Day 318/366

The warmth of bright lights -
So irreplaceable.
Family, by your side.
No familiar faces still.
Just a routine and a ritual
Alas! A cracker burst or two.
The devotion once felt towards today
No longer in my blood.
The fake smiles can finally stop.
Let the shininess slowly fade.
Will this repeat itself again?
I hope not, it's too unreal.  

Day 311/366

One can often try and be dishonest with themselves to make themselves believe that a reality wasn't as it seemed to be. While most people try and avoid reality by escaping into their dreams, a time comes when you just struggle to escape back and step into reality to feel grounded.

When I lost my maternal and paternal grandfathers in a short span of 8 months, I felt just like that-facing a struggle with myself to try and make it all go away, like it never happened. But it did. And while I was glad that they were in a better place where their sufferings would end, I couldn't help but feel the loss of familiarity when it happened.

In December, 2009, I was back home in Kolkata to do my internship and loving the time away from the never-ending flow of college assignment submissions and tests. But without anyone anticipating it, my paternal grandfather fell very ill. We rushed him to the hospital, a place where I cannot stand the smell of hope that is taken away from families of patients there. We were there all day and we knew that it was just a matter of hours. That night, he breathed his last. The tears made me feel vulnerable, but I let them flow out to let him know that he would be missed. After all, he was the one who told us about the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, bought us firecrackers on Diwali, and took us to the Book Fair at the Maidan as kids...

I remember falling very ill after he passed away, probably because of weakness because of the tears. After I recovered, I went back to college, and life resumed it usual pace, complete with a new set of notes on a whole new bunch of subject with an even bigger workload of assignments.

When I was away from home, the only means of communication would be the phone calls. Every Sunday, I'd talk to both my grandmothers at some time in the day and update them on my lives and vice versa. When I would call up my maternal grandmother, she would often give the phone to Nanaji, who would ask me the same set of questions each time, almost always in the exact same manner. He would call me 'Chotu' and ask me about my health, how the food was where I was staying, and if I was eating enough. He would also ask me if I wanted anything from home that he could have sent across and I would always politely say 'No', and he would give the phone back to Nanima and then they would hang up on me. I never did get bored of answering the same questions nor did it fail to make me smile.

I will always remember him in his white kurta and dhoti with an olden days' hat on. I will always recall him calling the 'maali' up from the garden and telling him to pluck out star-fruit and baby tomatoes and get it for me. I will always remember his love for old Hindi movies that came on Television, though he would often sleep off while watching it. This only amused me and made me love him more.

When my mother called me and told me that he had gone to a better place, I cried inconsolably. It was bad enough that I couldn't be with family members at that moment. What was worse was that because of something as trivial as college attendance, I could not fly down to be home to console my grandmother, to hold my mother's hand, or to be consoled myself. I went to the temple near my house and prayed for his soul to rest in peace and performed the rites that I could despite the distance. Even though people said that as long as I remembered the good memories, he would be happy and know that I loved him, it was the worst feeling to be away.

Both these incidents have made me see life in a different live. We have to live while we're alive and do all it takes to be remembered for the right reasons...We don't know what is God's plans but we are not immortal. Old age will come and to age beautifully should be a living dream.

Day 284/366

We always take our loved ones for granted and move away to live our own lives and make something out of the people we are. Everybody believes that it's selfish of the parents not to let go of their children and carve out their careers. But we never stop to thank them. We take them for granted and live our pathetic little struggles that we call 'life'. Sometimes, we never stop to think of that decision and planning and love that went into giving us an identity. We don't bother thanking them and giving back to them. We need to wake up, before it's too late.

Day 219/366

Are you like your father?
Do you resemble your Ma?
What can you say about your culture?
Do you know when you were born?

Be glad you know how old you are
That you weren't born in a garbage bin
That your brother never hit you
That you grew up to see today.

Know that you are lucky
For you were not born still
Someone gave you a name, an identity
You were provided with a home.

There is no space for hate or war.
Why make this into a fight to stay alive?
Why is humanity bent on its own premature death?
You are still breathing.
Remember?

Day 204/366

"We walked down the lane in the storm. Stormtroopers of our own right. Occasionally, a tree or a street dog would have to be dodged. But it was the kind of fun I'd been missing in life.

She paused on our way out of the house and looked back for a moment. Somewhere, we knew the journey ahead would be too long to make it back home. But another home would be found one day. A cave, a garden, a lost valley in the mountains. We knew we were meant to be vagabonds since the second our eyes met. I miss that free spirited lover of mine."

Grandfather stopped writing today. He left me his diary with hundreds of yellows pages of adventure and love and the life he led or would have liked to lead.

I'll always wonder if there was more to tell - stories 'not worth writing down' according to him; words I would have cherished more than he could imagine. It's hard to accept that he's lost his mind.

What a delicate thing the body is! One day you're the holder of knowledge, speak unspoken languages and find poetry in everything. The next, you're as good as dead to the world.

Day 166/366

A person can change and do what he/she wants and has the right to enjoy life the way they want to. But in our society, they are answerable to an entity known as the family, which is personally, the only thing that keeps me sane.

I've made some errors in my judgment in the past - thoughtless acts that I should have sat down and weighed out. But since I don't want to have regrets in life, I'm glad that I experienced those things because it has made me who I am.

I don't feel like a child anymore because I have seen too much of the harsh side of reality. It has made me stronger in facing life. Sadly, the wall I built around me is now too rigid and I feel like I've become too independent for my own good. I'm just 21 and sometimes, I feel like an old person who is ready for their death bed. Maturity has come at a heavy price. And I don't think I'm ready to pay more.

I've decided to make changes in my life, in myself, in my attitude to things and people in my life. I need to figure out where my priority lies and how I've managed to screw it up. I'm going to go do that now. My only suggestion to anyone who has read uptil here is that go do the same. Evaluate where your life is, was and is heading. Don't be afraid to change. The cliche is true-change IS inevitable and that's not a bad thing. More importantly, learn to show your family that you love them. We get angry with family members when they don't understand something or ask us for help. We grew up counting on them to know everything. When we see that they're getting older, it scares us. We don't want to accept it. But we need to. Each one of us. Indians are lucky to have such a strong notion of family. Appreciate that and keep them happy. It's the blood relations that really count.

Day 152/366

Life is such a funny little thing. It makes you feel such extremes of emotions when you least expect it. One day, I was walking into my house feeling unwanted. The next day, I had moved out of it and I saw my family members cry at the sight of me leaving. I could see them stuck to the airport windows trying to catch their last few glimpses of me. The uncertainty of when/if we will meet again was too strong to do anything but that. And yet, I have been displaced only to find a home again. A home in a different city where I live with family members of blood relation. There is a different force at play now and it is familiar and unfamiliar. Even Rishi Valley and the many hostels I stayed in were homes in themselves; ecosystems within a larger whole.

I wish there was a middle ground of some sort where I could have every temporary home and all the house dwellers together. But that is an interesting concept - a piece of fiction that can only inspire me to write it down knowing that it will never become a concrete reality. Perhaps the only time that the reality could come true is when I'm on my death bed and all the people I want to be around me will actually be near me till my last breath.  Being the well managed person that I am known to be, I'll be expected to have arranged for my own funeral before I die. I should go start working on that now. *tho tho* (Mallu for 'Let's hope that's not the case')

113/366

My Favorite Things
I know my family does await
Though I may not be with them.
But in my heart, I keep them close
I will not let them far.

The silent, yellow pages wait
For the nib to leave its mark.
The stories that will one day fade
Kept in the golden box.

A glass of whiskey awaits,
The drops on the ice box,
Cold and grey and brown and still,
To quench the never ending thirst.

The fog that awaits me,
To clear instead of blur
You'll never know what it does to me
For I myself don't know.

And last of all, the music waits
Taking down notes for me.
My best friend and lonely wall
That I'll forever face.

Day 12/366

One can often try and be dishonest with themselves to make themselves believe that a reality wasn't as it seemed to be. While most people try and avoid reality by escaping into dreams, a time comes when you just struggle to escape back into reality to feel grounded. When I lost my maternal and paternal grandfathers in a short span of 8 months, I starting understanding what being an escapist feels like. I was struggling with myself to try and make it all go away, like it never happened. But it had. And while I was glad that they were in a 'better place' where their sufferings had ended, I couldn't help but feel the loss of familiarity when it happened.

Last December, I was back home in Calcutta doing my internship and loving the time away from the never-ending work flow of college submissions and tests. But without anyone seeing it coming, my paternal grandfather fell very ill one day. We rushed him to the hospital, a place I cannot stand the smell of for it is too often the smell of lost hope. We knew that it was just a matter of hours. That night, he breathed his last. The tears made me feel vulnerable but I let them flow out to let him know that he would be remembered. After all, he was the one who told us about the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, bought us firecrackers on Diwali, and took us to the Book Fair at the Maidan when we were kids.

Soon after, I went back to college and life resumed it usual pace. I realized that this process of going back to normalcy and forgetting about the gravity of the loss always happens to me when someone I feel close to passes away. The cycle seems to be one that never will quite go away. The loss made me want to at least make the time I have left with loved ones special. So every Sunday, I talk to both my grandmothers at some time in the day and update them on my lives and prod them to tell me 'exciting' details of their old age. Those two calls are usually enough to make my Sunday complete.

Another reverie comes to mind when I think about the weekly phone calls: When I used to call up my maternal grandmother, she would often give the phone to Nanaji, who would ask me the same set of questions each time, almost always in the exact same manner. He would call me 'Chotu' and ask me about my health, how the food was where I was staying, and if I was eating enough. He would also ask me if I wanted anything from home that he could have sent across and I would always politely say 'No' each time. After this, he would give the phone back to Nanima and after saying bye, I would hang up. I have neither gotten bored of answering the same questions nor do these calls fail to make me smile.

I will always remember Nanaji in his white kurta and dhoti with some or the other vintage hat on. I will always remember him calling the maali up from the garden and telling him to pluck out kamrak (star-fruit) and baby tomatoes  for me to enjoy. I will always remember his love for old Hindi movies that came on TV, though he often fell asleep while watching them. The idea of him dozing off watching a boy and girl run around a tree only amuses me and makes me love him more.

When my mother called me and told me that he had passed away, I cried inconsolably. What was worse was that because of something as trivial as college attendance, I could not fly down to be home to console my grandmother, to hold my mother's hand, or to be consoled myself. All I could do then was to go to a temple near my house and pray for his soul to rest in peace. Nothing else could be done given the situation. People did say that as long as I remembered the good memories, he would be happy and know that I loved him. Still, it was the worst feeling to be away from the reality of what had happened.

Both these incidents have made me see life in a different light. We have to really live while we're alive and do all it takes to be remembered for the right reasons. We can't know for sure what God has in store for us or if he even exists. Old age will definitely arrive (if you're lucky to be alive till then) and to age beautifully should be a living dream.