What is a better life?

"There is a crocky here", we should look out for him said 'P'. 'Crocodile' you mean, I asked him. Oh yes, there is one crocodile here, came the nonchalant reply. "Ah, we are fine. We are sitting at quite a distance from him", said he. His body gyrations suggested he wasn't bothered much about a crocodile. 

We had just found a place to talk! On the northern tip of the Australian coast, deep into the aboriginal territory of Arnhem land, in Northern Territory, Australia. I was in my usual cross-legged position till 'P' told me about the crocky. We looked around for it, and a little further down in the shallow sea, we did spot him. Strangely we were comforted having spotted him. "It is easier to have an eye on him if we can spot him, said 'P'". His actions did not suggest a tensed muscle. He was as calm as the surrounding ocean.

So with a crocodile as a listener, albeit at a distance, we started our conversation. 

My organisation had sent me there to listen to and if possible measure the work of  'P' in that part of the world. 

We started discussing his life, his work and its impact on the community! Aboriginals, the ancestors of the land till people from Europe came colonising the land, had lived there forever. Their population though has over the years diminished and only a remnant remains. Now there are workers like 'P' who are trying to empower these people to live better lives.  

But, what is a better life? 

How do we define a better life? Who can give one a better life? Can human beings help each other to have a better life? 

'P' is a professional pilot. From a country and a culture completely different from his current location. All his batchmates are captains in big commercial Boeings and Airbuses these days. But he chose this place. "In the middle of nowhere", as he defines the place. Among Aboriginals who the world doesn't want to live with. 

It suddenly dawned on me, that 'P' is not even facing the crocky. He had an absolutely stunning sense of calmness to him. Perhaps there is a better life. Perhaps 'P' knows it. Perhaps that is where the calmness comes from. Perhaps the 'Ps' of the world, will keep throwing us the light on our dark paths to the so-called 'better life'. 

Is there a better life? 

"P" showed us a freshwater spring right beside the sea

In the middle of nowhere

                                                      We flew this to the middle of nowhere

Of 38 or some such random number!

Writing absolutely heals! In times when life sucked, when the world collapsed right before me, when darkness was all I could see around, when the light at the end of the tunnel could never be seen, I always, always turned to my pen! Rather, my keyboard. Inevitably, every time I have come out better; stronger; and sometimes, even cleaner. 

I guess, to each their own. 

But why do I come back to this page today? It is such a clear day. I'm as happy as happy can be! Everything I had been prescribed in life has been good so far. So why write now? 

My earth completed one more of its round around the sun! It has done so many times that I don't even want to remember the number. Some random number! Yet, it feels good to be alive and well and happy after completing one more of its rounds. 

Well, I'm absolutely grateful for what has been billowed to me. Surely there have been frustrating times but in the long run, it has all evened out! Only the good things remain. 

Do I look forward to running one more round? Absolutely! I look forward to many more rounds. 

As I get ready and drag my earth along for more rounds of the same, I promise to be kinder to the world around me, to keep my senses open to learn more new lessons, to be more intense and to push more hard. 

For there are miles to go; kingdoms to conquer; more people to love; novel lessons to be learnt; and The future beckons. For the 39th time around the world. Or some such random number. I don't care! 

Writing not only heals pain; It also cleanses! And that is why I'm here again. To clean the cobwebs of the mind and get ready to run again. 

Two years of Love!

'Appa, Valikithu' (It is painful) little K complained. "Where is it paining", I asked him and kissed his foot, the part of his body where the pain emanated from, according to him. He showed his right leg and then his left. After getting kisses on both his legs, he showed his hands. One by one. "Inga valikithu" (It is paining here) he told me. He got kissed on every part of his body. I kissed his every part. He got love. I loved! 

For a hardcore unemotional logician like me, this is new. This is a different feeling! 

Love and Marriage did happen to me. The wife showered love like there is only me on this planet earth. I did feel special; The love had developed into a bond of friendship built on mutual respect. 

I can hardly write about love without mentioning the mom. She just bled love! The extended family has shown love, pure and pristine at various stages of life. 

But nothing had me prepared for the tingly feeling of the melting heart when little 'K' sees me and runs to me and jumps on me. 

'Appa, yennaachi' (What happened)? he asked me! I had just sprained my neck and had shouted a loud arghhh. "I have a pain in my neck", I told K. "Kaluthaa?" (Is it the neck?), he asked me again. I replied in the affirmative. He kissed my neck. 

Ah, that feeling again! The feeling of the melting heart. 

Today 'K' turns 2! Two years. Time has just flown by.

We didn't plan massive elaborate celebrations. In the quiet corner of my room, I closed my eyes and said a prayer. 

I prayed that the love of his heart, and the tingly feeling of mine will be a constant companion of our lives. 

Happy Birthday my little Munchkin

Will my son ever know my mom?

'Appa', my son 'K' had an exciting tone! He had just recognized me in a picture. It was one of those family pictures that most Indian families had at home. The parents sitting in a chair and the children standing behind them. 

"Who else is there in the picture, chellam", I asked my boy. He looked quizzical. He was still trying to comprehend my question. 'Appa', he said again! This time a little louder. Stressing on the 'pppaaahhh'. 'Who else?, who else? ', I asked again. 'Thatha', 'Gio thatha'; Bang came the reply. 'Chithapa', he continued, pointing to my younger brother. 

'Go on', who else? I asked him! He stopped. He could not identify the fourth person in the picture. Sadly, the fourth person in the picture is not in his life. 

It hit me hard. I had a lump in my throat. A sudden tear drop emerged. My heart felt heavy. My son will never know his grandmother. He will see her pictures and will eventually identify her in them. He may even hear stories about her greatness, but nothing can replace knowing the person in flesh and blood and sadly my son will never get to know her enough. 

One of my life's greatest regrets is not having my paternal grandparents around growing up and listening to their stories, cuddling in their laps, perhaps fighting and arguing economics with my economist grandfather or getting to know about what it meant to be among the first women medical doctors of the country from my grandmother. 

On one of those long nights when my mom and I went about chatting, like best friends do, she talked about having grandchildren. In her own inimitable way, she talked about how she would be inadequate to be a good grandmother.  Then once after she was diagnosed with that dreaded disease and again on one of those long-nighters, when she knew she had very little time, she threw in a passing comment saying she wished to have spent enough time on this side of life to have grandchildren. 

I truly hope that one day 'K' will search to know more about his late grandmom, search for stories on how she was almost worshipped in a small town in southern India, how people thronged to see her, to know how she touched the lives of many, to know that there are people on this earth named after her, to understand that her life was a legacy to not only admire but can even be emulated. 

I wish people were as kind to 'K' as they were to my mom and he could show the kindness and the grace which she radiated. I wish that every time someone calls his name, he knows he is named after one great lady! I wish he would possess that sheepish innocent smile she had. 

Wishes! Hopes! 

Well, what can I give to bring her back in flesh and blood for him to touch and know her? 

 

When an air-ambulance team went the extra mile!

Some stories are hard! Painful! The pain of the oppressed and the anger against the systemic flaws overshadows the heroism of the protagonist. 

More so, if it is not a story but reality. Life in blood and sweat and not what you watch in theatres for three hours, wipe your back, and walk out of. 

I heard one such story yesterday, rather a real-life incident, and it has been haunting me ever since. 

'V' is 15, and wants to pass himself off as a 17-year-old. Which 15-year-old doesn't? He even rode a motorcycle against the law of the land and crashed it. Survived the crash with major fractures. Sadly, his part of the world doesn't have good quality medical service. An air ambulance was called in. Perhaps he would have collapsed if there was no air ambulance service and they had to wheel him on the roads to the hospital which most of the time is at least a good five-hour drive away. 

'V' is not rich enough to afford air ambulances. Thankfully some good souls of the world subsidize air ambulances for people who could not afford them. 

Well, the story starts only now! 

The air ambulance team makes sure 'V' reaches the hospital on time and gets him admitted. 

A few days later, the air ambulance team again decides to visit 'V' in the hospital. After searching the hospital they found 'V' in a different ward, frail, more confused with the same filthy bandage, and possibly even more malnourished. The team asked the inevitable question "Why isn't he operated on yet?"; The answer came, "The doctor will only operate if there are 6 units of blood; we do not know what to do!". 

That answer hit me hard! What are doctors and nurses for, if they could not help a patient understand and get units of blood? Aren't there humble enough human beings in that hospital to ask and clarify simple questions and doubts of patients? Ah, the apathy of the learned! Wasn't education supposed to enrich lives with empathy and compassion or at least interest and enthusiasm? 

I told you, systemic flaws make us go mad! don't they? 

So the story continues...

The boy had to be operated on after the air ambulance team worked on arranging blood! Once operated on and settled down, by the time the team could visit again, 'V' was discharged, without leg support, with no assistance and an open wound. He would end up going back to his village and with no proper help in the village, the wound became worse and septic. 

By the time the air ambulance team decided to do a home visit, the legs had only enough strength to be saved from amputation. Another emergency admission and another long time in the hospital meant the legs got saved finally. 

Well, of course, the air ambulance team is a superhero. They could just have dropped the patient in the emergency and be gone doing their own lives. Their constant follow-up ensued the life, or at the least, the legs of a young 15-year-old got saved. Well, we perhaps need to celebrate real-life superheroes! 

But the story for me is about the apathy of the systems! the indifference of the upper class to the world around them. The detachment from reality. The languor of the privileged. The arrogance of the learned. 

If only the superheroes in the air ambulance team could be everywhere! If only, I could put my ears to the ground and listen to the heartbeat of reality? If only the privileged like me have enough empathy? If only I could take that extra step, just like that air ambulance team. If only! 

When the boy was dropped back home by the air ambulance team!

In dad's shoes!

Every time when someone says 'K' looks exactly like you my heart misses a beat. I gulp! That strange feeling of not wanting your child to be like you. Memories of your life run through the mind. You remember the timid, average, noisy, clumsy, rebellious, and lazy individual you were at various stages of life. Of course, you don't want your child to be that, right? 

Then you wish there will be that gene from the wifey, which perhaps might make him a different human being. Perhaps he will go on to become a successful, clear-headed, and loving human being like his grandmom. Surely there will be some remnant of her passed on right? I pacify the troubled heart.

Suddenly yesterday I saw 'K' doing something with his wrists. Almost like throwing a ball from the back of your hand. The wifey had a wry smile. "He is imitating you", she said; "You do that bowling action no, he is doing the same"! Well, apparently they even imitate your actions. Can't I now sit on my sofa with my legs on it? Can't I just be myself? Ah, the complicated world of parenting!

'K' today decided to play with my flip-flops. He had both of them on and tried walking. They were huge. It almost felt like his legs were an afterthought. The wifey made a sarcastic comment, "In Appa's shoes". There went the heart again. It missed yet another beat! I gulped again. I know it was just an analogy and he wasn't following exactly my path. Yet, the phrase had so much meaning. Ain't it? How will 'K's life be if he follows the same path? The one less trodden, filled with failures and insecurities all along. Of course, it had been one heck of a ride. Is it okay to warrant the same roller coaster for your child? Or should I wish a smooth, seamless life for him?  

The questions that throng my mind every day, I tell you.

For the longest time, my dad was my hero. The ultimate rockstar. When he drove the bullet, I awed at him. I proudly told the world that he is a doctor. At least till the teens, he remained the hero. Mom became a hero later on in life and remained so till the end. Did they know that I was following in their footsteps? Did they panic? Did their hearts flutter too? Or were they sure when they let their hands off me, that I might end up following them? Were they okay if I did follow them? Or didn't? 

Through all the loud white noise of the mind, in the innermost hearts, I know there is no running away from it. For now, there is a human, albeit a miniature version, a human nevertheless, who thinks it is fun to be in his dad's shoes. 

I better be careful! 

Surely following his dad! 

Perhaps his mom too! 

                                                                                                 The scary thought of following in the father's footsteps

Disappointment with God

 

I had just had a huge failure in life. The future looked bleak. I was confused. The phone call rang at that time. I remember the call like it was yesterday. It was my mom. It didn’t start with the usual “Sam di chellam” excitement. It started off with “Sam ma” and then she stopped. Her voice quivered. She stuttered. I’m diagnosed with cancer. Final stages. She said these words and cried. I was in faraway land. I was still a student then. The next few hours were hazy. I don’t remember any of them. Just have vague memories of a friend putting me to the airport and the long flight back home with tears rolling by. I remember the neighbour on the flight asking me whether I need help. There, on that long flight journey, started my inner struggle with God and disappointments with Him. 

God is not fair at all. Here is my mother, the greatest human being I have seen, my pillar of strength, my best friend, one of the best doctors this part of the world has seen, adored & loved by everyone around, having to go through this. I mean, people throng to see her to get healed. I have heard people say they come to see her smile. How many more could she have cured? If only God had been fair
The struggle within the heart of the young adult then was intense and the pain was real. 

As days went by, and with every passing day for the next ten months, I fought with God. He was not fair after all. I tried to reason out with him. ‘Perhaps He didn’t think through it well.’‘My mom would be a blessing to many more if God would heal her.’
Simple logic, ain’t it? But why didn’t God get it? I asked the question many times. The questions my heart had then had no answers. Life had no answers. 

In your early twenties, you are taught to be strong. To show the world outside that you are strong. Also, me being the elder in the family, warranted me to be strong. At least I thought so. I was to guide my younger brother, traumatized father and troubled mother through this phase, I told myself. I was broken inside, often fighting back tears, fighting depression and fighting God but on the outside, I showed myself to be strong. 

Did God fail me? 

Of course, He failed me! Those ten months He failed me every day. I clearly remember one day at the hospital; a fine woman of God came to pray for amma. She said, “Not a hair on your head will fall”, as a promise. I clutched onto it. In fact, I hung onto every small positive verse in the Bible and thought that was God trying to tell me something. Very soon chemotherapy started and not a single strand of hair on my mother’s head stood at the end of it all. In that sense, God failed me. He failed me big time! He failed me every time. 

As I look back now, nine years later, here are a few lessons I learnt through it all. 

 

1) God fails people: I’m sorry, I’m not going to sugar coat and say God never fails. He fails people, often. It’s not God’s job to make all our wishes come true; He’s not our personal genie or fairy godmother. God doesn’t work the way we expect. We can’t make plans for God and expect him to follow us. He is not, in the words of C. S. Lewis, a tame lion. God doesn’t always work the way we expect. Elijah expected God to be earthquake, wind, and fire. He expected God to turn the people back to HIm instantaneously. But God didn’t work the way Elijah thought HE would. God can also work through a whisper; He can (and does) use other things to bring people back to Him. From my perspective, I am pretty sure that my mom would have been a blessing to many more if only she had lived longer. He fails, because our understanding of God’s success and His understanding of the world are sometimes opposite. Does God mean good for me? He does, but His definition of what good means for His people is vastly different from what I define as good for me. Every time when God fail me now, after the struggle within through that year, I tell myself, perhaps there is something good which God sees through it. What is that good which God saw through my mom’s sickness? I don’t know. I don’t see. But He sees it, and that is the most important thing.

 

2) Master is always right: On the day my mom passed away, in the funeral service, my dad made a statement, which has stayed with me. “Master is always right”. He means good for me. In His sight it is good, even if I don’t see it. But the most important thing is, the master is always right. He decides what He wants to do with my life. I’m but to follow whatever he wants me to do with my life. 

 

3) Time heals: Does time heal? I have often asked myself this question. There have been days when I have missed amma, days when without amma life is very unpleasant, and I have wondered what a joy it would have been for her to be around; but to be really honest, those days are becoming fewer and fewer. As time goes by, the hurt has gone off. I do miss Mom. I still think my life would have been so much better if she had been there but time has healed me. We have all learnt to live without her and God has helped us to overcome the trauma of it all slowly but surely. 

 

 

4) Where else do I turn to? As frivolous as this may sound, every time when life has been very difficult, I have only turned to God, for the simple reason that I don’t have anywhere else to turn to. To cling on to the hope that God means good for me and only God can mean good for me through everything in life is the single biggest lesson I have learnt through it all. I cling onto God, for there is nowhere else to go to. 

 

I often think, if God conducts a wrestling match and wants to select people, I will be among the top choice, for I fight with God often. I lose hope and faith every other day. Failures have thronged my life and many times I have declared God dead in me. It has been many years of the fight, and I suppose it is going to be many more years of it. God has failed me, will fail me but I go back to him, coz where else will I go, if not to His Love that has meant good for me in His own world and in His time.

When we commit our way to the Lord, we can be sure that even through life’s disappointments, God is big enough and good enough to get us on the best path, even if it’s not quite what we hoped for.