Let there be Peace..

Note: Thank you to everyone who sent in emails and comments. It means a lot to me. However, I have decided not to hold any discussions on this post. I hope you understand.

Not sure anyone visits me anymore. I haven't given anybody a reason to, I suppose. But today I feel this overwhelming urge to write only for myself. Nothing makes much sense to me anymore. Life as I know it, is so unpredictable. We are nothing but marionettes in the hands of The Almighty or Whoever is up there. May be there isn't anybody. Maybe it`s just our destiny. And that`s why all prayers go unheeded almost always.

I prayed every single day for IHM`s daughter. I don't know why, but I did. May be it was the vision of a mother sitting by a loved one near a hospital bed and praying for mercy. May be it was this vision that reminded me of my own mother and what she is going through. Whatever the reason, I prayed for her religiously, without fail. And today as I read IHM`s post, I am stunned beyond words. I sit here crying, helpless and scared - as I realize that prayers don't have the power to protect. Mine never do.

Death to me is baffling. The uncertainty of it all is scary. But what is even scarier is the absolute certainty. I still go around touching familiar photographs and memorabilia from the past, listening to familiar songs. Sometimes I fiddle around with a discarded fishing rod and sometimes with a decaying spool tape. And I smile at the memory of a 10 year old, skipping alongside her Dad on a warm summer afternoon, excited about her very first fishing trip. Have I mentioned that part of my Dad before? And I think of telling my Dad about the new pond I discovered in the woods just around our house. And the song I just picked up on the guitar. And that is when it punches me so hard in the gut that I crumble up on the floor. Unable to breathe. Unable to move in. Or move on. Yes, Death can be very baffling. One would think it is easy to think of happy memories about the person who means the most in the world and smile. But what does one really know..

Wordless Wednesday - 1

I confess - I didnt have the faintest clue about 'wordless Wednesday'. I thought it was something started by Swaram! But of late, I have noticed some spectacular pictures during random blog hopping and realized how beautiful a concept it is, to be able to speak to your readers through pictures. And so, without getting too 'wordy', let me begin a new trend on my blog too.

I promise that the subsequent wordless posts shall all truly be wordless! :):)

For now, allow me to explain why I have chosen these pictures to be the first ones of the series.These two pictures are actually a patchwork of a few letters that Dad had written to me, when I was away at college. Each one of his letters have been a guiding light in my life. Some are even funny (like 'dont quarrel'(!!). I cannot accommodate them all. But here`s a glimpse of a few.


It has been a little over a year since Dad went away. And even though sometimes I still hurt so bad, I have been able to look at these letters and smile. And so, here I am, sharing my most precious possessions with you. Letters from my Dad.
As I mentioned earlier, all subsequent wordless posts will be just that - wordless! :):)
*In case you cant read the hand writing, I`ll be happy to oblige*

11 April, 2010 - Remembering Dad..

It`s been one whole year since I lost my Dad.
But sometimes it feels just like yesterday..
April 11th, last year at this time, I was with Dad.
I remember staring straight ahead at the cardiac monitor. Steady. Cold. Unflinching. I remember looking long and hard at Dad. And praying for the end to come..It didn't matter that I wouldn't see him anymore..death didn't scare me anymore. But the suffering did. As I watched the doctors in their last attempt at CPR, I sat tying my shoe laces, while my mother went around packing our things. There was no space for anything other than immense relief.Dad was at peace.We were finally going home.Pain didn't scare us anymore. The worst was over, I thought.
Little did I know that I would be learning about pain soon enough. That it would forever lurk in ordinary things. In the lonely moon. Or the strum of a wooden guitar. In the laugh of a two year old. Or an old, discarded record player. Little did I know that the surreality of it all would come back in waves, to haunt me forever.Destiny whiplashing again and again, until I would be on my knees and begging. While other people my age learn to live their lives and not just exist, I learn how Destiny negotiates it terms and collects its dues. And I shall never forget. The smell of Destiny. Like the distant rain on a breeze. Elusive. Slippery. A harbinger of dark clouds and thunderstorms. And then some easy rain.
Death is baffling. I roam around, touching familiar objects and photographs, listening to familiar songs and I smile.I think of picking up the phone to talk to Dad.And then I remember I cant do it anymore. And that is when it hits me. It hits me so bad, I want to crumble up and die. And then I think of Dad and all that he would want me to be. And I go about, making him proud. Like I always did.
One hot afternoon a week ago, the doorbell rang. Standing outside our home in Ranchi was a rickshaw puller with a bouquet of white flowers in his hands. As Ma stood there in perplexed silence, he extended the flowers towards her and said," I know you have a prayer service for 'Sahab'(Dad) today. I came by to pay my respects. 'Sahab' gave me dignity. Today I respect myself and the job that I do because he always respected me."
When Ma narrated this to me over the phone, suddenly it all became clear.
The presence of that one rickshaw puller who cared, is far, far more worthwhile than the coerced phone calls or plastic presence of extended family who dont.But it doesn't matter to me anymore. I no longer feel bitter or angry. I have learnt to calibrate people and level my expectations accordingly. And sometimes not at all. In other words, I have grown up. And even though I`m still grappling to come to terms, I am trying. Trust me People, I am.
- I joined a music club, because I had a compelling urge to be near people who shared the same passion, people who made beautiful music, just like Dad did.
- I started guitar lessons.
- I got a few stories published.
- I made a couple of friends(and lost a potential one too!).
- I worked hard towards joining grad school.
- I worked hard on myself. I still do.
When Dad left, I kept his wrist watch with me. Time stopped at 3:19pm that April afternoon. And I wore it on my wrist as a reminder of all that I have lost. Today as I celebrate Dad`s life and the hundreds of ways he touched mine and so many others`, I decided to wind up the watch. It will not bring back lost time, I know. But it will herald in brighter ones.

This will be my last post for a while, People. I will be flying to Washington D.C tomorrow.
Any readers from D.C? I hear this is the busiest time of the year in terms of tourists. But all that I hope to cover in two days is the Holocaust museum. I`ll be back soon. But before I leave, I want to convey my heartfelt gratitude to all you people who have been there for me during the most traumatic times of my life. You have been my most loyal supporters, my well wishers. You have been there with a warm word or a hug or a smile, just when I thought I would die. And you have helped me stand up and dance once again. Thank You People. Thank you very much..
So long! I`ll be back soon.

Most of the Time..

Wednesday April 8, 2009 5:03am
Apollo Hospital, Ranchi – Room no. 203
I sit here typing, while my father lies on the reclined hospital bed in front of me. Once in a while he looks towards me and I ask him if he wants a sip of water. He quietly looks on and I know he`s thirsty. I hold him up and try to force in a sip through his pursed lips. He chokes. I struggle to make him sit up. Tears roll down some more. And he`s found himself another breather. When does it all end, I wonder. Every once in a while he raises his fingers in a questioning gesture, reaching out for my mother`s hands. And I see her caress his chest and tell him that she`ll be fine. He should not worry about her anymore. She will be just fine. And tears roll down some more.
I sit and chant a prayer over and over again.
Om. Aanandmayi. Chaitanya mayi. Satyamayi. Paramay. Om. Aanandmayi. Chaitanyamayi. Satyamayi. Paramay.
It calms my mind. It gives me enough strength to wish for the end to come soon. It gives me the strength to let go.
I look at my parents together. I keep looking. I want to capture it all and bury it deep within my heart, so I never forget. The two of them together. Not like this. But during happy times.
When Dad could speak clearly, all that he asked of me is to make his going peaceful. That`s all he had wished for. And a chocolate cookie.
How does a person die, I wonder. Is it when the soul is satisfied that one`s work on this earth is done and one must now depart? What happens if the soul is not ready to give up just yet, not even when the body has?
I hear my father talking in his delirium. He reaches out his hand and asks for his mother. He shakes me and points towards the door. He asks me to let his mother in. He tells me he`s going home. To his mother.
And I sit here crying in relief. Because now I know that wherever he will be, he will be at peace. Because he will finally be with his mother.

Yet another morbid post,People. But this is something I just felt like sharing. Something I had written when I was with my Dad in the hospital. He left three days later.
Its been 4 months today.
And yet it seems like an eternity since I`ve heard him, seen him, hugged him close.
It still hurts as bad.
I know most of you must be tired of reading such morbid thoughts from my side all the time. BUt bear with me, my friends. This is the only outlet I have. Maybe I do it for sympathy. Maybe I think that some words of comfort might be therapeutic. Different people have different ways of coping with grief. Mine pbly is to fish for sympathy. Whatever the reasons, it helps me unburden. It helps me loosen up. So bear with me. Please do.

"Most of the time
I'm clear focused all around,
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground,
I can follow the path, I can read the signs,
Stay right with it, when the road unwinds,
I can handle whatever I stumble upon,
I don't even notice she's gone,
Most of the time."
- Bob Dylan

A Lesson Learnt - Part 4

Ranchi
April 21,2009

It was the hottest day this summer, or so it seemed. The heat was killing me. The sun was burning my soul. It was the day we had arranged a prayer service at home, for Dad.
I stood by the door, mind of stone, watching the priest recite prayers for Dad. Every once in a while I looked over at Dad`s picture and smiled. He smiled back. Dad wasnt religious. Neither am I. I knew how amused he must be, at all the dramatics going on. More on this at a later post.
Just then, I saw a rickshaw pull up by the door and a little girl, all of four, hop off with a bottle of Pepsi in her hands. Before her mum could realize what was happening, she held it out to the rickshaw puller and said," Here. Arent you hot?"
The mother yanked her away and bent down to talk to her. She was fuming.
"Now that you`ve given your bottle away, don't come crying to me when you`re thirsty!"

I was stunned. For several reasons.
Here was a four year old teaching us one of life`s most valuable lessons.
The need to be perceptive. The need to be a little more sensitive. And yet, was being reprimanded for being 'naughty'.
I glared at the mother. You have the power to shape up your child, I thought. Go on, make a devil out of her, so she never thinks of sharing a cold drink with a tired rickshaw puller ever again.

It is true that children are more sensitive. Because children are simple. Children are not 'objective', so to say.
We as adults fight wars all around, all the time. And it has become a question of who breaks whom. It is spartan. It is all-consuming and frenzied. It is a paradox. This desperate urge to conquer. To covet. And the urge to please. To conform. To follow suit.
Children dont understand such complexities of life. They live uncomplicated ones.
We dont understand the complexities of life as well. Hence we think we live uncomplicated ones too.
But you and I know that I am not seeing uncomplicated any more. When exactly we parted ways is difficult to pin point...somewhere between my first date and getting married, I guess.
You were on the same bus,remember?
The obliviousness of the next turn of life has just become so increasingly fuzzy. For both you and me.
Is that why our minds are so blurred?
Is that why the sensitivity of our souls has simply gone up in smoke?

This particular episode brought back memories I had long forgotten.
A long, long time ago, I was standing at the door and fighting over the five extra rupees that a rickshaw puller was demanding one such hot afternoon. And Dad came out and quietly asked,"What do you propose to do with the five bucks you manage to save today?"
Lesson learnt. For Life. The value of empathy. The need to be sensitive. The need to let go of pettiness.
And as I looked backed at the picture and thought of the man who had taught me to live, I knew it was Dad. That he was around. Showing me the way yet again.


Not that I`m a fan of Mahatma Gandhi, but there`s one quote of his that makes sense to me.
"Be the change you want to see in this world."

Immortality of Man

Here`s to you, Dad. I know you`re around somewhere, quietly watching over us,as you have always done..

How foolish to weep because a glorious sun has set,
which the next morning shall anyway gild the East again.

How foolish to mourn, that a mighty strength must yield to fate.

Oh!How foolish to shrink from pain,
Yet know that without its friendly strife
Joy could never be..

To make a terror of death
Who smiling, beckons us to farther life,
Like a bridge to a persistent breath;

How foolish to rend the Heart
To Despair and Anguish and the tragic grief
Of such disastrous tears or dry set eyes;
Yet know the strength of tears and the power of its relief.

How foolish to give in to all such man`s ghastly company of fears,
Which are born of the folly
that believes the span of physical life
To be the limit of Immortal man.



Sri Aurobindo, on the Immortality of Man:
Although consenting here to a mortal body,
He is Undying; limit and bond he knows not;
For Him, the aeons are a playground,
Life and its deeds are his splendid shadow.

April,11 2009

Thank you people,for all your prayers and wishes. I wish I could respond personally to each one of you. I dont really have the heart to that right now.
Just thought of letting you know..My Dad passed away yesterday afternoon.

The C - Word

My Friends,
The reason I have been away for so long and shall continue to be after this post, is that a couple of days back my world crashed in. And I was busy picking up the fragments and trying to glue them together. I still am.
You know how life can be. Like a broken piece of glass. Even if you do manage to collect the slivers and plaster them in, the cracks somehow always remain. Insistent. Like a token of disquiet.
My Dad was diagnosed to have a serious ailment in the advanced stage of the disease. And I`m flying back with them to Kolkata so he can get treated at the earliest. In spite of the state-of-the-art technologies and advancements in medical science in this country as well as the super efficiency of the health care system, it continues to remain inaccessible to middle class people like us, due to insane costs. And I have to take my ailing Dad back home, because we cannot afford the treatment here.
I dont know for how long I shall be gone. I dont know whether any of you will continue to wait for my return.
And yet, the ties that bind me to you, my readers, are so staunch, that I could not leave without saying goodbye. And that I hope you all shall put in a word for my Dad, in your prayers. The Gods up there just dont seem to listen to mine.

P.S - Thanks for all the comments on the previous blog. Nope, I wasnt trying to influence anybody with my thoughts or make the 'environment unwelcoming' as someone thought! I was simply stating the obvious. That Money Can buy Me Happiness. I wish I had some more.

And lastly, even though I might not be able to blog, I shall definitely check my email in case anyone wants to write in :) Here`s my email address : piperish@gmail.com