“Should life be all plain and austere?” Asked the Sage , hands folded to Lord Vishnu . Vishnu smiled his all-knowing smile. He poured an ounce of oil into the Sage’s palm. “Roam in the fair in the nearby town tomorrow , and meet me in the evening, but be careful not to spill the oil.”

In the evening Vishnu asked him “Did you see the beautiful carpets from Persia?” “No” replied the sage. “Don’t tell me you didn’t partake in the sweets or enjoy the music there?” “But you had given me this oil to take care of so all my attention was on it!” Replied the sage frustratedly.

“Go again tomorrow and tell me about the festivities there.” The next day the sage enjoyed himself so much that he forgot all about the oil. “You should have balanced the oil while merrymaking in the fair.”   Then Lord Vishnu sermonised kindly “That, my friend, is how life should be.”

Who doesn’t like the luxuries in life? Is there anyone allergic to designer clothes or posh outings? But unlike my childhood musings, life isn’t a Cinderella tale and wishes are fulfilled with a cost. I have subconsciously set an ‘indulgometer’ for myself. So as long as I savour the little goodies like the scent of the rose perfume or that little extra cream in my coffee I will think I have struck my balance between pleasures and prudence.

Who are those girls who enjoy their windblown hair unabashedly?

Who work on their looks and like to flaunt their figure?

Who like dancing and grooving carelessly into the night?

Who can nauseate a man when it comes to their favourite drink?

Who take responsibility for their ‘yes’ and ‘no’?

Who opinionate freely and loudly?

We don’t know such ‘bad’ girls.

We only know girls ….

Who love their in-laws and neighbours as family…..

Who only like sarees and gowns.

Who earn but don’t know how the ATM works…..

Who get high on orange juice….

Who complain, if at all, to their pillow….

We only know such ‘good’ girls who always smile and nod.

I am a typical ‘good’ girl too, just make sure you don’t meet me on a ‘bad’ day.

I have witnessed a cyclone in the Sunderbans and I have seen the Holocaust. I have cried for Oliver and matured with Brida. Stories have encouraged me and Memoirs have made me empathise.

Books not only transport us to the character’s world but into the character’s mind. And I think in that way is superior to Cinema, as television shows the film-maker’s perception. While books inspite of their minuscule details, leave much to imagination.

I became a bibliophile in my teenage years. My favourite holiday retreat was the Shillong State Central Library. The memory of the fertile silence, the smell of polished wooden furniture, the hushed echoes and the humongous variety of books to gorge on still scintillates all my senses. I also learnt my favorite quote in that library ‘ A book misplaced is a book lost.’

These days I mostly read on my phone, on the go. What a pity! Cause if you ask me… it’s the resinous scent of a fresh paperback and a plump pillow to slouch my me-time on, that really unfurls a cosiness in my gut.

As I pen down my thoughts, somewhere in the background a violin plays its melancholy music. Against the light of an incandescent bulb, I see my grandmothers, both Thakuma (my paternal grandma) and Dadi (my maternal grandma). Donned in their cream coloured Lal Par sarees, busy in their daily chores, always planning the next meal,leading their simple lives by the thread of faith.

I remember how fond Dadi was of reading and explaining…..be it a piece of fiction, the regional newspaper or the sacred scriptures. Thakuma taught me how to make ‘Khirer Sondesh’, our flagship sweetmeat. Sometimes they would give me a peek into their childhoods, their early marriage days, their siblings. But what really sparked a twinkle in their aged eyes was the love and gratitude for their fathers, Pandits of that era, who taught them to read, write and calculate, inspite of being girls.

Their memories are my antidote on a dispirited day.As I get overwhelmed managing financial goals or get stressed out by the never- ending everyday chores, I solace myself with my grandmothers’ lifestyles. So when life seems low and forebodings seem high I am a little girl again…..climbing the hilly alleys of Sylheti para in Shillong, tagged to my Thakuma, visiting neighbors and family for some gossip.Or the little girl in my Dadi’s kitchen sitting beside her ‘matir unun'(clay stove) waiting for the first ‘chitoi pithe’ (Bengali delicacy) made on Sankranti to pop out of her ‘matir sajh'(special clay dish).

Flipping through a lifestyle magazine, I came across a pair of bespoke earrings painted by a renowned artist. It was captioned ‘an invaluable heirloom’. And it set me thinking…..
are things and property the only heirloom that we pass on to the next generation.

I say no. True the materialistic things are indispensable for a comfortable life, but our upbringing reflects in everything — attitudes, hobbies, reactions, skills and even feelings.

When parents give us their time and interest, it stays. Whenever on the highway I see a pedestrian crossing, my father’s instruction to slow down starts ringing in my ear. Their pearls of experience enrich our everyday lives — a pinch of sugar in the gravy will balance the salt and make it more palatable — says my mother.

Apart from the gift of life and the means to live that life, two gems that have made my everyday travails bearable are the quality of discipline from my mother and the ability to see the silver lining in variable situations from my father.

Discipline is such a beautiful attribute that might sound stoid and plain, but in the process of keeping our daily routine on track it keeps our thoughts, emotions and efforts on track.

It is exploring the brighter side that made me start my blog when our O.T. was closed for a month last year due to cluster endophthalmitis. And I worked on my upper limb muscles, happily brooming and mopping, this lockdown.

I truly want to pass these invaluable assets to my children, and perhaps add a few more to their repertoire that I have amassed along my journey. But that is a story for some other day.

Today is International Parents’ Day and lots of love and prayers to Ma and Baba. Wish you both health, happiness and peace in the coming days. Thanks for being there for me.

First the Corona thing, then Sushant Singh Rajput’s suicide and now the brutal China War . The series of disasters, has churned my own negativity and compelled me to take perspective of my own emotions.

Working as a government doctor and having a pan Indian cultural experience has matured me like wine, I would love to believe. Little phrases picked along the way. …”koi baat nahi, take care next time.” Said a Mam to my student time mistakes. “….what will I gain?” Said a friend in the face of jealousy and malice. “What will I lose?” By indulging in some kindness. Simple words from people, who have touched my life, however fleetingly,have cleared my muddy thoughts just like a crystal of alum.

They have taught me empathy. Empathy that makes me give a chair to the patient’s attendant who has been pushing the wheelchair since morning. Empathy that makes me say an encouraging word to the young man who is quietly but surely losing his sight to a progressive retinal disease. It is empathy that makes us turn off the lights when a dear one is resting and it is empathy that makes us offer a cool glass of water to the repair man. Just imagine being in that someone’s shoes. In fact I wouldn’t have thought so much about it until I read Satya Nadella’s motivational piece of how EQ in tandem with IQ is the secret to personal and corporate success.

No one teaches us to treat Emotions as assets. Even though Emotions influence our thoughts, decisions and actions it is easier to distance ourselves from intense feelings. And since it is our early life emotional experiences that mould our stress response there’s a lot we have to teach our children and ourselves.

Emotions….they make us laugh, they make us cry, they make us scream, they make us sulky, they make us warm-blooded and above all they make us what we are….Humans. Multitasking may block them temporarily but finally we have to accept them, reconnect and reconcile with them. Trust me, inculcating mindfulness, the presence in the actual moment, a thoughtful body language and an attentive gaze in kids is much more difficult than teaching them algebra in this digital distraction era.

My personal credo….After all it’s life….we should dream, but we can’t keep the condition that things will always turn out the way we planned. Adapting to changing circumstances is the key. It’s a lesson I learnt the hard way and I am not judging anyone when I say that.

Once upon a time

There was a lady,

Whose life was hectic and heady!

She had no time for friends and family,

But reached office and meetings all punctually.

She was busy running the rat race

Working till late hours to keep pace.

She was trying harder and harder

To climb up the corporate ladder.

But each day she was sinking deeper and deeper into a personal void!

She was unhappy, but why was a question she could no longer avoid.

She tried shopping, travelling and full body massage —

Still the gloom prevailed and she finally got the message —

She was lonely — but before the abyss deepens,

An everyday miracle happens…..

A little saviour enters her life,

Who teaches her how to become a loving mother and wife.

True at first she felt trapped by little hands .

But slowly they bonded to become the closest friends.

He knew her heartbeat from the inside.

Just looking at him she would beam with pride.

Now she was actively involved in rearing him into a responsible boy.

Slowly her life became replete with content and joy.

To the outside world she was sacrificing her career for her son,

But in reality it was the little hero who was saving her from forlorn!

Rishi opens his eyes, the sparrows have built a nest on his window sill. He can’t remember a fresher sky — mustering enough enthusiasm he turns, Ahana was already up and about.He picks up his phone — three messages, ten mails, sixty-eight watsapp forwards, twelve Facebook updates, and one missed call. He decides to get ready and play office on the balcony but the phone call first. It was from a potential client enquiring the rates. Ever since his electronics shop in the big mall closed down a year ago, he along with a mechanical engineer started door to door assembling of home theatre systems. He is doing well given the new indoor lifestyle trend.

Ahana has just showered after her morning workout with the broom and the mop. Standing in front of the wardrobe, she longingly caresses her party outfits — she sorely misses grooving the night out in her favourite pub, street shopping in Lajpat, and dolling up for family gatherings. God this Corona thing really screwed up her life! Now its all about procuring the groceries before evening and posting the dish of the day in her social group. The highlight of her day is of course video chatting with her family in Amritsar.

Choton is nestled in the drawing room surrounded by his stationery, the I-Pad set above a stack of books, engrossed in his history class. Choton is Rishi’s nephew, his sister being a doctor and brother-in-law, a policeman, Choton has been staying with them since the outbreak. Not that he is complaining —- how he enjoys defeating Mamu in Play Station and gorging on Dida’s (grandma) delicious cooking.

Sutapa Devi perfunctorily sanitises the door knobs and handles with a twang of nostalgia. She remembers how when she was a little girl she was taught to change shoes, clothes and properly wash her hands, feet and face everytime she came from outdoors. How in those days people would naturally maintain physical distances, sufficing with the “Namaskar” and “Ashi giye”. During the school holidays and festivals they would go to visit the uncles and aunties or the cousins would invariably come over — no fancy tours or malls in those days. And at a wedding — Ah! The whole family specially the ladies would get together to gossip and prepare the meals. Everyone ate home-cooked, home-processed and home-packed. After all who would have thought that a virus would reverse almighty Man’s modern life to those archaic times!

With the kids nested with their grandparents in the Corona Season, the evenings get a bit quiet and gloomy. While sorting Ricky’s craft cupboard I stumbled upon an old love —- my embroidery box. Out came a peach house-coat gifted by Bordi ( my eldest maternal aunt) fifteen years earlier! The symmetrically drawn half embroidered roses and buds looked so elegant that it just felt right to finally complete this beautiful art piece.

It was Bordi who threaded me to this art form. Dear Bordi who presented me stylish hand embroidered tops and uniquely shaped birthday cakes. During the winter vacations in Shyamnagar Bordi would teach me the running (Kantha) and hemming stitches, she had me tutored by a ‘Boudi’ who taught me herring-bone, French-knot, satin, stem, chain and a lot more. In the box were multicoloured satin threads —- soft, shiny and shaded. And now years later as I caress this treasure-trove I bask in the memories of her loving gestures.

Such is the mood-lifting power of Art. Creativity stimulates the brain and releases chemical molecules that foster positivity. Art therapy is now vetted for management of substance abuse, depression, stress and chronic pain. At an everyday level it builds self esteem and selfhood.

The pre-historic man voiced his aspirations and apprehensions through his cave paintings . And even today, as is evident from the streaming lockdown diaries, myriad art forms are solacing the human heart in this jittery time.

I first came across this word ‘Corona’ as me and Ricky were scanning the World News in January. We discussed Wuhan and Covid 19 for his morning assembly . And now I am losing my sanity sanitising my hands and being wary of every touch and breath.

Sitting in the emergency ward all covered and geared, I realised Corona is not the only disease to fight. True the virus has taken the world in its grip of disease and depression, but its not like children are not fracturing their forearms while playing or the elderly with enlarged prostrates are not having sudden urinary retention. Perhaps the Corona has overpowered all other viruses and bacteria but people are still having heart attacks and conjunctivitis.

Who would have thought it would take a virus to slow down the human pace, to make us feel time. And look at this global economic crisis, l even dread to discuss it.

But we are giving a tough fight — working on new medications, procuring new vaccines, augmenting our immunity and most important of all, going against our gregarious nature to self isolate ourselves.

Meanwhile as I juggle my dishes and mopping and Corona screening duties I can only pray that the virus doesn’t creep into my house and none of my loved ones suffer and succumb because of it.

I am an optimist and believe that at the other end of the lockdown we will be vigilant of life and love, valuing time and nature, passions nurtured, houses spick and span, daily chores divided. And the humans will be victorious in taming the virus.

But there is just one nagging thought as I make eye contact with people around me — there are unspoken questions — “I hope you won’t give me the virus?” “How will you deal with me if I have the virus?” I can only hope these suspicious looks dispel someday soon.