Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 3 - Consecrated

 Hello dear Reader,

Another year! Brand new one! And I move along with you all on the journey called life. This year will begin the third series of my bunch of letters to you. Sharing snippets of my life and providing glimpses to my thoughts builds a strange kind of intimacy with you all. Almost like sharing moments with compatriots. Phone calls, messages or social media lacks the warmth of the personal touch. You might ask why phone calls or a messages cannot do the wonders which a letter can? Well for one, a letter doesn’t trigger an immediate response. It doesn’t crush the sentiments or emotions with flurry of words thrown at you on a rebound. And secondly, and most precious I would say, is its innate capability to be unabashed about expressing inner most emotions. It’s powerful and magical to be able to be yourself in an authentic way. So I come to you with my year end stories and begin my next chapter of adventures.

2024 began with a trip to Kolkata and I wrapped it up with a trip back to her again. If you wonder why I’m referring to Kolkata as ‘her’ then let me tell you a bit about her personality. She’s like the grandmother who had lived a life of a maverick. ‘Been there done that’ kind. She is not enchanted by the new age glamour nor is in any rush to embrace it. She soaks herself in the nostalgia of the bygone days and keen to share the romance of her youth with a patient listener. She has draped herself with shimmery lights of the discos of the 60s, the ideology of the naxalite movement, the elite essence of the Presidency college. Bejewelled by the songs of Rabindranath, the fiery verse of Shakti Chattopadhya, the mysticism of Vivekananda and the zeal of Bose, she epitomises grace.

If you are curious and spend some more time with her, you will hear the folklore of the Ganges, the ghost stories of National Library, about the romance of Victoria Memorial and anecdotes blowing through the corridors of Writers Building or Lal Bazaar. Kolkata quintessentially tastes like Aminia’s Biriyani or like the chap made at Royal. And if you ask the right questions she will provide you “tok, jhal, mishti “ (sour, spicy and sweet) responses like her phuchkas about gossips strewn across the north and south divide of her curves. The enigma that she is, Kolkata reminds me of the Thakuma ( grandmother) of the Thakurmar Jhuli ( children’s stories of grandma  - Bengali fairy tale). 

It was lovely to wrap the year in her arms. The week long stay ensured that I met up with uncles, aunts and cousins. Spent time with my nephews and nieces and could fulfil one of my age old desires. I wanted to consecrate a space of my own. You see, even in today’s world of jet set speed and wifi connectivity, we don’t know how to provide a sanctuary for women. Most of us, leave the home of our father to step into the house of our in-laws. If you’re lucky then may be the home of your husband. It really doesn’t matter if you’ve contributed to the buying of the property or making a home out of it. Under that roof you are thinking about everything and everyone but yourself. You are chasing an illusion which has been instilled in you by eons of socio-structural conditioning. You are doing everything to create a haven for those you call your own. Unfortunately and often, you, yourself are not included in the coterie you’ve created. So most of us women create a space within our minds. A secluded safe place where we store stories, traumas, grief, love, desires and ambitions.  And honestly that is where we live and die an entire lifetime.

I wanted a place to be called mine. Tagged as mine. I can die in peace there, in that 500 square foot space, breathing my last. And even if I die in a God forsaken land, I’d still know there was this place on earth which was mine. And hence in a small town of Shantiniketan,  my home was consecrated. Few square foot bought 10 years back before I left Bengal, was now blessed by the energies of the Universe. 

The thought that I could step in to create my Retreat here, filled me with joy. You can ask if I’m happy? Well no, not actually….I’m at peace. I can enter this little nook without requiring to give any explanation or reasons to anyone. Without addressing to anyone’s needs or sheathing myself in cloak of compromise or buying peace by bartering with adjustments, I can be. Here I can feel the light. This is where I would retreat from the world to find myself. 

I’m mighty glad that I could keep a promise to myself. I could end the last year feeling complete. Now, I can happily let go of all that needs to go and fearlessly embrace whatever my life has in store for me. My dearest readers I hope you find your harbour of happiness if you haven’t found it yet. And if you are enjoying your space then I wish you fill it with joy and abundance. May you have the strength of spirit to keep dreaming and fulfilling them. May this shiny new year treat you well. With all the love and warm endearments 

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - Reminiscence and Goa

 Hello Dearest Reader,

This year travel had been a constant companion. Work ones, vacay ones, one with my son, short ones, long ones, the quick ones and this one, to Goa. Each one had bought in its own flavour and enriched my soul. Today’s story is about my beloved Goa. A place which I visit almost every year and teach myself the art of doing nothing.

Being a Bangali, “Lyad” ( happily doing nothing) is a trait which comes naturally to me. I’m born and brought up in a city which enjoys spending time over hot cups of bharer  (khullar/earthen cups) cha talking of things which spans countries . Starting from global tensions to national politics, from cricket to para football, from ilish mach to Lucknowi Biriyani, from Darjeeling to Goa with remotely no intention to get stuck on any topic. We hover above them with equal interest in everything and attachment to nothing and we can go on incessantly. So Goa is a place which is close to my heart. It reminds me of home, of early evenings and a snail pace comfort of lulling through the day.

My husband and I usually spend a few days in Goa around the time of our anniversary and enjoy sea. We both live a frenetic pace of life in the maximum city called Mumbai and our Bangali heart craves for the lull which Goa provides. This husband of mine, who I knew since he was all of 19, is now in his mid forty's . Both of us skimming the middle age with grace & elan. We have come a long way. He abhors the word “middle age” and I on the other hand rarely mince my words and tend not to elude about a fact. So forgive my romancing about the 40s and more.

 As I sat under the full moon night and looked at the inky sea with frothy crown on its waves, I wondered how our marriage has evolved from starry exuberance of teens, to the struggles of adjusting to new family. From his finding his foot as a man and I realising that, I am no more under the care of my father. I had to rely on my own wits to fend myself and fend for what was mine. It had not been all that easy. Marriages evolve. After 19 years of being in this institution, that has been my only realisation. And it teaches you lessons your soul needs to learn. 

The swaying palms and cool sea breeze took me back to years I have left behind. I always thought that I married to love. The first few years were quick enough to teach me that I had actually married to responsibilities. And it weighed heavily on us. We married young. Both me and my man struggled to grow up. Found ourselves under a deluge of expectations.  Combating the stress of fending for a family was taking its toll. I don’t think we were ready then. We got into the deep side of the sea, too soon and too fast. As a result, our first casualty was to lose the first blush of romance quickly. 

There’s a saying in Bengali “ Songhsgar er shar boro kothin” meaning that the the core intent of being in Samsara is very tough. Both of us learnt it hard and fast. We realised that ours is a relationship which is going to change and will take both of us on a ride. As newlyweds we both tried to change the other and also change ourselves for the other. Trying our damnest hard to hold on to the gossamer thread of love and passion. It was a futile struggle. A marriage is rarely about two persons. There are a hundred others who weave in and out of the lives of a couple. The family dynamics on both of our sides were getting played out in all its glory. I was slowly getting alienated from the family I called home for twenty five years of my life. And my man started realising that getting a girl into his home is exponentially different from dating her outside. When a woman becomes a part of a man’s home things change. And on this balmy evening at the sea side shack, both of us sat together with memories of days lived. Both looking at the same events but differently.

The 2nd day of our stay was beautiful. The morning dawned blushing coyly between the leaves of the Peepal tree that overlooked our balcony. As we sipped our morning cup of tea we discussed how our respective stresses had impacted both of us intensely. As a young banker his work stresses impacted me. I was still studying for my Chartered Accountancy exams and my apprehension around my career ate into his peace. On top of it we were peers, and we both were subtly competitive. Our joy for the other’s success was always laced with the perennial question “What about me?”. Love came at different points in my life in its full glory. With its passion and hopelessness, its dreams and its impossibilities.  It shattered me to pieces in literal sense and converted me into something which I was not. But so glad it came. I could only become this version of myself because I traversed that path. And as I evolved, our marriage evolved too.

Goa evokes memories. The place grants us the luxury of doing nothing and hence reminiscing becomes the activity of choice. We became parents before we found a toehold into our marriage .My peers who probably are with young kids or kids in early years of school now, will not be able to fathom the struggle of being parents in your twenties. Both of us were not sure that we were ready to let go of our inner child but we already had one in our arms. What a ride it had been! As parents we took baby steps with our son but enjoyed it to bits. I can’t think of a better father to my son than the one he has. He was calm and solid as a rock where I was frothing like the sea when it came to parenting. I was reliving my childhood with our baby and my man shielded us both. Our marriage turned another chapter. We stopped focusing on each other and concentrated on raising our son.

 In the meanwhile we changed cities. Moved from Kolkata to Mumbai. We grew up. Your thirties bring in a different kind of frenzy. We were young parents, with maturing career. On top of it stresses of school life re-entered our horizon with our growing child. Our world went topsy turvy. Suddenly you didn’t know if your year-end appraisal was more important than the parent-teacher meeting after the final term of school. Criticism from your manager hurt you less than that of the class teacher highlighting where your child can improve. It was a different world all together. 

By then we stopped trying to change ourselves and the other. We were coming in terms to the fact that we were two very different people and it’s futile to even try and be a mirror reflection of each other.  And whatever we thought was love in our twenties had solidified into hardened responsibilities, common goals, uncomfortable but somewhat of a routine. We slowly died as a man & wife and were reborn as parents. Also our equation with our respective parents metamorphosed into acceptance and respect. They slowly started to rely on our judgments or at least came to terms with what we decided for our lives. Trusted enough to let go of their opinions of our choices and decisions.

Spiritually I evolved when I was in the thresholds of my forty’s. A kiss with death grounded me. I saw kindness and compassion in its finest. My man literally fought death and brought me back. There was a grace in his gentle strength. A kindness and a sense of nurturing which helped me get back to life with a vigour which few would believe. My son embraced maturity like a pro. And I slowly walked the path of the living again. And life brought me to another turn. I understood that love in its quintessential sense cannot survive within a structure of marriage. Love is like the wild unfurling of the peacock’s plume when the rain clouds kisses the sky. There can be nothing which is wild, untamed or senseless in the sanity of marriage. Being in love, knowing love and redefining marriage was the essence of these years.

This will be my 19th year of being married  and 26 years of knowing my man. I realise that it’s some karma that we are destined to walk this path together. Common goals, a rock solid friendship a gentle kindness and limitless compassion which holds us together. Probably our marriage too. I have learned, love necessarily do-not live in bedrooms, nor need to survive in a marriage. It can thrive in heartbeats. You can choose to retreat, choose to not meet, choose to let go, if it makes someone happy. Some energies dance together from a distance. The souls are tied together by the laws of the universe. It doesn’t need a marriage. It’s complete in its existence. 

Marriage is tougher when you have the courage to lay it out in the open, recognise it for what it is and be grateful for that journey.As both of us bathed in the sea under the November sky laughing like kids or naturally held hands while climbing a flight of stairs, we realised we can be ourselves in presence of the other. The silence between us was not awkward anymore. Like the gentle waves touching the shores it was calming. We have evolved into habits for each other. Nothing special, nothing pretentious, just natural extension of our existence.Today marked the passing of another year of walking together around the sun. Our marriage turned another page. We discovered ourselves as individuals and we both were quite content with what we found. A friendship, genuine companionship, compassion and a bunch of relationships we both nurtured with honesty. Also I learned that being honest about the relationship we share, the nature of it and the boundaries helps. Pretence has no place in our lives as we mature.

The beach resort with sprawling golf course skimming the shores, was beautifully green. We sat on the beach shack and lazed. Watching the waves  touching the sands with gentle caress. It seems strange to think our 17 years old son may meet his girl any time soon….or at least he’s entering that stage where his life can turn a new page. We are growing old. With the greys, the wrinkles and scars, this body standing testament of ravages of life and time. The heart with all its cracks now looks like a masterpiece. And the soul is slowly getting to know itself. Content in loving and letting things be.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - AI : Artificial & Invasion

 Hello dearest Reader,

This story crept in suddenly few weeks back. It’s a short one but insightful and funny hence couldn’t help myself but share with you. I had to visit the tech town of India for a work trip. The purpose was to gain insights on AI and understand how we can use it in our work space. Some Karma of mine must have been damn good, I always get to stay in mind bogglingly fancy places, way beyond my dreams and never in the radar of my aspirations, because of work. So I land up in this palace of a hotel to spend a day or two to do my meetings and collect intel.

In the process, I came across top minds of the fields where awe inspiring tools and computing ideas were being discussed. I was astounded to hear that AI is being used to map human sentiments. Whereby the tool assesses a candidate’s reaction to stressful questions and screens if the person is capable of handling customer service desks. There were also ideas about how human-machine interaction is a data mine, that can be used to understand processes and improve them. The slicing & dicing of data by just observing how your fingers dance across your key boards almost seemed magical.

But the fun started when questions were thrown at the audience to discover what in their wildest imaginations can they think any  AI can solve for. The first one was that came out way was a very serious one. Specially for parents who are navigating their journey with their teenagers. One gentleman said, that he hopes that AI can help understand what Gen Z is thinking and how they are going to react to next stimuli. The hall erupted with laughter. I believe the audience could relate to the pangs of handling different moods that gets thrown at us from that hallowed generation.

The next one even more rib tickling, a lady questioned can AI do anything to prompt fake news or pictures in WhatsApp? Apparently our aged parents have started living life by WhatsApp University guidelines. The sandwiched generation, the one between the Gen Z and that of their parents are at wits end to manage the two layers. One layer doesn’t believe anything and the other believes everything. 

This was followed by if AI can predict the next India Cricket Team selection or the Stock Market. For the first, data can be beguiling. As the correlation is often hard to find between the information & Selector’s decision . For the second, even with overwhelming load of data, you can never predict the market with exact certainty.

With all the magic that AI can do, it was fun to see that life can still throw a few googlies at technology. However one statement did occupy my brain space. A very senior industry veteran stated, that AI to him is Artificial Invasion. Earlier days, when invasion would happen, it would be in the physical world, where there was bloodshed and death, displacement and subjugation. With AI, the invasion is happening silently and at a break neck speed. He probably wanted to highlight that we should adapt to the changes quickly. But what kept bothering me was - in this silent invasion are we counting the casualties? What is the long term cost to humanity? No invasion can happen without displacement & disruption. We as a species, are we thinking through.

I’m a champion of technology and its power. However as we race against time to build efficiency, do cost optimisation, mine data, trace activities, judge human sensibilities and assess human capabilities with technology, we need to be careful that we are not creating a Frankenstein that would terrorise in future. With that thought dear reader, I will leave you looking at your phone screen as you read this. But when you switch off, think this…who’s the master and who the slave.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - The Bridge

 Hello dearest Reader,

Hope the fall this year is treating you well. The year slowly inching towards its end as the autumn leaves cover the earth in golden hues do evoke nostalgia and reminds us of the months that’s passed by. This letter dear Reader is very much for you as I love the connection we have managed to build over time, but I hope some day my son reads this letter too. He probably will look back fondly on what we had build together since he breathed his first.

My tryst with the mountains of Sikkim is a yearly phenomenon. I go there to find myself and spend time sitting quietly away from the bustling city life . Syncing with my roots and calming my soul. This time too, I planned my trip but my 17 year old boy decided to accompany me. Bengali moms are always tagged to be overtly possessive and very protective of their sons. At times interfering, commanding attention and emotionally blackmailing to get their boys to do exactly what they want. The saying goes that they land up mostly doing everything under the sun for their sons and stranding them in boyhood for the rest of their lives. Basically the Bengali boys are by far the quintessential Mamma’s boys of in India’s socio cultural history.  They struggle very hard to own up to their independent adulthood as they grow up. Though I admit there are a few aberrations. I on the other hand always fell short of doing honours to my role of “ Bangali Ma” for that matter fell short of being a Ma as tradition would demand.

The story goes like this, that my baby boy was born way before his mother was born. And as late blooming mother I had learning disabilities. I never understood why my baby boy was behaving like a baby. And if at all I did…then it was the raucous child in me who treated him like an equal and played along with equal gusto. Never letting him win a pillow fight or a bout of “kusti “ (wrestling) to his frustration and anger. He was always a friend and a peer and to his unvoiced irritation he treated me as his competition and a comrade.

I was always on a rush to make him self reliant and teach him to do things independently. I had my reasons. In my head I was racing against time and had to do everything possible to ensure that he can fend himself and learn not to need a mom and as soon as possible. In the quest of achieving my goal, I went full throttle downloading life lessons and ensuring that I alienated him enough that he can survive without me as he traversed his babyhood.

But this letter is not about the separate paths we could have walked but about the bridge I started to build post my medical crisis. This is the story of how we can manifest what we want.

The roads we choose for ourselves are the ones where we should plant beautiful flowers. And since 2021, I decided that I have to re-define my relationship with my boy. I couldn’t turn back time and reverse what we both had as memories, but we can try and reshape our journey ahead. I knew that mollycoddling is something which I can never get myself to do. But I wanted to have a common ground where we both were comfortable with each other. I taught myself to listen to him. As my boy navigated his teens, I became the ears who would listen to his stories, his anxieties, his ambitions and fears. His loneliness his social awkwardness, his stress for his boards, came tumbling out. And as he walked his life story, I taught myself to be non-judgmental,  but not nonchalant, taught myself to allow him space, but guide him with gentle firmness. I made him realise that he is precious to me but he is strong enough to sail his own ship with winds on its sail. As he went through adolescence, I traversed the teenage years of motherhood.

Our journey was shrouded with misty uncertainty but both the boy & his mother walked slow but steady. And oh boy how much I learned from this growing intelligence! That by far was the most beautiful part of our journey. He thought he was learning from me and openly asked about questions on managing stress and disappointments, of living life with joie de vivre even when chips are down. I shared what my life had taught me. But I was simultaneously soaking in his thoughts on stoicism, his philosophies of life, his creative energy and his calm. I was learning to have a smile even when going was tough and pushing through when spirits were down. His quiet strength amazed me. I was also awestruck to realise how well read he was. His stories entertained me over our morning chai. He provided me with night time stories that evoked deep thoughts about our planet and human progression. I realised that we are both soaking from each other….he - my life experiences and I - the his dreams of a future. This journey to the mountains cemented the bridge I started building and so mighty glad I am about it.

I know his journey will take him to far away lands, to dreams bigger than I can imagine, to adventures more extraordinary than the Arabian Nights, but I’m at peace as I know he will always find his bridge to get back to his Mamma when he needs a hot cup of coffee and a good chat. At times you come across souls who teaches you life lessons and then becomes a part of your journey. My boy probably is one of those souls.

 In Hindu philosophy it says, that a soul chooses the womb where it wants to take form before stepping into the world. And I’m so blessed that he chose me. I remotely don’t believe any other soul had the capacity to turn a quirk of nature like me, to something which resembles motherhood and then make me fall in love with the role. Albeit I’m slow but I did get a hang of things, my way. I had a very patient 17 year old teacher. 

As we walked the folds of the mountains through the lush greenery, we both savoured a newfound spiritual kinship. We touched the hem of calm as we trekked to the hill top monastery, we enjoyed the chirping of the cicadas as we listened to the sky, we indulged in organic farm food from my friend’s farm stay and lulled ourselves in hot stone bath ‘Menchu’.  When two people can enjoy each other’s company in silence, that probably is the best of all relationships. We both could cross the bridge and reach that place. 

So my dearest reader, if you have children then ensure you have the bridge which both of you can use to reach each other. And if not , then still have your bridge to reach the next generation of youths. The journey will be enriching, I can promise you that. Have an open and compassionate heart, inquisitive mind and patience. A whole new world will open its gates to you. I will leave you here dearest Reader, till we meet again with another story. Go wrap up the autumn cosiness with your loved ones as I reminisce the visit to mountains and the Himalayan bridge which connects.

Always yours 

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader- Series 2 - From the Big Apple

 

Hello Dear Reader.

Writing after a hiatus of a month and I missed you all. The last month had been all about adapting to changes and I was too caught up in my scheme of things. A change of job taught me a few things for sure but it did land me in New York City for a 15 day work trip. Changes are challenging times and I will tell you all the fun and funny things that contributed to the roller coaster in a separate letter. But this letter is all about the experiences from the Big Apple.

Those who had read my letter from Singapore earlier this year, I can assure you my suitcase is getting lighter. I had lesser weight for 15 day packing than I had for a 7 day work trip. I’m quite proud of the feat, but realised I could actually pack at least another 6 pieces less. We learn and hopefully my work trip will be lighter in weight the coming months. After almost a year and some, I did enjoy a work trip & my stay in New York.

A new job ensures that you are not carrying any baggage of expectations or weight of performance. You are only absorbing and making connections. My previous job taught me well the value of networking and building connections. I hope I did start the journey in the new place on a good note. My colleagues were extremely gracious and I got pulled into Happy Hours held by different teams, Women Business Network Summer Soirée, Coffee catch up and Lunch meetings. All these helped me to get to know the people, my work and team. Along with it I also could enjoy the summer which is quite cherished in that part of the world.

But this trip was not only about work. Courtesy my ex-colleagues turned friends (over time) I enjoyed a wonderful afternoon strolling through the beautiful Central Park, enjoying the Times Square and was pampered thoroughly with gifts and delicious lunch at a swanky rooftop bar right across Empire State Building. I spent quality time over great Chinese food with my girlfriend reminiscing the days we spent at work in Hong Kong and all the fun we had together. Honestly Hong Kong evokes emotions which eludes words. But I was so glad that both of us have found happy spaces in our lives. 

New York also caters to the soft spot I have for family. My elder cousin who’s one rocking woman, glamorous, super achiever and an awesome mom stays there with my niece. She mothered me and I so unabashedly soaked in all the love. A Porsche ride to Spring Valley in New Jersey to meet my uncle (who’s more a dad to me) was unforgettable. The incessant chatter, the beautiful ride and an  afternoon of great food with those I love filled my heart.

New York also gave me time with myself. I could stroll the streets aimlessly after work. I chatted with people who holds special place in my heart for hours. And I spent the nights alone with my thoughts where no one claimed my attention. No one reminded me of the next chore. No one triggered the auto responses to asks, which we are prone to give, depending on the role we play day in and day out. I could long for gossamer illusions. I could weep for the grief which was suppressed in the noises of routine. I drowned myself in the coveted loneliness. I whispered to the lost hopes and wrapped despair around me in delicious warmth.I allowed myself to suffer and embrace it, with all the love I had in my heart.

You see in our busy schedule where we wear multiple hats and play a zillion roles swapping them almost hour to hour, we barely get time to spend with ourselves. The truest version. We don’t give time to our happiness, (those that are only ours and not shared) and we don’t grieve enough for our sorrows. I recollect the day my Dida passed away ( maternal grand mom), I was on my way to work while she was dying. My mom held the phone to her dying ears in Kolkata and I was in my car going to Malad to tackle a very busy year end in Financial Reporting team. I sobbed on the way. Wiped my tears, got down and worked till late in the night . I reached back home wee hours of the night. Calmly told my husband and my 6 year old son of the news ( both unaware till then) and entered kitchen to rustle up tiffin for my son the next day. I didn’t grieve her death and I still regret the lost opportunity. Since then I give myself some time in the year to unwrap myself layer by layer and be. Simply be.

These work trips allow me my luxury. You can love and live with an abandon of a free spirit. You can take out your battered, bruised heart and heal. You can long with your body, mind and soul and then be absolutely fine with the longing to rest as it is. You can weep your pillows wet and ache in unfulfilled desires. You can dream and hope and be free of all contraptions that is your life. But most of all you can be YOU.

So my dearest reader, if you get a chance to be with yourself, grab that opportunity with both hands. Spend quality time with the only one you came with and the only one who’ll be with you when you leave this plane. I did have a wonderful time with myself and I’m quite stoked by it. 

My part of the world is gearing up for all the festivities. Starting from Janmashtami, rolling into Ganpati then dancing through Navaratri/Durga Puja and ending with Diwali. So we are a happy bunch here. See you soon with more stories. Till then enjoy the moving of the Sun from this side to that side of the earth.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - Kathmandu Kalaidoscope

 Hello Dearest Reader,

I’m back from my very own tryst with destiny. Let me start off by saying a solo retreat to Osel Ling Monastery in Kathmandu cropped up early this year. My Guru Mingyur Rinpoche who is extremely elusive and travels at jet set speed across the globe, imparting teachings, had decided to stay put in Kathmandu, his hometown for this entire year. As a part of year long program, his Monastery Osel Ling was opened to public for the first time and there were a number of teaching and retreats scheduled for the ones who were interested.

My urge to visit my Masters like other obedient students were extremely need based. Very like school, if I’m able to complete my homework instructions provided by the teacher, I try and visit them for the next round of teachings. And often it takes years before I feel confident enough to face my Guru. This time around it almost took me one and half years before I could complete the ask. Obviously I couldn’t let go of an opportunity to meet Mingyur Rinpoche ( last met him in 2022) as it was perfect timing to deep dive into higher levels of Buddhist studies and practice. Hence I landed up in an unknown country determined to complete my Retreat for 10 days. But this story is neither about my Guru nor about Buddhism but about very personal experiences which swamped me during my stay.

Let me take a few minutes to explain what a Retreat is all about. It’s nothing but when you put your mind on a journey inward instead of outward. Your five senses shift their focus from the outer world and rests inward trying to fathom who you are. Inevitably during Retreat, you withdraw from social media, external communication and contact with family and friends to the extent possible. You are surrounded by your teachers, other Lamas and Tsunamas (ordained monks & nuns) and fellow practitioners. The only thing you discuss is either your practices or the teachings or the spiritual experiences. In actuality the only thing you see is the Monastery and the folks residing there. You eat the simplest of foods. You only have a meditation cushion in a huge prayer hall with no fans, or ACs and you spend days just absorbing the teachings and observing yourself.

Believe me it is the hardest to spend time with yourself. The toughest thing is to watch yourself quietly, without judgement, without any contrived thoughts, without giving any discerning tags to anything which is captured in the nets of your senses. Initially I found it extremely difficult to even sit still for 10 minutes at a stretch. I would toss turn and made a circus while trying to meditate. But the habit slowly sank into my system. Over the days the quiet inside my mind started getting reflected outside. I was submerged in the silence and the cacophony of  the external environment stopped touching me. Every experience was enhanced and felt million times intense. Even if it meant listening to a bird singing.

And in that quiet, I unwrapped myself layer by layer. I saw myself like a reflection on clear water. Understood how I might come across to the world. The unaware nature of our existence, barely allows us to be natural in our environment. Either we are trying to convince ourselves what’s best for us or we are trying to convince others that we are a perfect fit in their scheme of things. In the process we have already categorised and tagged events past, present or future as good, bad or ugly. By default we also create aversion for what pains us. But in actuality from moment of birth till one leaves the body, we always have choices to not be a victim of circumstances or our habitual grasping of what we perceive as attractive.

Only if we can pause and observe, it is easy to get an explanation for your inner conundrum. It helps provide an internal expanse in your consciousness. One of the practices we did was to imagine desire. Intense desire and then observe how our body and mind reacts to it. The example provided by the teacher was to think of Pizza and imagining eating it, which sure was a treat considering we were all on simple, vegetarian Buddhist bowl of a diet. However for me desire came slamming hard as a memory of a person. As I was on Retreat I obviously had no connections with the outside world and consciously refrained from bringing in mind anyone who possibly could distract. During the practice, the only thing I could think about intensely was this person. It shook me to my core as my mind threw open image after image of all probable possibilities of interaction with this one single soul. As I experienced it, I was palpably aware of how my body was responding to the thoughts that my mind threw up and how emotions wrecked havoc on the calm I have been practising. But miraculously as our Master was guiding us through the practice, I slowly could observe three very different elements of this extreme experience my mind and body was going through. One the non-existent imaginary nature of object of desire, two my mind and body reacting to someone who is not there in the real and three, that my thoughts created my reality.

It was a surreal experience and in that moment I realised that I can let go of what is in my mind if only I’m aware of it. As my Retreat ended and I came back to the world I live in, I brought back with myself one critical life skill. What does not add to your journey will fall off your life. We should let go. Some things stay with us for limited period of time. It might be a job, your parents, your child, your Guru, your love….they come, play a role in your journey as long as it takes you to learn what you’re meant to and then drop off the path once the purpose is served. It’s meaningless to try and keep alive those connections.

Armed with this realisation I have embraced the quiet. The whirlpool of emotions which are our daily rigours is obviously there but I am constantly teaching myself to observe and not react. Ask questions and act instead of allowing presumptions to dictate actions. I am learning to speak about what I seek and solicit help from people around me. I’m learning to be aware and open. I’m learning to embrace and let go.

With that my dear reader, I would end my story. The picture you see on top is the statue of Buddha in Osel Ling Monastery glowing in the morning sun and shimmering Kathmandu city from Osel Ling again at night. Very like our own mind, light & dark. Osel Ling taught me to watch, embrace and let go. I hope you all are having a good summer break and storing up on stories to relieve later. But my dearest try watching , embracing and letting go. Till next time - 

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - The Turki

 Hello Dearest Reader,

I’m back from another adventure and it does call for a story to be told. I firmly believe our lives are nothing but stories of different hues. There are stories of love, loss, despair, hope, adventures and grief. But how beautiful they are when they are brought out in the sun and shared with others. Recently I had visited Turkey for a vacation with my boys and we had a wonderful time exploring and experiencing the country. From Istanbul to Cappadocia, its magnificent landscape, its eon traversing history and rich culture mesmerised us. And oh boy what adventures we had on the hot air balloon and the ATV rides!

But today’s story is not about all those, but about a person who got introduced to us as our guide as we toured Cappadocia. Mr. H looked dapper in his casual attire and had an easy laugh. We had the privilege of exploring the cave churches and underground dwellings of ancient civilisation with him. His knowledge of history was in depth and informative but what captured my attention was the story of his life.

Mr. H mentioned that he is very much a hot blooded Turki  born and brought up on the Eastern part of his country. He looked way more matured and edgy for his 29 years on this planet. So he shared how his clan and specially his grandfather always paid attention to physical strength and agility. Belonging to a farmer’s family, his childhood was spent playing sports rooted to earth. He mentioned that at the age of 12 he was asked to hold on to the horns of a mountain ram and the game was that the animal should not be able to move him an inch from his position. He very casually mentioned “ I used to be thrown helter shelter initially but by the time I was 14, I would not budge an inch”.

 Hunting was a regular event as he grew up. By 14 he could shoot and by 16 he was going for hunts alone in the mountains of Turkey. He mentioned besides being this sober sophisticated tour guide for us urban softies, his main income was in conducting hunting tours for foreign tourists who come in from Spain, Italy or Russia. It means for 30-50 days he will be out in the wild scouting the terrain for the wild boars ( which might way upto 300kgs) and then take his clients chasing for a hunt. There’s money in this business he mentioned. But what touched my heart was what he said next. Very softly he said, “ I don’t like hunting anymore. Every time you hunt and rip of the skin of the dead animal, a part of your soul dies. You become less of a human. It scares me”. It was such a profound statement to make, for a man who earns his living out of doing it that it shook me when I realised the depth of his being.

Mr. H has also served the Turkish army which is a mandate for all able bodied men in the country. He very proudly said that he was one of the top notch cadets and trained in driving tanks and operating hand missiles. So good he was, that he was offered a job in the country’s intelligence service, which honestly didn’t surprise me looking at his built and his knowledge in geography of his land. But he had declined the offer because he did not want to make a living out of deceiving and harming people. His struggle to preserve his humanity in the face of his geo- political environment was apparent. And that as a young man, he is steadfast in his endeavour made me thank his upbringing. An educated man who majored in history and has a knack of reading books, he was an enigma.

His fondness for his mom, his intent to earn enough to fund his wedding and take care of his future wife was all sweetness. In their country the boys have to spend and sponsor for their own wedding. He seems to have found his girl and awaiting the blessings of the families. Mother here is the last word here when it comes to approval.

 He is a backpacker by passion and loves travelling. It was heartwarming to hear that India is on his bucket list. For sure he will be richer in experience when he visits our land. Mr. H very cheekily had asked us to guesstimate his age when we met him.We all pegged it at mid 30s. With a very somber tone he told us he’s just 29 and that life has etched more lines on his face than what’s expected for his age. 

A very proud Turki, steeply rooted in his tradition yet modern enough to question what’s right, Mr. H enchanted us with his candour and curiosity. His interest in how he should invest in mutual fund in the global economic scenario was quite a refreshing discussion. It’s rare to find strength and softness balanced so immaculately in a man. His love for books and expertise in hunting, his philosophies and his training in combat such a sharp contrast and a rarity. I salute the family and specially the Mom who has entrenched such values in him. Cheers to more of his kind. We need men like him to make this world a better place.

Till I have foraged another story as I go along my life, keep well and be happy my dear readers. Store your stories. Not all might be pleasant. You see there are always stories within stories. May the best of your stories keep your smile intact till we meet again in these space.

Always yours, 

Pocket full of life.

Letters to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - From City of Singapore

 Hello dearest Reader,

Hope you’re keeping well in your corners of the world. I’m sure life is treating you well and if once in a while it has been unkind or has not paid sufficient attention to your happiness then I suggest you read this letter of mine. I’m sure it will resonate with you.

I’m one of those women who enjoys travel, irrespective of the fact whether it’s for work or leisure. I think both of these have their own benefits and enrich in different ways. Work travel allows you to meet people, some you’ve known for years, but don’t get a chance to meet regularly and some you’ve probably met for the first time. It allows you to peek into local culture a bit more deeply as you always land up seeing the place through the eyes of your colleagues who resides there. Hence, the travel hiccups are a bit less. You enjoy the local cuisine referred to you and get the best bargains when you go shopping. Most of all you actually get to know your professional relationships in a tad more personal way. That might be good or bad depending on experiences. More often than not the folks who seemed distant, cold or at times ruthless in their critique turn out to be more human and warm. And that applies both to the people you work with and work for. And as you zip past cities amidst schedules of your frenzied meetings you learn, you watch and you enjoy.

I was lucky to attend a panel of C suit women leaders who shared their insights and their battles as they navigated careers. Their candid conversation was an eye opener. It’s strange how most of us women in the professional world have similar stories, who had familiar battles which were fought and who basically somehow managed to survive. It’s always about their choices, their grit and their never say die attitude. 

Work trips are also about nostalgia, where faces change, clients change and newer people get introduced to life. And as I always believe, nothing lasts, it’s always better to enjoy the ride. But this story is not about dreamy work trips, it’s about a struggle of a woman who’s aging gracefully.

 I’m at the cusp of that stage of my life, where I’m definitely not young but haven’t yet got the licence to be called old. This strange phase comes with changing body in addition to changing mindset. And the last seven days did tell me loud and clear, that a few things need to change and that definitely my dear readers is not my panache to travel.

Lessons learnt hard way, that your clothes need to be comfortable . Fancy clothes are a thing of past if you’re travelling. You get bruised by feminine contraptions which are required to get those beautiful things to cling to your body. It is horribly uncomfortable and not worth the effort. Length of dresses need to change. My legs definitely are no more a thing of beauty. The 40 something years has created a maze of veins like patchwork on them which by far is not something I would like to flaunt. 

Most of these foreign places, need you to walk miles. Those black high heels which make you look classy in client meetings, sure will give you nightmares when you need to rush across the city. Carry spare flats in your bag. Lesson learnt from a senior woman colleague. 

Try different local cuisines but don’t go overboard. A week is a long time. Client meetings during the day is often followed by late work hours glued to your computer when you’re back at the hotel.  Food management is key to get through the grind.

The plushest of hotels with softest of beds, give you back aches. Ensure, you stretch yourself before and after a night of rest. Most important, manage your sleep. My body atleast drags my spirit down to the hell hole, if it doesn’t get it’s minimum requirement of sleep. These trips usually are hectic, so grab a nap, on the flight. 

Last but not the least, carry your meds. They are your best friends. They will see you through, migraines, high pressure, work stress, sleeplessness or adventures with cuisines. Forgot to mention these will help with you bruises, cuts and sprains because of your benchmark shoes, long walks and dragging heavy luggage.

I rest my case. You evolve with age and so does your outlook towards work trips. And one thing  we women really need to learn from the men of our world - how to pack light and manage their entire week with 2 basic business suit. Blue and Black. It’s an art, how their kind do it with elan. Guess women and their vanity does play the culprit here.

I’m now trudging back to my home base after a week. Professionally wise, but definitely battered and bruised. It’s not always a piece of cake. So do not go by the drool worthy social media posts. Some battles do take a pound of flesh.

I will see you soon, with some other stories, from my pocket. Till then take care, stay well and enjoy the ride.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - Infinite Love

 Hello Dearest Reader,

This being the globally accepted month of love, I thought an over indulgence on the topic will be forgiven by your kind heart. So let me share another story on loves of different kinds and of different times with a bit of travel experience thrown in.

It is believed that love touches a person’s life at different points opening portals to different experiences as is needed for a person to evolve. The first one which touches your life is generally when you’re young and that probably is your first encounter with the emotion. Often we term it as our first crush. But then what is crush but the budding love which creaks open your heart. It is like the  first flush, gives you joy of newness, excitement of the inexperience, this love like the first rains on the parched soil, transforms your childhood in to a more matured and beautiful version of yourself . Unfortunately this kind of love rarely lasts. They teach you the beauty of its existence but lack of an experience ensures it fades away from life.

Then as you enter your early adulthood, you’re hit by a stormy kind of love. This one consumes you. You believe this is ‘The One’, and you give yourself completely into it. There’s trust, desire, unbridled passion and shared dreams. You get swept by the intensity of it. Every good that you believe in, is poured into this one kind of love. With faith of a blind, you swing in its merry tune. You give so much of yourself that your individual existence loses its meaning. You learn to be one with another soul. Some lucky few will live their lives with this kind of love. But most mere mortals are left a broken mess after this love exits your life. You see you had given away yourself completely to another, so when the other person no longer remains a part of your life, you lose meaning of existence. Death seems dearer and the pain of broken heart manifests physically. You die a death more brutal than the real one. I take responsibility of using such a strong word as death, because what remains after that is an entirely new person. You metamorph into a version which is toughened, colder and practical. This kind of the emotion teaches you to fear love, because it exposes you to the destructive power of its strength.

So now you’re determined to not fall in love again. Don’t confuse love with marriage though. By then most of us have entangled ourselves into matrimonial bliss. Marriage needs a different kind of mindset. Mostly the key ingredient of a successful marriage is respect, trust, sense of responsibility and personal alignment to societal fabric of existence where you nurture human lives. Both young and old. 

The last kind of love sneaks past your practical, no-nonsense persona, when you’re least expecting it. For that matter you don’t even term it as love. Confidently you tell yourself that this is some kind of aberration of frivolous kind. You’re in denial. And invariably it is with the wrong kind of person ( very different from the idea you have created in your head) who has nothing in common with your tastes and preferences. For sure it’s at the wrong point of time, because by then your established social existence has lulled you to believe that you’re safe from another onslaught of the emotion. This love teaches you to observe. It teaches you not to expect anything. It teaches you to let go of the grasping. But by no means it is less intense. Its at a soul level and evolve you in to final stage as you learn to be happy for someone else. This I believe is the deepest kind which you carry over lifetimes till it manifests in the mortal plane at the right point in the right lifetime.

In this context, I head read a lot about Banke Bihari Temple of Vrindavan. I’m not religious but definitely spiritual. Shree Krishna had been a part of my life since I was four and I used to play with His idol like any four year old will with their doll. I would speak my deepest secrets, and request Him often to protect me from my Mom’s scolding, cried in front of Him for bad results of exams, broken heart, fought with Him, threatening to never talk unless a particular wish was fulfilled, blackmailed Him and gave into Him till He became integral to my life. I was named Krishnapriya by my Dida who probably is the one who filled my hearts with stories from Purana and Mahabharata. She gave me my Muraridhari murti as my 16th birthday gift. I was married away to my man in front of my Krishna. And Krishna came with His Krishnapriya to her new house. Lorded over my heart just as he used to. Not surprising that His stories enchanted me a lot. Specially because I found all the three kind of love including marrying sixteen thousand and one women very nicely and neatly wrapped in His stories.

Coming back to Banke Bihari Mandir, the saying goes that the Temple was situated in Nidhivan, a Tulsi garden in Vrindavan by Saint Haridas. It is believed that Shree Krishna with His love Shree Radha comes down to do Raas, the divine dance every night. The Tulsi trees turns into Gopis. The bed which the priests prepare for the celestial couple with Srinagar ( ornaments, dresses and beauty enhancers) and Paan, looks used every morning. The Srinagar used the beetle eaten inside the locked garbha griha (the sanctum sanctorum). No one’s allowed to enter the Nidhivan at night. Those who tried either lost their sight or mental balance or died as they couldn’t comprehend the energy of what they saw. The Banke Bihari Temple now situated at a nearby site has the most beautiful idol of Shree Krishna. The priests keep a curtain in front of the idol which is dropped every two minutes. They believe that if you look too long at the beautiful face of Shree Banke Bihari you’ll be mesmerised forever and if you’re a true devout, Banke Bihari ji will follow you back to your home.

To put to rest all kinds of love that touched me, I had gone to see the temple. I did not offer any Puja, because I just wanted to see my Krishna. See I did, I’m sure for more than two minutes. Have not taken a single click but His face  is etched in my heart like a photograph. I can see His face even if I keep my eyes wide open, 500 hundred miles away from Vrindavan in the heart of Mumbai, the minute I remember Him. I’m not sure why Banke Bihari will follow me back home, because He was always with me before and after my tryst with him in  Vrindavan. But one good thing did happen, I could put my love to rest. The emotion now sits quietly with all its hues in my heart and I can rest within it without the drama which we usually associate with love. I love and I am perfectly fine with just doing that, without associating anything with it, without expecting anything from it, without seeking any culmination or fleeing from it…just being it. Phew!

I’m not hoping or wishing that any of you experience what I did. Each one if us have our own journey and our way to engage with emotions as they touch our lives. I did it my way, I’m sure you’ll do it your way. And both our ways will be equally enchanting and perfectly right. But I do wish dear reader that love touches your life. Let it enrich your journey and help you evolve into the best version of yourself.

Always yours 

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - A 50 year old love story

 Hello Dearest Reader,

Hope you are well. The new year is settling in and slowly falling in place, like every other year gone by. The end of January took me to Kolkata - my hometown. We were celebrating my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary. It was a lovely evening with friends and family. All the laughter, conversations, good food, cake cutting and free flowing stories laced with free flowing spirits ensured that I bring at least one of the nuggets to your doorstep. Let me tell you a 50 year old love story.

I was told it was 1965, the Girls Guide troop of a particular school was getting trained for war time service in the heart of Kolkata. These trainings were held in the Indian Museum, situated right in the centre of the city. A sixteen year old girl met a 20 year old boy under a tree on the street right outside the museum. Some common acquaintance introduced them. Two individuals from very different socio-economic-cultural background. The beautiful young girl, gentle, shy, led a very protected life. The only scary thing she ever encountered was her very strict, conservative father. She could barely utter a word in front of the tall stature of this serious almost fierce persona. The boy on the other hand was very street smart, brash, had been often hit hard by life and cared a damn about societal protocol. 

How they bonded are known by the few who were close to them. Supposedly the boy was very possessive, demanding of every minute of the girl’s spare time. Often spouting, philosophical theories and psychological jargon, swept the girl off her feet. There was no proposal but a pure conviction that they would be together. And finally after a lot of drama and disowning by the girl’s family, the boy almost did a Prithiviraj and took away with him, his Sanjukta to get married.

He joined the Indian Police Force and his beautiful wife accompanied him to every God forsaken place he was posted. Both of them lived through life threats which was a part of the man’s job description, financial pressure, having two kids who had pre-decided to visit hospital often didn’t help the cause, and families were least supportive - at least in the early years of their marriage. They survived it. Turned around their life. Brought their parents together, to the extent when these octagerians left this world they were in separable friends to each other. The couple ensured their kids do not go back up  to heaven above, just from where they came via the hospital route. They lived a simple and happy life.

Today if you look deep and observe in silence, you will still see the glimpse of the young daredevil of a love story in the grocery list they bicker over. You will see it when the food is being cooked in the kitchen where they both fight over the menu of the day, prioritising what the other likes. You will find it in the way they drink their morning tea, and peep over each other’s shoulders when talking to their children on video calls. You will feel the love in their shared worry, shared joy, shared happiness and shared pride. The love still holds true in their 70 something bodies and shines in their eyes as they exchange the red rose garlands with embarrassed smiles. Two very old eyes recognising the dashing love of their younger days beating forever in their hearts.

So my dearest reader, cherish the love you have with the love of your life. A life of love, is a life well lived. Store the memory nuggets. They are the most precious keepsakes you will ever have.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 2 - Rescue

 

Hello Dearest Reader,

Welcome to a brand new year! Hope the next 365 days unleash their charm on you. May you have adventures in your daily routine and dreams in your soul. I sincerely hope when you reach the end of this year, there are gallons of stories to keep you cheerful and make you laugh when you look back.

Today started off just the way I like it. Calm and weekendy ( if at all there’s a term like this). But I’m sure those who trudge the week days through measurable monotony can understand what I mean by “weekendy”. The feeling is usually light and cheerful for no apparent reason besides the fact that you can escape a routine which you have set for yourself to survive this life. I had my morning meditation session followed by hot cup of milky, sugary coffee with munchy “nimkees “ which my mother in law rustled up. These “nimkees” were a staple during our post puja visitation to all the neighbouring houses where we sought blessings from the elders of the house and met up with friends. Very similar to Diwali parties of north and west of India. But absolutely glamor less, much shorter, mostly done in the early evenings and completely, utterly focused on food. The yummier, crispier and sweeter the spread was, more of neighbourhood kids, teens and friends were likely to drop by to do the routine “Shubho Bijoya” pronam and “kolakuli” which is nothing but a customary hug done ritualistically thrice. 

Let me not digress from my morning. Food related thoughts tend to transport me to my childhood memories. However my very soothing morning was broken by a shrill war cry from my 16 year old. The boy learns martial arts, talks calories and muscles incessantly throughout the day, so I assumed that it must be part of his physical fitness jingoistic routine. However followed by the war cry came very timid fearful voice for help. Lo and behold my very macho boy had a baby pigeon stranded on his windowsill and hence was unable to enter his room. I was alarmed at his reaction towards a very small, and scared birdie. Fearful about where his mighty strength may fly in face of real threats. Then my man entered the scene with his strongest of weapons. A cell phone. This machine is capable of making 50 calls in a span of 5 minutes to all the people who will definitely give a patient hearing to the crisis in the house but in actuality cannot do a damn to help. My man however volunteered call the Security to save us from pigeon catastrophe. 

With so much chivalry and machismo surrounding me, including that of our pet retriever Mithai, I was scared to intervene. Mithai suddenly forgot the meaning of the name of his breed. Surreptitiously started retreating with not a single sound instead of retrieving, I thought it’s time to step in. Out came medical gloves, reminiscent from my liver transplant days. The huge box of infinite numbers of surgical gloves, never seem to end, even though they had been mercilessly trivialised and used for hair colouring, gardening, and saving manicured hands from cooking with our very own haldi. A pair was taken out and worn with a grim face. Then I picked the freakingly nervous bird gently and planted it outside my window sill so that the poor baby can fly away.

Another bout of macho circus started. Man of the house retreated with his mean machine, mumbling under his breath that he was ready to do anything to protect the family. The young cub roared and flopped back on his bed, re-settling his weights and dumbbells on the now won over land on the windowsill. Funniest of all was Mithai, the four legged man of the house. He started scratching the now closed window with his paws as the birdie perched  peacefully on the other side.

The tremendous show of bravery and the ultimate subjugation of chaos brought back my calm. I am still laughing to myself as I look back at the circus that enfolded in my household. I’m sending silent prayer to heaven above for those magical, mundane, surgical gloves. It fulfilled its destiny in a newest possible way and helped me to rescue a sweet little baby pigeon.

Wishing you be rescued when you need it, by the most ordinary of folks with apparently the most useless things. It re-onforces the fact that there is strength in ordinary and in absolutely mundane existence. And if you are one like me, preciously ordinary, then be there to rescue who need your help the most.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life