Shower of diamonds

                     

I'm sitting outside after a heavy downpour. The sun has come out and I'm  watching the rain drops glistening as they hang onto the leaves of the hibiscus plant in our front garden  The sparkle is one that no diamonds could match.  Suddenly one of  the sunbirds that have been flitting from one branch to another lands on the plant I am watching and stirs up all the droplets. Suddenly, just for an instant, there is a shower of light!

I'm so thankful for looking up at the right time, and for being able to appreciate this wonderful miracle that nature has provided for me. 

These are not my people

Waking up as usual to the sound of birds chirping outside the window, I wondered why I was still waking up with a heavy heart. I suddenly realised that over the sound of birds, the sound that i could hear was that of the young man who was whispering Jai Shri Ram, Jai Hanuman while getting beaten. I had consciously stopped watching the news on TV a while before the recent elections, and only followed a few people who I considered still sane on Twitter to keep abreast of the latest events everywhere. 

The news of Tabrez had come in bits and pieces throughout the day and horrified me. The TV was switched on yesterday in another part of the house, and just for a few seconds, the sound of Tabrez pleading reached my ears before I could hear the TV going off, but this was enough! 7  hours! Someone could be tied up and beaten for that long by human beings? Could they not hear him plead! My younger son is the same age as Tabrez - he is just setting out into life as an adult. I cannot help but think of what kind of a world we have brought him into, what kind of world have we created.

Last week, a letter was circulated by eminent Muslims in Bengal expressing horror at atrocities committed by one who supposedly was born into their religion. A group of friends discussed why these people had to feel responsible for criminal acts by someone they didn't even know, just because they shared a religion. Today, I can understand what they felt when they wrote their letter to the Chief Minister.

I feel I should also apologise. Who should I apologise to? And what all should I apologise for? Apologising on behalf of Hindus would automatically mean that I agree that there is something I have in common with these - do I still call them humans?; that I grew up believing and loving the same gods that they supposedly are devoted to. These people who supposedly are devotees of Ram and Hanuman are not my people. I cannot choose which religion I am born into, but this Hinduism that they follow is not mine. I do not want to have anything in common with them. The next time they chant Jai Shri Ram, are they not going to see Tabrez in front of them?

For many years, I have grappled with doubts about the existence of one, many or million gods. Now I can honestly accept that I have no doubts any more.

Making a quilt

A very good friend Charu shared the picture of a 'bookshelf' quilt that she had come across, and I immediately promised to make a similar one for her. This time, I have been watching myself while I go through the preparations, and I've realised that there is a process I follow not just for the actual quilt-making, but even for the preparation. As of today, almost a week after the decision was made, I have just pieced together enough pieces for three of the four bookshelves that the quilt will have.

The first two days were just spent looking at various similar quilts online. Then came a period when I stood in front of my fabric stash, admiring my collection, and sort of identifying the pieces that would be cut into strips.  I realised that I could make each book with a different fabric, which meant I needed just a strip of fabric from many different prints. I started taking out the fabric pieces and then the entire process slowed down considerably.  Almost every piece of cloth in that cupboard came with its history -  the circumstances under which I had come across that particular piece, which quilt it had been used in, who I had been shopping with at that time, then on to which city I had been in and so on. I needed to take out each piece, hold it, do some thinking/reminiscing and then either put it back as unsuitable or keep it aside for cutting later.  The process also included thinking of the friend for whom I was going to make the quilt, colours that I thought she may like or dislike;  this seems to be something I am deducing based on what I know of her as it's not something we have ever discussed. All the earth colours, multiple shades of red and blue have passed muster, as have many block-printed swatches. I have forced myself to add some yellow prints just to brighten up the quilt, even though it is not one of my favourite colours.

The actual piecing of a quilt is truly such a pleasurable piece of work. I have my favourite music on almost all the time. For this quilt, I have been listening to a podcast series (Desert Island Discs) that Charu gave me as it seemed only apt that I listen to her collection while working on her quilt. I do not have to make any conversation with anyone, and I am able to enjoy my thoughts - first  about Charu who is becoming such a special friend, how she came into my life when I was not young, breaking all myths about how one didn't make good fast friends as adults and only childhood/college friends stuck on through life,  then onto thoughts of her son and mine who were schoolmates, and on and on. Lots of very happy thoughts are going into the quilt, and I can only hope Charu will love it when it's done and ready, hopefully in the next few days.

I will still need to go shopping for the perfect fabric for the sash, borders and back -- but then that's another entirely different project. Right now, I should be concentrating on the fourth shelf of the bookshelf.

A most wonderful birthday in Budapest

The best part of being in a time zone ahead of almost everyone else in the family, is that I woke up to a whatsapp inbox full of birthday greetings, and a call from my mother. Since it was still only 7.30 am for me in Budapest, I had time to speak to many friends and family members before setting out for the day. Thanks to some confusion over the location of the meeting point, we missed the walking tour (thankfully a free one so didn’t lose any money over that), but then had a wonderful time walking around the city centre. The whole area was really festive thanks to the Spring Festival being celebrated all over the city, and we wandered past some wonderful shops selling locally made handicrafts – wooden puppets, ceramic dolls dressed up in local folk costumes, embroidered pot pourri bags, handmade soaps and incense holders etc.

Like kids, Ravi and I went up the Budapest eye and got a bird’s eye-view of Budapest, then spent some very interesting time at a post office while posting postcards to Charu and Shashank/Supriya. The very chatty attendant told me all about her passion for Space Astronauts and how she followed some of them on Twitter. A long walk, interspersed by walks in and out of interesting stores, brought us to Govinda – an ISKCON centre which had tasty Indian vegetarian cuisine thankfully.  We then headed back for a peaceful warm afternoon, avoiding the drizzle and the cold that threatened to freeze me.

In the evening, we set out with absolutely no plans. This surely is the best way to experience life in a strange city – we ended up seeing the glorious Matthias Cathedral, by catching a Metro across the river and a Castle Bus to go right back across the river! The first thing we did was to duck into a Starbucks as it was drizzling and freezing when we got off the bus. By the time we emerged, with warm (no one here really seems to serve anything hot) chocolate inside us, the lights were on all over.  Budapest is beautiful when the imposing monuments on both sides of the river are lit up – everything glows with a warm golden sheen. 

A walk along the river brought us past the ‘Shoes by the Danube’ – a really sobering end to a happy day, and I was glad to walk home with Ravi in silence.  

Caring with dignity and empathy

‘Very good! Now lift up the other leg to take a step forward.  Wonderful! See how much progress you have made!’. This was not I talking to a small baby but the physiotherapist encouraging my 83-year old mother, and coaxing her to take one more step..  The same woman, who once efficiently ran a crowded household, providing for her husband, growing children and demanding brothers-in-law, was having trouble walking without support.  As I watched him slowly egging her on to move forward, I wondered if he could believe me if I told him about how active my mother had been.

As a child, I had never seen my mother sleep. She always arose before us and slept well after us, and never had the habit of napping in the afternoon.  She dropped and picked us up from school on foot, managing smoothly even when, for a while, her three children were in three different schools.  In spite of the fact that our family finances were not good, she ensured that there was hot wholesome food always available, for us as well as for the innumerable guests who dropped in at all times of the day. On her feet all day, she made time to attend music and ‘shloka’ classes twice or thrice a week. She also rarely missed a play, music concert or dance performance at the auditorium that was a fifteen-minute walk away.

This same hyper-active lady now has to learn how to walk! A silent stroke has made her entire left side almost immobile very gradually. The person who used to recite the “Soundaryalahiri’ while going for 5 or 6 rounds of the ground outside our house, and attended yoga classes at the local park at the age of 75, slowly had to start using a cane, and then, when she started losing her balance and falling, was told to start using a walker.

 The hands that taught me how to wear a sari are now still while I go around her, tying her sari for her, after first helping her with her blouse. The hands that oiled and combed our hair and sent us to school in two tight plaits now wait on her lap while I comb her hair.  Only after watching her struggle with simple daily tasks have I realised how much we take our mobility and dexterity for granted. It is so tough to do something as simple as folding a sheet or unscrewing the lid of a bottle or even scratching an itch when only one hand is able to function efficiently.

I know she hates being dependent on anyone, but does not have a choice.  I see her watching me as I bustle about the house and my heart breaks when she pensively says, ‘I can’t believe I also used to rush around like you once upon a time’. I wish there were some instant remedy to this immobility that is slowing her down so much. Even while I can see her frustration, we can at least be grateful for the fact that her mental faculties are unaffected – she is bright and cheerful most of the time.  Thanks to her, I have learnt to be patient and let her do some things slowly, even if I could probably complete them in half the time. I think I have also learnt the art of helping just enough so that she is also left with some sense of independence.  I can only hope that I have been able to convey to her my pleasure in having her around, and being able, in some small way, to do for her what she did for us, selflessly and tirelessly.

This was published in the Hindu's Open Page on March 3, 2019 - https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/caring-with-dignity-and-empathy/article26419861.ece