Birthday well spent

The sun is shining brightly on my indoor plants as I look up and steal glances at them while I type out this blog. I breathe easier today. I survived an emotionally wrought day yesterday – baba’s birthday. As I reflect upon it, I have a sense of relief that it is over and also that it was well spent. Baba, for as long as I remember, was an empathetic listener to the elderly. I remember, in family get togethers he spent more time with the elderly than with his compatriots. He sat with them in our extended family reunions and listened to their stories. He always said there is much to be learned from those who came before us. They need to be heard. When he and ma started their NGO, they would often help impoverished homes for elderly. While they donated much needed items and fed the seniors, baba listened to the stories of their lives.

Yesterday, at work, I got called to help a customer download an audiobook on her device. As I walked to the floor towards the customer, I saw that she was very elderly, wheel chair bound. Her hands shook as she tried to press buttons on her device. With her permission, I touched her tablet (although we are not really allowed to touch devices of customers) and did what needed to be done to get her the audiobook. She was so relieved and at the same time apologetic that she was taking up so much of my time. I assured her, repeatedly, that it is indeed my joy to be able to help her. I love nothing better than connecting book lovers to reading materials and I am honestly doing what I love to do. She smiled. After we successfully downloaded her book, she was thrilled and excited to listen to it once she got home. Her eyes are not what they used to be so although she’d rather read, she cannot these days so she has resorted to listening to audiobooks. She told me a little about her sons and grandchildren before we said goodbye. She was afraid she was going to forget the steps to download books in the future. I reassured her that help was truly a phone call away if that does happen. As I turned to leave, she said to me, “Honey, I thank you for your patience. You have been so helpful and kind.” As I walked back to my office, I thought what a perfect way to celebrate baba’s birthday. He would have loved to hear this story.

There were tears. Of course there were tears and plenty of them. And there was laughter too, remembering his idiosyncrasies and his wicked sense of humor. I went to the garden in the library where my coworkers donated 2 paver stones in my parents’ names. I stood there by him, remembering his lifetime of love for me, Sean and his grandchildren. After I came home, Sean wanted to go pay his respects to the paver stones too. So we went again. I did not have flowers so I picked up a leaf from the garden (did not pluck it) and put it on the stone that has his name on it. Sean touched the stone, said a prayer. We then went for a walk around the lake as the sun went down and the colors of sunset reflected on the calm waters of the lake. We ended up at our favorite Indian restaurant and talked about grief, closure and love over dal, paneer and garlic naan. Baba would have scoffed at the choice of food (vegetarian) but he would have loved the celebration.

Clenched

Loss is relatively new to me. It has not been a year yet. I hear from friends that we relearn to live around our losses eventually. I am learning. I have written a grief journal which I doubt I will ever be able to revisit. However, it helped immensely as an outlet to pour out my grief at the time as I was hurting so badly that I did not think it was worth living for a short while. I now know that life is worthy because life is fragile and short and beautiful (for the most part). I now know, thanks to books and conversations, that love, joy, friendships, grief AND loss is tapestry of my life. Recently, I read a book called The Guncle by Steven Rowley where he writes “Grief orbits the heart. Some days the circle is greater. Those are the good days. You have room to move, dance and breathe. Some days the circle is tighter. Those are the hard ones.” As days go by the circle gets greater, for sure. I smile at memories more and still tear up a bit that we will make no more. But when special days come up my whole body clenches in anticipation of tremendous pain.

Ma’s birthday on November 1st, 2021, was painful. Worse than the actual day were the days leading up to it as grief orbited very close to my heart, constricting it so much that I had trouble breathing. Baba’s birthday is coming up on March 2nd. I have been losing sleep over how much pain that will bring. I smile, though, at the memory of us wishing him happy birthday via video message and he responding with an uncomfortable laughter and a confused “hmm… same to you.” He was not used to being wished ‘happy birthday’ in English. His birthdays, in his days. were celebrated with payesh (rice pudding), blessings of his elders, sumptuous lunch and dinner. When I was little, I saved money to buy him a wallet and decorated a card. I don’t remember singing happy birthday to him growing up. The singing and wishing came much later and he never got used to it. He liked it though, which was clear from his beaming smile as his little grandchildren (and even when they grew up) sang to him. He just never learned the proper response. I don’t know how I would be on his upcoming birthday as he has ceased to exist (physically). Yes, I am all clenched up inside anticipating a surge of unbearable pain but maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe, I will make sure the memories I have with him are blessings. Maybe I will wake up that day and sing him a happy birthday anyway and I will remember his confusion……and maybe, I will smile.

Are congratulations in order?

The stairs at our library are killers sometimes. Some days I go up without breaking a sweat and other days, I have to almost bend double to catch my breath as if I just finished a marathon. The woman who came up the stairs was breathing heavy when she asked me where the printer number 3 was. The printer downstairs was not working so she sent a print job to printer upstairs and came up the stairs huffing and puffing to get her print job. We got talking about different things – mainly about the killer staircase. She got her print job and went downstairs. I went back to whatever I was doing on the computer. It was a quiet day and I think I was working on discussion questions for our next book for book club. It is Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi, if you are wondering. It is a fantastic, thoughtful beautiful work of art and I highly, highly recommend it. But I digress. Anyway, the sweet lady came up the stairs again and went straight to the printer. I smiled and made a few seconds of small talk. She was very chatty and talked the whole time while she waited for her print job to come out. As the printer started making encouraging sounds of getting her print job out, she looked at me, especially my bulging, menopausal stomach and asked, “Hmmm…do I see a baby bump? Are congratulations in order?”

I was shocked first and then mortified. No, not for my expanding girth (I have stopped caring a while ago), but for her. I knew my answer was going to embarrass her. She just called me fat and I am going to point that out to her by saying, “No, I am not pregnant. I am just fat.” Oh, she was going to be in such an uncomfortable situation in just a moment, I thought in my head. I shook my head, smiled beneath my mask and said very softly, “No, I am not pregnant.” If she was embarrassed, the lady did not show it. She said, “You are not? Oh, look at my belly, cannot get rid of it. Six children will do that to you.” I said, “Tell me about it.” And then let it go. I did not even have the excuse of having six children. I just sport a belly without being pregnant. That is all.

After she left, I chuckled about the whole exchange. Should I be flattered that she thought I was young enough to be pregnant? Or should I be enraged that she called me fat? I felt neither of those emotions. I just laughed about it all and thought it would make good content for my blog.

“Where’s my lady?”

He comes from a different country like me. He has an accent when he speaks English that is heavier than mine. We play cat and mouse with masks at the library. He comes to work on the computer every day at the library and we greet each other with a big smile under our masks.

“Good morning!” The greeting is accompanied by a respectful nod each day.

He pulls his mask down once he sits. I go near him and gesture to pull it up over his nose. I smile, or my eyes smile when I do it. He immediately pulls it up. But he tries every day, knowing that I will tell him to pull up his mask. It has almost become a game. The only other interaction we have is when he comes to the kiosk to ask for printer paper. I fill up the printer and he says thank you.

One morning, I did not see him at his usual chair at the library. Later, after my shift, I went upstairs to shelve a cart. He was there using the stapler near the kiosk. He waved and I waved back.

“How are you?” We asked each other simultaneously.

He said, “I came to the library and you were not there. I wondered where is my lady?”

I said I was there in the morning but my shift at that particular service point had ended when he came.

We bade each other farewell. But “where’s my lady” lingered in my head. We, library workers, create unique bonds with the library users. On days when I feel I need to quit my job, I focus on these relationships that I created with the library users. However, I wondered if his usage of “my lady” would be considered not politically correct. Personally, I thought it was sweet. But I decided to relate the story to my very astute 22 year old daughter, who also works at our library system. I just told her the story without asking if she found “where’s my lady” offensive. She said, “Oh mom! That is so sweet.”

It was sweet. Simple human interactions like these are such joyful aspects of the job I do.

His flowers

These were baba’s joy. Every winter he sent me photos of all his flowers with much pride. I had forgotten all about his flowers. Gouri sent these to me today. The man has ceased to exist but his love continues to spread through these blooms. There is an analogy to life and continuity somewhere but I am just content to look at them and think about the happiness they gave him each year.

Cadbury Fruit and Nut chocolate bar.

Last night I discovered that I threw away baba’s last gift to me. Everytime I left Kolkata, baba bought me a bar of Cadbury Fruit and Nut chocolate bar. In 2019, when Ryan and I left Kolkata with the hope of returning in May of 2020 to celebrate my 50th birthday with them, baba bought 2 chocolate bars for each of us.

After a laborious process of checking in, clearing immigration, getting my act together at Kolkata airport, we sat down near our gate and pulled out our chocolates. I opened mine first, unwrapped it and saw that the chocolate was covered in a white, powdery film. It was bought from a local, small grocery store in front of our apartment and I thought they must have kept this lot of bars beyond their expiry date. “Oh, my chocolate bar is bad. Ryan throw yours out. I am throwing mine out.” I threw the chocolate in the nearest trashcan. And as the chocolate swooshed inside the trashcan, Ryan exclaimed, “Mom!! NO!” He looked at me,incredulous that I would throw out a whole chocolate bar, “Why did you throw that out? Look it says it is normal to have the white film on the chocolate. It says it right on the cover.” And so it did.

Seeing the regret on my face at my hasty action, Ryan shared part of his chocolate bar with me before we boarded the flight for US. And he teased me mercilessly.

Yesterday, the four of us went to dinner when this topic came up. I said if you think about it, I threw away dadai’s last gift to me. Ryan said, “But I shared with you my gift from him.” And Sahana said, “Right there is a circle of love.”

Memories, anecdotes, stories circle in my head constantly. What the two kids says last night stayed with me as I tried falling asleep.

A dream that I do not remember.

I dreamt of ma last night. I never remember my dreams and I did not remember the specifics of this one either. I just remember the last shot/frame of the dream. Ma was looking at something over my head, in a white georgette saree with black border and tiny embroidery done in the body of the saree. She had her signature big maroon bindi on her forehead. Her skin was glowing with its usual healthy glow. Her body was partially turned. She was not necessarily smiling but her face looked content. When my eyes opened and the vision disappeared, I thought, “Huh! She is dead!” Even with that reaction though, I was not plunged into deep despair. There was a lightness in my heart in the morning because the essence of that dream still lingered. This was the sixth time I dreamed of ma. And yes, I keep count.

I was narrating to Sahana my dream and the snippet of it that stayed with me. I said, “Interestingly enough, it did not make me cry like usual.”

She smiled. “Take the wins, mom. Just take the wins whenever you get it.”

As I pondered over her words, I realized ‘taking the wins’, indeed, is the meaning of contentment perhaps. I will take the wins whenever I get them.

Fusion marriage, fusion food.

In my opinion, the dal, pictured above, should be enjoyed with fragrant, white rice with a dash of lemon and thinly sliced potato sticks. If potato sticks are not to your taste, (although I cannot imagine how anyone can NOT like jhirijhi alu bhaja, potato sticks in English), you can substitute them with egg plant fritters (beguni), or potol bhaja (don’t know English for potol, it is a small green gourd like vegetable and oh-so tasty). If nothing is available, or you are too lazy to fry anything, boil some potatoes and an egg. Mash the potatoes with some mustard oil, and mix in some chopped raw onions and chopped green chilli. My husband would not choose any of the options I mention above. If I don’t make rotis or don’t have store bought chapatis at home, he would slice some bread, toast it and dip it in dal. That is still acceptable to me. I look away when he dips his grilled cheese sandwich in dal. Or he slathers nut butter and jelly on my carefully and lovingly made alu paratha. He does many other permutations and combinations, mixing my Indian food with food that he grew up eating. I was a food purist. Certain food had to be eaten with the right accompaniment, but he has worn me down over the years.

Today I broke my own rule. I made a gorgeous grilled cheese with this delicious three cheese sesame bread, poured tamarind date chutney that I use for chats (Indian street food) and happily dipped my grilled cheese into ‘very Indian’ chutney. It was delicious and I am a convert.

Our marriage fused two different races, two cultures and now food. It is all great but I maintained the sanctity of food all these years. Eat rice or roti with your dal or dip grilled cheese sandwich in hearty tomato soup, not chutney.

Today I gave in and what a wonderful fusion it turned out to be. 😀

Bird bath

Familiar birds, while growing up in Kolkata, were crows, sparrows and magpies. As the winter turned to spring, we heard the sweet cooing of cuckoo birds but s/he hid from us. All we heard was the sweet call which became synonymous with the arrival of spring. Once in a while we spotted ghughu pakhi (dove), or Bulbul or Moyna. I do not know the English names for those. When we lived in Delhi, we had 3 resident peacocks, who, sometimes, sat on the railing of our balcony and cried out loudly, making us flinch. Peacock calls are horrible to human ears. There were parrots too. For a Kolkatan, sightings of parrots and peacocks flying around freely were wildly exciting!

In USA, I came to recognize a few other types of birds that were unfamiliar to me – cardinals, blue jays, pileated woodpeckers, robins….. I am not a birder, in the sense, I don’t know the names of the different types that I see in the woods behind my house. But they give me immense joy. During warmer months, I sit on the back deck and look at the frenetic activities of the cardinal couple who go about their daily lives in front of me, or the furious blue jay, whose motive in life is to pick fight with anyone in his/her sight – be it another bird or a squirrel.

After the loss in our lives, my friends and coworkers enveloped us in their love, kindness and generosity in forms of food, plants and gifts. One friend gifted us a bird bath. For a few months the bird bath languished in our basement till Sean asked me if I wanted it set up and where. I wanted it in my backyard. He set it up but we did not fill it with water. It became part of the landscape in our backyard. It snowed a few weeks ago, and the bird bath filled up with water once the snow on it melted. And that is when my heart lifted. I was doing dishes over the weekend, lost in my thought, when I happened to raise my head and look out the back window. There were two puffy robins sitting opposite to each other taking turns drinking from the bird bath. There were 5 other birds waiting for their turn, sitting on the fence. I exclaimed to Sean, “Come! Look!” He came, stood by me and watched the shenanigans of the puffed up little birds trying to take turns in their very own water bowl. Most of them were orderly and followed rules, one tried to peck the others to get ahead in line. There is always that guy/gal.

Once the birds discovered there was water to be had in our backyard, they came back. On these days, when joy and happy feelings are scarce, these birds drinking water from the bird bath made both of us smile. As I got ready for work on Monday, I reminded Sean to fill up the bird bath for our thirsty visitors.

“I filled up your bird bath.” Sean said, when I got back from work that day.

Simple delights!

A mysterious surprise!

This box appeared on my desk at work today. I did not sleep well last night, so I woke up tired as usual. Contemplated life over coffee, looked out and glared at the cold weather, completed Wordle on the 5th or 6th try. Dragged myself to shower, put some eyeliner, slapped on my mask and stepped out into the cold, muttering how much I hate winter.

At work, I clocked in, exchanged pleasantries with some coworkers and walked to my desk. And there it was. A gift from a mysterious giver. I asked a few usual suspects if they had gifted me a box of chocolates. None of them had. I wondered all day who this kind person was? Who knew that I need a little picker upper today? That act of love carried me through my work day. And I must write it in my blog to remember, down the line, how gestures of kindness matter.

If you, the giver of chocolates, are one of those who reads my blog – I appreciate you. You made my day. Much ❤!