Living a small life

In one of my book clubs, I asked a question to my participants (mostly retired women), “How do you make friends at this age?” We were discussing How to Age Disgracefully by Clare Pooley. In the book, one elderly woman is determined to make friends so she makes a list of what she needs to do. I was curious. How do people at a certain age make friends? The resounding response was it is hard. One has to get oneself out there. Some said they joined book clubs at the library to meet people, one person throws parties at their house, some joined kayaking groups, gymnasiums, hiking groups – all in an effort to form a connection with another human being. One person said they are so comfortable in their home that they would never come out if they didn’t have five book clubs to go to. Some had lost their partners, the children have grown and moved away, and now they are alone.

I thought about my life. I am in a new phase in life. The youngest is still in college but he is far away. And when he comes home, it seems like he has outgrown this home. He is eager to make it on his own. The oldest has made it on their own, moved out, doing well. That stage of insanity in terms of work, dinner, practice, homework, swim meets, basketball, baseball, softball, choir practice, cello lessons are behind me. Now it is work and then home. A walk after work, quiet dinner, and then a book. On Mondays each week, I think this coming weekend I am going to do something, maybe go to the city, see some excitement. Then Thursday comes around and I get tired. The weekend plans hardly materialize. Some close friends from India asked me the other day, “What’s going on with you? What’s new?” I have no answer to that. My life truly is simply going to work and coming home. A small life, as I learned from the book Mrs. Queen’s Rise to Fame by Olivia Ford.

If I hadn’t read Debbie Tung’s Quiet Girl in a Noisy World, I would worry something is wrong with me. I say that because this small life suits me well. Even as a teenager, I loved staying at home. My mother was surprised when I didn’t put up a fight when she dictated that I was responsible for walking the dog each day at 5 pm right after college since the dog was mine. While all my friends went to movies, stayed at campus spending time together, I dutifully got on the public bus and headed home. After walking Nabab, I stayed home to read, do homework, hang out with Ma. I did complain a few times but my love for my dog obviously was more than my desire to spend time with friends after class. I never truly had FOMO (fear of missing out, a term I learned from my kids) and I don’t have it now.

I was talking about the small life I lead with a friend at work who also likes to stay home. And she correctly pointed out the difference between being lonely and being alone. Are you content being alone? Yes. Like the participant in my book club, if I didn’t have to go to work, I could stay home all day and not talk to a soul. Having said that, I work at a public library, where my people energy is depleted after spending time with people for 7 and a half hours. I don’t know if I would feel the same way if I did not have a job. Will I seek out company? I will find out in a few years. Retirement here I come.

Solitary vs lonely

While chopping vegetables, profound thoughts come to me. Like whether I am a lover of solitude or am I lonely? I am alone this weekend, but more about that later. I am also at an interesting transitional point in life. My two children are adults now. I am in a comfortable relationship with my partner where the throes of passion (both in love and anger) are on the simmer. We spend our evenings in relative quiet, he doing his thing and me reading. We give each other space to pursue happiness in our own ways. It took me a while to realize that my happiness is not dependent on anyone but me. Gone are the days of hectic activities of school, work, dinner, homework, swim practice, baseball practice. I have a lot of time in my hands and no one to dictate me how to spend my free time. I choose solitude and books. I like this new phase in my life and in our relationship.

As I said, I am alone this weekend. Since I came from work last evening, I have not spoken to anyone except for a friend who called me to talk about book donation. I want to see if I can go through the weekend without actually interacting with another human being. I have some errands to run so that may be difficult. But I will not engage in any meaningful conversation with anyone. A social experiment, I call it. I read somewhere that urban loneliness is affecting not only the elderly population but also the young. I am not elderly yet. Middle aged and a recluse. I remember an interview of a young woman who had moved to a city for work. She never spoke to anyone over the weekends when she didn’t have work. I thought of her today. Did she miss human interaction? Why don’t I? Interestingly, when I am with my friends at work, I love our engagement. I love them. I love that we can laugh together. But once I come home, I am satisfied to just be home.

This is not a new thing. My very extroverted mother did not understand my need to be away from people. If I made a plan to meet up with friends, I dreaded the meet-up and complained constantly that I did not want to go. “But these are your dear friends!” Ma would say. And when I actually dragged myself to meet them, I had the best time. But when I came back, I was also relieved to be home and happy that I had a good time.

Along with age, I have grown to love this solitude even more. I have wondered if I am lonely. Rarely do I have miss being with people. Strangely though, all my jobs have been people oriented. I work at a public library and I interact with people all day and I do it well.

Here I am, sitting in complete silence in my house, typing my thoughts. I was in the middle of making bed and folding laundry but there is no one in the house to expect me to finish that. That is a luxury – to be on my own timeline, with my own thoughts.

Lastly, there is a great fiction depicting this transitional phase in women by Catherine Newman called Sandwich. Some books speak to you and some books talk about you. Sandwich does both.

What is the difference between solitude and loneliness?

Skunk days

I read somewhere that aging is not the issue, it’s side effects are. One of the side effects of aging is losing vibrancy (at least for me). The edges that were sharp become somewhat blunt and lines that were prominent become blurry – like the jawline. As my face becomes invisible each day, I turn to kajol to accentuate my eyes and lipstick to color my lips and fight a losing battle against fading. Why? Because I like to look at my kohl lined eyes and dark lips in the mirror when I get ready for work.

This poses a problem for me in the month of May. T.S Eliot picked on the month of April and reviled it as being the cruelest month. I disagree, sir. May is the cruelest month. It turned my world upside down and left me changed forever. As the month of May approaches, I find a tightness in my heart and brace for intense hurt. Ma died on May 9th, 2021 and baba followed her 10 days later. After 3 years, I have come to accept the deaths, but the trauma of Covid, helplessness, not being there, imagining their fear still keep me up some nights. All those traumatizing moments come back at odd times causing skunk days. What is that you ask? When the tears flow freely as I drive to work and I have to hastily clean up my kajol before I enter the library, when a simple word brings forth tears that I furiously blink away, when I often take deep breaths and gulp down the hurt and show a face which says, ‘nothing to see here. Just another usual day, folks.’

In the month of May, I am hyper aware of black streaks that threaten to run down my face (or blue streaks since I am in love with my blue eyeliner that matches with my blue frame) and I have my skunk days. May 9th was a skunk day, May 19th, most likely will be another skunk day with semi skunk days in between.

Why did I write this blog? Not to garner sympathy. I am in a better place – a place of acceptance and living my life to the best of my ability. But I wrote this blog because I know there are millions of you out there who lost your loved ones to Covid or to sickness or accident. I know we will continue to have these days when the tightness in our hearts will make it difficult to breathe sometimes, when well meaning folks around us will not be able to comprehend the depth of our pain because grieving is a solitary act, but we will breathe, and smile, and get through till the tightness eases and our sounds of laughter rings true again.

Planning my funeral…

The conversation about my death started with an innocent moan “Ah, so many books, so little time to read.” I was suddenly struck by a horrible thought.

I turned to Sahana and said, “Oh my gosh! What happens if I die before I finish the book that I started? How awful will that be? I will never know how the book ended!”

Sahana concurred. “That is awful!”

“You should read aloud the rest of the book to me. Even if I am clinically dead, my soul may hover around, restless, until it finds out how the book ends.” I advised.

“Oh absolutely. I will read aloud next to your body and finish the book for you. I will never let you go without you knowing how your unfinished book ended.” Sahana answered magnanimously.

Then her eyes started sparkling with ideas for my book themed funeral.

“And guess what we will do? We will burn the book with your body and spread the ashes. That way you will never be separated from the book!” Her eyes were still sparkling.

“Make sure you don’t burn a library book though!” The conscientious library user in me warned her.

“Mom! Of course I won’t burn a library book. I will buy a copy and burn that one. I will return the library copy. Sheesh! And then…..”

She continued with a few more book themed funeral ideas and I got equally excited about my potential death and subsequent funeral till reality dawned that we were excitedly planning my FUNERAL. Hello??? I am only 53. I hope I have a few more years ahead of me before all this can take place.

I said to Sahana, “Hold your horses. Do you realize you are excitedly planning your mother’s funeral? With glee? With sparkling eyes?”

She looked slightly horrified and back tracked right away. “Well, if the pharaohs can plan for afterlife, why can’t you? If it was good for the pharaohs, it is good for you. You will take your most loved possession with you into afterlife. What if there are no books after death?”

We both shuddered at the thought. No books?? Who wants that kind of existence, either in physical world or when we cross the rainbow bridge?

I called Ryan from the kitchen. He was busy making his famous mile high sandwich for dinner. I told him Sahana was planning my funeral. He said, “Mom, you will not need a book when you are six feet under.”

“I want to be cremated, not buried. Thank you very much.” I retorted.

“Yeah Ryan, she wants to be cremated.” Sahana chimed in.

“When you are dead I will do whatever I want. I will bury you. Then I will put some inane quotes on your behalf from some inane TV shows that you have never watched so the world does not realize how much of a nerd you were.” Ryan said with a wicked grin. My funeral plans were well underway still.

“Do NOT touch my nerdom! I went to a college which specializes in producing nerds. I studied literature on top of that. I own nerdom as my birthright (schoolright?). After I am gone, I want the whole world to know I was a nerd of the highest order! Also, I am going to write an Advanced Medical Directive so you cannot bury me.” I was still going strong about my funeral arrangements.

“Haha, I will tear it up.” Ryan joked.

While the siblings started bickering about my cremation and burial, I just laughed. This moment was certainly blog worthy. Sahana did not think the blog will show my children in very good light but I think they are hilarious and oh-so-cute. As the years go by, moments such as these become rarer and rarer. I have written a lot about their sweetness and innocence in this blog over the years. I wanted to capture this moment too. A moment where we laughed out loud together. A moment that I will put in the treasure chest of memories so they remain.

Back at it….maybe?

Yesterday, the emails kept coming. Ping…ping…ping. They were from WordPress telling me I had comments on my blogs. That was surprising since this blogsite has been lying dormant for many months. It is not that I don’t think about this space. I think about it all the time. As I drive to work or gym, I formulate in my head, sentences that I would write in the blogs. But when the day is done, I look at my laptop and never turn it on.

Yesterday, my littlest cousin in Kolkata could not sleep so she went to my blogsite and read many of my blogs. Not only that, she kept writing comments on them. My favorite was “I love you so much, Didi.” I read the blogs where she left comments. Some of the blogs were sad, some of them were general observations of life around me. Seeing her comments and the fact that she was reading them thousands of miles away made me feel connected. I have written so much about my life in this space. I have written about my children, my travels, my everyday life that encompasses my joys as well as my grief. I still have not seen a grief counselor, although I am getting closer to the idea but this blogsite has helped me cope by allowing me to write down my feelings. I made those public and readers responded by saying some of those blogs helped them process their grief. That made me feel less alone.

We had beautiful weather this week. The barren trees are sprouting their luminous green, the green that is my absolute favorite. This new green that I get to see every year fills me with hope. This is potential at its finest. What flowers will May bring? How this nascent green will change to a deeper, somber green as the summer progresses till they are leached of their colors and become red and golden? I love this process, this circle of life. And I don’t mind my own transition from somber, deep green to the red and golden of mature years. Sure, I don’t enjoy the new medications that get added to my life, or the daily aches and pains of getting older, but I wonder with some anticipation (and a little dread of losing people I love) how the next phase would be? For the most part, I am eager to move on with life. At certain times, I am wistful. Especially as I see my children become their own people with their own lives. This is what every parent hopes for, yet there is a twinge in my heart as the grip loosens. Did I give them my best? Did I enjoy them to the fullest when they were younger? Why did I complain so much about how busy life was when they were little? Why did I make life so busy? So many questions, so much self critique. However, despite that, I feel so proud of them. Both of them are good people.

Back to weather. Yesterday, Sean and I went for a long walk in a local park. We decided to leave the paved walkway and follow a trail deeper into the woods. I was looking at my feet as I walked, mindful of treacherous roots that poked above the ground dangerously. I had already stumbled a couple of times but managed to stay on my feet. We stopped for a second and I looked around me. Sean was in mid conversation, saying something about his work. I touched his arm, and whispered, “Look! Look around us.” We were surrounded by young royals – trees that were getting their new leaves. The sun tried to peek in through the foliage that rendered the leaves luminous, fluorescent even. There was nobody around us. There was no sound except sweet chirp of birds. I felt insignificant and I felt special all at the same time. Insignificant in front of such majesty and special because I got to witness it.

I don’t go to any building that is designated as a place of worship. The little opening, surrounded by trees, sunlight creating dappled shadows around me was my temple, my church, my mosque. I did not pray. But I gave my thanks.

An accidental sunrise

The most important part of my morning ritual is sitting quietly in front of the photos of my parents with my cup of coffee and staring at their smiling faces. The world around me is quiet, fast asleep. The only sound that I hear is of the heating unit pumping blessed heat in our house on cold, winter mornings. I do this every day, without fail.

Today, as I got up to put my coffee cup away after my morning ritual with my parents, I happened to glance out of the window. I caught the sun rise, accidentally. Everyday, I wake up early and look inward instead of outside. And while I introspect and look back at memories or wipe away tears or question ‘why’ again and again, the sun rises with resplendent glory. I guess, this is nature’s way of balancing sadness with beauty. I will, perhaps, incorporate looking outwards in my morning ritual. After all, life is about balance.

Solitude

I shared this pond with no one this morning. The resident ducks and Canada geese were nowhere to be seen. The sun was not strong enough for the little turtles to climb up on logs and sun themselves. I stood by the edge of the pond to look for them. They were perhaps snoozing in their nests.

It felt strange and beautiful all at once to find myself alone in this tiny bit of universe. The cerulean sky was sparkling with golden rays of the sun. That color, I have realized, makes me immensely happy. The trees and bushes stood quietly, their reflection in the water somehow doubling their silent presence.

No matter how much I sparkle outside, I struggle most days to get off the couch and put my game face on. However, on days when I feel the gentle sun caressing my face and the splendid blue of the sky penetrating my soul, I feel I will be okay. I get up to face another day. I love, I am loved. I will live today and remain hopeful for tomorrow.

A perfect day off..

My driver’s license almost feels like a waste these days. Since Ryan started driving, I have relegated the wheels to my two kids so they can go to their jobs, practices and occasionally social engagements. Unless the husband has meetings in far away places, he also works from home. Most days when I am off from work, I am pretty much home bound due to lack of a vehicle. I can always go for walks which I generally do but I did not go anywhere today.

Today I woke up determined to vacuum the house, weed the flower patch, cook dal and sabji, launder the towels and mop the kitchen floor. As I sipped my coffee this morning, I questioned why I put all that on my to-do list on my one day off. That list, on this beautiful morning, seemed ridiculous so I scrapped it. One should be flexible, right?

Instead, I cooked dal and sabji, warned Ryan to hand me back my tablet once I finished cooking. He was finishing a math packet and watching Seinfeld simultaneously – I worry about accuracy of those math problems. He handed my device back without a fight so I could read Emma Donoghue’s The Pull of the Stars (in e-book format). I finished the book, wrote a review on Goodreads and pondered upon the story of Nurse Powers trying to help pregnant women afflicted with Spanish flu in the maternity ward of a hospital in Dublin, Ireland in 1918. The book is relentless, honest and a stark narrative on the condition of women and the expectations that society placed on them.

Anyway, after finishing that heart rending book I needed something light and entertaining. I am also queuing up books for the book club that I hope to start – Light but not Fluffy. And Julie Murphy’s If the Shoe Fits seems to be a worthy candidate…..so far.

Between those two books I thought a lot about Sage, once I found out today was National Dog Day. I also thought about our back to back losses. Sage died in 2020 and ma, baba died in 2021. As a Hindu, albeit a non practicing one, my thought goes directly to bad karma. What did I do in this life or my past life so bad to deserve such sorrow? Death is natural and a part of life I know, but this absolute truth is still hard to swallow.

I mindfully set those thoughts aside as I tried to lose myself in Julie Murphy’s story of modern day Cinderella, If the Shoe Fits. The heat is not oppressive today. There is a light breeze. The sky is bright blue and the clouds are snowy white and fluffy. The sun is sweet and golden rays are reflecting the rich, shiny green of the trees and bushes in our backyard. The majestic oak tree at the fringe of our property is lopsided now. Part of its limbs fell on the ground after some severe storms in the past but it still stretches its remaining limbs up to the sky. It is undaunted despite its loss. I think there is a lesson to be learnt there.

I see it. I am still new at it.

No matter, this moment is good. I will take this moment and consider it a blessing.

Peeking in

I was away for a few days looking at colleges for my son. When I travel I don’t look at the blog. However, when I opened the app over the weekend, I saw that many people have read several blogs (or one person has been reading them, I don’t know). I also have several new subscribers. Thank you and welcome to my blog, new people! I appreciate you stopping by and pressing the subscribe button.

Whenever I see new subscribers, I get this feeling of responsibility that I should write something for them to read. However, on this humid Monday morning, my mind is blank. I even went for a walk where I get most of my ideas for a blog post. Today, I was simply cutting through the humidity, huffing and puffing as I crested a small hill in our neighborhood. I thought I would write about a few observations and realizations about our travel.

First, I still feel slightly taken aback when I look at Ryan walking beside me on a tour of college campus. When did he get so big?

After a few tumultuous teen years, say from 14 to 16, when I loved him but did not quite like him, he is turning a corner. He is funny, engaging and loving. My kid is coming back to me!

I realized after staying in New York for a couple of days that I do NOT like a city anymore. This came as a complete surprise since I grew up in Kolkata and always considered myself a city girl.

Due to my work and Sean’s constant travel all summer, I felt we were leading parallel lives. Ten days of traveling together with him made me feel reconnected.

Sahana cooked this amazing steak last night. And despite the fact that I have really limited my meat intake, I ate it and loved it.

And I finished Horse by Geraldine Brooks. Friends, if you pick up one book to read this year, I suggest this one. I finished it last night and I am sad and fulfilled at the same time.

Kemon achish? How are you?

How are you? This is such a loaded question, isn’t it? How easily I answered this question before May 10th of 2021. Despite all anxiety, despite occasional sadness, sickness, anger, despair, I was well. I was doing fine. People I love the most, people who were my center, were alive. Covid 19 took that away. I have climbed up a steep hill of hopelessness and grief but when someone asks me “How are you?” I stumble. Do they really want to know? Do I really know?

A dear friend from Kolkata asked me today, “Tui kemon achish?” I gave her the rote response, “Bhalo achi.” (I am well). And that is the truth. I am well. I am just not as well as I used to be. How can I?

Mary Oliver’s poem Heavy has taught me to carry my grief well, reposition it, balance it, bear it. Yet there are times, so many times, the resilient muscle that I am trying to grow goes limp. I have to start strengthening it all over again. A friend who lost her dad to Covid told me about ‘resilient muscle’. We are both trying to make it stronger. But a certain memory, a certain slice of my past life, certain song, certain smell is enough to break down resiliency. I have accepted that though. I know this is my new state of being and I will try to remake this new me and despite all, I will be well. I am well.

But this is such a beautiful question one person can ask another. How are you? Tell me. I really want to know. I want to sit by you and hear how you truly are. I don’t want to give you advice, or sympathy or pity. I just want to be with you and listen, truly listen to how you are. Tell me. I care. I am here for you.