Tag: family

  • DEPARTURE AT ENTRY GATE NO. 7

    DEPARTURE AT ENTRY GATE NO. 7

    “Was it always supposed to be this tough…?” He asked while we both looked at the plane in the sky zooming in and passing by us for the runway. The years have just changed the location from railway platforms to airport terminals. The doubts, the fatigue of the redundant questions with no right answers still lingered at our shoulders. More so over mine, as to be it for the better or for the worse, my life was not even on the line.

    “Are we talking about the decision or the execution?” I tried to steer away from a confrontational debate just before he flew back to his home. It was of no use filling him up with my ‘radical’ thought process because he’s not that person. He’s not that son, he’s not that brother. He cared a lot. He would rather give up his dreams, his happiness rather than fighting for it. Me? I didn’t even know what I would have done. I could speak a ton, but I could never put myself in his shoes. They are quite heavy. Or maybe I am just too used to carrying my own peculiar weight.

    “I have made my decision.” His voice was pretty firm. It rarely is. A smile appeared on my face as I turned away to look at the large watch hanging at the gate no. 7 of the airport entry. Ten minutes and he’d move to check-in. “What about execution?” I asked as I found him checking his wristwatch for the confirmation. “What do you think?” He questioned me as if he’ll do it whatever was that I’ll speak of. All I could reply was a sigh. You can’t appear light when families are involved. Had it been a few years back, I would have suggested him to elope, as I have had on several occasions. We had a good laugh immediately after those too. On one occasion, we were at the verge of orchestrating it, but time went against us. This time it seems neutral.

    “What about her? What does she have to say?” I enquired before making any comment. He laughed as if I have told him the funniest joke he has heard in recent times. “What do you think she would say? She’s the one keeping me in check, talking sense into me.” I wasn’t surprised at all. He was damn lucky that way. I am not a jealous person at all, but I was jealous of him. And I had come clean about it many a time. If I had what he had found, I would have run away with it like my life was on the line. But here we stood to discuss the execution of a decision which is, hard. The only option they had, which was less practical, more idealistic. The option to wait.. till they can be together.

    “Then you know what to do!” I cheered him as if that’s the best decision anybody could have come up with. Probably it was, but I had turned too practical for my own good. I doubted how it would fare when your mother cries in front of you, your father refuses to talk to you as for him you have gone insane, and your brother is just being as practical and Mr Know-it-all as I was. But I realized that he knows it too, and its confirmation is not what he needs. What he needs is an affirmation, that some things are worth fighting against the odds. Some people, are worth much more. They find each other adding exponential value to each other. I am not a gambler, but if I had to bet my everything on a victory, this would have been it.

    “We’ll see how it goes.” His answer defied what his face let out, a relaxed grin, as he picked up his bag, gave me a hug, and walked towards the entry gate no. 7. Whereas, I stood there wondering, what would have happened if I had fallen in love with a girl, whose faith differed than mine.


  • OFF-LIMITS

    OFF-LIMITS

    Life is full of lessons. Sometimes harder than digesting iron nails, but lessons nonetheless. One of those lessons, stop trusting God. I am not against the fundamental concept of God, however, after witnessing everything around, I believe God does exist, but only as a watcher. He has no desire to meddle in our lives and just observes us, studying us. The Creator has made His creations and now just wants to see how they unfurl over the course of time. I believed in karma. What you sow, so shall you reap. Unlike any other faith one holds, which includes blindly entrusting the power of your fate to a divine existence, sometimes it turns almost impossible to balance the equation as to what is being reaped and when did I sow it. Still, I somehow tried to forcefully make sense out of everything happening around, as the life dragged on a day to day basis survival.

    However, some situations are just plain outrageous which makes you question everything.

    Today when I woke up, as a daily ritual, the first thing I looked out for was my mobile phone. Unsurprisingly it was switched off, as it was not left with much juice since last night. When I plugged the charger and switched the phone on, I was amazed to see one of the rarest things my eyes ever witness – a Whatsapp message by Papa. I immediately opened the phone only to find a pretty crisp and formal sounding message, “Good Morning. Your number is not responding. Call me whenever you see this message.” I did expect his message to be of similar tone, but it still did not give any clue regarding what it could possibly be about. I mean it sounded pretty… monotonous. It was hard to figure out what could be the possible reason behind Papa trying to call me before (that was when I looked at the time) 9:30 in the morning. The message showed the timestamp of around 8:30 A.M. which meant he probably tried calling me even before that. Something was important. So I decided to call him at that time itself. Just before I was going to make the call, my phone received three SMS, regarding the calls missed during the time mobile was switched off. All were from Papa and the time they showed was… around 5:30 in the morning. Now I was sure that it was something very important, but I could still not feel a sense of urgency till then. I mean, yes I still made the call immediately, but I was mentally ready to handle whatever the situation was. Papa picked up the phone in two rings and I asked, “Papa I just saw your message.”
    “You woke up?”
    “Ya, just now.”
    “Okay.. Listen.. our house has been broken into. There were three people. Your mother is brave. She was a bit injured by them.”

    I did hear silently what followed, but my brain did not register anything. I think Papa mentioned about the cash, jewellery they took. When there was no response from me, he calmly said, “Mom is fine. Your uncle and aunt have reached there. The police investigation is in progress. So, what could have happened, has already happened. Try not to get into panic mode.” His voice was as plain as the tone of the Whatsapp message he sent. And as his son, I was very well aware regarding how calm he would actually be. He wanted me to be calm so he conveyed the entire thing as calmly as possible. Now it was my turn to respond calmly so that he could maintain his calm knowing that I was calm. He said he would be reaching home next morning and asked me to take care. The next thing I was doing, checking the first flight back home.

    It takes 1.5 hours to reach home by flight and the earliest possible flight was at night. Thankfully, I got the reservation on a train scheduled to leave Delhi in the next 2 hours. And thus began the 10 hours long journey back to Maa, which led me to play every single possibility of how things could have gone wrong. How we all are scattered and we could not even be there for each other at moment’s notice when needed. How helpless I am, yet again.

    When I finally reached home and saw Maa, she looked back at me in a way which made me shiver. It felt as if she did not expect that she would be able to see me again. Though she said she wasn’t afraid, she admitted that at one point of time during the incident she had made her peace with it. She told me in detail about how the events turned out. How one of the thieves carried a sickle and also threatened about having a gun. How one of them was touching her feet for forgiveness after the other hit her twice with something that made a resounding metallic ‘thud’ sound at impact. How she knew that the third blow would be her last, but thanks to God it never came. How the two blows nearly missed her left eye by a few centimetres. How she was quite calm the entire time, even at the time when she called Papa to tell him about it, which clarified how Papa was able to be calm about it.

    What was the lesson in this situation? What Karma created this shitstorm? What the hell was God doing in case I am wrong about Him? If I am right about Him, He’s a sadistic piece of shit. I should thank Him that the third blow never came? How about crucifying Him for this entire situation to happen in the first place? I never had much trust in the Almighty’s way of running things down, but what in the world was Karma doing? Jerking around?

    I am deeply aware that there is a positive spin to it, an optimistic takeaway. I am not interested. I am not buying this entire hidden lesson, everything happens for good bullshit, as far as my family is concerned. Some lines are not to be crossed. I think the actual lesson I take away from this incident is that I hope the guy who hit Mom avoids getting caught for his own sake. Otherwise one of the Almighty Creator’s creation would be using a thick iron rod filling in for karma, for meticulously breaking every single bone in his limbs. Then let him recuperate and heal completely, even pay for his medication. Then do it all over again and leave him on his own.

    I feel myself in a very precarious position lately, with or without these obtuse lessons of life, still holding tight somehow. But something like this is not supposed to be on the cards. The family is strictly off-limits. I hope this message is clearly conveyed to the upper echelons of the department dealing with the dealings of His Holiness and the strings of Karma.

  • LITTLE THREADS OF SEPARATION

    SEPARATION – (noun) the action or state of moving or being moved apart.

    That is how the dictionary defines the word. But the beauty of it is what meaning it holds, even without a particular context. There itself lies the irony of it. A detailed discussion with a friend today suddenly made me realize the importance this word has held in my life. It has been a great teacher. That is why I treat both, the teacher and its teachings with reverence.

    Love, is like a fabric. Not a silk one, that’s just how you picture it. In reality, it is a fabric with the irregular texture, comprising of patches and holes. Some area of it seems worn out and the other feels quite new. Sometimes the fabric feels like a second skin, whereas at other times you realise that it just doesn’t fit your taste.

    Separation, thus can be compared with the cut placed on the bundle of this fabric you own, each time a piece is taken out of our life.

    My grandmother passed away when I was 14. I remember clearly, how my brain simply found itself unable to process the reality. I still feel that this statement lacks the ability to justify the depth of my inability to get in terms with it. Your parents always love you and have faith in you, same as mine. But Naani was a person who made me feel that there was a hidden power inside me, something about which I am still not aware of. In her eyes, I was the epitome of a good human being, brimming with possibilities. Even today, whenever I face a situation which leaves me clueless and raises questions at myself, the memory of my reflection in her eyes gives me an immense boost of confidence. It makes me believe, that I’ll definitely be able to come up with something somehow.

    My love towards her was the piece of fabric that had been cut a long time ago. Strangely, the cut was so clean that by the time I could comprehend her loss, the separated piece had already woven itself with my conscience in the form of an unlimited reserve of confidence based on her belief in me.

    But the transition is not so smooth each time. Not every piece of the fabric called love is cut with such finesse. On the contrary, most of the cuts just refuse to be neat. The struggle through which the pieces go when cut off, is clearly visible, not only on them but on the entire bundle itself. At times, the fabric is unwillingly torn apart into these pieces by others. In any case, what we end up with is a tattered piece of fabric, giving away loose threads from its edges. Unrequited love, unfulfilled love, incomplete love, failed love, these all are samples of the above-mentioned tattered piece. They are the ones which deteriorate over time, as the threads of the separation loosen up and disintegrate the fabric each time it is used, be it in as a memory, or a reference.

    However, these odd pieces, putting their threads of separation at the display, are the ones which have also taught me about the importance of the two key things. Acceptance and Closure. I cannot dare say that I have come even close to embrace either of these. But yes, I do accept the fact that they are the key to put the odd pieces into better use. Maybe weave them together to create something new altogether. A blanket of love, ending up the way love is, imperfect. A reminder of all the components that have been involved in the making of it. Maybe that will aid in finding a continuous piece of fabric that is constantly being used and doesn’t need to cut till eternity. Or it will just teach us how to cut it cleaner; cuts after cuts after cuts.

    Hence, Acceptance and Closure themselves are the sewing machine to stitch close the loose ends of the tattered piece of the fabric. They give a final definition to your complex feelings. They try to even out the torn edges, give it a seam maybe, to preserve them as a standalone memory. So you end up with the ability to recollect the old and once familiar warmth of the fabric, without the baggage. I just wish if the world was so ideal.

    These machines are quite costly. And no, you cannot just throw money to own them. The currency they deal in involves a combination of patience, empathy and most importantly, love. Sometimes they ask for self love, whereas in other cases, just the respect towards the love which once existed, irrespective of the presence or absence of its traces around. People who can shell out this cost with the blink of an eye can be deemed uber rich, marking less than 0.01% of the total human population. Normal people like us take our time, first to assess if the machines are worth it, because it will take a lot of time emotionally to collect the droplets of all three for it. Then some more, to actually go through the process.

    The sadly honest part is, majority of us decide against it. We decide to get rid of the piece itself. Why bother spending so much? Why put so much efforts to save something which is no longer a part of you? Let it rot or wither away and get lost in the passage of time. Even better if you could shove the piece of fabric in the other person’s throat and let them choke on it. Ain’t it convenient to blame others for what went down? “Chuck it and move forward” ranks in as the second best option. However I feel if you could go through the second option, we might not be talking about the same fabric altogether.

    Another lesson I have learned from separation is the beauty of a relationship. I learned to see it and appreciate it. Separation does that to you. You learn to understand the intricacies of a close knit relationship, and to respect it for what it is. I know that the word relationship in itself restricts the imagination to a limited examples in your life, but look wider. The truest essence of what an ideal separation is, could be found in your childhood memories.

    Your best friend when you were 6, do you have any clue where they are or what are they doing now?
    If yes, are you still in contact, in touch anyhow?
    Yes again?
    Then are they still your best friend?
    It’s most probably a no.
    Did you forget the person?
    No.
    The memories you had with them?
    As clear as they come.
    What happens when you tap into them?
    You end up feeling warm, nostalgic. You are completely aware of the fact that these days will not come again. Maybe you would like to revisit them together someday. But you don’t bet on it. You accept them for what they were, what they meant to you then and now, acknowledging their place and importance in your life.

    That’s how separation should ideally be. But we don’t live in a perfect world. I hardly think that the separations you will go through would end up even close. However, as the lines of one my all time favourite song goes –

    You’d have to walk a thousand miles
    In my shoes, just to see
    What it’d be like, to be me
    I’ll be you, let’s trade shoes
    Just to see what I’d be like to
    Feel your pain, you feel mine
    Go inside each other’s mind
    Just to see what we find
    Look at shit through each other’s eyes

    Because the most crucial thing which you must always remember is, the fabric called love gets cut in pairs. It’s never just about your bundle. These little threads of separation are possibly the only thing common left. Savour it.