One day my brothers and I were giving our pet dog Jerry a much needed bath as he had played in mud, his favourite sport. Our neighbour’s son, Surf, saw us in the backyard through the fence and stopped by. He sat on the washing stone and started chatting about our upcoming school sports day. My elder brother was drawing water from the well and filling the bucket, I was pouring water onto Jerry and my younger brother was holding the shampoo. Once completely wet, Jerry shook himself in the typical doggie style wetting us all, and we all laughed. That was the first time Surf saw Jerry having a bath and was surprised to see Jerry enjoy his bath. “He is so cool, akka, he doesn’t growl at all, seem to enjoy the bath.”

We had never heard of dog shampoos back then and always used Clinic Plus shampoo sachets and it took three sachets for Jerry. I poured the first sachet into my hand and applied it on Jerry who turned and licked my nose. I smiled and continued to massage the shampoo into his fur and it did not lather at all because of all the dirt. I squeezed the last drop out of the first sachet and massaged it onto his paws and tail. He wagged it dripping water all over. We rinsed him and he did that typical doggie shake sending the water flying in all the direction making Surf duct and laugh. I repeated applying shampoo and this time it lathered really well and the lather was white showing that his fur was now really clean. I applied shampoo over his head, ears and snout and he shook his head covering me in shampoo lather making everyone laugh again.

While I was shampooing Jerry, my brothers and Surf were very seriously discussing the ongoing local cricket tournament. After the bath was complete my younger brother attached the leash to Jerry’s collar and brought Jerry’s towel. I dried him a bit and then we marched him inside. In the living room, we dried Jerry under the fan and he really enjoyed being groomed. I had noticed that Surf had become a bit quieter since coming and I asked him what was bothering him. “Akka do you always use that shampoo for Jerry?” he asked.

“Yes, it suites him the best. See how his white fur is glowing and he smells so good. Why do you ask?” I said.

“I also use the same shampoo akka!! I am using the same shampoo as Jerry!!” his eyebrows were knit in worry, making us all laugh.

“Don’t worry da, it is a good shampoo” I consoled him, he looked so worried that I felt sorry for him. “Will you feel better if we used some other shampoo for Jerry?” I offered panicking inside that he would say yes. I really did not want to change Jerry’s shampoo.

“Nah... don’t bother akka. It suites him, so I will change mine, can’t use the same one as a dog’s right?” he smiled.

A few weeks later, Surf came to our house and casually asked me “are you still using the same shampoo for Jerry akka?” I nodded. “I have changed mine to Sunsilk, so if you decide to change his shampoo don’t change it to Sunsilk, and better still, don’t change his shampoo at all, because there are a few more new ones in the market that I want to try.”

I smiled my consent and just then Jerry wandered in wagging his tail and smiling his goofy doggie smile as if to say “Its ok buddy, you go on and try the shampoos, l like mine just fine.”

No one wants to hear it... denial seems to actually make it go away. But does it really disappear if you deny?? Sadly, no. If it were to vanish if I denied, then I would do it happily. These were Shantha’s sad thoughts. A close relative had been diagnosed recently with it and it had devastated them all. His wife was inconsolable, kids still young enough not to completely understand. “They said he has a thyroid problem” mom had said. It had triggered her anger. “Maa, they don’t do radiation and chemo for thyroid problems. It is definitely cancer” she had blurted out. There, now the word was out and everybody froze for a second and then all started acting as if nothing was said. Why can’t they just face the facts? What good is choosing ignorance going to do to them?? She was more upset with her father who was still choosing to ignore the facts.


The effects of smoking, chewing tobacco, and pan-parag is this, it leaves your loved ones worried and finally when their worst fears come true, it breaks their heart and shatters them to pieces. So why do people do it?? It is just a habit they have picked up, why can’t they just leave it?? Is it so much more important than those who love you?? Can’t you see the pain you inflict on us by choosing this self destructive path?? Agreed that a habit is hard to break, but don’t you all know that there is help available? Can’t you talk to your doctor, your friends, your family and seek help. Is it too much that we ask of you?? All we want is for you to have a healthy life.


Shantha was upset because it had always been a difficult subject to broach with her dad. Though very close, this topic always seemed to be off limits with him. He had been smoking for 30 long years and she had grown up worrying about him, but could never talk to him openly about it. She was leaving town in a few days and she wanted her dad to at least get a proper cancer screening done. She had tried in vain, but even the diagnosis of cancer in a very close relative had not been enough to convince him to take any action. So now she sat down to write a letter to him as a last-ditch effort.


Dear daddy,

When I was young I thought that you were the greatest and coolest person on earth. I grew up to discover that I had been so right all along. I see so much of you in me, we both are a bit headstrong, very emotional (mum would agree), and we both have a temper. We share so many common interests, travelling, reading, crosswords, dogs.

Recently, Madhu remarked that I look more like you than mom, just that I wasn’t bald or had a moustache. Funny. He really loves playing with you and going out with you. The bond you share with him is so special. It really warms my heart to see you both together. Growing up without any grandparents, I know what it is to be at ones grandparents place. Though we were great as a family, I really felt that it would have been even nicer to have grandparents who would have loved me, spoiled me rotten and told me stories late at nights. Well, now I am not that young to hear stories at night, but Madhu is, and he loves to hear stories from you when we visit. I am sure you would want to see him grow up and be present at all the important occasions of his life. I want you to not only to be present but be an active part of every stage of his life. And for that, all that is required is your good health.

There is no point beating around the bush, Dad. I think uncle Ram’s diagnosis has come as a huge wakeup call. Please get a proper health check done. All I want is that you at least take the effort to know how much damage has already happened and what can be done for us all to live more in peace. I love you Dad. I want you to see me grow old, see what are the common interests you share with my grandchildren. Seems a bit ambitious, but not impossible, only if you try. Hope you understand my fears and worries, daddy. I love you.


With love,
Shantha

There is a Shantha in every home worrying about her dad, brother or husband. Many a times, it doesn’t seem to be her place to discuss such topics, but her heart is ravaged by the unknown. All she asks for is, to know for certain and go on from there. Is it too much to ask?

A few days ago, I was in the park with a friend watching our kids play. We noticed a flurry of activity on the sidewalk and we wondered what it was all about. A Vietnamese girl soon joined our kids and she informed us that it was a little bird that had fallen from the tree. “That Chinese man threw it back into the tree, and the little bird is now sitting in the lowest branch. A little while ago, the mother bird came to the same tree, but they did not meet. Can you hear the mother bird aunty?” she said as she ran off to tell her story to someone else. Yes, we heard the mother bird and my heart went out to it. We looked at the tree and saw the bird perched on the lowest branch. I wished the mother bird would find it, but how will it take its baby back to the nest? I wondered. I imaged it building a new nest on the lowest branch, just for the baby bird.... but I wasn’t sure if birds did that. Anyway, the little bird was in the tree and its mom would soon find it.

A little while later, we heard a high-pitched squeal. It was the Vietnamese girl’s younger sister who was trying to catch the little bird that had again fallen from the tree. I ran to her and shooed her away saying “you might hurt the bird little girl, let it go.” It was a beautiful yellow and green coloured bird with grey feathers in the underside of its wings. The little bird hobbled on the ground, unable to fly. The mother birds cry from the tree tops was heart wrenching.

I called my husband. “A little bird has fallen from the tree, can you Google and find any animal rescue number?” I said. “I am in the middle of a meeting” he said in a low voice, but sensing that I was desperate he said “ok... give me five minutes.” I thanked him and followed the little bird. It was hopping around. My friend was nice enough to look after the children while I followed the bird. I was worried that it would be soon dark and it would be difficult to locate the bird, worse still the stray cats in the neighbourhood might get it. I saw two boys playing in the soccer field nearby and called them. “Would you be able to catch the bird, I can get a shoebox and we can keep it safe” I said hopefully. “Sorry aunty, I am scared to touch it” one of them said. I nodded, I was scared to touch it too. A dog walker stopped to enquire what was happening. I told her and then asked her “will you be brave enough to catch it?” She shook her head. I thought I heard my mobile ring, just before I switched it on, the battery died.

My friend was also trying her part to help by calling her friends to find out any rescue numbers and asking them if they could catch the little bird, but we got nothing. Just then, another friend, Nila, arrived with her daughter. “What’s happening?” she asked. I quickly told her and asked her if she could catch the bird. “Sure, it’s just like catching a chicken” she said (yeah, if you had ever caught a chicken before!!) I am more of a fur rather than a feather person. I like dogs, but I cannot bring myself to touch a chicken, leave alone catch one. She approached the hobbling bird from behind and caught it!! I clapped and applauded overjoyed. Now we can save the bird.

We paraded to my house with the excited children in tow. I had seen an old bird cage in my neighbour’s shoe rack. I asked him if I could use it for a day and he gladly gave it. We were about to put the bird in the cage when my husband arrived, “what happened to your mobile? I couldn’t get any numbers, so I thought I would come and help catch the bird” he said. He saw Nila holding the bird and smiled. Soon the bird was settled in the cage with some chopped banana to munch on, but it was too scared and tired to eat anything.

My friends left with their kids and my husband returned to his office. It was sweet of him to come to check on us and help with the bird. Two hours later, the children were fast asleep as was the bird and I was waiting for the animal rescue officer being sent by the SPCA. The officer came and I handed over the bird after signing the paperwork. I exhaled a huge sigh of relief. The bird was finally safe. It had a chance for survival, though it might not be the same as being with its mother, but this was the best we could do. I silently wished it farewell.

The next day, back in the park, the Vietnamese children asked me about bird. “It’s gone to the animal hospital” I told them. The dog walker also enquired about the bird as did my neighbour when I returned the cage. We all shared smiles. We all had played a small part in saving a tiny life. The little bird had brought together so many people. I had seen the dog walker and my neighbour almost daily for almost a year now and this was the first time we had interacted!!

I hope the little bird makes it to the open skies soon.

Last week my husband and I took our kids to play in the park near the reservoir. Dressed in tracks and sneakers I felt excited about going to the reservoir. The place holds a special place in my heart because here is where I started my weight loss journey.

Initially, when I started walking around the reservoir, it felt like an almost impossible task to complete one full round (about 4.3 km) and I would often tell myself that if I made it half way, I would reach the main road and I could catch a bus or taxi home if I felt tired. I never did it, but still the sight of main road was reassuring to me. Gradually, I started to jog a bit and power walk the rest. The first time I completed a full circle, I felt so good about myself. It was a great accomplishment for me. With regular jogging and strength training, I lost significant weight and gained stamina. And then, one day my hubby and I tried and did two complete rounds (that’s an incredible 8.6 km!!) in just over one hour. After that, that became the norm. We would start out to do one round and end up doing two.

Each of the gradual change from walking to jogging and then to doing two full rounds have been milestones in my journey towards healthy living and also a personal achievement to me, not to mention the comfort in the routine of jogging early in the morning. It took me almost two years to achieve this and then one fine day, I fell and hurt my ankle.

To my great disappointment the doctor advised me to take a break and rest my ankle for two weeks. The weeks turned to months when they found that it was a ligament tear and just not a strain. I tried to be brave about it and did alternate cardio workouts, but I dearly missed jogging around the reservoir (read What Will I Miss the Most?? - IndusLadies). It is a place that really inspires me to do better every time.

Now six months later and a few kilos heavier, I was determined to lose the weight and to get back in shape. Walking towards the reservoir, I felt both excited and a bit panicky.

The children squealed at the sight of the park. They jumped in the sand and started building sandcastles. “Take it slow” warned my husband as I did some warm up exercises. “Yeah, I will jog a bit and then walk the rest. Just like the old times. If I jogged till the midpoint, it would be great, but I won’t push” I reassured him.

I just couldn’t believe the first few steps that I jogged, somewhere in my mind, I think, I had given up hopes of jogging again. I settled into a comfortable pace and felt the cool wind caress my face and I smiled. A few familiar faces acknowledged me with raised eyebrows or a brief nod. Yes, it felt so good. Jogging past the first kilometre mark, my legs started complaining, I ignored it knowing all too well what it was. This had happed in the initial days of my jogging. There would be pain and I would direly want to stop, but it was more of a mind over matter thing. I would just say to myself that I would think about stopping at the next kilometre mark and jog on. The pain would disappear for a while, only to reappear at a different body part. My body would try to coax me into stopping at every turn but if I did push on and prove who's in charge, then it would let up and let me finish. So, I pushed on now since I was sure it wasn’t my injured ankle that was hurting.

Forty minutes later, I reached the park where the kids were playing. I could see my husband knitting his brows as he saw me jogging down, he checked his watch to time me. He shook his head as if to say “I should’ve known.” Then he broke into a wide grin “Not bad, just under forty minutes.” I could sense the pride in his voice. I just nodded breathlessly. It felt so good to have completed a full circle. It gave me a sense of achievement and also the feeling that I was indeed on the right track towards a healthier body, healthier life, and a healthier me.

One day when my pet Labrador pup, Jerry, was a month of age, my mom left me in-charge of him for an evening when she went to the temple warning me against over feeding the pup “he is very young to drink more than a small tumbler full of milk. Remember to pick up the sachet milk and put it in the fridge. We already have a regular milkman, I don’t know why your dad has ordered the packet milk,” she said before leaving. “The poor boy has just started his business. Let’s patronize till the business picks up” my dad had said. The 13-year-old me was eager to play mommy to the pup. We had just weaned him from feeding bottles and he had learned to lick and drink from his plate. I poured a tumbler full of milk on his plate which he drank greedily and looked up asking for more. “No more Jerry, you can have a little more after half an hour, now I have to finish the homework” I said. I picked him up and stroked his fur and he instantly fell asleep. I put him on his bed made of my mom’s old red cotton saree in the hall and started with my maths homework in my bedroom.

After sometime, I heard a soft thud as if something had fallen and walked out to see what it was. To my horror I saw Jerry sprawled on the floor near the gate. I ran and picked him up and found that the milk packet had fallen down from the yellow cotton bag that was tied to the gate and was empty!! I found tiny teeth marks in one corner of the milk sachet. I fanatically looked around to see where the milk had spilled and found not even a drop, just the stain on the mosaic floor. He had drunk half a litter of milk and mom had said he should not have more than a small tumbler!! I looked at him in panic. His eyes were closed as if he were asleep. I burst out into tears fearing the worst.

With no one at home and not knowing what to do, I placed him back on his bed and went to look for any neighbours who could help, when I was at the gate, I heard the thud again and saw that Jerry was rolling on the floor. He tried and got up, took a few steps and thud, fell again, rolling on the floor. I rushed to him. He got up, sat, and looked at me with sad honey brown eyes, that made me cry even harder, then I felt something wet on my feet.... of course, he was weeing. I went in to bring in a cloth to mop and again I heard him fall. The poor pup’s tummy was so big he looked like an over inflated balloon with tiny legs. It was difficult for him to stand and balance. By the time I came back he had wet almost the entire drawing room. Trying to walk, falling and rolling, sitting up and weeing continued for the next hour. His tummy came back to normal and I gave him a bath and made him sleep on his bed. Before mom came home I had mopped the drawing room with dettol and kept lighted agarbathi to get rid of the smell.

When mom came I told her what happened. She said not to worry and that Jerry will be fine. She tied a new bag for the sachet milk because the old one was starting to fray. But as Jerry grew, he knew where to find the milk. He would always jump up and bite into the milk satchet and when it starts dripping, he would drink it from the floor!! Mom would tie the bag higher and higher to no avail. The dog was just unstoppable. Finally, my dad had to step in. He couldn’t stop Jerry, so he stopped the sachet milk!! “I hope your business has picked up, we don’t need the packet milk anymore” he said to the milkman who was more than relieved as Jerry was also in the habit of chasing the milkman’s cycle whenever he came to our street. Since we were the only people getting satchet milk from him in our street, he did not have to come here again. Poor Jerry, no more stolen satchet milk.

Now now... before you get me wrong, I am no authority on Love, at least I don’t think I am. So why am I writing something on love?? A response from Sridhar Sir (Varalotti in IL) set me thinking and here is what I feel.


Dear Sridhar Sir, I seek your blessings and guidence for I know very little about the topic that I have chosen to write.

How do we love god?? Is it by doing prayers daily at home, by visiting the temple everyday and on all auspicious occasions, by lighting camphor and agarbathi in the temple?? Do these acts show our love for god?? Or rather would you say these acts only show our bhakti? In that case, is love towards god and bhakti different?? I seriously don’t know.


Thinking about it, I feel that bhakti is a form of love. So what are the other forms of love?? There is the type shown by the great, like Azhwars and Nayanmars, Sufi sanths. They surrendered themselves to the supreme power and burned in passion and love for god every waking minute of their life. Now, is it possible for us to love god that way? Can we think about god every minute of our day? The answer to both questions would be a quick no. We just have too much to do to be thinking of god at all times. So how does the modern man love god?


In the hustle bustle of our daily life, all we manage is to close our eyes and join our hands in a quick salute to god when we pass a temple on our way to work, do pooja and prayers on auspicious occasions at home, and visit temple when we can. Is this love towards god?? I am not so sure, though I also do these. Then how do we show our love to Him?? We all express our love towards different individuals differently. We can hug and kiss our children to show our love, show affection and respect towards our elders and siblings. We do it when we are in their presence or when we think about them (which is certainly not 24 x 7). So does that mean we don’t love them when we are not thinking about them? No it doesn’t. So will the same be applicable for god? How does one love and show love towards god about whom we just don’t have time to think?


One simple way, I would say, is by simply loving and caring for every living creature created by god. This is my idea of loving god. Love yourself, your children, elders, siblings, friends, neighbours, colleagues, pets, the stray cats, the birds, the trees, the plants..... love everyone. Be aware of your surrounding and be helpful to those who need it. Love is simply caring for someone without expecting anything in return. Now, do we really love all those we do without expecting anything in return?? This, we all need to think about.


All living creatures were created by god with equal love, but some are healthy and wealthy while others are not. By sharing what we have, we can show our love towards god. I am not suggesting we give away all our wealth, what I mean is, rather than grumbling about the cost of live while giving away the leftover stale food to the beggar, we should share the fresh food with a gentle smile. Once we have bargained and sold all our old newspapers to the kabadiwaala, why not offer him some water, for he works all day in the scorching hot sun. Caring for those created with love by Him would be a simple way to love Him.


We were all created with infinite love within, let’s share it, let’s spread it. Let’s be kind and gentle and He would know that we love Him.


I have asked a lot of questions here and I honestly don’t know all the answers. Let us all come together to try and answer a few.

The air was so warm even at 10 at night when I stepped out of the airport with my kids and mom. The children pulled at their denim jackets restlessly and I helped them out of it. As soon as my older daughter spotted my dad in the crowd, she ran into his arms shouting “Thatha!” A sight I will always cherish. I did not have grandfathers growing up, so I always love to see my dad spoiling my daughters rotten with so much love and affection. They love him and he adores them.

As we rode home, my elder daughter couldn’t control her happiness and kept on giggling all the way. She was excited to be reunited with her best friend and cousin, my brother’s daughter. They were inseparable from the minute they met at the airport. It was well past midnight when I finally managed to get all three kids in bed. The next 10 days were filled with fun for the children.

The joy of simple things that I saw in their faces was priceless. Going for a ride in their Thatha’s bike, returning home with their favourite sweets and a mischievous smile that screams “we ate at Arun Ice Cream!!,” slipping off to see the neighbour’s new pups, playing for hours around the house, going to the park in the evening and burning their tongue on the hot mushroom soup and laughing themselves out silly, the list is endless. My dad would entertain them for hours with silly stories and would always oblige their random demand to go out for ice creams, park, and "just a ride". It was a pleasure to watch them smiling and laughing all the time and a joy to see my dad have so much fun.

At the end of 10 days, when I finished my check-in at the airport and said bye to my dad and brothers, my elder daughter was quieter than usual and sent a simple hand wave as a bye to her Thatha. It saddened me to see her that way. When I asked her what was bothering her, she broke down into tears and said, “I want to stay with Thatha, I don’t want to go.....” All the fun activities I wanted to promise her felt too pale compared to the fun she had had, so I promised that I would bring her back soon on her next vacation, and she asked “how many more days to go for my next vacation, I can’t wait to see Thatha again!!”

Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that I would be sitting in the front seat of an ambulance feeling so scared, but it happened. The red lights flashed so brightly as we zipped past the familiar neighbourhood to the hospital. As they wheeled my mom into the A&E Department, I was stopped to fill out some forms. I saw her worried eyes just before the door began to close and I gave her my most confident smile and called out “one minute maa, I will be right there.”

My mom had come to visit us for my daughter’s birthday. She developed sudden symptoms of violent vomiting and high fever and had to be rushed to the hospital.

After filling out all the forms, the nursed wheeled in my mom in a wheelchair and said that a doctor will see us shortly. In the few minutes that we were waiting, she vomited thrice. It must have been only a couple of minutes before we saw the doctor, but it felt like eternity. I saw my husband hovering outside, since he was refused entry saying that only one person can accompany an outpatient. I smiled through the glass wall. After examining her, the doctor said “she seems a bit dehydrated and has high fever, so I will start her on IV fluids and give her something for the fever. I also want check her blood and urine, then we will decide what to do, I will order the nurse to keep her in the Observation Room.”

Since it would take at least a couple of hours for the IV fluids infusion, I sent my hubby home “it will be difficult for mami (my mother-in-law) to manage both the kids at night. Go home, I will call you once the procedure is over” I said.

In the Observation Room, I stood next to my mom while she received fluids. We talked about different things for a while, smiling and laughing at times, and then she dozed off into a fitful sleep. The nurse came in to check on her fever and fluids now and then. They also attached a BP monitor and the nurse took reading every half hour. I felt that the BP seemed a bit low and said so to the doctor and she said “that is what is concerning us. We are trying to bring it up with a different type of fluid now and I also want to run a few more tests and do a scan. Since her urine shows severe infection, I would like to admit her.”

They moved her to another room where I was not allowed. Minutes dragged into an hour when the doctor finally came out and said “she has severe infection and her BP is dangerously low. For now, I am going to categorize her as DIL (dangerously ill). We will shift her to the ward were the doctors will keep a close monitor on her and if needed, they might shift her to the ICU.”

A million questions buzzed in my mind and nothing made it up to my lips. Only a sob caught in my throat, I called my husband who came to the hospital within minutes. I told him in a choked voice to call my dad. It must be middle of the night for him.... oh! how is he going to take this... I just couldn’t imagine. After my hubby briefed my dad, he passed the phone to me. No words came out.... only sobs. “Why are you crying ammu??? Your mom going to be just fine.... the god that we trust in will never let us down.... have faith. I will send your brother in the next available flight. Don’t cry dear, I will call you later” was all he said. His words gave me the courage I needed.

We were in the ward when they brought in mom, her face so puffed up with all the fluids. “Give me some water ammu.... why do I feel so breathless?” she coughed. “It’s because of the drips maa... they are going to give you oxygen to ease it.... it’s alright. I am going to be right beside you” I said bravely, my eyes completely dry. She smiled and coughed again and suddenly started gasping for air. The nurse guided me outside and I called out to my mom “I am just out here... I can see you from here maa.”

Then, it was like a scene from a movie, a dozen nurses running in and out, doctors hurrying in with big scary equipments and monitors, more coughs, wild beeping of monitors, “saturation dropping below 80....” “Diastolic less than 30....” “Sinus tachy....” I stood there frozen, my husband holding me tight. I would have killed it if the tear dared to spill out of my eyes. “Fight maa... fight” I willed her. “You have been a fighter.... you have fought through so many illnesses.... come on now.” “Don’t you dare let my dad down” I glared at all the gods. Taking a deep breath, I said vinayagar agaval and kandhashasty kavasam in my mind. I don’t know how many times I repeated them.

A grim-faced doctor came out to tell us “she is in a pretty bad shape. Her BP is dangerously low, her lungs are filled with fluids that is making it difficult for her to breath. We have to put in a tube to ease her breathing, otherwise her already tired lungs will collapse. We will shift her to ICU now.”
I went in and saw my mom attached to a hundred tubes, her eyes closed. “I am right here maa.... they are going to take you to a different room. I will be waiting for you there.” I said kissing her forehead, knowing well that she could not hear me.

We waited in the ICU waiting area for what seemed like an eternity before the doctor let us see her. “She is stabilized as of now... but not completely out of danger. She is under sedation now.” Her face looked so frail, her breath not very laboured now, she appeared to be in a deep restful sleep. I stood there for a long time, thanking all the gods for having protected her and begging them to see us all through this very tough time.

While I stretched my tired legs on the ICU waiting area chair, my husband went back home to check on the kids, inform my in-laws of my mom’s condition, and to bring me back a change of clothes and something to eat, for it was already evening of the next day. That night I spent at the ICU waiting area alone since the kids needed their dad back home.

Hours dragged on so painfully and I finally went home at six in the morning after checking on my mom a number of times during the night. My brother was flying in that morning. When he walked in, all I could do was hold him and let all those unshed tears roll down. “Don’t cry dear.... mummy is going to be fine.... and I am here” he said. To me, those words sounded as if they were spoken by God himself to reassure me. That moment I knew in my heart of hearts that my mom was indeed going to be alright. “Yes, she will be fine” I smiled through my tears.

Today, exactly after a week since her admission, when I left her this morning after spending the night with her in the hospital, my mom said, “remember to bring my saree tonight ammu, they are discharging me tomorrow. Also remind anna to bring today’s newspaper when he comes in this afternoon, I am getting bored sitting here.” I smiled and nodded, thanking god once again for his grace and my dad for his faith.

We were hosting a dinner party for my younger daughter’s second birthday that evening. I was tensed about cooking for thirty people. I had hosted dinners and lunches for about 15 people earlier, but this seemed a tad too much. Thank heavens I had my mom-in-law and mom to help me out this time. I sent my husband to the market early that morning with the list I had already prepared and while he was gone, I mentally worked on how I was going to go about the cooking, which recipe I should make first, getting all the pots and pans out and ready, taking out the ingredients for various dishes out etc etc. I already had a menu prepared and had it approved by my husband, mom, and mom-in-law. So, I did not have to think in the line of what to make, only time it so that everything was ready by five in the evening. Sounds easy, doesn’t it? but it is not really that easy.

Once my husband returned, I started with chopping the veggies for one recipe at a time and neatly segregated and placed them in different plates and vessels in a visually pleasing manner, because that helps me to think clearly when I am at the stove, that is something I learned from my mom. I ground different masalas for different recipes and kept them aside.

All the three of us worked chatting along about different things. My mom rolled out the chappaties, mami (my mom-in-law) made them and I made other main courses, side dishes, and dessert. The sweets were already prepared by my mami and mom earlier that morning. My husband took care of my younger daughter, so I didn’t have to worry about her. We slogged for hours in the hot steamy kitchen and my husband peeped in once in a while to know how things were coming along. “Great” I said, but he did not look so sure “Do you think the cauliflower peas curry is enough, looks a little less for so many people” he said. “What about the curd rice, is that enough??” I reassured him and continued my work.

While my MIL served lunch to all, I continued my work in the kitchen. By the time it was 4 pm, almost everything was cooked and laid out on the dining table to be packed.

“Is it over yet” asked my hubby.

“Just one more dish go” I said.

“We don’t have that much time, we have to leave in an hour, you all have to get dressed, and the kids also have to get dressed!!”

“Don’t panic, everything will be fine. Why don’t you get kids dressed up, I have kept their dresses in the hanger of their wardrobe” I said calmly not at all feeling calm myself.

I sent my mom to help him and asked my MIL to help pack the food in the containers I had already laid out.

I pulled out my recipe for panner butter masala, since this is not something I make regularly, I totally depend on my recipe diary for the steps. All the ingredients were ready except for the paneer. I had forgotten to put it out to thaw and it was hard as a rock. I panicked for just a moment and then thought quickly, boiled water and immersed the paneer into it. While I waited for the paneer to soften, I tried tiding up the kitchen in vain. It was a complete mess which made me even more nervous. Somehow I finished the dish in another half an hour and went for a quick shower.

We were behind schedule by half an hour and my hubby was a nervous wreck. We left the house in a hurry, leaving a great big mess of unwashed pots and pans all over the kitchen to tackle later. I was thankful that we had planned to have the dinner at the beach and not the house.

The children were so excited to go to the beach and we had already packed their sand toys and balls along with the thank-you gifts for the kids coming to the party. We reached there just as the first guests arrived.

The dinner was a great success with everybody complimenting us for the cooking once they found out it was homemade. They had though that it was ordered from some restaurant since it was so neatly packed in similar looking containers. Many asked me for recipes and one even said that she wanted me to teach her to bake cakes. She had loved the chocolate walnut cake.

We all returned home bone tired but feeling happy that the evening was a success. I tucked my sleepy children in bed after giving them a refreshing bath. Two hours later, well past midnight, I finally finished straightening the kitchen and walked into the bedroom and was surprised to find my husband awake and waiting for me.

“I thought you were asleep” I said.

“No, I was just waiting to say that the party was a hit, the food was excellent, thanks to you” his eyes smiled.

“Not at all, without mami and mummy this would never have been possible” I said modestly.

“No, it would have been.... you have done this so many times for the elder one’s birthdays, alone mostly. And also we had always given dinner and lunch parties at home and you have always managed to pull it off so well. You are wonderful” he said still smiling.

Though I felt that I could not take full credit for the success this time, I was flattered enough not to argue. His smile was my ultimate reward for slogging for hours in the hot kitchen.

“The food was great... I am so lucky” he said again before dosing off to sleep.

So, I think it is true then, the way to a man’s heart is indeed through his stomach.

Two years back, the exact same day, I got up at midnight panicked. I hadn’t felt a single movement the whole evening up until midnight. I was 35 weeks pregnant. I woke my mother-in-law up and told her my concern. Though obviously disturbed she bravely said that it was probably because I had been on my feet the whole day and was too tired to feel movements. She smeared vibuthi on my forehead and made me go back to bed. I hardly had any sleep that night and left for the hospital first thing in the morning with my mom.

After examining me, the doctor immediately sent me for a scan and the scan revealed that though the baby had a strong heartbeat, there was very little amniotic fluid around it. By the time we reached the doctor’s clinic, I was almost hysteric but kept a brave face because I did not want my mom to panic. The doctor said that she would refer me to a bigger facility since the baby was hardly 35 weeks and may require ventilator and neonatal ICU. My eyes welled with tear as my heart was praying continuously for the well being of my unborn child. My mom was in tears by then and I consoled her bravely.

I called my brother and mother-in-law and informed them and asked them to throw in a few things into the pregnancy bag that I had kept ready and also to get my older daughter ready. I remember all the hustle bustle as everything was being done, but I was not really present there. My mind saying prayers over and over again and my heart telling me that everything was going to be alright.

On the way to the hospital, I called my husband who was abroad. He had accompanied me back to India less than a month ago to leave me at my parents place. He was shocked when I told him that the doctors were planning an emergency c-section. “I will be there.... don’t worry... everything is going to be fine” he said. Though my throat had a catch, I did not let it show. “You don’t panic... I will be fine and so will be our baby” I said.

Finally I worked up my courage to call my dad. Once I heard his voice on the phone, I broke down in to tears, all my words incoherent. I let the tears flow which I had held back for so long. With him I could be a child and show all my fears. After a while I calmed myself down enough to tell him. “Ammu, don’t cry dear. I will be there at the hospital when you reach ok. I am leaving office now” said my dad.

Once at the hospital, everything happened so quickly. I was admitted, examined, scanned and scheduled for surgery early next morning. The baby’s heart rate was monitored every hour. With my parents, mother-in-law, brother and sister-in-law around, I had calmed down a little, but I could not fall asleep trying minutely to figure out if the discomfort I was feeling was just a cramp or the baby moving. I placed my hand over my big belly and said all the prayers I knew innumerable times. By then it was morning and time for the surgery.

When I opened my eyes in the recovery room, the nurse showed me my little angel who yawned to show me her pink toothless mouth and I smiled. The doctor strode in and announced “Its a pretty girl. Though a bit preterm, she is healthy enough to be kept at room temperature, does not need an incubator.” I smiled back my gratitude.

When they wheeled me into my room, I saw my husband sitting there with my older daughter who flashed a smile with her chocolate smeared mouth. “Amma!! The baby is soooo cute and the nurse let me hold and touch her!!” My husband held my hand for a long time silently and his eyes glistering with tears said it all.

Now two years later, my mom is flying in today to join us for my daughter's second birthday and I am just wondering who should cut the cake?? Should it be me who had gone through so much of emotional and physical pain to bring her into this world or should it be all those who stood by me giving me the strength and reassuring me that everything was going to be fine?? Or should it be the naughty little angel who is now sleeping blissfully on my lap unaware of what we had all gone through??

Of course, she is the one who would cut the cake.....

Happy Birthday Sweetheart.

Recently I took Raji, a friend of mine, shopping for sports outfit as she was planning to start gym the next week. She is a beautiful South Indian girl who has never worn anything other than sarees and salwar kameezs (with dupatta pinned on the shoulder). She had gained a lot of weight since her delivery and was determined to lose the extra kilos. Excited about taking the first step towards weight loss, scared and uncertain about having to wear tracks and T-shirt, she was a bit restless that morning.

We went to the sportswear shop at mall and started selecting dry-fit T-shirts. We mostly stuck to dark coloured tops of Ls and XLs. Raji felt ashamed of her figure and was frustrated about the way the tops fit her. She refused to come out of the fitting room. “Please come inside and see me” she called shyly. The tops fit her well but she thought that they were too tight. “How did I become this huge!!” she exclaimed. After an hour-long agony of trying tops and tracks, we finally settled for a black Reebok Play-Dry top and a blue Addidas full length tracks. Raji still seemed uncertain about the top saying that it fit a tad too snugly making her feel uncomfortable. So I suggested she buy a sports jacket that she could wear when she went to the gym and take it off while working out. “Nobody at the gym will pay you any attention” I said. We quickly found a black jacket that fit perfectly. Since we did not have time to buy shoes, we decided to come back in the evening.

Once back home, she modelled her outfit for me and commented for the umpteenth time that she was ashamed of her figure. It just triggered something in me. “Raji, never be ashamed of your body. It has been through a lot during the past two years, first-time pregnancy, c-section, the hormonal changes. If anything, you should be thankful for how your body has handled so much. You have to learn to accept your body the way it looks with love. If you love and accept yourself as you are, it will be a lot easier to love the new you when you shed the extra kilos. Otherwise, your weight loss journey will be painful and you will never feel satisfied. You look so beautiful, acknowledge that, and start from there. Accepting your body as it is, is the first step to start changing the way it looks.” Raji looked at me and said “I never thought of it that way. You have been so encouraging, thanks!” “There is no need to thank me, we all know it deep down, I just had to remind you.”

“I can’t wait to go to the gym, but I feel scared,” said Raji.

“Don’t worry, I will be there and you will love it” I said and she did.

What prompted me to write this blog is a post I read in IL recently querying about abortion.

I saw a beautiful girl sitting in the front row at the waiting area of the scan room. What actually caught my attention was the rosary beads that she was holding, silently praying. She was wearing a dark brown salwar kameez that complimented her light brown skin so well. She wore a matching dupatta around her neck and over her head and some curls of her dark hair had escaped her tight braid and framed her forehead. She wore no makeup and yet looked so lovely. I went inside the room to collect my inventory log book and the nurse said there was a heave crowd that day. I loved being in the scan room, especially when they scanned pregnant woman. The foetus looked so cute hanging upside down during the 9-10 weeks. But mostly women came here for infertility treatment. This was the IVF Department Scan Room.

I was 20 then, unmarried and quite young, but I still understood the pain I saw in the eyes of the innumerable women who waited so patiently and braved one cycle after another of pain, hope, disappointment, and frustration.

The crowd was heavy that day with more than fifty patients, I had almost forgotten about the girl in the waiting area. It was nearly lunch time when she entered the room and smiled at the doctor who asked “how are you Habeedha? Haven’t seen you for the last couple of months.” Habeedha smiled shyly and said “yes, three months since my last IUI, hope this is the one.” Once the scan was done, I gave her her follicular study card, she smiled, thanked me, and left. During lunch, the nurse told me that Habeedha was from Andaman and has been coming for infertility treatments to Chennai for the past three years. “She did have IVF treatment once, but it is very costly and they cannot afford it. Since she is still quite young, the doctor is going to keep trying IUI procedures,” the nurse said.

I regularly saw Habeedha for the next week. She would be there promptly at nine in the morning holding her follicular study card and her rosary beads. “The follicle is mature, should rupture by tomorrow, so come prepared for the procedure tomorrow” said the doctor. Habeedha smiled, her eyes shining with hope. The next day she had the treatment done. I did not see her until the next month. She came, her eyes sad, “it was not meant to be, but may be the next cycle will be the one” she said with hope. “I will come back after two months for the next treatment, he cannot take so much leave all at once, you see.” She left and my eyes welled with tears. Over the next eight months I saw Habeedha every couple of months, with the same hope and same frustration. After one particular treatment, she said that she was almost losing faith, but not quite “but maybe this is the one” she said, I also hoped so and prayed that this was the one.

I saw so many women like Habeedha, some as young as 25 and many as old as 40 plus, from various walks of life, from different states, but all in the same state of mind. Their eyes always hopeful at the start of the treatment cycle and welling with tears when it failed, and hopeful again when they started the next cycle. There were so many successes and I was overjoyed and excited for each and every one of them, but when I saw the tear-filled eyes of women with failed cycles, my heart went out to them. How I wanted to hold them tight and tell them it was okay not to have a biological child, they could always adopt. It was the young innocent me who just wanted to erase the sorrow in their eyes and soothe their aching hearts. But I knew that is not what they wanted to hear. They just wanted understanding, compassion, and hope. So I would just say reassuring hopeful words and pray that god bless them with what they so desperately wanted.

Two weeks later, I saw Habeedha and I knew even before she said it “the home preg test shows positive, but I dare not celebrate before the doctor confirms!!” She was hardly able to contain her excitement. I was so excited for her. She was pregnant, after years of treatment. I met her in the waiting area again, all smiles, all excited, her joy oozing from every pore of her body. There were nearly a dozen women sitting there and all of them got up and congratulated her. She distributed sweets to all and said that they should all keep trying, god will definitely answer their prayers. When she left, I saw the same hope reflected in each and every woman’s eyes.

Kammu….. that’s my mom’s name. Her name always reminds me of my childhood days, every time my dad enters the house he would call her name loudly yet lovingly and it would fill the house with warmth. My brothers and I would run out to greet him while my mom would quietly walk in with a pleasant smile and a glass of water for him. With no words said and only smiles exchanged they would spread a warmth of love that would envelop us all.

One very funny incident happened when my younger brother was around three. He called mom by her name and my dad told him that it wasn’t good manners to call mom by her name. My bro promptly replied without missing a beat that he would call her Kammu once he was as tall as dad. That was soooo sweet coming from a three-year-old.

Even now whenever I visit my parents, after all these years, the sound of my dad calling out mom’s name is music to my ears…… It never fails to bring a smile on my face.

Last week, I slipped, fell, and strained my ankle, silly me. My doctor said that I cannot jog for the next two weeks. I almost panicked imagining all the weight I had lost creeping back on!! “It’s only for two weeks for god’s sake!” chided my husband. Yes, that is true. It’s only two weeks and I could take a break from jogging daily, but then why was I upset? I sat back to think of what I would really miss if I did not jog for two weeks?

To answer that question I will have to take you along with me on one of my morning jogs when it is just after daybreak and the city’s nightlights are still on. The air is crisp and cool with the mild fragrance of flowers I don’t really know. My husband and I walk to the reservoir about 2 kilometres from our home, chatting along mostly about our kids, his office, and life in general. We reach the reservoir where there are joggers, some already soaked to their skin in sweat. The water is dark and still, the air now smells mostly of the trees and shrubbery that surrounds the reservoir and is filled with the cheerful chirping of birds. There is a man practicing opera-style songs loudly and a little further there is a group of Chinese folks practicing Tai Chi. We stretch a little and start our jog, nodding a polite good morning to the regular joggers we know. As we cross the half kilometre milestone, we hear a booming voice greeting someone, we smile at each other knowing who it is. I strain my eyes to see him, maybe he is just around the next curve. Our foreheads starts to glister with beads of sweat, our footfall makes a nice rhythm, and as we turn the next curve, there he is. An old Chinese man with a large forehead, a shock of white hair, dressed neatly in sports T-shirt, shorts, and white walking shoes, with a wide green belt holding his water bottle, cell phone and towel. He sees us, smiles a toothless smile, claps his hands, and shouts “good morning!! Very good, very good!!” We smile and shout back “good morning!” He nods and walks briskly past us and claps his hands and shouts again “good morning, very good, very good” to the joggers behind us. He must be around 75 years of age, but a very active man for his age. We jog along and complete a full 4.3 km around the reservoir and end our morning workouts with stretches and walk back home. Now the traffic has picked up and we see the early office goers hurrying past. I check the time to see if we have time for a quick coffee at the local coffee shop. After coffee, we head to the vegetable market and buy some fresh veggies and fruits and hurry back home. We find my father-in-law sitting on the sofa reading newspaper and my mother-in-law comes out of the kitchen smiling and say, “the children are still asleep, but I think it is time to wake up the elder one for school.” Thus ends my morning jog routine.

Now that I cannot jog for two weeks, what will I miss the most? It is hard to tell, because I enjoy every aspect of it. I think I will miss the idle chat I have with my husband during our walk to the reservoir and I will definitely miss the loud greetings of the old man. He has been a real motivator to me. Whenever I feel a bit lazy and want to talk myself out of my jog and I think about him, his slight frail body walking so briskly even at this age, always smiling, always encouraging even total strangers who walk or jog. Even on days when it is a bit too cool and threatening to rain, we see him walking armed with only an umbrella and a thick jacket, greeting everyone with such cheerful voice that it is hard to not respond. I kick the laziness aside and put on my running shoes. I don’t want to miss his loud greetings. So yes, the thing I will miss the most will be seeing my motivator whose name I don’t know!!

It happened when I had least expected it.

I was returning home from school with my brothers that day and as we parked our cycles, we saw that the door was closed, something that had never happened before. My mom would always keep the door open for us. We also saw that there was a paper stuck to the door.

Curious, we went near to read, it read “welcome home to our new family member.” Excited we ran in and found my mom sitting on the floor wearing a pale pink saree with white flower pattern on it and my dad walked out of the bedroom freshly changed from his office clothes. “Where, where ??” we shouted in excitement. “Why don’t you find out for yourselves” suggested dad. We ran from room to room, checked even the kitchen and the backyard, but couldn’t find. We came back and said “we give up, please tell us.” My mom smiled and pointed to her lap.

There it was, sleeping on my mom’s lap, just as pink and white as her saree. It was a week old pup, so tiny, so soft. His paws, nose, lips and ears were pink. His fur was bright white. He yawned showing his bright pink tongue, shivered all over, and opened his eyes, soft honey brown eyes. I was in Love. It was love at first sight, for all of us.