Circle

A friend reminiscences about her grandfather

And the memories are the same

That my daughter has of my late father

Piggy banks, secret treats, stories of once upon a time

Time the smooth operator

Parents become grandparents and memory

Friends, siblings, cousins

Now all aunties and uncles, mom and dads

we lose people to death and to life

and we gain a few along the same ride

Age keeps ticking like a silent clock

We are all in a circle

Called life.

Little Buddha, Milestone no. 7

Dearest Little girl,

 

Seven years ago today you chose me to be raised as a parent by you. The moment you grabbed my index finger in your new born chubby fist for the first time, I knew you had grasped my heart and soul in your iron grip.

 

As you grew each day, I was your pathway to this strange and confusing new world and you were my window into myself. You had to learn language and I had to learn to read silence, to understand the subtlety of baby burps and the softness of baby yawns, I started looking at everyday routine like food and sleep also as wonders.

 

Life is a miracle because of you, if at all I will ever come closer to the peace and wisdom the world knows as Buddha , you are that Little Buddha. In your stories and anecdotes you make me a better human being, in your imagination you give wings to my dreams, in your curious queries I learn the humility of real intelligence.

 

I am thankful the way your enriched my father’s last few years in the physical world, the way you held me together in my grief of losing a parent, how on occasions you with such natural ease became that missing parent for me.

I am amazed at how this same world I inhabit for the last almost three and a half decades seems new from your perspective, how you make me feel meaningful and loved unconditionally.

 

Dear girl, I am eternally grateful for being your parent, co-learner, friend and student.

 

 

Be yourself. Always ask your questions, never shy away from your core, let your light shine whatever the odds. Never be scared from following your instincts, no matter how against the grain these are. Love yourself-body and soul. Keep the warmth,compassion and enthusiasm alive and keep sprinkling your stardust on your mamma.

Happy 7th Birthday angel !!

NAVRATRI SNAPSHOTS 2015



•  A 40 years old, mother of two teenagers is distributing ice-cream sticks on the road near her apartment complex to street children. Some of them pre-teen and teenage boys, soon she is being pulled and groped and loud whistles and leering and she runs back inside the gated residential complex. The misguided kids enjoy the free ice-cream, aunty goes back to her condo, runs a hot bath and all that remains of the incident are the wrappers piled on the footpath.
  When we let go of any incidents as minor incidents of street harassment, don’t we pave way for far more dire incidents?
  What makes our boys believe they are entitled to rowdy behaviour ?Is our "Charity" misguided?

•  I am watching news, my little one who is unaware of the technical gross details of sexual violence and RAPE, knows the word and knows that it is a cruel and bad thing to do to anyone. She stops colouring and after overhearing bits and pieces of a debate over the rape of two minors, she asks, "Mumma why do people hate and hurt little girls , so much? " I have no convincing answers.

• In a neighbourhood Kirtan, almost every other song or line has the word "laal" (red), traditionally the colour for married women ( Saubhagyavatis), those singing these lines loudest are widowed mothers, sisters and wives , sitting in a corner away from the deity, the inauspicious women.

• Not far from the Indian capital two little children are charred to death because they were not fortunate enough to be born upper caste, we look away and feel we have done our bit for the future kids of this country by distributing a few plates of poori-halwa.

•P : Mumma we Indians are generally brown you said , because of our genes and race and ,and climate.

Me: Yes dear.

P: Then why are all the goddesses fair, other than Kaali?

Me: ahmm....

P: and why don't they make Kaali beautiful? If a woman becomes angry does she become ugly?

I have taken some time from her to answer these difficult questions.

Dad's last goodbye !

I don't remember much
of his firm young hands
that threw me in the air
as a little girl

the stern hands with which
he taught me how to
hold a screwdriver
and open gadgets

I remember his dry,flaky
frail old hands
that held mine
to get up and sit down

the cold rough hands
in which he delicately held
my little one
every time she hugged him

the unsure hand
that waved to me
from the car's window

his last goodbye !

 

Blessing of a Human Question Bank

My little girl is the perfect extrovert revenge by life on both her introvert parents. Apart from her apparent love for reading, story-telling   and being a quiet child happy with herself, she is a people's person to the core.

 

So we were not surprised when even at such a  young age she had an extremely warm and friendly relationship with everyone in the family and extended family that she met.

 

A particular trait that stood out was her incessant tirade of queries and questions about everything. So much so that I often call her my human question bank.

 

She shares little anecdotes about her and make the keep asking the other person to share theirs. She has dozens of supplementary questions for every query that she has, and to top it all the perseverance to be a patient listener of tales.

 

One of the people she formed a special bond with is with my father. He was 74 when she was born and by the time she had started having meaningful conversations his health had taken a dip, resulting in frequent irritability and some age-related bedimming of memory.

 

But he was the most peaceful when he was with her. She would put him at ease and they spent hours huddled in a blanket sharing anecdotes about friends and incidents. Some of his stories  going long back to a pre-partition childhood in now Pakistan.

 

Three months after she turned six he passed away. She was my pillar of strength and as I was trying to come to terms with this new life without him ,I was surprised, how she knew details about his childhood that even I didn't- like his first bicycle was red, his younger brother had bitten his ear bad enough for a couple of stitches just to snatch a few mangoes, the boy who taught him to swim in the Jhelum was a Sikh.

 

Three of my four grandparents were alive for many more years than her brief six years with her Nana and still I don't know as much about their childhood, their memories with their siblings and the like.

 

I am glad my  aaj-kal-ka-baccha had the time and the patience for all those questions to him. I am glad she was so involved in my father's last years and that she has created so many fond memories with him.

 

So while most of the world complains about #AajKalKeBacche , I call mine my personal little Buddha, who is an amazing teacher and co-learner in this master class called life.



“This blogger contest is supported by Kid Social Shell, a unique digital parenting platform with 11 gaming-learning apps. Use it play 3D nursery rhymes, counting number games, shapes games, fun math worksheets, coloring games and more!”

Mother - Daughter - Mother

  


She was born in the Himachal hills, the nearest school was about five kilometers from her house, where in addition to homework and play she also had to look after two younger sisters when their mother worked in the orchards. So mummy's childhood was an all too common childhood for rural girls in India six decades ago.


I had a very different childhood, in a city, going to a good school , with plenty of assistance at home and practically no choices barred because so many decades ago my mother had chosen to fight for her education with her parents, her right to work with her in-laws and the world in general for the rights of girls.

She wanted to become a teacher and became one and  my achievements make her as proud as the achievements of so many of her students who give her so much credit for being a special teacher.
The voice in me that speaks for girls and against every discrimination against them is HER VOICE . I tell her that she was my first ever feminism expert and she tells me she doesn't know what Feminism is but yes no human being must be put down because of her gender.

Today as she shares her childhood anecdotes with my daughter I know there is no one else who can teach her feminism better.

So every mother's day I celebrate a lot of women through my mother

My grandmothers and great grandmothers and all women before them
Aunts, teachers, senior colleagues who build other women up
Cousins, friends, colleagues who have each other's back
Nieces, young girls, students who make the fight for gender equality worthwhile
My daughter who is my hope for a better world for girls
Myself - daughter, mother , woman in no particular order, all mixed up !

This post is an entry for mother’s day contest by kreativemommy.

Looking back - Life Altering A to Z Blogging Challenge

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

I had signed up for this challenge almost on a wild hunch, on a trial and error basis. I was not sure how this works because I am not a very passionate blogger per se, though I need to keep writing something or the other constantly.

 

In the first week of March my father passed away. When I came back from there the mail for the challenge was in my inbox and I knew I had found a theme worthy to keep my going for a month.

 

Here are my take aways from the challenge:

 

• Exploring feelings through alphabets, feelings that were somewhere deep down in the sub-conscious and wanted to be heard/spoken

• Finding that sentiments like GRIEF are as universal as love. My posts connected me to daughters from across the world, I wish there were some dads too who could read and know what they mean to their little girls.

• Learning is the only way to GROW and to HEAL. I am not a chat person but the TWITTER CHATS every Thursday brought in so much of learning and strengthened the camaraderie.( though I would suggest the hosts to have timings at least for one session that suits Asian Bloggers too).

• Blogging is not only about self-expression it is also about SHARING and thus CONNECTING, the two basic human needs.

• SURVIVOR is such a positive word whether it is this challenge, or its is life.

Loved this experience, it was almost LIFE-ALTERING. I am sure I will do this every year now on.

If blog Traffic statistics are to be trusted, these are my TOP 3 posts:

http://poojasharmarao.blogspot.in/2015/04/aide-memoire-in-memory-of-my-late-father.html

http://poojasharmarao.blogspot.in/2015/04/pay-it-forward-parenting-in-memory-of.html

http://poojasharmarao.blogspot.in/2015/04/open-letter-to-papa-in-memory-of-my.html

 



Zen in life & death ( in the memory of my late father)

Z

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

  

We used to talk a lot

about death

and yet

your physical absence

is so heavy to bear

 

the suddenness with

which you disappeared

person-body-ashes-water-nothing

 

was that the last birthday gift

teaching me

"m-e-t-a-m-o-r-p-h-o-s-i-s"

one more time

 

I was always

your strong girl

in your version of me

I could take on

the world

on my own

 

Maybe I could

because you stood

by me

as a shield

 

Now you are

my arrow and my bow

my aims and my means

 

you were warmth

and now you are light

 

I read this poem

to myself

every night

 

and I know

you are watching

me do it right.

 

 

******************************************

 

A VERSE I READ OFTEN FOR MY DAD

 

 

 

       "Love never disappears for death is a non-event.

I have merely retired to the room next door.

You and I are the same; what we were for each other, we still are.

Speak to me as you always have, do not use a different tone, do not be sad.

Continue to laugh at what made us laugh.

Smile and think of me.

Life means what it has always meant.

The link is not severed.

Why should I be out of your soul if I am out of your sight?

I will wait for you, I am not here, but just on the other side of this path.

You see, all is well.”

- St. Augustine

Without you (in the memory of my late father)

W

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

The air I breathe is heavy

the colours dull

the food bland

the words meaningless

 

days just endless motions

 

of the hands of a clock

 

I am not myself

 

the world is not the same

 

without you.

 



Vanish (in the memory of my late father)

V

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015] 

 

 

 

Only the touch is gone

the fragrance lingers

 

the voice will not be heard

the words etched in memory

 

you are a permanent embroidery

on my being

 

So I know

your body has vanished

 

into the five elements

 

we will never be separated.



Unlearn (in the memory of my late father)

U

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

I go back to

The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

Tuesdays with Morrie

The Bhagvad Gita

Rumi, Eliot, Basho

 

to chanting

to  cups of tea

 

to the loneliness of being

to reading, thinking, writing

Repeat

 

Memories like gut-wrenching pain

from an old wound

every word, sound, smell

a trigger for a deluge

 

I am trying to shed

 

attachment 

and struggling to

unlearn

 

a grief soul-deep

 

Tea & Travel ( in the memory of my late father)

T

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

 

 

I try to remember

all the places

and all the types of tea

 you had with me

 

 

In mud cups,

in fine china

roadside glasses

trains, buses, cars

in the comfort of our home

and across journeys

 

from aluminium kettles

ornate flasks, travel mugs

wherever ,whenever

there was tea

we were always ready :)

 

 of the many gifts Papa

I wish my girl would inherit

 from you and me

 

one of the best would be

our love for travel

and our passion for tea.



Signature (in the memory of my late father)

S

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

I remember how in school

friends would pity me

because your craggy signatures

were impossible to forge

on a bad class test

 

I remember  how disappointed

you were when I first signed

for my first ever bank account

 

"no style at all !"

 

you had teased me all day long

 

 

 

Thousands of signatures later

yours and mine

I now remember only two

your last one on your cheque book

and my shaky one

in the crematorium record book

 

I hold your pen often

 

and try to feel

 

the last warmth of your fingers

 

on its cold steel

 

I sign my name

 

a hundred times for you.

 



Raison d'etre (in the memory of my late father)

R

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Who was whose

reason to be

who knows

 

You my root

I the tree

 

And now a

dainty little branch

swings and grows

from me

 

The raison d'etre

for your memory

and me.

Q & A (in the memory of my late father)

Q

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 Did you think of me one last time?

Was the going away painful?

Am I doing fine without you?

Are you fine now?

Will this emptiness ever go away?

Is there actually a hereafter?

 

Will you always remember me?

Will we ever meet again?

 

The necromancer promises

Me all the answers

I prefer your memories.



Pay it Forward Parenting (in the memory of my late father)

 

 

Today when I am a parent myself, I feel some of my most special lessons in parenting come from my father. These were not written in some kind of a rule book or spoken aloud like quotable quotes but these came to me in actions that were louder than any words.

•  About three and a half decades ago in a quaint little town you were a diaper dad by choice. I understood parenthood as being better than the highly popularised motherhood.

• I always saw you helping mummy around the house, especially with my tasks- tiffin, getting the school dress in order, homework. My first lessons in gender-neutral parenting and partnership.

• Unlike a lot other homes, me and mummy would watch a cricket match and you would make us tea. So the first person who broke down gender stereotypes within the family for me was you.

• In teenage years, periods or sanitary napkins weren’t a taboo, I could talk to mummy or I could talk to you. It made me so much at ease with my body and my sexuality.

• Unlike a lot of parents, contrary to public opinion and even your own preference for the Sciences you supported me when I opted for Humanities right after school. There was no pressure to be someone I was not.

• You kept struggling with your own patriarchal upbringing to accept my male friends, boyfriend, my independent lifestyle choices, but you never held them against me even when some of them went horribly wrong. You allowed me my mistakes and their lessons.

• You always told me no matter what you were proud of me and that you would always love me. This realisation is such a huge part of my self-worth.

• You always believed and displayed so much of confidence in my abilities that I could push my boundaries every single time. You gave me all my strength.

Trying to raise my child with self-belief, gender-sensitivity, an independent mind and a strong voice, just like what my father did for me.


This post is an entry for father’s day contest by kreativemommy



Open Letter to Papa (in the memory of my late father)

O

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

Dear Papa

Almost 45 days ago you ceased to physically exist in this world. A couple of days after that while I was sorting your drawers I found the few letters I had written to you over the years and the cards and messages your grandchild had sent you neatly arranged in a folder labelled :special mail.

So today I am writing another one for that folder because I know this longest-distance relationship that we have now will not stop you from reading this. There is still so much to be said.

As you were aging and your ailments were taking their toll on your health and memories, we often talked about death and the hereafter. I do not know many parents who do that but I know it was another of your valuable life-lessons for me. We were both learning to come to terms with the inevitable.

You were preparing me to face the known miseries of the world without the comfort of having you there and I was letting you slip gradually into the unknown hereafter.

No tribute can rightly summarise what I want to say to you now. But if physical existence is some kind of a chance at learning life I say Papa you always were and will be my spine and my voice.

Despite my personal shortcomings I am proud that you have shaped me into a strong and independent mind and a compassionate and sensitive soul. Ever since I first held a crayon or read a word you have done everything to unlock my creativity and imagination and so it is alright I guess if by genetics I also happen to pick up some of your annoying habits and traits. J

Almost every day there are times when I shatter to a million pieces, when I feel like a rootless tree which will not endure the next storm, when I call out for you over and over again. But I know you are always watching over me and my little one. I have lost a parent but I have gained a guardian angel.

Keep sending me and her your love and life lessons. I promise I will keep growing in your memory.

PS: I remember you had once told me – no real learning is ever without pain.

Love

P

Mourning - My Way (in the memory of my late father)

M

 

Blogging from A to Z [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

Among a thousand other

learned behaviours

is also mourning

 

the ceremonial tears

the loud cries

of non-acceptance of loss

 

but we both knew

from the start

I am a non-conformist

 

the tears didn't come

when they all waited

the loud wailing

was missing

 

I smiled

because I was

remembering him

 

I have cried

and held his photo

for hours

and then made myself

his favourite tea

 

Now I know

he wanted me to mourn

as he wanted

me to live

always

- my way.



Jottings for the Journey(in the memory fo my late father)

J

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 



 

 

You taught me how to walk

and get up

every time I fall

 

You taught me

strength

and how my gender had

nothing to do with it

at all

 

You allowed me

my mistakes

and face my fears

 

you taught me to

look for life lessons

and never be shy of

memories & tears

 

and somewhere along

some day

in your mysterious way

 

you had led me on

to this realisation

 

the journey is

always the destination !

Hide and Seek (in the memory of my late father)

H

Blogging from A to Z [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

 

A vast green campus

of several historic structures

amidst a thick pine forest

 

The heritage power station

- your workplace

my childhood home

 

those endless mazes

of cobbled corridors

stone walls

 

where my little giggles

and Jackie's* mild barking

would echo for hours

 

we would run around

playing Hide & Seek

 

till you would call out

for me and him

and before the echo of your voice died

we would come

running to you

 

Now I know

you will never call out

my name again

Jackie is long gone

 

Hope you meet him up there

and his coat is still shinier

than my hair

 

This time you both

have gone hiding

and I seek you

over and over again.

 

*Jackie was our German Shepherd, who had come to our home before I was born, was a constant companion, almost a sibling during my childhood. He passed away while I was still a child.