Too old for this!

Too Old To Change My Stripes #AmWriting 

Sorry for the late entry… I came across this blog prompt this afternoon and decided to ignore it. But then it sat in my head and refused to let go. Of course, I’m flawed. Yes. And I am not ashamed to admit it. Let’s face it, no one is perfect. We all have those unique character traits that make us so easy to despise, whether as a mother, a daughter, a lover, a wife or colleague or whatever.

But unlike the blog prompt, I am not one of those who thinks my flaws make me awesome: they just make me that much more crabby and difficult to live with. My spouse and girls will surely vouch for this as they have been the longest sufferers!

Before you turn away, let me tell you why. And since I love making lists (you can call that a flaw too) here’s a list of things you can hate me for.

1.     I lie. Oh yes, I do. There are times when I do not have the answer but do not want to say, “I don’t know”. So I wing it. Picture this: I was a new bride and the husband and I were shopping for light fittings and boring stuff like that at an old crowded part of the city where my father’s office used to be many years ago. Obviously, there were no parking spaces and loads of traffic so we told the driver to go around the corner and come back. My husband, thinking I was familiar with the area, looked at me and asked, “how long will it take him to return?” Promptly I replied: “8 minutes”. Half an hour later, when there was still no sign of the car, he looked at me questioningly. I shrugged, “I lied!” 23 years later, my husband still complains about it! And that is just one tiny example. Like any good liar, I’m good at making up stories too, like the time I convinced my tiny girls that the Taj Palace was really a palace and they were going to dine with the king himself and got the best behavior out of them. Or the time I told them if they ate sunflower seeds they would have sunflowers growing in their tummies and got them to run up to me, open their mouths wide and ask if I could see the flowers. Yup, how cute it was and how I saw flowers … every time! Or the zillion times I told them that if they did not study I would buy them sickles so they could go cut grass … or the “what comes out goes back in” rule while eating! Every mother is guilty of these little tales, I guess. We make up these stories that make monsters and evil witches out of us… for a long time my daughters seriously believed I had eyes at the back of my head! Raising children is no walk in the park and if a little bending of the truth will help, so be it!

2.     I look like something the cat dragged in: Among a sea of well-dressed, well-groomed mothers, I was invariably the one that turned up in a crushed kurta or jeans and a well-worn tee. It’s not that I didn’t have clothes, it’s just that I’ve never really cared about what I looked like as long as I have been comfortable. I remember that one time in the afternoon when I went to a child’s fifth birthday party (when the kids are small you have to do that a lot) in my usual grunge top which I had also visited the bazaar in and looked around and found myself worse dressed than the maids around me! That day I went home and told my husband for the first time that I thought I needed some new clothes! How he laughed when I described my predicament! At parent-teacher meetings my daughters used to be embarrassed that I invariably turned up in court clothes while the other mothers were immaculately dressed. I was always grateful that I had an uniform at my place of work, if I had to wake each morning and co-ordinate my slippers with my sari with my bindi with my lipstick, I would go completely mad!

3.     I’m mad: Trust me on this. Once day my teenage daughter looked at me thoughtfully after one of our fights and told me I was going mad. I looked her in the eye, “you must get one thing straight,” I said, “I am not GOING anywhere. I AM mad!” That child has been a little wary of me from that day onwards! I not only talk to myself, I actually have arguments with myself and hate it when I’m disturbed by tiny voices that ask, “Ma, are you ok?” I am the one who will happily go swimming in the middle of the night or sit on top of a hill all night to watch the full moon track its way across the sky. I’m the one who wakes my daughters at the crack of dawn to watch a sunrise because it’s gorgeous. I’m the one who, in a Darjeeling winter, opens the window of our warm, cosy bedroom room to take pictures of the Kanchenjungha as the sun rises! It used to drive my husband nuts, now he just turns the other way and pulls the blanket closer!

4.     I’m a bully: As a child I was quite the tomboy. I could wrestle my older cousins to the floor and climbed a tree a mite faster than the other kids. I would dig for earthworms and use them as bait to fish, I would scale walls, venture into graveyards after dark on a challenge, play for hours with mud and clay, sneak around the garden long after the adults thought we were in bed fast asleep and generally lead all my cousins and friends who listened to me into trouble. And I was quite the bully, there was hell to pay if anyone dared disobey me! That bullying has left me in good stead because if there is one thing I have learnt it’s that after marriage one has to be a bit of a bully to get things done. Specially with kids. They require so much poking and prodding and general reminders to move along that often I am left feeling like a shepherd having to move all my little sheep along. And yes, that includes the biggest baby of them all, the spouse! Of yes, you have to be able to wield that stick!

5.     I tell it like it is: I don’t hedge, I don’t hum, I don’t haw. If you asked for my opinion you will get it, whether you like it or not. Sometimes you will get it even if you did not ask for it. It gets me into trouble, it gets people angry with me, I’m the queen of faux pas, the one with her foot constantly in her mouth. To me, there is no topic that is taboo. As my girls have grown, I have told my girls everything they have wanted to know, including how many boyfriends I might have had before I met their dad! They get an honest opinion, whether they like it or not. This openness has held us in good stead with each other. While they were growing up my famous hits included “because I said so”, “I told you so”, “I was born mean”, the especially traumatic, “I have failed as a mother” and the perrenial "you won't like it if I have to get up" (which I still use with the dogs) so go figure. Having said that, there are times when I do not speak and that I believe is my biggest flaw: the times when I am silent. For that happens when people use me as a doormat. Yes, I guess it happens to the best of us. The husband tells me I have to stand up for myself at times like these. But the moment passes and I am still struggling for the words. If I do say something the words come out all wrong. I have always been this way and I tell myself that those people do not matter, but I guess for all my bravado, I’m just a ninny at heart.

These are the flaws that come to mind just now. There must be more… and no my flaws do not make me awesome but they make me exactly who I am. If that is what flawsome means, I guess I am flawsome too!

 

What do you think? 

Evil witch, this one is trouble!!!

Evil witch, anyone? 

I called my sister-in-law an evil witch the other day. (Point to be noted: my sister-in-law is a mother to a 8 year old child. A boy who is naughty, funny and an absolute devil at times. Just like children that age are meant to be.)

Understandably, she was upset.

Tragically, I do not see why. 

You see, I have been that evil witch the last 18 years and I was only passing the mantle down. My older sister-in-law was the evil witch before me and she was good with that.

Like I say, motherhood is no popularity contest. If your kids think you're ace, you've certainly got something wrong. Someone wise once said that your children start out loving you. Then they judge you, sometimes, they forgive you. I have been pretty merciless with my girls, I'm hoping they will forgive me. And even if they don't, if they pass on what I have taught them, it will be enough. The younger one turned 18 yesterday...so I consider my job half done. I hope they will not be reading this but I am proud to say that they are pretty street smart and grounded. I have raised them to be able to stand up for themselves and be independent. One is now in college, battling out a hostel life and the other has gone to get a learners license ... I'm happy. But the road has not been easy. And, oh yes, I have been an evil witch for as long as I can remember. I was evil when I did not allow the nights out. I became positively mean when I refused to give money for that party in the pub that allows underage kids, I was surely evil when I said they have to fend for themselves whether on camp or in college and I grew horns when I told them they have to sink or swim. 

I wear my horns with pride.

Raising kids is not easy. I've said it a thousand times and I will say it a thousand times more ... there's so much you have to share: responsibility, love, kindness, independence, even a fierce sort of freedom ... and you have to be mean to get there. Mothers are not the most popular of people, why even try? 

I remember when my daughters came home and told me so and so's mother was so nice, she let her daughter stay up to watch TV. I told them to ask if she would adopt them. Another time it was the phone, someone else had a iPhone, while hers was only a MotoG. I asked her to get used to the idea that she was poor. Another child was allowed to use public transport at night, I insisted on dropping her home myself. My daughters thought I was outdated but I was only playing safe. We have had endless fights and arguments, even now we scrap about the bed not being made, the room being dirty, night outs and stuff. I insist on knowing who they are out with and where and tell them clearly when I do not like their friends, they have to deal with it.

It makes me a bully. It makes me evil. Some times, I'm a witch. 

I love it. 

Mothering fail? 

When the younger daughter was in Class VIII, she wanted to drop out of school. She was quite serious about it when she said it too. So, I looked at her earnest face, sat her down and told her that the next seven years of her life were mine. Four years of school and three years (at least) for a graduate degree. Thankfully, she agreed. She did not look too happy about it, but she agreed.

This year, the seven years are up. And my girl has not forgotten. She graduates in a month or so and when asked what she plans next, she shrugs, says she is taking at least a year off from studies pointedly reminds me that she has given me my seven years. And I’m not complaining. And what seven years it has been! This daughter is a master at last minute arrangements, which I totally get. Everything happens just as you are ready to give up on her, whether it is her college admissions or internship or even her social life. Do I fret? Of course I do but deep down inside I know she will figure it out. 

As for the older daughter, she too graduates in a month or so. Its ironical, they are (as many of you know) just a year apart. So, when she was small and she wouldn’t study at school, I used to frighten her saying she could flunk and then study in her younger sister’s class. Well, she did a four-year degree and her sister a three-year one. So now they are at par!!! When asked what she wants to do next, she is wavering between trying for JNU and some other stuff. But she is also adamant that she wants to sit for the civil service exams. From home. 

As far as I am concerned, that is the part that scares me. From home. That means for the next few odd years she will be slumming it at home and I will be fretting about whether she is working hard enough or even trying to. I know I will look in on her and prod her to get up and tear my hair out at the state of her room. So last night the spouse and I had a long hard chat with her. Of course, we will let her follow her dream and of course she will be at home while she does it. We will just have to wait and see whether she has the grit or determination to see this through. 

The girls were both home over the weekend. The younger one left early yesterday, with barely a whispered “happy Mother’s Day.” The older one had to be prodded to arrange a “surprise” dinner for me! We don’t really believe in Mother’s Day and stuff save to the extent that it’s a good excuse to order in some nice food. What use is Mother’s Day, anyway? What are we celebrating? Motherhood is a unique and strange journey that speaks to each individual and their circumstances. Call me strange, but I never had a role model to follow when mothering my children. We just bumbled along till we got it right. The baby part was easy: potty training and breast feeding are simple in comparison to what’s in store. Toddlers were a handful but we toddled through it, one baby step at a time. The dreaded pre-teens and teens were spent with the three of us being hormonal and having loud fights and making up thereafter. Looking back, if you ask me the worst years are the seven to elevens. That’s when kids grow into their own, when they push every boundary and see how far they can go. Kids are wicked, calculating, devious and extremely perceptive instruments of evil. They know if you disagree with the spouse, they know which is the hand that gives and they jolly well know how to play one parent against another. They learn how to demand and get things from the people around them and that includes the uncles, aunts and grandparents. This is when the boundaries are set. This is the time to be firm and set examples. 

The other day we ‘met’ some modern parents. They blocked a gate, ignoring the cars waiting to go in and sat in the car and smiled while their toddler had a tantrum on the road about something and hugged him and coaxed him into the car. Trust me, I would have just whacked him or (worse) left him behind for a minute or two! Nowadays you cannot do that, you will “traumatize” the “little darling”! Another mother has this principle that she will not discipline her kids. They are growing into their own personalities and they should be allowed to do so. So, if she does reprimand or shout at them, she is punished by her children! I mean, how mad is that? Thank heavens all this was not there when my girls were growing up, I’d still be standing in the “naughty corner”! Of course, these modern houses have no concept of naughty corners! Of course, I think COVID and the lockdown is partly to blame. I read a report in the papers that children don’t wish to take notes anymore in school, the parents demand it be sent online. Another parent said she can’t go to work because her daughter is giving an exam and she has to sit there with her. I mean, who is being tested here? Children have become dependent on their parents in ways we cannot imagine and vice versa, so many mothers I know were actually upset that their children had to go to school when they opened up. “But don’t they need to be with other children their age?” I asked pointedly. Pat came the reply, “they have Google meet for that!” Nonsense, when will they play in the mud and get wet in the rain and run around playing catch with their friends? But most children, I was told, don’t even do that anymore. And if I used to have a complex about school-gate moms, now there’s a whole new world of WhatsApp Moms I can’t even contemplate. I give up! To each her own... As I say there is no right way of parenting, only your way.

Anyway, coming back to motherhood, my way. Thinking back, I was pretty lousy as a parent, as I said we bumbled along and somehow got it right. I think. More credit to the girls than me. I was the parent who was late to pick up her kids, I was the clueless mother in the parent-teacher meetings trying desperately to hide under the desk, I was the mom too tired to cook anything but Maggi for her kids in the evening, I was the mom who gave up on trying to remember that the girls had a test, I was the impatient mom who did not have time to sit with the girls when they were supposedly studying. There’s a lot I did wrong. 

So, thing is, if I got a second shot at it all, would I do it differently? No way. 

Now as I said, they are graduating. Everyone’s favourite question is, “what’s next? What about post-graduate courses?” Most of our friend’s kids are going places for their Master’s degrees and some of them look at me sadly when I say my girls aren’t doing any of that just yet. One even told me I was making a mistake, I should push them harder. I just smiled and said nothing. He won’t even understand if I try to explain that it is their life, not mine. 

There’s only one thing I demand of my children. And I have been steadfast over the years. Be happy (of course, it comes with a rider not to deliberately hurt others or be rude or horrible and all that) but at the end of the day, its simple: be happy. Do what makes you happy. Do what YOU want to. Not because you cannot do anything else or because it is someone else’s dream for you. One can live with failure but not the weight of other people’s dreams. So go follow that star, it shines only for you. 

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”

― Omar Khayyám.

 

 

Last year, for whatever reason, I cut my hair really short, shorter than it’s been for a very long time. Obviously, I wanted to show it off, in fact, I thought I looked… different and (of course) brilliant! Everyone complimented me about how gorgeous and different I looked, but one man came to me and told me, “don't do this, don’t leave your hair open, it doesn't look professional, it’s not you.” The only person on earth who could get away with a comment like that, without me retaliating, is Mr. Surendra Kumar Kapur, Barrister etc, etc etc…. a doyen of the legal profession in the High Court at Calcutta and elsewhere. 

 

Mr Kapoor, or ‘SK’ as  we knew or referred to him was one of the most genuine, kind, large-hearted persons I have ever met (second to my fathers, of course, and I think he’d agree), famous for his large parties, Singapore Slings, prawn cutlets and his jovial, happy nature. He did not distinguish between us who were junior (much junior to him) and those who were much senior to us,  he was equally loving, equally forgiving and equally demanding when it came to matters of law. I remember my first conference with him I was shoo-ed out after the important bits were done because thereafter he served whiskey to the other juniors who were obviously male. The next day, I dared  to ask him “Sir, how could you do this to me?” He lovingly paused and said “Okay beta, chalo next time you’re included” and I was.  

Much to my delight, SK was one of the first persons who invited me for a party at his garden at lunch. I was an unknown someone, a non-legal heir and I was struggling. To me, it meant a lot to be acknowledged by someone as senior as SK to be called for a party. I will never forget him because he was one of the most amiable and jovial men I have ever known, in the face of any adversity.  There was nothing you could not set right to him, there was nothing you could not tell him, he was the life and soul of every party (he still is, I don't know why I said “was”). I like to think we will listen in every party and miss his smiling face forever more. I remember his son’s wedding and the Champagne he just poured down our throats (Whiskey for the men, of course) and his consternation when, while he was dancing with the baraat, his son (from the top end of a horse, that too!) said “just chill”! 

That’s a man. That’s the man who can be everywhere and anywhere because we cannot forget him. There was this time when he told me he loved my writing and he told me to send him all of them and I was humbled because it was inconceivable that someone as erudite as SK could find any harmony in my work. He loved poetry, we often had long discussions about poetry and he would tell me that these days no one reads and I had to agree with him because it is true that no one reads, especially poetry which was his forte and Shakespeare, of course, at the drop of a hat, even in a court where the judge (with all humble respect), could not understand. That never deterred him, he went on to all his adventures (as I would like to call them that, because for him, life was an adventure) with no regard for the people who did not follow through and nothing but joviality and love for those who did. He was whimsically careless about those he disliked and open and heartfelt to those he was. (Thankfully, I was in the latter group!)

I will miss him, I will miss seeing him coming to our table and saying “beta,” (no one else ever called me that!) and chatting with me about things that matter or do not matter and I would listen because he was larger than life.  Because he was there when no one else was, because he was one of the most wonderful people that I have known. I feel blessed that I got to know SK, even more so because he was fond of me, and of course I have kept my hair tied ever since!

Do I dare argue?

SK left us on the Ides of March, 2024. The word “Ides” is derived from Latin, meaning “to divide,” forever dividing his world from ours. If SK saw tears for him, I am certain he would laugh and tell us "...what fools these mortals be!" 

So I will not cry and I will always remember SK, smiling, his happy laughter,  strong and resounding, for even when he was unwell, he would come to us with a smiling face and say, “no one can beat me!”. Indeed.

5 Cs 0f life.

The 5 Cs Of Life 

Isha. She was the talkative one, the friendly one, the one that spoke directly to my soul. Always, with her sweet smiles and giggles, she had a unique way of grabbing attention anywhere, whether you wanted it or not. Right from the time she would hurriedly crawl to the fridge door to get a blast of cold air and her love for “borosh” (yes, that was her first word) the world revolved around her. Yet she did not hesitate to give away her precious balloon to the little beggar girl. She has a large heart, a bit too large for my liking, but she is the gregarious one, the one that keeps the house full of talk and laughter and noise. Oh yes, noise, for those teenage years have been filled with noise, whether it was from the TV on at full blast or those songs blaring from the speakers or her voice loudly chattering on the phone, she filled my world with sound. She can drag me (kicking and screaming) into a conversation and talk to me about everything under the sun. With Isha gone, my world is that much more silent.

Amisha, the quiet one, the one that stole my soul. One look into her brooding big eyes and I knew my life would never be the same again. She took time to speak, when she did it was in one-word expressions, my favourite being “oley” when she would cling to my legs and want to be picked up. Her eyes tell me everything, even those little white lies she thinks she hides from me. Her tears too are silent, one could even think she never cries, but for the teardrops coursing down her cheek. She is my brave one, the one who knows when I need a hug and when I just want to be left alone. She is my savior, the light in my life, a light that burns fierce and strong. She is the one with the sensible head on her shoulders except when she is with her friends, who are her world and yes, there have been times when she has had me on tenterhooks when she has been on some escapade or the other. When we are together we share a quiet companionship that does not need words or explanations. With Amisha gone, my life is just that much darker.

My girls. Each as alike as chalk and cheese. Each with a distinct personality and character traits of their own, each totally unique. As with all children. They made me the woman I am today, and as their mother I had to change and adapt and learn and re-learn. Over the past nineteen years, they have kept my house and home full of their laughter, warmth and exuberance. My days have been spent planning my life around theirs, my errands have been run according to school schedules and pick-up times and I have had to wears many hats.

Now, both girls have left home.

I have just returned after dropping off the younger girl to her college near Delhi. Their room sits neatly organized for the first time in so many years and I can finally throw away their clutter and have myself some extra space! One friend called the other day, her child shall also be leaving for college and asked me, “you know, what advise do I give? How do I sum up everything I want them to know as they prepare to leave home?”

I don’t know. How can one sum up nine-teen years of parenting? Do we include basic hygiene? How can I even imagine what life will throw at them? Will the world be kind to them? But it got me thinking. And if I had to write it all down for my children (and I include the cousins and friends) I think it would boil down to the five Cs of college life. Here goes: 

1.     Challenge: Challenge yourself. You can do anything you set your heart to. You can get up early and be on time for that first lecture or that breakfast. Don’t drag your feet about it. You can fit in a walk or a swim or a game of badminton. Get some activity in your life, learn something new. Get out of your comfort zone every now and then, whether it’s by learning another language or a skill. 

2.     Cope: Learn to cope. With whatever comes your way, with whatever tools you have. Life will keep throwing you odd balls, learn to adapt and change and move on. It is not the end of the world. 

3.     Connect: Get off the phone. Look around yourself. Enjoy the scenery. Talk to people around you, taste your dinner instead of jabbering on social media. I’m serious, if you want to feel happy, you need to be alive in the moment and derive everything that each experience has to give. Snapchat posts are pretty pointless at the time. 

4.     Communicate: Talk, yes, talk. Talk to people, tell them what you feel. Do not hide behind a fear of “what will they think/say?” Everyone is entitled to their opinions, everyone can make mistakes. Unless you talk it through you will neither understand their point of view nor will you ever learn anything new. But be careful too. The times are never easy, do not ever deliberately hurt the sentiments or feelings of others. Yes, its is actually better to shut up at times. It's vital to know when. 

5.     Condone: Learn to forgive. Most of all, forgive yourself. One cannot love another person unless one is happy with one’s own self. So… learn to forgive, forgive yourself for your mistakes and slip-ups (but do not make it an excuse to repeat your mistakes!). Likewise, learn to ask for forgiveness when wrong. “Sorry” is a small word, but it can solve a lot of big problems. Never be afraid to say sorry, never hesitate to forgive. I guess I should say “forgive and forget" but I am aware that is not always possible. If you’ve been wronged, by all means, forgive and move on but don’t forget so easily that you can be trampled upon again. Learn. From your mistakes as well of those of others around you.

Most of all, remember, you are not the clothes you wear or the kajal you apply on your eyes. You are not your weight or the colour of the streaks in your hair. You are the words you speak, the promises that you keep. Your worth is measured not by the number of friends on Facebook or the number of ‘likes’ on Instagram but by how true you are to yourself. At this threshold of life, the person you are poised to become may cost you people, relationships, material things and more: choose that person above all else. Always. And remember, with all its sham and drudgery, it is a beautiful world. Be happy.

What would you say? Anything to add? 

Mesho. The forever gentleman.

“Dying is a wild night and a new road.” – Emily Dickinson

It's funny how words fail you when you need them most. So forgive me if I sound disjointed.  My Mashi, (mother’s sister) was one of the most important persons in my life. She breathed love into a teenage tormented soul and made me believe that anything was possible, anything could be. I exchanged long letters with Mashi and she always replied with affection.  When she was struck down by Alzheimer’s, my Mesho (her husband) moved to India to give her the care she deserved. And she got it. In Jamshedpur with his mother and sister. We used to visit. Some connections are not forged by blood but by relationship and empathy. This was one of those. I remember while in college I would carefully articulate letters in the Bengali script for Mesho’s mother and sister, taking care my words were right... It is not that they did not understand English, it was me who needed the Bengali. Mashi languished. I hate to say it, she never got better but the connection stayed. After I was married, I made it a point to take my husband to meet Bamma and Pishimoni and Mashi, it mattered to me. After the girls were born too, I took them to Jamshedpur to meet the mother I never had, they were scared, by then Mashi was totally taken over by the illness. I remember telling them, it was nothing to be scared of, she was one of the gentlest persons on earth. Luckily, they accepted that. 

But Mashi passed away. The mother (Bamma) and sister (Pishimoni) too. (I would have to write a whole book if I even attempted to describe those lovely ladies.) Mesho lived alone. Over the years, we developed a deep bonding. As I said, some relationships have nothing to do with blood. In fact, I think blood is futile, it’s emotions that matter, how the person has treated you in their lifetime and how you have treated them. Mesho treated me with love. And for that I shall be ever grateful. 

So, what can I say about Provat Mitra, that you have not heard before? He was a true gentleman. He stood by me like the father I lost many years ago, doing everything that needs be done, when my mother-in-law died and my mother was jazzing about in Kerala on a vacation, he is the person who stepped up and ensured I did not lose face in my in-laws’ extended family. We took vacations together. He stood by us when my father-in-law died. I shall never forget his soft smiling face as he lit another cigarette or took that last drink to the room, ‘Cocoa’, he called it. If I have to pin-point a memory, it will be impossible. How can one encapsulate years of association? Shall I talk about the holiday in Bandhavgarh or the time we walked miles in Sikkim to buy horrid whisky, or the fort we climbed in Ranthambore chased by monkeys or the lazy days spent in Kolkata? There is no end to the stories I could say, and that is the consolation I have. 

In the December of 2018, Mesho was with us in Kolkata, it was a fantastic time. We even went to an unimaginably loud open-air concert with friends and somehow survived. Mesho was gung-ho about things like that, whether it was a long drive into the boondocks or a visit to the mall, Mesho never stepped back. He left for Jamshedpur, after a rip-roaring new year’s party. Unfortunately, by the end of January, Mesho suffered a stroke that would ultimately lead to his death.  Of course, I went, as soon as I heard. His son, daughter and I rallied around. 

Mesho’s spirit was astounding. Despite having lost use of the left side of his physique, he was mentally completely alert and tried his utmost with physiotherapy to move those limbs. I often wondered at his grit and determination. Speaking for myself, I would have given up long ago. But time passed, there was some improvement but not much. The COVID situation and the subsequent lockdown ensured we could not visit him for a while in 2020. When the trains started running again, I went back in February this year. Something had changed. I could not get Mesho to eat, he had lost his appetite, I tried making him the things he loved, but even Shepherd’s Pie or caramel custard would not tempt him. He spoke to me about his younger brother who had died years ago and told me he was calling him, to green open spaces and a golf course… Mesho was an avid golfer and lived those last years hoping to return to the green. 

But. COVID got him in the end. Despite all the caution and isolation, COVID won. From the time we heard he was unwell, I was antsy, wanting to go, but helpless. When we heard of his passing, the spouse and I rushed down, hoping to provide some succor to his son who flew in from Delhi. I have never seen such an undignified send-off for anyone, particularly such a dignified man. But COVID wins. When I feel sad, I console myself that millions are going through this every day. It hurts, but as my father would say, it’s not the end of the world. 

Yet, a world has ended, as far as I am concerned. My quiet sojourns to Jamshedpur are over, I shall not be returning to that house any time soon, if ever. A whole chapter in my life is closed. 

I like to think of a world, far removed from ours where the skies are blue and the golf course stretches beyond imagination, where Mesho is right now accompanied by Mashi and Bamma and Proshanto kaka and Pishimoni and other loved ones. And my father will join him in a toast and they will sit and chatter liked they did on earth and sit back and wait for when we will join them. And the circle will be complete, for now.