Masihood is good… At least I won’t be an old hag alone … I hope!

I was never a baby person. I mean I didn’t hate kids… well the spoilt brats who threw a strop would irritate me.. But I enjoyed them from a distance. Purely because I was fearful of dropping them!! Or breaking them! Or other such dark and scary thoughts!!!  Hey give me a break … I’m accident prone… I walk into walls!!!

The transition first came, when my masi put my baby brother into my arms… life has never been the same since.

Maybe I should go backwards… my youngest niece is fast asleep in my bed with her mother. All of two, the pure joy and happiness it brings to me of knowing they are safe and happily asleep inspires me to write again… what I write... I never know. So how would you... How this ends remains a mystery till the end.

Before that there has been almost two decades of young ones... and every moment around them has been moments of sheer bliss... There have been fights and tantrums.. Laughter and hysterics too.. Nappy changes and movie nights... Angst, frustration and gladness they were not mine to deal with 24x7… but despite all that there has been complete and utter joy.

There is heart ache in knowing Iona and Isabella better... Especially when meetings are sporadic and it’s a social demand to say hello to their masi who they don’t know but there is time yet to build those bonds.

And that comes from hope of the bonds I do have... the moments of time spent together, fleeting some... but enough to register in their hearts (I hope!) and mine!

I feel old… my eldest... How I love the way I say “mine” is 18 now... I remember her in her mommies tummy... is the most gorgeous young lady ever. The young lad in the midst who really sets me straight and makes me laugh... but most of all reminds me of myself in so many ways… especially when pushed to give a proper hug!!! And then come the tweens... Zoya who carries my mother’s soul on her tiny shoulders and Nayantara with her mother’s endearing giving nature of pure love for all. Abhay with his gorgeous dimples and just happy happy engulfing being.. Like his grandparents and parents and aunt and uncle before him…. And then there is Tara… sweet sweet Tara Para… full of mischief and yet so accepting of all around her.

Each deserves their own stories, but tonight, it’s about me. Not being sexist but my brothers still haven’t made me a bua... but on some level I know this… being a masi is a whole different ball game... for sisterhood has been the greatest role in my life (a whole battalion of big sisters ! yes Vasundhara I haven’t forgotten you… there is huge pride in being your big sister too!) beyond my mother and bua and chachis and thai and masi,s and godmothers , the male equivalent has been the sane sorted normal ones to look up to and unto and on occasion fear! And thus maybe the joy found in being an aunt!!

When my nieces tell me I look beautiful I believe them... Because they also tell me I’m fat and many wet kisses follow... lol! When my nieces give me beaming smiles and crawl all over me, I growl but let them, because no matter what the love of a child is pure... No pretenses. No hard feelings… no baggage.. Just unadulterated love.

If I could wish upon a falling star right now, I would wish for only one thing… let the innocence of the blessed children never change and let me always be the recipient of that impulsive hug and pure joy in their eyes!  

Sire

I meant to write this yesterday but guess was too exhausted to string valid and comprehensible sentences together. Why I feel the need to do this? Why does there even need to be a need to explain? So I won’t.

There will be those who read this, who have heard of him. There will be those who have met him and know him better than I possibly can. But there would be very few or none who feel the same way about him as I do or are even aware of the journey of us being friends. Including possibly him himself!

My last few pieces may have been slightly dark. And this may have shades of darkness to but which relationship doesn’t?

Being far removed and also not as up with the times, I had no impression before I met him, except that as conveyed by my colleagues. I had never spoken to him either. At least I don’t remember now if I did. I was told he was a quiet man of the sweetest temperament and even in the worst scenario’s he never lost his cool. I was told he was a patient man who went about his business quietly and I would just take to him immediately.

I was introduced to him in a meeting with a whole bunch of people. Or was it the other way around on location sire? Either ways the impression was the same. He wasn’t the person I had in my head- sweet, docile, friendly and approachable. He was grumpy! He unnerved me with his one word answers and his silently watching proceedings. And yet I knew even then that I wanted to leave a good impression on him.

The chronology of events is lost on me. Me and my short term memory. But here is what I do remember and that has stayed ever since. The feeling.

The months before I met him, were, well were full of rapids and waterfalls, of struggling to breathe and floating to survive. Of swimming against a tide wanting to pull me under to deep sea diving into sheer oblivion of being bitter and hating the world and life. Of heart wrenching loss and stubborn determination to make it through with my head held high. Within the first few meetings with lesser people around I had the mental space to register the feeling. It seemed alien and yet known. Seemed like something I was missing. Had been missing for a while. It was a feeling of calm. Irrespective of what was happening I would take moments to just be in the same space, share a few words. Go sit quietly next to him. And I would instantly feel calm.

There were occasions when his dry wit and advice felt vaguely familiar. Yet in the madness it was it took me some time to figure it out. He reminded me of my mum. He instilled the same sense of not being alone. Of being there to listen without saying a word. And when he did say anything it would make me realise how silly I was and make me crack up at myself.

The added perks was the sense of being protected. Or enjoying music. Or simply wanting some cold water to drink to feel revived. But coming back to feeling someone cared again. I remember the first time. No one in the entire team gave a damn about the fact I was driving and driving alone from the back and beyond in the middle of the night. I said my goodnight and decided to at least tail back part of the way to civilization. I remember being tired and irritated that the car I was to tail was taking its own sweet time to move. Damn the driver, let’s get going people!  Sire got out of the same and walked to my car behind. I put on my fake smile and politely asked “what happened?”, “open the door” he growled. I did. And he sat down and said simply, “let’s go”.

The one time he got really pissed off with me, I was shattered for days. Angry at him for feeling that way, which soon turned to panic that he would never speak to me again, to just heart wrenching pain that I would never be forgiven. There was also jealousy of not being in his inner circle, of him not standing up for me and me being a sullen and sulking child. And yet he put up with me. Just as mommy did.

Considering the windows of time we met and the amount of distractions of work and other brain screwing things that happened, it came as a revelation to me of how much his presence had gotten me through. I knew I would miss him but when in the moment, everything else which I had taken in my stride was just so much bigger to digest. The distances seemed so much longer. The lack of calm so much more suffocating. The desire to run so much stronger.

When the gig ended … here is what I did... I hopped on a flight within 24 hours, for the first time in my life.  Found the first possible opportunity to see him. And just that gave me strength to face the world again.

In the seven months that have followed. A message. A meeting. A call. All have the same effect on me. An instant heart felt big beaming smile. Right from my soul.

Now you may be wondering, why I want to share this with you. These are private thoughts. A beautiful friendship and growing love and respect for a mentor of sorts. Though he would cringe at me giving him such importance. So here is why. Each of us, feel lacking. The world can be a horrible cruel place where all you get is criticism and negativity, while you may know you are loved and valued and the role you play, have played, will play, in someone’s life is of consequence, rarely do you give yourself credit of realizing how you being just you has brought magic to those around you. Not by conscious effort or by hollow words but by just being you. While you weren’t trying you too would have left an unforgettable mark on someone’s life. You too would have brought “Shanti”. You too would have made someone feel like “it’s gonna be alright”!

And THAT gives you strength to the howls of ‘Kismat’ calling!

My life with seizures

I haven’t written complete sentences in a while. Yet I feel the need to. The weeks I’ve had or the day I have had.. I’m not sure. Kismat and Karma are both very dear to me. Possibly in retrospect the dogs I love the most. Is it because I am responsible for them? Or is it because I am guilty because I was against them being adopted in the first place? Or more likely, they are the last living beings who I live with and are continuation from a safer and more secure time.

Karma

I remember vividly that first time when Karma had a seizure, I was woken from sleep, with a high pitched panicked voice saying “Jaldi Aoa, Karma mar gayi hai” (Karma is dead). I rushed out to the garden, sleep daze escaping so quickly, to find this dog, still as ever. This was a few years ago. Mum was slower on her feet. I went through a gamut of emotions of not again. Not another dog I need to bury before there time.. Panic… clear thinking….. of I need to check her… fear.. Call the doctor.. And then she got up… like a drunken toddler and wandered a bit disoriented. Kismat the ever concerned brother.. Karma going for him.. I did the one thing I was taught to do when dogs are having a fight or about to have a fight… throw water on them. Makes them snap out of it. It was the worst thing I could have done. For she was having a seizure. I learnt my first lesson in dog seizures then.

Karma was put onto homeopathic. I’ve seen her have one other seizure in life. But the homeopathic controls it. Hers, was out in the garden. Mild. Besides, it wasn’t my responsibility. Mum wanted the dogs. Her job to keep them well. We had a pact. Don’t involve me. I’ve done enough vets and doggie funerals. I don’t want to be a part of it. She agreed.

Life was smooth for a few years. I got to just play with the dogs. A few times I had to take them to the vet and after the rollicking fights before and after even that stopped. I only trained Kismat to give me kisses. Kismat is the most loyal man in my life. Men come and men go but he will not rest till I rest. He annoys me shitless by keeping me up all night but will feel each and every mood and not sleep till I sleep.

Karma’s seizures were controlled with the medication. All was ok. I lived my life.

Mum died.

Kismat

Kismat started getting seizures a few months ago. Worse than Karma’s. I was more prepared. Mommy always said he was the more sensitive one.  But if any of you have seen a child or adult or animal convulse, it would have broken your heart. You’re helpless. You just have to wait it out. Talking to them in a soothing voice and calmly sometimes helps it pass quicker. Else you just need to wait.

Kismat had the worst seizure I have seen thus far. This morning was the longest too. I calmed him down. Slept another hour. And left for work. Life goes on. Instruction was given to not bother him. Let him be. No screaming just quiet around him. But I had work. I had to go and earn my living.

I love Karma but it got me thinking. What would I do if something happened to him? How do I fix this? Why aren’t the meds working? And then I realized why it means so much. Mommy always said, dogs are like babies. They can’t talk and tell you what’s wrong. These are her children whom she left in my care. To love and nurture and give them the best life I could.  They are my responsibility. And thus I feel guilty. But more than that, they are all I have left to teach me and support me like my mother did, they are who I come home to, they are my companions, friends and family at any given time. 

If anything were to happen to Kismat it would due to the sheer example of what he stands for…be the worst moment in my life... no that’s a lie… the love.. Unconditional I have got from him is only comparable to one… my mother… anyhow he is snoring and stretching out…digging into my side.. And here comes Karma to claim her warm spot under the rasai!