Life

Do not own anything,
Except this journey in time,
Of what I call life.

Widuri.

Widuri will not mean much to many. Yet to many, it may.

Many things remind us of our childhood. Events. People. Food.

One of the things that reminds me of my childhood is the song Widuri, sung by a popular Indonesian singer Bob Tutupoli. My dad and I liked him and his songs.

I saw Bob Tutupoli at the Surabaya airport. After some prodding from my dad, I went upto him and smiled. We were leaving Indonesia that day and a part of my childhood as well.

With Widuri, it is easy for me to reach back to my childhood. The memories. What could have ... would have ... should have. All left there, in the innocence of time.

"Widuri ... oh sayang" (Listen here).

August 28, 2008

A lot happened today, like any other day - in a small corner of the world and in my life. As this day winds to a close, a large marker was engraved in time. History was made and is being created. From across the Rockies comes a message. Promise.

Photographs

Photographs are
silent sentinels
of the past,
from the past
smiling into the future.


Everyone who lived
irrespective of what life
threw at them
smiling.


Captured and caught in time
smiling for a better tomorrow.
Through time
sending us a reminder
that whatever it may be
or happens
life is worth ...
smiling.

Siblings and wonderful memories

Growing up as a single child has its challenges. Life is after all a mixed bag. Growing up I did miss having a sibling. That to an extent was offset by my wonderful extended family - my cousins. Living in a boarding school with a band-of-brothers to get into trouble with. After all that is what one needs in a sibling growing up.

Things have changed. After loosing my mother, I miss having a sibling. It would have been easier to share the loss. But more importantly it would be nice to share the wonderful memories.

Training Wheels and Life

I was over 5 years old when I started to learn how to ride a bike. I must have spent 3-4 days with little progress. Late in the evening on the forth day my mother stopped by to see me ride. No luck.

She held the bike and asked me to pedal. I did. She let go. I stopped pedalling and gravity took over. We went through this routine couple of times. Same result. Bruised - both physically and ego-wise (after all she had let go) I stood up and refused to ride.

My mother looked me in the eye and calmly told me that I would not be allowed back in to the house if I did not learn how to ride on my own. Simple. With that she turned and walked back.

The sun had set. I was alone. I tried. It must have taken me over an hour to master the rudimentary skills. Pedal. Stop. Pedal. Stop. Straight line pedalling, nothing fancy. Bruised and with a smile, I walked back indoor and announced my success. She smiled and we walked out into the evening. I pedalled. I managed to not fall. She patted me on the head and we both walked back indoor.

There is lot in common between life, parents and training wheels. All along I had my parents as my training wheels - my safety net - in my life. Things have changed over the last 2-3 weeks. From riding with only 1 training wheel, I am now down to none. There will be no more unseen hands holding me up and tending to the various bruises. I would like to think that perhaps I am ready. Only time will tell.

Thank You.

It is difficult to prevent life
From making us bitter.

The loss of someone we love
More so when it is one who loved us
Helped us with our first steps, our mother.

To give and not have any expectations
of thanks, a nod, a smile.
To hold life and the ones dear,
dearer than the gold given away.

It takes great strength
not to have life define us.
It takes great strength to live
to love, to give
and to be at peace.

It is not often that we say
but I think it is important that we do
for times likes these cross
far apart and few.

It is important that
we remember to thank them
for both me and you.

Agni (Hindi: Fire)

As I lay down
Looking up at the setting sky
a million stars smiling down
sound of river tapping (lapping) the banks

I hear the rustling on the sand.
There you were standing next to me
tears in your eyes.
You looked just like your were
when I first held you in my arms.

I turned away to see the brilliant sky
as the flames shot up around me
taking me and greeting the sky.

At that instance – Mukh-Agni
Everything fleeted before my eyes
As I saw my mother reaching out
I turned to see your face
And we both smiled.

Amar Ma (Bengali: My Mother)

Experience gives a perspective to life and to relationships. Growing up as an only child, I had only one perspective - of being a son. I would like to think that my parents had it easy. I am sure each generation thinks fondly that it was easy for their parents and quite different in the current time. I am sure this line of thinking gets played out with every generation.

Growing up, it was very difficult to relate to my parent's perspective of being parents or even parenting. That all changed very gradually with my first born. A perspective was developed. This got further strengthened with my second born.

Parenting is tough. My parents had it tough. As parents, we all do. It is par for the course.

No matter how much I think I was an easy kid (now who am I kidding), my Ma (Mother) always put up with me. Put me first.

Over the last 3 months, my Ma's health deteriorated. My family and I had the opportunity of spending this summer with her. I spent time with her, talked to her, related to her as a son and as a parent. She spent a lot of time talking about her childhood. Inspite of all the challenges growing up through Partition, of leaving Bangladesh and starting a new life in West Bengal, she had a happy and loving childhood. She was happy.

Tough as it was for me, in not so many words, I thanked her for being my Ma. I told her that in the circle of life, if it was true, I would like for her to be my mother next time round - if she would take me up on that offer. She smiled.

I would like to think that today, Friday July 25 she started the day with her morning tea. In my mind, after finishing her tea, she got out of bed. Bare feet she shuffled to the door, threw it open and ran into the street of her childhood. I could hear her shout "Ma, Baba, wait". Up ahead, in the morning light stood her parents, her two elder sisters and her elder brother. They smiled, embraced. "Cholo bari jai" (Bengali: Let us go home).

Creating a Moment ... a Memory

I was thinking about
What I had done
Accomplished, achieved.

When you jumped up
With your bottle
Strumming my hair
Cheek to cheek.
A forgettable music
In the background.
We danced.
In time and through time
Into an unforgettable memory.