Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 1 - Donning different hats

Dearest Reader,

Hope you’re well and enjoying the cheer of the season. I’m sure your holiday plans are getting ready to be gift wrapped and delivered at the door steps of your life. I on the other hand did get to see some dramatic flips in truest of literary sense recently. Like any bits and pieces of my life, it opened up a can of story telling.

It was a Friday noon and a very calm and otherwise insignificant day which turned nightmarish. My dearest mother in law, who is a brilliant cook and loves tinkering in the kitchen, did her morning rounds of doing so. And then BAAM! We don’t know how, whether she had a black out or she tripped… she fell face flat straight on the floor hurting her forehead badly. I’ve never seen so much blood coming out of someone’s body besides me. But then I’m a pro. Poor Ma, lied on a pool of blood, hurt and in pain. Goes without saying there was emergency rush to the nearest hospital. I will be ever grateful to the bunch of stable headed, compassionate and selflessly helping women in my Building of the Society I stay in. These women who rally around each other in crisis, celebrate happiness and take pride in each other’s success ensured, the in house medic came rushing in, the Society Ambulance was waiting ready and all the security staff carried the injured carefully and fast to the waiting ambulance so that we could head towards nearest hospital emergency. 

But the story is not of the accidental fall but of human reaction to crisis. Around the situation, there were folks who almost fainted seeing so much blood, one started crying and sobbing, one was in so much panic that he almost froze and Mithai our 9 months old retriever thought that it’s his sole responsibility to lick my mother in law back to normalcy. 

As I grew up in a family where crisis was normal, my father being and IPS officer honoured with Gallantry award by the President of our country, I find myself more often than not emotionally detached and clinically cold in such situations. It’s like I have an automatic reaction to crisis and it’s with surgical precision I tend to deal with it. So the crisis in my home was managed. My dearest mother in law all stitched up, cleaned, being monitored in the ICU and finally shifted to a ward for recovering to health. The associated running around to the hospital and police station all being taken care off before my husband took over charge.

I often wonder if folks find me insane that I can laugh in such situations making it light and funny and that I don’t crumble. But then there are many like me across the world where women handle more than the most masculine of men as expected in our common social parlance. My father brought me up as the eldest son of the family. I was taught what he probably would have taught if he had a boy. I was taught to be the Alpha as I was being prepared to fend my circle. And such an upbringing though had its advantages for those that I shield, has often than not backfired as far as I’m concerned. I have stopped embracing the woman in me since I was a kid. 

 I took pride in being tougher than the toughest. So I stand up for, I fight for and protect all those who are under my care. I take it personally if my tribe is not getting their due, not being appreciated, being disrespected or not having the comfort they need. For that, I’m often told that I’m emotional, I’m overtly protective, I defend unnecessarily and I am fierce when it comes to my own. It really doesn’t matter, if it’s the family I’m born in or the family I’m married to, my extended family, my helping hands, my team, my larger business unit, the place of my work, the community I’m a member of or my friends. I’m fierce when it comes to shielding them from the wrath of life. That doesn’t mean I have not reared enough tigress cubs. I have and am supremely proud of some of these people who were a part of my life and embraced this philosophy. It takes courage to be unselfish and do the thankless job of being a shield. And I have seen these folks turn into shields and protected me as much as I have protected them. If not anything else, as long as you are guided by sense of righteousness with compassion, you will turn out to be great human beings.

Saying it, I still search for the woman I wanted to be. How would it feel to depend, to be protected, to be cared for…not too sure. Never been there and didn’t get a chance to taste it. Maybe I’m too tuned to the role I have played and don’t know how to depend. Some lives are led like that of mine and you slowly forget the body you reside in as you have metamorphosed into some other beast. I had heard in one of the interviews I had watched years back - “a woman can afford to be a woman when she is with a man who’s man enough”. Else she generally tends to takeover. It’s that nurturing quality of a woman which pushes her to be Dashabhuja (10 handed Goddess Durga) where she kills her demons mercilessly as she nurtures her family single handedly. 

I hope dear reader if you’re a woman, you have your man in your life who shields you…and in case you’re a man, then celebrate your woman. Each of you celebrate the balance of divine feminine and the masculine. That’s the natural flow of energy in this universe.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Simple living

 Hello Dearest Reader,

Hope the winter chill has seeped into your lives. December is half way through and Yuletide cheer has set in. The year of 2023 finally breathing its last. For us Bengalis, specially those who were born and brought up in Kolkata, it’s the season to celebrate Christmas lunches and New Year’s Parties in the quintessential clubs that dots the city since British Raj. The Babu culture shining through the mists of time. Calcuttans who thrive on this club culture are more British than the Brits. If you ever get sneak peak in these Christmas lunches, you’ll see roasted turkey and shepherd pies gracing the tables with drool worthy gravy, followed by the rum soaked plum cakes. Park Street decks up in lights and Christmas carols are sung in every city corner. The flavour of this old city is that it doesn’t need a particular community to celebrate life. Be it Durga Puja or Eid or Christmas,  Calcuttans (and that’s what they always will be in my mind) celebrate it with all the merriment and good food.

My girlhood in the city saw winter picnics being organised within families and extended ones. Elaborate Para picnics (one with friends and families of the same locality) being planned with meticulous precision. These picnics would have bus loads of laughter early in the morning heading towards the nearest Bagan bari ( bungalows dotting the near by villages) parks and forested areas of the surrounding rural areas that girdled the city. Smell of peeling oranges and the cracking shells of boiled eggs for breakfast in those buses will always be a memory which brings a smile to my face. These picnics where the places where  cricket matches were played, badminton rackets swung in the air, games of cards and memory's games played with battles fought to choose the winner.

And away from the hustle bustle of the winter galas, in the quiet corner of my Thama’s (granny’s) home we could smell the sweet intoxicating smell of nolen gurer payesh (sweetened rice pudding with seasonal jaggery) pithey, puli, and chitoi pithey (Bengali sweet dish) which made the chilly winters heavy and cosy. The Poush parbon warmth of the kitchen, where we cuddled in our sweaters and shawls, waiting impatiently for our turn of the next piping serving of the delicacies was what girlhood was made of. And then Thama’s stories would lull us to forget the childish desires of the delicious morsels. In her lilting, gravelly voice she would talk about her girlhood, her struggles, her battles with hunger and poverty in a manner which would make it seem like fairy tale beautiful. And her stories will always have a common theme. It will always be of hope, finding beauty in the simplicity of the moments, enjoying the quiet and cherishing the pause. In our lives we often encounter pauses. Where there’s nothing to do but the next thing which requires our attention. You have no conscious strategy, no battles to be fought, no action to be taken just simply sit and wait it out. Those are the moments where we become restless, anxious and feel helpless. Humankind has been trained to wage a war for survival. That’s the basic instinct.  Doing nothing doesn’t come naturally. However if we observe carefully life treats us to those moments at regular intervals, preparing us for our last days of our lives. Where you wait out an end before a new beginning. My grandma would always say that, your mind should be latched on to the fluttering wings of hope. 

As I battled my chronic illness I learnt that this is one of the best ways to live a life. Every time the entire medical fraternity will tell me that I don’t have many years to breathe, every time families surrounding me will have despondent looks, I always thought about the next travel plans, the return to work, the next fabulous step in my spiritual journey, the next plate of yumm food, the next book I will read, yet enjoying the brilliance of the sunset from my hospital window across the Mumbai skyline. And that’s how I learnt to live and not just survive. And as I’m ageing towards eternity, I find myself dreaming of a quiet life within the folds of the mountains where the sun shines brightly and simplicity is what days are made of. Yet I know if life treats me otherwise, I will embrace the last days on a hospital bed, friendless, surrounded by caregivers with equanimity. Sharing my stories of a wonderful life with those around then. Reminiscences of an old soul on its way out, giving back to all those who’ve touched this life.

I hope dear Reader, you’re able to enjoy the quiet of the winters. The warmth of the fire places or the winter sun depending on whichever part of the world you are in, is making you feel cosy. May the last of this year is gracious to you and you are able to enjoy the sublime lull.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life 

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - The Black Cat and its omen

Hello Dearest Reader,

Hope you have been keeping well. Month of November had been a delight for my travel happy feet. The beginning of the month I could visit my soul’s home in Sikkim and I shared the story of Gasa the dog who gave up his life for his love. I hope you enjoyed the read. However this one is a different one though about animals and the way they have communicated to humans over the eons of time.

End of November took me to the beaches of Goa. The sun, the sea and the sand, was relaxing to say the least, but in a luxuriously leisurely way. The good food, the doing nothing and the ribbon like village roads entwining the greens, lulls you to believe that the world is perfect.

Coming back from one of our long walks post dinner, this jet black silken coated cat greeted me. It was sitting in one of the corners resting slightly on the edges that skirted the garden of our cottages in the resort. And was silently watching the world pass by. I being one of those click friendly people started taking its photograph to show it to my cat lover school buddies.

 All was fine so far, however things started turning strange. The cat started stalking me. Literally, and I’m not kidding about it when I say this. It would not cross my path, and walk by my side and nimbly run a few steps ahead of me turning its head awaited for me to pass by. The moment I will cross by walking a few steps, it will repeat the same action running past me, and looking at me with greenish yellow eyes wanting to convey something. I am an animal lover and have loved dogs and cats since I was a kid. In return I have received unconditional love from them throughout my life. But I’m being honest, a sense of chill and dread blitzed through my spine. As if something is not right… somewhere something is not going right for me. I am a sensitive soul and will like to trust my instincts and gut. I quickly climbed up the stairs to my room trying to increase my distance from the animal. Once up, I told myself if the cat looks up at me directly, I will know that something will not go right for me. And the moment that thought passed my mind, the cat looked up with a piercing gaze and slowly stared climbing the stairs. I rushed into my room locking the doors firmly. For the first time since I saw the cat, I heard a piercing “Meow” right outside my door as if some evil omen waited patiently for me outside the door.  

Saying a silent prayer. I went off to sleep. And as always, I find Universe has a way of communicating, I did face my demons shortly thereafter. Let’s keep the story of disappointment for another time and place. As you never know if a life event is actually positive for you or not much later….when you look back and reminiscence. However, I am always pleasantly surprised how I am oft prepared for things that come into my life, good, bad or ugly. I have learnt to listen to the cosmic rhythms. And to every incident in your life there’s always another side to it. You just need to trust that you’ll be in a place where you’re either required to give or take. Either you learn a lesson or teach some. And once the purpose of your soul is fulfilled you are plucked from that life sequence and put into another.

Some of you’ll know, I am born and brought up in Kolkata which is in the eastern part of country and spent quarter of my life there. Never dreamt of living the city or the job where I had made friends. However life dragged me to the extreme west of the country to the city of Mumbai. Put me in another job to meet new set of folks and make new acquaintances and friends. I grew as a person and a professional. I will not say the journey had been easy but I also feel I wouldn’t have been the person I am today without the displacement.

Some people left my life, who were indispensable at one point . I thought I will not be able to breathe a minute without them. However some newer souls dropped into my life almost from thin air and helped me survive the loss. Helped me love myself once more, helped me to just be happy.

Being a liver transplant patient, I’m often questioned on my mortality. Folks find it unbelievable that I’m comfortable with my life and its limited trajectory. But I know deep down I have spiritually evolved because of that one goddamned illness. It taught me kindness. I know how hard it’s for people to bear the burden of prolonged life threatening illness. It taught me humility. I know how dependent you may have to be for your basic movements and needs on others.  It taught me gratitude towards all those who had been kind and compassionate during my journey to recovery. It also taught me one valuable lesson. That Life is all about impermanence. 

So irrespective of whether the cat is black or white. Irrespective of whether you’re being warned of bad omen or getting happy signals from the universe, it’s not going to last. Simply because you are not going to last. 

I hope dear Reader you do not take your wins or losses so seriously. Don’t be caged by your own perceptions or others’. There’s always another way of looking at things. You will be where you’re meant to be, with those you’re meant to be with, learning lessons from the school of life. One of my revered teachers had once mentioned in one of his teachings a meditation practice, where you wish for  yourself only one thing - “ let me rest in great equanimity without any attachment or aversion “. I wish you the same.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Stories from the Mountains

 Hello dearest Reader,

By the time you’ll read this, I would have left my mountain perch and have gone back to my bustling sea side metropolis. I’m sure, all the stories that strangely crop up as you walk through the mountains, talking to locals there, will dissipate in the rush hour traffic and creepy crawling of emails hitting my work mailbox. So before I forget let me share it with you just like the first sip of piping hot Temi tea as you wake up to the Kanchendzonga.

As I was spending the first evening with my soul sister and her family sitting in their warm cosy drawing room, catching up on the stories from monasteries and her practice, the topic gently tumbled on to our pet dogs. She and her daughter who is my dearest heart niece (I fondly call her Baby D), had lost a slew of dogs one after the other. My heart niece was obviously heart broken. Loosing pets is no mean feat and her young heart must have been badly bruised as she faced such grief in such an age. 

One of the stories I heard is of a mixed breed named Gasa. He was a mix of Husky and Mountain breed which I conveniently forget. He supposedly lost his heart to a local female dog who was adopted by a neighbouring Bengali family. Initially all tried to keep these two apart but Gasa having more freedom than his human counterparts would cry his lung out forlornly every night when tied to his post. I don’t know what prompted aunty to have mercy on Gasa, whether she empathised with the love lorn creature or wanted to have soundless peaceful sleep, but finally the decision was taken to let Gasa go to his lady love. As they say, the streets of love are murky and never easy, Gasa’s love used to spend her nights in the bedroom of her adopted parents. So Gasa had to do with scratching the main door and breaking through their fence in pursuit of eternal love. 

A few days later the neighbouring family had planned a trip to their hometown for a month. They arranged for their pet to be taken care of by a family staying in the nearby village. It was agreed that on the day of their travel Gasa would not be allowed out as he could have follow his lady love to the village. As planned, Gasa was locked up for the day. The family departed and in the evening Gasa was let loose for his nightly walks. The next morning Gasa was found dead in front of the porch of the neighbour's with no telltale sign of any injury. It was a massive heart attack. And the one and some years Gasa died out of heartbreak. The local vet confirmed that such incidents do happen with dogs.

When I heard the story, I felt a bit shaken. I know how death feels dearer than life to a broken heart. A heartbreak manifests physically with excruciating pain. You can check around to see it in your world. Sure there are enough live stories lurking in the nooks and crannies of your lives. I wish Gasa had given himself another chance. 

Love does come in many forms and shapes and rarely can be bottled in one glass container. Spiritually Hinduism speaks about Samsara Dharma. Philosophical texts will tell you that Dharma is “ Jaha tomake dharan kore” meaning that which holds you. So Samsara Dharma is explained as a form of sacred responsibility for us who are born into the cycle of Samsara. What makes you a yogi is when you can fulfill your responsibilities with utmost sincerity, love and compassion without getting attached. It is a form of spirituality , a journey where you dedicate yourself to the service of your circle. 

Some love is complete in its existence. It defies logic built by current societal norms.Think Shree Radhika Yog. We get an essence of it in our music, folklore and Vaishnavite texts. Where love of Shree Radha is epitomised as a means of worshipping the eternal. Where you love with all your being, the one and only. Your love don't have to reach a culmination. You do not need to share a life path. You do not need to seek outside of you, who you love. You feel the presence of love in every mountain ledge when watching the glory of sunset. You are never alone as you splash on the gurgling stream.You are together in your prayers, wishing happiness and freedom from suffering. 

Strangely the biggest love story of our culture glorifies a love which was never fulfilled. As the story goes, Shree Radhika and Shree Krishna, went their ways, lived their lives, fought their battles and reared their families. Yet there was an eternal love between them which is revered. I wish Gasa knew about it. I wish Gasa didn’t give up. I wish someone taught him to move on. He had sacred responsibilities to fulfil towards his adopted family. But then some love stories do end like this.

We tend to use the often viled , rarely understood, wrongfully mystified term “Love” very loosely. I always felt “Connect” is a better word to express such luminescent emotions. I hope dear Reader,  you are living with the love of your life. If not, it’s good enough to love what you’re living. If you love someone this fiercely, then don’t give up on life. The definition of completion is different when you know how to connect. 

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Day of the Dakinis

 Dearest Reader,

It had been weeks of celebration in India.  I fondly call it the Autumn festivals for the Devine Feminine. I hail from the Eastern part of India and in my parts of the world Feminine is revered, loved and worshipped. We started off the slew of festivities with Durga Puja, worshipping the strength and power of feminine. Durga is all about getting rid of all that is evil. We follow it up with Lakshmi puja, which unlike the rest of India occurs on a full moon night in the Bengali calendar. It’s called the Kojagori Purnima, and the Goddess of wealth and well being is ushered into every home. There’s a saying “Chanchala Lakshmi” meaning the wealth has a fickle mind and doesn’t stick to any unless efforts are put to keep it within the threshold of our homes. Funnily during Lakshmi Puja, Bengalis don’t gong the bell The belief being the sound of bells will startle the Goddess and she might decide to leave the home concerned. We close the loop with praying to the wrathfull form of Feminine divinity by worshiping to Kali. The naked dark form with anger painting its being.  Beautiful Kali adorns a garland of human skulls with tongue protruded out. She is offered meat and alcohol amongst other things and is worshipped at midnight. She’s the destroyer of all the darkness we harbour inside of us. The ‘Tamasik’s of our existence is offered to her for annihilation.

Amidst these festivities I had planned a trip to the mountains with my son. This was a gift to us, where the mystic in him was to be brought to life amidst the fold of the mountains. As he took his first steps to embrace the calling of the wild, I saw the enraptured lost eyes of my boy. And when I say wild, I mean all that is not urban, not bound by reason, unstructured, unfathomable magic of the universe. Once you taste it, everything else falls apart. 

On such a journey to a small village called Bikshthang in the western folds of the Mountain state Sikkim, nestles a Farmhouse I call my own. I feel rooted to this land with eons of Karmic connection. I never knew the family or the place but chanced upon it on a stray Google search in 2014. Since then this place have become home and the family has adopted me as their own. I return every year to connect with my roots and offer my gratitude for being blessed with having at least one wee corner of the earth where I belong.

These Sikkimese family following Tibetan Buddhism (which I drown myself in as a seeker) taught me many of their customs and rituals. The sound of Gong from their prayer alter, the chants of the monks and curling smoke of the dried pines all seems familiar, too familiar. Today being the 25th Day in the Tibetan Lunar calendar, is dedicated to the Dakinis. The Dakinis symbolise the female energy of enlightenment and are inspiration to yogis. It is believed that on Dakini Day the feminine energy is in its peak. I prayed in the family alter for well being of all sentient beings. I prayed for the sacred power of the Dakini to bless all unions where the feminine and masculine energy unites to creates the truest form of balance. The primordial static uniting with the universal motion - for every Shakti let there be Shiva, for every Radha, let there be Krishna, for every Tara let there be AmoghaSidhdhi. 

I wonder if there was a ludicrous coincidence playing truants when I was being named after I was born. My name means a feminine divine form which roams the sky. In other words my name is a Sanskrit synonym to the Tibetan Dakini. My grandma from my mother’s side fondly called me Krishnapriya, which means the love of Krishna or Sri Radhika. And then I was let loose in this world to play the role of a seeker. To love in its tangible and intangible forms with a ferocity of Dakini and live impermanence in a material world as every Seeker does. Such love can be showered on the folds of the mountains and the whispers of the wind, on the dancing of the rivers and flutters of butterflies. Such love can be harboured for one and many, for all and for none, for known and for unknown, for past and for future.

So dear Reader on this auspicious Dakini Day, I send you prayers for you and yours. May the love that holds you, hold true to you till you breathe your last.

Always yours,

Pocket full of Life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 1 : Lazy life

 Hello dearest Reader,

Hope you had good week and enjoying your weekend break from the daily humdrum. Weekends feel special, at least for some of us as we tend to stop negotiating our lives with the running clock. Otherwise the days of our lives are so tuned to match those two stick like caricatures rushing around that face of clock, that we conveniently forget to savour living this life.

Though weekends do bring with it a pile of personal work which has been cast aside in a rush hour mayhem, the good thing is, they can be done at a more human pace than the usual jet set speed. I’m writing this, sprawled on the living room sofa, in my slouchiest, drudgery of a night dress. The colour of which has faded with time -  from moss green to splayed decaying greyish green. However, it is by far, the most comfortable, no nonsense piece I have in my wardrobe. Our four- legged grandson Mithai, is in equally lazy mode, sleeping just beneath the sofa. Comfortably resting his dreamy head on my pair of  loud pink slippers. And I can hear my son singing his wolf tune ( I can’t catch the words) but sounds like shrill howling of the wolves on a full moon night, perpetuated by weirder noises on his study desk. I suppose his pencils are playing the role of drumsticks today. By now, you can understand why the undertone of today’s musing are for obvious reasons, lazy.

As I have inched toward mid-life, I was amazed as to how delusional is the portrayal of concept of midlife crisis in our literature, writing and tv shows. In actuality, all the crises that haunted us , the women, throughout our lives actually vanishes when you reach this pinnacle of mid-life. You have resolved almost all of your problems, by only one brilliant magical statement - You Care A Damn!. 

By now, you know what looks good on you, what makeup suits you, how to do your hair, how to be your gorgeous self and most of all if someone doesn’t like it, You Care A Damn! You know where your career is taking you. Please note, home makers are also professionals in their own fields. You know how to manage your show, please your clients, work with people in your team, do upwards, downward and sideward management, to manage time, to deliver, to know when to let go and when to fight back. And most of all you know when to Care A Damn! Your husband, children, relatives, elders in your family, by now knows you. For sure, they have adapted to your idiosyncrasies, knows your crankiness, indulges your madness and have seen you at your best and worst. Most of all they have given up on any aspirations of changing you to what they think is the right version and knows in their heart that pushing you will not yield any results as You Care A Damn! At least after a point! Also by now you have collated like minded tribe of “I Care A Damn” set of folks who live and thrive with you in your seemingly mad journey of a life.

So this weekend my dear Reader I’m thriving by not doing a thing. Writing my life, which by far seems quite interesting to me. The biggest adventures are embarked on inside your head. My motionless morning is being spent looking at the azure blue sky, sparkling in the October sun. I’m lazily scrolling through all my lost love, my travels both past and future, planning my bonsai structures and my endless wisps of childhood memories in my head. I’m enjoying the sun, the heat, the silence of nothingness, the just being in existence mode of a beautiful life.

If you get a chance, do spend a day doing nothing, caring a damn about the world around you, just being happy with yourself. Enjoy being the Star in your life. Know that the cacophony which we call our world exists because you exist. When you’re not there, this world will cease for you. See you on the other side of the week.

Always your,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Way to the heart is through the stomach

 Dearest Reader, 

Hope you’re keeping well. A few weeks hiatus was because my brother came down to my town to pay his hallowed visit. He is a phenomena. He’s quirky and witty almost as good as me but can’t do better. Loves himself and lives life king size. His affinity for a good drink and delicacies rubs off to any unsuspecting human being. He has a propensity to take you on a whirl of a ride and you can’t help but laugh your lungs out as he embraces complicacies of life with an elan of well honed magician. He will make you believe his outrageous stories, can justify seven murder and robbery with a fluidity of a lawyer and can sell that elusive ice to the even more elusive Eskimo with proficiency of a practiced salesman.

When you have such a personality visiting your home, you can be rest assured that your table will be laid heavy with good food and great conversation. To add to his unlimited list of skills, he’s a fantastic cook, and can rustle up a Lamb Biriyani good for the nawabs.During his visit ge graced us with his yummilicious Biriyani which was cooked slowly through half a day. My weak digestion and Mumbai fitness wisdom was swished aside as we indulged in his culinary creations. And ofcourse as siblings always do, even in their fortys, I had to try and out do him in the kitchen. 

So out came my well honed kitchen skills, smoothed to perfection during the Covid years. From famed Hilsa in mustard sauce, to the Prawn malaikari all arsenal was unleashed to sashay my but obvious better skills in the kitchen. One good part of getting old together as siblings is that you kind of stop underplaying the other and tend to appreciate each other more. Thank God for that, we both lapped up our home cooked food like starved soul.

Siblings generally are partners in crime and we are definitely a true blue pair of as thick as thieves could be. Our banters and free advices and standing by each other and being happy for each other, of being scared shit when life hits any one of us hard are laced with a love which has stood the test of time and have aged like a fine wine. And hence when we come together it’s a complete riot. Late night ‘adda’ ( chats) over kebabs platter, long drives to reach a good destinations, taking every possible chance to crack up on silliest things made the week memorable to say the least.

Now for sure Reader dear, you can forgive my absence in the world of writing letters. I was busy living life, to create stories so that I can share with you. If you by chance have a sibling like I do, or may  be cousins ( I’m as close to them as my own) do catch up with them. Relieve your childhood, indulge in silly laughs and late night chats. They are the only people besides your parents  who have seen through your silly days, your disastrous fashion days, your sleepless heartbreak days and your first crush days. They know your battles and struggles, your follies and weaknesses and still love you fiercely enough to shield you with their heart. 

As you dance along your life, don’t forget your partners in crime. They are in actuality your 4 am friends. Nurture and enjoy the bond. You will always have your bunch who will laugh sitting around the fire during your autumn days. And don’t forget to cook deliciousness in your lives. The way to the heart surely is through the stomach, whether you cook it, or order through a delivery app or visit the restaurants and food joints in your town.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 : Mayhems are beautiful

 Hello dearest Reader,

Hope you’re doing well and thriving in your individual lives. I’m on my ride of daily roller coaster of a life and always look forward to welcoming weekend.  Here routines are broken and doing nothing seems like a great accomplishment. I was musing as I thought over this weekend’s blog as to what prompted me to include Series 1 in this blog title. Am I dreaming of a Series 2 or a 3, like hindi movie sequel? Am I over ambitious and have such faith in my imagination that I believe I can churn out weekly blogs year after year? It was hilariously theatrical to look at my bloated ego from a distance and I couldn’t stop laughing at the incredulity of the idea.

I’m a working mom. Have a teenager and his four legged son to take care at home. Oh I forgot about the husband, he too needs to be mollycoddled enough. God has made me ambitious, and God knows why? Did He not ever think of work life balance? No body shared illuminating thoughts about how multitasking is no more the fad. And he creates a woman who wants to run a home like Martha’s Vineyard videos but also have to climb … errr, claw in a thriving career. Career thriving or not, I’m not so sure. But I’m absolutely sure that I have to thrive in this career as it allows me to pay my bills. So there you go… a living oxymoron, a home body who loves his career, an introvert who loves to travel and meet newer worlds, basically a woman who’s a contradiction in herself.If such is the woman, how on earth her weekend will be sane and picturesque. So my weekend was filled with melodramatic mayhem. 

A husband who flew to hometown for a few days had to be dropped to the airport. Not sure if anyone will resonate , at times it’s a sigh of relief when boys who you have to take care off goes out of the city. Gives you a break. Specially for me, as I thrive when I’m alone. I need my silence, my space, my nothingness to feel alive. Crazy me!! 

Following the airport drop, I had to go to my most favourite destination - Doctors chamber. And as luck would have it, this particular Doctor sat in Room number unlucky 13. And of course as such intricate working of destiny will have it, the OPD reception told the Doctor’s assistant about waiting patient (me) and she conveniently forgot. Which resulted in me running after the Doctor,  chasing him down to his car, getting my check up done finally, just in front of the hospital lobby, panting and gasping for air. Guess what was the check up all about??? Migraine!!! Solution for migraine was identified amongst a situation which can give any normal person a headache of sorts.

After my hospital tryst, I visited a Saree exhibition. For the uninitiated readers, Durga Puja is round the corners. And like any true blooded Bengali, the Divine Goddess resides in my heart months before the actual celebrations. She skilfully instigates us to splurge on everything which is traditional, beautiful, costly and beyond means. In the name of these hallowed five days of festivities, we, like hypnotised kiddies give in to buying all that catches our fancy and turn a pauper even before Puja actually kick starts. Saying it, it makes the women bond. I caught up with one of my neighbours and video called another giggling and discussing our loot over shared video calls  and messaging groups. It’s such a beautiful feeling to see how we all connect and be happy for each other’s happiness.

Finally as my husband traversed thousand kilometres to land in Kolkata I traversed fifty odd of them in the city of Mumbai and landed back home. Satiated like happy sunflowers.

As I enjoyed my sushi with my son, watching a delectable mythical folklore movie named Slumberland, I saw my happy four legged furball Mithai tearing apart newspapers and Amazon boxes in welcoming glee. But then at times mayhems are also magical, very like the movie we saw. If you can, do watch it on Netflix. Young and adult it’s for dreamers. Like us.

Hope you keep dreaming and enjoying your very own mayhem magic. See you again on the other side of the week. Till then…

Always your,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - From the sea

 Hello dearest Reader,

Nice to meet you all again at the other end of week. Before we all kickoff another adventurous week ahead, let me share this month’s newest activity which I could include in my repertoire. It was one of the most wonderful feeling. I did enjoy after the tedious routine of our day to day.

My wonderful husband’s birthday fell right in the middle of the week and like most of us, middle aged couples with years of marriage behind us, neither of us wanted to indulge in a mid week celebration, storing to stir up some storm over the weekend.

The birthday gift to the birthday boy was stay in Alibaug, a quaint seaside village over the weekend. Also we wanted to experience the often talked, newest addition to the city of Mumbai, fondly called RoRo. These are huge boats which ferries cars and passengers from Princess Dock of Mumbai to Mandwa Jetty near Alibag. 

It was too much fun to have the car crawl into the belly of this small ship. As we disembarked from the car and climbed the deck, the rolling sea, the cloudy, drizzly August sky welcomed us. As the vessel left port, the lapping sea divided and lapped at its skirts as we lolled towards Mandwa. It’s hard to explain how the colourful boats and water vessels of all shapes and sizes can awaken the child in you. It was blissful to surrender to the dance of the waves, the roll of the ship, the grey clouds floating by, indulging in thoughts which only belong to you.

As we reached Mandwa, we again boarded the car and sped towards the resort which was to host us for the weekend. Raddison over the years had turned out to be our favourite. The property itself was sprawling and beautiful. Its proximity to Varsoli beach was an added boon. I was in august company with my August born boys accompanying me. We strolled around in the beach soaking our feet and our hearts into the love dripping nature, as the fingers of the Gods blessed the coast with its golden lights.

The sunset cast a web of magic, as the emerald greens of the place kissed the evening softly. The narrow roads looked quiet and calm as they laced through the small villages dotting the coast. As we indulged in good food, raucous laughter, books and silence, we bonded as family in its cosiest forms.

Our tired hearts, lived a happy weekend and headed back to our nest where our beloved Mithai waited for us, not too happy at being left behind in this adventure. If you get a chance, do try out something new over any spare weekend you have.  Smell the greens, inhale a lung full of  sea salty air, let you hair blow in the monsoon wind as you stroll without having a destination in mind, nor any time to keep, just being around your own.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Peace of mind

 Dearest Reader,

Hope you’re keeping well. My week had dollops of calm thrown in and I realised, that peace is something which you do not search externally, it is nothing but a state of mind. It is unbelievable how in the frenetic pace of this city called Mumbai, we are chasing our elusive dreams of God know what and running a race against time. It is in these crazy moments, we feel breathless and exhausted in the murky waters of vicious cycle of life.

When your tired heart needs a respite, catch a day which has no agenda. No ‘To do’ list,  no household chores, nothing specific to complete, just be. I have realised, that the best days of our lives were the lazy childhood afternoons spent during our vacation doing nothing or indulging in whatever caught our fancy. If we can replicate those childhood nothingness, our body and mind heaves a sigh of relief. Just to watch the cloud float by, in azure blue sky, or the rippling leaves catching the sunlight or just watching the white fluttering cranes forming a V and flying past to some unknown destination, the soothing fingers if Mother Nature kissing you to sleep. I have often spent hrs seeing two lone eagles flying high up in the sky. Swaying and gliding past each other, engaged in their own games. It got me peace, dollops of them, like a cooling ice cream on a hot summer day.

I gently hold on to them, my free source of guilty pleasure. Keep them close to heart. The free spirit which thrives inside the shell of a body, dances in glee in the dappled moonlight that seeps through skyscrapers and sheathes the green patch of Arey that hugs our back wall. As the lone cuckoo sings in mirth in the moonshine, I live my oneness with the Universe. Enjoying the ride.

So dearest reader, find out the calm, snatch away your peace from the hectic urban life you lead. You may find it in the nuzzle of your pet, the pages of the bed side book you’re reading, on a fallen flower or the teary sunlight amidst mad monsoon. Live it slow and relish every passing minute of these precious time. These makes live worth living.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series I - So be it

 Dearest Reader,

At times prose takes backseat as words don’t come with cohesiveness of a sensible flow. So here I go -

Your happiness is contagious

 And I’m dying inside. 

Your priorities are glaring 

And I’m blinded by them. 

Your life is complete 

While mine remains empty. 

You live life 

And I die death. 

You embrace 

And I let go. 

You smile 

And I shed lonely tears. 

You walk towards your rainbow horizon of dreams 

And I tread the path of dreamless darkness. 

Your heart is filled with hope 

And mine has despair written all over. 

You are a déjà vu which 

I don’t want to relive,

But I have to bear the burden of. 

You are a life lesson, I had already learnt 

And need not repeat.

Shielding myself from the pain, 

Cause your smile will always hold hands 

With my tears,

Such a company I‘d like to avoid. 

I knew this will happen,

Yet hoped for something else. 

I knew it was never meant to be, 

But prayed that it manifests. 

My heart was forever broken 

And soul was empty of life, 

Yet the pain of another falling piece, 

Did hurt a thousand times more….

Re-dying was not as effortless 

As I thought it would be.

Our paths crossed,

But never became one. 

And the gut wrenching pain it inflicted, 

Was like a thousand sins burning you alive. 

You will go your way 

And I will walk mine. 

I will pray fervently, 

Life doesn’t bring us face to face ever. 

I don’t want my remains to watch 

Its destruction again. 

And so she went her way and he his. Star crossed lovers, may they rest in peace.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Story of Living and Dying

 Hello dearest Reader,

I’m back again with another of my reminiscences. Two year back, on such a lovely late afternoon, I had my tryst with destiny. A part of me died but I survived because of some blessed soul who breathed his last, but kept a piece of him living inside me. I got a liver which saved my life and my doner gave away his to save mine.

Few things I understood that day after living through a 14 hour long surgery, surviving is difficult, death is inevitable and happiness is a choice. Every breath I have taken since I came out of the OT on the fated 11th August, had been spent on embracing the life lessons. I realised that if I have been given a new lease of life, I must have some purpose to fulfill in the world, and if not for anyone else, at least for that person who couldn’t live but granted me life, I should be living with a vengeance in its fullest glory.

I try to end my day with a clean heart, which did not wish any one ill. I complete my daily tasks in a manner by which, if I die the next moment, I will not have any regrets. And I live in happiness of the moment. Every moment in our life is death of previous second passed and a possibility for the coming second. The tick in the clock is reminder of life and death dancing in a loving embrace. Where one ends, the other begins.

We come into this world alone and helpless and we die in the same manner. It is quirk of nature that in between these milestones we creat billions of connections and weave an intricate web of Karma. We assign people or external factors to be the master of our destiny. Bestow ownership of our joy and grief in the mercy of others. I believe we are entitled to a choice. The miracle of being a human is to be able assert our choices. And I wish to choose HAPPINESS every time over, even in the face of grief , heartbreaks, setbacks, pain and loss.

I choose to see light, in the dancing butterflies, the fiery clouds on a traffic packed road, amidst beautiful saree and innumerable medicines, between hospitals and shopping malls, with friends who nurses the soul and doctors who’ve become friends.  I choose to not hold anyone responsible for my happiness. Fir my choices are mine and I take responsibility for my life. Life taught me that your closest of relations cannot die with you, however much they care. Hence one needs to learn to live with happiness with oneself , however difficult is the surrounding. I live on my own terms with the courage of a soul who has kissed life and came back. I do not compromise on my joie de vivre and I do not shy away from the struggles of life.

With utmost humility and gratitude filled heart, I thank the Universe to allow me to live the life I lead. I have prayers and best wishes for every soul that have crossed my path and those who have not. And I live to sing the hymn of Miracle of the Universe. To all of you who have battled life with fierceness of a warrior, who have been care givers and have the fraternity of support system for warriors like us - Thank you for making this world a better place.

Yours always,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Mommy - WIP

 Hello dearest reader,

Hope all is well with you in your side of the world. Mumbai rains have thawed a bit. The relentless lashing has ceased and we can see the sunny smile once in a while peeking through the rain clouds. And just as to bring that much needed cheer, I had a celebration this last week. My baby boy who’s no more a baby even if I stretch my imagination, turned 16. Today’s story is about a mommy still in the making of a 16 year old lad.

My son came into my life a month early, a little premature suffering from infantile jaundice and spent 12 days in NICU. I was allowed to see him 4 days after he was born all wired up with machines and resting in a glass cubicle to hold his fragile life. And the first thought which flashed in my mind was, “Is this what I reproduced, looking like some bird fledgling with tiny hands and legs”. The mother of the baby refused to take birth on that day.

The day my son was born numerous tests were done on the mother and I was detected with a chronic liver decease. I was told my days were numbered as there were no medicines available to mankind for my treatment at that point of time.Then the struggle began hard, fast and innovative. My baby took the reins in his hands to bring me up to be a Mom I required to be. 

First 6 years, his chubby smiles, his naughty playfulness, his baby anger and his no tantrum nature made my days enchanting and magical. I was a working mom, and spent most of my waking hours, building a career, which I’m immensely proud of. My boy worked behind the scenes teaching me how to nurture, how to give, how to love, how to express joys and how to fend my cub with a fierceness of a tigress. I was so well taught that I could overlook my dreams, my happiness, my sorrows, my griefs and my tiredness to provide my baby with a home, where he could belong. What a wonderful journey we had, his baby hands guiding me all through.

When he turned six, my condition deteriorated and I was hospitalised. I was under trial drugs at that point of time and unfortunately the experiment failed me. My doctors were very candid and gave me two  months to two years to live. Given that meds still were at the mercy of pharma scientists trying to come into existence in labs across the globe, I had to relearn a few things. A new phase started, of being a mom which was a need of the moment for my baby boy.

We worked together in making him independent, emotionally strong, calm, with a rational head over his baby shoulders. I was harder than an army general training his troops. My boy learnt to cook, get ready, do his own stuff, keep himself busy with his hobbies and had social life filled with family and friends. I taught myself hard not to express love, attachment and any kind of motherly affection cause my boy needed to learn to live without a mom. And oh boy! What a success story it was. I became his competitor, I became the one he has to defeat in every possible argument, he did his best to outdo me in every turn of his growing up days.

When my son turned fourteen, finally my turn came to kiss life a good bye and embrace the shadows. But as destiny would have it, I survived. One liver transplant later, with gentle hands of cancer touching my body, I still breathed the day out of life. My days are still numbered, it’s just that I have enough to see my son grow up to build his own home. I have enough to give him time to fly the nest and then his mom can stop being the home and rest. And that’s good enough.

From his fourteenth to sixteenth birthday, I have learnt to be his mom, who’s a friend, a companion, a comrade, a co-conspirator. It’s an adventure how my boy nurtured me to be the Mom he needs. How I’m still a mom in the making as I evolve with my son growing up. It’s a wonderful journey to let yourself grow into a relationship. My son’s mom did not take birth, the day he was born. He had to work damn hard to give birth to his Mommy and he’s still working on it…Mommy in the making-Work-in-progress.

Hope you’ll can embark in your own journey of growing into relationship which matters to you. It may not be mother-son, it can be any other in this beautiful world. I urge you to give yourself a fair chance to grow into it, nurture it and thrive it in. Build it the way time and life demands as they flow by. It’s irrelevant whether these beautiful bonds have a name or not. If there are two human beings on either sides of the relationship, it’s worth the effort to embark in the journey of a lifetime.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letters to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Team

 Hello dearest Reader,

A week has gone by and as you know I have another story to share. At times I feel like I am the story teller in Arabian Nights. Every week brings forth stories of different hues. This week like quintessential Mumbaikar ( people of Mumbai) we celebrated monsoon with a team outing to the hills of Khandala. It’s ritual we have been doing over years. Every monsoon there’s this whispers in the office bay, talking of the same destination, but different location, some fun activities, food , music, splashing in pool and chatting away about everything but work.

Have you ever wondered specially those of us, who are full time workers - working away at our desks, to earn a living, to follow a passion, to be the change, to grow and to learn, usually spend more than half of our waking hours in office. As we skittle along our keyboards meeting deliverables, catering to clients and attending high octane meetings, we unconsciously form a family, “a work family”. And like the definition of any family, we fend for each other, fight our battles together and race towards one goal. And as years pass by, your colleagues become an integral part of your lives, intertwined with daily laughter, joys, sorrows and frustrations.

These outings are an outlet for our raucous, uninhibited self, where we spend time outside the walls of the formal enclosure . There is dancing, and rolling in the floor with laughter, splashing in the pool in abandon, gorging on food and drowning in mirth thrown in abundance. The singing, the story sharing and throwing colours at each other as we indulged in group activities creates memories. As we frolicked and cracked up, a group of 15 odd folks, between the age group of 25 to 45 we learnt from each other, as we grew into a stronger team.

The best part of such outings is that you get a peek into people’s life at a very human level. We get to know about their history, their passion, their kids, their dreams, their love stories and their struggles. As you spend hours under the rain drenched sky, exchanging ghost stories, you realise, you are no different than one big family, where each other matters at an intrinsic level.

I wish you have encountered such wonderful team, which makes you feel at home, makes you feel accepted and loved as we traverse the professional world. Have a great week ahead with your kind of tribe.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letters to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Catching up with time

 Hello Dear Reader,

Hope last week treated you well. I had a breathless one, which I skied through, in wreck less speed, avoiding catastrophic consequences by the nick.

You might think what kind of earth shattering phenomena had touched my life. But to understand my previous statement you need to know me a bit. So taking the opportunity of introducing my persona through this letter. I’m a loner who’ve adapted a gregarious, exuberant layer of extroverted personality to navigate life. My cautious, socially nervous, people pleaser heart, wears a lion’s attire and roars away in glory. My fear of failure and anxiety of abandonment pushes me to over work, over compensate and do every other thing, which is way over the line of my physical and emotional capacity. You might now get a glimpse of how overwhelming for me is the life I lead. It’s a complete contradiction to my own natural rhythm.

Last week my work pushed me to spend long hours in office, which was followed by even longer hours spent on my social commitments. The hours included multi tasking and wearing different hats of being a professional, a social contributor, a wife, a mother, a financial planner, a tax advisor, a chef, a career and education Counselor and God knows what else. I just felt like a candle which is burning out too fast, too soon. So I decided to pause and remember things which calms me, makes me look inward, and soothes my soul.

I love cooking, especially for the people who are special to me. For me that’s the easiest way of expressing love, respect and care. If I have cooked you a meal, be rest assured you’re in my book of priorities. You’ll always have me covering your back.

 I also enjoy flowers, they make me happy. Just looking at them brings a smile. I’ve rarely been given flowers, but I do indulge in them often. Softest of petals with loveliest of fragrances.

Nothing calms me more than art. I admire them, specially water colours of places of beauty. They invite you to the world they create. I wish I could paint, but thankfully I am surrounded by talented folks, who allows me to peek into their creative world.

My affinity to nature goes back a long way. I was born and brought up in the small towns smattered across Bengal. Without the plants, the greens, the birds and open sky, I feel like a fish out of a pond, claustrophobic and dead. I spend hours looking at my green nook tucked in corner of my balcony hanging over the busiest and most crowded city of India. 

And of them all I love books, of  all kinds, shapes and sizes. I go berserk inside book a shop. My favourite dream has a shady tree, under the open sky, a book and me lying underneath, engrossed in each other. 

To end my list, I align with my rhythm, when I walk the path of a seeker. A seeker who searches for the meaning of existence and purpose of life. And what a beautiful journey it is, when you walk alone but complete unto your own self.

I hope all of you have your pockets full of wonderful magic, which calms you down and aligns you to your own beautiful rhythm. I wish you courage and faith to wear whatever personality life commands you to adorn with grace and dignity. I will pray that you always have the power to recognise the difference between your truest self and the myriad personas you play as you navigate life.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letters to the Unknown Reader Series 1 - Devine Web

 Hello Dearest Reader,

This week was hectic, I flew across cities travelling thousand miles in a single day, spent few hours with those who call our own and went through a whirlwind of paperwork in government offices to sell off a dream. Dreams are a peculiar phenomenon, they nest in your heart and take shape as time flows. However if you have ever experienced dreaming the same dream with another person, you will know that those dreams though one take two different forms because of two different individual involved. And when the dream becomes too complicated to reside in space-time conundrums, it’s much better to give it up.

Well talking about dreams, takes me to a fabulous weekend lunch, spent with two of my closest friends. They are coming together to build a home out of a dream they both share. It was a heart warming story of love that walked past previous relationships that didn’t work, traversed the social and familial reservations and reached its destiny. I have always wondered, why people tend to characterise love between two humans. I find it lofty and arrogant to colour the purest form of all emotions in the hue of your individual outlook. The world usually have no qualms to typecast it as good, bad or ugly depending on personal perceptions. Even though they are not living the life of the two individuals concerned, do not understand the dynamics of their relationship with life and the world at large. 

I had the privilege of growing up in a very liberal family and my father is an exceptional man who has tremendous capacity for looking ahead in time. He always used to tell me, that love is like water. It will take the shape of the container that you pour it in. However it retains its own character and never becomes the container. Now when I look back , I find it profound that he thought of explaining love to a 16 year old girl with such lucidity. I have had my share of falling and failing in love. Parts of me have died inside, but I survived. I have loved deeply, so I know, how beautiful it is. And I have lost too, which gave me glimpses of death. I have a deep reverence for this particular emotion. This one can make life worth living and death equally beautiful as it allows to evade the pain of a broken heart.

Now when I reminisce and see a thousand lives lived, I understand that love is complete unto itself. There are loves which do not have a destination, do not have a future or a past. It just thrives in the present. You love and that’s about it. Your love is not dependent on any reciprocal emotion, nor does it search for an outcome. It neither dreams of a future nor cherishes the memories of past. It breathes in the moment. When transiency is what is permanent in this life, your existence is nothing but a mirage. When you know that you don't seek anything. You just be.

Hoping all of you get your kind of love. Praying that life gives you situations where you abandon apprehensions and love with the freedom of your natural instincts. May your heart be filled with the elixir that makes living every minute worthwhile.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life