Wedding Bells And When Nostalgia Dwells On The Banks Of The Broad Brahmaputra

This post, believe it or not, has been almost two years in the coming and, as I was reminiscing with my mother of how I almost didn't make it to the Gauhati wedding, I thought it was high time I wrote about what was a very emotionally charged time for me...
The invitation came on WhatsApp and as I had always sworn I would attend this particular wedding when it took place, I was all set to buy my airline ticket and I mentioned this to my daughter over a phone call. But my departure coincided with her arrival for her visit home from college, for the December break, for the very first time since she had left. She pleaded with me to not go, as she wanted me to churn out all her favourite food from my kitchen. Since my children were born, I have stopped gallivanting around the globe without a care in the world, and this would have been a first for me but I gave in, albeit with a heavy heart...I decided not to buy my ticket and stay at home and cook for my daughter instead. A week later my daughter called up (a more mature sense seems to have prevailed!) and said, "Mom, please go, we will manage..." My joy, in a very cliched manner, knew no bounds and I immediately asked my Dad to do my bookings, as Indian web sites were showing better rates when accessed from India, for what would be nearly a twenty four hour journey from Nairobi, as I would be travelling to the North Eastern part of India. Sadly, my super tech savvy and pro at online bookings Dad messed up one part of my multi sector booking, giving me the very first indication that all was not well with him... It was during this trip that I went home to Pune for a few days, after the wedding, and saw first hand how fast his health had deteriorated and I pushed him to get tests done, followed by subsequent hospitalization, which bought him some more time on Earth...Bottom line, if you think something is wrong with your own, your partner's or your parents'/ in laws' health, it usually is...Follow your gut, don't let denials from them (or yourself) cow you down.
But I digress. To get back to the wedding, and why this visit was so important for me, I need to go back more than thirty three years.
10th July 1986: The day that we had been anticipating for long had finally dawned. My Dad had been posted to Gauhati in Assam and it was time to bid goodbye to our beautiful colonial bungalow in Pune and to our dear Army-family neighbour and her two daughters. I still remember Ruby Aunty, illuminated by the headlights of the Army jeep that was to drop us off to the Railway station, tears glittering in her eyes, as she held her two young daughters close by her side, along with a plastic bucket my Mom had given her at the last minute and which she had insisted on paying for...All our trunks with our household items, books, toys, our car, bicycles and my Dad's motorcycle had gone on ahead much earlier and all our personal items were to go with us in a few suitcases, accompanying us on a journey which would take four days and three nights and two train changes, to a place we had never seen in our lives. Such is life in the Army but it does foster life long friendships!
My sister and I had been eagerly awaiting our first glimpse of the mighty Brahmaputra. My mother had told us that it was India's broadest river and at some places you could not see the other bank if you were on one side! I put each river, whose bridge our train trundled over, through what I call to this day, the 'bank-visibility test'! We spent nearly three very amazing, books and great friends filled years in Gauhati, a beautiful, rain drenched really green city, though a sleepy little hamlet then, in comparison with my comparatively huge home town. It is a testimony to the deep and abiding friendships we formed then, that we had remained in touch with all our close friends for more than two decades, by snail mail, as FaceBook and WhatsApp came into our lives many years later. The bride to be had been my mother's student in Nursery school in Gauhati and they had visited us a few times in Mumbai and Pune over the years but we had never made it back to Assam. The time had finally come and my mother had landed into Gauhati a few hours before my fourth and final flight touched down, nearly a day after I left Nairobi, which was nothing compared to the four days it had taken us from Pune, way back in 1986...
1st January 2018: The first shock came when I popped out of the airport, ( the same airport that I had taken my very first flight from in 1989, when I left Gauhati), and I saw a KFC outlet with Colonel Sanders looking straight at me. Since the airport had been practically next door to my Dad's Army unit, the only army officers I had ever seen in the vicinity all those years ago, were him and his colleagues...Well, it looked like globalization had not left this once pristine corner of India untouched.
I had told our hosts, (the bride's parents, both professors and Heads of their respective departments at Gauhati University and both also from my Alma Mater, Deccan College, Pune, who incidentally also happen to be on my personal list of my top favourite people in the world), not to bother to send anyone to pick me up and I could take an Uber, as I knew the road to their house like the back of my hand, considering that our former school was in their neighbourhood. I had spent three years going back and forth everyday, on that very road. They disregarded my request and sent a kind colleague to pick me and it was a good thing they did, because a whole new by pass had cropped up which I had known nothing about. It hit me then that nearly thirty years IS a long time...
Anyone who has ever attended an Indian wedding knows how quickly one gets enveloped by the warm and welcoming atmosphere. Old memories get a new life and lots of new friends are made and how do you know the bride/ groom stories are exchanged over multiple cups of masala chai (spiced, milky tea) and Indian sweets and savouries, a staple during weddings, even as everyone pitches in to help as much as they can. Women resplendent in sarees of the most vibrant hues and since this was Gauhati, women draped in Mekhela Chaddars, (which is the North Eastern variant of the saree), of pure Assam silk, with the most intricate embroidery, were at the wedding and it was a visual treat for my eyes. As a pre teen, all those years ago,  I had never realized how eye catching this garment is and how beautiful the women looked in it...Wedding songs rent the air and the smell of henna and fresh flowers permeated everywhere,  mingling with the aroma of all the delicacies especially cooked for the wedding. Glass bangles in all the colours of the rainbow tinkled, gold and diamond jewellery added lots of bling and bindis adorning foreheads twinkled brightly. I was so glad I was able to attend this grand wedding ceremony. I had known the glowing bride since she had been a really tiny tot and it was a pleasure to see her on her big day. The groom was a Canadian boy, so every Indian ritual had to be explained to him and his friends who had accompanied him from across the Ocean and that added a lot of fun and camaraderie to the event. The bride's girl friends from Canada were all dressed in her generous mother's sarees for the wedding reception but they carried off the outfits so well that it was hard for the rest of us to believe that they were wearing Indian clothes for the first time in their lives! The added bonus was that the main wedding day was also my birthday, so I got to celebrate it in Gauhati after twenty nine long years, with my mother and old friends and new!
Two of my new friends have already visited us in Kenya and we, in turn, have been invited to their home in the United States. It was also great to connect with our hosts' house help who had been with them all those years ago when we were kids and she had been slightly older than me then and now was the mother of a smart young son.

                                                                     Wedding Hues

We got a bit of time in between the celebrations to indulge in a bit of nostalgia. My mother and I walked the roads of the suburb where we were staying. We used to pass this junction every day on our way to school and back but could barely recognize it now, due to the numerous cars and bikes that kept traversing it. This was where we used to halt once a month after my mother, who used to teach in our school, got paid and she used to buy buns for all of us army brats in the Army Bus! Sadly I could not find the bakery but even today the whiff of freshly baked buns takes me back to my Mom's pay day in Gauhati...I remembered a store called Paragon which, to this day, has me hooked onto deep fried white chick peas but I have never eaten any to beat the ones that store sold. After asking a few people, we managed to find our way to Paragon and believe it or not, there sat the chick peas in a glass jar, just like they used to, thirty years ago. I never buy anything without checking the manufacture and expiry dates but I trusted this store implicitly from my Gauhati days and immediately told the person there to sell me everything which was in the jar! He was surprised but complied and then it was sheer bliss to crunch and much those spicy, sinful chick peas, even as the flavour exploded on my tongue, exactly like it used to, every month, all those years ago.

                                                    Maligaon: So quiet then, so busy now

                                                      My pocket money drainer!

                                          Fried, spiced white chick peas, I'm addicted for life!
(Connoisseur's tip: Haldiram's Masala Chana comes a close second to Paragon's chick peas' virtues!)

Our next stop was my sister's class mate from Gauhati school days and good friend's shoe store in Maligaon. When we asked for the younger brother who had been my mother's student, the older one who runs it now came out and though it was hard to reconcile the little boy we had known with the strapping young man in front of us, we explained who we were and he remembered immediately! I'm sure he felt the same as he had last seen me as a super skinny thirteen year old...He immediately contacted his sister and though she was busy in a conference, she made it a point to come and see my mother at the reception venue the next evening, after a long day's work, as my mother was leaving the following day. She later took me to her own home too. Such are the old ties that tightly bind...

                                This store did not change and connected us to my sister's friend!

                                                 On the banks of the great Brahmaputra!
 (And I stole these lines from our school song, else I would have written an alliterative 'broad Brahmaputra'!)

We also took some time out for shopping, drove along the Brahmaputra and were awed by it, bought some wonderful fabric, shawls and other souvenirs like the famous Jaappi, the woven straw hat of Assam, and the Gamcha , a hand woven cotton embroidered towel, from Pan Bazaar and Fancy Bazaar. I also bought some gold plated stunning Assamese traditional jewellery. My mother even bought an orchid plant for our garden in Pune! When we lived there, we would traverse the twenty three kilometer distance to the city centre only once every few months and our main haunts were the bookshops (many of my books have Gauhati, Assam written on them, with my name and the date!) and the famous bakery, Shaikh Brothers. Their fresh bread and jammy Swiss Rolls were a special treat for us, even as we eagerly dived into whichever new book we had started reading first, the minute we got home. My sister and I used to cut off the raised mound at the top of the unsliced loaf, dividing it between the two of us, irritating my Dad no end because then every slice had a crust only on one side!

                                          The small but sweet indulgences of my childhood

 I had planned to stay on for a couple of days after my mother left, as I wanted to catch up with my school friends and indulge myself with a few more nostalgic visits in Gauhati. I volunteered to drop her to the airport, and on the way we visited another of my mother's Gauhati friend's at her brother's house, where she was staying. Gaur aunty belonged to Gauhati and had been our first neighbour in our Army-Air Force housing complex there, as her husband had been in the Indian Air Force. I had met Aunty just a few months ago when I had dropped my own daughter to college in Dubai, as her daughter (my childhood friend!) stays there now and she and her family had already visited and stayed with us in Nairobi. (The world is very small!). But Aunty and my mother met after nearly thirty one years and it was very emotional. Today, my daughter is friends with my friend's twin daughters and so the relationship forged so many years ago in Assam continues in the United Arab Emirates.
The next day I began my solo adventure! I had hired a trusted cab driver for two days, recommended by my host, Tamuli uncle. My first stop was the famous Kamakhya Temple, a stone's throw from their house. I had last visited this temple as a ten year old child but I had vivid memories. After seeking blessings from the Goddess and admiring the temple architecture, I was ready for my meanderings into the past.

                                                                      Kamakhya Temple

I asked the driver to take me to Mountain Shadow, our old housing complex, into which so many of my pre teen memories were so deeply entwined. As happy coincidence would have it, one of my Dad's old students, (he had coached her for the Defence Forces entrance exam), also a friend of mine, was now an Air Force officer and was posted to Gauhati then. She had given instructions to the guards to let me in at the gate. Otherwise, gaining access to a protected area would have been next to impossible! By yet another unbelievable coincidence she lived in the same block of four flats that we had lived in, just below our old house! So when I went to meet her, I entered my own old gate, and passed the very spot my friends and I had spent countless hours playing happily, our only worry being 'Hope there's a delicious dinner ready on the table when we get home...'

My beloved balcony at 3/2 Mountain Shadow, where I spent countless hours studying, reading and doing embroidery! The only thing's that's changed in nearly thirty years is the colour scheme...

My next stop was the area just behind our old house, where the new Institute was being built then. Our favourite game, as a group of pre teen boys and girls was playing hide and seek in the newly dug foundations of this building. I did not know then that I would see the completed building only in 2018! We had spent many hours in the old bamboo structure, watching poor prints of Bollywood movies on an old VCR, while guzzling down soft drinks of a dubious brand, something I won't let my children touch with even a barge pole in this day and age.

                                          The 'new' Institute, which is now thirty years old!

Then I asked the driver to drive towards our shopping complex, ' Anarkali', which had housed, among other shops, our grocer cum haberdasher (the Brit meaning!) where I used to buy cloth to make clothes for my doll, marbles, Parle sweets, Cadbury's and Amul chocolates, birthday gifts for friends and other sundries, the Air Force canteen, the Air Force Women's Welfare Association Shop from where I unfailingly bought my parents birthday and anniversary gifts every year from scrupulously saved pocket money and a sweet meat shop where a person called 'Babloo' made the most delicious samosas I have tasted to date. Sadly all the civilian shops had been moved out of the complex and when I asked about Babloo, I was told he had passed away. The bare look of the complex brought a quick tear to my eye, it had been buzzing when we left. I had cycled here numerous times to buy something or the other and later ridden my Luna there too...
Then we drove to Gauhati University and I directed the driver to take me to the Professor's Quarters Area. Most of my close friends had lived here, as their parents had been professors at the University and thanks to all that snail mail, I still knew their house numbers by heart! Though they had all retired and moved out by now, I spent some time gazing at the house where I had had my first sleepover ever (after begging my mother in school itself to let me go directly to my friend's house. That friend visited me in Pune with her family from the U.S, in 2017 and they stayed with us!), at the houses where my Dad had dropped each girl home in our car, ( a luxury in India in those days), on our way back from the birthday party of another dear friend, who lived in Gauhati City.
And then it was time to meet my school friends! We had arranged to meet at a restaurant in town and this was the very first time I would be eating at a restaurant in Gauhati… It wasn't the norm when I was growing up and our only forays out were to the Army mess for a party, or dining with another Air Force or Army family in their home or an annual picnic on board a cruise boat, on the Brahmaputra. I was very excited to meet all these ladies whom I had known as pre teens and never met since. I was especially touched as they had all taken time out from their very busy schedules just to meet me, as per my convenience. It is hard to catch up on thirty years worth of news in three hours but we managed to make a good headway. And most of them  knew a lot about me, thanks to my blog! They refused to let me pay for my share of the lunch, saying it was their treat as I was the visitor! I felt so humbled by their magnanimity and was doubly glad I had carried tiny souvenirs from Kenya for them all. The years just rolled away and it felt like we were sharing a classroom again. We were certainly as noisy as a bunch of middle schoolers!
My final sojourn of the day was at the house of my friend's parents who lived a little away from the town, in an area unknown to me. Luckily for me, another school friend lived in the same area and kindly consented to come with me. We ended up going to meet Sharma uncle and Aunty together and also got acquainted with my friend's sister in law and niece! Though my friend lives in the US, her parents had arranged a quick dinner for me in their beautiful bungalow. So much hospitality warmed my heart...
All too soon, it was time to board my flight to Pune and then a few days later to Nairobi...I bid goodbye to my warm and wonderful hosts and to the new couple. It was only thanks to them that I had been able to make it back to this lovely city, got to be part of a fabulous wedding and to relive  bits of my childhood again...
My only regret? I waited nearly thirty years to make this trip happen, but better late than never!

      Goodbye green Gauhati! I hope to get my husband and kids here for a visit someday soon...

A Damp Diwali

The monsoon rain blesses southern and south western India by June every year and we receive substantial and sorely needed rains until mid September every year. This year, the rains have continued pouring down right through October, putting a damper on India's festive season, especially Diwali, the main festival of the Hindus. My home town Pune has been particularly hit, last month my parents' ground floor was badly flooded and I have lost both my scooter and my car, as the insurance company has deemed both vehicles fit only for the scrap heap, and everyone there is waiting with bated breath for the rain to wreak havoc again, more so as a cyclone, with it's centre in the Arabian Sea, is adding to the fury of the rain. We have been anxiously, metaphorically, scanning our skies there, via weather reports and updates from family and friends.
For my family, there are no Diwali celebrations this year, as we remember my Dad....It is hard to celebrate in the face of loss...

                                                    Juxtaposition of rains and Diyas ( lamps)…

                                                                  ( Image from the net)

 A Damp Diwali

Damp, dark clouds, heavy with rain,

Scuttle across the outraged October sky,

It is a dismal, dire, depressing Diwali.

Damp, dank, earthern diyas,

Line a peeling parapet wall,

Attracting, instead of prosperity,

Rain insects, which flutter around the flame,

Only to die on Diwali day.

Damp, Diwali decorations dangle,

Dangerously from a warped, balcony ceiling,

The rain did not spare us this Diwali day.

Decorously dressed families, meet, greet and say,

" Will it stop pouring at least today?"

Damp squibs refuse to deploy,

Further dampening already low spirits,

Which now spiral rapidly downwards,

As the eyes light upon muddy footprints,

Marring the once sparkling floor,

Instead of the dainty, vermillion hued ones,

When Goddess Laxmi, on Diwali day, comes.

My damp eyes try to peer past,

The cyclone brewing over the Arabian Sea,

Bringing further dismay,

To all those celebrating Diwali today.

Despite the damp, the despair, the gloom and doom,

All over my state, the sweets and savouries have been made,

And, one hopes, our debts to the Rain Gods have been paid,

By this evening our skies, of rain, will have no trace,

Like every year, a billion sparkling lamps, will be seen even from outer space. 

A Plunderer, A Marauder, An Unwanted, Intrusive Invader...

On the night of Wednesday, 25th September, 2019, I was on FaceBook for my customary ten minutes post dinner. I saw an update from a student saying that water levels were rising rapidly in her compound and she was desperately seeking help, as it looked like they would need to evacuate their houses...I immediately messaged a very dear friend who lives almost next door to this particular housing complex asking her about the flash flood situation and helpfully telling her to park both her cars in our bungalow compound, a five minute walk from her house and slightly further from the canal which was rapidly spewing out water after incessant rains and had transformed itself into a massive river. Little did I know what was in store for our housing society too. The time was 11:30 pm in India and all hell was to break loose shortly...
Our area was one of the many areas that were to be affected that night and by the time I woke up the next morning , I saw a message from our immediate neighbour asking me to call him when I woke up. I knew immediately that water must have entered our compound, but it was much worse...Water had flooded my parents' home, my car and my two wheeler had been completely submerged and thus began a frantic coordination operation to get a locked house clean again, from across the Arabian Sea...By the grace of God, my classroom which is even closer to the canal turned river, escaped by the skin of its teeth and water lapped at the top most step...Many lives were lost in Pune that fearsome night and tons of garbage adorned the streets, walls and gates, like wreaths left by the river to commiserate with a city in mourning...


 A Plunderer, A Marauder, An Unwanted, Intrusive Invader

A plunderer, a marauder, an unwanted, intrusive invader,
Almost unseen, almost unheard, the whys unknown,
Sneaked in while we were busy on the phone...

Furniture floated and then bloated,
Electronic goods sizzled and snarled,
Cars were by the waters hurled,
The river's fury completely unfurled.

And yet we dared to ask ourselves why,
WHY was the river making us cry?

"Seen the plastic, seen the filth?
Doesn't it make one flinch?
When your garbage chokes my throat,
I'm going to get your goat!"

In our cozy homes were we ensconced,
Expensive cars our parking adorned...
Our houses were always neat as a pin,
We never learnt polluting the river was a sin...

And then we realized how helpless we are,
No power, no water nor internet won't take us far...
And all the while the ceaseless, relentless rain beat down,
To the river's destruction, it added an additional crown...

Instead of roads we now have gaping holes,
Instead of power we have twisted poles...
Our cars are heaps of rusty junk,
The water even swept away Granny's old trunk...

Oh how badly we have are fingers burnt,
Have we then our lesson learnt?
Global warming is a reality,
First hand views are not pretty...

Let's reduce that carbon footprint,
In operation Clean Up let's do a stint...
And face harsh reality that in my city,
The damage hasn't been itty -bitty...

So let's recycle, reduce, reuse, refuse,
And let need, not want, let you choose...
Let's all come together and do our bit,
Already our dear planet has been deemed unfit...

A solution is needed quick and fast,
Let's find it before we breathe our last....

A plunderer, marauder, an unwanted , intrusive intruder,
Befits Man, not the poor, polluted river!


                                                Op Clean Up began in my parents' dining room

                                                                Into the kitchen too...

                                           The road to my classroom became a river that night...

                                           Garbage trapped at our bungalow's little gate

                                                 Five minutes walk from the house...

                                                                         Sad Sights....

When The Jacaranda Is In Bloom...

In times of extreme emotion, I have always found that it is easier to write poetry instead of prose. This week got off to a tough start, as we got the news that two men living in two different countries, both in the prime of life, passed away very suddenly and unexpectedly, both unmitigated tragedies, no matter which way you look at it. One died on Mount Everest, the other by the side of the Expressway that runs between my home town and Mumbai... Both friends of friends and relatives, both leaving behind young families, one does not have to know them personally to feel almost first hand how ruthless life can be...Also today it has been six years since Westgate Mall was attacked by terrorists leaving behind so many devastated families... Does one really ever recover from tragedy? And then yesterday we got the horrible news that our neighbour's gentle, sweet, kind old dog needs to be put to sleep. Since our bungalow shares a common compound, it feels like we are losing a family member yet again this year...


When The Jacaranda Is In Bloom...

When the jacaranda is in bloom,
At times, to me, it spells a lot of gloom.
Six years ago today when lavender blossoms adorned Nairobi like a bride,
Evil terrorists ensured scores of people at Westgate died.
Roads carpeted with Jacaranda blooms were awash with blood,
Of anger, fury, grief and tears there was a flood...

Last Sunday when Jacaranda blossoms were just peeking from behind the leaves,
And there was a hint of mauve on all the trees,
A dear friend's fellow mountaineer met his end on Everest,
Today he comes home to be laid to eternal rest.
He leaves behind a little daughter and a pregnant wife,
Between Man and Mountain, man lost the strife...

That same Sunday night when Jacaranda blooms had gone to bed,
In my hometown, a brilliant spine surgeon, after a freak accident, was declared dead.
Gone are those dextrous fingers, gone is that skilled hand,
That once a scalpel so deftly and adroitly manned.
Never again home to his wife and daughters will he rush,
All because of a horribly driven private bus.

In my own back yard from where the Jacaranda is seen in a purple haze,
My neighbour's gentle old dog lies in a cancerous daze.
In a handful of hours she will be put to eternal sleep,
Is there any wonder then that the Jacaranda makes me weep?

But then, every morning, down my lane, what do I see?
It is, as if, the Jacaranda has laid down a lavender carpet just for me.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin,
Just being around to see Jacaranda blooms feels like a win.

No matter what has happened in the years that have passed,
Every September, the Jacaranda gives our eyes a fabulous repast.
And it's up to us to drink in Nature's wonderful sight,
For, who knows, against Man, when these trees will lose their fight...

Lessons Death Taught Me

Today it's been four whole months since my Dad passed away and much water has flowed under the bridges spanning the Mula-Mutha rivers in my hometown Pune, the Athi river here in Kenya and the Thames too...We have taken many flights back and forth in the past few months, all of which would have left my Dad with his heart in his mouth, even as he would have assiduously tracked the flights on his phone Flight Aap, from take off to landing... Those who knew him, know well his absolute terror of flying, fueled by a couple of Air Force crashes he had witnessed and some near escapes he had had, during his tenure in Leh Ladakh, in Jammu and Kashmir, in his early army days.
Hard and hectic as these last few months have been (it is not easy to wind up your parents' whole house almost single handedly, lock up your own house, teach students who are ALWAYS appearing for exams, shop for a wedding it was imperative to attend, and finish a hundred and one legal and other formalities death invariably brings in its wake, pun unintended), they have taught me a lot about what those living need to do to make life slightly easier for those left behind. Trust me, no banks or municipal corporation offices in India make anything smooth for you, so 'Be Prepared' has to be the motto.

Health : This is the number one piece of advice I have for ageing parents. Parents need to take great care of themselves, exercise as per your doctor's advice, keep a strict check on your diet and GO for regular checks ups and other tests as advised by your doctor... This is one area where my Dad and I invariably clashed, with me pushing him for annual tests and him backing away from them like those needles were plague infected...Since he had been on blood thinners for more than a decade due to Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT), it was even more imperative for him to get tested regularly. I ended up in Pune in January 2018, (not a time for my regular annual visit) on my way back from a wedding in Assam, took one look at his condition, screamed blue murder (backed by a dear cousin of his who had come to see me), with the result that he finally had the grace to call his technician home for tests. Shortly after the results were out, he was admitted to hospital for more than two weeks, to take care of multiple issues that showed up...but he made it home and that visit of mine bought him the extra year and a half, until May 2019.
So if you have a parent who fears hospitals and tests (and many folks shared this with me later, saying it is usually the Dads who refuse to go anywhere near a doctor), do not be an ostrich and bury your head in the sand but be eagle eyed where your parents are concerned. I'm currently engaged in pushing my Mom to walk regularly and have already succeeded in improving her sleep wake pattern..

Nominations: If both your parents are living, remind them to check that every bank account, every fixed deposit and every insurance policy has the partner's nomination. Our bank in India messed up the nomination for my Dad's Indian Army pension account , probably failing to carry it forward when banking software systems changed, as that account was twenty two years old... This meant that my Mom could not access the money until my sister and I had made a legal affidavit, stating we had no objection to her getting the money and she having to declare that she was his legal heir...Imagine how hard it would be for those who did not have any money, besides the amount in the pension or other affected accounts or even worse had children who refused to sign off what legally belonged to the surviving parent....So, everyone, check all nominations NOW, do not assume that the bank or insurance company has followed through...

Old Vehicles: This one is a request to all senior parents. If you have really ancient vehicles, please make arrangements to dispose them of NOW. Your heirs cannot even scrap a vehicle unless all documents are in order and with so many of us living outside the country, it becomes doubly hard. My Dad had stopped driving his fifteen year old car a few years ago, due to his DVT issues, but refused to sell it off and switch over to an automatic car. The only good thing was that he had got all the checks done and it had been cleared for the next five years, as per India's environmental law and the insurance was up to date. But we had to transfer it to my Mom's name first, for which an affidavit had to be made by her from a government  E Service Centre (my husband went with her for this one and it took nearly all day!) and we, as the heirs had to make another affidavit, declaring we had no objection to the car being put on her name....And then the entire formality of actually selling it but here dear friends came to our aid, and made sure it was handed over to the new owner only after all legalities were completed,  as we were in the country for a very limited amount of time....So my advice? If your heirs don't want the vehicles or do not need them and you are not driving anymore, SELL them and down load the Uber app...

After Death Rites: Put this down on paper. What do you want done after your death? While my sister and I were completely in agreement with whatever our mother wanted to do, objection came from unexpected quarters...I took the decision to donate my Dad's eyes as he had always helped my mother and me in our endeavours to record text books for blind students, ( nearly two decades ago, long before the currently read aloud software was introduced) and everyone was happy that two people would get to see the world... My Mother decided to donate his body to the Armed Forces Medical College to help medical college students. My parents had decided to attend my daughter's graduation from medical college a few years from now, notwithstanding my Dad's fear of flying... Now this would remain only a dream...While my daughter was thrilled with the decision to donate his body, my fifteen year old son wanted to go the more traditional cremation route...Then my mother wanted some religious ceremonies and after death rituals, as these do help to attain closure and give everyone a chance to pray for salvation of the departed soul. Both my children objected vehemently, my daughter because she felt my Dad was not a big believer in traditional rites and rituals and my son because he felt if she had not gone the traditional way after his death, why now?
Finally I had to intervene and say that since we had already signed a hundred affidavits about who his next of kin and legal heir was, it was that person's prerogative to decide what to do after her husband's death...So, I suggest put it down in black and white, grandchildren are very opinionated these days!

Death Comes As The End...BUT Does NOT Exempt You From Income Tax: The government must and does take away its pound of flesh even after you are gone...So for honest, income tax paying entities like us, it is imperative to leave enough money in your account, (which your Next Of Kin have access to), for the tax for the previous financial year...In our case, the money was not an issue but yet ANOTHER affidavit was required to be notarized and submitted to the Income Tax Department by my mother, seeking permission to file returns and pay tax on my Dad's behalf...A good Chartered Accountant is essential here, as he was the one who prepared this particular piece of document and my friendly neighbourhood notary, whom I have done business with for the last fifteen years, quickly notarized it...Only then could my Mom go ahead and pay the tax and file returns. This was pending, as my Dad had got hospitalized on the first day of the new financial year in India and so obviously had been in  no condition to pay his tax, like every year...

Declutter: I had written a blog post about this very topic after we had moved into our current house in Nairobi titled Knick Knack Paddy Whack, Who Gives A Bone? I spent a lot of time simply decluttering my parents' house...It is very hard to get rid of stuff in India as the Garbage collection ladies only take limited amounts of garbage out each day...I had to pay a lot of extra money to persuade them that this was a one off and they should cart away whatever we were throwing out, so that it could go for recycling. DO NOT trash your own house in order to save the environment, instead use cloth bags and sign up for soft copies of bills and other monthly documents and donate or sell things you do not need. It seems once your kids leave home, things just have a habit of piling up, regardless of whether you need them or not... Do not let this happen to you, I started my own declutter process more than a decade ago and it is never too early to start. Also do label all important documents and files clearly and boldly. Though my sister and I eventually found everything we needed, it took really long to go through ancient, dusty files. The next generation will be even more short of time than we are and honestly probably short of the patience too, which is truly required to do all this. It is not easy to make ten trips to the concerned office to accomplish one task...

A dear friend's daughter (and a student of mine) pointed out to her mother that in managing all this and wrapping up things before leaving for Nairobi, where was the time to grieve? That is so true...Death ensures one goes on auto pilot until everything that needs to be done has been done...my Dad was a fellow Capricorn, he would have understood...and would have been the first to share this post on FaceBook for his fellow ex army officers and other friends to learn from!

           Armed Forces Medical College Anatomy Dept, where we said our final goodbye...

The Vigil

The wait, the long wait for the unknown.
Time passes slowly.
As slowly as thickened molasses
Meanders down a channel,
In a sugar processing factory.

Time passes slowly.
As slowly as the rich, red life giving blood,
Passes so quietly,
Through transparent tubes.

A hot summer's day.
All is still except time,
But that too passes slowly,
Oh so slowly,
As life ebbs away...

The antiseptic smell of the hospital room,
Seems to suck up the very air,
The very hope that remains
Alive in our hearts.
For, we had been taught,
"Where there is life, there is hope..."

Heavy eyelids flutter once,
Bringing a small smile to many a face around,
As grey- green eyes half open,
But then the shutter falls again.

And time passes slowly.
As slowly as the river,
At the delta,
Winds its way to the sea.
Uniting with that vast sparkling body.

And so Time draws one,
Towards one's Maker.
Until the soul blends into infinity....

To The Woman Who Lost

The last few weeks and especially the last few days have been harrowing for India as a country. From being practically on the brink of war with our neighbour to one of our Air Force pilots landing into their territory, after shooting down their aircraft and being shot down in turn, only to eject and fall on the wrong side of the border...Mercifully the Geneva Convention was by and large adhered to and our pilot smartly marched home across the border last night, even as a country waited with bated breath and many a prayer, for his safe return. But every evening for more than a month now, news channels have been dominated by stories of brave wives who have lost their husbands to terrorism, to gunfire and, just two days ago, to a helicopter crash in the border area. Visuals of these young ladies saying their last good byes to husbands, many carrying young children in their arms are continuously flashing across our television screens...This has also turned the spotlight on the wives of soldiers whose husbands were martyred in years past and many a 'candid' discussion has taken place on Prime Time television. I listened to many strong women, (I refuse to call them widows), outlining the issues and the multiple delays they have faced in getting their dues and in facing the myriad challenges that arise when death occurs suddenly and so tragically, with government officials promising to make things happen soon... The definition of soon is anybody's guess...


To The Woman Who Lost

To the woman who lost a husband to vile terrorism or an act of war,
There is no magic balm for a heart so sore.
Never again will that deep voice emanate,
Asking for a last chappati, straight from your griddle to his plate.
The house that sometimes seemed a trifle small,
Suddenly seems larger than the nearest mall.
No surgeon, no matter how smart,
Can mend that gaping hole in your heart.
Precious memories spread themselves in corners four,
Who knew it was the last time he walked out of your door?

The throat is tight, the grief is red and raw,
Why does it feel like the camel's last straw?
The eyes are gritty with tears yet unshed,
Why were you chosen to be down this particular path led?

Government officials, news reporters, neighbours bombard you with questions galore,
While you wish, you could, like Sita, be swallowed up by the floor.
But life is always harder for those left behind,
To live for your children, yourself, your parents, in laws, you must put your mind.

You have to stand up and claim his posthumous Gallantry Award,
Which, for serving the Nation, is his tangible reward.
At times, the cold, hard metal will offer comfort scant,
At other times you will want to rave and rant.
But remember for the Nation he had pledged his life,
And you, you had signed up to be a Forces Wife.
The grit he showed in death, you will need in life,
One cannot pretend it's not going to be a strife.

For the long struggle to get your due,
You will find yourself a part of a never ending queue,
One would have thought the machinery is better oiled for a soldier's kin,
And making a devastated lady run around would be a sin.
But for the government 'servant' in his cool cabin and the clerk in the plush chair,
By making you visit 'just' ten times, he is being very fair.
"Rest assured, Madam, your work is almost done,"
While the reality is, he's not even begun...
And then, you realize, that the courage you showed when he died,
Needs now a thousand times to be magnified...

As winter turns to summer and summer to rain,
You ask yourself, "Was his sacrifice in vain?"
"Have my countrymen never learned,
That it's not just about the pension he had rightfully earned?"
"This is someone who died for our country,
At least do your job to honour his memory...."

Nearly a billion mouths should apologize and hang their heads in shame,
It's thanks to her husband that it's not you looking down from a dusty frame...