Yet another cliched Mastercard moment

Working 15 hours straight, every single day, 7 days in a row, month after month.

Exhausting.

Being too tired to carry-on with social niceties and being labeled a social recluse.

Inevitable.

Realizing that being on-call every Holiday and every long weekend in the coming year.

Sucks.

Having a dream and believing in it.

Hard.

Keeping the faith when all hope is lost.

Harder still.

Living your dream every single second........ Priceless.

P.S. Having no time to blog, sad.

Realizing the dwindling number of footsteps treading the blog, sadder.

Discovering there are still some ever-hopeful souls who visit the blog, amusing.

The Measure of Success

How do you measure Success?

Do you look at people who are considered successful and see how you measure up against them?
Or do you set your own standard and see how you measure up against yourself?
Or do you let someone else decide for you? Let some stranger tell you if you are successful. Or will be successful. Ever.

"Don't ever let someone tell you, you can't do something."

"You got a dream, you gotta protect it. People can't do something themselves, they wanna tell you that you can't do it. You want something? Go get it. Period." ~ The Pursuit of Happyness

Period.

What else are we missing?

Okay I know you are a little surprised to see a new post so soon after my last one. In fact the truth be told, I'm a little surprised myself. I mean, I did say that my blog posts would be few and far between. And that wasn't so long back, was it? But then again, I said a lot of other things that I had a hard time to adhere to. Therefore, you cannot hold me to that.

Anyway the reason for this rather hurried post was this article that I read in the Washington Post in the morning (Hat tip: Mohit). The first time I read it, I went through the whole thing at an incredible speed, devouring every word in absolute disbelief. It seemed preposterous that something like this could happen. In the heart of D.C. During rush hour with hundreds of thousands of morning commuters filing past him. I was shocked to say the least.

To quote bits from the article that caught my attention:

It was not until six minutes into the performance that someone actually stood against a wall, and listened. Things never got much better. In the three-quarters of an hour that Joshua Bell played, seven people stopped what they were doing to hang around and take in the performance, at least for a minute. Twenty-seven gave money, most of them on the run -- for a total of $32 and change. That leaves the 1,070 people who hurried by, oblivious, many only three feet away, few even turning to look.

"At a music hall, I'll get upset if someone coughs or if someone's cellphone goes off. But here, my expectations quickly diminished. I started to appreciate any acknowledgment, even a slight glance up. I was oddly grateful when someone threw in a dollar instead of change."

This is from a man whose talents can command $1,000 a minute.

"The awkward times," he calls them. It's what happens right after each piece ends: nothing. The music stops. The same people who hadn't noticed him playing don't notice that he has finished. No applause, no acknowledgment. So Bell just saws out a small, nervous chord -- the embarrassed musician's equivalent of, "Er, okay, moving right along . . ." -- and begins the next piece.

And the interesting bit:

There was no ethnic or demographic pattern to distinguish the people who stayed to watch Bell, or the ones who gave money, from that vast majority who hurried on past, unheeding. Whites, blacks and Asians, young and old, men and women, were represented in all three groups. But the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.

And the reason?

People just said they were busy, had other things on their mind. Some who were on cellphones spoke louder as they passed Bell, to compete with that infernal racket.

"Couple of years ago, a homeless guy died right there. He just lay down there and died. The police came, an ambulance came, and no one even stopped to see or slowed down to look.
People walk up the escalator, they look straight ahead. Mind your own business, eyes forward. Everyone is stressed. Do you know what I mean?"


The conclusion:

We're busy. Americans have been busy, as a people, since at least 1831, when a young French sociologist named Alexis de Tocqueville visited the States and found himself impressed, bemused and slightly dismayed at the degree to which people were driven, to the exclusion of everything else, by hard work and the accumulation of wealth.

Poignance:

If we can't take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?

I have since gone back and re-read the article atleast five times. Poring over each word. Checking out the video clips. Watching the way people were reacting. And asking myself the million dollar question. What if I had been there? I have passed the station a hundred times at least when I used to commute to work by the Metro. Would I have stopped in the middle of my mad morning rush when I heard a familiar tune? Would I have recognized my all time favorite artist even if it seemed like the most impossible thing in the world? Would I stand there in awe and disbelief and be able to talk to Joshua Bell? Up close and personal. Seems too good to be true. But it actually happened. And as I write this I am convinced that I would know him. Anywhere. Even in the middle of L' Enfant Plaza Metro station on a weekday morning.

But then again. We will never know, shall we?

"This part of my life is called"....

....the pursuit of happiness.

Couldn't be more true for me.

And if you haven't seen it yet, please do.

"And it was at that time that I thought about Thomas Jefferson writing that Declaration of Independence.
Him saying that we have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
And I thought about how he knew to put the 'pursuit' in there, like no one can actually have happiness. We can only pursue it."

Makes you think.

Smile and the world smiles with you. Cry and you cry alone.

I think grief is a very private emotion. Unlike most other basic human emotions which find comfort in expression. Like joy. Or happiness. Or good cheer. Which you can share. Spread around like some magical shimmering fairy light. Or say anger. And hatred. You let it out. Express your self and feel relieved. And then there is love. Which always needs to be expressed and shared for it to grow and bear fruit.

But grief is in a different league altogether. Because it cannot be shared. Or expressed. Or understood by anyone else. And you live it everyday. Through broken dreams and faltering faith. Through unshed tears and dying hope. And yet, I don't want your pity. Or words of comfort saying it will be alright. Which is why I want to be left alone in my grief.

Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams.

Riding the waves

Been struggling of late to come up with a brilliant post. Something that is profound. Or has a purpose. Meaningful. Insightful. Makes a statement. A Save the World kind of post. Or a Protect the Dolphins and Whales of the world post. Or make an appeal for saving endangered species. Educate, motivate, inspire. Do something good. Rescue an animal. Or help a friend. Something that makes me a little more human and a little less selfish.

Unfortunately I failed.

Miserably.

And although I can't write anything awe-inspiring, I came across a couple of really beautiful and touching posts.
This is the kind of stuff I wish I could write. And this is why she is and will always remain one of my favorite bloggers.
And then this one just made me want to run and grab my paint brush. And paint. The myriad hues of rain. And love.

And as I sit here waiting for that one moment of truth, when everything comes together in a flash of light and life can fall into place and everything works out the way I hope it will, I realize that in the meantime the only thing that I can actually do with any sort of authority, is write about me, myself and my life. And although I want this blog to have a little more meaning than being a record of my personal life, I have accepted the fact that I cannot find the pathway to inspiration where I can write something meaningful or profound. So what the hell!

And please don't say things like, "oh good to see you back". Don't. Because I'm not sure I was gone. Or even if I am back. Or whether I was missed. Or whether it matters that I am writing another meaningless post.

Life's a rollercoaster ride. And you hold on as tight as possible.

Confessions for the New Year

They say a lot of things about a New Year. New beginnings. New hope. New resolutions.

A fresh new start.

And over the past weeks I have come to realize that this blog has long lost its purpose. Its meaning and what it had started out as. It has transcended from being a statement to being a personal journal. It started out as being my voice and ended up being my heart. And with the new year the winds have shifted and it is time to set sail in a new direction.

I wanted to thank each one of you who has taken the time to stop by my blog and read the crap I have been churning out week after week. It never fails to amaze me why anyone would do that. And still come back. Which is why I feel I owe each one of you an apology. And the reason why this blog still exists. I'd also want to thank you for including me in your blogroll and linking me. But at this point I'd also like to say that posts will be few and far between. So feel free to remove me from any of your links/ lists.

This is not saying that I am giving up blogging. But I am giving up blogging the way I have known it so far.


Happy New Year!

New beginnings. New hope.

A fresh new start.

The unheard

Some things are better left unsaid. Because you fear that it may change when you put them into words. Someone once told me that walls have ears. But what about the words that form inside your mind? Can the walls hear those too? Would someone be able to enter that much guarded space of your mind and look into your thoughts, your emotions, your innermost feelings and steal them from you? The way you feel, the way your felt, the tears, the smiles, the insecurities, the reassurance, the anticipation, the relief. What you see, what you know, what you believe in.

Love is beautiful.

And yeah, somethings are better left unsaid.

On blogging

Why do you blog? What does blogging mean to you? These are questions that have been posed a number of times over the past year that I have been treading the world of blogs or the blogosphere, as it has been termed. And before you misunderstand I would like to emphasize that these are not red carpet questions and that I am not a celebrity by any accounts. Just that as more and more people are being introduced to blogging and are displaying mild curiosity and even interest in some cases as to the purpose of maintaining a web-log (blog), I feel bloggers owe it to their readers to explain why week after week, post after post, they inflict such torture upon the poor souls who come visit their blogs.

Why do I blog? Well at the onset it seemed like a novel thing to do. Something to keep up with the times. Something that everyone was doing. To be trendy. To be hip. To be heard. It was the desire to say something meaningful, support a cause, protest against something else, and establish kinship among like-minded individuals. Where else would I find total strangers quote Yeats in response to my blogger name? Where would I find support, advice and goodwill from strangers across the globe willing to spend a few minutes of their day reading what I have to say? It is an amazing potpourri of thoughts, words, feelings, expression, opinions all coming together on the web. And to be a part of that movement feels quite uplifting.

With time blogging has started taking on newer meanings for me. It is like having an extended family of readers who keep coming back to read, to comment and to make themselves heard. Every post is like a conversation, a discussion, a time frame that I can revisit over and over again. Before I started blogging I secretly harbored the desire to be a writer. I guess there’s a little voice inside all of us that wants to be heard. And like most people that little voice thought the world needed to know what it had to say. And so I started blogging. When I blog it is like entering a world of my own, a world that I can paint in any hue, write about things that I believe in, and hope somewhere someone finds a reason to read it. The very same reason that I am searching for when I browse the internet to read other blogs. To find a kindred spirit. A connection. A reason to rejoice in someone’s joy, or share the pain, even if it is someone whom you will likely never meet. I blog to deal with my own frustrations, get over my bouts of depression, and stand up for what I believe in. I can share my thoughts with ease because it is easier to be open to strangers than it is with people who know you. Blogging brings us together. From far away places. A melting pot of myriad cultures, beliefs, expression. A place to connect and to learn and find a niche for that little voice within.

I blog because I enjoy blogging.

Happiness comes in small packages

They say music unites.

And it does. Across age and generation gaps, across religion, across continents and great divides. You gave me more than one reason to be proud of you.
Cactus rocks!

Shubho Bijoya......

Two reasons for happiness this Monday morning:

This mention, that would have gone unnoticed unless pointed out by him and him.

And, this (tip: Bongopondit). I always knew it would happen. But never realized how good it would feel.


Update: Continued from the last link, more can be found here.

Fears revisited

What does one think of in the minutes precceding a near death experience? When you suddenly see it all coming to an end. In a second. Do you see your life flash before your eyes? Remember your loved ones and what you are leaving behind and how much you wish you could have one last day to spend with them? Do you have regrets? Do you forgive and forget? Or do you go out at peace with love in your heart and a song on your lips?

I have wondered about this before and what people might be thinking of right before their car crashed into something.

Well.... now I actually know.

Update: Nobody was hurt and I'm doing fine. Just shaken up.

How green was my valley....

I was looking at some photos my cousin sent me from his recent trip to Calcutta. Photos of the city, of the people I love and grew up with, of places and times that I left behind when I came to the US. And as I went through photo after photo of known places and loved ones I was gripped with pain and sadness. It appeared to me that every little thing I knew and remembered was changed and different now. The city looked old and dirty, the people looked tired and aged. And nothing seemed to be the same anymore. And suddenly I realized as a sharp pang of regret shot through me that the only thing that was probably changed and different was me and how I viewed things now. And I wept. For times that were gone and lost. For family that I had moved away from. For days that I had spent growing up loving a place, missing it every single day, only to realize how distant I had become and how things were not the same anymore.

I left Calcutta with happy memories of my childhood. Of growing up basking in the love and affection of an extended family. Of sunny days and warm memories. Wild adolescence and much awaited adulthood. The joy of being able to do everything I wanted to, of being anyone I wanted to be. Of learning, maturing and being who I am. That is what I hold in my heart. That is what makes me smile everytime I remember home. When I think of Pujo. Poila Baisakh, Christmas, Bhai phonta.

And then yesterday happened. I saw the photos my cousin sent me. Photos that he had taken from the balcony of our house. Photos he had taken of familiar places. Of that shop down the road where we would buy stationery from. Or the library where we would get books from. The dhobi who ironed our clothes. The bus stop where we would wait endlessly in the scorching sun. The uthon-bari where we would play kumir-danga all afternoon. And they all looked so different. Everything looked old and moss-covered and like they had been picked out of some ancient bangla movie (see below views from the balcony and a house down the street). Like it was some suburban township in the middle of nowhere. Yet this was very much Calcutta. In the heart of the metropolis. There was a picture of a waterlogged street (see below). Something I had never bothered much when I was there. But now it bothers me. Why, oh why?





I looked into the faces of my uncles, my aunts, my grandparents, family friends. And everyone looked so much older than I remembered them. It was such a rude awakening. It felt like I was stuck in time and everything else had moved on without me, aging and withering away. It made me cry.

My Dad tells me that Calcutta has improved over the last few years. There are flyovers and less traffic jams, spanking new shopping malls and multiplex theatres. The city is cleaner and better. And I am sure it is all true. But why do I not see it in the places I love and want to remember that way? Why is the street still waterlogged after a shower? Why is the uthon bari not painted or the dhobi shop not fixed up? Why does looking at the photos after all these years make me want to cry? For myself. For having changed. And for finding everything else changed. I wish I had an answer.

Live like you were dying

Heard Tim McGraw's 2004 Grammy winning Live like you were dying on the radio this morning. And it made me think about what I'd do if I had a chance to do it all again.

What would I do different?

What would I change?

What would I do if I knew this was the last day of my life?

"And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying
And he said one day I hope you get a chance
To live like you were dying"

What would you do?

Matchmaking and more

Like I said I had to write up a new post to keep people from reading about my weirdness. I was reading this post and wanted to comment, but realized that I had so much to say regarding this matter that it warranted a separate post by itself.

Wikipedia defines marriage as "a committed relationship between or among individuals, recognized by civil authority and/or bound by the religious beliefs of the participants." Arranged marriage is the same except when dictated by parents, family and social pressure. One of the most frequent questions I get from my US based friends and co-workers is whether as a girl raised in India I had to go through an arranged marriage. And they seem quite surprised when I tell them that I never had to face any kind of pressure from my family when I decided to get married. And honestly I don't entirely blame them. Even in a time when India is poised at the helm of a global economy with so much new information and interest in the country, its culture and traditions, there are still questions in people's minds about "elephants" and strange "Hindoo" practices. It probably seems unreal for them to accept that coming from India I may have had a childhood and upbringing that is not so dissimilar to what they had in the US. And yes when it comes to making choices and taking decisions about my own life I do have the freedom to do what I think best.

It seems to me that more and more people from the Indian subcontinent are taking their own decisions when it come to tying the knot. Most of my friends and cousins have had the so called "love marriage" where they were allowed to decide on who they would marry and spend their life with. When I look at the generation that preceeded mine I can count on my fingers the number of couples I personally know who were allowed to marry person's of their own choice and still be left with fingers to spare. On the same hand. And if I look at the generation that preceeded that......well, some things are better left alone. So honestly yes, things have come a long way from what they had been a few decades back. And yes, society is learning to accept and even embrace the "love marriage" concept.

But inspite of all the changes there are still certain taboos. For example things like caste and religion. When my great-grandfather was getting married, his family not only made sure the bride would be from a traditional bengali brahmin family but also that she had to be part of the "kulin" section which allowed him to marry into the same strata of social heirarchy. Decades down the line when my cousins and I were getting into the marriageable age, no one really cared much for what caste we were marrying into as long as we ended up marrying a decent person. But I know people who have met with resistence from family because of caste issues which still mean a great deal to a lot of families. Religion again is a whole different ballgame. I know a handful of people who have married outside of their religion and each one of them have had a hard time getting their family to accept the fact.

As I said most people I know are taking their own decisions for marriage these days. The key word here is "most'. What happens to the ones that are unable to find their mate? B has a cousin who is about 26 years old, finished her Masters degree and teaching in a college. Her parents have been trying to find her a groom for the last couple of years. Unfortunately it appears all the good men folk have been taken during their academic years and the ones that keep coming up are total jerks. Like the one who declared that he had a large family and required a certain amount of dowry. Or the one who refused to let her work once she got married. Or the one who had a history of mental illness. Whats irks me to no end is this endless search for a groom is leaving such a debilitating effect on the poor girl. She is pretty, she is smart, and she is a genuinely nice individual. She would make a wonderful wife for anyone. Yet, she is paraded in her finest to anyone who wishes to "see" her, made to sing so that some weirdo can judge whether she can sing him a lullaby when he goes to bed, bring in a tray of refreshments so her potential in laws can visualize her in the kitchen, show off her artwork and needlework and handcrafted items so people can say whether she is good with her hands. I guess the only thing that she is unable to show her future husband and in laws is whether she is good in bed. Which judging from the men that are stopping by I would imagine was the only thing that they care about. And everytime a family stops by and passes judgement it leaves the girl with her self-esteem a notch lower and feeling less wanted than ever before. And it makes me want to throw up. I ask her parents as to how they can do this to their own daughter and why they let her be humiliated publicly. And they say to me that their hands are tied and society dictates that their daughter should be married off by a certain age and as legal guardians this is the best they can do.

So what is it about a "certain age" that society feels should be binding when it comes to getting married? I remember getting my first marriage proposal when I was fifteen. Some "friend" of my Dad suddenly decided that I would be the perfect wife for his seventeen year old son and wanted to make sure that he "booked" me in advance by having us engaged. Needless to say my parents were shocked at the idea and turned him down on the grounds that it was way too early to be thinking about my marriage and they would let me decide when the time was right. The strange thing was both me and the other guy were still in school and people were already thinking about marriage! All through college I have been faced with situations where people have tried to set up alliances. Any social gathering is fair game. Especially weddings and Pujas. They are the holy ground for people to single out prospective brides and grooms and figure out who they are, what family and caste they belong to and try and set up some sort of connection to get the ball rolling. Two months before I got married I was at a friend's wedding when a rather enthusiastic lady came up to my Mom and introduced herself as Mrs so-and-so. She went on to say that she had found me very attractive and having found out that I had just completed medical school she thought I would be an ideal bride for her nephew who was a doctor. Before we could say a single word she added her nephew had finished his FRCS and was returning to India to set up his own practice and needed a wife who would understand the call of his profession and therefore it would be good if she was a doctor too. However the family was not too keen on a careeristic woman because she would not take care of the family and would I be okay with not pursuing any post-graduation but staying at home. I almost thought that I was having a nightmare. First of all here's this woman who we had not ever seen or heard of until like two minutes back. Then she was standing there trying to set up an alliance with someone I had no clue about. And most importantly she had the audacity to propose the most ridiculous offer I could imagine. Could this woman be for real? Before I could say anything my Mom told her that I was getting married in less than two months and wheeled me away from the woman. I was almost on the verge of asking her how she proposed to find such woman for her nephew. Till this date I wonder whether that family found a suitable bride for the guy, someone who would be so enthralled by the offer of being his wife that she would be more than willing to stay at home and give up her career.

This is turning out to be one of the longest posts I've done and I think I shouldn't torture anyone who has had the patience to read so far, anymore. My whole point was not trying to say that arranged marriages are bad and don't work. That is generalizing. There are probably more examples of people in arranged marriages who have held on than people who had love marriages and broke up. But that would probably be due to other reasons. Expectations for one. People who fell in love and got married have a certain amount of expectation from their partner as opposed to an arranged marriage where you go in blindfolded not knowing what to expect. And when a partner falls short of expectations that's when things start looking a little rough. Another reason why arranged marriages in the past fared so well was because women were dependant on their husbands and the family. With more women working and financial independence comes self-esteem and the knowledge that one can get out and still survive. In today's world I guess that point would be evened out.

I am not passing judgement on anyone here but personally I would never go the "arranged" route. I feel the whole procedure of the "arrangement" is demeaning to the girl and her family. People should be encouraged to take decisions about their own lives and allowed to live with their decisions. And if it happens to be a mistake, then what the heck.......you only have your ownself to blame.

Update: Found this really nicely written post on the matter and couldn't help but link it here.

When God Closes a Door, Somewhere He Opens a Window

I guess He does. Except sometimes it is hard to see beyond the closed door. And we go banging our heads on it. And end up getting hurt with a bump on the head. And still being stuck behind the closed door.

But if we just look around we may see the light coming through the window. And while it may not be the way we wanted to go, it still might be more refreshing than being stuck in a dark room.

Since I've been staring at the closed door for way too long decided to have a peek through my window and here's what I see:

Meeting my parents after all these years and sapping up all the attention and love.

Graduating....officially.

Getting my paper published before all the other competition got theirs out.

Discovering my thesis is being sold on amazon.com which has dubiously given me the distinction of being an author.

Being able to take time off every weekend to go on holidays, from the mountains to the beach.

Being able to spend a lot of time with my nephew and niece who are absolutely adorable and becoming their favorite aunt.

Being able to see beyond the closed door....and seeing the window that is bringing light into my life.

The fears

I have a cousin who never used the Calcutta Metro because he had this innate fear of being stuck underground and dying in the train. And then there is Professor T who will drive hundreds of miles to get to a conference rather than taking a flight for fear of the plane crashing. And my mom will never get on a boat because she is convinced that boats are meant to drown and she doesn't know how to swim. People have all kinds of fear. The all pervasive, predominant fear is of dying. No one really wants to die (except may be some lost victims of unrequitted love). And yet, no matter how we try to play it safe by avoiding cars and planes and ships and trains, we never know how things may turn out to be when the time comes. And the truth is one may try his/ her hardest by staying at home thinking it is safe and still be hit by a hurricane or tornado and die. Or just have a heart attack. And die.

Yesterday there was a multi-car pile up on the interstate when I was driving back home which resulted in delays that took upto two hours to get through. And as I sat there in my car wondering about the people who were involved in the crash I had the strangest feeling. What were these people thinking of right before the accident? Were they thinking about some unfinished work in the office? Were they thinking about their family and how much longer it would take to get home? Were they thinking of dinner? Of taking the kids out to the ballgame? Did someone try to cut across another car thinking it would make him go a little faster and end up being the cause of the accident? I have no clue. I don't even know how many people were involved and whether they were alive and okay. But I know of people, friends, who have had accidents on the road. And died. It happens. It happens all the time. And I had the sudden urge to rush back home. To be safe in the arms of my family. To be able to tell them that I love them and how much they mean to me. And that I try to drive safe. But sometimes things happen that you have no control over. People make mistakes. And they suffer. And they make others suffer.

And I couldn't help but think of what it was like for people who are involved in an accident. And what it is like for the family who hear the news. I remember when B was rear-ended on a state highway and his car went and hit the car in front resulting in a three car accident with his car being smashed up on both ends. I saw a picture of the car after the accident and it is unbelievable that someone could walk away unscathed from that. And yet, B did walk out. Unscathed. And I have never been able to thank God enough for that. But I remember the exact moment when I heard the news. And I knew they were taking him to the ER. And although B kept reassuring me that he was okay I was scared out of my wits, sick with worry that he wasn't telling me the whole story. And the only thing that seemed important at that moment was that I needed to reach him and be at his side. Which wasn't easy because he was in Virginia and I was in Chicago. But I did get a flight with relative ease that let me reach his side.

And I know how much B and my parents worry about me driving to work everyday. The rush hour traffic, the thousands of people trying to get to work and home as fast as they can, the cars cutting across lanes squeezing in what little space there is, and the constant stress of staying awake and alert. And I know taking the train is a safer and less stressful option. But I save almost two hours everyday by driving instead of taking the train and I'd rather spend those two hours at home with my family.

So I drive. And I try to drive safe. And I pray that nothing ever happens to me on the road. I pray for myself and I pray for my family. Because I don't want to die. I don't even want to be injured. Like that girl from College Park who had an accident last Thanksgiving and is still in rehab. Or R's brother who is undergoing physiotherapy to get back on his feet, four years after his accident. No, I don't want that to happen to me. Or my family. But one can only hope and pray. And I want my family to know how much they mean to me. And that I love them. Even if I don't get to show it to them as often as I would like. And that I've always wanted them to be proud of me. And not be a burden or a source of unhappiness to them. Ever. And even though there are times when I hurt them without realizing it, I would do anything to keep them safe and happy.

And I am grateful to them for making my life so complete.

Realizations and Celebrations

I've always questioned the need for a special day to celebrate someone. Why do we need to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries? Why do we have days like Valentine's day and Mother's day and Father's day and the likes? I never thought that I should need a special day earmarked to celebrate any of the persons who make a difference in my life. Why should I be restricted to any one day in the year to say things like "I love you" or "You mean the world to me"? And I refrained from celebrating the so called celebration days simply to prove a point. Therefore I never wined and dined on Valentine's day, never sent a card to Mom on Mother's day or bought a gift for Dad on Father's day. (And the rest of the "days" haven't even registered in my subconscious yet. )

But this year I am having guilty pangs about being totally self-centered. I just look at things from my point of view. I don't do these things because I am only trying to prove a point. But what about the people on the receiving end? May be they have a different point of view and different expectations. May be my Mom keeps checking the mailbox for a card from her daughter who lives across the miles. May be she stays home so that she will not miss the delivery guy when he brings in some flowers. May be she sits by the phone hoping that I will call. May be my Dad checks his email every hour for an email wishing him on the special day. May be they feel sad when they they see others getting cards and gifts and wishes from their children while they sit and wait for something that never comes. May be.

And that makes me such a jerk. For not looking at things from their perspective. For only thinking about myself and how I see things. True, I do not need a special day to celebrate my parents or my husband and my love for them. But I don't go about being very effusive about the way I feel on any of the other days either. So having a day set aside when you can show them with very little effort that you care about them, love them and are grateful for their presence in your life, might not be such a bad thing. Because I for one find it very difficult to say the things that I feel inside of me. I find it easier to write. Yet I can never show them what I write. No one in my family has ever read one line from my blog. And I am glad. Because I'd be too embarassed to write the things I want to say to them if I know that they are going to read it.

My family loves me too much to ever tell me that they are disappointed by my indifferent attitude on a day that they expect to be special. And may be all they ever want is me to acknowledge their presence in my life and wish them. That is not asking for too much. And I ask myself why after all these years did this realization suddenly dawn on me? Why have I never thought about it before? I know how much the little gestures mean to my family. And it takes so little to bring a smile, spread some joy and make someone feel special.

So this year I aim to make the most of the situation. My parents will be with me on both Mother's day as well as Father's day. I will celebrate the days and what they are all about by making my parents feel loved and special on the days that have been earmarked for them. I will never let another special day go by with having my loved ones feeling disappointed and sad. And as for B, it is our anniversary this weekend. I promise to make it up to him too.

To Sir with love

PGO, this one's for you!

Had thought of doing a post on some of my favorite teachers a while back. The ones that left the deepest mark on my life, the ones that shaped my future, walked me through troubled childhood and adolescence and made me who I am today. But that never got written. So this post is essentially an off-shoot of that imaginary post (which I still intend to write at some point). This is my tribute to PGO, the person who has been my guide and advisor, encouraging me to find my way in unchartered waters. And most importantly teaching me how to love and embrace a subject that I had been totally unfamiliar with until I met him.

I met PGO in the Spring of 2001. He was warm, charming, enthusiastic about my abilities and wanting to work with him, and willing to take a chance on me inspite of my doing miserably in course work the previous semester. Not only did he walk me through my project and how he envisioned things in the future, he approached each step with an explanation of what I was aiming to do, how to go about it and what I expect to get out of it. It was the best thing that could have happened to me. I was treading on absolute unfamiliar territory here. Never been taught the subject in school or college, everything was a constant source of the unknown, more questions and non-stop bewilderment. Yet, PGO was patient, never laughed at my lack of knowledge, always encouraging me to explore and learn and teaching me to face failure and be able to find the path to success.

Graduate school is never easy. And I have seen my share of frustrations and failed experiments. I've quit on my project and my career a million times in my head over the course of the next few years. But I've never seen PGO give up. On me or my project. He taught me to think for myself, to analyze problems and learn to get around obstacles. I don't think I would have made it without his support, encouragement and advise. And every step of the way he never failed to tell me how good I was doing, and how hard I worked and to hang in there and everything would work out. And even though I may have been skeptical, somewhere inside a little piece of me wanted to believe in him. And myself.

And to my surprise I survived. And when I was ready to defend my dissertation PGO introduced me in words that I'll never forget. He called my research "ground-breaking work" and the "best science to come out his lab". And he had tears in his eyes when he hugged me and wished me luck. That was last year.

This weekend PGO officially hooded me at the Graduation ceremony. I don't think there is anything more rewarding than being able to don the graduation robe and walk with the person who has shown you the path.

Thank you PGO for all your support and help! This one's for you..........

Breaking news

I received an email yesterday from a family friend asking me to take a look at a sonography report of his sister and give my opinion on it. I agreed to do so not knowing how difficult it might become for me. This person's sister is in Calcutta. The sonography report was generated out of a lab in Calcutta. As I briefly read the report I suddenly realized that I was looking at a report of someone with possible kidney failure. I did not have any lab reports to validate my suspicion but the report seemed pretty unambiguous.

To my friend the report made no sense. All he had deciphered was the kidneys were smaller in size bilaterally and that some tests were being suggested to confirm parenchymal damage. Yet with my limited knowledge it seemed quite apparent to me that the patient had some major renal damage. Which brought me to the question about how I wanted to tell our friend that there was something really bad going on here. Like I said before and also being mentioned here, I know the right thing would be tell the family exactly what was going on, so that they could get the much needed treatment. Yet, I find myself in confusion, hesitating about how I should break such unpleasant news. And I realize how hard it is for doctors to be the bearer of bad tidings. No matter how hardened you are and how the years have seasoned you through watching endless sick and dying patients, it never changes. You always have a hard time breaking bad news to the family. You feel obligated not to crush the hope that the family has put in you. People think doctors are miracle workers. That they can always provide cure. But there is so much one can do.

I wish I could tell my friend that all was well. But I could not. I had to tell him the truth. Sometimes I hate having to do this.

Sugar and Spice and all things nice

They say everything in this world is cyclical. What goes up must come down. And vice versa. Gloom, misery and depression cannot last forever either. And I'd be lying if I said that I was not happy. I apologize to everyone who's been here on my blog enquiring after me and how things were with me. I know I haven't been very communicative lately. And I never got around to answering any of the questions that were posed. Do forgive my silence and moodiness. Hopefully someday I may be able to come face to face with my emotions and be able to talk about it. Hopefully. Someday.

For those of you who expressed delight at my being "back": I was never away. Just spaced out. And trying to find some answers. And I appreciate all the good wishes since my last post, including this mention (thanks r.i.m.).

As far as whether my temporary hiatus had any effect: well, no. I did not achieve what I had hoped for. I never realized the dream that I was trying to reach out for. Am I disappointed? Of course I am. Am I giving up on my dream? Hell, no. I'm stubborn and I have faith. And I am going to keep on trying. And like I said before, I'll at the least end up landing in the stars. And I will know. I tried my hardest. And I'll learn to accept that. May be.

They say human beings have an uncanny ability of dealing with most every situation. All they need is to know what is happening. It is the uncertainty of a situation which is the hardest to deal with.

Right now, I am happy. Can't help it. My parents are here. I'm meeting my Dad after 4 years. Can you believe that? 4 really long years. And my Mom says you can actually see the effect this is having on him. Overnight he seems to have lost some ten years, discovered some secret source of youth and energy. He's happy. And content. Overjoyed at seeing me. And glad to be able to spend this time with us.

So now I can look forward to warm home cooked meals waiting on the table when I get home from work. Am I glad my Mom is here! I demand and expect. Without hesitation. Just pretending to be a child again. Knowing that this safe haven is not going to last when they go back home. When I will have to grow up and be responsible again. For decisions, for meals, for keeping house, for myself, for my family.

But until then.....I can take refuge and be ten years old.