When words aren't enough

I don't remember when it was that we actually became so close. I don't remember when I shifted from calling you by your name, to calling you Didi. Maybe it was when my laptop had to be given to the service center, and I started using your pretty gold coloured WAIO. You ended up reading my poems/writings, and discussing them with me. Or when you developed a ritual of putting me to sleep by putting on "Do Naina Aur Ek Kahani", when I would complain that I can't sleep with the tubelight on. Or when my bed broke, you put your bed aside, cleaned the room with a jhaadu, and exclaimed that we would both sleep on the floor.

We didn't meet for a few years after you graduated and left Room 103. But we always spoke, always knew about each others lives. We definitely got closer when you got married. Somehow, the fact that you married someone from my community, brought us infinitely closer. The fact that now you somehow understood the whole context of which I was a part of, cemented our friendship in a funny way. I was going through our chats the other day, and realized that the first conversation where you told me you were dating V, was also the first time I mentioned about AV to you, by saying that a friend of mine was trying to set me up with a friend of hers. So funny na?

My cousin got engaged the day you got married, and I couldn't make it for the wedding. I visited Bombay a few months after your wedding, and you came all the way from Matunga to Bandra to pick me up for breakfast, and then dropped me back to Bandra. You also gave me a supremely pretty suit, which I wore when AV's family came to my house for the first time. You told me that you were honoured that I chose your suit for such a momentous day.

You wrote me a beautiful letter when I got engaged. And I remember meeting you in Bombay soon after and you insisted on meeting AV. "Main tujhse nahin usse milne aayi hun". You couldn't come for my wedding, and it was an ongoing joke between you and me that it was just so you could take revenge for me not being there at your wedding. But I knew your reasons.

One of the reasons I have the best memories of my time in Bombay is because of you. How you used to turn up randomly and AV would open up his Pandoras box of complaints about me. How you used to support me, unconditionally, every time. Your "Tum log kitna zyaada khaana order karte ho!" Those two months of mine at work were so awesome. I remember when my seat was allotted diagonal to yours, and your boss exclaimed "Well I don't see Ankita being very productive for the next two months" How we chatted all day, every day. The day you came to my house to take a bath, because there was no water at your place, and I made breakfast for you. You are the only one, apart from my family, to be subjected to my cooking.

You were the only one who knew that I 'might' be pregnant, apart from AV and me. And you told me that you have a good feeling about this, and how I will be your Ankita Didi this one time. I remember telling you that this pregnancy thing is unnerving because I don't have any "Ankita Didi said this" to base my life on. I travelled to Bombay in the 4th month of my pregnancy for AV's office party, and I remember a friend mentioning "Tu sirf Ankita Didi se milne jaa rahi hai na?!" You spent practically a whole day with me, and then came to meet me for 10 minutes to Phoenix. We also had breakfast at Matunga just before our flight...remember?! Then you came to meet me in my parental home, when I was 7 months pregnant. That was the last time I saw you. I wish I had taken a picture, I don't know why I didnt.

You always used to say you felt a special connection with Surya. You had a beautiful handmade sweater set sent for him soon after he was born. The gifts you got for him from Canada, reached him exactly on his first bday. You were waiting to meet him, and would often ask me how he would differentiate between the two Anki Maasis. I kept telling you that we will figure out a way.

I was heartbroken when you told me about the cancer. And I was waiting to meet you. I almost met you in November, but plans got changed. December was planned. And awaited. I told you our plans a week before, and told you that even though things seemed so packed, I will meet you. You replied "I hope we meet". I don't know why you said it. You shouldn't have used 'hope'.

Out of all the clothes Surya has, I ended up choosing your birthday gift to him, the day you died. Looking back, it was a funny decision. Usually, I make him wear someone's gift when we meet that someone. I kept mentioning to everyone that you had sent it for him. I remember my mom saying that I should take a picture and send it to you, and I said you already have a picture of him in that outfit. But I wish I had listened to my mom. Maybe it would have been one of the last things you saw. Maybe we would have had a last conversation.

Those moments leading up to the news of your death are vivid. I was bang in the middle of a family reunion, laughing with my aunts and cousins one minute. And then saw that there were 3 missed calls from a Bombay number. I never return missed calls, but this one I did. The moment V said hello, I knew there was bad news. I hoped against hope that it wasn't the worst. It was. I remember asking him a series of questions. Looking back, I don't know how I managed to speak with such coherence. But the minute the call ended, I crashed. My heart was broken and my world had literally shattered. No one even tried to console me, because they knew how terrible this whole news was. They knew nothing they could say would make it okay. I had to put on a tough and happy exterior though. I had a baby to take care of. I had a family event to attend, people to socialize with. I couldn't look morose. But I cried my heart out in the cab on the way to the airport. I allowed myself that.

As per our plan, I went to your house on reaching Bombay. But you weren't there. Your picture was. The picture from your brother's wedding- I recognized it. Your family was there. We all recognized each other from the millions of stories you had shared. But there was nothing to say, not even tears to shed. I had nothing to say to V, who I had always met before in very pleasant circumstances. We hugged and held each other for 5 minutes, trying to share the grief, trying to understand the unspoken words. I looked around at the apartment, imagining the situation which was supposed to happen in those very hours. I imagined me visiting with AV and Surya. I imagined you holding S, and him taking to you and you exclaiming "Wunjoo I can't believe you are a mommy". I couldn't believe how 24 hours had changed everything.

I spoke to so many of our common friends about your death. Some, who knew your story. Others, who had no idea. To most, I was a messenger. They wanted information, the how, the why. With the others, I tried to piece together this whole ordeal. I made an unlikely bond with your BFF from college. We had barely spoken all these years, and here we were, talking for hours, trying to deal with this unimaginable shared grief of ours. We shared stories about you, and laughed at silly things. It helped a bit, because while we didn't know who the other person was/is, we knew who you were and what you meant to us. And that was enough to deal with this sadness.

I never realized how much a part of my life you were, or rather, still are. Small, inconsequential things remind me of you. I say your name unconsciously while narrating random stories. I don't know what to do with the truckloads of memories I have of you. It's like I need to do justice to those, put them somewhere for safekeeping, but there's no place big enough to keep them all.

Your death has changed my soul forever. Every time I feel like throwing a tantrum, your face flashes before my eyes, and I calm down. I feel like doing everything that comes my way, seizing every opportunity, perhaps because I feel like I have to live your share of life too. You would have definitely found it funny.

To say I miss you is the most meaningless statement ever. Maybe "I think of you so much" does more justice. I think of you everyday. In my happy moments, my sad ones, those moments before I sleep at night, my moments of doubt. I miss you most when I need Didi-level advice. And then I imagine what you would have said or reacted. The one thing I cannot wrap my head around is how I missed you by a day. How you never met Surya.

I still cannot believe you are not around. That I will never ever see you or hear your voice, or take a picture with you. I think its for the best. Because on the days when I believe your death, my life comes to a standstill, and the sadness is too much to handle.  

Most people who know me, told me to write, to deal with your death. I did write, but fragments. I wrote a piece about breast cancer for work, and a blog about the earrings which you made Alisha buy for me as a farewell gift. But nothing which captured the essence of my grief.

Maybe this does. I don't know. But I hope you read this Didi, wherever you are. There will never ever be another one like you in my life. And I hope you know just what you have been and will continue to be.

Love lots.

Navigating through the Delhi roads!

An old post dug out from the drafts!

People who have interacted me on a somewhat deeper level than "hey whats up?" would know that if there was such a term as "geographically challenged", i would be the human representation of it. Its something which I openly admit to, and am not in the least apologetic about- I am horrible with directions...and while my other sense are pretty intact (yes common sense included!), my road sense has been deep in slumber since birth.

So its really no wonder that I wasn't exactly most enthusiastic about learning how to drive and getting a license. Most of my friends/acquaintances celebrated their 18th birthdays by getting a permanent driver's license. On my 18th, i had just started to figure my way around Delhi. Since then, a small group of people had been pestering me to learn this so-called art of driving, and get my license. I had a million excuses ready- "I don't have a car, so its not like the license will be of much use" "I stay in a hostel, i don't need a license" "i LOVE delhi's public transport!" (i do really!) and of course, the trump card "Do you NOT know how horrible I am with directions? I mean i get lost inside my own colony!" Funnily, the majority of the people in my life never pestered me too much about this whole thing- i guess people know me too well :)

However, things changed. One summer evening in July, I decided that i had to know how to drive. Kids younger than me, wayyyy younger than me, were navigating through delhi roads...i mean its insulting right? Thus began the driving classes- official and un-official. The official ones, with the driving school were a bit of a joke. It was during the unofficial ones, with the father, that (to use a phrase which has to be in hindi!) aate daal ka bhaav pata chala! The first day of driving, I promptly announced to one and all that I would much rather do a million dissertations than drive- yes i am melodramatic like that!

Yesterday was my maiden drive on the scary roads of Delhi allbymyself. Yes- all.by.myself. There was no father, no brother, no one who would tell me to slow down, give the indicator, lower my speed, go right/left/wherever. I was on my own. I was the driver and the navigator
It was the scariest experience of my life. I wasnt this scared when i drove for the very first time. Or when the father took us on the ring road when we hadnt even got our learner's license. Or when he asked me to drive through naraina during peak hour and the mother was mortified, and prayed to all the gods known to mankind till we made it back home. I don't think i have ever experienced true fear like I did yesterday. For a second, I considered taking the metro instead- i mean who am i kidding? I was definitely NOT born to drive...why do i even try? Thank god I don't take myself seriously most of the time ;)
My maiden drive was horrible. I mean i drove my worst. Not unsafe driving, but just sheer horrible driving. But it was extremely rite-of-passagey, and i felt very very proud of myself; i urge all of you to be proud of me as well ;)

No i haven't changed drastically. I am still geographically challenged- it is no co-incidence that i only drive to places the directions to which have been permanently ingrained in my brain. I would still be a thousand times more comfortable at the idea of taking an auto or the metro. But I can drive! And it has given me a completely new perspective to Delhi roads- the world is a very different place behind that steering wheel. I hate pedestrians when I am driving (i think driver-me would have long killed pedestrian-me had they shared a road). I hate those auto-type/van type/three-wheeler things (i had never really noticed them before). I hate DTC buses and cycle rickshaws (such conflict inside my head!). I hate trucks (ya those I always wasnt too fond of). I swear a LOT inside my head (!) I hate people staring at me when I am driving- yes i am a girl. yes i drive horrible. yes the engine goes off. yes i have a problem parking, and taking the car out of the parking. what is YOUR problem? overtake my car, and GO.

I don't know how comfortable i will be with this whole driving thing in the future. There's a high possibility that I might give it up, just like that. But for now, let me bask in this glory :)
And thus endeth the saga of my journey from geographically challenged public transport loving girl, to geographically challenged public transport loving girl who learnt how to drive and navigate!

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

A book with a lasting impact

A teacher recommends three books in her class. The students take turns borrowing the books and share notes.

“So how was bitter chocolate?”

“Umm, depressing yet amazing…very well written…you should definitely read it.”

So I get the book and start reading it. The book begins with an author’s note which churns my stomach. Ok, its ok, just a book, I tell myself. Except that no one told me that it’s not JUST a book. Bitter chocolate is an experience, albeit a traumatic one at that, which makes your mind go totally haywire, and has a lasting impact on the reader. But first, let me tell you about the book in much the same fashion as Pinki Virani, the author, writes it: dripping with facts.

Bitter chocolate is a book about child sexual abuse in India. It is divided into three notebooks. The first deals with what CSA is, the statistics and the effects of it. The second notebook gives two detailed case histories. Finally, the third notebook talks about the healing process, recovery of CSA victims and their families. The book is interspersed with several real life case histories.

The book ends with a list of books recommended by the author on CSA and related subjects, such as marital abuse. It also contains a small compilation of contact details of NGO’s working in the area of CSA, in the major Indian cities.

Now that the facts are over, let me come to the real thing- Bitter Chocolate was a harrowing experience for me, which shook my very soul. I was never ignorant to CSA/sexual abuse before reading the book: the countless OPRAH shows which I have watched on the subject will vouch for that. 

But this was different. Very different. Perhaps it was the Indian context, perhaps the cold bloodedness of the hard facts or perhaps it was the sarcasm underlying every word in every page of the book; I don’t know. 

But I know that I will never be the same again. I am seeing every human being in a new light, in a new perspective. Every male seems like a potential perpetrator of CSA. Looking at every woman and child makes me question: have they been sexually abused today? Or yesterday? Will they ever be sexually abused at any point in their lives? Oh leave aside strangers. I have started to doubt my family members, my friends, their families, neighbours and about countless people who I have ever known in my life: all of them seem like they hold some secret related to CSA….do they?

None of these emotions are in any way exaggerated or written for effect. Not even the fact that after I finished the first notebook, I stayed up all night crying inconsolably, questioning just about everything in this universe. 

Would I recommend this book to anyone? OF COURSE and not just to anyone, but to everyone who cares to listen. To everyone who has ever loved and trusted. Essentially to everyone who knows how to read. It would be to create awareness, to make CSA a dining table conversation. But more than that, perhaps I would recommend it to people in hope, that someday, someone, somewhere would read it and find peace, even for a few minutes. Or better yet, prevent CSA from taking place.

Would I read it again? Or rather, do I have it in me to go through the whole ordeal again? Honestly, I don’t know and I can’t say. 

So coming back to the question: how IS Bitter Chocolate? Simply put, an experience, one which leaves a lasting impact.

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

Date Night

“Let’s go, quickly, while he is sleeping”, the husband said. And so we rushed out of the house, eager to make a most of this golden opportunity.

As parents to a five month old boy, our previously untamed lives had undergone a total metamorphosis. We used to be big on weekend outings, catching every random movie which would come out, meeting friends, long walks and going to our favourite eateries.  However, today we had to meticulously plan every tiny outing, whether a cup of coffee or a short drive. Date nights were effectively a thing of the past.

Not that we were complaining- both of us loved being parents, and we had managed quite a few outings with our baby in tow. But this new love of our life came with certain obstacles to some quality husband-wife time, which needed a lot of effort and planning to overcome.

So after ages, the stars had aligned in such a manner that the boy slept off at a time, which was conducive for a dinner date. And we seized the opportunity, as soon as it landed on our lap.

“Pizza?” the husband asked. I gave a big smile and nodded. I hadn’t eaten pizza in ages, but the reason for my smile was not that. Pizza dates with the husband were always special, because our first official date involved pizza, garlic bread and masala lemonade.

Three and a half years, and countless dates later, our order at the restaurant remained much the same. We chit chatted about the baby, but also about childhood memories, old friends and potential vacations. We laughed and giggled, made fun of each other, reminisced about our very first date, and how much life had changed. 

We had a leisurely dinner, unable to fathom our good luck that not a single call came from home. It was too good to be true. Well, almost. Just as plans for dessert were being made, the phone rang- we were summoned home, as the boy had gotten up. 

“Well it couldn’t have been perfect”, the husband said. I smiled back and said “This was as close as it could be”. And after quickly paying the bill, we rushed home. From being just husband and wife for an hour, we were back to being parents. 

In my five months of being a mother, I realize that parenthood can be hugely challenging to a marriage. It takes lots of effort to be husband and wife, to take out time and energy for each other, when your child requires you to be parents 24*7. But this short and sweet date with my favourite pizza partner, gives me hope that perhaps the husband and I will do just fine. 

https://housing.com/.

Of being a guest writer

Over the past two weeks, I have written two blog posts for two veryyy different blogs. I shall be immensely immodest and say that I was invited to do the two posts - fancy much!

CSR is an organisation I interned with three years ago, for four months, way back when I was engaged. It was a dream job, where I got paid to write and waste my time on social media- utopia! Well, except for the money ;) Anyhoo, so the boss from CSR pinged on Facebook the other day and asked me to write a post for their new initiative "Write with us"on gender based parenting. Thus "Raising a boy" was written. As soon as it went live, an acquaintance pinged me on Twitter and asked me to write for "The Earrings Project", which she had started a few months back with a friend. I had found it super interesting since and had been meaning to write for it for quite some time. And so "The Wedding Gift" happened.

The point of this post is not to advertise my writing (although, comments would be greatly appreciated!). I had a super fun time thinking and writing both these diametrically opposite pieces and it made me realize how therapeutic writing is for me. I mean yes I like the appreciation which accompanies it sometimes, but at the end of the day I love writing, by itself. I love putting my thoughts to words, I love seeing a blog post take shape. Since I turned mom, writing provides a much needed mental break from mom-hood, even if I am writing about my baby.

Here's to more guest posts, blog updates and maintaining sanity!

a 1000 weeks, a 1000 memories

So the media has effectively been going insanely crazy over DDLJ completing 1000 weeks at Maratha Mandir. The cast is being interviewed, quotable quotes from the movie being repeated like everywhere.

I remember seeing the movie for the very first time, not in a theater, but on tv. You see, those were the good old days when we were at the mercy of the neighbourhood cablewalla, who sometimes did the evil sin of showing new movies on his own secret channel. The quality of the print used to be so so so bad ('camera print' it was called those days), but there was some magic, some joy in that whole experience, which streaming a new movie online doesn't quite capture.

Anyway, so we caught glimpses of the movie (I think from the train sequence to tujhe dekha toh yeh jaana sanam- with manyyy scenes missing and heads cut). Deciding that the movie might just be worth checking out, we eventually saw the movie in the theater. And the rest as they say is history.

DDLJ was the onset of a very very long ongoing love affair between me and Bollywood. I was all of eight when the movie came out, but it left an indelible impression on me. For me, SRK is the Raj of DDLJ, always. Maybe the Rahul or Kabir Khan. Never the Suri or Om or G.one. But always the Raj. When I say I am an SRK fan (used to be would be more apt in the current scenario) I refer to DDLJ, always. I fell deeply in love with the pairing of SRK and Kajol, to the point that I thought SRK should divorce his wife and marry Kajol and got so upset when Kajol married Ajay Devgan (ya we were super awesome like that)! I even bugged my parents to take me to this Awesome Foursome show where SRK and Kajol were performing, some four hours away from Ottawa in Toronto, when I was 11, and I remember being in total awe that I was in the same physical space as them. I remember travelling to Switzerland some six years after the movie was out, and being obsessed with buying a cowbell and staring at mustard fields.

I loved many movies after that, but this one has always held a special place in my heart. Perhaps because I was so young. Perhaps because it was the first of its kind in many ways. Perhaps because of all the imagery and memories associated with it.

Looking back, DDLJ represents a simpler time, in cinema and life. It represents a pre-Internet, pre-Facebook era, where things were at face value and you didn't have the option of googling everything. It was a time when movie stars were people you guessed about and were in awe of, not people on your Twitter and Instagram accounts. It was a time when people wore outrageous clothes in movies, were fat and probably didn't go to the gym all the time.

Too much mush this post. But far away from this maddening business of 100 crore movies, unending film promotions and super perfect looking movie stars, DDLJ is perhaps one of the few films which always manages to warm my heart. And that's enough.

After all, bade bade deshon mein aisi chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hain.

A month of sunshine

It's been a whole month since October 1st, that seemingly normal Wednesday morning, when I went to my doctor for a follow-up. And was told that I would be having a baby by the end of the day.

A bit of a history. I had spent the past weekend at the hospital due to a BP scare. So I was at the height of my frustration levels. In fact, on October 1st, I woke up and looked like a balloon- my high blood pressure had made my entire body swell up, to the extent that my eyes looked Chinese, and I couldn't even make a fist with my hands

Right. Coming back to October 1st. For a day which is perhaps one of the most important, defining days of my life, it's a surprise that it's perhaps the most emotion-less and blank days of my life as well. I remember feeling NOTHING through the entire rigmarole of going to my doctor, being told that a C-Sec was my best bet at the time, getting admitted, waiting for the husband to get in from office, filling forms, finally being wheeled into the OT, being subjected to an epidural (that was the scariest part of my delivery process), staring into the bright OT lights above me and suddenly hearing a baby's cry ("really? The kid is born?!")...yours truly was blank through it all.

But the point of this blog post is not my mental state on that day- although I would like to capture that some day soon. My little baby boy, aka Surya, has turned a month old. And I want to essentially capture his first month of living.

So a bit about my "Sun"
- Nothing gives him greater joy than being massaged and bathed. He would be crying before and after a bath, but is in a state of utter tranquility during a bath.
- Doesn't know how to fall asleep- so so so sad for a child whose parents could sleep for eternity if given a choice.
- Moves his hands and feet wayyyy too much. I suspect an incredibly naughty child in the making.
- Looks like an angel when he's sleeping
- Likes being held a little too much.
- Has big and super inquisitive eyes.
- Gives a toothy smile in his sleep, which has immense melting-your-heart powers.
- Looks the cutest when he cries (Sadistic mommy, check)

Motherhood is a strange phenomenon. I didn't feel motherly during my entire pregnancy...I was so incredibly preoccupied with myself. But now that S is here, things have changed. It's a joy having him next to me, to see his little being grow and develop, to notice his tiny little actions and quirks. The entire month has been exhausting and sleep-deprived, but the tiny human is just so pretty awesome, that it seems like a decent payoff ;) I know, biggest cliche in the world right?

(I is back on the blog...I missed writing. And despite the super tiring and exhausting routine that I have now, I hope to be regular from now on. Soooooo much to write about!)