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There are certain truths that go deeper than normal consciousness. The truest of them all, the purest is a mother’s love for her children. It is unarguably the most irrefutable truth. In my opinion it transcends this life. It is actually an eternal truth. I don’t think it finishes here. It definitely follows into the after life too. I can’t imagine what a mother separated from her children feels. Especially if separated untimely. Like a mother leaving behind little children. I don’t think she finds peace in the afterlife. I think she would forever be stuck in limbo till she saw for herself that her kids have found safe harbours, are fine and happy. That’s when I think her journey allows her to actually move on. This is a mother’s love. Impossible to measure it’s unfathomable depths ❤️ #Abstract
BIRDS and their songs The best things in life usually happen by accident. Well waking up early every morning was a conscious decision. Nothing like early morning when the day is just about to begin- to go for a brisk walk. Not only is it great for your health as the doctors will tell you, it is great for your mind too. It’s like your daily refresh button. The air is pure and clean and somehow there is just something about the magic of a new day. You can plan it in your head. Or plan/ think about anything as you walk. It’s the best time for you and yourself. And if you want to take it to a new level of enjoyment put on your earphones and listen to your music as you go. Sounds like heaven right? I thought so too until the day I forgot my headphones at home. I didn’t want to go back into the house and waste a valuable five or so minutes it would take to get them. So resigning my self to an unusually long walk (I always felt the time flies quicker when you’re listening to music while you’re walking/exercising.) But as I began walking I started to become aware of the sounds of birds chirping. And what a wonderful sound it was. Better than any music. I started to actually become aware of what a beautiful blue was the cloudless sky. I saw, really saw how the early morning rays of the sun filtered in through the majestic trees. And it felt absolutely glorious. It was like connecting with the Divine. The next morning I actually looked forward to going for my walk. Without the headphones. I looked forward to experiencing it all again. And I was not disappointed . Because really this was actual heaven. Nature in its refreshing beauty. And I realised that the chirping of the birds was a melodious cacophony of so many different kinds of birds chirping together. And that birds actually sang! I never took my headphones with me ever again and listened instead to the joyful birds .And I can tell you that today as I go for my walk I can distinguish at least fifteen different sounds of birds. And counting. This is heaven.
Nostalgia and train journeys There was something to be said about the romance of long train journeys of our childhood. Those weren’t just journeys that meant going from place A to place B. Those were simpler times when life was lived at a slower pace . One of my most chesrished train journeys used to be the overnight train journey I used to undertake every year twice a year with my father from Abohar, a small town in Punjab to Kalka in the foothills of the Himalayas. Twice a year because at the end of winter, in early March my father would go drop me off to my boarding school in Shimla for the lack of a proper schools in and around my hometown. And more importantly because my father believed that education was the best investment. And the second journey was at the end of the academic year, in the end of November when he would trave all the way once more to take me home for a much awaited three month vacation. Those train journeys will forever be embedded in my mind. The quite mood while going to school because it was time to say goodbye to home for almost another year . Compare that to the irrepressible excitement on the way back because we were going home! The actual journey started before Abohar. Because to board the night train in Abohar we would have to leave our home in Fazilka earlier in the day. My mother would pack our food for the overnight journey. I remember sitting at the window and pensively watching the scenery go by. Heavy in my mind would be the goodbye of tomorrow. I held my father’s hand almost throughout the journey. It didn’t matter that I was six years old when these journeys started. And that I was sixteen when they ended. The train used to arrive at the Kalka station at seven in the morning. And we stepped out into the crisp winter sunshine inhaling the chilly winter air under the cloudless clear blue sky. And then onwards by road to Shimla. Saying goodbye was never easy but keeping a brave face had become second nature by the end of those ten years and held me in good stead throughout the ups and downs of life that inevitably follow. It also makes you realise the precious worth of your parents......
The Band wallahs and cold winter nights As privileged as a lot of us are and no matter how much ever kindness a lot us might practice, once in a while there comes along an incident that once again humbles you and makes you realise how lucky you are. It was one of those really cold winter nights and we were driving back home after a party. The car heater was on so we weren’t really feeling the chill outside. The roads were empty and the street lights had that blurry glow about them that a light fog causes. As the car cruised along I saw a few men walking in the distance hunched against the cold. They were dressed in a garish one-size-fits-all uniform of thin red velvet and cheap golden buttons. They were each carrying different musical instruments like the trumpet etc. Evidently they were our typical band ‘wallahs’ that enliven every wedding . Trudging along with them were others carrying now darkened gaslights, thick coiled wires and other such ‘lighting’ paraphernalia. Ahead of them were more young men pushing along a fancy thing which was a cross between a cart and a carriage without a horse. It was decorated with little lights that weren’t illuminated. Emblazoned across the side was, ‘DJ Chand’. The scene brought a myriad of thoughts. These were people we never gave a thought to at a wedding. They were just ‘there’. Without them our ‘baraats’ would be dull and boring. These are the people who uphold a living tradition. I was only wondering if they enjoy their job as much as we do because given a choice who would like to brave the chilly cold of a late winter night to walk all the way home huddled in threadbare coats? It brought home the realisation once again of how lucky some of us are because earning a living isn’t the easiest thing.
Kindness is abundant…… This is a tribute to all those amazing strangers who came out to help a distressed family recently. Despite all that we believe, about the world turning in to a cold, cynical place, Someone Up There is doing His job well. We still live in a beautiful place. Surrounded by beautiful human beings. The world is still full of kindness and helpfulness. What happened the other day reiterated all of this. It was a busy market place. Buzzing with the sound of people who had come out to enjoy the balmy evening after a sweltering afternoon. All of a sudden there was a dull thud as a young teenage girl fell to the ground in a dead heap as she fainted. It was a shocking thing to witness. As the young girl’s distraught family panicked and rushed to help her, the scene that followed was nothing short of amazing. Of course a small crowd had gathered but there were a dozen voices, a dozen helping hands, so many anonymous people who came forward and got down to help. There was somebody hunching down to untie the girl’s shoes, another vigorously scrubbing the soles of her feet. Someone was calling out for water, yet another was bringing it in a jiffy. Someone else was sprinkling it on her face and mercifully as she came around yet another was helping her to take a sip. Soon someone was helping her up. Another was asking if the family had a car and yet another was offering to take her to a hospital. Someone had rushed forward with a stool for her to sit on. And there were so many more people who were coming forward to ask if they could help in any way and yet so many more who were simply offering reassurance to the shaken family. Soon someone was escorting the girl to her car, helping her in, handing a bottle of water to her mother, “pl take it. She might need it.” Yet another person came forward as the car started to pull away to hand the girl a plastic bag explaining to her mother, “She might feel nauseous.” Witnessing all this in a time period of not more than 5-10 minutes, it was a hugely humbling experience. The wave of human kindness, the generosity of spirit of so many strangers rushing forward to help was astounding. Proving so firmly once again that God’s grace is infinite and His people are nothing less than angels. They exist right here amongst us. Ready to help in a heartbeat.
Mathematics !?!? Mathematics! Oh the bane of it! It confounds me, confuses me, befuddles me, bewilders me…….you get the drift. In my opinion the world is divided into two sections. Math people. And no-math people. I am obviously the latter. You are either born with it or you’re not. You can’t acquire it. A talent for numbers that is. No, you just can’t. I am the prime example. No matter how hard I tried or how much I slogged, it came to nothing. I have always had this love hate relationship with math. I have tried to love math but math has persistently hated me and given me the boot. It started long ago. It was really okay till the time we were being taught our tables….two twos are four….that sort of thing. But then around grade 3 or 4 came the real stuff. Problems. Where Ram had 5 mangoes and Shyam had six. And that’s when the trouble really started because I really had no idea what happened when they gave their mangoes away or added some or whatever. It really didn’t matter. I was never really interested in Ram or Shyam anyway. And even less in what happened to their mangoes. Predictably it went downhill from there. Teachers came and went. I’d slog through to the next class. Tutors came and went as math grew bigger and bigger till I lost sight. But I tried. Oh yes I never gave up. Each time I sat for a test or an exam I just knew this time I had it right. It was working out really well. Till the answer sheets came and the marks were announced. Something somewhere had gone wrong again. But I toiled and ploughed on. Finally I was in the tenth grade and inevitably there came the final exams. (My final exams for maths anyway.) We had worked really hard. The tutor and me. I was confident this time. And yes I knew everything. I didn’t leave out as single sum. I knew it all. Soon it was time for the ceremonial burning of the mathematical tome. I did it with much aplomb and great glee. This was my time, my revenge for years and years of relentless torture and unrequited love. And then the results came out. I had passed math scraping on my knees; through the skin of my teeth. But then I pride myself on having a forgiving nature and since all’s well that ends well, I let bygones be bygones to live happily ever after. P.s. I did have the ultimate revenge. My daughter excels in math. Needless to say she got the mutant gene from her father.
The Original Talkies It’s the age of the mighty multiplex. The experience of watching a film in one them is great. Have you ever wondered what happened to the good old ‘cinema’? The quintessential ‘theatre’ in every one of those typical small towns that are the actual pulse of our country? The place where the whole family went to and booked a box and watched a film together? What a fun outing it used to be. It was a truly rainbowed childhood. Where our films were larger than life and the heroes even bigger. A time when the family planned a movie outing together. And what a picnic that was. This was the theater where films ran to ‘house full’ shows. Where a hit film meant that all four shows of the day were ‘house full’ for an incredible consecutive two to three weeks. Where a film ran for six, may be eight weeks on an average. This is where the seetis and thunderous clapping resounded. And yes this is the place where the touts had a field day selling tickets in black….remember Aamir Khan in Rangeela? Except things are totally different today. It’s sad but true that the humble single screen round-the-corner-cinema is dying a slow death. Not all of them of course but the older ones are – the ones that were the pioneers of film exhibitions. (As they were artfully called then). The original ‘Talkies’ are singing their swan song. With the crowds rushing to glitzy multiplexes, it’s a hard job keeping their heads above water. The upkeep required is enormous and with no real income coming their way, (the crowds that these cinemas attract now are hardly crowds in the first place; rickshaw walas and street vendors). How much can you sell them a ticket for? So for the old cinema owners it’s a tough call. The running costs are way too high. These are third, fourth generation cinema owners who are running them on one factor alone. Nostalgia. It’s evident really that it’s only a matter of time before the last remaining ones too become relics of the past. So unless the powers that be step in with some new grants and policies and try to salvage what is left, the curtains will surely come down on the golden era of the silver screen.
Samosa vs Momo Its India versus China all over again. Okay so not China actually but close. I mean how far is Tibet? Our humble samosa. Loved, revered, devoured. It enjoys cult status in India. For the uninitiated (I doubt there are any in India at least), it’s our favourite street snack in north India. (Almost a national snack.) It is made of everything sinful. White flour, kneaded and flattened, stuffed with potatoes and lots of spicy masala, deep fried in oodles of oil and served with tangy chutney which is in turn made with a liberal amount of sugar and tamarind. The result is heavenly. Mouth watering and delicious, you–cant-eat–just-one type. And never mind that it goes and settles around your waistline like so much fat. The fact is that it also settles in your heart and soul via your taste buds. And we Indians just can’t resist it. All the international fast food chains have not been able to diminish its charm. No burger, no fries, no pizza comes close. No doubt they are great in their own right but the true Indian’s heart lies with the samosa. It appears in front of you at the drop of a hat. Raining today? Samosa? Tired after a bout of that street shopping? Samosa. Yaar kuchh mazedar khaya jaye? Samosa. Need a snack on the run? Samosa. And now gaining alarming popularity is what the cynics call in Punjabi, ‘ublya samosa’. They might look down at it with superior disdain, but the Momo, a staple from our neighbours up north, is fast becoming a hit snack too. The ingredients in the Samosa and Momo are more or less the same. White flour, kneaded and flattened and a stuffing of spicy vegetable mix. But this is where the similarity ends. The Momo is steamed instead of being fried like the Samosa. And it is served with a spicy hot dip. So for the discerning health freak who also likes his street food, the Momo is a winning bet. And then there are the variations common to both. The stuffing can be of variety of yummy ingredients, chicken, keema, dry masala, tangy masala, sweet masala etc. After all remember the echo of long ago, ‘Hindi Chini Bhai Bhai’?
TECH - DETOX It happened quite by accident actually. About a year ago. I woke up one morning to find my phone had crashed totally. Internally of course. Kaput. Blank. Over and out. Of course my world darkened and crashed all around me. It was horrifying. I was bereaved. Utterly gutted. What was going to happen? How would I survive? Especially when I took the phone to the shop and was told by the chap that it would take two, may be three, or maybe even four days to repair. It was the ultimate horror. An absolute nightmare. How could it have happened? To me? Whatever was I going to do? Four days? Was he serious? My heart fell a further couple of degrees. I got home and put my SIM card into another of those phones you have lying around the house. You know. Those old, prehistoric types? I’m not sure if it was even 1G, forget 3G. But like I reckoned, it was a phone and it was in excellent working condition. (These types always are.) And that’s when the change began to seep in. Quietly, stealthily, but surely. By the end of the first day of using it, my life style had begun to change. What’s more, to my pleasant surprise, it felt like a much, much better change. Life had actually slowed down. After the first few hours I was no longer reaching compulsively for my phone and glancing at the screen for new messages and alerts that had otherwise kept streaming in my smart phone, courtesy the various social media apps in it. By the second day I realized I felt so much more relaxed. More at peace. Life was once again laid back and unhurried. I had so much more time for other things. Real conversations and real life. Existing in the now and doing things, experiencing them instead of virtually doing them. And I can promise you It was a truly liberating and believe it or not, an empowering experience. It gave me the feeling that I was master of my time instead of the phone I had unconsciously become addicted to. Even more wonderful was the realization that it was okay not to know everything. It was okay not to know who is going where, wearing what, meeting whom, saying what etc. it was cathartic, Those four days slipped away and became six. That’s when the phone guy actually called me to tell me my phone was ready. And believe me when I tell you, I took my time in going to collect it.
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