Dear Mama

Today is Mother’s day! I do not know why there has to be a Mother’s day as for me every day is Mother’s day. You may have left me 23 years ago but there has not been a single day I have not remembered you. You have been with me every moment from the time I last held you on that fateful June day. You gave me the gift of life, the most precious gift anyone can offer, but you also showed me how to live the life you gave me. From the time I was a little girl, you took me by the hand and set out on a journey that has not ended even when you left this world. You live in every breath I take. True some memories have yellowed faded like the this picture has. I sometimes need to ferret in the umpteen boxes of photographs that lie in a corner of the house to recollect the less than four decades we shared in different corners of the world. There are the very professional pictures taken by photographers where you are always dressed to perfection, your hair in place, your sari impeccably draped and your beautiful smile ever present. But there are also the personal photographs, taken with a shaky hand and probably with the wrong settings. These are the true repository of our lives and somehow in most if not all of them, I find myself, be it as a baby, a toddler, a school going child or a rebellious teenager. No matter what you were photographing, your child had to be there. This discovery made me realise the extent of your love for me.

You are the one who wanted a battalion of children but got only one, as your son was taken from you even before you could hold him. No wonder then that you smothered me with your love. You had to make this one child worthy of your love. And that is not all. How can I forget that you are the one who were willing to accept life as an old maid rather than give birth to a child in a enslaved India. Your  incredible love for this land made sure that your child never forget the fact that she was first an Indian. Though we lived in faraway lands across the glove, you made sure my mother tongue would be Hindi. Your way was simple: you never spoke to me in any other language. I must have been 5 or 6 when I realised that you knew other languages. And talking of languages what an incredible woman you were!  You, a girl from a small town suddenly propelled into the international arena by virtue of the profession of the man you married and whose husband was steeped in French culture, learned French on the sly to be able to gift the man you loved a very special birthday present: the ability to speak the language he loved. You were truly to the manor born.

I fell in love with you the instant you first held me. That Mama was instinctive love. But I have a secret to share with you, and what better day than today, Mother’s day! I fell in love all over again with you after your left when I had the sagacity and maturity to understand what an incredible woman you were. I wish I could tell you that in person. I wish I could ask your forgiveness for the times I may have hurt you inadvertently. I realise today that everything I am or have achieved is because you were my mother. 

In the past decade or so, I have tried to walk a path that encompassed all that you held as true: your love for the land, your fight for women’s equality,  your passion for education, your compassion for the downtrodden, your belief that everything was possible if we had the courage to take the first step. I hope you are proud of me. 

I do not know why I feel your presence around me, urging to take a final look at my life, wanting me to dare to jump in the void without a parachute and see whether I have the wings needed to fly.

For you, I will take that final leap!

I love you mama

your daughter

anou

Today’s post is personal. Maybe it is because I am at this very instant faced with a challenge that requires me to take a decision I am weary of taking. I do not know if there is a translation for the french expression ‘ la spirale infernale’. The best would be a ‘vicious circle’ or maybe ‘downward spiral’. I feel like I am at the edge of a precipice and need to make the decision to jump or not. I did start by saying that this post was personal but realise now that nothing in my life is purely personal anymore. From the day I began my pwhy journey, I have been compelled to look beyond the obvious in more ways than one. Nothing is what it seems anymore. I have written many posts on the health and medical situation over the past few years. I have been privy to the state of medical care available to us Indians on both side of the spectrum and did not like what I saw. From quacks to super docs, it is all a matter of extorting as much money as possible from people who are at their most vulnerable. The Hippocratic Oath is well forgotten. Maybe one should revisit it.

Today medicine is the new commercial kid on the block. Just like education! Hospitals look like 7* hotels if you are rich. A well rehearsed sales pitch awaits you when you go to seek help and you get drawn into that downward spiral even if you think you are well prepared. I have seen the game from far many a times. Playing on our desperation, we find ourselves drawn into a vortex from which there is no escape.

I have known many who fell in the trap and got landed with surgeries and other interventions that cost a bomb and were not really needed. The arrival of medical insurances has been a boon for such outrages. My own cousin brother was probably almost DOA, but kept alive and several surgeries performed on him before they finally declared him dead. You would have guessed that the bill amounted to the sum he was injured for!

In 1992 I too fell into this trap though at that time it was not an insurance issue. My father who was in no pain and in good health was taken to a ‘specialist’. This happened on the 30th of October. On the 29 of November he breathed his last. In between these 2 dates complex surgeries that should not have been performed on a 81 year old were done. In medical terms they were successful! I guess this was because he came out of them. For me they stripped him of his dignity. I still wonder if we would have been with us for some more time had we not visited the specialist. My mother refused all conventional treatment. She lived with her dignity intact.

I also know of people who did not fall for the carefully laid trap that includes dramatic scenes worthy of the best playwright. They sought a second opinion from the still honest medical practitioners who unfortunately work in hospitals where it is quasi impossible to get to them unless you have ‘contacts’. In all these cases, people who had been told that they were ‘about to die’ and needed ‘immediate bypass surgeries’ were simply advised a change of lifestyle. They are around and in good health! One of my relatives was kept on a ventilator after a car crash for one month. We all knew in our hearts that he would not make it but fell for the well written scenes that was enacted in front of us every day.

This is not about the poor! Theirs is another story. This is about you and me. And it is not about money.  One would be willing to spend the last dime in one’s pocket if we could get our loved one the right help. But the problem is that one knows that the advise you get is loaded! I am sure there are honest doctors but I do not know where to find them.

I am lucky to have a wonderful GP who is everything a doctor should be. For the past decades he has treated us of all our ailments and donned every specialist cap possible. I prayed that this would continue till we all breathed our last.

That was not to be. Yesterday I was asked to get a second opinion for someone I love the most. It is true that we have been battling with his health issues for some time and not being able to nail the problem. So my doctor asked for the dreaded ‘second’ opinion. Sadly he did not know anyone in the field and gave me some names and numbers. I do not know why, but I did not rush to fix an appointment and did some web search. The results were not great. I do not know why, instinct perhaps, but my mind zoomed back to what happened to papa. My blood ran cold. I found myself at the edge of the precipice that I know would take me down the dreaded spiral from where there is no way up.

What is strange is that though I know the game and thus should not fall for it, I also know that when it comes to a loved one your reason vanishes and your heart takes over. You are sure to make all  the wrong decisions.

I am now at the edge of the cliff, fighting to hold my balance. I will give myself some time to explore possible options and also take hold of myself and not act in haste. Love will have to be harnessed, and reason given all the space it needs. I will not jump in the void without a parachute but develop the wings I need to fly.

So help me God!

You are the best girl in the world said my little grandson when we connected on skype this morning. I guess for him it was simply because Nani gives in to every whim and fancy, buys all the cars and toys, allows extended TV time, bypasses mummy’s diktats and gorges one with chocolates and ice cream! I guess that is what nani’s are made for! But to me these eight words spoken my an innocent child were a much needed sign from the heaven’s above as for the past months now I have been feeling somewhat low and shaky. The reasons are many! First a slew of health issues in my family requiring practically all my time, if not as a poor ersatz of Ms Nightingale busy doling out medication, holding hands or dishing out dollops of TLC, then as wife and mother spending sleepless nights worrying. And to crown it all,  I am joining the bandwagon as it seems that my eyes have developed cataracts. This certainly added to my misery as my eyes are my most prized possessions as they are the ones enabling me to face all obstacles head on! I mean reading and writing are essential to my survival.

I must admit I have been wallowing in unnecessary self pity and once you take that road then it seems to be always a downward ride. I was spiralling out of control and was praying for a sign. And it came this morning through the words of my little Angel. His lovely words were the kick I needed to stop basking in my self pity and look at life with new eyes. The first things that struck me was the fact that though I had, by force majeure, been terribly absent from the pwhy, both physically and mentally, the project was running like a dream. Even funds were sufficient, not needing me to worry constantly, at least for some time. It was as if the Gods were on my side. I am not only referring to the day-to-day running of the project, but my team has successfully handled many visits as well as a successful pilot of a learning programme called SMILE and initiated by Stanford University. And there is more. The ace pwhy team organised 2 cultural programmes for visiting guests and is now preparing yet another for a large expat group. I was happy to learn that workshops on gender issues are also going on as well as preparing for co-educational classes during the summer holidays. Another surprise was the fact that the team on it’s own has organised a partnership with a travel agency to train some of our students in upmarket motorcycle repair, thus fulfilling a cherished dream: that of providing useful vocational skills to students who may not be academically inclined. For all the months when I have been unavailable, my team stood like a silent rock behind me and for that I am eternally grateful. I wonder how I would have survived the past months if I needed to worry about the nitty-gritty of the project.

The best girl also needs to look at the coming time with optimism and realise that physical and other ailments do get resolved if one is walking the right road. I have been doing my best to support those who need me. Here also there is something I had not realised. I could only do so because my ‘health’ was spot on and I had the physical and mental strength to hold on. This is alo a blessing from the heavens above.

I have shared my problems with some close friends, friends that came into my life thanks to pwhy, and they have stood by me through thick and thin, giving me courage and determination to face the future. This is a blessed gift as being an only child and having lived a nomadic life, I never had what is known as childhood friends.

And the fact that my little grandson used the word ‘girl’, I guess means that I have to stop complaining about my age and continue giving my best to one and all, be it my family or my work. So I have no excuse to stop writing or doing what is expected of me to be the ‘best’. Please do not take this as grandstanding, far from that! The use of the word best was a gentle reminder to do what I needed to.

Tomorrow may hold new challenges. Some may be difficult and even trying but what is needed is to give one’s best and accept whatever comes with a grateful smile.

It is said that God speaks through children! I second that with conviction.

Keep your bike in good repair: Motorcycle boots are NOT comfortable for walking. Wonder why I am starting this blog with a biker’s quote? Patience and read on. A few months ago we got a mail from Vintage Rides, an organisation that invites you to discover India on Royal Enfield Bullets. They wanted to partner with us so that they could include a very special part of India in their itinerary: project why! We discussed many options: visits by their clients, wish lists for donations, bike rides for our children and so on. Each was discussed at length but somehow fell short in some way, till we hit the nail on the head: mechanical classes for pwhy students. Vintage Rides has a state of the art facility for bike repairs and we are always on the look out for vocational options for our students, particularly those who are not academically inclined but could and would do wonders if they found their calling. The glove with the hand perfectly. And Jon, who is volunteering with us was our man of the moment!

The introductory class was held this week and this is what Jon had to say: The staff were excellent,treated the kids as equals, they really got into showing the kids how the bikes worked, about the engines and teaching the kids. The students started off having a talk in the boardroom about VR then moved into the workshop, they really enjoyed being able to start some of the fantastic bikes they are customizing for customers all over the world and shown the inside workings of how an engine works, They were then able to get hands on taking an engine apart to be shown how to fix an oil leak, you can see from the photo how keen the students were to learn and did us proud at all times by acting with manners, politeness and enthusiasm  – their eagerness and concentration the whole time they were there was great to see. The session was extended as well because it was going so well and it think bodes well for the future.

I was on cloud nine, and for more reasons that one! Once again, as Jon confirmed, my kids were to the manor born and behaved perfectly throughout the workshop. Then their interest in the workshop, their pertinent questions and concentration proved that this could be an option for them after they complete school with a caveat though as we need to select kids who we feel are not made for higher studies. This bunch was some of our brightest. And then what made my day was the close and equal interaction between what we call the 2 Indias! I must admit that I am always a little apprehensive as I have had some bad experiences. For this I want to extend my deepest gratitude to the Vintage Rides staff and management.

And as  Motorcycle boots are NOT comfortable for walking, a lot of repair work awaits our pwhy kids!

Way to roar!

I was surprised when I heard that young K was going to spend a few days at home. I am always delighted when she is with us as she is a ray of sunshine, but this is school and unit test time so what the hell was she doing! I obviously had to ask what was happening. That is when I first heard of a custom called Chaupadi, practised in Nepal. What I was witnessing was a revised and ‘modernised’ version of this abhorrent custom. The article gives an elaborate description of the horror. In short a woman is considered ‘unclean’ while she is menstruating and is kept in isolation as the gods will be angered and bring ruin upon hapless male members of the family. So she is locked up in a dark hole. Men need to be protected as is always the case.

I do remember some elders in my own family make inane statements like ‘don’t touch the pickle jar‘ as it is believed that it will rot if touched by one who has her period. We were also banished from the prayer room and not taken to Temples. I found this unjust but never raised my voice as my parents, though traditional always sifted the grain from the chaff as far as traditions were concerned, and only taught me what they felt stood to logic and my cartesian mind. I remember telling my father first that I had had my period and we both went out to buy me a gift. I was 10!

This terrible custom does not stand to any logic, however warped. Menstruation is part of the normal growth of girl and needs to be celebrated just like you celebrate the first word, the first step, the first day at school and many more firsts. How illogical it is to consider the very essence of creation as something dirty! Having your first period is traumatic for any child. That is when she needs love, affection, help, care, tenderness and above all the presence of her family. Imagine how she feels when she is sent to the cowshed in the village or to strangers home in the city! Once upon a time this isolation was considered as ‘forced rest’ and could have made some sense if the woman was well looked after, but now she is still meant to work. As one woman says: if I can feed the cow when having my periods, why can’t I drink its milk? If I can collect firewood for the kitchen, why can’t I cook? If I touch a plant, it will die they say, then why am allowed to breast-feed in the chaupadi? This is absurd.

The watered down version that I am seeing today is incomprehensible. The young girl will continue to go to school and carry on with her life but cannot see any male member of her family for the next 7 days! Blissfully in this version this is only for the first cycle.

My curiosity compelled me to find out the origin of this Hindu practice and thanks to the WWW and Google this is what I found: According to religious folklore, Indra, the King of Heaven was accused of killing a Brahmin and because of the illicit acts with women that Indra committed during his quest to redeem his sin, for these acts all women were said to be punished through menstruation. So if I get it right, a God goes philandering and it is all women, including you and me, who are punished and tormented. Hey that is a good one for explaining all the rape and abuse against women. You are being raped because Indra went astray!

This practice has landed in our city because of the large number of migrants from the region where it is the most prevalent. Urban existence has compelled families to revisit the custom and contain it to the first cycle only. But that is probably the worst ‘modernisation’ you could have come up with.The first cycle is when a girl is still a child and when she needs maximum support. You cannot lock her away or send her to strangers. And how can you think that a menstruating child’s touch can  hurt the males of the family! What she needs most is a hug from her father. That is what I got.

To be continued