'K' is for Knitting

I really admire people who knit. It's one of those skills I did not acquire. In any case I am all thumbs with all kinds of needlework. 

In school we had Needlework and one of the things we had to do (at the age of 13, that too!) was to knit a set of booties, bonnet and baby sweater. 

Are you kidding me? Firstly I could barely hold two knitting needles together, then the intricacy of those start up stitches had me in knots. All I could do if I tried really hard was a long strip of maybe ten stitches with some holes for dropped stitches (which I pretended was 'design'). If anyone asked me, I was making a hairband. In fact, I was perpetually making a hairband. My grandmother had pity on me. At some point of time she saw me struggle and felt sorry for me. So she made me a baby sweater and booties and a bonnet. I remember it clearly, it was baby blue and very pretty. 

When I saw it, I was delighted. I thought I could pull it off. So I wrapped it in cellophane and submitted 'my' work. 

The teacher was delighted. 'Ah, so beautiful," she exclaimed, "did you make it?" 

"Me?" I said,  "Make this? No way, my grandmother made it."

The teacher sighed deeply. 

I was given passing marks for honesty. 

But I never learned to knit. 

'J' is for Julie and Jackie......

Ah Jackie. And Julie. I remember them today after such a long time. It's peculiar that the mind will forget so much and yet hold memories to draw upon at the most unexpected corners of our journeys.
How can J belong to anyone else?
J is for Jackie. The mongrel dog I had in our garden house when I was growing up. We found her when she was a tiny pup and she stayed. Her name was Jacqueline, if you please, but everyone just called her Jackie. She was the one who drank my milk each morning till I got caught, she was the one who ran after our car and jumped at me when the car drove in and she is the one who whined woefully when we left. Jackie was my companion in all my hair-brained schemes, I used to drag her to the branches of the tree where I was sitting, I insisted on her swimming with me and even made her test ride the raft I never managed to get to stay afloat! Jackie hated the water, some dogs do, and it was a real test of her devotion when I pulled her along with me into the pond. She tried to run away, but, eventually, she joined me. Ah those were golden days, the pond, the open skies, the trees and Jackie. Jackie died during my school finals. I was told later, after the exams were over and I never got to say goodbye to her. So in my mind Jackie still walks the gardens of my childhood, roams the field with me and tries to hide in the grass when I want to swim.....  The house is gone, those days are gone, but somewhere in my heart, Jackie lives on waiting to lick my face....

J is also for Julie. Julie, my husband's Dalmatian  who was wary of me when we first met. I could see did didn't care for me much but she endured my presence specially after we were married. Slowly I made friends with her and she would occasionally deign to lick my hands and come forward for some petting. Julie was a brilliant strategist. Anyone, I mean anyone could enter the house. She would just lie there in the shade, eyes half-closed and quietly watch you while you entered through the gate and went into the house. Not a sound. Just don't try to leave without a family member present. Specially with something in your hand that was not there when you entered, be it a book or the garbage! I loved it! Julie shifted to Delhi with my in-laws. when my daughter was an infant and I put her to sleep in the sun in winter, Julie would sit there, on guard. I knew my daughter was safe. Julie was diagnosed with Cancer and refused to move from the Delhi residence even when my father-in-law had to move. She would run back from wherever she was! Luckily the new occupant was know to my Father-in-law and he allowed Julie to live there...and that's where Julie stayed, till the day she died, soon thereafter. I've not been to that property since, but if ever in my life I have occasion to, I know I shall see Julie peering from around the house.

J is also for Jed and Jazz, two of the most beautiful Border Collies I know. Zorba, a huge black Labrador who could wrestle you to the floor and cover you with cuddles. Puka, the Golden Lab who silently endured all my 8 year-old daughter's torturing. Frisky, the Alsatian who was more human than most humans I know. And  all the other canine friends I have or had and who will live forever, somewhere, a part of my life and my childhood. I have not forgotten. 

'I' for Inspiration

It's a very busy day today. I have work piled up from here to forever and then I have to take the girls to some classes and pack for the long weekend as we are going to Jamshedpur tomorrow and will not return till Monday night. So today is not a good day to write a post. Then I remembered this poem. Like a true blooded Bengali, when all else fails, I have Rabindranath Tagore to quote from:

"Those who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me than they are.

Those who speak to me do not know that my heart is full with your unspoken words

Those who crowd in my path do not know that I am walking alone with you

Those who love me do not know that their love brings you to my heart."

'H' is for Horror.

Rohit was neither very intelligent nor kind but he was exceptionally good looking. In our society where boys are a premium, my mother took one look at him and declared he would be her son-in-law. My opinion was neither sought nor expected and I found myself saddled with a husband at the age of 17. By 19, my daughter, Neha was born. Of course I was blamed for conceiving a girl and thereafter I conceived seven times and underwent seven abortions till my body gave up and I had to undergo an hysterectomy. Rohit still insisted on having a son and used a surrogate woman. I cannot say I was unhappy when the child was stillborn.
I often thought of leaving home and running away but where could I go with a young daughter? Rohit always assured me he would never leave me, that he would ensure I could not escape him. Three years ago Rohit was in a car accident and went into a coma. Neha is now in college, I have ensured that she will get an education and have created a fund to meet all her expenses for the next eight years of her life. I will not let her be married off as a trophy wife. I can only hope she understands.
Two days ago I brought my husband home from the hospital. Last night he died. Although the doctor expressed surprise at the sudden deterioration no one really checked for bruises near at the throat. Or commented that the eyes had flown open.
It is now 10 pm and I have returned home after the cremation, the smell of flesh burning is so difficult to get rid of. I have sent off my cousins who wanted to stay the night with me and I have Rohit's pistol with me. The same one he used to threaten me with when I refused to have sex with him. I will now walk into my bedroom and I know I will find Rohit there, rotting flesh falling off burnt bones.
I have to put an end to this.

'G' is for Girlfriends

Ah girlfriends! What would life be without them? For at the end of the day, only a girlfriend will understand why you are upset that the pudding has not set or why watching the advertisement with that sweet chubby kid brings a lump to your throat! You can share your angst your joy and your pain and the girlfriend will be there to help you laugh it off, giggle at what you cannot change and give a fresh perspective on who you are. They are the cornerstones of your existence; they sit and listen to your ranting AND they come back for more! That’s more than one can say about most men!
I do not have too may friends but they are all special for more reasons than one. It does not matter that there is almost a decade between us, it does not matter that oceans divide us or that the last time I spoke to her was over a year ago on her birthday and this year I didn't get round to calling. Who needs a reason? I can call now, meet after days or months or years and we slip back into the friendship like that old slipper one never forgets!
So here’s to all my girlfriends, the ones we giggled about boys with, the ones who laughed at us because we were stupid or stood by us when we were hopelessly wrong, the ones who understand that the husband is being crabby so we have to cancel that lunch appointment, the ones who know kids can be so demanding at times they won’t let you talk on the phone in peace, the ones with who nothing is taboo and you are not judged or patronized, the ones who will agree to go on a bike ride with you at two in the morning “just because’, the one who will wear a swimsuit and get into the water with you even though she does not know swimming, the one who will take the blame when your father frowns at you for being late, the one who will take responsibility for she is the teachers pet, the one you can wake up at any hour of the night by honking loudly outside her door (never mind the neighbours!), the one who will agree to go “paaaarp” in a loud voice because your bike horn is not working, the ones who will sit with you in the moonlight on the top of a hill and let you shout into the darkness and then laugh herself and you silly afterwards, the ones who insist on writing your paper for you for otherwise you are not ready for that exam and might flunk, the ones who will share their last drink and last drag with you because you’re feeling like a lost kitten, the ones who will bring you in out of the cold and make you warm again, the ones you who soothe you when you are hurting so badly you cannot think, the ones who pick up the phone and instantly know that something is wrong, the ones that laugh with you and cry with you, the ones for whom a little silence is enough, the ones for who words are not necessary......
I love you. I just don't say it enough.

'F' is for Father.

My father was a simple man. He loved life and living and he taught us to do the same. He gave me the secret recipe to happiness: it did not matter what you did, he used to say, as long as you gave it your best shot. He taught me never to run away from my duties or responsibilities and to face things as they are. 

My father never gave me dancing or singing lessons but he taught me real-life skills like first-aid and driving. When I was struggling with embroidery in school, he told me the only thing I needed to know was to sew a button. When I wanted to make gourmet meals at home he ensured I knew how to make a basic roti so I could feed myself when I was hungry. 

My father taught me to dream. And he taught me that anything is possible. 

But the most important lesson of all he saved for the last.  He taught me to be strong. He battled cancer for over a year. I was all of 21. I never heard him scream in pain or feel sorry for himself. Even as he was dying he would tell us of his plans for his next life when he would get to do all the things he could not do in this! 

As I grew into womanhood, my father was the person I missed the most. I never got to speak to him as an adult, discuss plans for my future or toss my ideas at him and have them be thrown back at me. My father knew me first a s a errant child, a difficult teenager and then a rebellious college student, never as an adult or a woman or a mother. 

But I like to believe he believed in me. 

I have often heard it said that I am strong. 

It's only my father's spirit that lives in me.