Monday Musings…

Here we go again…

I’ve been babysitting Junior all by my lonesome since Friday, so Monday morning comes as sweet release 😉 Oh I love my son, but love can be exhausting n’est pas 😛 So I was joyful as he clambered onto the school bus this morning and from the looks of it, so was he 😉 We’ve actually had a fun, relaxed weekend – a bit of the Mall and lots of time playing outside with his friends 😀 

Over the weekend, my FB page has been inundated with posts celebrating Mothers on the occasion of Mother’s Day yesterday. I’ll be honest – I had no clue it was Mother’s Day until I saw the posts! I love and respect Mothers as much as the next person, but I don’t keep tabs on ‘Days’. I’ve said this before on countless occasions and I say it again today…I have a love-hate relationship with my Mom. We are completely unlike each other in thought, attitude and manner. I try my best to understand her and I know she does the same for me, but that doesn’t seem to stop us from being at loggerheads over the silliest of things! It’s hard as children, to be non-judgmental where parents are concerned, even when we know better, and are wiser and even when we become mothers ourselves…or maybe that’s just me and the rest of you have it all sorted. My Mom spent a huge chunk of my life, dedicating herself to my brother’s care…he was totally dependent on her and it was a choice both my parents made. While they were busy with him, I was already a rebellious teen, studying Medicine, spreading my wings and thinking myself ‘independent’. I was wrong of course especially about the ‘Independence’, but try telling an adolescent that! They were in Singapore while I finished my basic degree and when they returned it was for my marriage! So for almost all of my adolescence, I lived with my Gran. She was my rock.

Like most people I know, I’ve made a conscious effort for a while now to spare my parents any worries that I might have. It just didn’t seem fair given all that they were going through and because I had acquired the Hubby to pester and rile at 😉 So it’s strangely difficult for me, now that Mom suddenly wants to share every little detail in her Life after decades of relative silence. I find sharing difficult coz it’s become such a habit not to and frankly because I still don’t want to burden her with my troubles. Her life isn’t much improved from what it used to be. She of course insists that her Life is just the way she wants it and I cannot for the life of me understand how that could possibly be! I can see a hundred ways in which I can help and improve her Life, all of which she perceives as ‘condescending’ and ‘interfering’. Sound familiar? Yet every conversation we have of late sounds to me like a litany of troubles and complaints, while she maintains it’s ‘just’ a daily report of her Life and I should listen without reacting. Huh? Really? I realise I’m being silly and juvenile…but when it comes to our parents, aren’t we all? Isn’t that the one ‘no holds barred’ relationship where we’re allowed to be exactly who we are? 

Since I’ve moved to Bangalore, it’s become a norm for us to speak every morning. She’s usually the one calling, after Junior and Hubby have left, to catch up on stuff. Frankly, there isn’t much to catch up on when you speak every day but I know that most of her meaningful conversations are now telephonic and that the sound of my voice makes her happy. The sound of hers makes me happy too – it reassures me of her well-being and promises continuity if only for one more day. How important that assurance! I’ve just returned from talking to her – she chided me about not calling yesterday and immediately I felt my ‘hackles rise’. But instead of turning on my inherent smart aleck, I just apologised and had done with it! See? I try and sometimes I even succeed 😉 There are times I wonder whether things would have been different if we had been a ‘normal’ household like any other but then I look around me and I think not! There’s a lot of scary ‘normal’ out there and all said and done, I guess my Life is exactly how I want it! I guess I’m more like my Mom than I care to admit 😛

So here’s a shout-out to Mom’s everywhere – Congratulations on doing the Best you can and Celebrate Yourself every day 😀

Because – YOU’RE TOTALLY WORTH IT 😀 ❤

Happy Monday People!

P.S. I’ve decided to share images from The Happy Page instead of Monkton (at least until he makes more!). I’m just sharing them and  take no credit except for my good taste in choosing them 😉

Monday Musings…

You knew this was coming didn’t you?

How could you not…after Sunday Stories, Monday Musings was never far away 😉

Oh well, I never said I was particularly original 😛

If you’ve read this you know yesterday was special to me.

Today is special too. The birthday of another awesome guy, whom I loved and who loved me dearly.

My Grandfather. One of the gentlest, wisest, most selfless men I have ever known. An authentic ‘Gentleman‘. My Aboda (my name for him is the result of a childish mis-pronunciation of the word for grandfather in Marathi, ‘ajoba’), was a true patriarch and an exemplary role model. His soft-spoken ways, his penchant for neatness and order (which my Mom has inherited), his unending store of anecdotes and stories and his wisdom in sticky situations are the stuff of legend in our family and in his tightly knit circle of friends. He played the flute (when I think of it now, his instrument of choice seems so in keeping with the man he was – mellow, soft and yet affirmative), loved animals, books and music (interests that we have all inherited), had a gentle sense of humor and sharp wit. To me he embodied the inherent potential in his name ‘Atmanand’ (bringer of joy to the soul), and then some. A principled man. Honest to a fault, and always sensitive to the needs of family and friends.

A 10-yr-old me, dressed in my first sari, with Aboda & Ma.

My own memories of him are all happy! I was very much the pampered first grandchild in a family that loved daughters 🙂 He had a special name for me and the way that made me feel is something I sorely miss, especially when times are rough. He took a keen interest in my education and was terribly proud when I expressed my intentions of studying medicine. He had wanted to be one himself, but circumstances (as so often happened in his generation), didn’t allow it. He bought me all my medical textbooks and when we began Pharmacology (his subject of special interest), he would gift me a copy of that venerable bible of Pharmacology, Goodman & Gilman, every time the latest edition released in print! Not that I ever read it as much as I should have!

When I fell in love with Hubby, my parents were rather difficult. In the manner of most conservative Indian families of the day, they were not fond of love-marriages! It affronted their sense of decency! They were uncertain of his specialization in Preventive & Social Medicine (I know! Splitting hairs! They didn’t really have anything else to object to you see. We belonged to the same caste and he was a doctor from a ‘good’ family, which loosely meant our families were of equal standing in the community). What did it mean they wondered and was it good enough to put food on the table? Aboda spoke to my Mom and set her mind at ease as no one else could have. He was a father figure to my Mom, whose own father (his older brother), had exited her life when she was just a child. His word was as law to her, not that he would have ever coerced her in any way.

He wasn’t one for travel and yet he showed his wife most of India. When Dad moved to Singapore for work, Mom worked hard to convince him to visit. Although reluctant at first, he did and when then truly enjoyed himself. The simple things were what brought him most pleasure…the mellow sweetness of a papaya, early mornings spent in the garden listening to birdsong, the fragrance of jasmine flowers, restful evenings spent in the company of my brother. He was never one to do the touristy things. He loved being with and surrounded by nature. All through his life he lived by his principles, never compromising his integrity and along with his younger brother, ran a successful business that manufactured chemicals used in the making of perfumes. His clients always spoke highly of him and admired his sense of fair-play.

The Best Grandpa!

That is the man that I miss today; miss and remember. A tiny snapshot as it were of what he meant to me and to our family. In typical fashion, as Life went on, I became busy with my own and didn’t see him as much as I should have, as much as I wanted to. Tragedy struck unexpectedly. The first we knew of it was when his left femur snapped like a twig. I knew then in my heart that this was the beginning of the end and I could see in his eyes, that he knew it too. We didn’t ever say the C-word out loud. There seemed no point – we knew it had spread and he was very clear about not wanting any treatment. He made it through the surgery to fix the femur and seemed to be doing Ok. My aunts nursed him and I visited him as often as I could. He was in typical ‘Aboda’ fashion, deeply apologetic ‘for all this fuss’, as he called it. Only he would still worry about us, when his own body was crumbling away ad in pain. Two months later, he was gone. I remember watching him, in a coma, on life-support in the hospital. The doctor had said, we needed to tell them if we wanted them to revive him, ‘aggressive resuscitation’ they called it, to keep him in the world of the ‘living’, if not truly alive. I knew what I wanted. I wanted him to leave with dignity. The way he had lived his life. We told them our decision. When he passed away, it was akin to the end of an era for our family and for me it was not only a Grandfather lost but also a very dear friend. I remember sobbing like a baby on Hubby’s shoulder as they took him away, bereft, suddenly rudderless, suddenly alone, knowing that the world had irrevocably changed and nothing would ever be the same again.

As time is wont to do, it has enabled me to look back now and celebrate his Life and times on earth and amongst us, with joy. We have a word in Marathi, ‘yug-purush’, which I loosely translate to mean ‘a one of a kind man in a generation’ (Don’t quote me though. My half-knowledge of Marathi is legendary in the family!).  For me & mine, Aboda was such a man. He remained to the end, a simple man. A man of few needs. One of my enduring memories, is of him, sitting in his favorite, sagging armchair, eyes closed, soft classical music playing on the stereo, running the fingers of one hand through his dog’s fur (the dog was always found curled up under his master’s chair :)), while those of the other tapped the rhythm of the music on the arm-rest. A man completely at peace with himself and Life. A man who brought much happiness to all whose lives he touched. A dutiful son, a devoted husband, a loving father and uncle, a loyal brother, a friend par excellence and the best possible Grandpa a girl could wish for!

Happy Birthday Aboda 🙂

You Rock!