Love takes over!

I love you!

The words lose their meaning and their power in this world that runs on wheels all the time trying to catch its own tail.

We timed it... it takes less than ten seconds to say these three words. And it takes a world of faith and trust and vulnerability and everything else that goes to make this love a reality to say them.

We said it... and we said it after really waiting and examining whether this was the right thing to say. That was the first time. He wanted to hear it from me- and I was soooo afraid. Apprehensive that I was not safe, or was not sure.

Then... one fine morning- saying the words became irrelevant. It does not matter whether you say it or hear it. You must feel it and mean it. You could show it through your actions or even through your choices. And you could show it through a touch or a look. And you could keep it inside- a deeply hidden secret in the deepest corner of your heart because it is safe there.

Love is a sacred feeling. It needs validation- but only when it is young and unsure. It needs to be nurtured and looked after quite like a  new born baby. It needs to be soothed when hungry and quietened when irritated. It needs cuddling and holding. It needs talking and cooing. It needs everything a baby needs for emotional safety.

And then- it grows up. It blossoms into that safe place where it no longer needs anything from any one else. All that matters is that you love. It does not matter that the 'other' does not say it. It does not even matter if the 'other' does not mean it. It does not matter if the 'other' does not show it. Because NOW there IS No OTHER! Now the psychological and emotional fusion makes the physical irrelevant.

That is not to say you do not need it or even crave it. It does not mean that you do not want it or seek it. It only means that when you get it in return or sometimes unexpectedly, it feels like another experience of that first day that you fell in love... that it still lights up your insides into a warm glow and a hot fire. But that the absence of a physical gesture to show that love is not the absence of love.

Die-hard romantic. That's me.
Madly in love even after nearly twenty five years of having met the man I fell for.
And looking for my own survival in a world that does not allow too much love, or too much happiness, or too much warmth... or too much anything!

No regrets here. I would not change a thing in my life were I given the chance to live it again. I would not even change how much time I took to finally tell the man I love that I love him.

He does not say it often. But I know.
He often gets annoyed and irritated... But I know.
He has developed some solitary interests... But I know.
I know... And THAT is enough...

I write this for a young friend. A friend who starts her own journey in a few days. This may be a romantic view to a harsh world- but it is a wonderful place to be.

It will not always be easy. Sometimes you will want to fight fists and punches. Sometimes you might even wonder what you ever saw to decide to go ahead with THIS person. Sometimes you will be lonely... very lonely...

But at the end of the day, if you turn in the middle of the night and find yourself thanking God for all that HE has given you- the wonderful life that you live WITH the wonderful people that HE put there- it is enough.

If you find, in the middle of nowhere your thoughts drift to THIS person and you smile, safe in the glow that it is enough to love- it IS enough.

And it IS enough to ASK... To PESTER... and to FIGHT, too. After all you will not do it with THAT person walking on the road.

And I write this for an old friend. A friend who needs to find peace and needs to stop looking. All that we have in our life is there for a reason. And unless we understand that reason, it will keep coming back to us. Always.

And I write this for my children. If there is ONE thing they MUST learn in life, it is emotional resilience. It is the need to love freely and give freely. No one can bring any harm to someone who is true and honest. And in the end- it is emotions that make the world go round.

And I write this for someone who has helped me see it- through pain and tribulation, through fortitude and patience and through impatience and conflict- Love prevails.

Love prevails. And Love takes over.
In a place where nothing else matters.

Love touches us in several ways

Love creates its own path, has its own life and pulsates with its own life blood. Love does not warn before it invades your body, mind and soul. It does not respect any boundaries and barriers that may be erected to keep it out.

He drew a circle to keep me out
heretic rebel, a thing to flout
but love and I had the wit to win-
We drew a circle that took him in!

Edwin Markham

Love simply happens!

Love is not in reading treatises and texts on the subject. Love is in the look that conveys a life-time of togetherness. It is in the touch that electrifies even when innocent and accidental. It is what makes people do great things- reach beyond their percieved limits. Love is what makes a person give freely and recieve greedily. Love feels...... ummmmm....

Love is what makes a man and a woman want to grow old together. Love is what a mother feels when her son wears the graduation day headgear. Love is what makes a bride's father cry and smile simultaneously. Love is what makes a small child bring crumpled flowers in a tiny hand lest they fall and with a tight hug say," I love you, Mom!" Love is what makes a daughter hug you at night and whisper in your ear how much she would want to hold you when she sleeps. Love is also in the teddy bear that she finally holds close.

Love is in the eyes of the teacher who sees his student achieve heights; as also in the heart of the student who comes back to the guru each time he climbs another rung in life.

Love touches us in several ways...

Love is also in the loneliness one feels in the absence of the beloved. It is also in the sadness one feels in the loss of a beloved. Love is in staying together AND in fearing separation.

Love is not an easy feeling to feel or to sustain. It requires a lot of work, devotion and dedication. It requires not just living with but also not being able to live without.

Love is what brings a tear to your eye when you see your little one take the first gold medal. It is what makes your eyes sparkle when you recieve your beloved backe from a trip. It is what makes the world a breathing, pulsating, beautiful place to be in.

Love makes life worthwhile.

Have you ever ridden through the rainbows?

Have you ever ridden through the rainbows? I have.

We were young and very much in love. I was wearing a traditional churidar suit- pastel green shirt and a baby pink churidar. He was wearing a checked shirt in maroon and purple with a pair of blue trousers. The bike that carried us on the road was a fiery red.

We were returning from the Delhi University when the drizzle began. The tiny drops fell on us and stung as if a thousand scorpions were awash in the rain. There was a strange mix of heady sting in the touch of the falling drops. The sun had yet to be completely drowned by the clouds. The ring road was washed a dark shade of all absorbing black by the rain water.The smell of the suddenly drenched and wet soil was intoxicating.

Several people had stopped under the fly-over to be safe and dry.

We, however, wanted the rain to wash all over us. Enjoying the cool breeze and the drizzle steadily becoming heavier into a downpour was giving us a definite high. We were both smiling into the sky... speaking... listening... soaking up the clean atmosphere.

Then, we simultaneously saw the rainbow. The seven colours were stretched across the sky reaching like a bridge across the road from here to eternity.It was asurreal scene. The light was just bright enough for the raionbow to form and yet dull enough to give a shaded grey look to the road and the people on it.The people, then simply disappeared. They were not a part of our consciousness. It was as if we were in a movie and the camera had lost all depth of focus while zooming in on the two of us on the red bike.

The banking road seemed to invite us to ride right right through the rainbow and into eternity. Was it just an optical illusion? Just some mirage that would disappear as soon as we approached it or was it a magical moment that would make us experience the divine?

When two people are in love- EVERYTHING takes on magical powers. We slowed down going through the rainbow- a perfect arch of beautiful colours. It did not disappear. The thrill gave us fresh shivers. A strange electricity ran up our spines and engulfed us both as well as the bike in magic.

It was a picture perfect moment but could not be caught on film.

Life throws up experiences that force us to slow down and think of the NOW. These moments are fleeting in nature and will simply disappear lest we hold them in our hands and consciously experience eternity through them.

Yes... I have ridden through a rainbow.

Yes... the rainbows are an expression of divinity in the mundane.

And... Yes... I AM a diehard romantic who still loves to look for rainbows- simply to ride through them!

I also remember the day when...

It was a hot and stuffy day in September. I had just started Medical school.It was four in the evening. With another friend in tow, I was rushing to catch the bus back home. We had assiduously avoided the group of 'Seniors' sitting on the Dean's Carpet- the oval lawn that marked the facade of MAMC.We were still 'facchas- freshers' and extremely suitable ragging material. We were keen to get out safely.

Just as we were stepping out of the college gate, we were called by the seniors we had been trying to avoid. Two 'boys', we later discovered, who were from the Final year. One lad was dark and a little stout. The other was somewhat fairer and very thin. Quite like Little Tommy Thin and Little Tommy Stout of the Nursery rhyme.

We, the 'freshers' did not know any names... So for the sake of description, we could label them X and Y.

A gruelling session began right there on the lawns. X ( Tommy Stout), roughly asks," Fresher, What is you name?" I am supposed to answer EACH question with a 'Sir' as the punctuation mark. "N, Sir".

X asks again," What are your interests?" " Reading, writing, singinig... " I start the usual litany and finish with a rather dry 'Sir'.

X is visibly displeased. Y is gently smiling, sitting on the grass with his legs spread out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, there is a strange sense of abandon and yet being reined in...legs reaching out... and yet pulled back in being crossed... I steal a glance. There is something very attractive about Y! I am a fresher! A senior who is ragging me- attractive? I must be nuts!

X barks," Fresher!" "Sir", I reply. "You do not seem to like the conversation we are having."

I do not know to this day what had come over me at that moment. I replied with complete confidence," As a matter of fact, I am not."

For a few seconds, there was utter silence. The air was thick with tension. X let the other girl go and asked me with over-emphasised politeness," And what, madam, is the manner in which you would like this conversation to go?" Again in a flash of rebellion or was it simply stating the first thing that came to my head, I replied, " I do not like the way in which you are talking. You are being rude and rough." Now I had stepped on a porcupine! " And what may be the right manner in which to address your Excellency?" the sarcasm was obvious.

I answered with simplicity that defied the complexity of the moment- "Like Y. He is smiling. He is relaxed. He is not being unpleasant".

Thereafter, when we became from four to two, I do not quite remember. I do remember being carted to the college cafe for a snack and coffee. I do remember being escorted to the bus stop. I do remember the chance and the not so chance meetings that kept happeneing thereafter. I also remember the discussions on Pride and Prejudice among other things. I remember being wished on my birthday in a very unusual manner. For someone who had simply ragged me, Y was becoming quite a part of my life.

I liked it. And yet I was afraid. I loved being with him and yet did not. What was the confusion? HE helped me choose the right books for the curriculum and the right instruments for the dissection hall. He was always there when I needed him and even when I did not know I needed him.

I also remember the first public phone call that he helped me make! I did not know when the coin needed to be dropped in and how it went in... in fact where did the coin go?

Gradually we became friends and shared pain and pleasure. We supported each other through our exam stress or our heartbreaks. We simply appeared out of thin air for each other whenever we needed to be with someone.

We talked and we discussed things as diverse as the meaning of life as well as the wonder of medical science. We would not realise where the time went... it just went by too fast.

Then we fought. Bitter and hard. We did not talk with each other for weeks together. And then we did. It was like riding a rollercoaster.

Finally, he got engaged.

I was stunned.

You never miss a real good thing untill it is gone...

All I wanted was a chance to say to him that he mattered. In life, however, there are no rewinds or restarts. No undo buttons. For the first time in my life I acknowledged to myself, THIS IS LOVE. MY FIRST LOVE. And I had lost it! I was doomed to lifelong heartache. Or would I get over it?

Then... studying in the library... he came to meet me...

I could not stop myself. I knew this was wrong. But if today I did not say it, I would never be able to say it to anyone with any degree of truth in my heart or my soul. " Could you not wait?" The pain was plain to see. I saw it his eyes. He turned and drove away into the horizon. I did not hope to see him ever again.

And... then... something else happened... he came back...

A lot happened thereafter... but today Y and I are man and wife. He is my fisrt and only love. I still am crazy about him. He still holds the same magic for me. We may not sit through the night like we once could and simply talk... but we are together and madly in love after more than twenty years of being together!

True love beats all odds.

True love is.

I still remember the day.

I still remember the day I first stood on stage a mere three foot something, a child of 5 in the first grade. The day was bright and the morning assembly was an 'as-usual' affair. I was well prepared.

My lines were a quotation that could make sense to a group of students from first through to twelfth grade. ... "then blow it east or blow it west... the wind that blows, that wind is best..."

I walked tentatively to the front of the stage. The mike was too high for me. I tried to reach for it on tip toes but could not. Mr Chhaya, our school principal saw me and smiled. He was later to remark that he had never in his entire career seen a child so young walk up to the mike. He took two giant steps and was by my side lowering the mike. It was a typical old-time mike of the sixties and the seventies- a rounded cylinder with horizontal grooves and fitted on a stand that could be adjusted.

I spoke my lines. No forgotten words. No stumbling.

Suddenly the silent school assembly was thrown into a tumultous applause. Everywhere I looked, I saw smiles and glow. The feeling was heady. Just a few moments ago I had been 'reassured' it was not difficult to speak. The Senior prefects conducting the school assembly were doubtful that the chit of a girl standing in front of them could have done what she had.

The rest, as they say, is history...

I spoke in every declaimation- Intra or Inter school. I debated in each category- For or against. I participated in the poetry recitations and the speech makings.And I loved each moment of it.

In those days- butterflies were only those pretty flitting creatures that loved flowers. They had nothing to do with a strange funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It was my father who taught me the most. He taught me that books ARE a (wo)man's best friend. He taught me that I CAN. Even if no one had done it before if I could think it, I could do it. He taught me never to let anyone tell me what I could not do. He led by example. To this day, I wonder what he found in our 'kiddie' weekly or monthly books. He would 'steal' the books as they were delivered to our doorstep by the newspaper vendor and playfully declare," Finders... Keepers...! I get to read it first because I got it first!" He would take these to work in his brief-case and strangely would allow us to raid his brief-case on his return from work in order to find these invitingly lying on top of all his papers! Was it really a co-incidence?!

My father made it possible for me to set standards for myself that very few had dreamed of in those days. My parents were among those rare few who got to see test-papers ACTUALLY marked 15 out of ten... five extra awarded for neatness and clarity of concepts.

I still remember that first day that set the tone of the days to come. I still remember how my mother waited and asked me first thing as I got off the school bus- How was the assembly. I remember waiting for Dad to come home to jump UP to his height and tell him ,"I did it!" ( Those were the days without cell phones!)

I remember the hug, the crushingly intense bear hug my dad gave me after having picked me up to his height- pleased and proud, happy and confident.

I rememeber a lot more...

Thank you, Dad!

I love you!

Till death did them part...

Till death do us part…
“Why are women dissatisfied” scream headlines of a newspaper read everyday in thousands of homes! There are quotes from studies in the UK and the USA, which go on to explain that love is no longer a feeling to be cherished. Women are earning and contributing equally to their households, and expectations from their relationships are necessarily determined by these new-found freedoms- freedom to work, freedom to earn and freedom to express. Little do these studies address the issue of love as a feeling that keeps the companions satisfied with two morsels of food or warm in one less garment. These studies focus even less on the warmth of family homes and clans that India revered just a few decades ago.

Love is not a feeling to be ‘expected’ and demanded. It is a feeling to be lived and experienced. I am convinced my grandparents’ saga is not unique but it bears telling in these days of selfish self-centred demanding mates!

9 th of March, 1987… it has been more than two decades ago… but the scene is still as if a movie is playing on a screen and I am watching it- my grandmother’s head in my grandfather’s lap with death, peace and love so thick in the air one could touch the curtain and feel the cold and the warmth of the fibre.

My grandmother was a woman of the royal family of Kapurthala in Punjab, married to an ordinary college professor of Lahore, then in India. The story starts long ago in early nineteen hundreds. My grandfather was born in a rich merchant family with acres of orchards and uncountable money. However, soon after his birth, his mother caught an illness they could do nothing about. The times were not good and all the money could not save my grandfather’s mother. This was, perhaps the unconscious memory that made money the least important thing in his life. Gyan Chand Soni. Literally translated, his name stood for the gentle light of knowledge. It is said in the Hindu scriptures that the two sisters, Saraswati- the goddess of Knowledge and Laxmi, the goddess of Wealth do not stay together under the safe roof! The early events of his life dictated a very strong personality and an almost pathological disregard for money.

His father contracted tuberculosis when he was about to start college. Shunned by the elder brothers, he was left alone to look after his ailing father and even had to physically carry him to the hospital on certain days. Unable to tolerate the misery his father was in, he decided to study to become a doctor- a decision that would take him overseas to some great institution of learning in the British Empire. Fate, however, intervened again! Mahatama Gandhi launched the Swadeshi Movement and my grandfather gave up his plans to study Medicine in UK and took up an ordinary teacher’s job in the FC College.

It gave him enough to run his family and the shared income of the orchards was adequate to tide over occasional hardships. It was in these climes that he was introduced to the Princess of Kapurthala – Janak, my grandmother.

They got married in early nineteen twenties- she a young girl of seventeen or eighteen and he, nearly ten years older at twenty seven. Not a penny in dowry did this self-respecting man accept. The first set of plates and the spoons to go with these… the first set of cups and saucers. The beddings and the pillows, the clothes for themselves- everything was built with love and care.

Janak soon conceived. Their first- born was a daughter- frail in body and not very resilient, this child soon succumbed to nature’s forces. The couple was shattered. They had taken on the responsibility of not only looking after my grandfather’s foster mother but also the ailing father. The pain mellowed a bit but never really went away completely. They soon conceived another child- again a girl. My grandmother looked after this child and guarded her like a tigress. This girl grew up into a brilliant lady- elegant and the first one to live the destiny my grandfather had rejected decades ago- she became a doctor from the Lady Hardinge Medical College in Delhi and went on to do her specialization from UK earning for herself the FRCS. There were others- three sons and one more daughter.

The children used to come to Kapurthala each vacation from Lahore and my grandmother used to spend some time in the royal palaces being pampered and looked after. My grandfather would often finish the college work and at the onset of the vacations join her in Kapurthala for a couple of weeks. In the summer of 1947, with seven children in tow- the youngest, my father being just seven, my grandmother came to Kapurthala again. This once she was apprehensive. She did not want to leave Lahore without her husband.

The situation was tense and the debate on Indo- Pak division was hot. The politicians were playing a dirty and dangerous game. My grandfather forbade my grandmother from coming back to Lahore and promised her he would join them soon. She spent days in agonizing wait and anxiety- all the money, the jewellery, the utensils and the clothes would be lost. How would they start their life again? Could they? As a self-fulfilling prophesy, people started dying- beheaded bodies started arriving in trainfulls. The blood and the hatred were unbearable. The anger was like a volcano- killing everything that came in its way. My grandmother only wanted her husband to join them safely- no material possessions were important. She moved towards Delhi as he had ordered. He joined them. The homecoming was momentous. The government gave the ‘refugees’ land to rebuild their homes and lives. My grandfather joined the Hindu College as a professor of physics and physical education- a strange combination even in those days! Life started again- from scratch. Twigs to rebuild their nest… rags to rebuild their riches. They were a resilient couple, as were a lot of other ‘refugees’. All children used to visit my home all summer vacations. My Grandmother was the grand Matriarch- Seth (A rich woman) and my grand father was always (Soni- his last name).

She sat as regally as a queen would with both her feet firmly on earth and head held high in total confidence of her power. She talked as clearly as a queen would with every word and every sentence telling a saga of a life of devotion to her clan.

Soon, however, the ravages of time and age began to take their toll on her fragile frame. Her diabetes was going out of control and had started affecting her kidneys and her heart. Her high blood- pressure was dealing a double whammy to her already failing systems. As an 11 year old, I had to accompany her to the hospital to decide whether she would be put on Dialysis. I remember her words- “I will not lie down with tubes and needles. No dialysis. I want to die with dignity at home”. Such was her strength and resolve that none could oppose her.

She started behaving somewhat awkwardly- spitting in the sitting room and eating at inappropriate times. My grandfather rallied all his strength to look after her. The rising blood urea was entering her brain and making her delirious. Her clothes started hanging on the skeleton she had become. She was now just skin and bones. It was heartbreaking to see this pillar of our household crumbling. Sometimes, it was embarrassing, too. We could not get through to her- she would not understand. When we felt angry she would shrink as if we had hit her physically. How could a strong willed woman crumble so?

However, on the ninth of March, 1987, she became suddenly lucid. It was half past ten at night. Her entire family had gathered for the inevitable. She was sinking- unable to maintain blood pressure and heart beat. Her brain was clear for the first time in two years! She called her husband and told him,” Soni, I am going… I want you to hold my hand” Even as I write these words, I find my hair standing on ends- a strange electricity running through the back of my neck on to my temples… Her head in my grandfather’s lap, her hand in his, she recollected her entire life in that last half hour with only me as her witness. At eleven, my grandfather gently told me to call the entire family to the bedside- “your grandmother is no more”.

I did not cry- she had set a powerful example of love and service to the family… this deserved a lot more than a few tears shed, dry and forgotten. I decided as a tender sixteen, I would marry only if I could find the same (not similar… but SAME) feeling of loving and being loved. I pray to God my Grandmother eventually found her peace… I know from her final moments on earth it could not be otherwise.

Love has the power to transcend all and heal all.