Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 3 - Maha Kumbh: Once in a lifetime

 Hello dearest Readers,

Hope you’re well and enjoying the miracle called life. More often than not in the course of daily drudgery we forget that life is but a miracle and if we keep our senses and heart open, astonishing things do happen. Today’s story is all about how life threw at me a beautiful gift, wrapped in simplicity and joy, just out of the blue.

I’m spiritual if I might say so with humility but I’m not a very religious minded person. As in, I rarely feel the need to to go to temples or religious gatherings to do my practice. I feel  it’s very personal. If at all there is any sense of urgency - it’s my need to run away from the social humdrum. I prefer natural surroundings where only sound of silence pervades. I generally have an aversion towards too many people or a crowded place. My peace and my prayers search seclusion and thrive when I’m alone.

But then like I said, life catches you unaware and throws you into situations which are at times impossible even to dream of. As you might know, I started this year fulfilling my long time desire to try paragliding. I was on my way to the flight destination when scrolling through my Facebook page, I saw a post from my aunt-in-law. She mentioned about her visit to Maha Kumbh and shared lovely pictures of the gathering and the holy dip. Now a girl born and brought up in Allahabad (now called Prayagraj), it was no surprise that she’d be able to navigate the frenzy of Maha Kumbh. Her family is based out of the city and it was wonderful to see them enjoying themselves. As it happens when you connect with family on social media , I put a comment on her post stating how I wish I was there. Mind you, I was then on my way to Kamshet super excited about my paragliding expedition. Lo and behold, pat came a response, from my Kaki (aunt in law) asking me to plan a visit to Maha Kumbh end of February when all of them would be in Prayagraj again.

I was flummoxed at first, not sure if I ought to take the plunge and take her up on that invitation. To the uninitiated, Maha Kumbh is the largest religious gatherings in the world and it is considered sacred for the Hindus. The Maha Kumbh happens every 144 year at the confluence of the river Ganga, Yamuna and the mythical river Saraswati. Now something which happens every 144 years can only happen to someone in a lifetime or may be not. So I decided in my mind that if life takes me to Maha Kumbh, I will not resist it. I would go with the flow and trust the Universe to guide me through.

I’m not elaborating much about Maha Kumbh because I think the whole world was made aware of the phenomenon through social media and news channels. The hype around it resulted in such a frenzy that almost everyone rushed to experience it causing all kinds of accidents and anxiety to public. My family was acutely nervous at my steadfast intentions. I was going solo, though Kaki’s family very graciously agreed to host me for the two days and promised to take me around like a true blue local. But let me not deviate from the topic of miracles. Such decisions come at a cost I had heard. You are tested to see if you’re actually meant to be at the place your heart is calling out for.

Few weeks before the trip suddenly, I developed severe issues of haemorrhoid. So much of pain that I could neither sit down nor lie. The only comfortable position was to stand upright as much as possible. Every one in my family was convinced that I should cancel my plans. There was a high chance that a surgery would be required to fix me. Flight tickets were already booked and I literally had to fight to not get it cancelled. My doctor always an angel from above saved me by saying that meds would suffice. I was much better within a week. I will be honest, the experience shook me a bit. Not because of the pain, but the thought that I might need to walk miles, jostle amidst crowd of millions with a health condition not too palatable. But I kept telling myself, if I don’t recover completely, I will be open to dropping my plans. But determined not to give up before the d-day. Too make things worse, 4 days before my scheduled travel, I had a severe bout of allergic reactions. I was at work and one of my colleagues noticed there were bursts of rashes in both my hands. I almost freaked out and was convinced that my trip is not meant to happen. As I frantically consulted my dermatologist, he calmly asked me to observe. There was no sensation whatsoever and that was the only solace. Strangely as the symptoms arose from nowhere, it disappeared into nothingness in 48 hours. And I was finally able to board my flight to Pryagraj on 22nd of February.

Maha Kumbh for me was beautiful. I took the dip and if you look at the picture above, you’d probably be able to gauge the happiness I felt. But I experienced Maha Kumbh more acutely amidst the family which hosted me. I have never met them before. But the warmth and the kindness that was showered on me was unfathomable. Relationships were built impromptu. Suddenly strangers became masi and mami ( aunts) mama & mesho (uncles). All the kids became dewars (brother in laws) and bonhomie embraced us. There was no pretence, there was nothing extra to mar the natural candour of simplicity. There was laughter, dance, late night drives, awesome food, love and overall a gentle acceptance of divine in every human heart. I feel life brought me to Maha Kumbh to take a dip in simple joys. It reminded me everything that is good in the world is also created by the human heart. Like I said, I don’t know what merit I earned by bathing at the Sangam (confluence of the holy rives) but I know my purpose of being in Maha Kumbh in this lifetime was attained. 

The boat ride on the river Yamuna which girdled the Allahabad Fort took us to Sangam. The river was flocked with beautiful migratory birds and equal number of boats.. It was a surreal sight to watch the birds float on the river. After the holy dip as the boat started rowing back to the ghats, a beautiful flock of those white birds flew over the boat. Almost sanctifying our holy dip and blessing the wish fulfilment of being a part of Maha Kumbh. Like I said, life is a miracle if you know how to experience it. I bonded with family who I haven’t met for a very long time and made new ones. 

My earnest request to you my Readers is to keep the windows of your mind open and have some space to embrace the world. You would see miracles unfolding as you walk the path. Till we meet again.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 3 - Radhe Radhe

 Hello Dearest Reader,

Hope you’re keeping well. This time round, my part of the world barely got a glimpse of winter. It was unpalatably warm and my trips to cooler parts of the country through last December and this January disappointed me. Seems global warming has shifted from being just an intellectual discussion to a life impacting phenomena. The weather outside was quite dull and Mumbai pollution cast a pall to my mood. And at the cusp of the first two months of this year, I had a sudden deep desire to see my Krishna. As the thought sprang to my mind, I decided to fulfil it.

I am at that stage of my life, where I have learnt to let the universe lead me on my path. Thankfully my circumstances allow me to make independent choices and my personal decisions usually go unchallenged. Guided by innate instincts, I land up doing things which at times cannot be fathomed by sceptics. So I packed my bags, allowed myself a day or two of leave and headed towards Vrindavan. No specific agenda in mind, but just to see Him. Quietly flew out of the maximum city at wee hours of one morning.

Now trips like this should be tread with curiosity and humour. The purpose of such trips are the trips themselves. And as luck would have it, I was caught by a googly right at the start of the journey. I boarded the flight on scheduled time. I only had my cabin luggage for the weekend trip with me. Managed to locate my seat and as I tried to shove my backpack in the cabin above, the main chain of my bag broke. Out tumbled my stuff showering overhead. It was embarrassing and awkward to say the least. Remembering to be calm, and recalling the fun loving nature of Krishna, I smiled through the benevolent look of my fellow passengers, feeling goofy and helpless inside. I finally managed to stuff things back, but couldn’t chain the bag up. With open bag dangling at my back, landed at Delhi, Terminal 1. And oh! Surprise galore! Landing at the airport I realised, my body has decided to start its cycle before time. No reason or rhyme, just being a rebel at inopportune times. Urgh….. how frustrating things could be. I don’t want to take you through the ordeal of carrying a dangling open bag to the airport washroom and fixing myself up. But it suffices to say, if meeting someone you love can be this difficult, then you wonder if He at all wants to see you in the first place! However the rest of the journey to Vrindavan was uneventful. Barring the fact that all sound bites of Delhi being freezing did not make much sense. The afternoon sun blazed through the car shield as it flew towards Vrindavan. It was quite warm to say the least. 

The hotel was a good one and a known one. This was my second visit. But India today still gets taken aback to see a solo woman traveller. From the reception to the bell boy, everyone kept frantically searching for the man who was supposed to be with me but was not there. I had to hold back my bubbling laughter at their discomfort. Almost mentioned that I have come to meet Krishna , and hence did not bring any other ‘him’ with me. 

I read somewhere and you might laugh at my gullibility, that people born on 6th usually come to this life to search and understand love. There might be millions of you, for whom this might not hold true, but for me strangely, it does. First third of my life I frantically waited for love to happen. Then I learnt that it can ruin you. And in the last leg, I have understood a little bit about it, touched its hem maybe. But strangely it’s nothing which I thought it was but encompassed every single emotion that has touched me till date. The biggest realisation I had was that loving is a self sufficient act. You don’t need anything to love. Not even the person. You can be love. The reason I’m sharing this with you is because I understand the struggle of searching for it. Please stop if you’re grappling with this elusive emotion! I suggest, try sensing it instead. Give it a shot. You’ll glimpse it, feel it and be swept by it. The trip to Vrindavan was just that. I was swamped. My body and mind tuned in to what is mine.

I had never visited Nidhivan earlier, so my heart was set to see the place. The story goes that Shree Krishna and Shree Radhika, still does Ras ( Devine dance) every night in this garden of Tulsi. The temple and the garden sits amidst the town but all windows of the houses facing the garden are closed. The lore goes no one lives to describe the dance if they see the Raas. The garden is filled with monkeys and birds chirping during the day, but with sundown, a divine silence shrouds the place. The temple where priest keeps jewellery and clothes, paan and laddu as offerings to Shree Radhika before locking its gates,  remains closed till next day sunrise. Once the doors are opened next day, the bed is seen trampled, the jewellery scattered, the laddus eaten and the paan chewed. No one knows how it happens. But it happens every night. They say there are 16000 Tulsi trees in the garden, who all turn into Gopinis (devine consort) at night and joins the Raas. It’s upto you to believe the story or not. But sure there is romance wrapped in every nook of the lore.

I soaked in the environment as I walked the garden. Imagine what kind of love it could be, which defied consequences, social stigma, marital restrictions, destiny and even time. Probably when they roamed the earth, they may have spent a few years together and rest of their lives was spent being away from each other. Leading their individual lives and walking their life path. Yet so tied they are together, that even today thousands flock to see this place which resonates with their  love. What kind of energy would have been generated which sanctified the emotion of two souls and made it immortal. 

As I made my offering the priest handed me the Prasad and put a churni (veil) over my head which had been offered to Shree Radhika. Feeling happy I turned to walk out of the temple. On the staircase, I felt a tug at the churni from behind as if someone held it or stepped on it. It slipped from my head and partially touched the floor. I turned back thinking it got stuck somewhere, but there was no one behind me. The priests sat at the alter way behind. I looked back surprised, absolutely sure that my churni got stuck and was pulled off my head. Heard the laughter of the priests sitting at the alter. They told me laughing, “Kanha dopatta khich raha hain, dobara yaha ana parega “. (Krishna is pulling your veil and calling you back, you’ll need to visit Vrindavan again). I smiled at them and walked away. The place is filled with simple joys and complete faith. The folks here, take the existence of divine as way of life, with laughter and ease.

But then my purpose of visit  was not only to understand love but also to see Krishna . Hence I walked towards Banke Bihari Temple from Nidhivan. The most beautiful idol of the Lord is supposed to be here. The lore goes, Shree Radhika curved the statue out of stone, creating Krishna just the way She saw Him in Her heart. She missed Him so desperately that the idol seemed alive and looking at her when She completed. Which ever corner of the temple you stand, it would seem to you that He is looking at you with love. During the day the eyes take a silver hue and after sundown a golden hue. So there I went. Saw Him as much as my heart could taken in and quietly left the temple from the side. Avoiding the surge of crowd and knowing deep down that He has seen me as I have seen Him. Tryst over. I spent the night deliciously alone with my thoughts and prayers, my love and desires, knowing with absolute surety that the feelings are mine to feel and they are sacrosanct in themselves.

Now if you are reading this letter and wondering what I’m chasing and why I keep running to such places, let me share a little secret. The few breaths that I have left, I want to live my life on my own terms. Sanctifying my emotions and being true to them helps me to be authentic. I don’t lie to anyone or to myself. I don’t fake anymore and I have drawn my barriers where required. I am completely immersed in my truth and I’m quite aware it’s not perfect. It is evolving as I am. But I’m ok with this version of myself at this point of time At times the biggest act of love is to put someone else’s wishes before yours. The hardest thing one can possibly do is to move away and withdraw because that’s what is being asked of you. Yet loving unconditionally, with every breath. And if I’m yours, I’m completely yours…whether you know it or not, whether you acknowledge it or not, whether you want to be a part of it or not. However much I’m yours, I am authentically so and you’ll know it if you ever touch my life. And where I have drawn barriers, that’s sacrosanct too. I don’t give more than what is required of me. I have learned to not waste my energy en mass all the time. 

It hadn’t been easy, to reach here. Rather rough and I’ve got bruised as I’ve traversed the path . But I can assure you, it’s a journey worth the while. Being in love is never easy. Specially when you have to ensure that it includes yourself too. One should try it though. It’s an adventure worth taking. 

The last thing I heard as I was leaving Vrindavan behind - “ Radhe Radhe….Shyam mila de”. ( Where all prayers are to Shree Radhika, for Her to allows a glimpse of Krishna ). I would say love like Her, to get a glimpse of Him. Vrindavan grows on you slowly.

Till we meet again with another story.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

Letter to the Unknown Reader - Series 3 - Flying away

 Hello dearest Reader, 

January has begun with an aplomb. My 2025 top 10 list had a note which clearly required me to do something which I have never tried before. Of all the things I listed down, this one kept pulling me. Now those who don’t know me well, I’m not an adventurous sort. To top it, I’m extremely lazy. You literally need to pay me to have me move my limbs. Given this context, I was at my wits end as to should I try my hand at. Usually, I stick to new cuisines, or visiting new places or to the most picking up a new hobby. But all those have been done.

So I kept wracking my brains. One thing I have in oodles is courage. I usually don’t fear anything. And I have an affinity to the air element. Case in point airports relaxes my nerves.Turbulence in flights lulls me to sleep. My favourite pass time is to catch the glimpse of sunlight underneath the wings of a flying eagle. These birds pull me as they float across the sky, solo or at times with a mate.

I can spend a night gazing at the starry sky or romancing the moon. The night breeze whispering in my ears sweet nothings. My childhood saw a lot of thunderstorms. Bengal and its countryside is a sight when cyclone hits. The gust of wind whirls the dry dust and leaves into its embrace. I would sit in wonder and watch as the storm raged across the surrounding vistas. Peeking through the windows or sitting close to the balcony watching with glee as the wind twirled my hair and kissed my cheeks. 

So I decided that I should try my hand at going with the wind. Paragliding would be my adventure of choice. The thrill of leaving the solid stability of earth and gliding across the sky on the wings of the wind was a charming thought. More so cause, no effort was required. You have an instructor, the vehicle from the nearby Homestay takes you to the flying spot, the crew secures you in the entrapment and attaches you to the parachute and you’re ready to fly. The only thing you need to do is jump off the cliff, which was no big deal. At least for me, it was the least of the worries.

The Homestay, we often visited was cosy little place just beside the Pawna lake in Kamshet. The room painted sunny yellow opened into a courtyard canopied with white blossoms. The sequinned Rajasthani bandhni curtains fluttered in the January breeze. We checked in. My man decided to accompany me, quite nervous that his only wife might fly away and never return. However much I insisted that I’m capable enough to survive this adventure solo, but he was adamant. You see, he had a very opposite kind of emotion attached to this flying, the mysterious wind and a human floating away. He cursed the day when such a thought made home into my heart and for his own peace of mind decided to follow me.

My destiny was planning slyly behind my back. It decided to crack a joke at my expense and was truly conniving to make me do what exactly what I detested. Make efforts. I was warned that wind might play truant and if the wind is not on your side, then such flights are cancelled without notice. We came in for a day. I was jittery that if luck doesn’t favour us then my trip to Kamshet will go futile. In the meanwhile my instructor Vinod came by to meet me. He wanted to check if we can take the flight next day morning instead of the noon trip which was scheduled for the day. When I asked curious why such a sudden change of plans, he mentioned that the wind is playing truant and to catch the wind we need to trek for 10 minutes from the spot where cars can take us. Nearest to flight site.

Nervous me, didn’t want to take the risk of pushing it to the next day. God forbid if wind decides to abandon me the next day, then my fancy plan would go for a toss. So I pushed Vinod to go ahead with the afternoon’s plans. That was my doom. The 10 minute trek was as elusive as a mirage in the desert. The car stopped at the side of semi barren farmland which stretched for miles, till the rocky crop of the Western ghats. The dry winter turned every blade of grass a golden hue.Vinod sweetly smiled and said the flying spot was right at the top of that rocky slope of the Ghats. He pointed at some Mango tree which my naked eyes couldn’t see. That he said was the destination and our flying spot.

My dear reader, I cannot tell you what my poor untrained legs had to bear for the next 50 minutes. There was no road, no trail, and we had to meander through barren and rocky farmland. We walked for more than a mile and half. Panting and gasping under the blazing sun, somehow I managed to reach the foothills. My dreams of flying in the sky without an iota of effort evaporated in the hot afternoon. But then started the treacherous climb. Again barely a trail. Steep rocky slope. I was crawling like a clumsy tortoises in search of the sea. Toehold slipping and me desperately clawing at the dry grasses. Thank God my man was there to lend a hand. He was 10 times fitter than I was. Finally I managed to reach the flying spot. I was super proud that I didn’t collapse on the way making a fool out of myself.

The rest was the least of the ordeal. Entrapped to the gear and latched to my instructor we waited for the right gust. Once the wind swept us up, the only thing required was to run towards the cliff and leap. That was a surreal moment when my feet left the solid ground and the invisible strength of wind took me up in the sky. When I looked down everything looked like miniature countryside. Dotted mini cowherds grazing, huts and toy cars racing on the ribbon like roads. Different shades of green laid like carpet below, covering the planet which we call our home. The sky, daffodil blue, pulled me towards it and such calmness enveloped me that I fail to describe in words today. The sound of the wind and the stillness of space took me to a meditative enamour. I stayed cantered and still within as I glided across the hillside. A few stunts later, my instructor guided us down. 

My relieved husband vowed never to try this for himself. Gladly took handover of his wife and climbed down the hill, happy that his ordeal was over. I think he was mighty pleased that his only wife didn’t fly away to some fairyland leaving him behind. 

One more adventure in my pocket, I spent the evening watching the sun go down the lake and the full moon rising in the horizon. My dearest reader given a chance try your hand at something new, something a tad difficult and different. Life is to be lived. Fill your pockets with memories and your heart with dreams. 

Till I see you again with another story, stay well.

Always yours,

Pocket full of life

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