“Borivali – You stay in Borivali – That’s like staying in a village, isn’t it” – exclaimed a friend of mine once. “I mean it’s like the suburb of the suburbs, the forgotten soil, the land of the ‘padas’. How could you even grow up there?”
“Well”, I retort, “I just completed 20 years of this so called ‘village’ life and I’ve loved every moment of it. Let me to take you on an unabridged tour of this village of mine.”
So, a week later, we set out on a sight see of the place. I first took him to my school, since he wanted to see the place which had contributed most to my life. After checking it out, he quirked, “Ok, it’s a great place, up on a serene hill with a lush green surrounding, but in the end, it’s just a primitive girls school which lacks a great deal of finesse and charm. I can actually hear the boredom and monotony resounding all around.
“You hear boredom and monotony”, I remarked, “ while I hear poetry and theorems moulding my young mind, the excitement of my class which won the debate, the sobbing of my peers on losing the elections, the laughter of my gang which binds us even today, after more than a decade. You see the need for sophistication while I see the simplicity and self respect my alma mater imbibed in me.
We then headed home and he suddenly exclaimed – “Look at these roads – so narrow, crowded and dirty, dug up in most places, no footpaths. People everywhere, no place to even walk freely. By the way, is concrete allergic to this place?”
I laughed at that and said – “You see dust on these roads while I see footprints of my best friends and I, taking long walks, sharing our dreams, our achievements, crying our broken hearts out. I see tire marks - of cycles we rode in college, of my car as it screeched on these roads, my first driving arena. You see narrow crowded paths, I see friends enjoying themselves at the vada pav and pani puri vendors, taking pleasure in these simple moments which will form lasting memories.
Later on, relaxing at home, he leaned towards me and whispered, “I like your home, it’s really cozy and neat, but be honest – wouldn’t you have rather lived in a much larger, spacious, sprawling home with a room to your self, more privacy, more space?”
“Maybe”, I replied, “But this small home has taught me important lessons in life. The one bedroom we siblings shared taught us how to make the most of what we have; the one TV set we fought over taught us that sharing and adjustments are an integral part of life. The non stop chit chat and noise in my home convinced me that no matter how far I journey; there would always be a haven to return to. If my life races ahead like a Ferrari, my home is the garage I return to, battered and bruised, ready to give me a total overhaul.
And as the visit drew to an end, my friend smiled at me and said “If this village has given you such proud moments, if the fond memories here makes time stand still for you, then all I can say is – You are one lucky village belle!!!”
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Olivia Singing Again
Olivia used to sing in my choir till she relocated to Dubai after her marriage to my brother. They came down to Mumbai this week for a short holiday, much to everyone's delight. At mass on Sunday, my choir master asked her to join us in singing a couple of hymns, since she knew them well. It was great having her back there, but more than feeling great, it brought back an immense feeling of nostalgia.
Olivia singing in the choir again reminisced me of the days spent together before they had moved away, of the days spent with my brother under the same roof, of the days when we were five in the family, of the days when each of us had one decade of the rosary to say instead of present times when mom and I alternate the entire five between us.
But the hardest thing that hit me was how fast I had gotten used to not having them around, day in and day out.
Birds fly away from the nest – that’s an accepted fact of life. What’s surprising though, is how fast we become immune to this fact. We live 15 - 20 years of our life in a routine which surrounds a set number of people we call family, yet when they move away, it takes us not even one tenth of that time to get accustomed to another routine - without them. I mean, why is it that easy. Why is separation loss that short lived.
Indispensable - what a sad word. It belittles all the importance, all the contributions that people have brought to our lives all these years. I’ve heard that the only thing indispensable to one's living is the air they breathe and their heart which beats. If this were true, then why would the sight of an orphanage or an old aged home pull so dearly at our heart strings? Don’t they have whatever they need to survive – then what are they missing? Family, loved ones, companionship – right.
Man, a social animal has always needed people around him as much as the air he breathes. That’s why he is born into a pre-decided nest of parents and grand parents, siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles. Each of them brings to him their own straws, their own contributions to bind that nest strong.
But slowly, as the seasons change, each bird flies away and that very Man, unknowingly starts gasping for air like a mountaineer scaling a steep slope – Yet, what’s sad is that he doesn’t realize this, he doesn’t feel this shortage of breath, till those birds fly back and the air around him is filled again with all the oxygen he needs.
As I finish this article, Olivia and my brother pack their bags to head back home – a home away from home. And we wait, till they return to us mountaineers at Hill Top, to our nest we call home.
Olivia singing in the choir again reminisced me of the days spent together before they had moved away, of the days spent with my brother under the same roof, of the days when we were five in the family, of the days when each of us had one decade of the rosary to say instead of present times when mom and I alternate the entire five between us.
But the hardest thing that hit me was how fast I had gotten used to not having them around, day in and day out.
Birds fly away from the nest – that’s an accepted fact of life. What’s surprising though, is how fast we become immune to this fact. We live 15 - 20 years of our life in a routine which surrounds a set number of people we call family, yet when they move away, it takes us not even one tenth of that time to get accustomed to another routine - without them. I mean, why is it that easy. Why is separation loss that short lived.
Indispensable - what a sad word. It belittles all the importance, all the contributions that people have brought to our lives all these years. I’ve heard that the only thing indispensable to one's living is the air they breathe and their heart which beats. If this were true, then why would the sight of an orphanage or an old aged home pull so dearly at our heart strings? Don’t they have whatever they need to survive – then what are they missing? Family, loved ones, companionship – right.
Man, a social animal has always needed people around him as much as the air he breathes. That’s why he is born into a pre-decided nest of parents and grand parents, siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles. Each of them brings to him their own straws, their own contributions to bind that nest strong.
But slowly, as the seasons change, each bird flies away and that very Man, unknowingly starts gasping for air like a mountaineer scaling a steep slope – Yet, what’s sad is that he doesn’t realize this, he doesn’t feel this shortage of breath, till those birds fly back and the air around him is filled again with all the oxygen he needs.
As I finish this article, Olivia and my brother pack their bags to head back home – a home away from home. And we wait, till they return to us mountaineers at Hill Top, to our nest we call home.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
A Chosen Involvement
I was travelling by train to Goregaon a few weeks back on official work and since its just four stations away from Borivali, I found myself a safe spot near the footboard and started enjoying the wintry breeze caress my face as the train gathered speed. Barely did it stop at the next station than these four rowdy male youth entered the compartment and stood on the footboard to commence their journey.
Now, im usually a person who prefers turning a blind eye to such nuisances than getting involved, but on this one instance, I just could not stop myself from reminding them that they had no right to travel in the ladies compartment.
In reply to that, the guys just shot back saying they knew exactly where they were and I had no right to interfere in their business. This was followed by a barrage of unruly remarks from them which did not shock me as much as the silence from the other women. Not one single co passenger supported me in this and I was left alone to bear the brunt of getting involved.
A few days later I was travelling in the ladies' first class compartment of my regular train when I heard an uproar in the adjacent compartment. I couldn’t see what was happening but interpreted the give and take of abuses as a fight of the first class ladies versus a non first class traveller, who had dared to occupy a seat in their 'esteemed' section.
Trust the eyes of the regular first class travellers to immediately spot the odd man out.
Well the lady was just not willing to get out of the first class, she insisted that it was the 'janta' train and she had every right to travel in it. But she just could not win against the collective stand of the other women who delayed the train from leaving the platform till this lady was removed from the compartment by the female cops on duty.
We choose when to get involved.
We choose whom to support and whom not to. Worse still - We choose whom to stand up against. And this rarely stems from our belief of who is right and who is wrong, but more from the socially accepted fact that ' Majority Wins' - which makes majority right, so let's be a part of that majority.
More than the fear of standing up against those men in the compartment, it was a fear of standing up alone, of not being backed by others that prevented the ladies from speaking up that day. But that same fear turns into a confidence of being supported by those many minds which agree that we cannot share our rights, our privileges with those in society who have just not 'earned' it.
While the audacity of men to enter a ladies compartment can be tolerated, the guts of a woman to enjoy a comfort she has no right to, cannot be condoned. We would rather delay our own travel; cause harm to our own selves than share our space with those who are less equal to us. I mean how could she even think of becoming a part of a class much above her.
Start with what’s right rather than what is acceptable – Peter Drucker.
Now, im usually a person who prefers turning a blind eye to such nuisances than getting involved, but on this one instance, I just could not stop myself from reminding them that they had no right to travel in the ladies compartment.
In reply to that, the guys just shot back saying they knew exactly where they were and I had no right to interfere in their business. This was followed by a barrage of unruly remarks from them which did not shock me as much as the silence from the other women. Not one single co passenger supported me in this and I was left alone to bear the brunt of getting involved.
A few days later I was travelling in the ladies' first class compartment of my regular train when I heard an uproar in the adjacent compartment. I couldn’t see what was happening but interpreted the give and take of abuses as a fight of the first class ladies versus a non first class traveller, who had dared to occupy a seat in their 'esteemed' section.
Trust the eyes of the regular first class travellers to immediately spot the odd man out.
Well the lady was just not willing to get out of the first class, she insisted that it was the 'janta' train and she had every right to travel in it. But she just could not win against the collective stand of the other women who delayed the train from leaving the platform till this lady was removed from the compartment by the female cops on duty.
We choose when to get involved.
We choose whom to support and whom not to. Worse still - We choose whom to stand up against. And this rarely stems from our belief of who is right and who is wrong, but more from the socially accepted fact that ' Majority Wins' - which makes majority right, so let's be a part of that majority.
More than the fear of standing up against those men in the compartment, it was a fear of standing up alone, of not being backed by others that prevented the ladies from speaking up that day. But that same fear turns into a confidence of being supported by those many minds which agree that we cannot share our rights, our privileges with those in society who have just not 'earned' it.
While the audacity of men to enter a ladies compartment can be tolerated, the guts of a woman to enjoy a comfort she has no right to, cannot be condoned. We would rather delay our own travel; cause harm to our own selves than share our space with those who are less equal to us. I mean how could she even think of becoming a part of a class much above her.
Start with what’s right rather than what is acceptable – Peter Drucker.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Make Your Life Your Inspiration
A friend of mine once sent me this message - Make waves your inspiration, not because they rise and fall, but because after each fall, they rise again.
While I would not like to undermine the strength and motivation this adage carries, I’d like to point out the fact that we don’t need to go that far to find such inspiration. The rises and falls in our own past lives can give us the strength to believe that deep inside we have the ability to rise again and face the poisoned arrows this life keeps throwing at us.
This strength comes from the single fact that this is just one life we live and we want no other option that to continue living it and living it to the fullest.
When I look back at my school days and the plans I had for the next 10-12 years of my life - a comfortable job with the least pressure, a fairy tale marriage, a dream home, a long trip round the world. Today, those years have passed by and when I look back at my life, fortunately or unfortunately, some things have worked out the way I planned, some things worked out better and some things just didn’t work out. But the important thing is that I still wake up each morning, thanking God for this wonderful, amazing life and I wouldn’t have wished it to have worked out any other way.
If we compare our lives to a piano with the black keys (depicting sorrows or failures) dominating the white keys (depicting joys or achievements), each of us should be proud to have emerged a survivor in this battle field. No matter how many black keys, how many sharp notes, we are still standing, still loving each and every moment spent with our family, still enjoying a good laugh with friends, still getting amazed and awed at the wonders of nature - in short - still living life with a gusto equal to that of a young child with an immaculate past.
So why not make our own lives an inspiration for our future, why not take strength from the ability we ourselves have shown in the past to emerge victorious and smiling from each and every hollow we have fallen into. Why turn to inspirational books or sayings or movies or preaching, when in ourselves lies the very source of strength we need for the future.
Like the saying in the blockbuster Bollywood film - Om Shanti Om – “Whatever a man really wants in his life, in the end he ultimately gets it and till then, its not - THE END”
While I would not like to undermine the strength and motivation this adage carries, I’d like to point out the fact that we don’t need to go that far to find such inspiration. The rises and falls in our own past lives can give us the strength to believe that deep inside we have the ability to rise again and face the poisoned arrows this life keeps throwing at us.
This strength comes from the single fact that this is just one life we live and we want no other option that to continue living it and living it to the fullest.
When I look back at my school days and the plans I had for the next 10-12 years of my life - a comfortable job with the least pressure, a fairy tale marriage, a dream home, a long trip round the world. Today, those years have passed by and when I look back at my life, fortunately or unfortunately, some things have worked out the way I planned, some things worked out better and some things just didn’t work out. But the important thing is that I still wake up each morning, thanking God for this wonderful, amazing life and I wouldn’t have wished it to have worked out any other way.
If we compare our lives to a piano with the black keys (depicting sorrows or failures) dominating the white keys (depicting joys or achievements), each of us should be proud to have emerged a survivor in this battle field. No matter how many black keys, how many sharp notes, we are still standing, still loving each and every moment spent with our family, still enjoying a good laugh with friends, still getting amazed and awed at the wonders of nature - in short - still living life with a gusto equal to that of a young child with an immaculate past.
So why not make our own lives an inspiration for our future, why not take strength from the ability we ourselves have shown in the past to emerge victorious and smiling from each and every hollow we have fallen into. Why turn to inspirational books or sayings or movies or preaching, when in ourselves lies the very source of strength we need for the future.
Like the saying in the blockbuster Bollywood film - Om Shanti Om – “Whatever a man really wants in his life, in the end he ultimately gets it and till then, its not - THE END”
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