Happy times gone, happy times ahead

 I am in Vashi now and it feels really nice. Woke up early morning, chatted with Papa over coffee, and started work by looking out at a guava tree.

Today there will be an evening with a friend, then possibly will get home before midnight. 

It feels really good. 

This year was a lot.

I lost 4 friends to suicide. 

I took a trip with my Dad. 

I got some really great assignments and some wonderful ones were taken away.

I looked around my house and saw too many things and complained about the mess.

I looked around my house and was grateful for the sheer volume of beautiful things I had. 

I found a new cafe. 

I found really nice books in familiar cafes.

I started this year with my heart full. 

It feels full circle now on 31st afternoon. 

A tough type of blissing out

Today I sensed that maybe I am battling several stubborn issues. It has been several years now, decades maybe, a lifetime, many lifetimes perhaps. 

Maybe the advancement has been slowly. Like a glacier but I am learning more about these psychological obstacles. 

Slow and steady does it. 

It was a good day. I was satisfied with a piece of work I turned in. There's more tomorrow. But I enjoyed taking a longish break early evening to go for coffee with Papa. He really enjoyed it.

Tomorrow morning my father will leave for Vashi. Day after, I will.

But now there's darkness, a thick night, and the glow of a tastefully done up Christmas tree. 

So peace and beauty for now.

Something to remember

 It is one day after Christmas.

It is one week before New Year's.

I broke my phone.

But things are otherwise good.

I bought a planner and I am really looking forward to using it. This evening I put down some goals and contemplated the best way to approach them.

The reason this contemplation was important is because I felt angry and hateful towards a couple of people and places. I realized that this year alone I had thought, intended, promised myself many times about being more easy-going. It is not working all the time. 

So I feel that my approach should be to take a more softer angle to this whole New Year's thing. I feel that if I have to succeed in accomplishing my goals, I need to see 1st January 2022 as a continuum to 31st December 2021. It's not yet a New Year. It's a New-ish Year because chronologically at least a new segment of time is beginning. But 2021 is still a cube of ice that will need the space to melt and dissolve. 

So today the hard thoughts that I felt against someone...at least today I realized that how I feel about them has got nothing to do with them. Different people who had the same experience as me will (and have) feel differently. And getting to just this point took years of struggling. 

Anyway, I do see this as a step in the right direction. I am reminded of an image I had seen years ago. A tiny turtle that has cracked out of the egg is walking towards the sea. The sea is a long way off.

And the message goes, "Take all the time you need. Forward is forward."

A day, a festival, a bunch of pictures

 My friend, M, visited me and we had planned to walk around in Bandra wearing sequins, taking in Christmas lights.

We waited until it got mellow, wore our shimmering dresses and headed out. I think we were looking damn good! 

Anyway, we walked down to Suzette first and had a pastry and juice. Then we walked to Mount Mary. Now, walking to Mount Mary was a damn smart thing to do. There were so many people on the roads. But the Christmas lights were so pretty. It looked like clutches of twinkling constellations got caught in the nets of local Fisher folks in Bandra and someone in the skies cast the net over the suburb.

I don't take very good pictures and I damaged my phone somewhat. But here it is. In the words of the director Bergman, "Let us be happy while we are."

And me... happy!

A little bit of well-being

 Today I wrapped up work early and fell asleep. It has been a little rough the last few weeks or months, mood wise. I get a little respite when I sleep and sometimes doing other things. But sleep, even though it is precious little, helps.

Papa is busy and wasn't going to be able to come to Bandra. I felt a little sad but I had some stuff to finish and all that.

I was having a luscious nap and a call from V woke me up. We chatted. Then I just decided to have a bath, wear pink, light up my Christmas tree and go meet my dad. 

He wasn't expecting me. His friend is visiting and the two of them were having a meal. I made some coffee and joined them. Heard some stories, laughed a bit. Papa told me about the time when my mom, then a new bride, had asked my father to take her to see snow. And he took her to Russia in the winter. 

It felt so good and nourishing. 

Sometimes I wonder about the men in that generation. How important it was to tend to a family, a marriage, your place in the world. 

As much as my dad exasperates me (and he does every single day), I think he is the most perfect man in the world.

When I was a child, I used to believe that Papa was the wisest, kindest man in the world. He could never be wrong. He would never hurt me or allow anyone to do that either. 

Then I turned 15 or something. And I have had a very rough relationship with him since. (To be honest, I have had a rough relationship with everyone since. With the exception of my mom, of course.) 

But now having seen and known men, including relatives, etc. I just see how brave a man my father was and is. He is so cheerfully stubborn about peace and simplicity that I find him reckless at times.

But I have come full circle today. He is the wisest, kindest man in the world. He can never be wrong. He will never hurt me or allow anyone to do that either. (And I bask in the warmth of this feeling until he asks me for the thousandth time how to send an attachment on WhatsApp.)

Strange gift

 Today I woke up with a headache. I have been waking up with headaches often nowadays. I was a little sad. But I have been feeling sad for a while.

My help came and she told me that a boy was waiting for me at the verandah. With a copper vessel, no less. One of his eyes was green and the other was blue. 

I asked her if she knew what he wanted. She shrugged and went to the balcony to get a broom.

So I went to see who the boy with the interesting eyes was. 

The interesting thing is that common verandah of my building has a big palm tree growing in the middle of it. It is really weird. We have to move around the tree to get to the respective lift. Sometimes I find delivery guys napping under the tree, leaning against the trunk just outside my flat on the 8th floor.

The boy was there. He was wearing a green suit and was carrying a copper vessel. He couldn't have been more than 10 years old. I asked him what he wanted, was he alone, and if he wanted water. 

He just smiled shyly, kept the copper vessel down in front of me and left. 

I didn't follow him or stop him because I was really curious about what the vessel contained.

I took it inside and my help was polishing my new steel trunk that I have converted into a 2-seater. 

"What is it?", she asked.

It was a blue cabbage sculpture made of smooth, fragile porcelain. It is gorgeous!

Such a strange day. 

Little light, little joy

 I still have a lot to get done and all. But Papa sent over the Christmas tree and decorations he bought at Ikea. I just about put it up with V's help. We tried out a few twirlings of light and one red streamer. Just to get a feel. 

And boy it felt. It's still not fully done up or anything. Hoping Papa will come and we will do it together. But it feels like a quiet, sweet baby is in the room. 

Oh I love this season so much!

Then V and I took a rick ride to Mount Mary's, saw the pretty lights wherever they were put up, and he got me guava cheese.

Am so grateful for the sudden sweetness that comes to weary people at times. 

Oh...and I always name my Christmas tree something. He is Homer.

It ends...

 I saw the final episode of SuperStore today. It was the sweetest, heart-tugging, fuzzy episode I have seen in a long time. I worked in a place like that, many years ago. Made a lot of friends, some of them for life. Some just went away or too much happened between us and we stopped talking.

I was supposed to travel next month. Now I can't. It just hit me now that I can't leave my dad in Bombay and go anywhere. Even Delhi, that always felt like another neighborhood...closer than Borivali...I felt deep down that I will not go there again. Maybe I will never see J again. It's possible. 

Life maybe strange but decisive.

I am not feeling happy at all. My heart does feel at its heaviest. 

Not sure if I will be writing the blog again this year. 

If I don't, have a sweet, safe, happy Christmas and a beautiful, gentle New Year. 

Highs and lows

 I was feeling really low today. My head hurt, my back hurt. I just wanted to go away somewhere. V came by, kept company for a bit and went on home.

I didn't want to be alone so I went to Vashi. I always forget how soothing it is to be around my father. We went to Ikea but they have a double-vaccination rule and I am not vaccinated. So we turned back. I'd taken coconut macaroons, puffs, and plum cake from the Iyengar Bakery at Vashi. I love their stuff, especially the coconut macaroons and their milk bread. So yummy and dense and soft. Papa made tea with lemon grass and it was perfect as usual.

During lockdown, once when I was working, Papa asked me how much milk I like in my tea or coffee. I told him that the beverage should be the colour of wet sand. And he seemed tickled by that and then attacked it like an engineering problem. I saw him keenly measuring water, milk, temperature, the brewing time for different types of tea leaves, etc. And everytime he would ask me if it was okay. I'd reply that it was perfect (and it always was). Then he'd ask me whether it was closer to the 'wet sand' brief than the previous cup of tea. To be honest, I started feeling the pressure of assessing chai with such precision. 

But there it was.

After that tea and naashta, I slept for two hours. It was luscious and nourishing and so peaceful.

Then woke up, said goodbye to my father, and returned to Bandra.

Fridaying

 

Day began really early with gentle bursting of a sweet dream. I felt a light draft in the room, thought I had shifted to a  house in Matheran (a progression in my dream) and woke up. It was a beautiful morning. The early light sang its way into my room and the treetops looked soothed and well. 

I brewed some hot water for tea and then got a few pings regarding work submissions. Felt a natural surge of irritation but I have decided to be sweet to people. So I curtailed that instinct. Responded like a good humane person, recognizing that everyone else was also up early waiting to begin their day. It's a nice kind of reassurance, that everyone is pretty much in 'it' together. 

Attended calls. Mailed stuff. Had to meet a colleague this evening. Sent her a message, giving her my address. I had half-expected her to bail because she is always so busy. But she confirmed plans. 

Now the thing to tackle was the core work itself. And there was a humungous chunk of it to get through. I did that so rapidly, it amazed me! I think, after a long time, I was looking forward to doing something social with someone from work. It felt exciting!

Anyway, got done. Got dressed. Am wearing my lavender dress from Bhane. It's in a shiny, delicate material that I find very pretty and versatile. 

My friend is late. So I walk into a cafe with mellow lights, some 80s music playing. I ask for a glass of kombucha. Settle down, right smack in the middle of the cafe in front of the pastry display. A carefully sculpted chocolate torte beckons with toppings of strawberry slivers. 

A little girl walks in holding a man's hand. The little girl looks at me. I smile. She looks away. 

My kombucha comes. Cold, tart, and the color of the joy we have tried to distill from whatever this year has put us through. 

My friend is at BKC. I hear the honking in the background when I talk to her. Nothing changes. 

But the slowly melting ice-cubes in my glass of kombucha remind me otherwise.

It changes. It all changes.

Full

 Went to Mount Mary and walked around. It was all so pretty. I realize that I enjoy Bandra best when I am walking about alone. Not driving through or even walking with someone else. 

When I was studying French in Alliance Francaise, we read a short essay by Victor Hugo or Voltaire. He had described Paris with the thoroughness of a lover and the gentleness of a parent. He had written a line that, translated, went like this, "If a man walks around in Paris alone when it is raining, he starts to believe that Paris belongs to him and him alone." 

I feel this way in Bandra. Walking around in the luscious cool night, sun down, moon high, lights prickling through staid darkness, shops crowded with the red felt and velvet Christmas decorations and Santa caps...yes, there's a solid friendship I have with this place. 

Tiring

 It has been a long, long day! Not too bad since much work got done. And much piled on my plate. I still have a lot to do and I wonder if I should work more or call it a night.

Maybe call it a night. Or maybe work. 

Had gone out last night. It was good but I didn't get enough sleep. Had a massive headache and nausea this afternoon. Slept for forty minutes and am feeling better now.

Had 'Nourish' organic muesli with cold milk. Feels nice. 

Didn't speak to dad. Tomorrow maybe. 

Watched 'A Castle for Christmas' today. So sweet. Also I like any movie where a freelance writer is so rich that she can afford to buy a castle, pay off land mortgages, etc. 

Anyway, I was thinking about what kind of people I admire. I think this trait is becoming more important for me now - I admire people who can be happy for someone else, even if that someone else has something they really want but don't have yet. I find that generosity of spirit really excellent! 

Okay, tired now. Still have to decide whether I wrap things up or continue.

First Impression - Last Christmas (movie on Netflix)

 I love Christmas, Christmas-themed movies, Christmas-themed cakes, Christmas carols, and the song 'Last Christmas'. I love it all so much! So this is not going to be an entirely objective perspective but still.

Emilia Clarke plays Katarina, a girl of Croatian origin living in London. She is a damaged, yet unusually self-aware little soul. In the beginning of the film we see her explain herself to the 'hero' that she is like George Michael...very talented, misunderstood, and not appreciated in their own time. 

We get the sense early on that she had been very ill. She doesn't get on with her family, is in a dead-end job working as an elf in a shop that sells Christmas-themed curious all-year round, has friends who have given up on her...

Then she meets a guy.

This movie could be considered as a pastiche of cinematic cliches. And if you see some online reviews, you will know that many people have disliked it for these reasons. But with Emilia Clarke, Emma Thompson, and Henry Golding, these standard tropes are masterfully handled. There's wit. There sadness. There's quite smiles. There's a weariness. And there's the magical voice of George Christmas whose lyrics anchor the narrative in places. (My absolute favorite is when 'Faith' plays in the background when Emilia's life takes a turn for the better.) 

Emma Thompson plays Clarke's mother, a worried Yugoslavian who talks with a thick accent and is confused about Dick and penis meaning the same thing. She is always such a treat!

The decorations on the streets, set pieces designed for the shop, a big musical somewhere, the alleyways with gentle drifting snow... it's all so gorgeous. 

See, most of us have Love, Actually as a benchmark of Christmas warmth. And that is hard to match up to.  But just in case one wants to shop around for what else is there, this is a lovely option. 

Overall...

 I am happy with the day. 

Today I had to work on a lot of things. I didn't. Worked on one segment. That was good. 

I had also started brainstorming on another project. But hit a roadblock. 

Chatted with a few friends. A sent me links to a really funny video. Stand-up comedy. 

I also resolved to do something. It's too late to articulate it sensibly. So, maybe next time. 

A Saturday Night

 Today Papa left for Vashi with my brother. He looked quite happy and excited to go. Wore his grey hoodie with some enthusiasm, grabbed his book and diary, and cheerfully told me goodbye. 

I went to check his room to see if he'd left anything behind (and he usually does). There was nothing. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I don't have kids and can't really imagine what an empty nest may feel like. But it feels like that with him gone. Like my child has grown up and gone somewhere. My father is usually a quiet, peaceful presence. I wouldn't even notice him if it weren't for those infernal videos on YouTube that he watches on full volume. But when he is not there, his not being there feels rather gaping.

Later in the evening, my friend P came over. It was so much fun! We chatted, had dinner, shared a Diet Coke and a can of non-alcoholic beer. It was so nice and wholesome!

I cherish company like this. 

Had read this line somewhere. I think it was by Iris Murdoch. "One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can be inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better."

I liI lived that way today.

December Day

 It was hot.

Took my niece street shopping on Hill Road. It's sometimes hard to explain the significance of a landmark and an experience to a generation so different from your own. But it was great fun. 

We ate at Smokehouse Deli. I quite relished my virgin apple mojito.

But I have become really slow after returning from Orissa. The couple of work calls that I had went well. But I was wading through molasses. There's just so much stuff in my house. 

Yet again I wished I had a manager for my home. 

I really need some energy back. 

Am drying a truckload (it at least feels like it) of clothes in one bedroom. And it was feeling closed in. So I am sleeping in my living room. 

There's much to do. I am feeling too tired to do the puja. I know it will be good for me if I do it. But I can't. Could it be because my chilli plants aren't there? So I am not feeling rooted? It can be that possibly. 

I love city lights.

Really feeling unmoored today. It was a good enough day. Nothing went wrong. Had fun with my niece. Work was sweet. 

But it's December. There should be no agenda. We should all just float through it, light and directionless. 

The wedding

 I have always liked Katrina Kaif. And not just for her looks. I find her very pretty, of course. But there's always been something innocent, wise, and soothing about her that I felt was deep.  And contrary to what many people think of her, I always found her to be a good actress. Not in those annoying Akshay Kumar films. But in some others like New York, that other movie with Saif, the one with Siddharth Malhotra (in fact, I had liked that movie), Zero...there are quite a few films where she shone. To be that gorgeous and play parts where you lose the guy and convince you that that's possible...I just felt that she had an emotional depth that was uncommon.

And then there was the book recommendation. In an interview, she recommended the book 'Radical Acceptance' by Tara Brach. I went through a few snippets of that book in a store and it was so painful and profound... whatever little I read of it. You know that if someone reads a book like that, they will have a certain gravitas to them. And if they recommend the book, they may have a gilded opinion of humanity at large. 

I was happy to see pictures of her wedding. Felt good. Felt right. 

Not so good

 Today, and the last few days, have not been feeling so good. In two minds now whether to travel to Delhi or not. There's much cleaning up to do in the house. And I really want to rest for 6 months. Peacefully.

Still. One is grateful for all that one has - a home, a family, running water, electricity, a full larder, books, friends, health, enough money in the bank to not tense up at night just yet but not so much that I don't hustle for work with some urgency, two juicy assignments, a brightly lit up Bandra, and a chilled Diet Coke as of right now. 

White Tiger: First Impressions of the Movie

 There's a line in this film where Priyanka Chopra, an NRI, is describing how unimportant her husband, Rajkumar Rao, is to his own family. She says, "You are unnecessary to them, like skimmed milk." That's a very apt description of Rajkumar Rao's performance, his role, and the insipid nature of the NRI hypocrisy that he displays. He and his simpering wife, Priyanka Chopra. 

Rajkumar's and Priyanka's roles essay precisely what I dislike about NRIs, especially those living in the US...the high-handedness they display when encountering social inequities - all in the garb of 'discussion' - but take advantage of the system when it suits them. Why the hell was she driving when she was drunk? And that other coward who looks away and doesn't make eye contact with his driver when the story takes a turn for the worse. Maybe these people behave that way because of what they are called 'Non-resident Indians'. Maybe it would be better to just call them Americans. Maybe then their behavior would be palatable. I mean, if you call someone 'Non-resident Indian', what kind of self-worth would that person have anyway? Their entire identity is what they are not. They are not.Indian. Idiots. 

I realize I am sounding harsh. It could be the effect of the movie. Not all American NRIs are condescending. (Very tough to meet one, though.) I didn't like White Tiger as much as everyone else. (It could be because of the strange, uneven accept of Rao and some areas that felt too contrived.) But Rao's and Chopra's characters really made me furious. They became the reason a man would break ties from his family, his roots...And not just him, his nephew too. 

So much loss for so little. Felt really bad about that.

Blungering (Memory of two stories)

 Today I remembered two stories - one, I had heard about and second, I had read. 

The first one was called 'Draupadi' by Maheshwata Devi. This plot was narrated to me by someone, so I cannot confirm the veracity of the plot. The story involves a woman who has been gang-raped by a group of upper-caste men and is thrown away in a field, entirely disrobed and naked. A cop comes to talk to her and get her statement. He is gruff with her and tries to degrade her further by commenting on her nudity. At first the woman is dazed at the hostility. Then she is ashamed. Then she gets bold, stands up, and starts approaching the cop. What my friend told me was how well the author had explained the change in the psyche - that when the woman had felt shame fully, so fully that the emotion left her body, she just became a person who had nothing more to lose. At that point, from the cop's point of view, she became fatal.

The second book is Salman Rushdie's novel, 'Shame'. It's a story so dazzling that it made Rushdie a very necessary part of my existence. Just as I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without my father and mother, without a childhood in Bombay...I cannot imagine a life where I hadn't read Rushdie. 

Anyway, in this book, the character of Omar Khayyam is stepping out of the house for the first time to go to school. His mother and aunts know that he will be ridiculed because he comes from a family that has attracted some notoriety and gossip. They tell him that whatever he may feel - anger, sorrow, guilt, confusion - all that is fine. But the one thing that he must not feel is 'sharm'. Shame. And Khayyam doesn't. The novel then explores how abject shamelessness or shame can both be roots of violence. 

"You live with shame long enough and it becomes part of the furniture." (A line from the book.)

Exhaustion of returning

 Got back this afternoon and am so drained that I practically sleep-walked/ sleep-ricked to Mount Mary and back.

My morning began with panic. At the airport, Dad realised he had lost/ misplaced his aadhar card somewhere.  Every other form of ID that he had, for some strange reason, was inadmissible. (Apparently, xeroxed copies don't count as valid IDs according to some BIS guidelines.) I was so pissed! At this irate man at the gate and also at Papa. But I have to say that he is the most unfazed, calm traveler ever. I had heard a lot of stories from Ma and Papa's other sailor friends about how Papa would be the last one in the plane, how he once boarded the wrong flight and came to know mid-air that he was flying to a wrong destination and made friends with some government officials on the plane and they helped him out, how he was on a chartered flight once that landed illegally and he had slept off. But he woke up to strange people pointing guns at him because there had been a coup. And he would remain unfazed and get out of all that. Of course I know Papa to be a very calm man...but he just doesn't get frazzled. As admirable as that is, it is very infuriating for me. 

I lost 5 years of my life fretting and arguing with that unpleasant security man. But he did teach me something. There's an app called mAadhar through which you can access your aadhar details. This information is stored on a central government server, so it's always there, even if you lose it on your phone. (My father had aadhar card details of my brother, me, the driver, the cook, but not his own. It is unbelievable to think that such people exist, but they do.) And my mistake was to not have Papa's aadhar and vaccination details with me. 

You know, if you are traveling with a senior citizen or just by yourself also, take print-outs and hard copies of documents. (Yeah, yeah...plant a tree somewhere to compensate for all that loss of paper.) But this video-game level anxiety of getting the relevant details on the mobile before your phone goes out of charge or your flight takes off is just not worth it. ,

Am so so grateful that I am not a tour operator. My God! These people have to handle calm careless people like my father and nervous wrecks like me. I don't even understand the big deal about traveling. So much trouble for what? Packing is so idiotic. I wish flights or agencies had a concierge service. Someone to come, fold, pack, and then finish off by giving you a back rub.

Anyhoo, reached home in Mumbai. I went out and got snacks from Theobroma. It has Christmas stuff now, so yay! Brother visited. Didn't like anything from Theobroma or the pita bread I got from Farmer's Store and left. 

I made dinner for Dad. It turned out too salty. But he liked it with curd.

My father is such a great, fuss-free traveler who will get me to burst a blood vessel. Yet again, I missed my mom. She would have understood. 

Wondersome

 Had a great time yesterday with my aunt and uncle. Unfortunately I couldn't get a cab and my uncle insisted that 9:30 was too late. So I stayed back. (Father had left for the hotel earlier with another uncle.)

And before I met my uncle, I had met a cousin and then gone to visit my sweet little aunt and another cousin, who had introduced me to script writing and movies and Lokhandwala life. He is the creative well I used to visit during early freelance days when I felt parched due to the practical constraints put on artistic pursuits.

†*******"***"

The last entry was a few days ago. I leave Bhubaneshwar tomorrow. It was a sweet day. Warm and filled with laughter and fondness. My father is the gentlest, sweetest travel companion ever. I am full. There was much that I observed about people, human nature, and the sturdy simplicity of life. In every house that I visited, a main core person was no more. That was the chief reason for my dad and me to visit, in any case. And yet...the plush ways in which we were cared for and tended to, was heartbreaking and heartwarming.

Of course, I leave the city tomorrow with a heart that resembles my suitcase...chaotic with a lot of stuff packed in. 

One more day

 Felt a few things today. Possibly for the very first time.

Can't say much more, so will move on to other things.

The rasgullas I had today! So so brilliant! 

Full. Filled up.

 Last night, I woke up with a deep ache in my heart. I was in Bhubaneshwar for the very first time in my life without Ma. I would be meeting so many cousins, uncles, aunts...after ages. The first time after Ma's demise. They are her family after all. They would look for her in me. I wondered if they would find her. Sometimes I do think...what of my mother do I have? (Maybe the certainty that I am a delight to be around. 😊)

†******

In the last couple of months, I lost my uncle and another aunt. Today, I visited both their homes. In both places, there was so much love, light, and affection. We missed the people who passed on and celebrated our time together. I was the first in the group to have lost my mom. So I know the heaviness my aunt, cousins, and nieces would feel when they come across the departed person's half-read novel or handwriting in the dhobi book. Any evidence that there was a life entrenched in this reality and now it's just not there. That kind of grief comes like a sweet slow embrace. But life fills a void with strange, crazy mundaneness. My cousin told me about jackfruit pickle. My aunt gave me a gorgeous pink and white cotton saree and fed me to the gills with all my favorite Oriya foods...chenna podo, rasgullas, pitthas (some steamed in haldi leaves - my faves) - topping off with great chai made by my little nephew. My other cousin who had lost her mom told me about some Uttam Kumar retrospective. I ribbed her about her archaic taste in actors. I also made fun of her Bangla, which is rich, considering I know next-to-nothing myself. My young niece who was close to her grandmother and is coping with so much told me about the place in Italy she wants to visit. I also met her pet turtle and took a work call in her absolutely delectable study. 

R was there. She'd made such brilliant snacks - mushroom chops, soyabean cutlets, a mayo and shredded veg sandwich, and soft as whispers dhokla. She was so happy to see me (and I her). For a brief second I forgot that I was not at my  home. I had barely finished my call when a steaming cup of coffee was in front of me (without having asked for it) and I was getting a head massage. 

These are homes that have seen bereavement recently. We all met, a congregation of people who had chunks of their heart blown away to make place for a stubborn emptiness.

Yet we laughed, ate, took in the beauty of a cold first day of December. It is amazing just how much sweetness life brings in. It doesn't just go on. It takes you with it, like a good sport. 

I have always loved this song from Masoom and at various times in my life, have understood the depth of the lyrics. And today, between mirth and melancholy, I remembered the words again, "Tujhse naraaz nahin Zindagi, hairaan Hoon main."