FINDING JONATHAN

 (This essay is dedicated to all dreamers who pursue their dreams irrespective, and all the teachers who motivate, teach and stand solid with them creating generations of Jonathans who go beyond themselves to make this world a better place)

                         

                                         FINDING JONATHAN!

First time i met Jonathan

                 I first got hold of Jonathan Livingston Seagull when I had just cleared my board exams and was poised to enter the professional world of medicine.

                The author Richard Bach, a professional pilot by training, narrates the story of an extraordinary seagull called Jonathan who goes against the flock and learns to fly high where 'no gull has gone', braving death and conquering fear to achieve his dream.  For most gulls, life is just about eating and surviving. Flying is just a means to find food. None in the flock have ever dared to, or rather even thought about flying to greater heights. Flying high or venturing into the unknown came with its   risk of injury and death and none ventured into the unseen. The community of gulls was so particular about not allowing the gulls to do anything but find food as their only mission and aim in life that anyone who even thought of revolting was banished forever from the community into the land where

                    Then comes along Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a tiny seagull who loves to fly. He experiments with glides, sweeps and heights even doing the stalling mid-way much to horror of his parents who could not fathom why he did not live to eat like the rest. You are all bone and feathers, screams his mother in agony looking at her son who has lost interest in food while pursuing his passion. Winter is coming and you need to store food, so get back to doing what other gulls are doing, reprimands his father. Jonathan does not heed their worried calls and continues to perfect his flying techniques, modifying height and speed and always trying to  break his limitations brought about by his physical and mental self.  His experiments of flying from great heights, curving his wings below the body and gliding ever so smoothly, stalling mid-way and reaching the skies, where lie his dreams, continue unabated, unmindful of the hardships that come along its way. The elders in the flock disapprove of his un-gull like behavior, shame him for doing the unthinkable and banish him from the flock forever. Saddened but not disheartened, Jonathan tries to explain to the flock the joy of finding the strength to fly beyond your universe to realise your dreams and potentials and not just live to eat but the flock elders are unperturbed and blind to his pleas. 

                           Eventually, Jonathan flies away to a distant land, pursuing his dream of learning to fly higher and higher, unmindful of day or night, food or water, flock or loneliness. He is eventually guided by angel gulls to a higher world where he finds gulls that have a similar purpose as him and a teacher who helps him to understand the pursuit of happiness and more importantly, the responsibility of carrying the teachings of love and following your heart. Eventually he becomes the teacher to outcasts like Fletcher Gull and Kirk Maynard Gull whom he teaches to fly against odds like wing injuries and fear of heights. In his words, " Maynard Gull, you have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way." Maynard Gull who is barely dragging his broken wings finds the power to spread the wings and fly to freedom. Gradually, the taught become the teachers and its time for Jonathan to fly away into the silver sky beyond nothing.

Meeting Jonathan as a young student

Quote

"I don't mind being bones and feathers.

I just want to know what I can do in the air and what I can't. That's all.

I just want to know."

Unquote

                           As a hard working ambitious student I just wanted to soar ahead.  Performance mattered at that time and all I wanted was to be in the top rung of performers. Jonathan Livingston inspired me to plough on and march ahead to find my happiness. Then came the time to realise my dream of becoming a doctor. He was there with me, nudging and pushing, helping me to fight hard to get there where I wanted to go. My selection of the subject of my choice during that time, as specialisation, inspired by Jonathan, was like swimming against the current and getting into deep troubled waters where no 'female medical student' had ventured. Jonathan came to my rescue. He had shown me the way to fight tooth and nail for getting what I wanted. He had prepared me to go against the flock. He had energised me to climb the steep straight cliff without fearing for defeat or being labeled an outcast.

                                  The young blood that flowed in my veins was unmindful of the consequences and like Jonathan, I was ready to face it chin up. As a 'green behind the ears' young girl, my perception of Jonathan stopped there. It was inspirational to work hard to achieve what we have set out for. It was inspirational to fight the system if need be. It gave the fire to climb ‘every mountain and cross every brook’. There was a fearlessness of the path unseen and not taken.

                                   Jonathan feared nothing but his inability to fly higher than what he wanted to. Jonathan threw caution to the wind and life asunder to reach the dream he had wanted to. Survival was not for food but for the goal he wanted to achieve.

                                      As young restless souls, we look towards the sun face up and dive headlong into the turbulent waters. We hurtle us towards the horizon on the rainbow of our dreams, collecting abrasions and cuts on the way that we carry proudly on our shoulders. With stars in our eyes and fire in our heart we move forward, inching towards our goals, unruffled and uncaring about the difficulties that are strewn in the path. It is that age where the power to mount the insurmountable lies deep in the heart and all that hurts are the midnight oil fumes burning bright as nights melt into days and the horizon appears closer than what it was. The single-minded determination of achieving the unachievable ploughs the body forward, the tiny flicker of light far away beckons the tired body and the joy of struggle fills the heart with warmth of the impending success.

                                  As one climbs the steps inching closer to the dream, the feathers fall off and the bones hurt. But the heart is exhilarated with the sweet smell of achievement. It doesn’t matter that you have paid a price, it matters that you have made it!

Meeting Jonathan after decades

Quote

‘The gull sees the farthest who flies the highest’

‘As days went past, Jonathan found himself thinking time and again of the Earth from which he had come. He stood on the sand wondering if there was a gull back there who might be struggling to break out of its limits. The more he thought, the more he wanted to give something of the truth he had seen to a gull who only asked for a chance to see the truth for himself.’

‘ You, Jonathan, can show a gull how to see beyond a thousand miles’

Unquote

                               A lifetime was spent in pursuing the dreams, following the heart, facing the challenges that came with it, building the moments, days, years brick by brick to build what one calls life. Yet there had to be a pause to look back and understand what I had done this far and look ahead to know where I wanted to go. The passion that was work had seen me through the smooth and rough patches as is with every person who dares to leave the flock and learns to fly rather than live to eat! The toil and the late nights, the sweat and the palpitations, the thought and the plan, the recovery and the reward were all there to make me realise the strength of my decision and the freedom to fly ‘where no gull has ever been’. Life came with its frills of a family, children and social responsibilities that completed my world. Life introduced me to the joys and sorrows of living the dream. The path was walked, treaded, bruised yet strangely satisfying.

                                    Then came the crossroads of an uneasy sense of lack of fulfilment, when I met Jonathan again. It was time to find the meaning to my existence and to the path that lay ahead. My knowledge was beneficial to the many, many suffering souls who walked into my clinic to be delivered from pain and disease and more often than not, walked out happy and relieved. The blessings only multiplied the joy of knowing that the struggle was worth every heart beat that had gone haywire till the patient went home.

                                     Yet there was a sense of emptiness, a sense of incomplete achievement in-spite of having walked through the dream. The proverbial thorns had long past stopped causing pain. The work had fallen into a routine and a plateau had struck that made me restless, wondering where I was heading or if I had just fallen into the rut of routine!

                                      I met Jonathan again on the crossroads that once again challenged my restless soul.

                                       My decision to become a teacher came after a few months of pondering and then realizing that like Jonathan, it was time to be the fire beneath the wings of those who were dreaming to fly into the unknown. The emptiness, the restlessness or that incomplete feeling seemed to have found its answer. I had to give strength to the dreams of those who wanted to walk the path taken by me and so many others who chose to follow their dreams. The cycle of life had to go on. Jonathan had chosen me to help perpetuate that innate desire in each one of us to explore our limits and go beyond them.

                                         As ‘green behind the ears’ students came to me for knowledge, Jonathan guided me to make them understand their ability to look farthest so that they could fly highest. The knowledge I had acquired from my teachers and the most important teacher of all, life itself, had to be passed on to the eager, restless, inquisitive young ones just setting out on the path unseen. I reveled in the happiness of holding unlearned hands and guiding them through the mysteries of the body till they could maneuver on their own. I found happiness in finding answers to the barrage of questions that came out of inquisitive minds. I had found my path, yet again. Imparting whatever I had learnt about my subject became that purpose that brought meaning to my existence.  

                                    My search was over. Jonathan had found me yet once again.

                                    A decade of being the teacher has gone by. As the baton passes and as I gradually fade into the sunset, there will be Jonathans to take the next generation of young restless souls to that edge of the cliff from where they can spread their wings and soar towards the limitless sky. They will have found the purpose which defines us as beings with a meaning.

Jonathan lives on, in all of us!

I AM GRATEFUL FOR THIS LIFE- REINA KHADILKAR

I AM GRATEFUL FOR THIS LIFE

I don’t want to write about this, but I must write!

I must face the worst part of the history of this world to know how blessed I am to be born in the era which began far later than the world’s worst nightmare, ‘The Holocaust’

How else will I understand and realize that with all the ups and downs I have had, that there was something more terrible than the simple uncomplicated downs of one’s life to know that I am very, very grateful for this life.

How else will I learn why we are given the mind which can think big, the mind which can think bad and the mind which can think nothing!

How will I know the horrors of holocaust on one side and the strength of the human spirit to withstand it, if I do not revisit and acknowledge this dark hour in the history of humankind.

Lessons of mankind’s history are the paths that show us the peculiar ways in which the world develops into what it is at present. If we never learn from the lessons of history of the world, then as they say, you are condemned to repeat it!

With great difficulty and a heavy heart and, of course, a deep sense of pride for the indomitable human spirit, I try to find words to describe my encounter with an actual concentration camp of WWII.

I dreaded the day that was to take me to the Sachsenhausen Concentration camp a few miles from Berlin where a day earlier we had seen yet another hot spot of the world war and the Nazi regime. We walked through the streets of Berlin past palaces now converted to museums, the Humboldt University that has till date produced 29 Nobel prize winners in all fields and continues to inspire students from across the world to create a better world and vie for the Nobel, a sculpture of a mother holding her dead young son, a war martyr, in her lap as a reminder of the wars faced by Berlin leaving a deep impact on the heart and a flow of tears that welled up in the eyes!

We walked across the ‘Memorial of the murdered Jews’, designed by architect Peter Eisenman, which consists of rows and rows of sloping concrete slabs arranged in a grid pattern with an underground information space holding names of 3 million Jews who were holocaust victims. There is no explanation or derivation of the architect’s vision of this memorial and we are left to walk in the grid deriving our own meaning of the memorial for the hapless souls who died the sorriest death ever recorded in history. The gloom gets to you as you move solemnly in the space, a foreboding of what was to come next day.

The great Berlin wall dividing the east and west, now stands in a large enclosed area as a memorial to the days of Communist and Capitalist rules that separated not just geographical areas and ideologies but people, families, sons from fathers, mothers from children, lovers and friends. The story of how the wall was erected in the midnight of a Saturday and when people on either side woke up on that fateful Sunday morning found themselves imprisoned beyond the wall and unable to go back home, sends shivers down the spine if one just stands there to feel the helplessness beyond! The last stop at Checkpoint Charlie, the very famous historical point dividing Berlin occupied by USA and the Berlin controlled by Russia during the (in)famous cold war is now a photo-op point belying the terror of those days. Berlin was as much a history of its kings and their art and culture as much as it is about the world wars that raised it to rubble. Almost 90% of this glorious city was devastated after WW2, but like the proverbial phoenix, it has risen to become one of the top developed cities in the world. A story of the true human spirit here.

Next was that day that had a deep impact on me. After leaving our train at the Oranienberg station, we walked the same route taken by the thousands of imprisoned Jews, political prisoners and other petty prisoners of the camp daily to be taken for hard manual labor to factories, farms, ammunition workshops and construction activities. The peculiar heaviness in my heart began as I retraced the steps of hundreds of emaciated, impoverished, tortured, beaten and starved innocent people as they walked with their heads hung low, steps heavy and leaden, stomachs empty and the butt of rifle inches away from the limbs and torso that would bear its brunt, lest a step fall slow or even for no reason at all.

A drab grey wall, all of twelve feet high and barbed, enclosed the camp area. The wall is now covered with photographs of atrocities, camp inmates, the fearful SS army, the loads of corpses and the survivors that were rescued at the end of WW2 giving us a glimpse of what was inside. The imposing gate proudly proclaimed, “Arbeit Macht Frei” (Work sets you free), apparently a sign on all the gates of nearly hundred concentration camps that were active during the Nazi regime. It gave a sense of hope to all the inmates who kept feeling that if they worked hard, they will be set free and that’s how they continued to rot, waiting for that sliver of hope. The gate opened to a vast ground, now empty but lined with rows of areas like sunrays that once housed the barracks. Just before the barracks was the main office notoriously called the dehumanizing center, where the freshly arrived inmate would be stripped of all dignity, paraded naked and given the first dose of the horror that was to come.

The barracks, now just three have been reconstructed to show the appalling living conditions, housed tens of thousands of people with a capacity of less than five hundred. The long halls on either side of a central wash room section had rows of wooden bunk beds where up to seven people would be cramped in a space for two. The washroom was a common room with three large water fountains that were to be used by all in a matter of few minutes. The toilets for ablutions was a single room with rows of commodes placed next to each other with no screens or doors. The dehumanization was complete!

According to a plaque on the barrack, the bell for waking up would go on at 4.15 am and in fifteen minutes all the inmates had to wash and clean up, and rush to the central ground for a head count that would then take them for the day’s grueling work. Any person, feeble, old, disabled or ill who could not keep up with the rush of humanity moving towards the washing area would be trampled upon and left to rot in excrement’s of others or to die! There was no other route to hell. The counting of prisoners would be conducted in the open ground and could take few hours. In winters with temperatures falling below zero, people would get gangrenes of the toes and fingers by just standing in the snow waiting for their number to be called, that resulted in amputations at the apothecary, loss of usefulness for the regime and a certain death by torture! The long march would then begin with soldiers shouting, screaming and mercilessly hitting helpless people. It was a dance of death and cruelty that went on and on for almost six years.

The other end of the camp housed the most dangerous areas, the crematorium and the ‘neck-shot’ area where unsuspecting people were made to stand for height measurement in front of a scale that had a hole which corresponded with the neck of the victim through which a guard shot him. Apparently designed to reduce the post-traumatic stress of SS men who shot them!

Diseases proliferated, sickness enveloped the air over the camp, screams of pain and hurt rented the air that was enclosed in a high double barbed wire. Experiments for liver and blood diseases were conducted on innocent and healthy people in the specially built human laboratory in the camp. Doctors, architects, engineers, mathematicians, bakers, florists, watch makers, butchers, drivers, teachers, lawyers, laborers, just anyone who was not fit to live in the society that the Fuhrer was trying to create, or anyone who was a threat to the regime was brought to one of many such camps, tortured mercilessly and either shot dead or made to suffer till he died. Six million Jews, political prisoners, homosexuals, criminals, and mentally or physically disabled people were deemed unfit and had to go through the horror of survival till death came as a relief.

I was numbed by the immensity of the whole crime. I was dulled by the intensity of the torture humans can inflict on one another. I was appalled at the psychological conversion of the minds of millions of people by one psychopath, to make them believe that they are wronged by a certain people and they must cleanse the world of this. I was horrified at the nature of torture that can be designed by the same human mind that also paints, sings, draws, thinks, cries, hurts and loves.

It was that moment in my life that showed me the sunshine that has filled me. The blessings that one gets not to even know about such dark areas of humankind are immeasurable. I was deeply humbled to see that the challenges and the ups and downs that seemed huge and daunting to me were infinitesimally small as what people have gone through those who lived through this horrible time. I was also terribly ashamed of falling weak at times or even being scared in front of trying situations that were not even a millionth of what these innocent souls have faced during holocaust.

It also brought me face to face with the strength of the human mind. The astounding stories of holocaust survivors were proudly emblazoned on the museum walls. The courage shown by these brave-hearts in face of raging fire was unparalleled and has become a beacon of hope for the entire mankind across the world. The body can withstand only that much, but the mind is capable of withholding a deluge of gigantic proportions and adversities helping the body to stand even as torrential storms rip the body and uproot the self.

The thing called hope is the greatest gift to mankind. It is the only single force that drives the beaten, tortured, torn soul through that dark tunnel into light. In all the mayhem of holocaust, I saw this legacy left behind by millions of people, strong and weak, for generations to come.

The world I was born into is definitely a better place and a better time for the free spirit which we come with. History keeps getting repeated in small doses across times, but by and large, the humankind today believes in live and let live.

I am grateful for this life in this world in this time.   

I am very, very grateful!  

I DON'T LIKE MYSELF

I DON'T LIKE MYSELF                                                                    

I don't like myself-

When i forget to thank the Lord for showing me a new sunrise, happy to be awake to witness yet another day to start my routine.

I don't like myself-

When I take this day for granted, going about it without pausing even once to realize that it’s a gift to have seen the sunrise, to have awakened to yet another day, yet another addition to the days gone-by in this one life span.

When I am thankless about every breath I take, unmindful of the importance of my ability to suck in the air that will keep me alive.

When I forget the value of the day that has dawned in my  life and casually go about it as ‘just another day’

I don’t like myself-

When I allow anger to flow through my veins, as I rush through the day, impatient at people who cannot match my speed.

When I allow rage to be a part of the road I travel, gesticulating with angry expressions and expletives behind closed glass windows or sometimes open to the air, breathing out fumes of exasperation and anger at not being allowed to cross a hurdle in the form of a slow driver or a careful one in my mad rush to get from one place to another.

When I bark irrelevant dis-respectful words to a stranger I have never met just because for that moment that stranger has cut my speed, prevented me from going ahead full throttle on a road choc-a-block with strangers rushing to catch their daily grind.

When I shatter the silence of the whirring traffic, blaring that sound of impatience in my hunger to speed ahead of the rest of the world that is moving in the speed not conducive to my idea of speed.

When I break all the rules of traffic, arrogantly believing in my power to get out of any situation, endangering the life of innocent travelers, and often mine too.

I don’t like myself-

When I take my body for granted.

When I abuse my body, drive it to its endpoint as I rush forward chasing my dreams, unmindful of the physical harm I am causing to myself.

When I load my body with toxic fluids and unhealthy food giving in again and again to the cravings of my tongue.

When I break my own resolutions of keeping my health in check, and keeping my muscles strong and keeping my heart healthy.

When I conveniently find reasons to skip the exercise regime .

When I convince myself that I need that precious sleep more than I need to get out of the inviting warm bed even as dawn breaks over,urging me to move towards good health.

When I ignore signs of ill-health, more out of fear of finding a disease growing, closing my eyes and mind and wishing it away or when I worry to death about health problems that are not there, scared that the end is near and rush from one doctor to another, spending sleepless nights and hard earned money on digging out my non-existent problem.

When I ignore the signs of a tired body, throw caution to the wind and carry on, anyway!

I don't like myself -

When I allow technology to rule my life rather than me dictating terms so that my life becomes easier.

When I succumb to the fascinating yet addicting aspects of technology and allow myself to be held captive by it.

When I bury myself deep in the virtual social world, gradually isolating myself from the real one, losing real friends for virtual ones and breaking away from real relationships to build unseen and unknown bonds that don't matter.

When I choose not to believe scientific data that confirms health hazards of too much of gadgetry, blaming my lack of concentration or insomnia to the struggles of routine rather than the micro-waves that are hurting my brain.

When I move away from reality, scared of embracing newer technology, hard of understanding the computer or the internet world, worried that my time for learning is way past and shut my eyes and ears to the ways that have got the world closer.

When I pride in being 'technologically handicapped', knowing fully well the consequences of falling behind.

I don't like myself-

 When I lack integrity and honesty in my work.

When I cut corners to fit a square in a circle.

When I continue to hang on to older methods of doing my work, compromising on the quality and advantage of better service to people who come to me with trust and hope.

When I lose humility about my knowledge and my ability to do my work, looking down with contempt and disgust at less-abled co-workers.

When I start believing that my knowledge and my skill is my slave and I have learnt all that is there to learn.

When I believe that I can do no wrong.

  

 I don’t like myself-

When I allow my mind to wander in the jungle where beasts live, gorging on misunderstandings and misinformation that create a whirlpool of negativity, filling my mind with anger and hatred.

When I allow my mind to wallow in despair and despondency, blaming my failures on others, causing agony not just to me but the people around me who love me.

When I become judgmental about a person or an event based on the raw thoughts that have been fed to me or that I have allowed my mind to believe.

When I allow myself to dislike someone or break away from a bond just because I believe I was wronged, not knowing what has happened on the other side.

When I clutter my mind with senseless opinions given by people who don’t matter and bear the heaviness and the pain of carrying that heavy cluttered mind.

When I break a relationship for no reason that my sensible mind can fathom, bearing the pain of that wound and inflicting that other heart with a bleeding deep cut.

When I make opinions on trivial situations about people I have hardly met or know.

When I fill my mind with hatred and anger for someone who has wronged me without giving myself time to heal or that person, time to explain.

When I wish things don’t work out well for someone who has hurt me.

When I don't pause to think if I have hurt someone, knowingly or unknowingly.

When I cannot appreciate someone else’s success.

When I dislike, distrust or discriminate.

I don't like myself-

When ambition takes over my dreams

When the only way I can go up is by standing on someone's shoulder and trampling him down

When the materialistic pleasures and the luxurious lives of achievers blinds my logic and fills me with greed to grab what may not be mine.

When money matters and heart doesn't.

When greed matters and compassion doesn't.

When I matter and others don't.

When nothing matters.

In my quest from being a human being to being human, I have lost track of the higher purpose of my evolution. I have left my goodness behind and got ahead crushing all that came my way. My heart has bloated with anger, greed and apathy. My heart has shrunk of humaneness and love

I need to find myself in this mayhem.

I need to like myself all over again!

LOVE YOUR HOME

LOVE YOUR HOME

                         A few days back I was watching a documentary on one of the information channels on TV. It spoke of the massive human displacements in the history of the world.

                                     It was 26^th April, 1986. The sun shone brightly and the chill in the air was just about turning its level up as the working town of Pripyat in the then USSR, stirred from its warm beds and duvets to welcome yet another beautiful April day. Stoves burst into tiny blue flames and kettles whistled gleefully. Cups filled with black coffee and hot buns wafted out of ovens filling hungry stomachs. Mothers begged kids to get ready for schools and rushed to pack tiffins as husbands left for their work at the nuclear facility that formed the backbone of this bustling town of about two million people. State buses plied from one corner of the town to other dropping off children to school and workers to their work site. The early morning rush gradually subsided to a slower pace as home-makers heaved sighs of relief, waving good-byes to happy faces that left their home on yet another ordinary morning. The pots whistled again, this time for a relaxed cup of coffee and a cursory glance at the news-paper which didn’t really tell much. As the clock shifted its hands, women got busy with cleaning up their homes, stashing away used plated and cups in the basin, folding the carelessly thrown duvets, readjusting the antique pieces that stood proudly on the fireplace sill and ruffling up the cushions on the deep suede coaches and chairs making the house beautiful again after it had been visited by the storm called 'morning'!

The early morning hustle bustle in the home gradually shifted to the tree-lined streets by mid-morning as house-wives strolled on the pavements, some with babies sucking on their thumbs as they peacefully slept in their prams, people out for a quick break of coffee and gossip and shoppers lazily taking in the drab merchandise flaunted by hopeful shop-keepers, buying groceries and meat and bread for the next few days.                                      Another day was well into its routine and life seemed just as smooth as the dawn that would begin the next day. All that the men looked forward to was going back home in the evening after a hectic day at the site, sipping vodka as the chill upped its ante, the kids looked forward to rushing home after school, kicking their bags and shoes and running to the public garden for swings and slides and tired after shopping and gossiping, moms waited for all this to happen so that they could happily scream at the unlistening brats and find comfort in the warm hug of their ‘man’.

                               Just as the afternoon got underway, a deep siren was heard all over Pripyat and people were asked to rush back home and stay indoors till further announcement. Worried residents quickly rushed back to their comfort zone, waiting for their loved ones to return not really understanding the situation. In fact they were used to the eccentricities of the regime and waited peacefully in the safety of their homes. By evening, residents were asked to pack a few belongings sufficient for a couple of days and get into one of the hundreds of buses that suddenly arrived from nowhere and started piling people ferrying them to some unknown destination. There was the devastation at the site, but the unsuspecting people didn't know it as yet. It would be a long wait of more than three decades before any of the surviving residents of Pripyat would ever be allowed to see their beautiful homes created and built with love and care, now lying in utter ruins caused by the devastating explosion of the Chernobyl reactor.

                               Across the continent, a similar fate would befall on the residents of a small mining town in Oklahoma USA where the decades of mining zinc from the belly of the earth caused toxic minerals and poisons to seep into the water, soil, plantations and foundations of homes causing tremendous health hazards and conditions that eventually became unlivable. Once a bustling and happy town of people who worked hard in the zinc mines, made good money, enjoyed their favourite beer at the local pub, children who went to the only but well appointed school and women who were house-proud, lived in dainty yet tastefully done bungalows and kept their homes and hearths beautiful and happy.

                                  Gradually, the toxic minerals seeped into plumbing pipes and brick walls, in the pretty rose gardens and giant magnolia trees, in the water and food and the very air that these happy people were breathing. Health took its toll and mighty walls crumbled. Trees died untimely deaths and flowers wilted even before they could bloom. The homes built brick by brick with so much love and care became traps of ill-health and doom consuming the very happiness that defined the lives of these people. One by one homes were abandoned, precious furniture and clothes, antiques and statuettes that adorned the fireplace were left behind, memories framed in pictures with toothless babies smiling, families smiling together, couples holding hands and looking longingly into each other’s eyes and the portraits of parents now no more, hung over walls in the living room and the stairway were kept back so that one could come and take them back. None could come back. One by one, homes became empty spaces of broken hearts and lost memories as people fled the town fearing for their lives with only their few belongings and a deep sense of loss.

                                             The common thread that bound these two tragedies was the loss  of the place they called home, one which  they had built with blood and sweat, love and trust. As the camera panned across broken glass windows and rusted doors, one could see the pain of these homes in torn and broken sofas, frames bereft of photos hanging lopsidedly on walls that had fungus all over burrowing through peeled out layers of paint and deepening cracks. Broken tables and chairs strewn over in what was once a living room spoke of the tragedy that had befallen that home. Yellowed books, stuffed toys mutilated by time, mattresses with springs jutting out like giant teeth, cupboards ajar with shock of a bygone time, vines growing over kitchen tables that once proudly displayed the owner's skilled hands and broken cups and plates that had seen good days were reminders of the broken hearts and lives of families who once laughed and cried, joked and sang, ate and slept under these now rotting roofs. Homes lost forever for people who had asked for nothing more than a happy place to live with the loved ones.

                                        As I saw this devastation, what deeply hurt me apart from the tremendous health and financial devastation, was the starkly apparent fact that all these people had lost their homes. How important is our home to us? Why do we spend our lives working tirelessly to build our very own abode, brick by brick putting our blood and sweat into the four walls we call home?

                                  As children we grow up in the secure environment of our home without realizing how it came to be. It's just there as we adjust our first vision of this world, learn to take our first step, cut our first teeth and begin our first journey to growing up as we embark on our schooling. The home waits for us as we come back every day, kick our shoes, throw our bags and feel safe again. The food waits on the table for our hungry stomachs and the warm cosy bed invites us to slip gently into the world of dreams as we await yet another happy day. There is laughter ringing through the rooms like the sunshine filtering through the window panes, there is love and trust in that home of ours just as it's rock solid foundation. We learn to care and we learn to share. We learn to pray and are taught the value of what comes to us. We go through rituals specific to our house and begin to understand their importance for our lives. We celebrate our festivals, marriages, ceremonies and achievements with our parents guiding us, teaching us and helping us to absorb the meaning of goodness and culture, tradition and humaneness. As is true of the happy moments, so are the tragedies we learn to cope with holding the hands of our elders as they gently wipe our tears and help us to accept all the vagaries of life with courage and conviction. We grow up.

                                   As the wheel of life moves, we become the roof and the shelter and create our own abode giving our children what we were given. Our home stands on the values we have imbibed helping us to create the next generation of goodness and humaneness. Every little nook and corner of this home smells of the fragrance we carry. The colors, the furniture, the paintings, the photo frames, the flower pots, the beds, the cushion covers, the handles on the cupboards, the glasses, the pots and pans, each little thing has our name stamped on it. Each little thing that makes up our home has a little story behind it. The arguments, the angry fights, the resignation or occasionally the simultaneous liking by all the family members hides in the depth of each thing that finds a way into our homes. In most homes, our deities find a place of pride and worship and are reverently placed for blessings and safety. Like hundreds of inanimate objects, love and happiness too filter in through the open doors and windows. Our children grow in this place they would know eventually when they grow up and move out into their world. But for now, it is our own place where we smile, laugh, cry, hide, fight, argue, love, eat and sleep seeing the dreams we want to see.

                                  Our home defines us, it defines our childhood and it defines the person we will eventually become. Our home gives us the security of living our life on our own terms in our own space. Our home gives us the life we dream of, gives us the people we love and gives us the strength to fly into the vast skies with our feet firmly on the ground.

                               The thought of losing this precious belonging appalled me. My heart cried for those on whom such cruel tragedy befalls. Most importantly, I once again realised how blessed I am for this home and life as I stood in my living room looking at the walls which gently hugged me, caressed me and reassured me!

Love your home!!

LET'S TALK

LET’S TALK

This is an attempt at awareness to the WHO theme 0f 2017- ‘Depression- Let’s Talk’

 ‘I feel the sand in the sand –clock is falling fast and I have led a worthless life’

‘The bad turns we took in our life, the decisions gone wrong were all my fault. I have managed to spoil your life’

‘What have I achieved in life, nothing! I am just a useless housewife sitting at home all my life, spending someone else’s hard-earned money on myself’

‘This project too failed. I am finished’

'My parents want me to become a doctor but I can't cope up with the stress of studies'

'He\she doesn't love me anymore. I have lost the reason to live'

'I have struggled so hard, yet cannot find work. This life is worthless"

‘I have failed’

                                 Often we have heard someone say that or heard these thoughts in the deep recess of our heart. There are moments in our life when dark clouds gather, gloom descends faster than a river rapid, the light at the end of the tunnel gets switched off suddenly and we find ourselves staring at hopelessness.  The end in sight disappears, hope vanishes into thin air and the heart gets crushed under a ton of bricks.

                                Life is never a smooth ride. Infact, the struggle begins so early in life. The little toddler must get into the best of school. So he is pushed to learn even before he can talk, he is made to realise that this event in his life is a matter of life and death and the pressure is on. Expectations are laid out and the race begins. It's not just about urban living, the rural atmosphere too is equally or a little less, but competitive. The pace maybe slow but the need to push the child for a better life finds its way in every home, irrespective of its setting. Children grow up believing that they have to live up to the expectations and also expecting a certain level of life that comes with fulfilment of these.

                              We go through the rigmarole of life,  forever struggling to reach that boundary where the line of expectations is drawn. Not all of us can reach there. Sometimes the faultline meets us in our childhood, sometimes in youth and many a times in our adulthood which is marked with struggles as one comes face to face with the real world, unprotected, naked and lonely. Whatever the reason and whichever the phase of life, if the faultline crosses our path, we find ourselves lonely, scared and without the only thing that allows us to go ahead-hope.  A sense of desolation engulfs us, darkness envelopes us and the fear of having lost encroaches on our existence making us run to the only option available. Giving it up!

                           It's not just the big defeats that drive people to the edge of the cliff. Betrayal, greed, lack of appreciation, humiliation, breaking of relationships and hearts, unexplained insinuations and unfulfilled dreams can drive a person to the end of the horizon. Failure in exams is often co-related with failure to stand up to the expectations of parents, peers or self. The failure is magnified by the sacrifice the parents have made to 'see you through this'. A feeling of having let them down crushes the young heart to steep levels of depression. Heart-break is another major reason why people lose their ability to live anymore. What is it in the heart that breaks, I often wonder. The feeling of love releases those chemicals that makes one feel ecstatic, delirious, plain happy and often helpless without that person. Our life revolves around that person and our existence is marked by the foot-prints of that person. We all go through this beautiful feeling but also have learnt to balance it out with reality. Some cannot distance themselves from that intense involvement and the heat of a break-up singes their life.

                       Hyper-sensitive minds feel the pressure of life when the real world destroys their imaginary world of do-gooders and all things straight. The thorns that need to be picked as one traverses the rough path of life prick the tender delicate hearts bleeding them beyond repair. These are not weak minds, they are just overtly perceptive and sensitive to the world around them. They are not misfits but find themselves unable to fit in the societal norms. Inequalities of life can hurt just as much as injustices of the world. Slowly and insidiously, the self-loathing occupies the waking mind, negative thoughts rule the heart and hopelessness becomes all-encompassing. (Perceived) Failure at academics, failure at work, failure at keeping relationships intact, failure at achievements at par with expectations, failure of reaching that ‘all pervasive deadline’ or in some instances, even too much of everything creates a vague vacuum of emptiness eventually hurtling the person down into the bottomless abyss called ‘depression’.

                     As the anaconda of depression gradually tightens around the person suffocating his mind and body, he/she loses interest in the very purpose of life. The eyes lose their shine and the face loses its lustre. A vague sadness persists in every moment that person manages to go ahead and routine becomes a painful task. There is a feeling of despondency and rejection by none other than life itself. The disease makes one question your ability to survive the struggle ahead.  It’s all dark around and the only light the person can see is the light beyond this life.

                     It’s really sad that in spite of having born with the same blessing of life, this one person has to go through so much hatred for that very thing we take for granted. But hope can be brought back by the skin of the tooth if people around this person stop running the race of life and pause to see if all the loved ones in their world are walking at the same pace, holding hands and tackling the struggle for survival chin-up together! The signs are there; the symptoms may be overt but can be felt if our eyes are perceptive enough for our loved ones and the silent foot-steps of this dreaded mental strike can be heard loud and clear if our ears are listening.

                      As parents, as close relatives, as friends we all know each other well enough to understand subtle behavioral changes. Only we don’t seem to have the time for recognising them or we bury our heads like the proverbial ostrich and wish the problem away. Depression needs treatment, but most of all it needs to be recognised and accepted as a disease of the mind that requires therapy and can be cured. We can do this if we have the bonds strong enough to hold each other as we walk the difficult path of life. We can do this if we understand and appreciate the fact that all of us who are together in this journey don’t walk with the same pace. To use a cliché, we need to understand that although we are one hand, each finger is of a different size and shape. For the hand to function properly, the fingers need to come together and stay together. Each one of us is fulfilling the purpose of our life, struggling hard to stay afloat and make the most of each moment we have. But in all this we also have the purpose of keeping all our loved ones together.

                         WHO has declared the theme of the World Health day-2017 as ‘Depression-Let’s Talk’. With the increasing number of senseless suicides, loss of young and old lives to a treatable mental condition like this, it has become imperative to put the focus on how each one of us can help. We need to create such bonds that are based on easy communication, love, trust and faith in each other, bonds that will create a level of comfort for the sufferer and the listener. The communication can be from either side, either the sufferer will open up or the listener will inquire. Whichever way it happens, it’s a win-win situation. Opening up the dammed feelings, pouring out the trash of heaped up negative thoughts, and getting the courage to hear your own words about the pent up hateful and self-deprecating thoughts will cleanse the mind and help fresh air to flow in. A new lease of life gets handed over and a fresh breath of hope filters in the uncluttered mind. Expert management and counselling adds to the surety of getting well but the beginning needs to be made by people who surround the hapless sufferer.

                          I am not an expert in psychiatric diseases but having gone through the stresses of survival, seen the bottomless lows that the ride takes you to, felt pain and sensitivity to the changing world, experienced the eccentricities of human behaviour and  having seen the edge of the cliff, I  found supreme comfort in words that flow out of my heart carrying all the heavy metals with them, I can surely say, “let’s talk”. Truly cathartic, comforting and healing.

It’s the difference between life and lifelessness, sometimes even death!

(Note-  The blog is intended to create awareness regarding the theme of WHO for 2017 and also to bring home the fact that we are all existing  in a pressure cooker and must find a way together to release the steam together to find peace, purpose and happiness at the end of the rainbow)

Fascinating London- a page from my travel diary

FASCINATING LONDON- a page from my travel diary!

                              Having just returned from one of world's busiest and biggest metropolis, London, I am still in a touristy jet lag. My heart and mind still wake up to the sights and sounds of this city, my mind walks down the long escalators that take me down almost ten floors to the crisscrossing underground railway, tube as it is lovingly called by old hats and newbie's, insiders and visitors. I sleep to the dreams of lush meadows and sprawling gardens and I long for the merchandise tantalizingly waiting for my precious pounds in beautifully decorated stores after stores. I can still smell the frothing fresh British ale spewing out of taps and the plate of freshly fried fish and chips carried proudly as a badge of honor by the proud Londoner.

                         I have travelled quite a lot, in India and abroad. But I have always slipped under the blanket of routine as soon as my feet touched ground zero. It has never happened that I have dwelled on the memories of the place left behind or lingered on the place that i had just visited. In fact I have a tendency to lose the names that remain captured in cameras only. Occasionally, one visits these memories and debates about the name, place, thing and person. Often the debates get serious as memory fades rapidly and one resorts to search engines on the internet or the friendly sibling to help out with the date and the place. Probably, the reason why i have never ventured into the genre of travelogues!

                       Why is it then that this place called London still haunts me, beckons me, makes me nostalgic and puts a warm smile in my heart? I am not gifted with the art of recognizing art, I am not trained to assess the beauty of a building or a road or a city. I have no knowledge of how towns and cities are planned. I am just an ordinary traveler with a heart that can recognize the heart of what my eyes are seeing. Yes Sir! got it now. I know now why London has stayed with me. I realized that this was one rare place, apart from my home town that had a beautiful body and a beautiful heart.

                            London was not always called by this name. In the past it has been called Londonium, Ludenwic and Ludenburg. About 2000 years ago, the Romans invaded and Princess Bodicea became the ruler of Londinium which was then as big as Hyde Park area. They got with them the Roman baths, aqueducts and other culture.  The final invasion of London was in 1066 when the French took over and English became the official language. Eventually the Tudor dynasty took over and became the famous Monarchy ‘on whom the sun never set’.

                                  During its lifetime, this city has seen devastating destruction, the plague of 1665 that killed 1/5^th of the population and the terrible fire that raised 60% of the city to ground. In spite of the major set-backs, it rose, literally from the ashes to become one of the top five cities in the world that have the power to change the course of human history. The British resilience has become legendary, as is the stiff upper lip!

                           As you exit from the famous Heathrow express on one of the many tube-stations, what strikes the most is the hustle-bustle, the tens of hundreds of city-goers rushing for various activities to various destinations and the clatter-blatter of conversations. The activity brings the whole place alive and you are soon absorbed in its fiber. You walk along, stop at a bus-stop or hail the legendary black taxi, just like the locals and reach your destination amidst throngs of city dwellers, never once feeling alien.It is said that cab drivers in London have to memorize every street and important building in London within six miles from Charing Cross and they need to take a test called ‘The Knowledge’ before they can drive a cab!

                        From the word go, the city assimilates you. It may not welcome you with the warmth of Mumbai, but it definitely allows you to be a part of it and do whatever it is that you have come for. As a tourist, you get overawed at the modernization and urbanization of this beautiful place but what takes away your breath is the history that runs through every nook and corner, every street, every tube station, every building that stands tall, not in as many floors as much as in pride.

Look around and you see a building that has housed an author/ poet of repute and standing, or a famous personality that has changed the course of medicine, history, science or even art. For me personally, the moment of ecstasy was to see the buildings that housed the Royal College of Surgeons, the Royal College of Physicians where my father studied to become its fellow and the place where Thomas Guy of Guy’s Hospital was born.

                       The hundreds of years old palaces, churches, bridges, forts and the unique Big Ben left us amazed as did modern creations like the Shard, the Bullet and the famous London eye.In 1945, a flock of birds landed on the minute hand of Big Ben and put the time back by 5 minutes and that Big Ben is not actually the name of the clock, it is the name of the bell which is inside the clock. Recently it was discovered that the chiming is not the regular chime we know from bells but a series of vibrations rising in crescendo one after the other as a large hammer hits the bell.

                         The cruise over the Thames was as exhilarating as was the visit to the unparalleled gold- filigreed Buckingham palace. Every chair, every carpet, every painting, every piece of crockery lovingly and securely preserved and presented in all its royalty. The palace itself spread over tens of hundreds of acres of land dotted with manicured lawns, ageless tress, patches of shrubbery and pristine ponds where cottony white swans floated gracefully.

                          We also got a glimpse of the famous tradition of high tea in the Royal Grosvenor Hotel owned by the second richest family in the UK, the Grosvenors. The three tiered ensemble with dainty ham n cheese and cucumber sandwiches, bite sized delicious cup-cakes and warm scones with clotted cream all drowned with fragrant light British tea served in delicate bone china cups and saucers adorned with pink and purple flowers. According to tradition, high tea always starts at 4 pm and ends at about 6. The tea is always poured first ,only leaf tea is used and the saucer is never held in the hand while gently sipping the tea. The conversation is always in low tones and some gossip is welcome. The tradition of high tea took the humble cup of chai to a whole new level.

                             We walked out of the Baker street tube station to encounter the greatest fictional detective who never lived on this earth, but became a legend and a larger than life figure for all detective story aficionados of the world. Sherlock Holmes stands tall on the street where his life and times were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. We lazed on the vast green lawns of central park teeming with people hungry for that elusive sunny day, lazing on small armchairs that could be hired for a small price. We walked through Hyde Park and stood in awe in front of the small dais that saw the rise and fall of many a leaders. We saw the iconic Hotel Ritz steeped in tradition and gazed at the Harrod’s from a great distance. We shopped through the streets with million other people through shops inviting with their window dressing, merchandise and a world-famous names.We strolled on the green fields of central park, we munched on muffins and sandwiches and guzzled our favorite ale in the many pubs that invitingly dotted our way wherever we walked. Did you know that the British eat over 11.5 billion (1,500,000,000) sandwiches every year!!

                            There were street performers of various kinds showcasing their art and roadside bistros on the streets that metamorphosed from formal traffic routes plying hundreds of cars, taxis and the unique ‘London red bus’ during the day to enchanting islands of food and fun as the night-life sprung into life, changing the face of the formal to the young and vivacious ,throbbing with energy and enthusiasm. The pubs packed choc-o-block with young Londoners washing their day away with dark ale and fish-n-chips, food stalls serving food from across the world and taps and taps of freshly brewed ale, dark and deep, with a hint of chocolate and mocha, soothening hundreds of parched throats, uplifting souls, relaxing tired bodies and increasing the crescendo of conversation as the night slipped away.

                           We soaked in all this as we smoothly changed tubes from green line to the blue, arriving at deep underground stations, brightly lit dungeons throbbing with light and sound of fast moving tube rails as they cruised through the arteries carrying with them tens and thousands of Londoners at any time of the day or night. The maps for travelling were explicit, the directions were specific and the friendly security guard at each tube station helped when the travel card refused to open the automatic door for entering the station. For tourists like us venturing on our own, there was not a moment of anxiety and we hopped from one tourist destination to another with ease.

                              The ease of travel, the availability of information on London and the tremendous activity on the streets alive at any point of time helped us to explore and enjoy the amazing destinations without the constraint of time. 

                               For a city that was completely destroyed not once but twice, London has shown the amazing spirit to rise from the ashes and stand tall again. This is the heart of that place that melted mine. Like my adopted city Pune, I found the strength of character and a sense of liveliness, not to mention the deep rooted history of this place that has stayed with me and endeared me to this place.

                              I do not know if I will get an opportunity to go back again, but the memories of my first impression of London will stay forever.

                            Truly fascinating.

MID LIFE CR…………….. CALMING!

                                 I stand on the cusp as life gently nudges out yet another year from under my nose and pushes me ever so slightly on the sloping side of mid-life. My birthday is here reminding me of a long past, a short present (as it always is, irrespective of age) and a gradually diminishing future.

                                As usual I look for all tell-tale signs of excitement that preclude that ‘special day’, that have been a part of my existence since the time my parents celebrated it year after year with the same zeal and enthusiasm each time, that made me delirious with happiness and feel utterly special. Candle light dinner, designer dress, pre-planned surprise gifts, sinful chocolate cake, cards, phones, messages, all the works that define a special day called birthday. None of the expectations in my mind this time and surprise of surprises, I am not disappointed at all! It doesn’t bother me anymore that I will not ‘shop till I drop’ or plan for all the surprises I want for myself.                                    The urge to want all this and more is no longer there. I am calm as still water, a little relieved that it doesn’t stress me to make memories of that one particular day. The weight of expectations has lifted making me light and feathery.  I am not even expecting the family to rally around me celebrating my special moments just as I want them to be. It does not bring a sense of adventure to look forward to what the coming year has in store. It does not feel odd anymore that I will not be one year older but that I am already old now!

                              Is this a sign of old age? I think not, as old as in ‘being old’. For one, there is no unhappiness about the change. Secondly, the excitement of young age is not there but neither is the melancholy of getting old.

                           There is an odd sense of calm, like a mother’s gentle hand smoothening the erratic waves of time, quietening the whirlwind that unruffles the layers of life gradually slowing down the gushing waters of a gigantic water-fall as it reaches the flattened earth, resting in her delicate yet firm cusp as she shushes it with tender whispers till it gradually calms down, reaching an unseen and hitherto unknown depth. Layer by layer, the waves smoothen out, the water loses its anger and a deep silence envelops the being.

                           I feel this sense of calm today. It is the magic of age that gives us this ability to untwist the coils in our heart and smoothen the rushing waves of stress, thoughts, feelings, achievements, failures, joys and sorrows that define our existence. At every stage of our life our wants and desires push us forward hoping to gain more and lose less. The ‘I’ creates our need to race with time, youth allowing us to overtake time and adulthood helping us to stay with time, all the while creating a persona that becomes us although it may not necessarily be the real ‘us’. That persona whom we have created is the one who drives our life to go beyond our expectations from ourselves , bringing with itself the stress of achieving what we expect from our self. We go through life in troughs and craters, happy when we satisfy the ‘I’, deeply disturbed when our achievement falls below what the ‘I’ wants.

                             Life becomes an obstacle race, often wounding us and occasionally rewarding us. There is no aim in sight, just an urgency to run ahead of oneself. Everything we do matters to our heart. Our failures break it into smithereens and our successes catapult it beyond the skies. Our relationships get built and broken on the whims of our untamed ego. The feeling of achievement brings a sense of having lived well, just as failure takes away the purpose of life. We keep swinging between the highs and lows, going through the rigmarole of life, uncaring for where we are headed. Life centers around just what you make it and how you make it. Any transgression that breaks into this circle is suspect. Simply put, we become touchy to anything that disturbs our concept of ‘I’.  We gather hurt, anger, greed, hatred along with the big and small joys of life. We fill our hearts with infinite feelings and burden it with all that crosses our way. The small ripples that begin in our youth slowly gain steam and rise and rise, first as gentle bubbles and then roaring, boiling and overflowing with large unruly waves. We are now at the prime of our life.

                                  This all-consuming power of life slowly begins to lose steam as you start looking at the brilliant orange of the sun readying itself to go beyond into the unknown. Way before its time, the harsh heat gradually cools down. The rays lose their straight sharp ends and the mellowness engulfs it making it bearable, even pleasant for the eyes. Even the mighty sun learns to lose its heat and tame its unruly waves.

I feel the calm today just as the sun readies itself to lose its intense burning heat. I feel the calm today as the gushing waterfall steadies itself on the gentle earth, getting deeper and calmer. I feel the calm today as my heart and mind gradually move beyond expectations and wants. I feel the calm today as I get ready to lead a life that is gradually freeing itself from the clutches of ‘id’.

                  I feel the calm -

                 When I am happy to allow my grown up kids to opine about my decisions.

                  When my daughter holds my hands, wipes my tears and reprimands me to ‘move on’.

                 When I take my son’s advice on health issues, accepting happily that he knows more medicine than me (not necessarily surgery though), smiling indulgently as he emphatically reminds me of the psycho-somatic factor in my physical ailment.

                  When I find happiness in my work, no longer haranguing for the tag of success, awards, status, position, name and fame.

                    When I accept the wrong turns that I have taken and no longer bear their weight on my heart.

                    When I look at broken relationships with a sense of detachment, happy that it no longer hurts and breaks my heart.

                    When students come and tell me they have learnt so much from me.

                    When I no longer think of the number of books written by me, that should have flown off the shelf, but happily start writing another one.

                    When I allow myself to throw my head back in the rear seat of the car that my children drive now,

                     When I pick up my glass of wine as they say cheers with theirs.

                                       As I move from one level to another, the past gently sheds away its layers unburdening me gradually. My vision slowly adjusts to the present as I find true joy in knowing the real ‘me’. Age is teaching me to accept my hurts and failures and make peace with them. Age is teaching me to accept my destiny because life couldn’t have been better and more blessed than this. Age is teaching me to calm down.

                                   Certainly I don’t feel old enough to stop living. I just feel calm enough to accept life in all its glory. I feel ready to face yet another beautiful year with the most beautiful people around me, the family and the friends who have given meaning to my existence, the innumerable faces that have swept my life with rainbow colours, the lives that have touched mine, enriching it and helping me to unpeel, the unfathomable speed-blocks that have taught me to fight for a place under the sun and the miracle that is ‘age’ that has calmed me down.

                                  Life will still be the same roller coaster ride, bringing with itself unequal proportions of happiness and disappointments, successes and failures, untold joys and unbearable sorrows. The desires and wants will pop their head every now and then. The ego will rear its ugly head and fallibilities will weaken the mind ever so often. But the calmness will help to keep the vision clear and the burdening will be less. As the knees get arthritic and the heart vessels gradually bend under the aging curse, calming will smoothen the ride ahead. It will help to strengthen the mind even as the body weakens. It will make the years ahead worthy of what we should learn from life.

                   Its an unusual birthday for me. Life’s biggest gift to me on my birthday!

                   Can’t sign off without narrating this experience. I have always enjoyed driving and the speed that exhilarates. A few days back I was driving back home from work  at good speed when suddenly couple of cars swerved past mine at full speed rashly overtaking me almost breaking my concentration and cruising ahead in full speed. Ordinarily, my heart would have sped up as would the accelerator. But strangely, I found myself calmly humming on the golden oldie playing on the music system, relaxed, smiling and continuing on my own track. Metaphorical, isn’t it?