Hidden costs

Uneven grounds, craters as dark and deep as sin, the battered subject and his chariot make their way. The battle scars are evident. A creaky hip, the once non-noticeable limp but no longer so. He battles through a quick transformation from a youth with steely bones to one with aching joints. The once shiny yellow and black is now but a rickety and muddy 3 wheeler.

Both question - how did I become this?

Both question - who pays for this?

Mumbai - A sensory explosion

Many of you would have come in thinking that it would read something like this - smell of the sea, the feel of newly minted notes, the sight of the skyscrapers , the taste of the roadside vada pav. And you wont be wrong. But that is how an unsuspecting , naive tourist perceives it.

For us lot, it is never just this. It is an amalgamation of so much more.

Every morning I step out of my house to get to work. This is a 20-45 minute commute depending on when I leave. And everyday my senses are challenged. I live in an apartment complex with ~160 odd flats and I am greeted by an elevator that has the smell of fresh newspapers, amul milk packets, a calvin klein perfume and definitely that of a dog. 

I get into an auto which is either a fresh smell of agarbathis or the stench of an unbathed driver. Your destiny chooses you here. Then I navigate the roads - 

First stop: fresh fried aloo wadas merged with black grey fumes from a tempo that last did its pollution check 10 years ago and with the rotten smell of the discards from a thousand households.

 Next stop: the roadside fish market merged with the spices from the sahakari bhandhar (provision store), and again from the rotten smell of the discards from another thousand (this time floating in the canal nearby). 

Third stop: The smell of fresh flowers that the hawkers sell to hang in your cars to ward away evil, with the smell of the paan that the riskshaw driver adeptly opens with one hand and pops into his mouth and with the rotten smell of the discards from another thousand people (this time somehow has made it into the landscape as mosaics in a small hillock). 

Fourth and final stop: I reach office which is situated in one of the poshest areas and you would expect it to reek of everything fragrant, what with the multi national companies and five star hotels. But no, here you are welcomed with the unique mix of the fragrance from the flowers from a Nagalinga tree , the smell of temporary stress relief (cigarettes) , the smell of chanels and armanis and yes, you guessed it right - the rotten smell of the discards from another thousand people(but this time cleverly decorated with concrete). It flows like a river underneath the complex. You hide it from sight but alas you cannot prevent it from smartly escaping through vents and snaking into the air.

This amalgamation is the truth for many of us. For a non-mumbaikar, this is a lot to take in but for us, this is the norm and the truth. But it will not be long before even for us, this becomes unbearable. Till then, I shall continue to bear this daily journey that is interspersed with moments where I literally hold my breath.

Thank you!

Oh mothers,

I write this letter to you, thanking you in advance for the beautiful men you will be nurturing and growing. I am so proud of the fact that you will be teaching them to be kind and gentle, respectful and loving, strong and supportive. I brim with pride when I know that the boys are in good hands and you have helped them understand what “NO” means - for trivial nothings and for the non-trivial bigger non-nothings. I see that each of your boys is seeing at home an example from his father, brother, grandfather or uncle on how a woman should be treated - He sees someone who is an equal partner - right from helping out at home, to taking care of each other. I know that you know that this is important as he is not going to learn this anywhere else. You have also made them realize that they have an immense responsibility to walk hand in hand with the other sex.

I am so proud of the fact that when these boys grow up to be those wonderful human beings and they look back at the stories of horror on the opposite sex, it leaves them in utter dismay, but they heave a Sigh of relief with the thought - “Not on my watch, not now, not ever”

The wrinkles

Unlike the wrinkles on a shirt that get pressed on, with no stories to share, the wrinkles on a face mean so much more. They highlight the years of laughter, the moments of tears, the days of toil and more importantly the beauty of time. They are like journey lines, each telling a different story. The ones around the eyes speak about the heartfelt smiles that made their way from the lips to the eyes, the furrows near the brow retain those un-worded disapprovals , those on the forehead, the unabashed exclamations, the creases near the mouth roar with the sound of laughter, and those under the chin scream of the unshed tears that you pursed your way through. 

Do we have to smoothen these and erase a part of the past? Do we have to make them disappear? Ageing is inevitable but ageing elegantly and beautifully is something we should still hold on to, no?

One Truth

Why does the innocence of a chid's voice invoke so much more spirituality? Is it because they are untouched by any of the vices? There is purity and clarity in their voice and tone. It shatters your ego, breaks into all your insecurities and makes you completely vulnerable. 

And I am not talking here about a God or religion but just the true essence of acknowledging that there is something bigger than you and yourself. Amidst all the logic and certainty, there is another energy that does make that one small change.

All of us go through ups and downs in faith on the basis of incidents in one's life. During intolerable times, some hold onto that faith longer and firmer whereas some question that faith. But I feel, we question and then we seek peace and we come back to that one truth.

The bond

One has seen life, the other is about to, one has known, experienced , lived, the other is going to know, experience and live. But they are the bestest of friends, they bare their soul to each other and they laugh and live like they are the same age.

They feed off each other and live off one another. Distances dont matter, time doesnt matter, they hit off where they left. Childhood is relived, time is being made. 

This bond is sacred, divine, necessary and absolutely fantastic. I am so glad that in some small way, I have helped seal this.

I am so glad that I knew mine. I lived her childhood through her eyes. She lived mine. 

This is the "Grand" bond, strong, loving and ever-lasting. For the self-less grandparents and the ever-loving grandchildren whose hearts brim with an emotion more than love, more than affection and something so brilliantly "un-nameable"

Doe & a clown

How can somebody bring so much joy? A little butterfly that flutters around, a doe that gracefully hops and mesmerizes us, a clown that can make you roll in splits. All this in one beautifully packaged darling is Nidhu.

She is carefree, sensitive and boisterous , all at the same time. For her, her world revolves around her amma, appa, akka , akka and akka! And then her 3 close friends.

She can be content swaying to Ghoomer or Pinga or Roar or 500 miles or actually any music.

She cannot settle for culinary mediocrity. She needs food tasty and hot. One look at this little thing would suggest a complete disinterest for anything food. But quite the contrary

She is nearing 5 and is developing a beautiful personality. My baby!