in labour.
Three hours on...am still in pain...no dialation..all the doctors who are on duty drop by my room to poke and probe...I feel like smashing their smile strapped faces. Here, I am lying in pain and feeling exposed and they are doing nothing to alleviate the pain. In fact, a second injection is given and they break my water bag...I am ready to pass out. They show no mercy. The hospital staff is also rude, they don't give me water to drink, just in case if I have undergo surgery.  Three more hours....and I am literally begging the doctor to cut me up.
They wheel me into the delivery room .. the doctor comes over and encourages me not to give up. Yeah, sure...I would like to say.." Wanna swap places, baby !" I am ready to throw my towel in and say, "Ok, I have had it, I can't go on. I am quitting." I wish it would work that way. At the most, all I can do is curse my hubby for putting me in this position...won't help...we are partners in crime. I can scream, but it will fall on deaf ears. The nurses just ignore you. The only option was to go on with what little energy was left.
How I hate that word "push" ! Here, I was preparing to push, there is lady in the adjoining bed who is undergoing a D & C procedure. She screams, and I scream along with her and the next thing I hear is the small, tired and  beautiful crying of my son. He is equally exhausted. I hold the still bloodied, sticky and wrinkly beautiful baby to my bossom..and all that is happening is the tears flowing from my eyes...
I  have been blessed again.

" ME MOMENT"

Bedtime and am ready to hit the bed. Hubby pops the question I dread ! " Whats's for breakfast in the morning?" I am like - " Come on, give me a break ! I just got off cleaning the kitchen and you are thinking of breakfast in the middle of the night?" I feel as if I am chained to the kitchen. Poor guy ! I can't really blame him. There are days when he goes without having a single, decent, home cooked meal. So, I ask him in a small voice - " Ok, what would you like to have?" He tells me, and soon falls asleep dreaming and drooling about the breakfast he will have in the morning. I am lost in my own thoughts...breakfast? That means compromising on my beauty sleep.

I am not a morning person. Though I get up early in the morning, it is to wake up the kids and pack them off to school, a feat I achieve in a somnambulistic state ! Once the kids are off, I go back to the warmth and comfort of my bed and in no time in deep slumber. To quote my grand-dad - " A short nap after a long sleep." And, to make breakfast means that I have to forego this luxury. Before the breakfast part, there is another important thing for me which I cannot forego and that is the Me Moment of the Day.

My day, the wakefulness part, starts with a big mug of steaming, strong tea. A time which is unhurried, where every sip of tea is savoured with delight, a time where I enjoy my own company the most. A time I connect with nature...there is not much of a nature to boast off in the first place. But, there are a couple of big trees in front of my picturesque living room window. This is my favourite place. I sit by the window and watch the birds. I am completely tuned in to their singing and chirping. Crows, parrots, robins, sparrows (yes, we still have sparrows in Mumbai ), sea gulls and many other small birds the names of which I don't even know.

Early in the morning there is this frenzied activity among them. The chattering of these birds resembles the classroom first thing in the morning where all the students assemble and talk excitedly amongst themselves.
There is this bird, which I have not been able to spot till now, which makes a peaculiar whistling sound. I like this so much and wanted to share it with my kids. One day, I told my daughter to listen to the sound, but she could not, atleast not immediately. It took her sometime to really listen. I asked her - " Isn't it beautiful ?" She answered - " Yeah, whatever? "  Whatever????

I specially enjoy these moments during the rainy season. Rains cleanses everything. They not only purify the earth but also my mind. I like everything about rains. With a steaming cup of tea to warm my hands, I can sit for hours watching the rain. It is mesmerising. The sound of the rain falling on the leaves, and on the ground..the smell of the earth, the bite in the air, the stillness, the chill which runs down my spine when the wind blows a spray of water on my face, the lushness and greenery everywhere. It is life everywhere.

I can compromise on my beauty sleep, but I can never compromise on the beauty of the nature in the early hours of the morning where everything is coming to life...even me !
*sigh* Time to make breakfast.