"Christmas Nostalgia"- The one where this all started!!!

            I had planned to write this post on today's day and date about almost a year earlier, when I actually started writing this blog. This was the post that ignited the sparks of penning down my thoughts and putting them for friends and family to devour, to enjoy, to judge, to comment, to compliment and criticize. After writing this post on a similar morning exactly a year from today, when I shared it, I got wonderful words of appreciation from all but a few people's comments were exceptionally inspiring, the most important of them being my partner in every crime, my sister, who has always believed in me and has this habit of pushing me to take the plunge. And this time I did plunge and result is this page.
          Thank you one and all for being so patient, loving my work and keeping me going.

Here it goes- My first ever write-up "Christmas Nostalgia"

            Christmas reminds me of my childhood- Me and my sister freshly bathed on a chilly winter night, in our clean crisp pyjamas, and slicked back tiny ponytails, ironing out our pastel colored socks, hiding them under our pillows which were fluffed up specially that day with our tiny little hands and covered with our chosen new pastel pillowcases that we'd been saving for special days, saying our prayers to the 'Santa Clause' (as we used to call him) and going off to sleep, with hopes and dreams of finding our wishes fulfilled.And to our amazement in the morning we used to find our little socks filled with tiny dolls and chocolates (which were all that we had wished for at that time). Our squeals of excitement and happiness would fill the cold, foggy winter morning in our home. Little did we know that it was actually our parents who snuck in at night to fill those empty socks with our dreams, to make each one of them come true!!! A shout out to Mom and Dad who have given us happiness forever I can remember...  

What If...

Hey Friends,
              Firstly I am sorry for the ever increasing hiatus between the posts. I somehow was facing the dearth of my own life experiences to derive inspirations to write. And thus this led to to tap an untapped area in my style of writing. I thought why not let your mind a little more loose and try writing fiction. Me being an utter romantic by heart, you may not get a lot of fancy fiction here, but maybe a few fairytale moments that may make you go weak in your knees and make you say "Aawwweeee". This is my first ever fiction romantic attempt ever so your suggestions and comments and criticisms are most welcome. Here it goes:

             

              It was an early morning of autumn. Sitting, on a stony bench in a garden by the stagnant waters of rather small, sparsely visited lakeside stinking with the stench of the mold and rotten wilted vegetation, feeling the gush of breeze running through her freshly washed hair that she rarely left un-oiled and loose swaying in the wind. The freshly risen sun was bathing her silhouette in its warm orange light. The rays of the sun gave a warm glow to her smooth pale pink cheeks. She had her eyes and senses closed to the outside world. With a train of thoughts running through her mind, she sat there with a book in her lap and a pen in her hand which she probably wasn’t aware of and had loosened the grip over it. She was scribbling something in her lined book with a leather casing and golden bronzed edgings to it. The words in her beautiful cursive handwriting read as follows; 

“ 'What' and 'If' seem like two tiny little harmless words, but when put together, they have the potential to haunt you for the entire life- ‘What if?’ What if? What if?? What if???" 

              She sighed and slipped into the flashbacks of her own life, revisiting her moments of 'What Ifs'. What if- She had chosen her love for literature for the trending and more potentially viable choice of engineering after her school? Would she be more satisfied with her job? What if- She had the guts to talk to the cute and clever boy sitting in front of her bench on whom she had her first ever huge crush on? Would she have giggled and chuckled with her girlfriends each time the guy passed by with flaunt in his swagger? What if- She had the courage to confess to her disciplinarian parents about her love for the guy in her college? Would she be actually living her happily ever after with him? What if- She had said yes to that money-minting and highly coveted job in that multi-national company? Would she be the proud owner of all those exorbitant bags and shoes? What if- She had another baby after their first lovely daughter? Would they, the grown up children be fetching them as parents? What if- She had chosen to devote her time to an upbringing of her children and family the way she wanted to do it? Would her children have more righteous and good human beings? What if- She had pursued her love for writing? Would she have her name etched on the cover of a best-selling novel? 

             She sat pondering over these What-if’s with her eyes closed and she felt a warm hand over her shoulder. Startled she opened her eyes and turned back. She saw a man with early wrinkles on his face and the a mop of curly hair and a receding hairline, the same man that she had and will always love, that cute boy sitting in front of the school bench, with whom she went around in her college and who proposed to marry her while they worked in a multinational software company. He whispered to her in his husky voice, “Now, my  love, you don’t want to be late for your own book launch, do you?” She shook her head and walked with him to reach the street where from across she could see both her teenaged girls waving at her. Her lips curved into a smile, and she felt a sense of relief. She hadn’t let her What if’s remain What if’s. She had taken a plunge whenever it was needed and she owned and was proud of every bit of her life. There she was living her life of no regrets.   

Leaving a Legacy...

“A great teacher is like a spark that ignites the raging fire of passion and inspiration in a student’s mind”

               Today, 5^th of September is a Teacher’s Day in India. It is a day that we dedicate to pay much underpaid gratitude to our teachers. For each one of us a teacher has a different role in their lives, but I’m sure each one of us has come across a teacher that has changed our lives. A teacher is like the first ray of sunlight on a cold foggy morning that engulfs you in their arms full of warmth and makes you comfortable with the new subject and then gradually increasing its warmth to give you the nudge to get up and achieve the fiery success. As much as it is a vital role of a teacher to teach the students academics, it is more important for them to inspire the student. Even if a teacher is entrusted with a class full of 40-50 students, it is the ability of the teacher to recognize the untapped potential and the seed that is there in the student’s brain and to nurture it to help it blossom. It is the same class of 40 students which will produce a Winston Churchill as well as a Picasso. A great teacher will never tell you what to do, will never tell you what is right or wrong or will never tell you do this or that. A great teacher will just create and ignite a few questions in your mind and help you find your own answers and your own footing.

As a famous poet Robert Frost has aptly written,

“There are two kinds of teachers: the kind that fills you with so much quail shot that you can’t move, and the kind that just gives you a little prod behind and you jump to the skies”

               In today’s day and age imparting knowledge although important is not the only aim to be achieved any more. Finding information about any damn thing in the world has become just a click away. Does that mean the role of teachers has diminished in our lives? Well, actually no. It has become even more important, to help you filter, to help you listen to your heart amidst so much of chaos and humdrum. A teacher is that whisper in your ear saying “Follow your footing” when there is so much blaring noise about everything outside. A teacher is that reassuring hand on your shoulder saying, “I know you can do it” when you are over-burdened by the expectations of your society. A teacher is that third person who is not your blood-family and is technically not biased by any outside factors but has a one to one association with you, and will never judge you. 

              I have been lucky to be blessed with having all my teachers, including my parents to have encouraged and inspired me beyond limits. I have immense respect and reverence for all my teachers and especially for this particular teacher in my life. This teacher gave me a hand when I needed it the most. “Do this or do that” was never his style, instead would just spark a question saying “What do you think you should do?” and make sense out of everything. This teacher gave me wings to fly, freedom to think out of the box. Never dismissed my ideas but rather spent time reasoning them with me, gave me freedom to fall and stretched an arm to pick me up from the puddle of my mistakes. He never told me read this or that, but posed some questions that I could never answer by just googling them or without having to put effort in them. A teacher with whom I could share my concerns and doubts, a teacher who gave me opportunities to shine and make the most out of my career, knew the perfect balance of pushing beyond the limits and pulling the reigns when necessary. He is someone who would never allow self-loathing and would keep me grounded all the times. While going out there in the real world when I faced with self-doubt, it was this teacher who said, “I am there”. No fancy words, no pretense but just a general expression of reassurance, which was just enough to lift my spirits up.

                 But it does not end there, does it? In our Indian mythology we have heard stories of great Gurus and their students. The story of how the Gurus would ask for ‘Guru-Dakshina’ (something in return for the knowledge imparted to their students). There are two debts, one that every generation owes to the preceding one and the other that they pay back to the next generation. The debt that we owe to our parents and teachers, the only way that we can pay these debts back is not by turning to them at some point and saying “We are even” (we can never be even, not in a lifetime) but by doing for our children and students what our parents did for us. And thus to To Carry The Legacy Forward…  

Re-Defining Patriotism...

              

                    I know you may think that I am a bit too late for this post. But I deliberately decided to post it a week later as I wanted to fuel as little controversy as possible. It is a strong topic with some strong views and in their gusto of Independence Day celebration, I didn’t want to dilute the festive fervor for my readers and still put my point across effectively. It can be very overwhelming as each one of us may have stood in the culprit box here and self-analysis is a difficult task.  

                     Last week on 15^th of August, in India, we celebrated our 69^th independence day. There were messages and pictures and videos that were shared for the Independence Day full of patriotic songs and my Facebook wall was full of stories of patriotism, heroism, and love for India and so on and so forth. These things are good and we celebrate these days to realize the values and remember the sacrifices that our freedom fighters and their “Junoon” (passion) for our country. However in my mind the face of patriotism keeps changing from time to time. Patriotism is an attribute which was not only necessary when the country was not free and democratic, but patriotism is a sentiment that each one of us requires at each and every stage of our country’s development. I reminisced of a very interesting conversation I had with a friend and the after thoughts followed.

                       This friend of mine is an Indian born young man, aspiring to do great in life in his field of interest. He has the zeal and resources to fulfill his dreams. Hence he worked hard and was  supported by his family to pursue his studies in another country where the chances of success and the level of acclaim and appreciation that he desires are higher. He shifted to this cosmopolitan country a few months back and was suddenly exposed to a myriad of different cultures and people from various countries. Our conversation started from the discussion about some Indian family who had also come to drop their child in the same institute. He said, “It’s so embarrassing that parents come to drop their over-grown children (actually they are 20 plus somethings) and hang around outside the classrooms as if they are their bodyguards protecting their children from getting kidnapped or something.” Then he added, “I feel so ashamed to be seeing some Indians in foreign countries who can’t even stand properly, they slouch, who don’t even know how to dress and since they think they are on a holiday they can wear shorts even to a fine-dining place, they wouldn’t hesitate wearing sports shoes below a tuxedo, they shout on the top of their voices while talking on phone at public places, would bargain in stores even in a strange country, where concept of bargaining doesn’t even exist making complete fools out of themselves and who would stare at people with white skin (especially women with lusty eyes). The capability of theirs to form their own little Indian colonies based on their religion and caste they belong to, which in fact defies the basic principle of them going to a newer country and getting exposed to the culture of the world. Indian this and Indians that…” and his rant went on and on… He suddenly realized that it was just a few months since he had shifted there and he had already got the ‘First World Syndrome’ as he liked to call it. I was aghast when I heard all this. I didn’t know how to react. I couldn’t deny any of the fact that he stated, but I was too ashamed to agree to either of them. I just excused myself and hung up. Somehow this conversation refused to leave my head. I was like how can he say like this about our country. How can he be such a critic of each and everything when in fact he has spent almost entire life in this country? This country has given him so much and how could he become such an ungrateful, unpatriotic person? How could he suddenly call India to be the ‘Third World country’. From where did so much arrogance fill inside of his head? I never found any answers to any of these constantly mind bugging questions, and hence instead of imprinting judgments about him in my mind forever, I thought of giving him the benefit of doubt and brought across the topic again in the conversation.

                          I called him up and told him, “I didn’t like the way you talked about my country. Although you must have shifted to another country, I still live here and would not like to hear stuff like this about India.” I further added that, how could you forget that you live in this very own country and it’s just unfair that instead of being thankful, you are being an insensitive and ungrateful to the country. What happened to your ‘Patriotism’? The reply of his to this kind of opened my eyes. He said, “No matter where I go, it’s always going to be my country as well, and I’m always going to be a Patriot and I love India. Me, pointing out the real flaws does not make me Un-Patriotic. It just states the fact that I realize that there are problems, some real world problems that need to be addressed. The picture of the country is painted and an impression created about India based on the few people that the natives of other countries come in contact with”. He further added, “On a very small scale, but here in front people of so many countries, I’m actually representing India. They will make an impression of my country based on their analysis of my behavior and my thoughts. So when I see people make impressions about India based on some stupid activities of some people who may be living abroad, or may be travelling on vacation abroad, making a total fool of themselves, I feel bad. I want to change that, as you know the first step to change is Realisation. If I know that there is a problem, I would take the next step of Wanting to change it and then the final step of actually implementing on the change”. So, he concluded, “No, I am not Un-Patriotic. I don’t want to shout out loud- “Saare Jahan se acha Hindustan humara”, but I want the world to say that with some if not lots of respect for my country and that my friend is real Patriotism”.

                            I was dumbfounded at his depth of thought and his clear perspective about his feeling of Patriotism. It led me to think. On the Independence Day, there were some  people on the media and papers taking polls of students, asking them,’ What does Freedom mean to you?’ Some of the answers that I heard were outrageously hideous. I heard someone on the radio say that ‘India is my country, so I’m free to throw whatever I want ton the roads.’ Why would someone even think like that, let alone saying it out in the public. I can’t imagine how shallow people take something which is so important in life, so lightly. And ultimately that is what creates an impression on the minds of our youngsters and children, on people from other countries visiting our country. I was travelling with a couple from another country and after finishing his orange that he was eating, the guy stretched his hand on the open window sill of the train to throw the peels out on the tracks. I was staring at him with disgust on my face. He asked me, “Is it not allowed here? I see garbage everywhere.” I continued staring and just asked him, “Would you do this in your country? If not then why My Country?”. He quietly put the peels back in his backpack and said would throw them in a bin later. Our respected Prime Minister showed us a path of cleanliness by starting the Swachch Bharat Abhiyaan (Clean India Movement) in honor of Mahatma Gandhi and asked us to join hands to keep not only our homes but our streets, city and our country clean, which in my mind is a genius stroke and a very progressive thinking and a huge step towards development. And oh my God, the kind of bad mouthing that had got in the press. It’s just devastating and depressing. How did we reach here from the country of valiant kings and great thinkers, artisans and art lovers, love and morales, principles and action to such shallowness and such horrific thinking and actions? Have we really lost all our sense of self-esteem and self-worth? Although not everyone is bad news thankfully. We have very few people like Late Dr APJ Abdul Kalam, Nobel prize winners Kailash Satyarthi and Sundar Pichai who have put our country on the world map, sure. But just a handpicked few of them out of a population of more than 1.2 billion people, and that’s not enough.

                        The only message that I would like to convey is “With Freedom comes a Bigger Responsibility”. So yes, let’s celebrate the Independence Day, but let’s also take up the responsibility for our country. Instead of loathing on the fact that we are free, let’s also review the vision of “Free and Thriving India” that the people who made India for us had, and try and do something about it. Let's read Rabindra Nath Tagore's immaculate piece "Where the mind is without fear" if you feel the need for references

                      Just like John F. Kennedy has aptly stated, "Ask not what your country can do for you, Ask what you can do for your country." Let’s on our very small scale, represent our country on whatever platform that we can try and contribute our patriotism not just by words but by our actions. Let’s take a pledge to act upon one thing about the system of the country that we don’t like and I’m so sure that each contribution will matter and it’s by these drops of actions that the ocean of development will get filled up. I have already taken mine. Have you?  

It's Time to 'Move On'!!!

             Hey friends, it’s been such a long time since I have written something interesting and worthwhile. I guess I was facing a writer’s block (if I may take the liberty of calling myself a ‘Writer’). I just couldn’t think of anything that would make me go like “Yeah, I want to write about this”. Today, I am standing at a threshold where I will have to think of 'Moving on'. When we hear the term –“Move On”, we usually associate it with the end a relationship, majorly a romantic one and the process of feeling better and going on with the rest of the life.

             Nearing to the end of term in my fellowship in the hospital that I work in, I realized the fact that a lot will be changing in my life and there has been a rush of emotions in my mind, some reasonable, some utterly stupid, but yeah, they are all there jumbling up my head. And so I thought of sharing them here. I have started thinking of how I would miss getting up early every morning, looking forward to a great day, wanting to make difference in lives of so many people, getting ready for work with constant plans in my mind about the surgeries that would have been planned for the day, the discussions that I would have and the queries that I would ask my teacher and mentor. Picking up my lunch-box, sitting in my car with the radio jamming on its loudest volume and repeatedly enjoying some of my favorite songs and travelling on the same route for more than a year, I wondered if I would ever get a chance to ride on the same route and same time, would I be able to see those same cars and bikes that I see daily when I travel on the road, it’s like I had formed some cosmic connection with them, I wouldn’t know who rode on them, but I would see them each and every day. Reaching the hospital, I would miss smile on the face of the traffic police wearing his aviators and standing at the end of the subway, sometimes helping me with my parking. I would really miss the security guard smiling at me each day and greeting me with ‘Good Morning’ and making me believe that a great day is about to start. I would miss reaching the department and getting greeted by the girls working up the patients for the surgery and briefing me about the situation so far, followed by me working up the patients with an anticipation a hundred things that could go wrong in the surgery and taking due precautions to prevent each one of them, as they say “Prepare for the worst and Hope for the best”. I would miss assisting and performing surgeries, seeing patient after patient and so on and so forth. Of all, the most important thing that I would miss would be the constant care and guidance from my teacher at each and every step that I took, holding my hand where I stumbled upon and reprimanding me when I went vain. I would miss that cushion to fall on having him to my rescue each time, I would miss being able to be adventurous, being able to think out of the box and being able to be fine with making mistakes having him by my side to correct them. It brought me to a frightful reality that henceforth I will have to be all by myself having to bear the consequence of each and every decision that I took. I realized, that my slit-lamp wouldn’t be my own anymore, or my writing pad wouldn’t be mine anymore, or that little table at the corner of which I keep my bags wouldn’t be mine anymore (Well,  at least until I find another writing pad to sign on and another slit-lamp to sit on). I would cease to belong to that place anymore. It came as a pang to me, realizing that I was in a way breaking up with my hospital. It sounds funny doesn’t it, but it’s actually so true. I was a special part of the life of the hospital for a year and now, I would be just another person visiting the building. But as they say, all good things come to an end and you have to ‘Move On’

                This is not the first time that I have had this feeling in my life. I had it when I was leaving my home for the first time to go to med-school at a hostel in Nagpur when I was just 17 year old, and I felt it again, when I was leaving my hostel after living there for five years to come back home. It’s very strange that I was feeling pain for accepting and leaving the same things in five years, only their places in my life had changed. I felt that pain again when I was getting married, as I was leaving more than just my home this time. Then when I left my job in Mumbai after finishing my post-grad after three long years, I felt the same and the same when I came back home to my parents.  Each time although it was excruciating to leave something behind, there was always this, another thing that I was looking forward to. Like I was looking forward to studying in the med-school and living all by my own at the hostel and may I say I did live up to it completely and totally. And when I was leaving the hostel I was looking forward to the much missed comforts of home and warmth of my family, and having my parents around for those important moments of life. When I moved to Mumbai, apart from looking at the great work opportunities at work and making it big as an Ophthalmologist, I was also looking forward to finding and living my life with the love of my life. When I came back home, I was seeking and happened to enjoy the newly found wings and the will to fly.          

                Even this time, although I feel shattered of having to leave the job that I love and the people that I work with, who are just like a family to me, I know I am strong enough to put back those broken pieces of my heart together and will eventually be able to “Move on”. I know I will look forward to a new hospital, and making my name and changing lives there. I know I will get the opportunity to get out of the shadows of my teacher and shine in my own light ( and of course, it’s on my own then, if I make it or break it- I have a feeling that I will make it ). I will be chasing my dreams just like that little girl in the garden chasing the butterflies. And even though I may stumble a few steps I am sure I will move on. Although I get emotional at times, I get too attached each and every time, I still have a heart made of pliable and elastic muscle (literally) that just springs back to life and helps me ‘Move on’. And I am sure it’s not just me, but each one of us out there, who have always had these things and people and situations that come so close to our hearts that would make us wonder if we could ever live without them, but miraculously, we always manage to shrug our shoulders, shed our sorrows, detangle the chords of our attachments and say to ourselves- “It’s Time to Move On...”

Loving your Loved ones!!!

          Hey friends, I read a very touching and a simple post from the man I admire and adore. It was so amazing and so heart-wrenching that i had no option but to share it with everyone. The original author of these touching lines is none other than a celebrated culinary author, a celebrity chef, a successful restaurateur of the world famous restaurant 'Junoon' which boasts of serving delicious Indian cuisine to many a Hollywood celebrities and the President of America as well. It is from a simple boy from Amritsar who dreamt of flying like a sea-gull and has wings of the size of the sky and has proven to the world that no dream is too big, not goal too far. He incessantly continues to inspire the likes of me and the most powerful of his lessons is, 'Learn how to make your weakenesses your strengths and continue to aspire.' And he is none other than Vikas Khanna

Vikas writes:

           "Today was a day of learning, as everyday should be. But today was special. As I was at the Venice airport and going through zigzags of the queue belts I noticed an Italian gentleman (in his late 50s) was ahead of me. So every time he made a turn on those queues, he looked back and smiled-waved. He was doing this again and again as we were walking through security and passport controls. 
His elderly father was in a wheelchair with large warm eyes at the departing area, waving back at him EVERYTIME. 
           It’s a human phenomenon since childhood that we wave at our parents even when swinging or merry-go-rounds and they wave back at us.No one can define why? No philosopher, no artist, and no scientist.
           His eyes were glued on his son as he was leaving him just as the sunflowers gazing at the rising Sun. As we took the final turn towards the gates, I looked back too with him. My heart stopped for a moment. My heart was searching for my “Papa” somewhere as I unconsciously waved.
           He left us on Jan 31st for heavenly journey. I wish I had shown him the world, or travelled with him or spend more time with him or told him thank you and how much I love you.
           Our parents are our truest friends; love, respect, surprise, spoil, and nurture them, because the life can be so unfair-uncertain, you never know that when you will look back, and they might not be there to wave back at you. V"

                 
             Be it parents, siblings, spouse or your best friend. You may never know when it's the last conversation, or the last fight, or the last smile, or the last kiss, or the last time you see their face. Life is very fragile and sometimes you don't get second chances. You may not get to say, "I am sorry", "I love you", "You are precious", or as simple as "Thank You" ever again. Hug and kiss your loved ones or whichever way you desire to express your love, whenever you feel like, as there is no right or wrong time to express yourself. Make the most of the present, because it's actually the only thing that you can be sure of. Don't wait to loose them to realize their worth in your life. Don't regret not doing things or having said something earlier. Express your feelings as clearly and as often as you can as you never know, when it will be too late.

A Drop Of Nostalgia!!!

         
            Hey friends, I really loved the response on my last story. I am glad you guys liked it. It inspires me to write more and to keep experimenting.

Picture courtesy- Photographed by Anirudh Mathur- on Facebook and @project_am on Instagram 

               Today is about a routine day at work which was unexpectedly changed to a wonderful trip of nostalgia. Yeah. And the drug for that was actually the drop of rain. I live in Ahmedabad which is probably one of the hottest cities in India. The weather in summers is so hot and dry that it leaves you parched every minute. Exhausted and exasperated with such weather I was carrying on with my routine of seeing patients in the afternoon. Since my room needs darkness to enhance and enable me to see patients more effectively, I had the blinds drawn in my room. Suddenly the counsellor came in, a petite little girl in her early twenties with long hair with drops of water dripping from the fringe of hair framing her beautiful round face and a few droplets on her cheeks. She had a certain amount of happiness and satiety on her face, the one which you may see on a face of a thirsty traveler in a desert after finding an oasis. I asked her, “Where have you been? And what makes you so chirpy?” She exclaimed, “Ma’m, it’s the first rains. It has started raining. I went out to soak myself in the first rains and I am so happy”. Suddenly the mention of rains lit my face up too. I think I too had that look of satiety on my face. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere for the next few hours until I finished my patients and probably the rain would stop by then, but I still had that smile plastered on my face.

              I finished seeing the patient whom I was seeing and on the pretext of drinking water, I got up and treated myself to the pitter-patter of the rain drops on the metal ledge of the window, opened the blinds and absorbed the freshness that the rains brought to the exterior. The roads seemed to be enjoying the bath and the amount of vehicles treading and the hum-drum of the traffic seemed to have reduced. I could see the asopalav tree, swaying in the wind flapping its long wet leaves in the first rains, as if dancing to the music that the rain drops created. Inside the shade of the same tree, I could see a drenched pigeon trying to find some shade and protecting itself from the rain, a little scared or probably just hiding. Just while I was lost in this frenzy of the first rains, I was reminded that I still have a lot of patients to see. I went back to my seat and carried on with my job, this time with a different kind of satisfaction beaming on my face, the satisfaction of the sign that summers have ended, of the thought of onset of cooler days, or just of the first rains.

                 I know after reading so much you may think that here goes another one, who can’t stop about the rains and will have all sort of romantic stuff written about the rains. Actually no! I hate rainy days as much as I love them (Yeah, I have a love-hate relationship with rains). But there is no denial that to even the toughest of us the thought of the end of summers gets to us, the earthy, misty and intriguing smell of the wet soil gets to us, the pitter patter of the droplets while you are protected inside gets to us, the hot cup of tea while its chilling outside gets to us. I stepped out of the hospital and shielded my bag in vain to protect my laptop and ran to my car and started driving. The traffic was going slow and the to and fro movement of the wipers on the windscreen seemed to be working as a time machine drifting me to the experiences of the first rains in all these years. I started getting flashes of times from my childhood, to my hostel days, to the days I used to work in Mumbai, to those days when I was full of romance, to the days I got stuck in the rains and so on and so forth.

                 I remembered how as children we used to change into our shorts to the terrace on the 10^th floor of our building and would dance and splash in the water. How the road leading to our building used to be waterlogged all the time and the passing bus or car used to create waves and how we loved playing in that dirty waterlogged muddy water. How we would be left early from the school with an announcement that the rain is uncontrolled and to ensure we reached home safely, we were being left early followed by our squeals of excitement as though we had won a lottery. We would walk our ways to home, with our school bags drenched, treading in the waterlogged streets and saving ourselves from the manholes that never seemed to do their job (of draining water). How after reaching home, we were coaxed to get back in the house or else would fall ill, would have to empty our bags to find the books that we would have wrapped in a polythene bag to save from drenching, soaking in the dirty muddy water. We would leave the books to dry in fan making our room look like a total mess, with clothes drying on the ceiling and books on the floor. We would wait for the rains to stop to sail our paper boats in the water and hey, there used to be competitions for that. How on a rainy night we would pray to keep the rains and the streets to be waterlogged so as to get a leave from school and the first thing to do in the morning was to check if our prayers were answered.

              Also sends me to the lane when I lived in hostel and the rains there would mean firstly shielding your room with the sprinkles of rain water in the room drenching either your bed or your cupboard with crumpled balls of newspaper or sheets of plastic, and then going to the roof with your BFFs and singing the most romantic songs on the top of our voices longing for some loved one to sing the for us. It also meant getting dirty playing some sport like volley ball or cricket in the sludge. Also there was the worry of drying the clothes, and not having enough of clean dry clothes to wear. It also meant the mouldy walls of the hostel room with its mucky smell. The lines to get hot water from the geyser and fighting for the hot pakoras (vegetable croquets) made by the canteen guy.

Romance in the rain

                  Rains in Mumbai were great as well. I vividly remember my first rainy season in Mumbai, and also the very first rains with the person I loved. For the first time I understood the romance in the rains. Bunking the class and going to Bandstand with an army of clouds invading the blue sky, just to start shooting the rain droplets at the most perfect timing as we reached the sea face. Watching the waves of the Arabian Sea rise higher and higher before they succumbed to the shore and broke themselves in the arms of the stony walls of the sea face, and hearing the roar of the clouds as if giving a dramatic background score to the entire scene. The greys had never looked so beautiful. In the midst of such amazing atmosphere sitting close to the person you love with his arms around your shoulder and munching on piping hot roasted corn cob and sipping hot cups of coffee. Priceless!!! I could wish for that moment to never end and go on forever. For the first time I could understand how pages and pages would be written about romance in the rains. It was the most secure that I had ever felt in my life in spite of the dramatic happenings of the nature. It was the most amazing contrast that I had come across, thunder and roaring on the outside and calm, peace and safe in the inside.

                But the rains weren’t always this sexy in Mumbai. There were times when I got stuck in a train overflowing with ladies squishing your body and screaming in your ears, stuck in midway due to the smog and rains outside, making you scared as to would you be able to reach home safely. There were times that due to heavy rains no cabs or rickshaws would give you a ride and you were stuck in the road unable to walk due to rains and long distances and stranded on a dark lonely street knowing not what to do and shit scared. There were times that the rains and the open gutters made the street so yucky that it would end up soiling your clothes and you ended up working the whole day in such wet soiled clothes looking like a piece of crap. There were days when a reckless driver unaware of the people walking on the streets would splash muddy water all over your dress unaware of the fact that you were supposed to give your presentation in front of the whole class that day. But there were also days when you would go on a long drive with your loved one just sitting and listening to music and watching the rains fall on the windscreens and the wiper-blades wiping them off.

Picture courtesy- Another excellent photograph by Anirudh Mathur

               My favorite part is though the time after the rains have stopped and the morning after that, when the smog of pollution has been washed down. The roads, the plants, the buildings are beaming and flaunting their squeaking cleanliness and shining with the gem like droplets of rain over them. It seems as if God has switched on a different filter for viewing things for us and everything seems beautiful in that light and shine. There is a different freshness in the air and some sort of an enthusiasm which urges you towards hope. It is a perfect metaphor for the saying that “After Darkness shall come the Light”.  

             Well, good and bad experiences but I wouldn’t agree with someone who says they absolutely hate the rains, although I do make that statement quite a lot of times, but the mention of rain does manage to bring a smile on our faces. It’s the sheer genes in us that come from our farmer ancestors that make us consciously or subconsciously relieved that the rains have arrived, the summers have ended, the season of fertility (pun intended) has come and everything would be suddenly be squeaky clean and fresh. This is my story of nostalgia about rains. What’s yours??? 

A Silken Thread that weaves lives...

                Today what I am going to write about is a very inspirational story. I have tried to do it as authentic as I can. I tried getting the pictures myself with some useful tips from my friend. It’s a new genre that I am trying here and I hope you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed collecting material for this and writing this piece.

             It’s about this amazing person that I had an opportunity to meet by chance. I just went there as an obligation to catch up with a friend, her being short of time and I ended up having this inspiring conversation with this lady and now I am inspired to share her story with the world.

After a little bit of searching her home in my own city, I finally reached this house which had cemented grey plaster and a small rusty red colored iron gate to it. I opened the latch and the gate squeaked open. I introduced myself, to a man who opened the door and he let me in. He told me that they were waiting for me upstairs. I went upstairs looking around and admiring the beauty and the vintage look of the beautifully decorated home. I went upstairs and was led into the room where my friend and a very elderly lady were sitting. I greeted my friend and introduced myself to the lady. And then I sat down.  My friend was admiring this bright pink saree with golden motifs in it with one end of the saree in her hand, trying to feel the silkiness of the material and the other end of the saree was in the hand of this lady.

           This lady who must be around 75-80 year old with salt and pepper silky hair tied in a tiny bun behind her head, with twigs of hair flying loose. She had a kind and a sweet face with a beautiful smile. She had the grandmotherly warmth to her persona which reminded me of my grand ma. The wrinkles that cascaded over her facial features could not hide the glow and shine of her milky complexion. And her eyes lit up while she opened up each one of her creations in front of us. There was this sparkle in her eyes that would defy her age. Her eyes, her talk and the elan with which she showcased each garment made by her, exuded passion, the kind of which is difficult to see in people of our generation, and for the generation that she came from it is a rare case. She belonged to a generation when ladies of the house usually took the role of taking care of the home and family, but she has managed to keep her passion alive and has been translating it into beautiful clothes which fulfill dreams, right from a little girl wearing dress for the first time, to a bride aspiring to look perfect for her husband on the most special day of her life, to an elderly lady wanting to look classic in a vintage saree on her 50th wedding anniversary. She would make each and every dress/saree that you dream of into a reality. It revealed to me the pride that she had for each one of her hand-crafted wonders. She kept opening one after another piece of these amazing hand-woven textiles which were embroidered with colorful silken threads. The weave was so fine and the feel, so soft and feathery. Each one of them was decorated with variety of the knots and stitches. While she explained to us the details of each cloth and the complexity of the art of embroidering each piece and how much hard work goes into it, and my jaw dropped in awe. She, so delicately cared about each piece of hers, that when my friend was trying it on and the train was entangled in her foot, she didn’t fail to reprimand her to ‘Take care of it’.

             Then she showed us some of the designs that she was preparing for the exhibition of hers. I asked her what exhibition are you talking about, Aunty? To which she got very excited and started describing it. She started narrating how the entire year they make special pieces for their exhibition in Mumbai, which comes once in a year in June and how all her clothes are picked up like Hot Cross Buns. She said this time it starts on the 23rd to 25th of June. But her excitement wasn’t about how she makes huge profits from it but it was about how all the members of her family, including her sons, daughters, brothers and their wives, cousins, and all together 50 odd people gather to help her pull through those most eventful 3 days of her year. Her excitement was about how fulfilled she felt about the immense appreciation and frenzy over the articles of beauty that she creates. Finally after emptying almost her entire collection of clothes, my friend decided on a few pieces that she was keen to buy. I was so awed by her creations that in spite of having no intentions to buy anything, I ended up buying a few pieces for myself.

             We then went downstairs in the living room where we sat down on the dining table for a cup of tea and some snacks. Her drawing room was like a room out of 1960’s. There were beautiful wooden carved sofas with old styled upholstered cushioned seats over it. There was also a beautiful full length mirror on the wall with a teak wood craved frame surrounding it. The entire room spelt beauty, vintage and art in it. I was admiring it when she called us to sit on the dining table. She served us some piping hot bundi (tiny fried flour balls dipped in saffron flavored sugar syrup) and some savoury crunchy mathiyas (fried spicy tortillas). I was so amazed at looking at her knowledge of textiles and her passion for it that I couldn’t stop telling her the same. She was humbled by my compliment and said, it’s just something I do to keep myself busy. I have got a fraction of my mother’s knowledge and talent and I am just taking it forward. Then she proudly said that her mother had so much love for clothes and embroidery that she naturally has it in her genes. I asked her, if her mother did the same work, she was like, “No, no. In those days, where was all this allowed?” But she added that her mother was so fond of making beautiful embroidery anyways that she would make little flowers or motifs of it on each and every frock or dress that she wore. She said that she had love for this work from the very beginning but it translated into profession much later in life after she completed her family responsibilities. She said that she started the work professionally as she really believed in this organization in Baroda that worked for women and children who are victims of sexual or domestic abuse and wanted to donate money for them. To be able to donate money, she had to make some money herself and this is how she started her profession. I was like, “Aunty, that is such a true reason to start something, and probably the good thought that you started it with, has made you so successful.” She just smiled and added, because I started it with the idea of helping someone and doing good for someone, I could never cheat my customers. I would feel like betraying my cause if I would be charging for something more than it’s worth. “What a noble thought!” I wondered. She still continues to do charity for various organizations.

Beautiful textures, colors, knots and embroidery in the making.

              Then our talk drifted to how she manages to get this detailed and intricate embroidery and such silky and beautiful, rich cloth material woven. She said, she makes a design and then her artisans replicate the final patterns. It takes about a month or sometimes more depending on the intricacy of the weave and embroidery. So I asked her, where does she find the artisans from? She said, like a proud mother, that they have been with me since I started, more than 25 years from now. I treat my artisans like my own family. I support them in the times of need like illness and also take part in their happiness like their weddings and birth of their children. I have taken responsibility of their children’s education and their well-being. I would never pay them less or rush them with work. Hence they like working with me. Then she added, “I believe, it is impossible for us to change lives of a lot of people, but I can make a difference in lives of these few people who work for me and help them lead a good life.” And I actually got an opportunity to witness that her artisans called her “Maa”, which is the hindi version of mother, as for them she is the lady, who not only provides them with a steady income, but actually nurtures them and their families and also nurses them in their hour of need.  My jaw dropped in awe and I exclaimed with wonder and amazement “WOW!!! You are an angel.” She quietly brushed off saying, “No its nothing.”

With the artisan- Masterpiece in making!!!

              Then continuing the banter, I asked her, do you keep some young designer who tells who what kind of stuff is in the fashion, what colors are in vogue or what silhouettes are being preferred by the youngsters these days. In short how do you keep up with the fashion that is ever changing? She said, “It’s my passion and my field of interest. When we go to weddings or simply glance out of the window, all I notice is the clothes that a person is wearing.” I was like you really have to like your job to be 24*7 be involved in it. She smiled. Then she added, you would love to go to some foreign land for a vacation. But I prefer going to the small villages in India. There is so much dying art and the artisans are abandoning their generations old art forms, being engulfed by the corporate world. I love going to these villages, appreciate their art, learn from them, try to give them work by trying to incorporate new things in my work. I end up spending much less than a vacation to exotic location, but enjoy myself more than anyone. I just kept listening to her with my mouth gaped in amazement. Each time I go to meet her now, she has a yet another new story to tell and I always end up inspired by her, although it’s impossible for me to share each one of them right now. In addition to that, although she lives in a beautiful home, alone, she is a loving mother, and she proudly declares that her younger son has got her love for textiles in his genes. She has a leads a simple life with her days revolving around her household chores, her clothes and meeting and interacting with new people and touching lives. She is like that golden silken thread that shines through in a weave and imparts meaning to so many lives that she touches. 

She exemplifies that if you have passion you can reach the stars, she proves that it’s never too late to chase your dreams and she lives the saying that ‘A Noble thought can travel very far.’ And even if you can make difference in life of one person, is a big deal. Where was this lady up until now? So many inspirational stories all bundled up in this grand-ma…   

If you are in Mumbai and get a chance to visit her exhibition, please do so, you may be amazed at the kind of beauty her clothes have and you will actually get a glimpse of this serene, beautiful person with a heart of gold!!!

The Exhibition is called Kala-Kutir and is in Matunga area of Mumbai city- 23rd to 26th June

One more step!!!

Hey friends... Today "Trails of my Mind..." is making its debut on Facebook. It will make it easier for me to connect to all of you easily and keep you updated about my posts more regularly. So don't forget to like the page. I am sending the link below...

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Trails-of-my-Mind/691598297652712


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ThinkingDiaries

The Mumbai-Software!!!

 Hey friends,

              This week while I was reading the newspaper as my daily breakfast side dish, I came across a wonderfully written piece by Anuvab Pal about Mumbai city. Reading that article compelled me to write about this city too and considering the fact that a lot of us take some time out for a annual vacation in this time of the year, it made even more sense for me to be writing this piece. The city, Mumbai, which is the financial capital of India, the city Mumbai which is a home to many dreams that have wings to reach the sky, the city Mumbai which, like a heart beat keeps on beating forever and never skips a beat, and the city Mumbai, which was my home for more than 3 years, which made me an Ophthalmologist, and gave me beautiful memories, which also taught me some very tough lessons in life. Overall the city Mumbai, which shaped my identity, as a doctor and as a person that I am today, and the city Mumbai, which has given me more than I could have ever asked for.

 

City of Dreams- Mumbai

 

              The article started with a very beautifully written line from a science fiction writer Isaac Asimov that states- “There would be a society in time in future, if taken out of their comfort zone of being always busy or chasing something, would not know how to socially function in other environments.”  Mumbai blesses or curses (depends on how you take it) us with a life full of so many things, making your hands so full that one always find oneself juggling things all the time. There is so much madness filled in each day that it makes it our daily routine, be it the relentless running about and always getting late to catch that 7.47 Ladies Special train, aiming to reach work on time, or rushing to the market to get reasonably edible produce before they run out of stock. Be it things always attracted to go the wrong way like an iron nail is attracted to the magnet. Be it more than one simultaneous phone calls with one juggling conversations between the ever demanding boss in fury and the maid burning the pasta and ever staring at the phone screen waiting for your spouse or loved one to send a message to make rest of the things seem alright, (which seldom seems to make it to you) or be it the pressure to keep up with your competitors where you always seem to be dragging yourself behind keeping up to their pace, wondering, how they always manage to sprint ahead of you, and still the flickering spark of ambition that creeps in even in the laziest and exacerbated ones of us, so much so that even the dead here keep telling each other to hurry up.

 

 

                Admist all this hustle bustle in life, if one would get a little time of sanity which is actually getting a seat in the local train compartment filled up with people and a chance to glance at your mobile screen for a while and if you happen to swipe through your facebook or pinterest profiles, you would find yourself drooling over those posts stating ’9 Incredible Places in India that would make you realize you desparately need a Long Vacation’, or ’10 Offbeat Hill-stations that would leave you loving summer forever’, or ‘List of 10 things that you must do before you turn 30’ and so on. We look at these posts and the pictures in them with greed in our eyes like a young child eyeing that candy table in the grocery store or a young teenage boy eyeing erotica.

 

                However when we do happen to actually visit these wonderful places after painstakingly taking a vacation from the grueling Mumbai schedule and making our boss realize how worthy we are of the much needed holiday and still begging for it like a beggar in the temple, our reaction to it is the most hypocritical. We would be fine for a couple of days, 3-4 days at the maximum and would appreciate the surroundings and the beautiful sunrises and sunsets, but then gradually the itch, the twitch, the wriggling and fluttering like a fish out of water, sets in, which is not due to anything else but sheer lack of pace of the hectic life of Mumbai. The peace and the silence that we yearn for while living our hellish schedules in Mumbai, drives us crazy in a few days that we are away. Two days of staring at a lake or a mountain range or a sunset by the beach is enough to drive us crazy to reach for our phones or laptops to check our mails and messages as though we are missing on something important in life.

 

 

               It’s like we have a software or programme installed in our heads that starts buzzing while we are at ease, notifying us that, "You have stared at this gorgeous sunset over this beautiful ocean for too long, it’s too much of myriad of colors of the sky and the sounds of the waves that your senses have absorbed, you are missing out on something." And with these spell-bounding sights in front of you, you start wondering, “What am I missing out in life? May be google will tell me, may be facebook will tell me, when is my flight back? Can I make it earlier?"

              No one understands how and when this programme gets installed in us and how can we save ourselves from it. I have been fortunate to have lived in different cities in India apart from Mumbai, be it Ahmedabad, Nagpur, Nashik etc., but no other city programs you the way it functions. The discomfort of the calm and the need of constant motion even within tranquility is something that you would feel only if you have breathed in the air of Mumbai city. Its like the city is a storehouse of nation’s impatience. We would be a restless, neurotic, antsy, constantly moving race. Having said all of this I have to add out of my love for the city that I absolutely adore the kind of energy that people of each age group in this city possess which is also lacking in people of the other cities that I have visited, but everything comes with a price I suppose.

                When I moved to Ahmedabad, which is a wonderful city in itself, the Mumbai software within my head kept buzzing for quite some time, until now that’s its about a year, since I have moved and the software has finally put itself on standby mode. Now the peace, the calmness, the slow pace of the ‘Not-so-Mumbai’ city has finally stopped to bite me. I don’t know whether it’s a good or a bad thing, but hey, who am I to judge!!!   

Act, Don’t React!

            Hey friends! First of all I want to wish all the mothers reading my blog a very Happy Mother’s Day. What I am going to write about today is a lesson that I accidentally learnt by an incident in my day to day life and the lesson that I swear by following to the core and it has really helped me deal with my day to day difficulties in a better way. Sometimes you just wonder how such simple turn of events that destiny makes for you is to make you learn a bigger truth.

                I was travelling by my car to work and was waiting at a signal of a large and busy cross road. The signal for the opposite lane turned yellow and just then an auto-rickshaw driver trying to squeeze out of that yellow signal of a few seconds pushed his accelerator so hard that his vehicle was at a sky high speed. Well, it’s a joke about traffic in my city which is like, “If you see a green signal, you press your accelerator and go, if you see a yellow signal, you press your accelerator even harder and try if you can go, and if you see a red signal, check if the cops are looking at you, and if not press the accelerator and still go.” And perhaps the auto-rickshaw driver was trying to follow that rule. However in his rush he didn’t notice that a young couple, who were travelling on a bike had already started driving before their signal turned green from the adjacent side of the cross-road. And bang!!! The auto-rickshaw drvier rammed into the bike and the person driving the bike along with his lady fell onto the ground. They were dressed in their casual work clothes and seemed to be going to work. Luckily, it seemed as if no one was hurt, but the bike rider started abusing and blaming the auto-rickshaw driver. The latter instead of accepting his mistake, that everyone standing on the signal would agree to, stormed out of his vehicle and started throwing back the abuses. There were hand gestures, blaming, threatening and swearing. Then one caught the other one’s collar and the other one hit the first one. And within a matter of minutes the scene turned ugly. There were people who had gathered, there was so much commotion. Needless to say that the traffic came to a halt and no vehicle could move across. Ultimately a traffic cop must have been called by a sane person and he came to rescue. He dispersed the traffic and took both the parties with him to the police station ( I presume). Gradually the traffic started moving and I turned the music back in my car and started driving again.

             Cut to scene two. The same very day, while returning home, back from work, another such incident happened. This time it was at a smaller lane. An elderly man was travelling on his scooty and was probably distracted by the phone in his pocket. He picked the phone out of his pocket, saw it and was putting it back in, when he dashed into a child, riding his bicycle going back home from school. The kid was actually driving on the wrong side of the road and had steered a bit in the centre of the road. The child fell on the ground with his huge brown school bag, which must be full of his books. He seemed to have bruised his knee a bit but was unhurt. The elderly man, in contrast to what I saw in the morning, instead of shouting at the kid or creating a scene, parked his scooty on the side of the road. He then, went upto the kid and gave him his hand and helped him get up from the ground. He picked his bag and bicycle too. He then asked the kid, if he was hurt somewhere or he was okay. He even offered a ride to the kid back home. The kid was relieved. He sat down for a moment, drank some water from the water bottle tucked on the side of his school bag, smiled at the gentleman and said, “I am fine” and got on his cycle and sped away home. The man too kick-started the engine of his scooty and went his way. After seeing this incident, there was a smile on my face too. I was thinking all about it on my way back. I was thinking, how similar were these situations in the sense of happenings, but how differently they ended.

 

                  In the first scene, the youth on the bike reacted to himself becoming a victim of the accident, the auto-rickshaw driver reacted to the reaction of the youth and the crowd reacted to the whole scene and it became a mayhem. On the other hand, in the second scene, the elderly man, instead of reacting, acted upon the situation, made amends for the one who was suffering and it ended quite well. Neither of these situations was about who was right and who was wrong. Each one of them had their own faults and that is how the accidents happened. But the reactions or rather the actions in each one of the situations was different, again, neither was wrong nor right, but just different and thus the outcome was drastically different.

                  In literal meaning reaction is defined as something done, felt or thought in response to a situation or event without giving a thought to it. Reaction is actually how we would call it in medical terminology, at a spinal level. It is also what is typically known as a fright and flight reaction. The processing of the deed is not done while you are reacting. While action is defined as a deed or doing something which has some thought put into it, typically, to achieve an aim. Action usually requires the facility of higher mental abilities. The deed is perceived by your senses, reaches your spine, travels way up in the cerebral cortex, where the information is processed, analysis is done and finally according to the conditioning of your brain, a decision of doing a particular deed in response to a particular stimuli is made. Fortunately, it’s only us humans who have evolved to have this complex systematic arrangement of decision making. But unfortunately a lot of us forget that and instead of taking a breath and processing the situation make the decision to react to the situation and thus create problems for themselves and others.

 

 

                    I had heard another very interesting and amusing story from a very well-known food writer and a celebrity chef Vikas Khanna at an event. He was narrating an incident about his earlier days when he was not as famous as he is now. He was giving a live food demo in a hall full of people in America. He was preparing a savoury dish which may have needed some finely chopped tomatoes. He is saying out loud to the audience that now you put some freshly and finely chopped tomatoes and he opens the drawer of instruments but finds his knife vanished. He had a feeling that someone had purposefully removed it from there due to envy or malicious intentions. He was exasperated and didn’t know what to do in front of so many people. He knew one thing for sure that he is not going to loose his mind or cool in front of so many people in his own kitchen. He took a deep breath and started tearing the pieces of tomatoes with his hand and announcing to the audience, how in a small village in India people don’t cut their vegetables with knives as they want to respect food and tear them gently with their hands. The audience was so impressed and burst into a loud uproar of applause and suddenly he became a hero for them. Instead of the usual reaction that would have been expected out of him of getting angry or yelling, which would have earned him a bad name, he chose to act on it and it indeed rewarded him with an applause.

                   The problem is that the reactions might not always be the best course of action, and as a result, they can make others unhappy, make the situation worse. Why would we want to make things worse? The truth is, we often react without thinking. It’s a gut reaction, often based on fear and insecurities, and it’s not the most rational or appropriate way to act. Action, on the other hand, is taking the situation in, and deciding the best course of action based on values such as reason, compassion, cooperation, etc. This practice of acting and not reacting can be helpful to us to help us deal with day to day hindrances like angry spouse, road traffic, no auto-rickshaws, upset boss, incompetent juniors, and mischievous child and so on. Each time that you choose to take a pause, let your brain process the situation and choose a correct way to deal or act upon the circumstance instead of the rush of the reaction, you make a decision to avoid an ugly situation and turn things in your favor that will ultimately lead you to rise above the person that you could have chosen to react to. And if you do so, you are going to be reaping some seeds of success or happiness because it is very rightly quoted by Charles Darwin that ‘This world is about Survival of the Fittest’. 
A Chinese saying very nicely puts it,
“Do you have the patience to wait till your mud settles and the water is clear?” –Lao Tzu.

Can you choose Action over Reaction?