Guests

Ever since I started living by my own, I haven’t had a lot of house guests. Back in Boston, since I shared the apartment with my roommate, I was way too wary about inviting anyone should it disturb her in any way. It’s only been either my mother or my sister who’d come for overnight stay a handful of times. And then a close friend’s parents and his sister visited me for a couple of days once. Other than that, I do not remember having people over.

Now that I have a place to call my own, the idea of inviting friends over sounded enticing. And, so, more than a month after we moved in, our first house guests arrived at our doorsteps. I’ve been very eagerly looking forward to this since it was initially planned. And that excitement only grew with time. By the morning yesterday, I couldn’t keep myself from picturing what the house would be like come evening. And when it finally happened, I ran out of the door onto the lawn, barefoot, not worrying about all the insects waiting to bite me, and welcomed them with a big smile.

One Two of the biggest reasons for my excitement, other than the fact that they are our first house guests, were the little guests. The eldest is 4 years old and the younger one is 18 months old. And they are both just so cute! I love being around kids; I think I’m more comfortable when I am around kids than when I am among grownups. I spent few hours last evening playing with them – running up and down the stairs, turning lights on and off, helping them fetch things and put it all back in place, learning how to skillfully solve jigsaw puzzles and what not. It was wonderful. They are going to be around for a few more days and I can’t wait to spend as much time as I can with the kids (along with maybe learning how to cook simple, delicious meals). Bliss!

I am very jealous of the partner when it comes to kids, though. While I put in a lot of work, do all the running behind and playing around to keep her entertained around me, all that the partner had to do was look at her and smile, and she runs to him, hands over all the toys remote controls, coasters, one by one, thus creating a new game of which only they two are part of. And it’s not just her; I’ve noticed this many a times… something about him gives good vibes to babies / kids, I suppose. And they love being around him, without him putting in any effort. Sigh.

Today…

…my sister completed her PhD.

She called right after she finished presenting her defense, and I could hear the exhilaration both in her voice and mine. I can’t help but feel extremely proud of this achievement of hers, as if I contributed in some way to make this happen. But, alas, I didn’t. It’s all credit to her hard work and determination that she’s reached this stage, which, I know, is a big stepping stone to all her future aspirations and feats. It’s not over yet… she still has few more years in school before she sees all her dreams take shape. But this is a big milestone, indeed, and words fail me when I set out to praise her for her success.

Congratulations, darling. You call me your safety net; I hope I live up to that expectation of yours and be there for you, no matter what, no matter when. I might not say this often, but you are someone I look up to in many ways. I take pride in being your sister, and in your joy lies my smile. I love you! Wish you the very best in all of your future endeavors.

I can’t wait to see you!

Last night, I called my grandmother as I usually do once every few weeks. She is hard of hearing. Our conversations usually start with me trying to let her know which one of her five granddaughters she is talking to this time around; and, more often than not, after trying hard to get who is on the other end, she just goes on to assume, out of the blue, which one of us is calling and goes with that flow.  This has never been a problem for me so far – as long as she is hale and healthy, I didn’t have a reason to bother her much by continuing to push the fact that it’s me and not one of my sisters or my cousins.

This time around, though, it was important for me that she knew I was on the other end of the line. For I had a news to share with her that I didn’t want her to confuse it as coming from my sisters or my cousins. So I kept at it – my efforts to let her know who she was talking to. And after a few tries, she heard my name right and I was elated.

The discussion began as usual – me inquiring her about her health and she explaining her current situation, beginning from what went wrong that made her go see the doctor to how it’s all rectified now with ointments and other medications. Touchwood. With that topic covered to my satisfaction, we moved on to talk about family – general inquiries from both ends on how other members were doing, and it is in the middle of this chat that I let her know that I’m to visit India end of this year.

There was a pause. I thought that there was a problem in the line; Paatti, I called out, to check if she was  still there. So you are not able to make it this year too, huh? Your father told me few weeks ago that you were planning a trip, what changed? Why aren’t you coming? came a dejected voice through the phone. I smiled and repeated what I’d initially told her, and prepared myself to say it again, when I heard a soft joyful squeal. When are you coming? Are the dates confirmed? How long will you be here for? … a series of questions came flying.

And, at that moment, I would’ve given anything to see the face that carried her gleeful smile. But I happily compromised to be content with the delight that I could so clearly hear in her voice. It made up for all these years of disappointment of making and breaking plans. And I’m sure when I knock on her door not so long from today, the tight hug that’ll follow will make up for years of shattered promises.

My grandmother was an important part of life growing up. We lived in a joint family setup for a good part of my childhood and hence, spent much more time around our grandparents than our working parents. Growing up with her around, I couldn’t have missed that one thing about that made her stand out and made me look up to her. And of all values I would credit my grandparents for instilling in me, if I had to pick one that is most important to me to date, then it would be what I respected my grandmother for the most – how she was the embodiment of a strong, independent woman. She’s always been a proponent of women’s independence, especially in the financial terms, and she made sure she emphasized and encouraged it in all of her granddaughters.

She moved to the big city from a small town after she wed my grandfather in her teens. In the city, with my grandfather working long hours to provide for the family, she made sure she utilized her time in a constructive way. She learned Hindi and Sanskrit, with my grandfather’s help, and then started tuition classes to teach the languages to neighborhood children. And with the money she made from that, she not only supported her growing family, but also made sure she put away some for her future aspirations.

Till date, at the age of 73, she lives in the home that she built along with her husband. She refuses to move in with any of her children, just because she thinks that will tie her down in some way. She has put aside enough all these years – her earnings and savings from grandfather’s earnings – that gives her a steady monthly income today. And with that, she lives happily in her own haven, by her own terms, without having to depend on anyone.

At a time when everyone around me, including my parents, don’t let go of a chance to remind me that I’m getting old and that my biological clock is ticking, my grandmother is the only one who tells me not to rush into anything just because I’m soon approaching 30, and to take my own time to decide, for getting married at some particular age isn’t everything. Even though, growing up and understanding better what went on in the household made my relationship with my grandmother a little rocky, my respect for her in some aspects remained the same. There are many things that I don’t see eye to eye with my grandmother, yet there is no better role model than her when it comes to her principles regarding women’s independence. And for instilling those very values in me, I can’t thank her enough.

So, here I am now, waiting for November to knock on my door, so I get to hug and kiss that person who has been a big part of making me who I am today. I can’t wait to see that shine on her eyes when we meet. I can’t wait to nag her to buy me kulfi that she’s denied so many times throughout my childhood. I can’t wait to eat the most delicious potato fry I’ve ever had. I can’t wait to let her in on the happenings of life. I can’t wait to take her along to the new home, to see her meet and greet the family, and to have her by my side, as I pen a new chapter of my life.

I can’t wait to see you, Paatti!

The past two months…

…have seen a lot of changes.

First, there was the move from Boston. While the fact that I would be leaving that city didn’t make me cheerful, the part about our journey to our new home made me a jolly bird. Given my paranoia of flying, given our love for traveling by trains and given that neither of us had been long distance by train in this country, it was decided that that was the way to go. With that taken care of, my excitement saw no bounds… every time I pictured my upcoming journey I couldn’t help but jump with joy. And that is how I bid goodbye to Boston – with my arms waving goodbye as the train departed, with my ears trying hard to listen to the music of the city for one last time, with my eyes glued to the window as I looked out at the fading skyline – all the while smiling, trying to calm the racing heart that was looking forward to the new adventure.

Arriving at the destination and beginning this new phase of life meant another big change – I (and the partner) would no longer be living with roommates, as I did in Boston. We would no longer be in the long distance relationship. We were going to live together. That was the point of the big move, by the way; that we would no longer need to wait for a weekend or two every month to meet. While the last year did bring us closer in terms of geography, we have been doing the long distance thing for the most part of our relationship – he had to relocate within a month or two after we’d met, way back when, and he’s been living here and there ever since. So, even though I’ve never had many major complaints about my living situation in Boston (I’ve had some great roommates!), my eagerness to move-in with the partner masked any sadness I felt about the fact it meant “end of an era.” How does the new living situation feel; do you like it?, my sister asked me sometime last week. My response? – that it feels normal, natural; no over the top expectations, no disappointments. All things considered – the laughs, the little things we do to annoy each other, the joy in making a home of our own, one piece at a time – it’s all been great so far and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Speaking of home – when we first moved in, we noticed that the driveway light stayed on all the time. In the beginning, we assumed there might be a sensor somewhere that controls it, but that wasn’t the case. So then, we tried every switch by that area with no fruitful result. It drove us crazy to have that bright light on day and night. After a week or so of trying and then resorting to contact the previous resident to assist, we caught a break. I don’t remember now how or what we did, but one fine day, while the partner was out doing something I kept turning on/off every switch in the house I could find, we figured that the switch that controls the driveway light was back in the kitchen. Kitchen! Who would’ve thought! What a relief it was, though, to have found it.

Home, oh yes, home. I like the calm ring it has to it, the word home. And it’s the one place I am absolutely in love with. I am not sure if I am becoming lazier by the day, but I can’t wait to get back every evening. Back in Boston, it was mostly the other way around…I would roam around a bit before it was time to head back, but here I keep peering at the clock every now and then to see if it’s time to leave yet. Granted, I haven’t really explored the area, so it’s one of the very few places I know around here, at present; still, I’ll just smile and enjoy it while it lasts. For now, I like this new-found sentiment and this is what I associate with the word home – a warm and welcoming place that has given me an opportunity to begin a new chapter of my romance with life. And, for that and more, I’ll always be in love with it, my home!

The Invisible Pages

You walk into the quaint little bookshop with a smile so big that anyone looking at you might follow you in just to see what you are so euphoric about. Who knows, that might just be what they need to discover the wonderland that gives you so much joy! You open the door; the chimes ring, as the owner welcomes you in, and a cool breeze that carries the fragrance that reminds you of nothing but books whizzes by.  You step in, feeling the warmth of words all around.

For a second there, you are stumped looking at the edifice in front of you… you don’t know where to start. There is a pull from every shelf, every stack, every book. You open the list of ‘to-read’ you always carry with you and make a call on where to start. But soon after you begin browsing, the list finds its original place back in your purse and you get immersed in a world has been part of your heart and soul for as long as you’ve known.

You make sure you spend enough time with every book that catches your fancy.

A beautiful cover art attracts you and you silently bet with yourself that the story would be just as stunning. You blindly pick another book and read the synopsis on the back cover; it engrosses you and now there’s no letting go. A familiar name on the binding crosses your sight and you know you must have it because you’re sure it holds inside words woven so brilliantly that you can’t go wrong by picking it. And then you spot a book that you know is out of your comfort zone; you reach for it still, for you remember the time you’d dared yourself to read something different, something new.

A book with a familiar title sways, calling for you to notice it; you take one look and you know the reason behind the closeness you feel towards it. Perhaps it’s one of those books that comes highly recommended by someone whose preferences match yours. Or maybe it reminds you of a friend; the said friend might be oceans apart, but the memories come rushing with one turn of a page. Perhaps it is something someone dear has been wanting for a long time and you can’t wait to share your discovery. Or maybe it’s the one – it is the book that you’ve been looking for all along, but just didn’t realize it, until now.

Like this, you browse around, isle after isle, and finally walk towards the billing counter carrying a stack of treasure. You pay for it all, as the owner starts a conversation about the books that he’s read from your stack. You smile, thank him, and just as you are about to walk out, you spot something…

In the dusty uppermost shelf, sits a volume of Khalil Gibran’s works. You ask the owner if you can see it. He brings a ladder, gets the book off the shelf, and hands it over to you. You’ve seen this before… you’ve read some poems in it every now and then… you know you own a copy of it. Nonetheless, as you run your fingers through the pages and skim through the table of contents, you know you want this one too. There’s no logic as to why. Why would you want something that you know you already have? Your mind argues with your heart. But, at this price, you know it’s a steal. You could gift it to someone, you tell yourself, and buy this too.

As you walk out, you look back and see all that you’re leaving behind. Just as each book in your hand has a story behind why it was chosen, the ones that were left behind hold a tale of why they didn’t make it today. The choices of tomorrow might be different; they might eventually find a way into your home, but for now, they lie calmly on the shelves that hold them close and give them the love they deserve.

You go home, eager to put your collection in place. As you go through them again, you smile as you recall the reasons why and how these found a way into your heart. You are engulfed by the bond that you’ve already developed, which, now, spreads its roots deeper.

Each one of these books has a story that is printed on its pages, but what about those invisible pages that are bound around? These invisible pages are only yours to read. These invisible pages are written with words that are in your memory. These invisible pages hold a love story that is your own. And every time you come across one of these books in the future, these invisible pages let you read the words that they hold hidden from the rest of the world.

The Home that was and the Home that is

It’s been two months now since I left beloved Boston.

 Given Boston was home to me in every sense;  given the amount of tears I shed at the thought of leaving that place; given the time I spent thinking of how poetic a city I was saying goodbye to –  I should say that I’ve adapted well to the new home.

BUT… I miss Boston.

I miss the coffee shops we frequented. There was this one particular café where one of the waiters was generous enough to smile at most people but me. Every time we went there, I would make sure I made eye contact with him as many times as possible just so I can smile at him and wait for him to reciprocate. (No, he was not a handsome young man I was determined to flirt with; I usually smile at anyone I make eye contact with and I like it when the other person responds). I kept trying, determined not to give up, all the while entertaining K with my failed attempts. Everyone has a breaking point and it was only a matter time before one of us reached ours. One fine evening, we entered the café, ordered the usual, settled down in our seats and I looked around so I can start my most favorite activity – terrorizing that poor soul, as K would put it.  I spotted him. I smiled. And lo and behold, his lips slightly curled into a smile! From that day on our secret game saw its end and he stuck to that grin. He never properly smiled at me, but the shy grin that escaped, the one that he could no longer keep hidden was prize enough. Had I met him before leaving, I don’t know if I would’ve smiled. How do you smile a smile that says goodbye? It so happened though that the last few times we were there, he was not around. And I never got to see how I would have bid him farewell.

I miss the long walks. The numerous times I’ve walked home after work instead of taking the train just because… Trying hard not to sway to the tune of the powerful seaside wind. Reading a book as I walked, but then switching to listening to songs as the sun went down. Watching the full moon rise behind the horizon. Taking a stroll along the riverside; sitting on the bench and dipping toes into the Charles to check how cold the water was. Walking around in Cambridge – the sights, the sounds, the people!

I miss Boston Commons. How much entertainment the squirrels there provided! The skating rink where children gathered around in summer to splash in the water – little feet running around, or trying to swim. Going through the Public Gardens; stopping every few seconds to take in the colors of all the flowers in the spring or to listen to a street musician performing with his heart and soul.

I miss taking the T. I miss aimlessly strolling in the downtown area during lunch hour. I miss the market where I bought flowers from all summer. I miss my favorite restaurants. I miss the bookshops. I miss the evening walks through Newbury St. I miss the museums and the aquarium. I miss going to the North End during the weekends and being amazed at how much traffic that one bakery got. I miss the movie theater. I miss…

I miss Boston. BUT…

Life in the new home has its own beauty and charm.

I wake up every morning to a smile that brightens my day. The other thing that invariably adds color to my day is the greenery…both around the office and home. Birds chirping, crickets creaking, deers and rabbits sharing the trails, fireflies lighting up all around…a nature lover’s paradise! And then there are the thunderstorms – they have gained a special spot in my heart, I tell you. I’ve always loved rain – aahhh, the scent of earth drenched in rain!   And, it looks like, thunderstorms double the delight, even though the noise scares me to no end.

Lying on the hammock, taking in the crisp scent of pouring rain, reading a book and running to find company as soon as I hear a big thunder crash – all this while the other person is busy performing culinary experiments – Bliss! And that is exactly what life has been the past couple of months. Touchwood.

(Oh, did I mention, we have been frequenting one of the best coffee shops here and I’ve found a barista at that café here who refuses to smile? (although this person, I believe, doesn’t smile at anyone).  Let the game begin!)

Happiness is…

…waking up to a warm smile.

…laughing hysterically (fueled by the other person’s laughter spree) even though the situation wasn’t even remotely funny.

…enjoying a plate of fresh, hot-from-the-stove pakoras prepared and served with oodles of love to make the pain go away and to celebrate the day.

…seeing long impending plans finally take shape.

…sitting on the counter-top and reading a book, as melodies play in the background and the other person cooks dinner.

…living a dream.