HOLIDAY!!!

A holiday trip to the sea. An excited toddler. Me busy with preparations. Hubby worried about the long, long drive. Endless packing. Clothes. Blankets. Sheets for the sand. Cushions for the drive. Toys and buckets to build sand castles. Towels. Sunscreen. Hats. Music for the road. And food. Lots of food. Fruits. Chips. Biscuits. Cereal. Juice. Water.

Loading the car. Takes five trips from the house. One suitcase, two backpacks, two picnic baskets, lots of water bottles. And child’s scooter. Leave an hour late. Everyone excited. Crossing the jungle on the way. Saw wild elephants. Screams of joy and tiny eyes filled with wonder.  She is unusually hungry. Constantly demanding something to eat. I am happy. This is a rare demand. One question on repeat mode – When will we reach there?. Stopped at a small motel for the night. She drops off to sleep without her usual story book and songs. Tired.

On the road early next day. She is up early. Doesn’t want me to drive. We snuggle in the back seat. Munching chips. All three of us wear sun shade goggles. She competes with the music with her rhymes. We all sing along. I get back to driving. Papa tells her funny stories at the back. Sounds of endless giggles and questions. I smile. The drive doesn’t seem so long now.

Reach the hotel. We unpack the car. Change and go to the sea. Face filled with pure joy. Can’t keep her off the water. She wants to go deep. I curse myself. Forgot to get her floats. She is wet through. All towels and dry clothes are in the hotel. I curse myself again. But her face is filled with amazement. She feels cold. Finally out of sea. But into the sand. Busy building sand castles. Digging with spoons. Toys. Nails. Sand everywhere. Eyes, ears, nose, hair. It is perfect. Sunset. Sand. Sea. Waves crashing. Warm wind. She is happy. We are happy. Away from the busy bustling days. We are here. Just here. But the moment ends soon. She doesn’t want to go back to the hotel. Bawls till we promise her treats back at the hotel.

Trip to famous church next day. She is cranky. Has stopped eating. I am angry. Very few food options to feed her. I thank god for coconut water and juices. Click lots of pictures. Crying and impatient toddler. Back to the beach. This time with change of clothes and towels and hats. Screams of joy. Jumping in the waves. Makes us smile. Her pure joy. Quickly we are through all change of clothes and towels. I opt for parasailing. She bawls her eyes out. She wants to come. Hugs me tight when I am back. Happy again. My eyes fill up. Her love is without bounds. We all hold hands. A long quite walk along the water. 

A trip to the local spice farm. She is irritated and cranky. "Why are we not at the beach?". Hasn’t eaten anything whole day. So we are back at the beach. While she plays, we feed her. It is better than the TV distraction back home at dinner times. Papa figures out the secret. Sand and water. Her favorites. Can’t keep her off them for long.

Time to go back. Me worried she would cry. But she doesn't. Wants to go home. Misses the beach. But home is waiting. The drive back is as fun as the first one. We stop at the forest for an elephant ride. Squeals of joy. This time she gets to touch the elephant. Watches with wonder how much they eat. She promises to eat well. Falls asleep before we reach home. A smile on her face. A smile on ours.

THE AGONY OF BEING UNHEARD

She is 6 years old and loves to talk. She wants to talk about her friends, what they did in school, about some funny man she saw in the street, about the dreams she had last night or just some story her teacher told her in class. Her father gives her a patient hearing, but he is not always there. Mother is too occupied with work all the time. She responds to her stories with silences. She searches intently for some sign of acknowledgement or understanding in her mother’s face. But all she can see is the stony face her mother puts on when thinking about the next task in hand.

She thinks – Mother is always busy.

She is 13. She is a normal teen – confused and excited about a lot of things. But one thing she is sure of is her brother. She looks up to him – he is like a god to her. Every day she waits eagerly for her parents to become busy with their evening routines, because it was then that her brother unfolded for her a new world. He talks about his friends, his thoughts and opinions, dreams and aspirations and also many stories he had read or heard. She listens with rapt attention to every word he says, filing away pearls of wisdom into the farthest corner of her brain. But she is also bursting with things to tell him. She wants to talk about her day, her friends and all the interesting and strange things which happens on a school day. As she starts telling him about it, she watches his eyes slowly get disinterested. Within minutes, he changes – from paying close attention to what she is saying, to planning for the next day or homework or whatever other thing which is more interesting or urgent than his sister’s ramblings. She stops talking. They both get on with their homeworks and daily chores.

She thinks – My stories are not as interesting or as fun as his. I do not have anything to interest him. 

She is 19. Being an undergrad student is quite disheartening to her. Neither a child, nor an adult, she is expected to be both at different times by different people. She belongs to a group of friends who call themselves The Gang. They  love to have fun and frolic around all the time. She often finds their actions silly and sometimes dangerous. Her moral meter flickers dangerously many a times, and then she often voices out her thoughts to her friends. Stop it, don’t do this, this is bad and wrong and dangerous. Soon they have a list of nick names for her – Grandmother, Teacher, Aunty. “Chill and relax, have some fun, nothing with happen” they tell her. She becomes silent.

She thinks – My friends don’t understand me. They find me boring Maybe I don’t know how to have fun. 

She is 23. Graduate college is not at as she had expected. For the first time in years she finds people she can talk to. They actually look at her while they listen to what she has to say intently. She opens her life to her friends as they do to her. She is so happy and excited. She really begins to understand people. For the first time it is so easy to be honest, and bold and confident.

She thinks – Finally, I am living.

She is 26. She has a boyfriend and they spend hours talking to each other. It is mostly her who is doing the talking. She tells him about her work, about the wedding shopping she is doing, about her fears about how marriage would change her life. He listens and responds beautifully. He tells her everything about his life, his family and his plans. She is so happy. At work, she belongs to an amazing team. They comprise of lovely, caring and funny people. They are also very good at what they do. Every day after lunch they gather together to talk and chit chat. Here she tries to tell her opinion or random piece of information. But her words are shot down before they even form a sentence. The others in the team have already thought of it or they disagree with her on it or they just want to say something. She never gets to completely express her thoughts – whether it is about a movie they saw or a project they are working on. This happens every day. She stops saying anything. After some time, she stops meeting up after lunch and makes the excuse of pending work to get back to her cubicle.

She thinks – I am stupid. I don’t know as much as these people. They are so smart and confident and assertive. I have nothing to offer to them.

She is 30. Her husband comes back late from work. He is tired. He is always tired these days. Or has it been months. She doesn’t remember. Over dinner he tells her about how difficult it has become in office. Crazy workload, crazy expectations. He sighs and starts playing with their baby. Within seconds, he is smiling. She had been waiting for her husband to come back from office. She wants to tell about her day, some bits of information, some decisions to be taken or just how it has been. She starts to tell him, but after the initial few minutes – he switches off – already immersed with the baby and meeting its demands of attention. It happens so very often now.

She thinks – What I talk about is nothing important. It is drab in comparison to my baby. It is more fun to play with the baby than listen to me. Maybe I am inconsequential too. What I do in a day does not really matter to him. Maybe I don’t have anything interesting to say. Maybe I tell the same things over and again, like my mother.

She is 50. Her children are grown up and pursuing lives of their own. They do not have the time to talk to her. Her husband is busy with his career, only now he doesn’t talk about it with her. He is kind and patient and helps her with everything. But each of them are living their own lives – Two individual islands in a sea.

She does not think anymore.

Have you ever felt this frustuation? Of trying to talk but being unheard. Maybe you have something important to talk about. Or maybe its just trivial things. Maybe it is plea to help you, give you direction, or maybe it is an offer of help to others. Then how do you feel when that someone doesn’t pay attention to you. Not out of malevolence, but out of plain lack of interest. Maybe if it is an outsider, you don’t mind much – only your ego is hurt. But what about when it is a loved one? Or many loved ones. It is more than your ego which is shattered. Not in one go, but the pieces break off slowly – one at a time. Till there is nothing left. You are no one. Then you are inconsequential, irrelevant. All the achievements, treasures and memories don’t matter when you have no one to share them with.

Maybe each man really is an island.

A THOUSAND DREAMS

A thousand dreams are born every moment, and a thousand more die every moment. These are young dreams, old dreams, some asking for more, some less, some carefree and some wrought with concerns.

Dreams of those whose health does not permit them to soar to the limits of their potential. A young students dream to study abroad shattered by the knowledge that the old folks will have to bail out for it. An ambitious girl’s dream to rise up the career ladder reined in by the ticking clock strongly urging her to have babies before it is too late. A painter’s dream to make it big; locked in the discarded canvass by the need to feed his wife and children. Dreams of those numerous children wanting to know more and see the world; heavily shadowed by the fearful parents and their restrictions. Dreams of young lovers to stay forever together; broken by zillion superstitions and societal rules. Dreams of an old couple to get love and care from their children drowned in the busy, stressed lives of their sons and daughters.

So many dreams, so many lost. But still we keep dreaming, and hoping that with us, it would be different. For if not for these dreams, what do we have to live for?

SOUND OF THUNDER

Have you heard the sound of thunder? Have you really listened to it? It speaks of power, strength – a controlled anger unleashed by the sky.

Sometimes it sounds like a yelp of joy, abundance, a rumble of contentment!! At other times it is a growl of dissent, a warning, demanding you to be aware of the immense force you seem to have forgotten about with your everyday cares.

As its vibrations pulses through, you realize your insignificance in this world. How tiny, powerless and vulnerable you are! And how wonderfully liberating is that feeling! To remember that you are not as important as you think, you cannot even drown out the sound of thunder! Or capture it!

It is at that moment that you truly begin to relish the sound and the vibrations. And wait for it come again. Alas! It is too elusive in nature, with its own whims. Having reminded you of your reality, it flies away to scare some other ignorant soul. Each time,  leaving behind a string of those, waiting eagerly for more!

I WISH I WAS A TREE

I wish I was a tree. I would be so sturdy, solid and in peace with myself and my surroundings.

I would have been in the same place my entire life and not be bothered about the fact that I cannot go and see the world.

I would have loved the wind, bend along with it but never leave my roots. I would dance with it, rustle my leaves and sway my branches gracefully without inhibition.

If I was a tree, I wouldn’t try to avoid the sun, afraid to tan or sweat. I would welcome the sunlight and bask in it.

I would have loved the rain every time it visits me, without worrying about mud and slosh. I would get drenched every time it rains with no worry of illness or care. I would have become more beautiful with each shower!

If I was a tree I would have been the home to many smaller creatures. I would provide food and shade to others. I would be doing this without expecting anything in return, without being proud or being intimidated by others.

I would have been neither happy not sad, I would have no ambition and neither could have been chided by others for the lack of it. I would not have any pressure to perform or conform. I would be free in the truest sense without moving an inch.

I would have just accepted the universe as it is, with humility and wisdom. I would not have felt the need to know or create a purpose for my life to make myself feel important. I already would know my contribution to this world and that would have been enough for me.

I would have not require anything except the sun, the rain, the birds and the wind, all of which are abundant around me. Hence I would not need to plan for the future or worry about any dearth.

I would have been without thought, desire, emotions and religion. I wouldn’t have needed a God to have faith or needed to know the mysteries of the universe.

I wish I was a tree so that I would have know what it is to just be.