It was an innocent gesture that has left me wondering on the whys and hows of human nature.

On Sunday I was driving down a busy street to get to a Star Hotel where I was meeting the F&B Manager for a food feature I am writing for TOI these days. Before that I was to meet a friend and colleague at a bridge which flows over the famous Mula River in Pune (which is center point for both of us and where we have met several times to exchange documents/CDs and the like - work related stuff).

At a traffic signal, a gentleman on a motorbike asks me for directions to a certain landmark Mall. I explain it to him and as the light turns 'green' head my way, which is incidentally in the same direction!

At the next traffic signal, he stands a couple of vehicles to my left and gesticulates. I can see his destination and point it out to him. After the signal turns 'green' I speed off on my way.

After I park my car at the foot of the bridge and wait for my friend to turn up, the biker knocks on my window. 

Conversation ensues.

He thought I wanted him to follow me and so he does. He seems mighty embarassed that he did not understand the directions I gave him. I smile out of sheer politeness because I cannot (obviously) agree to his foolishness. (I mean, couldn't he read the sign boards screaming in bold RED?)

Nevertheless he introduces himself as the Manager of a Bank and gives me his VC. Again, out of sheer politeness I give him mine.

But wait. It is not just politeness. Ever since I have begun networking extensively for my newspaper stories, I have realised the value of passing on your VC to somebody. One day, I struck up a conversation with a complete stranger as the punctured tyre of my car was being repaired and exchanged VCs with him as well.

To cut a long story short, in a matter of one hour I received a long SMS from him, praising my direction giving abilities (How lame can one get!!!) with an invitation for coffee.

I sent him a curt reply asking him not to message me again.

Today he called me apologising for the message. I was curt again.

Something tells me he won't back off. 

I experienced something close to a stalking when a guy I'd interviewed for a job a few years ago started messaging me day in and day out, getting lewd and threatening all at once (if I didn't give him the job). For weeks I suffered until one day, my husband called him and promised to gather the Military Police (We were in the Indian Navy then) and have his limbs broken if he didn't stop messaging me.

I am feeling the same fear again. 

Harish has been guiding me on how to handle him if he dares call again. Else he will come to my rescue as he always has (in cinemas when men try to nudge or shove into parts of your body, in crowded places when men leer at you only because you are a woman, on public transportation...and the list seems endless......) 

I am also wondering why it takes the husband, father or brother to scare such people off. Why can't they take a "NO" from a woman as seriously?

Why won't they just LET US BE????????

Pictures

I'm not much of a photographer but here are some pictures I've clicked over the past few months.

At Purandar Fort, Pune, Maharashtra

This lady bug wasn't very photogenic. After several attempts, caught it in the right frame!

'Govt of TATA India' - Clicked this picture while driving. 

A houseboat in the merry waters of the Vembanad Lake, Kerala

Houseboat crossing a little habited island

Just found this scene very soothing

Outskirts of Alibaug, Maharashtra

Corridor in the Aga Khan Palace, Pune

Harish prompted me to take this gorgeous picture

Through the verdure - At Empress Gardens, Pune

Perhaps my best. Taken on the Mumbai-Pune Express Highway

GPO Pune

Death of a dream

A dream died a silent death this afternoon

It was meant to happen.

Life was going too fast, too smooth

something had to break the momentum 

of happiness and contentment

Or was it inertia?

Was it complacency?

Was I content basking in today?

So satisfied that I did not think of tomorrow?

A dream died

And took with it

a chunk of me;

my optimism and faith

my vision of the future 

my hopes for tomorrow

A dream is dead

forever.

An email I received this morning that has instilled a sense of purposefulness and reason in what I was pursuing simply as my "passion".

Dear Madam Ritu,

Thanks a lot for sending me "DNA" paper very promptly.

I really appreciate your spirit, personally driving all the way to Dapodi, to meet me though I am observing "Moun Vrat" to know the facts and figures of the case study.

As an experinced journalist, you had correctly drawn the real cream out of my feelings and emotions regarding my spouse's illness episode.

Your Article as published in the paper is very elabrote,informative and is an eye opener to the not only insurance and TPA Agents, but also to the public who are being haunted.In your article you have slashed them blue and red for the systems short comings.

I am so happy about the article and nothing can stop me without thanking the editor of DNA for selecting and publishing such an use ful article in the interest of public.

Best Regards,
K.H.Rao

This is the same family I'd mentioned in my post Dard ki nai paribhasha. 

The article in question can be read here on Page 6. 

Can there be stronger words of encouragement and appreciation?

Sometimes LOVE just ain't enough

I thought he would care. And I know he did. For a while. 

But we are back to square one again and I'm in a quandry. I've shed tears that I now know were in vain. I am heart broken no doubt. I am also so worried. What in the world can I do now? I've exhausted the best 'shastra' I had in my kitty and it did not work. 

This rambling does deserve a background...and here it is:

My hubby smokes. A lot. There was a time when he would contain his ciggarettes to three or four a day. These days, I've lost track because he refuses to tell me how many. But I know its a lot because a few years ago he used to buy 'singles' and now he buys a pack.

I am worried. I always have been. Initially I laid down many ground rules to discourage it such as turning our home into a 'No Smoking' zone. Ever since he turned the balcony into an 'adda' I thought asking him not to smoke there would contain it. No such luck! He now goes to the Parking lot to smoke. Going down three flights of stairs is no mean task, but he is willing to devote that much time to the activity.

I've watched him smoke. He is never in a hurry. He actually 'enjoys' it. It is like meditation for him and that worries me more.

I grew up watching my brave mother struggle with hospitals, cardiologists and all the stress that goes with it, since the day my dad, a smoker, first went to a hospital with a heart attack when I was barely 11. Dad still smokes, despite his Bypass surgery! 

I spent a great deal of my growing years attending to relatives in hospitals (dad, gran' dad, gran'ma) so hospitals don't really scare me. What upsets me is the trauma the family goes through, waiting outside ICUs, getting snippets of information from Doctors who consider you incompetent to understand the scope of the problem so you never really know what is happening, being at the complete mercy of the hospital staff....and managing your emotions, your children etc.

I consider my mother to be the bravest person I know because I have witnessed her struggle as dad lay covered by tubes, handling our school routines and the home.

So when I saw that my hubby's smoking had gone up a lot, I thought I would adopt the 'black mail' method since all my pleading, reasoning, nagging, threatening over the past decade or so had fallen to deaf years. 

I did what I could do best. I am a hypertensive and my daily pill is the sole reason I pull through a hectic day. Without it I experience severe symptoms of a rise in the Blood Pressure. 

Since I forget to take it everyday, he is in the habit of reminding me. One day I revealed that I'd given it up....until he quit smoking. He was aghast and pleaded with me but I was adamant. For over two weeks I suffered the headaches, swollen ankles, water retention etc. 

I was hoping he would stop this lethal addiction. 

He did not smoke for about a week and promised me that this would be the norm.  

Three days later, the ciggarette is in his pocket again. 

This song by Patti Smith - Sometimes love just ain't enough - reflects the feelings of my heart

But there's a danger in loving somebody too much,
and it's sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust.
There's a reason why people don't stay where they are.
Baby, sometimes, love just aint enough.

Now, I could never change you
I don't want to blame you.
Baby, you don't have to take the fall.
Yes, I may have hurt you, but I did not desert you.
Maybe I just want to have it all.

It makes a sound like thunder
it makes me feel like rain.
And like a fool who will never see the truth,
I keep thinking something's gonna change.

Am I really the fool? Or is love really not enough?

Happy Teacher’s Day wishes

Recently I started teaching at a Mass communication Institute at Pune.

After my first guest lecture, (which turned out to be a roaring success…apparently the students gave me an excellent feedback), I was inspired to join the Institute as a Guest Lecturer taking an important subject called Media Management.

Today was my second class.

I took two sessions back to back and was dog tired by the time I was done. My mood was elevated as the class dispersed and I stood gathering my belongings from the table….and almost every student in class came up to me and wished me “Happy Teacher’s Day Ma’am”….

I was elated! I know that the feedback for this session will be as good as the first one.

Reached home and as we picked the children from their day-care in the evening, my daughter gave me a card for ‘Teacher’s Day’.

Surprised? So was I!

And this what her colourful hand-made card said:

I love mom because she is a writer and a college teacher. You are the best mom and teacher. All the teachers shout at me for nothing, but you are only a teacher who doesn’t shout for anything.

I love you very very much. Please never leave me and support me always.

A poem for you –

Roses are red

Violets are blue

But nobody has a mom like you.

Her brother gave me a card too. 

Oorja's Card

Abhir's Card

Please forgive me if I am gloating today. I think I earned it!!!

Dard ki nai paribhasha - A new definition for PAIN

Sometimes you meet people who inspire you to lead a better life than you’ve lived so far..to find ways and means of giving back to society, in the smallest manner possible.

Sometimes you meet people who shock you with their radical thinking or lifestyle, or bewitch you with their ability to ‘live their dream life’ every single moment, or cross the barriers of gender and distance and become friends you’d want to cherish.

Sometimes you meet people who have incredible pain in their lives; pain that makes you count your blessings and look inwardly, scanning every pore of your own being with a microscope to check if you have the right ever EVER be in a position to judge another.

Last evening I met one such family. I got their reference for a Medical Insurance story I am doing for DNA, Pune Edition. Needless to say they were an aggrieved party, cheated at the hands of an Insurance company, until the court gave them a respite.

But that’s not what this is about.

The gentleman I was to speak to was on a ‘moun vrata’ (a vow of silence) taken for 4 months. For 4 long months he would speak not a word, just communicate through writing and gesticulations.

But that’s not what this is about either.

After I ‘interviewed’ him (basically asked him the questions and then peeped into his note pad to see his replies) and was having a lovely cup of tea made by his wife, I heard someone call out “amma, amma” from an inside room.

The lady promptly got up and was soon helping a disabled man walk out. It was clear that he had trouble walking even with the walking stick he had.

After she sat him down she disclosed, “He is my second son. He has an incurable disease.”

As she went on to relate the ordeal of the young man, she further disclosed that her ‘older’ son was also afflicted with the same disease. While the younger one had symptoms since birth, the older one was afflicted after the age of 28.

I researched and found this about the condition.

Cerebellar Ataxia - It is an umbrella term for disorders of the nervous system which cause unsteadiness and a lack of co-ordination

· Its name comes from the word cerebellum, the part of the brain that controls balance and co-ordination

· There are genetic forms of the disease. In addition, some cerebellar ataxias can be caused by brain injury, viral infections or tumours

· However, in some cases it is not known what causes the condition

· It is a progressive disorder. And, while it is not fatal in itself, it can place unbearable stress upon the heart

· Cerebellar ataxia can develop at any age

· It is a very rare disorder without a cure

· However, the disease normally develops very slowly, and it can take years for a person's condition to change

· Walking can become increasingly difficult, and it may eventually become necessary to use a wheelchair

· People with the condition can become incontinent

· Other symptoms can include difficulties with swallowing and slurred speech

· Sight and hearing can be affected. In rare cases, they can be lost altogether

· However, intellectual faculties are not affected

I sat there trying to gulp down the hot cup of tea that suddenly seemed too hot and stubbornly refused to cool down, tongue tied and so at a loss for appropriate words.

The description reminded me of Muscular Dystrophy and I know two people afflicted with it, bravely trying to lead a normal life. I took a guess that this condition must be genetic too. The father wrote on a sheet on his scratch pad, words that I will never forget “No cure any where in the world. No medicine. No stone is unturned – medical, spiritual. It is a very rare disease. Our bad luck. Things cannot be cured have to be endured.”

The vow of silence he has taken is a prayer for his children.

Through the course of my interactions with people, I have seen underprivileged children struggle for existence, their survival dependent on the mercy of others, I have witnessed people going beyond their call of duty and listen to the voice inside their hearts, I have seen angels….

And yet, when I am struck with ‘pain’ I forget all the things I’ve experienced, all the people I’ve known.

What is pain? The going away of a loved one for prolonged durations, their absences, lack of luxuries, unsatiated never ending desires, losing a loved one, letting them go….?

NO. What I saw on the faces of the parents was PAIN.

How ridiculous my own experience of pain seems in the light of their tragedy?

As I was leaving, he gave me a laminated picture of Sai Baba of Shirdi to keep in my wallet (to bring you luck, he wrote). I, a complete non-believer, have it safely tucked in. Somehow I hope that his act of affection (wishing me luck) towards a complete stranger brings HIM good luck. For that, I’d be willing to keep any insignia anywhere, anyone proposes...if it removes their PAIN.

Our perspectives differ-just a bit!!!

One evening Abhir sat doing his home-work. He was writing "mat". He is learning to write independently, without 100% supervision (because that is what I trained Oorja also to do. I think its necessary to teach them to manage home work on their own). Anyways, I come back about 15 minutes later and saw half a page filled neatly with "tam" "tam" "tam".

A few days ago, he wrote "one" neatly in a mirror image in his Math note book.

As a little girl about the same age, Oorja used to do the same. I know that its a phase and they eventually grow out of it. What I wasn't expecting last evening, was this:

Abhir writing Math again, "What comes in-between" 13 __ 15
He wrote 13 41 15.
I asked him "What comes after 13 and before 15?"
He replied, "14."
"Thats correct," I said. "What have you written?" pointing to his book.
"14" came the prompt reply.
I tried another tact. "What is fourteen?"
He said, "One four fourteen."
"What have you written?" again pointing to his book.
"14."
"No beta, you've written four one forty one."
He looked at it carefully for a few minutes and said, "No mama. You can't see it properly. It is one four fourteen!"

A matter of perspective would you say? At age 5, I believe it is!

Mommy chatter

As I doubled over doing my ab crunches in the gym this morning, I marvelled at the dedication of a young man I have seen come to the gym every single morning. I reach the gym between 5:20 am and 5:30 am and have always seen this guy land before me. Once we happened to leave the gym together and I realised that he comes on a bicycle every morning and lives quite far from the gym. Last I heard him speaking to another regular, mentioning that he goes to work at about 930 or so.

This morning I was struck by the thought that the guy, who takes off with me on most days, probably reaches home around 7:45 or so…and perhaps either has a wife to look after the other chores such as tiffin cooking and packing, running a round of washing in the machine, tidying up the place etc etc…or lives with his parents or is a bachelor. Under all the circumstances, “Lucky guy” I thought.

“How I would love to live that life of carelessness and leisure; of having nothing more to do when I get back home from a fulfilling work out than enjoying a steaming cup of coffee with the cart load of newspapers we subscribe to; or simply spend fifteen minutes meditating; or jump starting the professional activities of the day….”

What I do on a typical day is rush home after the work out. At sharp 7 am I’m out and drive like a maniac to get home in 4-6 minutes flat. Because, I have to help hubby get the kids ready, make the ‘compulsory-in-school’ pigtails for daughter and hopefully have them out and in time to get their rick to school at 7:40.

This sometimes involves getting the son out of bed at 7:15 am and getting him ready in time to make it to the rick deadline! All this when hubby is the sweetest soul who manages their tiffin and gets them out of bed, (at least the older one) no mean task I assure you!

After the kids go, it’s the usual mundane household chores that need attending, leaving me, on most days with enough time to glance at the newspaper with longing eyes.

And mind you, all of this happens on GOOD days.

On bad days when hubby is out of town, I turn into the local superwoman who also has a gym routine she needs to move further up the clock…make it 5:10 am out of home. But that’s ok ‘coz she’d rather die without it!!!!

So imagine my surprise, while all through the one hour work out I envied the presumably ‘carefree’ life of the gym regular (I hope his day goes well today), drove home like a maniac and walked in at 6:40 am, hoping to find one in bed and one in the loo (courtesy the alarm I set for her), when I found my little darlings decked in the uniform!!!!

I stood frozen. Did they take ‘short cuts’? Like avoiding a bath? Or even brushing their teeth?

“No” both squealed, “We woke up early maa.”

The morning was like a dream come true. I had enough time to make their tiffin, feed them a relaxed breakfast, listen to their unending chatter and make two leisurely pigtails…. I even dropped them off to school, a rare treat for them since we live close to the school, as a bonus for making my day!

They’ve promised me that I would never have to struggle with them anymore. They even want me to take their dad to the gym in the morning!!!

I'd like to tell them that I am so thrilled that they made the effort to ease things for me, even if this were the first and the last time ever. This would qualify as the best surprise I have ever had!

Abort or not

The picture made it to the front page of newspapers. A heart broken expectant mother, weeping as her husband consoles her.

After Niketa and Haresh Mehta's petition to abort their unborn child at 26 weeks was turned down by the Bombay High Court, the debate rages. Should parents have the right to get rid of a life…that at 26 weeks is a little individual?

At 26 weeks, the foetus, around 12 inches from head to toe, and weighing about 450-600 grams, has a normal amount of muscle on the legs and arms and exhibits a whole range of typical baby behaviour and moods, including scratching, smiling, crying, hiccuping and sucking.

It jumps in response to loud sounds and even reacts to bright light aimed at the uterus, indicating optic nerve function. Studies indicate that the foetus can respond to touch at this stage.Developmental neurobiologists say that at 26 weeks, the foetus can feel pain. If the foetus is aborted at this stage, it may feel pain.

How then, can a mother, who harbours the life within her, even imagine wanting to abort the child?

The debate is that the baby “may be” born with a congenital heart problem that will not only decrease the quality of the baby’s life but will also put immense pressure on the parents, emotionally and financially.

But.

Ask couples who do not have a child for known or unknown medical reasons, those who put themselves through the repeated torture of IVF, spend lakhs of rupees trying to have a baby, is it a fair choice to abort a child that “may” be born with a defect? A child that is already more than half its way towards being born? Isn't the risk worth taking?

Is it because the pressure of ‘perfection’ is getting so deeply ingrained in our society that we cannot imagine having a ‘less-than-perfect’ child?

Or are we getting so materialistic that we are worried over a future cost the child may incur on us with respect to its medical bills that we don’t mind aborting it? What would have happened had the child had a healthy birth and developed a medical condition later on? Would the parents have disowned the child?

On the other hand, as parents, who with two perfectly normal and healthy children also succumb to the pressure of raising them, can we condemn the couple who may have to raise a baby that will never be healthy?

Whether we stand on a high moral ground and take a stand or empathise with the mother whose dream of a healthy baby has been shattered, there can be no end to this debate.

I applaud the bravery of parents who nurture, look after and above all, HOPE for their children afflicted with Down’s syndrome, autism and a host of such disabilities. It takes courage and fortitude.