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 

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

Dearest Reader,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always yours,

Pocket full of life