Crossing the border...India to Nepal...Nepal Tidbit 7

No man's land

It was nearly one in the noon when we reached the Indian- Nepal border at Sunauli by road from Ghorakpur.

“The vehicles are not allowed to cross.” the drivers said, stopping the two Toyota Innovas a few meters from the Indian immigration office at the border.

“Oh! How do we cross?”

“Why, just by walking across, of course!”

“Oh? And the luggage?” Already 5 cycle rickshaw fellows had surrounded us, tanned faces and tattered-dusty clothes with muscular arms and dirt laden fingers, ready to haul the luggage onto their waiting cycles.

We learn that Indians can cross over freely and don’t need to show the passports.

Someone began bargaining and someone shifting the luggage. I took a stroll towards the border. The Indian side of the border is a dusty, crowded street which is choked with vehicles and pedestrians. Nepali women saunter along, chatting and hauling their laden shopping bags, foreign tourists with huge back packs are also going across. The shops along the street sell everything from grocery, electronic goods, and SIM cards to clothes, toys and toiletries. There are shops with ‘Money Changers’ boards which means they exchange Indian to Nepali currency and vice versa. 1 Indian Rupee(INR) = 1.6 Nepali Rupee(NC)  (The word reminds me of Arthur Hailey’s book of the same title and an ATM teller with a terrific memory,  who knows just exactly how much money she has  and has given away as transactions that day in the bank! Can’t recall her name though she plays an important role later in finding out a hideout, I think.)

 The shop keepers look at the passing people in boredom, as if the same ones cross over everyday.Understandable. But ditto the security personnel at the borders!

Security and not alert? I wonder what anyone should do to catch their attention. I purposefully slow down in my tracks knowing fully well that as much as I try, I can never manage to look anymore suspicious than a curious aunty! I can’t stop thinking…they are supposed to be guarding the border…Anything or anyone can just walk across…They can’t just keep chatting and picking their teeth and glance cursorily at people passing this way and that. This is the border, for heaven’s sake… and just look at the rickshaw wallas lugging all those huge suitcases. Anyone can have anything. I watch them and they ignore all the traffic. I suddenly realize I am shamelessly staring at men and as I just look off, one chap asks,

” Kahan se?”

“Bengloor.” I say nonchalantly and continue walking towards the Nepali arch. There is about 80-100 feet of no man’s land between the two arches. I explain to my daughter that this part is neither India nor Nepal. However, on the right side, I see an ugly windowless brick building encroaching from the Indian side onto the no-man’s land! ”Oh! Land mafia has no barrier…” I think. Were it less exciting times, I would have gone and checked what the building was.  

At the Nepali arch are security men in different colored uniforms of course(blue and white fatigues), but same demeanor.

I return to find out how much the haggling and transport of luggage has progressed. On a spur I enter a mobile shop and ask for a Nepali SIM card. Two shops and several bored shaking of heads later, I decide I will buy it from the Nepali side.

Meanwhile, the deal has been struck for hundred Nepali rupees per cycle rickshaw and the rickshaw wallas are already pushing their vehicles as we walk alongside. (They don’t cycle. They just push it)

We are walking on the left side of the road. The India Immigration office is on the right side, a few meters before the arch way. Several non-Indian foreign tourists are having their documents verified. The desk is almost jutting out to the road from the insides of a dinghy room. Suddenly a stocky short man in Khaki uniform materializes amidst us. Says something in a low voice and the rickshaw wallas have also stopped.

“What?”

“He’s asking for money.”

“Why? Besides we are still on the Indian side.”

The rickshaw fellows look at us as if,”why are they even thinking twice about this transaction?”

“Hey don’t pay,” I say as the men reach out to their wallets. “Let him check our entire luggage. Let him.” Someone seconds me.

“But he may purposely delay checking…it will hamper all our plans..” By then a note of one hundred Indian rupees has changed hands over to the waiting hands of Mr. stocky, fly- mustache. He waits grumbling for more. The rickshaw wallas start moving as if cuing us.

‘Saab, nahin dena tha,” they say conspiratorially after a few steps! 

We cross the Indian arch, no-man’s land with that encroachment and the Nepali arch.No one bothers. A few feet further a group of 3-4 men and 2-3 women sit beneath a makeshift station.I don’t know if they are Government people or just curious Nepalis.

‘Kahan?”They ask giving an overall to our crowd and luggage.

“Mukthinath.”

“Hmm,” they say getting back to their conversation. 

We are now in Nepal. Rupandehi. As agreed the rickshaw chaps take us to hotel where we plan to have lunch. They are unloading our luggage.

As the older man picks up the last one, a 2-3 foot black-sheathed piece he yells-“Gon.gon” (Gun)I rush  back to see him holding it up very casually. My God! We have just crossed the border and are at a sprinting distance from there and this chap is shouting gun so loudly!

“Abbe chup! Who gun nahi hai. Zor se aisa mat bol!” (Shut up! That is not a gun. Don’t yell)

“Gon nahi?”

“Nah!” I say bursting out and calling to my cousin-“Look here. This guy has mistaken your camera tripod for a sten gun!”And so the tripod became ‘The gun’ for the rest of the trip!

Now you are my seasons....

'tis winter.
I make a warm rug of your memories.
Hug them, smell them
and roll around within.

In rain:
You seep in-laughter, gesture and scowl;
Into the warm sands of my bosom.
The wet Earth smells like heaven.

Come autumn:
A riot of ripe desires:
flaming oranges, mellow-yellows, fiery reds
crackle beneath your stealthy steps
that walk into my days and dreams

Summer:
Heat and dust; sweat and lust.
Arid breath,
parched innards
buzzing hot, brewing in yourness….

Kumari-the living Goddess of Nepal...Nepal tidbit 6

Entrance to the place where the Goddess gives darshan

Outside the Kumari Ghar

Window overlooking the public place. Probably from where the Goddess looks at the mortals.

Place: Durbar Square, Katmandu

The temple that houses the living Goddess is just another beautiful brick and wooden-window building to the left of the white pillared palace.

Nepal has this centuries long tradition of worshipping a human being as the manifestation of their powerful Goddess-Talueja. A young girl, from the Shakya clan (Descendents of Gautama Buddha) is chosen after consultation with priests and Royals. She must apparently fulfill 32 criteriae and most importantly, must never have lost blood from any part of her body-not even when her milk teeth fall off!! The girls are chosen when they are about 3 or 4 years old and continue as long as there is no blood loss, only to be replaced by another similar girl when the event happens. Needless to say, all girls are pre-menarchal (not attained the first period)

The living Goddess is called Kumari and her temple-house is the Kumari Ghar at Durbar Square.

Within the main door is a rectangular open courtyard with carved wooden doors that lead off into more rooms or verandahs. To the left, at the corner is another unpretentious door which leads onto a narrow wooden staircase. “NO ENTRACE FOR FOREIGNERS” says a paper signboard. As Indians are not considered foreigners, we are allowed.

We trundle up the wooden stairs noisily before realizing it is very quiet around. Automatically we hush our tones and following others, we remove our sandals at the landing. Entering through a low wooden door we are in a wide verandah, rather than a room, in the middle of which sits the Goddess-all in flesh and blood!

There is a small throne, apparently fashioned for a six or seven year old child. It is actually a raised platform with a back rest and no arm rest. So that the child can easily slide off from the sides onto the lap of a person sitting on the floor next to the throne! And that was how the living Goddess was seated when we went to see her.

All of six or maybe seven years, she had slid off to her right, from the little throne and was now sitting in the lap of a 50+ year old woman, whom I thought was the guardian of the Goddess To the left of the throne, sat another lady a few years younger that the first. She was occupied with the chore of stuffing into a bag the currencies that were being offered at the feet of the Goddess.

To use the word peck-worthy and skinny for a Goddess could well sound blasphemous for her worshippers, but those were the adjectives that came to my mind then. Oval faced, pale skinned and underweight, she was dressed in red finery-complete with bright red lipstick, red bindi and even red socks! I cannot remember what headgear she wore because I was staring at her face and eyes. Though heavily made up with kohl, her expression was of dis-interest… spiritually oblivious (if it sounds less blasphemous!)Were she older, I would have described that look as condescending or arrogant! But for a seven-eight year old it can’t be anything other than boredom that arises because of the familiarity of a year-round routine!

She was sucking on a toffee within her mouth, lips pursed as the toffee rolled over in her mouth, shifting from her left cheek to the right. She seemed to be enjoying that more than her current devotees.

A middle aged couple had come in reverentially and the guardian had stretched out the Kumari’s red socks-ed feet. The couple bowed at her feet, made their offerings and after receiving the blessings, retreated to the stairs without showing their backs to the Goddess! We gawked at her and she ignored us as if we were no more than curious flies or mosquitoes!

“Does the same girl sit here every day?” I asked as I was then not aware of any of their traditions

“Yes.” Said the guardian. And before I could pry further, “Please make your offering, take blessings and leave!”

I felt like hoisting the kid high or even tickle her and hear her gurgling laughter. Or ask her how she felt sitting there in her finery all day or what she would like to do-eat an ice-cream perhaps? I admired how she kept an emotion-less face all through- out the public appearance... I don’t know why I did not touch her feet or make an offering and I left the room showing my back to her…Faithless, maybe!

I could not get the Kumari tradition out of my mind and was scouting for more information and the next day at the Patan Durbar Square, I found just the book. An autobiography of a previous Kumari, Miss Rashmila Shakya (Kumari from 1984-1991).I learnt that the name of the current Kumari is Matina Shakya and she was inducted as Goddess in 2008 when she was three years old!

I am now reading Rashmila’s book and hope to get an insight into what it feels like to be a Goddess and then later a mortal!!

Biography of ex-Goddess, Rashmila Shakya

Rashmila Shakya with her co-author

Changing festival profiles- The Deepavali

Diwali is an eternal festival-there is no denying that. But there has certainly been a sea of change in the manner how it is celebrated over the decades. Here is a peek into that:

Grandmother's ; the 1940s and 1950s-Large household celebration:

  The Amaldar’s household is a beehive of activity even a month before Deepavali. Home cleansing is a noisy, dusty affair; punctuated with generous bouts of singing, joking and laughter. The tailor is expected any moment. He was here four weeks back with a small book and a measuring tape and had diligently noted the specifications and measurements of the dozen odd dresses he was expected to make for the children of the house. Today he would deliver the finished products that were sure to evince squeals of delight and tinges of envy!

  The kitchen is in a programmed mode on its own. Preparations for Kajjyaya (a delicious sweet made of jaggery and pounded rice) are underway. It requires that the rice be soaked, dried and pounded to ensure a soft consistency for the sweet.

  Uncle ‘Mari’ is expected to come home any day from the city, lugging along the contingency of cracker packets. On his arrival, the crackers are examined and discussed with great interest and anticipation and put away carefully. They are not placed in direct contact with the cold floor for fear that they might catch a cold and hence perform below par! Every afternoon they are lovingly laid out in the sun to catch the warmth, remain crisp, and not disappoint with a pusssss when lighted!

Celebrations of Deepavali begin a day before Naraka Chathurdasi. We call it ‘Bhogi Habba.’ On this day, we offer prayers to Water. The bathroom is cleaned and decorated with Rangoli. The hande (huge brass vessel used to heat water for bathing) is filled with water, decorated with flowers, vermillion and rangoli. Pooja is offered in the evening. The culinary delights would have already begun, heralding three days of fun and frolic.

     Another feature of Deepavali is the ritual of bathing. The whole house is awake and about in the wee hours on Narakachathurdasi, everyone vying to be the first to take the wonderful ‘oil-bath’ well before sunrise. Then follow the burst of first crackers to coincide with first rays of the sun. Crackers are burst in the evening too. Doing it in large groups made it seem an unending, joyous affair.  

     The newly wed sister would be home with her handsome husband who has also come with loads of gifts to his in-laws and wife’s siblings. Pampering him and getting to know him better is another competitively done activity.

    On Balipadyami my granny would make figurines of Balindra and Vamana with clay and worship it in the courtyard of the house. Every threshold of the house was adorned on either side by a small nugget of cow-dung topped with few blades of grass. Bursting crackers continued on this day as well. Being the large household that it was, there never would be a dearth of people cheering, watching or vying to burst crackers. 

     Ten days after Balipadyami is the Tulasi Habba or Uthwana Dwadhasi. Some of the crackers are retained for this day when the Tulasi plant (Basil) is worshipped. A twig from the gooseberry tree is placed by the side of the tulasi plant.  An arathi (lighted lamp offering) is made of seven gooseberries and the women of the neighbourhood are invited for the arathi. Arriving in swishing, shining silk saris, they sit before the Vrindavan, sing songs and go home after the arathi, presented with a leaf-cup (donne) full of fresh kosambari (salad made from soaked moong dal.)

     For the rest of the month, at the fall of dusk, earthenware lamps are placed at the sides of the main threshold and before the vrindavan everyday. It is the Karthika Deepa.

Mother's; 1980s-Individual houses in Locality celebrations:

     Mother was fairly good at making dresses-but the choice in her repertoire was limited. It was either a long skirt with bodice and a back-buttoned blouse or a short skirt with a bodice and a back-buttoned blouse. She couldn’t make frocks, pants or shirts. Three weeks before the festival, she shopped for the materials buying colours of her choice and budget, and got down to work at the sewing machine. Trying and retrying the dresses-in-making on us, she would finally finish off alterations, buttons and buttonholes two days before the festival. That left her with a day to prepare obattu (sweet pancake). She would often complain that she could never make kajjyayas as soft as her mother did! 

     We had no hande at home and so Bhogi habba meant filling the boiler instead with water and offering pooja! There was similarly no ritual of feeding and lighting the firewood late the previous night to keep water ready for a bath. A flick of switch at four in the morning would suffice! 

     For us, the enthusiasm for the early morning ritual bath on Narakachathurdasi was sustained only because we were averse to hearing the sound of the first crackers from any other home in our locality! The competition had another face to it too. We would prevent anyone from sweeping the roads in front of our houses so that by the end of festivities, we could judge who burst most crackers by stock taking the amount of rubble before houses!

     The graduation from roll caps and guns to chinakuruli pataki (small green chilli sized crackers) to aane pataki (slightly larger and louder, post-office red ones) and lakshmi pataki (had a photo of goddess Lakshmi on it) and finally to the green coloured atom bomb happened in a span of few hours, bravado being spurred on by friends and taunting elders!

     I always remember celebrating our Deepavalis on Narakachathurdasi and Balipadyami. The Lakshmi Pooja that falls on the new-moon day between the two festivals is not a big celebration for us, unlike for the North-Indians. Even schools remained open on this day, thus seriously breaking into days of revelry. Mom never missed out on preparing payasa, ambode, kosambari and vanghibath or chitranna on these days taking care not to repeat a single menu on either day.

  She preferred lighting the diyas in the traditional earthenware lamps to lighting candles. When we reluctantly called it a day by the end of Balipadyami, the festival mood had not yet worn off.

     We were allowed to wear our new dresses to school the next day and it was an extended celebration of the festival, wearing off gradually rather that abruptly.

My family, 21st Century-Urban, nuclear family celebrations:

  Shopping for clothes is just days before the festival when I can steal two evening hours off from my busy schedule. It is a hurried affair, shopping beginning and ending at a one-stop shop, as I would rather pay slightly more for my children’s clothes here than take a whole afternoon or day off to drive to a distant shopping arcade.

  I am already inundated with boxes of sweets from patients, friends and medical representatives and we decide we don’t need to prepare anymore at home except for payasam. My husband is calorie conscious, children are not too particular about any sweet and anyway, I can’t make traditional sweets as well as mom or granny did!

  Bhogi habba is now reduced to praying in the pooja room only, before a mug filled with water! The geyser in the bathroom is too high to even be adorned with flowers or kumkum. I have managed to adorn the pooja room and the front of the courtyard with my favourite rangolis in Deepavali themes the day before.

  I didn’t want my children to miss the excitement of waking up early and bursting that first cracker. I had plans of an enticing offer of a Sunday outing in the mall if they agreed to get up early and burst crackers!

  “But mom, we have decided to celebrate this Diwali without crackers!” my son had drawled when I had coaxed them out to buy crackers

  ‘What? Diwali without crackers?” I could never understand this fourteen year old. Were they serious or camouflaging the laziness to burst crackers?

  “Yeah! Noise pollution, you know. Our club in school has pledge to make this a noise-less Diwali.”

  “But-well, OK. We could play with sparklers, colour matches, snakes…Rockets? Soundless rockets, perhaps?” I was desperate not to let go of the child in me.

  “Mom, don’t you know that it is polluting the environment with the lots of carbon-di-oxide?” My eight-year-old daughter chips in.

  ‘Then what do you celebrate Deepavali with?”

  “Why, the spirit of the festival, of course! We can adorn the outside of the house with lamps…candles actually, if Dad insists that the oil will spill over and stain the compound wall. Can’t you see? It is the spirit that matters! The schools are closed, shops offer heavy discounts and freebies for consumer products, and people are wearing new clothes and exchanging gifts! Mom, Diwali can be everywhere, even without crackers!”He sermones.

  “Guess so!” I sighed. It was time to grow up, time to stop buying and bursting crackers, enjoying myself on the pretext of my children! The house was watching Deepavali celebrations across the country on TV as I quietly escaped to the virtual world- to blog fantastic memories of bygone Deepavalis!        

Hep and happening nights of Thamel, Khatmandu-Nepal tidbit 5

Would you believe if I told you that Khatmandu, the capital of Nepal, has power cuts for 18 hours a day? Yes. It does.
And left with the choice of keeping shops open with generators on or simply downing shutters, most shop keepers choose the latter. And so, though we reached Khatmandu by road from Beni by nine, most shops had closed. We were booked at a hotel in Thamel, which we learnt was a very happening place in the city. However due to unavoidable circumstances of peak tourist season and cancellation of flights, we were accommodated in an alternative hotel for that night, with assurances of transfer to the original hotel by next morning.
The grouchy manager easily invited instant dislike from all of us. For some reason (Maybe because we were Indians and not Europeans or because we had initially booked elsewhere) he was inhospitable.
“The kitchen is closed for the day. You may have to get dinner from some restaurant,” he had said.
Dumping our luggages in our rooms, we hurriedly stepped out onto the streets of Thamel. For a moment the Thamel  street appeared to be too modest to be a hep and happening place. It was just a little more than an alley with more smaller alleys running off perpendicularly. I could imagine how the tiny shops would be spilling over their wares by daytime.
Just then, we lost the pilot group with the guide who was taking us to a suitable restaurant. The dim lights, so many cross roads and growling tummies did not help at all.
“Lets go off by ourselves and find a restaurant.”  And that was when I really began to look around. Looking up I saw rows and rows of neon sign boards of pubs, bars, discotheques-all so unassuming. A group of noisy Europeans, descended onto the street filling the small place, smoking  and talking animatedly as a couple of taxis waited with engines running. Two young women strutted by giggling …an  Asian in high spirits broke into a  loud song as he brushed past us…Unknown faces, strange behavior, dim streets, blinking sign boards…I suddenly seemed transported to some ghetto scenery in Hollywood movie…complete with an eerie soundtrack that had begun playing in my brain. Across the street there were more waiting taxis and the crowd got thinner and shadier…
“Is there a good restaurant around?” we finally managed to ask a lonely local who looked sane. He pointed across the road to a first floor place-“Hotel Gorkhaland. Nice…”he said with an accent. Wondering what vegetarian food we could get, we went up. The hotel was dim lit with a bar to the right and a stage before us.
We grabbed the menu cards at the dining table, ignoring the server who wanted us to sit on the sofas for a drink before transferring to the dining area. Veg Chowmein had been my staple diet during most of Nepal trip and I was sure they would have it. The hotel closed in half an hour and we were the only customers there. Just as we managed to quickly place our orders, the quiet air was disturbed by blaring music.
“Oh please,” I said beckoning the manger,” No music please-“ the rest of my words stuck within my throat as, at that moment a dancer suddenly materialized on the dance floor!
Overweight, painted face and gawdy lipstick; she was clad in a sheer off white saree and almost a backless red blouse. Twirling to the garrulous song, she entered much to my surprise and embarrassment at this unanticipated occurrence. “Oh! Please no dance…or music-“ but the manager and waiters had all disappeared from our sides and had parked themselves at convenient vantage points for uninterrupted entertainment.
I stole a glance at others. We were three women, three men and two children. The first group did not know where to look, the second looked where they were expected to and the kids couldn’t tear their eyes off the danseuse! Ok! What cannot be cured must be endured-be it in pain or pleasure. I thought and only then registered that it was a Bollywood song…”Oh la la  OO la la …tu hai mere fantasy….!”
On cue, a man, also withy painted face and red lips and sunshades, sheer cream shirt and tight white pants, jumped onto the stage form the left side. Wasn’t it such a suffering to watch the two dance to the horrible song only a few feet away from us when all we actually needed was rest to eyes and food for the tummy?! And so we sat, waiting for the song to get over, waiting more eagerly for the food to come. Luckinly the manager had judged us well. After the first dance, he did not hoist any more dancers on us and instead ordered them to play soft Buddhist music!
As we head back to our hotel, we notice police patrol along Thamel’s streets every few blocks. Two vagabonds had made a bonfire and were settling down to sleep on the pavement. A biker’s breath was being tested and a policeman with a scary sten-gun strutted across eyeing us. A woman passed by, smoking… taxis still lingered around as silence was slowly descending on the streets of dark Thamel.
The next day, we shifted hotel. To Naxol area of Khatmandu, which was more residential than Thamel could ever decently get!!

Thamel's street by day...so innocuous looking

Thamel by day...

Mysterious Muktinath...Nepal tidbit 4

Outer shrine and inner sanctum sanctorum

Outer shrine

Call it co-incidence or miracle, something interesting happened when I visited Mukthinath-the giver of Salvation.

Mukthinath is a small shrine which is nestled in the Torang La mountain pass, at an altitude about 3700+ meters. Tucked away amidst sylvan surroundings, it overlooks the mighty Annapurna range of Himalayan mountains.

Around the side of the shrine, running from the right to the left are 108 water faucets that constantly spill freezing water from the mountains, mostly from the tributaries of the mighty Gandaki river. They are the Mukthidharas or ‘streams for salvation’. Devotees pass beneath all the 108 spouts of freezing waters before the darshan of the Muktinath. Though I did carry a set of fresh clothes, even before we reached the place, I had decided that a cold water shower was not for me. But my daughter put me to shame by deciding to have the cold showers and before I could concoct why it wasn’t good for a twelve year old, she was peeling off her sweaters and removing her shoes.

I watched as she, shivering, hurried beneath the 108 spouts. “My God, hats off, “I thought. But she did not stop at that. There are two ponds of more freezing waters before the shrine. Someone told her that salvation will be incomplete if she did not dip into both of them also. Before I said no she was immersing herself in one after another…shivering body and chattering teeth I later helped the imp change into warmer clothes.

“Ok. I am done! “she said and it sounded like a challenge to me.Like- “I bet you can’t!” And isn’t that slight enough for an Arien like me? 

“Ok. I go now, “I said not feeling even half as bold as I sounded. I never have cold water shower even in peak summer. And now to have freezing showers-not under one but 108 spouts! Well at Muktinath…will attain salvation instantly were I to die of cold shock! And so I sprinted in tees and tights beneath the 108 spouts.. I was praying loudly I think-some shloka of Vishnu…and before long I was out on the other side of the 108 faucets! “Now you do the pond,” someone said. 

“…..” I thought I said no. But no voice came out as I was cold-gagged. “No, this I can’t,” I said.I will only sprinkle the pond water on my head. Taking a dip is beyond me, “ I said, certain I would die if I dipped!

Feeling better after changing into fresh clothes I was ready for darshan. 

My daughter under cold showers

Cold shower time for me

Shower spouts shaped as bulls' mouths

Mukthinath is a sacred place for both Hindus and Buddhists and is rich with legendary references.

For Hindus, it is the Muktikshetra or the Place for salvation and was known also as Thiru Saligramam as it is believed to house the Saligrama (naturally formed black holy stone) of Lord Vishnu. It is one of the 108 Divya deshams as perceived by the Sri Vaishnavites (worshippers of Vishnu) and one of the 51 Shakthi peetams for the Hindus. The Hindus believe the idols to be of Lord Sri Murthi and Goddess Sri Devi Thayaar.

For the Buddhists it is known as Chumig Gyatsa (meaning 100 waters in Tibetian) and is one of the 24 Tantric places. They believe the idol inside to be that of Avalokiteshwara.

There is a sanctum sanctorum within the shrine and of course photography is prohibited here. Interestingly there is a 3-4 feet tall sitting idol of a four armed god with a hole at the tip of his nose! He looks like a Buddha but has the conch, the Sudarshan chakra, a lotus flower and a lotus bud in each of his hands. He is surrounded by smaller figurines which look very much Tibetian. All in bronze I think, but I had read somewhere that it was a statue of gold! At his feet is a heap of offering of currency notes- Indian and Nepalese

A Buddhist nun watches us as my cousins have parked themselves in the tiny place and have begun chanting the Vishnu sahasranama, full throttle. I don’t know the hymns and after offering an abridged prayer I get out of the sanctum into the courtyard.

My cell phone jingles and I am surprised there is connectivity here too! It is my sister on Whatsapp.

“Bad news…”I feel giddy. My uncle (Dad’s youngest brother) has passed away! He had been ailing for sometime. And when I call her back to enquire about the details, the phone goes dead!

Brimming eyes and heavy feet I get back into the sanctum sanctorum. The chanting is still on. I stare at the Muktinatha-golden, Buddha-looking ears, adorned with colorful shining vastras. I was here, at this hour, sent for a reason!

“God, let him rest in peace. Grant salvation to my beloved uncle,” I pray. I make an offering in currency for the second time and get out of the shrine.

I failed to make any contact with home for the next two days! It did not surprise me. Something had ensured I pray for the departed soul at Muktinatha! 

Lovely Lumbini..Nepal tidbit 3

The Maya Devi Temple from outside

      There is something about the Buddhist holy places that makes me instantly calm. The Maya Devi Temple at Lumbini was no exception. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site, no less and the holiest of holy places for the Buddhists.

      From the India-Nepal border at Sunauli, Lumbini is a 2-3 hour drive. The Maya Devi temple is a good 2 kilometers further inside the sprawling Lumbini park-woods premises.

     According to legend, Queen Maya Devi was enroute to her parents’ place through the beautiful Lumbini Gardens when she went into labor. Standing beneath the Sal tree, clutching a branch, she is supposed to have delivered Siddhartha, who later became the Buddha.

     The exact place of birth is marked by a stone and the glass enclosure is about 2 feet beneath the ground level. A reddish-brown mural of Maya Devi adorns the wall above the birthplace. Japanese and Sri Lankan pilgrims stand in extreme veneration in a single queue waiting for their turn to see the birthplace. Only after clicking two photos, I see the board prohibiting photography. I am sorry to have violated it and hurt sentiments. But I can’t get myself to delete the two pictures. Sorry though.

Visitors peering down to have a look at the exact birth place of Buddha

The exact birthplace.Note the dilapidated Stupas in foreground

 

     As you can see, there is no Sal tree now but only the stone monument at the birth place. Around this place Stupas were built from the 3rd Century BC to 7th AD. Today only the remains of the dilapidated Stupas can be seen (in the foreground in the pictures)

    Outside the temple there are more Stupas and also one Ashoka Pillar. A congregation of Japanese pilgrims prays quietly while a group of children seated before a teacher sing Buddhists hymns so endearingly. Under a Bodhi tree, on the left, is a young Sri Lankan priest animatedly preaching to a rapt elderly audience of about 50 pilgrims.

Children singing hymns

The Ashoka pillar

Sri Lankan monk preaching

     Everything looks and feels peaceful and harmonious. Over a hundred worshippers of all nationalities sit before a Stupa before which burn several lamps. The dusk setting in simply enhances the peaceful experience of the moment.

Stupas outside the temple

Ancient Stupa

 

     Nearby is a pond, a Pushkarini and a group of Japanese tourists and monks sit by staring down at the water. Curious, I approach them and ask their friends who are sitting on the steps, “What are they doing?” not expecting the Japanese to understand me, let alone reply. I am pleasantly surprised when they break into English, though haltingly.

“This was where Maya Devi bathed before delivery…where baby Buddha had his first bath.”

‘’Oh?!”

“Looking at yourself in the pool, you can get to see all your previous lives….!” My heart began to race  because they sounded so earnest when they said that.

“Why don’t you go and see yourself? Know your past lives…” A nun suggested.

“Me?...Oh! no, no…I don’t think I am so…exalted…blessed,” 

“No…anyone can try…do. Concentrate...” they coaxed.

     I went to the brim and knelt by the pool. The pool was so clear and startlingly reflective. I managed to stare at myself for a minute and just as I was enjoying the experience, I was called…It was getting dark and we had a 6-7 hour drive to Pokhara.I got back very reluctantly.

Japanese tourists at the pond

     How many past lives of all those here…? The Japanese, the French, the Sri Lankans, the Nepalese, the Indians…how many of us had changed nationalities along lifetimes…how many had I met in previous lives…how many were real strangers….? It was nightfall suddenly.

     Lumbini lingered all the way and still does now…!

Lamps and candles at dusk...magically serene!!

Pillion with a handsome biker…!...Nepal trip tidbit 2

Mukthinath is a steep climb from Ranipauwa. Before the steps begin, there stand a group of Nepali men with their bikes, offering a paid ride up hill and down for those who cannot climb.
“Would you want to take a bike ride?”Anil asked. I thought I was fit enough to climb and was about to say no when I saw a handsome fellow with sunshades leaning against his bike.’Ok. I think I will,” I said and before anyone changed their minds, “I will go with him!” I said heading towards that hero’s bike. With a bike pass dangling, I sat behind my chosen biker.
The ride would be so steep that some bikes might even tumble back. “Madam, dhono haath se idhar pakdo…” (Hold here with both hands)the other men said pointing to the biker’s waist, much to my pleasure and amusement. So I sat astride behind him, hugging him at his waist and zoomed off never once looking back at Anil, who was still standing there, with God knows what running through his mind!
Once at the top, I told them all I had a good ride and that I was more thrilled that I got a handsome biker.
“Hey do they have a suggestion box around?”Anil asked.
“Why?”
“Actually they must provide lady bikers too, for people like my wife…someone like Lara Croft in Tomb Raiders,” he said half jokingly!
The ride was paid for both ways. So when I came out after darshan, there were many bikers hanging around and we could take any bike back.
“Udhar…” they showed, pointing to the first one in the row. I took two reluctant steps before spotting my biker who was fourth or fifth in the queue.
“Nahin. Mein iske saath aye. Iseeke sath chaloongi…” (No..I came with him and will go back with him.) And again before anyone changed minds, I was seated behind him! He seemed pleased I chose him too. And so we started a conversation. His name was Sonam- something…the mountain wind blew away his surname.
“Yeh to ladkiyon ka naam hai!”(This is a girl’s name)
“Haan. Yahan to ladke bhi rakte hai…” (Yeah. Here it goes for boys as well) He was planning to study hotel management and was 20 years old. I was impressed and told him that that would do more good to him than ferrying passengers up and down hill for the rest of his life. I felt very happy sitting behind the young man. This time I held him at both his shoulders…It felt so familiar…it reminded me very much of how I rode behind my son. Needless to say, Sonam reminded me of my son whom I was sorely missing in this trip.
“Mera beta bhi tumhara jaisa hai…” (My son resembles you…) I said hoping that the wind carried away the tremble and choke in my voice too….
By then, we had climbed down.

Half breeds of Fate

       Beyond the skies… do I actually need a Karmic telescope to find something that might never be there? One week of idyllic surroundings, meaningful discussions and workshops at the Ashram had failed to quieten the unrest within me…

       I have long understood the meanings of contentment, compromise and amicable symbiosis with all people I have crossed in this finite life of less than ten decades or 1200 months. How little that sounds when so reduced! When periods like million-billion-trillion years or centuries get mentioned, I wonder how many of us can fathom the enormity of such Time. With a little math I could write down one followed by those many zeros and then not know how much that really means! It is like asking an ant to imagine how many steps to the mountain summit!

       What am I then, along so much Time and on Earth, a humble planet in Universe? A fleck or a grain or an atom of Consciousness? Is this it then? Just be born and die, not knowing why it had to happen? Just no more than a flower which also goes through its life cycle in a pre-ordained manner? Or how would a flower, bird, mountain, river search for peace? Or want anything else than being themselves? And how would wanting something even as less materialistic as Peace make me a superior creation than all the living and ‘non-living’? What is my quest? What or who waits to quench my restlessness?

       Futile workshop.. What made me come at all? Hot tears sting my eyes, my coffee is now cold and crusted and the food court is deserted. The public address is announcing the departure of another flight. Mine is delayed by over 3 hours…Three hours in a 1000 months is hardly significant. Yet whiling it away minute by minute is so agonizingly long…!

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah?” There is a Japanese man staring down.

“May I…?” He trails off gesticulating towards the empty chair before me. I shrug. Why did he have to choose my table when it was the only one occupied in the whole cafeteria? I plan to get away and park somewhere else.…

“Akio Takeda.” He says sitting down and still staring at me. Only when he extends his right hand I realize he is introducing himself.

“Uh? Howdy?” I thrust out my moist hand, unwillingly, just so that they don’t conclude Indians are rude. I don’t give out my name. His palm is soft and cool, the handshake warm and lingers longer than intended. He appears vaguely familiar. I could never tell one Japanese or Chinese from the other but him-I think I can recognize him anywhere. Grey strands in thick black hair-may be as old as I am, grey, open collared tees, clean shaven, fair skinned…I am mortified as I realize I am staring too! Yet I fail to look off.

“Do I seem familiar?” he asks with a slight accent.

“Uh? Where have I seen you before?” I blurt out, actually intending to say no! And before long we have actually launched ourselves into conversation! We are poles apart professionally, geographically and every how else by peoples’ standards…yet we have so much to talk and discuss. It isn’t culture, world politics, weather…it is all others but! 

       He tells me his name means ‘glorious hero’…and Takeda is a famous Samurai clan. He is curious about Hindu Gods–Ganesha and Hanuman. I recount the mythologies…“Chimeras,” he says. “Distinct breeds born of two genetically distinct parental cells. Human cells plus elephant’s or monkey’s or snake’s…” I marvel that he thinks it is scientifically possible and not deride our beliefs. I discover he agrees or has similar views about most of my thoughts. I only had to start with the outline and somehow he got the whole picture! What’s it with me today that I have shared so much with a stranger than I had ever with any friend of mine, all my life!? Something was happening here and it was beyond romance or a casual fling! He may be Buddhist or a scientist, an actor or a factory worker… it doesn’t matter to me. Doesn’t matter if he is married or single, straight or gay…only that I have met him does. 

       “Akio Takeda,” I don’t realize I have said his name aloud. “Yes. That is me in this life, “he says cryptically. I suddenly recall he hasn’t asked my name…actually he has not asked anything about me and knows nothing more than what I have divulged. It seems he too isn’t bothered who I could be. He is sitting across happy, attentive and talking excitedly as if we were longtime buddies. We have latched on to unseen twines…had we left them off only yesterday or in some yester-life? Like two jigsaw pieces that found each other! A Karmic aura engulfs us. Us…it sounds so intimate now. So apt and bound to happen. 

“Hello soul-mate!” I jump back from reverie as he says Sssssooul maete. And suddenly it dawns on me that it was the perfect word to describe us. My eyes brim with happy tears. He looks deep inside and I know instantly that he was what was missing from my life. At that moment I feel blessed that my life is complete now. He is my inner peace. I don’t care if he will have any part in the rest of this life time. That he had always been there before is soothing. And that he has found me in this lifetime is magic enough.

“Had you been searching?” I whisper. He nods as he places his hands on mine. The touch feels delicious and carries with it a de ja vu, of so many past lives. We have sought and found each other in this life. Strangely, it now doesn’t matter if we have to go our ways. The knowledge of a soul-mate somewhere on the planet is company enough…is proof enough that Time and Space can be vanquished.

“Last and final call for passenger…travelling to…” The three hours of my 1000 months has simply flown! “That’s my name they are calling on the PA,” I say as I gather my purse. He nods. Sadness descends on us. How many lives had the two of us passed together? To so part after a fraction of Time? The thought that we could have many more in future thrills me. My heart lurches at his sad expression. ”… we can still stay in touch, for the rest of this life...” I say fishing out paper and pen. Jotting down my name, phone number and mail ID, “Hey, where is your home? “I ask as an afterthought.

“Ishinomaki, Japan.”

I hurry off not looking back, thankful I can hide my tears. Can catch him on chat, Facebook…no more isolation.

Next day, as I look up Ishinomaki, I begin to cry. People dead-2127, people missing 2720. Number of buildings destroyed-unclear. Maximum devastation…The 11th March 2011 Tsunami has ravaged his home-town. Has he also been reduced to statistics? As days pass and he does not contact me, I realize I have to wait another life time for Akio.

My first swig...Nepal trip tidbit 1

       Ten hours after trekking without a break, all of us had run out of drinking water. A young local guide was following a few steps behind me and I was at the rear of the group. When we came to a small clearing, I could no longer bear my thirst and turning around, whispered, managing the hoarsest of voices:

“Zara apna paani dena.” (Please give me some of your water.) He turned around and I pulled out the 2 liter green sprite bottle, now three fourths filled with water. As I swirled it I noticed small black particles floating within. I looked at the rest of the trekkers and they were all out of sight. ‘How will Anil know I drank unclean water?.” I thought as I downed a huge mouthful. It tasted like kerosene.”Oh crap! This has been used to fill kerosene before! Ugh!

       “Is mein kuch dala hai?” (Has anything been added to this?)

       “Uh..nahin…”(No)

       After half an hour I felt like another swig.

     “Paani?” This time he gesticulated farther where another guide was waiting and apparently told him in Nepali, I needed water. The older man frowned at this. ”Oh, they must be running out of water too,” I thought but the thirst got better of any selflessness. As I grabbed the bottle and put it to my mouth, the man said,

      “Khorab paani,” (sullied water)

    “What the hell! I know it and I have even drunk it once. Even once is enough to pick up infection…”I thought as I downed another huge mouthful.

      He was now grinning. “Khorab paani…Rom daala hua…” he said.(Sullied water…mixed with rum)

     “Huh? Yeh poora rum hai?” (Is this fully rum?)I asked aware that my cousin’s wife was within earshot.

     “Nahi. Shudh paani. Itna rom.” He said showing measures in his hand…

     And then the climb down became mentally tumultuous also! Was I feeling blank because of exhaustion or rum? Were my legs wobbly because of pain or rum? Were my eyes droopy because of tiredness or rum?..Hell…whatever… it was helping me right now to walk through this scary forest in the dusk…

     That night when we sat for dinner and I passingly mentioned the episode, Anil said-“Oho! No wonder you have that silly smile despite 13 hours of trekking!” 

     And that was how rum became the buzz word that got associated with me! 

Tug of love…

“She will-she won’t; she will-she won’t; she will-she won’t” kept repeating in rhythm as I climbed the stairs. At third floor, huffing at “…she won’t”, I dragged the few steps to the door. ‘She won’t.” announced the ding-dong door bell.

“How has she been today, Kamalamma?”I asked of the domestic help as she opened the door.

“Manageable, akka*…Can I go now?”

“Yes. Don’t come in late tomorrow. I have a meeting and I must leave early.”

The front door banged shut. ”She-won’t; she-won’t; she-won’t…” the grandfather wall clock continued the litany. It seemed unreal that elsewhere people had noisy, alive homes….

“Mama? How are you today?” She was seated at the window staring at the clouds. She looked up and squirmed-like avoiding a stranger on a crowded bus. The empty look in her eyes meant she wasn’t lucid now. She could neither understand what I said nor say what she wanted to. She went back to staring at the clouds. She won’t…she can’t-I had to remind myself again. Alzheimer’s was an impassive hell and I still could not accept that it had snared mama.

Her note-book of her musings and poems lay on the table by her. Was she trying to read? I picked up the book and thumbed a page randomly. She had not written since several months-she couldn’t.

“… At a tug of war

memories and dreams.

Bygone years versus morrow’s fears.

Let go the tug, let go the thug…”

She had scant memories and probably was incapable of dreams now too. It sounded so lonely.

“I had a dream today!” Her words startled me to senses. She was sounding so normal. It had been over a week since I had heard that lucidity in her voice.

“Oh, mama!” I was by her side, kissing her. “It’s me-Sanju…Sanjana…your daughter.”

“Yes…yes, honey…of course.” Tears streamed down her cheeks too.”What’s wrong with me Sanju? Things are very blurred and then suddenly become clear…Am I sleeping a lot? Am I on some…sleep-givers? (For tranquillizers) Or am I sick?” It was a heart-wrench. The poor thing did not even know she has been sick for over months now.

“Oh mama! You…you..Have a small problem,” I said wishing the problem was a small as I made it sound to be. “You’ll get over it. It will be OK.” I lied again making sure she saw my back and not my eyes. She was very shrewd and could read emotions on my face like a computer interpreting a data!

********

“Are you both in love?” She had asked when we had got home that night. I had introduced Nikhil to her in the evening. I wanted her to meet him in a public place and had chosen a mall, just so that the cacophony could down her senses and confuse her to think us as just friends for now.

“Uh? Oh moms! Can we stop this?” I wanted to tell her all about him though. “I am tired and want to sleep.”

“And dream of him… I know you want to talk. You are in love with him! ”It was no longer a question but a flat statement. Later, she accepted him in my life without much discussion. That had actually disappointed and even worried me. We had been twosome for twenty eight years and with Nikhil entering my life, she had to make way. I wanted to know what she felt but she never did let me.

“…at times, letting go happens in installments…like a tree shedding its leaves in autumn, only to regrow much greener in the coming spring. Or like a flower that slowly lets go its fragrance- knowing it can never be the same…and finally dying fragrance-less…” she had one such entry in her musings and it was after Nikhil was well into our lives.

“Isn’t Nikhil coming in today?” again she startled me.

“No.”Not today. Not tomorrow

“Has it been sometime since I saw him?”

“Yes.” Eleven months.

“Have you fixed your wedding date?”

“No…No…” I couldn’t get myself to say ‘No wedding’ to her. She might forget it in a few minutes or hours…why should I hurt her when she was lucid? ”No…not yet.”

“Don’t put it off for far too long.” And as an after-thought, after five minutes-“Say, am I delaying this marriage? I have some illness…are you waiting for me to get well?” My throat lump grew bigger…I wanted to hug her and cry. Like I always did when I lost. “Momma, there will be no marriage. He walked out…because you could never get better…” She would cry too. And forget the whole thing within a few hours!

“Let me lay the table for dinner.” I had to get away before she could read me.




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




She had waited, table laid, that night. And when I got home at ten, she had set up her fireworks. That was the first time I had seen her so enraged and almost violent! She knew I was out with Nikhil. She knew I would be skipping dinner at home. Yet she had laid the table for the two of us.

“How dare you keep me waiting? Without even a phone call? And you come in at this hour and say you are full…I have been starving waiting for you!” Eyes blazing and tear laden she had screamed.

“Momma! I told you this evening….”

“What? What?...What had you told me?”

‘That…”

“…that you would be partying while I starved? Who were you with….that your friend Sahil fellow?”

And that blew my fuse. How dare she insult me like this-purposefully making a mistake with Nikhil’s name as if he was nothing more than an acquaintance to me and her? Was this her way of venting out her jealousy and possessiveness? And what if I had been with him? I slammed my room door shut and slumped down bursting with tears. Had this to happen this evening? She had just ruined the best evening of my life! Nikhil had proposed to me and I was lost in the clouds….I wanted to share this wonderful news with the only other person who mattered to me in my life... and this was the reception she awarded me!

I sulked for two days. Banged doors, kept silent and preferred to eat my meals alone. On the third day she spoke to me. “Are you upset with something Sanju? Did you have a row with Nikhil?”I was stunned-she kicks a ruckus one night and forty eight hours later, acts as if nothing ever happened! She must be coming to terms with her petty feelings of jealousy and possessiveness. Good. No age is too old for learning new lessons in Life. By the end of the week I had learned to accept that it was natural for her to feel insecure. I believed it to be a passing phase.

But she proved me wrong one Tuesday evening. She wasn’t at home when I came from office. She hadn’t come by nine and it was very uncharacteristic of her. I called up a few of her friends and enquired discretely if she had come. Negative. As I was leaving the flat to lodge a missing person complaint, she called.

“Sanju! I am lost. I can’t seem to find my way back home!”

The next day, the doctor’s diagnosis shattered and changed our lives. Her memory loss, fugue, fits of rage, inability to comprehend…all explained her disease. Had I been less preoccupied with my personal love life, I could have identified subtle symptoms much earlier.” And done what?” the doctor had asked. Alzheimer’s had no cure. It had to be lived and only got severe with passing time. “The disease taxes the caregivers and I suggest you hire help if you can’t be with her most of the times. “ Kamalamma was hired then. During the first few months her symptoms were mild and she was aware of her condition and took appropriate measures too.

“Sanju, sometimes letting go demands efforts from both parties involved. Look at me. I’d let go of life, only it doesn’t. Alz- has taken a fondness to me!!” she had said one night after dinner. She talked so normally at such times that I wondered if the diagnosis needed a relook. Until she reverted back to her wrong speech and Alzheimeric behavior.

“Say, fixed a wed date? Should I talk to Nikhil’s…men (for people)?”

“No. Mama…Nikhil has been transferred to Delhi…so…”

“When is he transferring? Could the marriage.. not be… (halting for three minutes, searching her vocabulary)…king Solomon (for solemnized)…before that?”

“No. Shall I make your bed?” She did not understand. I had to mime “sleep?” She just nodded owing to a complete loss of words. I was thankful that she could not ask any more questions. But I wished she could, I wished I could just pour out myself to someone…Nikhil and I had the bitter arguments for several weeks.

“She will only get worse. With both of us working and in a distant new city, we cannot afford to keep her with us…”

“Please…let us not go over this again. I am not willing to let mamma stay in an…Asylum…that is what it is…irrespective of what soft names you give the Helping homes. No Nikhil.NO!”

“Is that final?”

“I am afraid, yes!” I hated the finality in both our voices. I was trying my best to keep from breaking down and I knew I would fail before long.

“Sanjana, learning to let go needs a lot of wisdom…”

“…and ruthlessness. Don’t you see? She is all I have…all I had till you came in. I am aware of the struggles she went through as a single parent…raising me, caring for me…she is my older self, for heaven’s sake! I can’t desert her…and of all the times now-when she needs me most!”

“Sanju, listen. She will not remember any of that in a few months or years from now. You will be left alone at the memory tango!” He was running out of patience.

“That was particularly mean! How can you?” I had trembled. Despite his poor choice of words, I knew what he said was true. “Maybe…but I won’t leave her. We either stay back here or she comes with me!”

“That is- if I let you come with me…” I dreaded when his voice was this dead-pan. It often signaled an unfavourable decision.

“Would you care to explain?” I actually knew it would come to this finally.

“You know it…Sanju don’t let it come to this. We will be forced to call it off…you know…” That was the second terrible moment after her disease-sentence!

“Are you calling it quits? Just because you want me only for yourself…are you breaking the engagement because I care for my mother as much I love you? What a huge mistake I would have made getting married to such a selfish man.Let me tell you this-if you bring down the choices to between a heartless you and my mother who has always struggled for me…the choice is obvious. I can’t leave her for you. Thanks for your time…”as I got up to leave, he was beside me.

“Sanju, think over practically… not emotionally.”

“Uh? Mr. Nikhil scumbag, what do you mean not emotionally? She taught thousands of students and was fondly called a walking encyclopedia! And only I know how much it hurts to see such a woman struggle with something so basic as just being herself! Sometimes she thinks even I am a stranger…Oh! Why should I bother you with unnecessary details….Bye!”And so the rift grew by the day and neither of us attempted to contact the other…I wondered if Nikhil was serious about us at all. Had he grown cold feet? And used mother as an excuse, knowing too well that I wouldn’t oblige.But wasn’t there some truth in what he said? Wouldn’t a good institution meant for people like her offer a better and more professional care to her? Should I look up…I would stop myself…Am I thinking of getting rid of her? No, mama…never!

That night I shared her bed. She wasn’t sleepy and was lucid most times. We chatted well into the early hours…I jogged memories for both of us, for she could not remember a single event of our past! She listened to it as if it were for the first time-like a child, in rapt attention and trying to register every information though I knew that by morning her mind would be clean as a new slate!

“We never did get Juno back, did we?” she suddenly asked. Juno was our Labrador who had disappeared-and that was over ten years ago. She remembered that!

“No. We could never nab the thieves.”

“Do you still think he was stolen?”

“Wh-at? Of course!”

“He was not a small pup to be stolen. He could have gone away himself!”That was her poor-judgment example of Alzheimer’s.

“Mama! Aren’t dogs faithful?! If anything, they come back searching for their homes,not go away from one!” Comprehending abstract ideas was also difficult in her condition.

“But what if he did not want us? Do we know that for sure? He might have let go of us…for whatever reason!” she looked at me in my eyes… “Holding on might actually be a default to letting go…till you realize there is a choice…!” Was she now in the jargon phase? The next minute she looked dead blank.” I want to sleep...”

The days got more alzhemeric to me as well…monotonous and nothing worth reminiscence. That was actually the proverbial storm. At half past 2 on Wednesday Kamalamma called me in panic.

“Akka, amma has fallen down from the cot…I can’t wake her up!”

Six tense hours and a brain surgery later I was updated about her.

“We have managed to drain off the blood clot that she had sustained when she fell. It did not look very good. She isn’t out of danger till the next forty eight hours. She has slipped into coma which makes her unresponsive to the external world. We hope she will come out of it as she heals…” the doctor said, the irony of his words completely lost on him. The world had longed ceased to exist in her Alzhemeric life….only now they had a name for it-Coma! “One of the kin may now see her for a minute.”

“Uh..There is no other kin…only me. Can I see her?” She looked so tranquil and beautiful despite a huge white bandaged head. Suddenly I realized that there was no one else if she were to go! Demented or not…I had her, I needed her…and if she went…? ”Mama, please, please don’t let go..Hang on..!” I must have been sobbing loudly because the nurse came over and said-“Shh..Quiet please..Over here..” she had gently led me off…

She did let go-that night at a quarter to two. A large chunk of me gone…gone forever…gone from me and from her treacherous disease. “She has escaped further humiliation from Alzheimer’s,” they had tried to console me. But…what had I now? A house full of memories and a life full of emptiness…Letting go is so painful when it isn’t mutual and when it is simply one-sided –just like love which hurts when it is one-sided!

Nikhil haunted me now more than ever. I had lost the only two people I loved the most in less than two years! They put me on tranquillizers and Kamalamma was always around watching me-maybe they thought I would commit suicide.

‘No. Akka is sleeping. Could you come after five in the evening?” she was sending someone away.I hated visitors. They had only sympathizing words…but I wanted mommy, I wanted Nikhil…I wanted a life.There was suddenly some commotion at my bed room door.

“No, no, mister. Please don’t go in. She hates to be disturbed.” Kamalamma followed him into my room. My heart lurched, skipped several beats and started erratically again.

“Nikhil?”

“Why did you not call me? Or tell me?”He looked so distraught.

“What? Oh! Did it matter to you at all?” All the bitterness came rushing back…How he had refused to have mom stay with us… “Look now…she is gone…!”I whispered.

He was by me, cradling me saying-“Oh, I am so sorry, really-really sorry. I was such an oaf…To think and behave that way…Actually I came for you…at the office they told me…”

“You came for me? Why? To offer condolences?”

“Please Sanju…don’t be so bitter. Please forgive me? I..I came because I missed you so much. There was not a single day that went without me thinking of you…And then I realized that when out of sight isn’t out of mind, you have really never let go…I came back for you…and your mom…but then-“

Mommy! He has come back for us! We can now be together and you need not be in some Helping home…! Oh! But she is gone…

“Nikhil, you have a sense of perfect timing! You come back here after my mom is dead with a cock and bull story of missing me…” I spat out in horror even as I realized that I was saying all the wrong things. I wanted to go with him! Mommy wanted that too!

“Yeah. Don’t I appear a villain? But I won’t ask you now Sanjana. Many things have changed for you…you might have let go of me that long back when I behaved so badly. I…I just came to say sorry…You know I was fond of her too. And even she was.” He turned to go but not before I caught the tears in his eyes.

“Sanju…letting go demands more courage than holding on…do you have it in you? To go on living without Nikhil?” mommy was speaking…

“Nikhil! Will you marry me?” I blurted at his back, surprising myself for the second time.

“Yes, oh, yes!” he was back by my side as Kamalamma hurried off, happy and embarrassed, leaving the two of us to ourselves.




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

*-akka-elder sister in Kannada