I failed

 I lost a child today and I was not even his mother. Bharathi, age 17 died due to complications arising from juvenile diabetes leading to renal failure. I know, I know kids who die young are angels who are loved more in heaven, it was their time, it was what was destined, it was in his stars and it was his past deeds and karma that led him to die young.

I have heard all the placations, the medical explanation and how and why and what .How does one explain ones heart? Bharati’s father named him so, as to represent the Hindu sect, all his other children have been named after the other remaining major religions of India. One has a Muslim name, Akbar, the other one is David and the sisters have Sikh names. The father himself is our villages self styled Goodman, Baba Bittu who does real social work that has a direct impact on the society. He collects money so as to marry off poor girls whose parents cannot afford weddings for their daughters. He celebrates all the major religions, having jagraatas, Sufi festivals, gurpurab and Mass as when the festivities are in the calendar.

So, if someone who earns so much karma, wouldn’t he be able to safeguard his children at least? Bharati was my student since the last three years. He wanted to be an automobile engineer, the word ‘how” did not figure in his dictionary. He just wanted to walk, speak, and talk English with a zeal that amazed me. He started coming to my school three years ago in the 8^th standard and was forever in a hurry to learn more, to absorb more and to pick up the nuances of English grammar because he said this is what sets us apart from the city children. Over the years this sensitive child who was forever the first one to organize the classes to celebrate Dushhera, Diwali and also helped us to stop bursting crackers in the village. THe first year we decided to not burst crackers, telling them that they were burning away money and causing pollution. He was the first one to help me, in enforcing this.

News like this is devastating and when it is in close quarters it makes one question ones faith in the higher self.

One of my friends said to me that I should have learnt form all my spiritual lessons and the books that I read, they should have taught me how to be calm and bear the loss. My books and lessons tell me that I should have the same reaction when their happiness and sadness. Calm is the word. I fail miserably in controlling my emotions. To console the parents is out of question as I am myself are broken.

The child still hovers in front of my eyes , with the spark in his eyes as he wanted to capture the world and it was his oyster …

Rumi , says

When he gives

He shows you His kindness

When he deprives,

He shows you His Power.

And in all that ,

He is making Himself known to you and

Coming to you with His greatness.

Ibn ‘Ata Allah al-Iskandari .

Patchwork of life

Patchwork of life

After the crazy deluge, squall that has left us all gasping with too much rain, its as if Nature had taken over a Shakespearean turn, I got a call from my Nani today morning and she said that she was un well and could not come over to meet me, but she wanted to give me her patch work bedcover.

I had wanted this bedcover ever since I had laid my eyes on it, thirty years ago. My grandmother had migrated to the US, on posting to Washington D.C. and had built her life there. Bringing up children, running a home, far away from the comforts of Punjab, Sahnewal and far away from Punjabiyat and her comfort zone. It was a huge step to settle down there for her. She had immersed herself in all things diplomatic, with other wives who were brought together just by a common thread of being Indian! Some of these ladies were from South (they have a natural advantage over us, more intelligent than us) and some from east and the language that bound them was Hindi, not Punjabi or Oriya or Tamil but broken Hindi that got them by and forged bonds to last a life time.

They enrolled in this patchwork making course as it was the American thing to do, all these women would labor to make linen, cushions and bedcovers and became a support system to each other while their husbands toured to different parts of the world, setting it right step by step; whereas these women tried to run their homes in an alien, all white country with snow and more snow!

I had always wanted this bedcover, made with love, stitched with love and dreams and sorrow and the vibrant colors all proclaiming life and the spirit. She would always, say patience, I will give it to you wait, when you’re older. Youth is always impatience; we have not learnt the luxury of patience and waiting for the right time. Everything we want is yesterday and that is what I was. Life happened, I grew older but still it hankered in my mind somewhere that when would she give this to me. She had promised it to me, an heirloom.  She grew frailer and weaker and I got busier in the humdrum of life, kids, school, life and just etching out my path.

However, today she called and she wants to give it to me.  And, I had tears in my eyes .I dint want it now, it seemed final . I feel we always get what is destined for us at the right time, right place. For us, to cherish and value things when we can know the true worth. Earlier, I might not have taken so much care, in the foolishness of youth, it would have got ruined, but now it’s invaluable. The love and care with which she made it and passing it to me, to take it forward to another generation. Isn’t life like that, we nurture, hope and pray for the best, forever wanting things to happen before and wanting them in a hurry but Fate always has other plans. As in the scriptures, we never get anything before the pre-ordained time however much we might desire.

However, it is the journey that makes us, the object is immaterial. Cherish the people and the moments with them. Life has moved to a level where we have started putting value on objects and the monetary value they signify and forget the people behind them, for their love and blessings and care is like none others. In our lives, this patchwork quilt is made with myriad people, hues, colors and seasons but we all should live it to the best !

#Note to Self

#Note to self

Woman’s Day, is being celebrated on the 8^th and the papers today scream out to me in different advertisements.  They even started a hash tag for us #note to self! In fact, that I find it is so interesting that I need a day to remind me  to remember how important and cherished I am. The papers and the over the top bright bling advertisements all scream of the percentages off on women’s product luring me like the mermaids singing the siren’s song. The local snob value nail spas are all advertising nail beautification, beauty spas, hair salon; clothing’s to reclaim the lost woman in me.

Todays Sunday paper is full of things that make me a better, smarter, more sophisticated, polished version. The must have colors, make up trends, boho-chic, baroque, Victorian, classic, bohemian, indo-chic, earthy the labels that have sort of defined you. There are palettes to describe you and skin tone, your hairstyles to frame you to make you a better you! We are given labels to put ourselves into o neat little tidy boxes so society can define, put us in a position and label us like a botanical specimen. Pun intended, big time. This helps them to deal with us, the mysterious we!

From the lowliest of all the under paid, unrecognized, taken for granted home maker, the glue that binds the family, to the banker, to the writer, to the thinker, to the doctor, the kaam wali bai, to the maid to the sweepers, to the woman who just wants to break the glass ceiling, to the woman who just wants to be a pretty woman! We are given these little labels to define my tribe and me. Instead of the clichéd answers that I read and get why can’t we get recognition, loved every single day just for what we are ? Why are we just segregated for one single day? How come men don’t get recognition for one day as International men’s day and have advertisements selling them shirts to make them a more virile handsome dude? How come grooming companies don’t woo them?

Our attitude needs to change. We don’t need to trend on Tuesday on twitter. We don’t need recognition by celebrating woman hood on one single day; it’s a joy every single day. A cousin writes, why discrimination for women, we need to be generous and magnanimous to give thoughtful importance to man by giving them one day, 29^th February.

The day when segregated makes us a minority which we are not .We all need to believe in ourselves and not get duped by this artificial hype created and to divide this man /woman spiel. Just giving us a day, does not give them the right to batter us for the rest of the year or our lives. Geeta, my intelligent illiterate mother of three girls all studying in Gov. School sec 11 says, Kya Madam ji, kaunsa din! It’s the same routine, and even if she earns enough she is never woman enough because she never gave birth to a boy! So, she never is equal to the others in her village in UP.

If my measure is not by the heart that beats in me, the smile that I smile but by the clothes that I wear, the hair I sport, and my perfect nails and that I can make the perfect round roti, well I think I should give this day amiss.

Change the mindset , please . Do not label us by how many  kids we bear , whether they are boys or girls, what we do , whether we can run efficient smooth well oiled properly dusted , laundered homes cooking the perfectly balanced calorific value meals . I don’t think anyone gave me a manual when I was growing up nor did I have a mysterious class like the Harry Potter and his Dumbledore’s Army . Just an ordinary muggle woman , you see.

My resolution for this year is to be true to myself. This celebration is what constitutes a woman’day!