Because…

Because hoping is better than living without

Because dreams really do give you strength

Because if the evil eye is true, so is the power of prayer

Because peace is not a state of mind, it’s a way of life

Because that relief on another person’s face after they hear what they desperately need to is sometimes worth the temporary lie

Because at least one shoulder to lean on needs to always be your own

Because the million reasons not to are easily offset by one reason to

Because distance created and communication broken leads to silences that words can rarely fill

Because being in physical company of people tells you if your body and soul can actually relax around them – because that’s what makes it a silence worth filling no matter what

Because memories and the past can bind up to a point – shared experiences, happiness and sorrow makes for blossoming relationships

Because sometimes fear of the unknown can take away happiness of the known

Because happiness of the known can bring a smile and hope that can melt away the fear

Because sometimes standing still is way better than moving on – if you don’t stand and observe you won’t know where to move to or how

Because a deep breath really does center your body which calms your mind – two seconds of diverting your mind to breath rather than worry does really clear the air

Because desires and dreams are real we take a step forward

Because comparison is easy and perspective goes missing

Because our lack of control over a lot of events messes up the mind

Because the thing you can control is your mind

Because forced laughter is more helpful than real sorrow

Because you can only move forward when you move

Because a view from the top is not always worth the effort – but sometimes it is

Because what’s worth it and not is about what you gave up

Hum of the Day

There are a million reasons why truisms are true and another million why they are no t. The side of the coin depends on the view you are looking for.

I Remember

I remember my first journey to play school. I was in a cycle rickshaw – those three wheel cycles that allow two people to sit on blue or orange seats on the back. I remember thinking what a treat it was to ride in the open.

I remember the name and face of the driver and of the servant my mother sent with me to the school. I think those journeys were a treat for her too.

I remember playing simple games. Jumping portholes and counting tiles.

I remember the squeal of laughter that burst from my heart when I was tickled. It still happens.

I remember my school playground and my kindergarten classes.

I remember the grey and white tiles with the orange benches lined up in a row.

I remember my grade 3 teacher – Gloria teacher we called her. I remember her noticing that I know my math but not how to copy the numbers from the board. That was the year I started wearing glasses and discovered that I had shockingly bad eye sight.

I remember the jeep parked in the school playground- it as greenish grey with a black step at the back. I remember standing in front of the jeep and sipping water from my brown Milton bottle when a ball came and hit the bottle. It was the year I broke my front tooth.

I remember my friends in my building – I remember I was the outsider among the sisters yet the common friend between the two.

I remember the balcony where we had secret meetings that everyone knew about. I can still smile at the innocence of plans made and secrets shared.

I remember the bulb my father installed in that balcony – the installation formalized our secret society of three.

I remember performing for our parents. We got some money I know but what I remember is that we also got the permission to climb up the steep slope which lead to the main road so that we could go visit Dig-inns. This was the new confectionery store that sold ice cream and sweets. I can still taste the flavor of the freedom I felt. I had arrived at the age of nine.

I remember being told we were moving cities. It was time to say goodbye to my friends and life. I hated the idea of something new.

I remember being the new girl at school at every school I went to after that. It was a routine that replayed in almost the exact same manner at each school. I would walk in tentatively watching the crowds of girls all huddled up into their own groups. I had to be introduced by a teacher after which all eyes were on me as I slid into the seat assigned and wished I could be invisible.

I remember the first girl who befriended me in my sixth grade. She became my friend for years to come. I think I will call her soon and perhaps say Thank You.

I remember the fire at Pratt Memorial School and being told to walk in straight lines. I remember leaving the lines to find a friends sister. We did find her right after we saw two flaming green window panes fall inches away from us.

I remember the jhaal moori and puchkas of Calcutta. I remember the old man who made jhaal moori outside my building and knew the exact blend of flavor that I liked.

I remember Mustakeen – the driver who drove me to school for four years. I remember feeling shocked to find out that a man so nice had two wives.

I remember Shanta Bai – the old maid who worked for us in Mumbai. I remember her arthritis ridden hands and the love in her eyes. I remember the hand on my forehead when I burned with fever. I always had some hands on my head when ill – if not my mother’s then they were hers. The love was probably almost the same.

I remember after time, looking forward to the change which was a part of my life. It became a way to start anew. I remember the feeling of wanting to leave things behind.

I remember the anxiety of being a new girl in 10^th grade – the final year of school in Mumbai. I remember no one befriending me. Ironically, my best friend was among those who ignored me. One of my close friends here is also among those from that very class and school. It’s funny how life turns out. How the things we want to erase sometimes give up the bonds we need to survive.

I remember the freedom of college. The rush of feeling like I had grown up and life had no boundaries - the rush of innocent crazy dreams.

I remember the little girl at Aaakanksha – a local non-profit organization that taught street children. I went there every Thursday for two years. I remember her runny nose, unkempt hair and gorgeous smile. Her laughter and glee at learning that C followed by an A and a T is actually an animal still warms my heart. I know I made a difference to that one girl for that one hour.

I remember the rush of my first article being published in Teens Today – a magazine targeted at teenagers in India. I recall I received a cheque and letter which made me weep as I hugged my mother because it meant that the thing I love could potentially and eventually be a way of life. I wish I held on to that dream.

I remember turning practical a year later choosing a career and a life that made sense. I know now that sense and sensibility are both over rated concepts. The rush of madness and impetuous dreams is what gives true strength and confidence.

I remember the day I got admission into a graduate school for my MBA. I knew I had taken that final step toward my future.

I remember my first corporate project at a small brokerage that operated out of a single floor in a residential building. I remember the awful shirts and mismatched trousers of the men on the floor. They spoke in loud tones, yelling numbers and other expletives. I remember wanting to run away – which I did when it seemed like everything they did was illegal.

I remember my first job and the 24 other people who joined the same company with me on that day. I remember the green carpet and my first desk and desktop.

I remember that the head of the office sat behind me. Watching my back got a whole new meaning.

I remember leaving my home Mumbai because my parents were making a new place a home. I never did leave it. Home is where your heart is and mine will always be the city that made me and accepted me.

I remember leaving my new home in Delhi to make yet another home with my husband in a place unheard of to me. I remember the raw fear that enveloped me on my flight to Kuwait.

I remember the emirates flight that took me there and the red seats that made me want to hurl.

I remember holding my niece wrapped in the green hospital sheet. Her red little face and tiny nose which perfectly matched her beautiful face - it was love at first sight.

I remember needed to start afresh again over and over – with memories to keep me going.

Hum of the Day

Last night I went for a writers' workshop here. We took a cue from a book called “I Remember” by John Brainard. We all have common memories it seems and can relate to each others memories like our own.The idea is that when you start each sentence with “I remember” you trigger memories which can then be used as inputs in ones writing. For me, it just triggered me writing again. 

A Piece Of Me

The other day, an acquaintance who is four months away from marriage, no job and a new country, was telling me about how scary the thought of so many changes is. She had it all planned in her head: she would take whatever job she got, make sure she had her own set up and her own identity. She did not want to give away who she was.  It was imperative that a sense of who she was be retained. In the end, that was what would help her to keep her feet on the ground and hold on while change swept over her life.

It got me thinking – this time not about change. My thoughts were more in line with adaptability of our own sense of who we are. If someone asked any of us to turn back time, perhaps we would do some things differently. But my feeling is, most people, if they look at themselves objectively, would be happy with who they have become as a result of all the mistakes, good judgments and life experiences.

I know I gave up multiple pieces of me – sometimes parts of my behavior, sometimes my beliefs, sometimes work, friends – the list is actually long. But what is equally long is what I got for each piece I gave – it was a new piece, a new perspective, new thought, new pattern, a new way of life. And it was as much my choice as the rest of my life has been. 

Did the core of me change? Yes it did. But was it at the cost of my identity? No it was not. Because your identity is what you decide it is. You could be a banker, a teacher, a lawyer, a doctor. You will always be that internally – it’s your training and thoughts which were tailored in addition to a degree and education. No one can take that training away from you.

Sometimes, life may force you to use those very skills to do other things. Often, it may give you a chance to convert a talent into a profession or even discover a new talent. It can be a new way of doing old things or doing new things an old way. But all of that, each step you take, does not take away pieces of you – it just shows you new facets, new choices and a new identity.  No one can ever take away who you are – not a spouse, not a job and not a new life. Because, “who you are”,  is not constant. And it should not be.

Hum of The Day

I am who I want to be. Who I am is not, should not, and cannot be dictated by the profession I choose, where I live, who my family is. Identity is far deeper than society. We mistake pieces of us with pieces of our social lives.  Yes these pieces are like those of a jigsaw puzzle that forms the complete picture – but in life, those pieces are far more easily molded than we think. In the end, the picture will always be complete if you give up and re-mold the facets of you wisely.

Because You Have To

There are five steps to any unexpected situation – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance.  It can be quite exhausting actually, especially since unexpected and life can almost be synonyms for each other. But we do go through the drill; we pretend, rant, negotiate, wallow and finally dust off, get up and move on. The last stage is usually for the lucky and strong ones. A lot of times, moving from wallowing to doing is a vacuum that cannot be navigated.

Perhaps because reaching the last stage of acceptance, implies change. It means looking at old things a new way or looking at new things altogether. It is a move away from the comfort zone and that’s a very uncomfortable change.

These are the phases when the post-it like profound statements screams out at you.  “Change is inevitable”, “change is the only constant”, “everything happens for a reason”, “in the end it will work out”, “if it’s not happy it’s not the end” – the list is long, monotonous and probably the ray of hope to cling on to. Clichés became clichés because the work – another profound statement I recent heard.

But where does one get the strength to change everything from? How do you do something as simple as just put one foot in front of the other so as to take that step forward? This is especially true when the task ahead is daunting, arduous and evidently time-consuming.  I think it comes from ensuring that you get the strength from deep within who you used to be before life changed. You get it from the dreams you dreamed as a child. From the person you knew you wanted to be.

 You move away from comfort by realizing that sometimes, you don’t even know that you are uncomfortable – the discomfort is such a part of who you have become.  You do it so that you can look yourself in the eye and know that you are not living a compromised life. You may not be living the ideal till long after you move, but knowing that you are walking to somewhere and not running to anywhere can be a big motivation to lift that foot and just step, breathe, and step again.

Hum Of The Day

Change, is constant but never easy to live with. My constant struggle with it is evident by how often I have written about it. But like an old t-shirt that is tattered, torn, shabby but comfortable, at some point you just have to throw away the old. For no reason but because you have to – the childhood blanket gave way to a teddy bear which gave way to something else. Each new comfort was at the price of an old. That’s just the way it has to be.