Running out of steam

The house is so clean today. Squeaky clean and perfectly quiet. It is so empty.

The elder kid left for college. The younger one is already at school. And I have a whole lot of space to myself.

I’d live with the mess and the cacophony any day!

Since I do not have a choice, I read myself the ‘face the facts-be glad the kids are doing great’ spiel all over again. It doesn’t work, but there is nothing else I can do about the situation. I always tell the kids that when they are feeling low, they should give themselves the advice they would give another friend in that situation. That would bring out the wisest words.

I tried it on myself.

Took out the pending books I have been planning to read for a long time and arranged them by the bedside. Plugged in my laptop to write posts in advance for the rest of the week. Make a list of 15 things I need to do for myself but couldn’t get the time for. Yet I felt so tired that I didn’t feel like moving an inch. That’s the first sign of depression for me-the signal that I should be talking to friends. And I didn’t feel like talking.

For the last few weeks, I had no time, but was still posting enthusiastically in the few minutes I would manage to steal. Today I had a few hours, but just did not feel like writing.

I got a message from my dentist asking me to come for my overdue check-up. Even she knew that I would finally make the time for it. I made myself go and felt so much better after a routine check-up and a longish chat.

Isn’t it amazing how much a forced outing and an interaction can change? Yeah even a trip to the dentist’s!

And that made today’s post possible!

Country Roads

It’s just my blog, not an assignment. I don’t have a topic, or rules, or word limits. How difficult can writing ‘something’ be?

It’s not difficult. And I mean that about the writing.

What is difficult is making the effort, keeping that promise to yourself, committing time. I do it for my job, for my family, even for friends and neighbours. Yet I find it so difficult to find time to do a thing for myself. I feel guilty. The kid is home for only a few weeks, I spend the whole day at work anyway and then I again sit down to write? There is so much more productive and important work to do, and yet I sit down and write? I doubt myself-why am I even writing. This stuff is not going to change anybody’s life, it is not going to change anything in my life, why am I even doing this?

Maybe I am doing it because of the challenge. To see whether I can keep the commitment, whether I can write. It is definitely because Swathi pulled me into the challenge, and I can see others like me making the effort too.

But most of all I think, it is for the satisfaction. It’s like coming back to your hometown after many years though you are a very different person now. Most of the landmarks have changed and the people the family next door has moved away, but that gnarly rain-tree under which you waited for the school bus is still there. 

You turn into a lane and remember happy times and your old self. You connect back to something you have left behind, and yet never left, just forgot. You have to get back to your new life in the new city. You promise to visit more regularly, but that is up to the plans life make for you. You are just glad you could come this time.

This space is that hometown for me. It is difficult to break the daily routine, to take time out for myself and even get into a mind-frame where I can hold an idea for 15-20 minutes and write about it. I may give up one day when the struggle gets too much. For now, I am just glad I could come.

Making Sense of an Ending

A seventeen year-old in my neighborhood jumped to his death.

His parents are devastated. I, like most of the people who have known them for years, shocked to the core. I had thought I’d tell me daughters about the incident only when they came home for the holidays, when we could have a longer conversation. But bad news travel fast and it was my daughter who asked me for ‘details’.

Then I had to write to them. I write to them often but this time I did not know what to write. Why am I putting parts of it in the public domain? As a prayer from a mother who hopes that no parent has to live through this.

What happened?

He jumped from the 7^th Floor.

Why?

Only he knew what was going on in his mind at that moment. Anything else we say would be an un-called for assumption.

What other details can I give you?

His parents will be in pain for a very long time. It is like he stabbed them and went off, leaving the knives in.

We are all shocked. We, who knew him as a much loved child a friend of our children, are now not sure how to talk to our children.

Say yes to everything, because we don’t know how you will react to a ‘no’? But then how will you face the number of times the world says ‘no’ to you? Be around, keep a check on all your activities, your internet time, your interactions? But what if that sends you off in a more remote corner, interpreting out protection as intrusion? Trust you, leave you to your own space-but what if that leaves you feeling alone or isolated or vulnerable?

There are a hundred ways in which we can go wrong. But is this the solution?

We have just one life. And that too is limited. Some beliefs say we are born over and over again but then that will be as a different identity, a different life altogether. Death is final. And every death is so sad. The death of a child, that too when it is deliberate and avoidable is the saddest.

Maybe he thought it was his life and he had that right to give it up because he didn’t want to live it anymore. What makes a person decide to take his own life? Depression, desperation, frustration, loneliness, losing all hope, not being able to ‘face’ the world, running away, or the desire to punish someone-making them regret forever? Or is it just that overwhelming moment? For everything there is a better solution.

Maybe he thought there was no other way for him. Everyone is looking for the reason now. If anyone knew the reason, before he took this step, they could have helped. Maybe if he had talked..

There will be phases in life where there is no hope, where your struggles may seem too tough to carry one, where you may not see the point of going on (I wish I could save you from such sadness forever, but it’s a reality which happens to everyone). But there is always a way out.

J.K. Rowling suffered from severe depression. She channeled it into imagining the ‘Dementors’ and the 'Dementor’s Kiss'-a fate worse than dying because all happiness and hope is sucked out of life. Everyone can’t write a 'Harry Potter' but everyone can survive, find a new hope, a new reason to live. It takes a lot to break out of these phases, more than conjuring up a Patronus from happy thoughts, though that is a good begining. Talking helps-massively.

There will always be a way out. Talk to us, your friends, strangers, anyone. Keep talking. Keep the human connections alive and you’ll find a way. Be a friend. There would be people around you going through such a phase but you’ll be unaware if you don’t talk enough. You could be a tiny light for someone. Make someone’s life happier. Make your own happiness. Make something from your own life. It can be as beautiful as you let it be. (No, don’t take it as more gyan from me-this is just what I wish for -a beautiful life for you).

A Birthday Party with Fairies

Birthdays were one huge annual task for me. They were two huge annual tasks to be precise, and that too within a span of five days in February.

They were like this and this and this.

The budget sheets and estimate sheets I used for annual planning at work were child’s play compared to the bday.xls file I had created over the years. It had master-lists for guests, party-item suppliers,  invitation formats, party themes, ideas for return gifts, menu planning, ideas for games, entertainments, pick-and-drop logistics, cleaning-up, start-be-end-by dates for tasks  etc. etc.

And when they went off to boarding school this became another way to miss them; another vacuum to fill.

The first time one of them was not here for her birthday, I felt like calling her friends over and celebrating just the same way. But it would have not made sense. Not doing anything also did not feel correct.  It was such a special day for us, I still wanted to celebrate. Celebrating just by ourselves also didn’t seem enough because I felt this need to share my happiness and my gratitude for this wonderful day.

We went to Cheshire Homes. It is a home for physically disabled girls where they do the awesome job of educating the girls and training them on work skills; empowering them to build their own live, notwithstanding their physical challenges.

We bought cake and snacks and had a very simple party with the girls. But their joy was so touching; it melted away all the loneliness I had been wallowing in. There were little girls who came running and thanked us in sign-language, there was another one in a wheel-chair who translated for them, some managed to grunt their thanks, and some held my hand. They sang the birthday song for my daughter in words, gestures and thumps on the table.

Happy Birthday, Sweetie! The fairies had come to party for you. They opened their innocent hearts and sent you their magical wishes. 

Coming Back

It’s been so long..

..that I had the time to write,

..the space to think,

..the energy to key in a few words,

..the enthusiasm to spin the words,

..the will to make the effort,

So trying hard to get back-yet again and I start with again with saying a big Thank You to those of you who are still with me in my travails and tales…

Purani Jeans---and the memories

Purani jeans--------

I still have mine from those days…along with memories that would take ages to key in.

One of those memories is of the desperation to avoid a particular Professor’s class. As there was no other way to escape, we had to dive out of the window, climb onto the terrace and hide in an empty water tank till the coast was clear. We would have gone for a filled-in tank too, such was the fury of the tempest and our strength in being together.

I feel like doing it again, burying my head in sand, till the cyclone blows away. I’d take my chances with a water tank too, but this once, there isn't any place to retreat to...

When thunderstorms arrive, I’ll have to go out and get drenched.

And I am on my own.
Guess that is the toughest part.

If only some things could have been like those days………