Here's the thing.

Here's the thing. Here's the thing.

And the thing is,

is that I am a volcano of rage right now.

I am a mass of rage,

of anger,

of pain

right now.

These were the last few days of my dad's life last year.

I am reliving those moments,

those words,

the looks,

the fears,

the utter

and complete

devastation

all over again.

The last cup of tea

I fed you with my hands.

Your desire to get out of there

and write about your hospital experience.

Do you remember daddy?

You had even thought of the title --

"From Doom to Room."

It turned out to be just the opposite.

How ironic.

How fucking,

FUCKING

ironic.

Except.

I can't laugh about it.

I have no sense of humour about this.

He wanted to get out of there

and write about it.

He thought he was getting out of there.

He believed he was getting out of there.

He wanted to write about it all.

About being stuck in a hospital,

in ICU,

about being shifted around many ICUs,

about having all those painful MRIs

and surviving it all --

except,

he didn't.

He never saw it coming.

And neither did we.

And I ended up doing his last rites.

How hard I tried to shake off

all the shittiness

of last year

with a nervous stray thought of hope

only to start off the first day of this year

with another death,

another farewell,

another funeral.

I walked around my grandmother's home

searching for the ghost of my little girl self

in the peeling paint of the walls,

in the faded black-and-white snaps,

the old hibiscus tree from where you got your flowers to adorn your Gods.

They're undressed now,

the Gods

without Their floral tributes.

The flowers hang loosely

and forlornly on the shrubs,

while in the kitchen,

there are memories

of your hustle and bustle

as a lonely cloud of forgotten aromas and fragrances

hovers about in the corner,

trying to keep alive

the love that you dished out to us,

didu.

That house

was where I felt safe,

loved,

pampered,

adored

and so happy.

The emptiness in that house

is so enormous

and never-ending

that there's no way to escape it

and even then

it can't swallow me whole

for I am bigger than that emptiness;

I am full of red-hot rage

and inky-blue pain.

I am a volcano of rage

right now.

I black hole of grief.

Of sorrow.

Of anguish.

Jan 2011...once again, a final farewell

It is said that what happens on the first day of the new year pretty much lays out what's in store for the rest of the days ahead. If this be the case, then 2011 looks like another 2010.

Yesterday, January 1st 2011, at 8 a.m., I lost my sweet, gentle, darling dida (nani). Yes, I am broken once more, lost yet again. Beloved wife of an upright police officer, adored mother of three girls and six boys, the much pampered baby sister of six elder brothers and of course wonderful, special, loving grandmother to eight granddaughters and two grandsons. Why yes, great-grandmother to two great-grandsons.

She was purity personified and I don't say this just because she was my grandmother. I say this because she had a heart big enough to fit in the whole world with space for another. She had an innocence that remained intact till the very end. She saw no evil, heard no evil, spoke no evil, knew no evil; believing in the innate goodness of all God's creatures and creations. Her smile was guileless and her home an open house.

We knew she was dying. It was long over-due; her pain and suffering were unbearable. Bed-ridden for six long years, the last two years were terrible with the last two months being torture. This death is a happy release for she is now eternally free from the pain that she suffered wordlessly, with only a prayer on her lips.

Her powers of memory and recognition had begun to fade a few years ago and in the end, it was just the one son whom she recognised, my mama who lived in The House that will always be to me my Maamaa'r Badi. It was heart-breaking to be addressed as 'Didi' by her and many a-time I brokenly asked asked her, "Dida, can't you recognise me? It's me, your Laali (her special name for me), your first grandchild." She would screw up her face in concentration, trying to drag back memories of that once much-loved name and face, and drawing a blank, she would look up at me with an intense pain in her eyes, almost a guilt at not being able to recognise me...and that would kill me even more.

This is not the grandmother that I would like to remember. The grandmother that I remember delighted in a cup of tea, sitting out in the winter sun. The grandmother that I remember was a jolly, plump woman always wrapped in a red-bordered, white sari with oiled hair pulled back in first a plait and then a bun; hair which was still richly jet black even while her three daughters and long since started colouring their hair to hide the greys. The grandmother I remember was an endless supply of nimki, naarkoler naadu, tiler naadu and chirer mowaa. The grandmother I remember personified Kali Puja for us and she lived for it...it meant a huge, yearly family reunion; it meant working tirelessly yet joyfully, to appease the Great Goddess; it meant song, dance, laughter and adda. The grandmother that I remember meant a bosom full of warmth, a smile full of love and a treasure-box full of stories. The grandmother that I remember was full of blessings and good wishes for all who came her way.

However, I can't help but remark, that while her own world slowly faded away from the pages of her memory like delicate watercolours left out in the endless monsoon, she never once let go of the three names she held most precious to her heart and existence, her 'Takrur, Maa aar Swamiji'...known to the world as Sri Ramkrishna Paramahansa, Maa Saroda Devi and Swami Vivekanand. Every free moment would be dedicated to Them in prayer and song; she would go about her daily household duties with Their names on her lips; and finally, as she lay in bed, bereft of the power of memory, it was Their names that she chanted over and over and over again.

And that is why, I will pray that the loss of Jan 1st 2011 does not foreshadow the events and emotions of the year to be. Jan 1st for all the disciples, believers and followers of Sri Ramkrishna's Vedanta Mission is an extremely holy day known as Kalpataaru. So it is only fitting that my dida's soul took flight on a day when Takur granted His disciples bliss and benediction. My grandmother's soul received the same.

And not just that, but her shraddho, the ceremony conducted by the sons of the deceased, falls on the 11th of January...the day before the birth anniversary of one of India's most beloved sons and Sri Ramkrishna's most favourite disciple, Swami Vivekananda.

Yet again, I am so intensely awed by the soul's journey. My father passed away on Saraswati Puja, his soul received water from my hands on the birth anniversary of his idol, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and water from my brother's hands on Maghi Purnimaa. My dida passed away on Kalpataru and her soul will receive water from all my mamu's close on the heels of Swamiji's birth anniversary.

Two blessed, gentle and pure souls. Can it be any more clearer?

And I know that I am indeed fortunate to be able to call these two spotless souls my family, for have I not been touched by them? Blessed by them?

Goodbye my darling dida. Did you give baba my message? Are you part of the heavenly choir that breathes sweet, cool winds onto Earth's brow? Did you know that you were loved till the very end and beyond?

So Says the EO

"But why does Mamu have to go back? I don't want him to go!", states a very teary-eyed EO.

M4: Because he needs to go back to office, my shona.
EO: Then I'll go to Ameyrica and bring the full office to here.

M4 sighs and says o herself,"If only, my sweet. If only."
******************************************************************
The MIM, to EO: You know naa, that your Mamu is leaving tomorrow?
EO: Yes. And I'm sad. I'll miss him for ONE HUNDRED days!!

M4 overhears the conversation, sighs and says to herself, "Me too, my sweet. Me too."

Of Music, Old Age and Contests

The Bro is in town! Yaaayyyy! He arrived on the 25th, a little before midnight. So the boys and I are currently at the 'maike'! Bigger 'YAAAYYYYY!!!' Of course the weekend saw us back at the sasuraal because it was the FIL's b'day bash and plus an adorable and gorgeous SIL was in town, but as of today, we's back at the parents'! So allow me to say it again -- yaaaayyyyyyyy!

It was beyond touching to see the way the EO behaved when he saw his Mamu. He woke up to find himself sleeping next to my mom (which he normally looks forward to, but not this Thursday!!) Disappointed at not being next to his Mamu, he shook MaaJanoni awake, reprimanded her for not depositing him next to said beloved Mamu and then proceeded to run to that same beloved Mamu's room and wake him up with little brother in tow. The Bro very sleepily hugged his nephews and then I shushed them out of the room to start off with the business of the daily grind. Two minutes later, my sleepy Bro walks into the room and a very, very, VERY thrilled little EO shrieks with delight and launches himself at his Mamu. The Bro picks him up and my EO hugs him with all his might, refusing to let go, for a full five minutes, until I had to finally pry him off! The EO then proceeded to do a happy dance :-)

The YO didn't behave as enthusiastically, observing the Bro for some time before he decided that he was alright. Hes, the pack of Hot Wheel cars definitely helped!! But I can't really blame my little one, after all 'Mamu' was just a concept to him, someone his big brother, mother and grand-parents spoke about with great love and affection; someone whom he had no memories of at all, being just a year-and-a-half when he was last here. But here's someone who has the good sense to bring him cars and chocolates...what's not to love?

As for me? It's great having him back! We've already had our chats, heart-to-hearts and many conversations. One of the more memorable ones ran thus...
After coming back from a day trip to Shantiniketan with the MIM, MaaJanoni and MY iPod, the Bro, who has always loved my taste in music, says to me, "Dids, good collection...some great music there...but why does everything have to be so slow?"
Me: Slow?!? Have you seen all my playlists?!?
the Bro: Oh yeah, I have...hence the 'slow'. And old.
Me: (sputtering) But it's got the Scorpions, Bon Jovi, some Deep Purple and Guns 'n' Roses on it!!!
the Bro: Yeah...slow. And old!!

That's it. I've done it. I've actually lived long enough for 'The Scorpions' and 'Deep Purple' to be declared slow and old!! And no...I'm not even remotely interested in what's on the Bro's music list!
********************************************************************
I'm a contest junkie. The SMS and online kind. Remember that site that I had asked all of you to visit a while back? Mummyknowsbest.com? Well, the good folks there are back with another great contest...this one's for the bookworms!! Trust me, you'll love it!! Please do go and check it out folks! Go, participate, win!! Click here for deets!
And if you find the time, let the gals there know what you like, don't like and would like to see on their site! :-)

Ayah: To Have or Not To?

Sue's post today, struck a chord. I started to leave a comment, but it was turning into a mini-post, so instead, I chose to blog about it. Hence, this post of mine...

Sue's 'no ayah' sentiment is something that I not only understand, but 'lived' by for a very, very long time. Being a bideshi-and-then-probaashi-bangalee until I moved to Cal, the concept of ayahs was, to me, a very Brit thing. A colonial hangover. My mother raised two kids alone in New York and then Bangalore. My aunts were doing it all over India. So when I got preggie and delivered my EO, I knew I was going to do it on my own. Having my baby run to somebody else for comforting and words of love; having my baby hugging and kissing someone else; having my baby transfer his affections to a woman other than me, his mother; letting someone else be the first to witness any of his 'firsts' and other milestones...ugh! Unthinkable! Soul-crushingly, mind-f***ingly unthinkable and cringe-inducing. No way!! Not for me!! Thank you, but no thanks!!

Well, the family that I had married into had very different ideas, including the MIM. For them, ayahs were a part and parcel of the domestic scene. Families with little kids could not function without them. It was unthinkable. But I was was anal about handing over my baby to anybody else, and yes, that included my in-laws and my parents. I was stuck to him like well dried and solidified Feviquik. The problem was that the MIM did not share my viewpoint at all. And it certainly didn't help matters that the SIL , a Calcuttan through-and-through, was visiting from Bombay with a four-month old and that she had hired an ayah for the entire time that she was here. So, I finally bowed down to pressure and hired someone; her ayah's sister in fact. But, obsessive-possessive natures are impossible to change, so even though I had someone, she wasn't allowed to touch my precious baby. And I mean literally! I let her help me out by drawing the bath water, washing the baby's clothes and keeping the room Dettol-clean, hospital spic-and-span. But I would feed the EO, bathe him, change him, put him to sleep...hell, I didn't even let her clean his potty! I never left him alone for even one second and I was, obviously, very tired and extremely sleep-deprived. But I was happy. Happy beyond measure! Because I was doing everything for him myself! I never went out anywhere at night, wanting to cuddle up next to my miracle at all times.

But things were not easy. People thought I was mad, crazy, unreasonable. The taunts I had to hear and endure broke my spirit. I cried myself to sleep many nights. Even my 'friends', the Calcutta-based ones, were so un-understanding and unsympathetic. They felt bad for the MIM who had to deal and live with such a stubborn idiot of a woman. I never felt more alone in my life!

Then I went to stay with my parents in Bangalore for three months -- maidless. Aah! The freedom and joy of it all! After I returned to Calcutta, I put my foot down -- no more ayah! I was adamant and stood my ground and nobody could make me change my mind. My son would have me and only me. And boy did he!

I am sorry to say that the MIM and I had a very tough time over this issue and it affected our marriage deeply. I stopped partying and going out anywhere at night. Anywhere my baby wasn't welcome, well, then I wouldn't be there.

In hindsight, I feel I could have been less rigid and a bit more compromising. Maybe I should have trusted my MIL a bit more with the EO, but back then, I just couldn't hand over a piece of me to anyone at all. And I do mean anyone and everyone. Did I ever hear the end of it? No. I still don't.

Do I regret not having help? NOT FOR A SINGLE SECOND. Do I wish I had gone about things differently? Maybe just a tiny bit since it affected my husband AND my marriage so much. But even then, the decision not to have an ayah was the right decision for me...then.

Now, I really need the help and I am grateful for it. I am so busy ferrying the EO to and from school and then his various activity classes and his birthday parties and keeping up with his social life in general, that I need an extra set of hands to help me with my YO. As a result of which, I am a lot less possessive about the YO. Does that mean I love him any less? My mind shouts a loud, clear and resounding "NO!!!!", but the heart? Ah well, that is another story entirely all together for the heart has a mind of its own...

Does it hurt that the YO first turns to the ayahs for comfort if he falls down and hurts himself? No, it doesn't hurt...it KILLS me. Even now. I die a hundred deaths when he goes, arms outstretched, to one of the ayahs for anything...be it a cookie, a toy, a few words of endearment, some soothing... But, this is a decision I made and have to live with. Yet, there are often [in fact, very often lately :)] when the YO chooses me over anybody else, when he wants me and only me. And these are moments I cherish with an insane kind of triumph and glee. And that's when I realise that I will aways be his mother and no one else can take my place.

So the decision to have, or not have an ayah, is a very personal one. What is right for you may not be right for somebody else. Hell, it can your decision can even change along with your circumstances. As it did for me. Like I said before, I don't regret not having one during the EO's time. However with the YO around, I wish I could do without one, but I would only be fooling myself.

What I would never do though, is deride someone for having/not having an ayah. I would never force my opinions on somebody else and put the other person on a guilt-trip regarding this decision. And very frankly, I think it's the mother's call more than anybody else's in this issue.

After all, the decision to keep someone who can do huge chinks of your job is a very, VERY big one. You have to be sure. The ayah is someone who ca stand in for you whenever you're not around. Having someone 'take your place' in your baby's life...well, it's humongously HUGE. And you just have to be comfortable with it.

In conclusion, I just have this to say -- if you know someone who doesn't want an ayah even though you feel she should have one...back off. If you can't be supportive, at least keep your trap shut!

The Zoo of Misery and Wretchedness

We went to the zoo yesterday. The MIM and I with our two brats, BILly Boy with his wife and two brats.

I wish, I really, really wish that I could say we had a blast, but personally, I didn't. The kids were excited to see the animals, of course. Plus, it had been a very long time since we had all gone out together like this in a group, so that was fun too.

But the animals. Oh, those poor, poor animals. Now I have nothing against zoos and circuses -- PROVIDED THE ANIMALS ARE WELL CARED FOR. My eyes and sensibilities were assaulted by one miserable sight after the other.

I've always loved the zoo. Some of my happiest memories are of visiting the Bronx Zoo when we lived in New York and of going to the Mysore Zoo when we lived in Bangalore. I used to think it was quite thrilling that we could get to see wild animals so up close and personal. As I grew, I also believed that the zoo was a safe haven for many of these animals. A zoo was one of the few places where all animals could be looked after, nourished and cared for like beloved pets. I safely assumed that endangered species would multiply and thrive in such a protective and loving atmosphere and that soon enough, we could knock their names off the endangered species list.

But yesterday, I felt these miserable creatures were better off in the wild. I could see the rib cages of the lions. Kings of the jungle, these mighty beasts are supposed to be. Instead, they were nothing more that mere skeletons of their glorious memory. It pains me to say it, but the word that best describes them is 'fleabags', lying there in the sun like limp, stinky dishrags. The giraffes, those tall majestic creatures were trying desperately to lick the 'chunaa' off the walls -- a clear sign of calcium deficiency.
The pool water in the hippo enclosure reminded me of a sewer. The same was the case with the water bodies meant for the storks, cranes, ducks and other water birds. The Calcutta Zoo used to attract migratory birds from as far as Siberia and the MIM was telling me how in the winters, there would hardly be any space on the lakes. because the birds covered every available inch of space there was...and let me assure you, the space is considerable. And now? Just a few flocks here and there and dirty water as far as the eye can see and the nose can smell. Not surprisingly, word about the bad acco and services must have travelled by squawk and chirp of beak to all the four corners of the globe by now.

Not just that, the place is filthy!! The zoo is a major winter attraction here in Kolkata. Families pack picnic lunches and lovers 'chat' behind the bushes. Is it so bloody difficult to throw a used thermacol plate or an orange peel into the dustbin that's right in front of your f*****' face! The whole place was worse that a pigsty, because even a pig worth his pink wouldn't give the place the time of day, unless he was put behind bars like his more unfortunate brethren of the animal kingdom.

And no sign-boards. Anywhere! No maps, no arrows to point us in the direction of the reptile house, the zebras, the lions, the monkey cages...nothing! 'Hello! Anybody there? Could we have some attendants and zoo officials out and about please? No? Say what? They're all at home sleeping on a Sunday morning. Well! What a novel idea, I say. And what about the rest of the week, what do they do then? Oh sleep!! Well good for them!'

Will I go back? Yes, of course I will. If only to see my YO clap his hands and exclaim excitedly, "Maakee, maakee" (that would be 'monkey' folks) and hear my EO try to roar like a lion. To hope that my paltry ten-rupee entrance fee will at least buy a packet of peanuts for the baby elephat.

And if possible, to 'accidentally' push someone responsible for the plight of these creatures, into the tiger's den.

Goodbye Boro Jethu

My Boro Jethu passed away this afternoon. He was my father's eldest brother. 86 years of age and old enough to be my grandfather. He led a full life and was in agony this past one month. The suffering is over now.

He was a good man.

Goodbye Jethu. Duggaa, Duggaa...Shanti, Shanti.