The Uncle
There are times when I accept the replacement, rejection, choice and there are times when I am in so much pain that I have to relive the beautiful memories which I protected from being tarnished, just so I can function in daily life. One such morning today.
The Uncle, who immigrated aeons ago to a land of opportunity. The strict discipline with which he led his life making him iconic of that era. The unsaid hardships of an immigrant's life, which led to those values and disciplines - part of which he carried from India. The current generation with a quiet rebellion and yet not trying to upset him. The culture of eating out resulting in the waste of precious savings. The outlook that same enjoyment can be had at home using home reserves of liquor and home made food. The perception of enjoyment - changing over generations. The value system and the ideals of immigrants...... What a beautiful peek into the past on whose pedestal we stand today.
Encapsulated by a single figure, The Uncle.
Honesty, PV and an unlikely deep friendship
It was the 20th of Jan.
The seaside breeze blew into our hairs. The sun shimmered onto the blue water which glistened in glee. We were walking as fast as our legs could manage.
There was no pause before she spoke.
We walked and she told me about what she was suffering from. Told simply, told honestly, told beautifully with no pretence. I have broken my heart in pursuit of honesty and truth - nothing but the truth. So I admired it immensely. Bare naked truth impresses me with its beauty. Always. No attempt at glossing over.
From then on, she confided and she spoke of her biggest fears with no qualms at all. How I grew to admire her from someone who did not take to her openness right away... a few years back. She spoke everyday. She expressed her frustration. She expressed her strength. I could not tell her - her strength lies in her honesty with herself and others.
She called when her radiation stopped. She expressed her fears. She expressed her vulnerability.
Does she realise how beautiful that makes someone?
Prayers for you dear P. I have given so much of myself that right now I am a bit bereft. However, I will fill myself again.
Till then, I will pray.
Projection!!
Nothing hurts more than when your pain is denied and doubted. It is called a "projection" of your mind. The countless nights without sleep are poofed away into nothingness. The sleepless nights of tears welling and drying and welling again are not facts but "projections" of the mind. It is astounding how people tell themselves "(so-called)Vital Lies" to justify their actions.
The blame lies at my doorstep though. If I do not give more importance to my health and happiness, how can anyone else give?
The Teacher
Mr. Andrew Mollitt.
A teacher who transformed Arunav's journey in mathematics .... and yet he says today,"I am not sure I have taught you much but we have had a good exciting 4 years of journey together and it has been incredible for me."
This was the last 3-Way conference of Arunav in school. It had a twinge of sadness for me. The end of a journey. So many people shaped him into who he is today....
It was the end of Grade 7 when Mr. Hunter told us in a very sceptical tone - well, he can go to Mr. Mollitt's class in Grade 11 but the only class that fits his timetable is Calculus. Do you think he can manage? I said I will ask him and Arunav said yes. That was the start of his journey with Andrew Mollitt. Come Grade 9, he gets him as his maths teacher and I recall the first 3-way conference we had with him. He said, well as you may already know and as is evident to all he is very capable - he is not only capable as in he is top of class - he is way beyond the class. So I think he should prepare for Further Maths and I think he can sit for the exam at the end of Grade 10.
We did not think about it. Arunav did not think about it. He thought of him and offered. It changed his journey.
Today, he respects us enough to have a chat with us about whether we will be staying here, what are our plans. He hopes Arunav oneday will come and visit and help inspire younger minds. A typical Englishman, typical mathematician - does not say much, does not praise much - but what is said, is so meaningful and so true to the core that "much" else is not needed.
A tribute to a teacher. To teachers who care and who make a difference.
M and More
M wrote today.
We have not talked for so long but when does that ever matter. She reminded me of who I was and who I am. How invaluable is that? Everyone knows how difficult it is to earn her respect. So when she says she respects me, it inspires me to be more than the human I am now.
I anyway am very happy with myself but she inspires me to do more, be more.
A Teacup and The Tea
A pale pinkish porcelain cup which was so thin that it glowed when I moved myself to have the light behind it. I, of course, could not dream of touching the cup - let alone move it. So an early understanding of physics set in, as I moved my vantage point to watch the pale pinkish glow much like the middle of a lily petal where the white of the flower is transitioning into the bright pink of the edges - it is the colour of the transition. A swirling body of light brown liquid with a tinge of orange at the edges poured into the precious little cup with a matching saucer. Ma would then squeeze exactly two drops of lemon in it and the brown with a tinge of orange turned a more vibrant orange. Bapi would sip it and say, "Ah" with his eyes closing in satisfaction. That's all the thank you Ma ever got for her efforts. The water boiled for a whole minute before the precious brown Darjeeling tea leaves (only a few needed) were sprinkled onto it, the gas immediately switched off and the saucepan quickly covered with a flat aluminium cover, and left to brew for three minutes. Too much leaves will make it bitter; boiling the leaves will make it bitter - robbing it of the rich aroma, rich flavour, rendering Bapi's trip, all the way from Belur to College Street to the one and only Subodh Brothers for a pack of their choicest Darjeeling Teas, useless.
So, the first thing I learnt as a curious and bored child who just wanted to chat with Ma in the kitchen, was how to make the perfect cup of Darjeeling Tea. A brown paper packet that was ubiquitous in our tiny little home at Belur and probably the most expensive item in the very modest kitchen shelf. The tin container in which the tea would be stored was quality tested by Bapi for airtight-ness. The empty blue Glaxo Baby milk powder tin container did not make the mark. Farex tin container did. And so my childhood image of the precious Darjeeling Tea always comes in a Farex tin with three images of the same baby : crawling, scratching the back and bending down with much ease to do 'touch your toes'.
The cupset however, dominates my fancy and imagination. It was the most beautiful porcelain I have seen and I have no recollection of the brand but my memory of it is fancier than the Noritakes we own today. The modesty of our lower middle class home had a richness we do not have today. The price of teacups in our current home has not matched the value of the pale-pink teacups of Belur.
Dedicated to a dear friend who values the little things in life and who inspired me to write this today.
