Voices

           He had led a charmed life. Immensely successful in his career, and lucky in love too as he reminded himself, married to his childhood sweetheart and blessed with the most adorable child ever. A perfect family, some said. Yet for some time the sun had not been shining quite so brightly. Making his way through each day was becoming more of an effort, the smiles forced, the pauses in conversation awkward. She had noticed it too, the puzzlement slowly turning into hurt. Lately a few bitter words had been exchanged, as the boy looked on in bewilderment. His thoughts veered in another direction, as he remembered the chance encounter a few months back. On a business trip, as he waited in the near deserted airport lounge for a late night flight, he had looked up and into the most compelling pair of eyes ever. A quick introduction and some moments spent in conversation had been followed by an exchange of phone numbers. They had met again soon after and had continued to do so. Each meeting had been exquisite torture, a grappling with unfamiliar sensations, fighting against a primeval urge. The attraction between them was undeniable. Had he never known before? Or had he simply suppressed his true self? He believed he loved his wife and his family was his world. The pangs of guilt were overwhelming. Yet as the phone rang and the familiar number flashed on the screen, he could not get himself to disconnect his call. His voice was the only lifeline in a world where the dynamics were slowly changing.                                                                                                                                                                      
                                        
         She had thought she was one of the lucky ones, who led a happily ever after life. Married to the one she loved, a beautiful boy, a wonderful job. She had often touched wood, a childhood superstition, as she thought of her blessings. But recently the tendrils of worry had begun to weave themselves around her. It was not anything she could put her finger on, just a vague feeling that all was not right. A silence had crept over them, a drawing apart where there had been closeness. Some misunderstandings, some ugly scenes had happened. She could not forget that day in the coffee shop when she had spotted him talking to a man and was about to call out. But something had held her back, the intensity between them precluding anyone else. She had turned back and left. Yet the most horrible suspicions had been plaguing her since then. And the phone calls which he left the room to attend. He,who had never had any secrets from her. In her sanguine moments she thought that there would be a simple explanation and she would be able to laugh away her apprehensions. Yet what if it were true?The very foundation of her life seemed to be wavering.

          He counted the days till his sixth birthday again, the third time today. He remembered his last birthday party, presents, cake, friends, balloons and above all, his parents laughing and singing aloud. They hardly seemed to laugh anymore, an eerie silence between them enveloping the house in gloom. And sometimes they fought, the angry words reaching his room where he sat with fingers clapped across his ears. He missed their Sunday outings, the visits to the zoo, the long drives and the gifts his parents sometimes surprised him with. Now they snapped at each other for the smallest reasons and at him too. He pulled the covers over his head to shut out all thoughts. Yet a lone tear crept down his cheek. Would there even be a party for him?
          
                                 

Untitled

         She still remembers the day they first met. A sultry October afternoon, curtains drawn against the blazing sun, the streets empty of people but for the occasional hawker and a few stray dogs. The morning chores over, a languor spread over her as she relaxed over the customary afternoon cup of tea. He seemed vaguely familiar from the first moment, the chiseled features, the piercing eyes, the faintly amused expression. A common background of growing up in adjacent small towns, a shared love for books and music, a way with words, soon the initial ice was broken and conversation flowed effortlessly. 'Serendipity', he said as they parted the first time, 'to have found you so'. 'A word smith', she breathed, as she reveled in a world of new pleasures. The day passed in a haze, as did the weeks thereafter. The only memories of long interchanges of thoughts, of getting to know each other's secrets, joys and sorrows, likes and dislikes. He loved long hair, thunderstorms, the smell of wet earth, she loved to hear him talk. He made her laugh as no one could, their private jokes making her smile at odd moments of the day. A stab of jealousy as he talked of old loves, a keen delight as he wooed her relentlessly. She drowned in his eyes, he played with her long hair, they held hands as they walked through the old forts and palaces of Rajasthan. Their eyes locked into each other's on moonlit beaches, they came closer on winding paths of secluded hill stations. He was her world, his words a bridge across the chasm between them. And the stray doubts that darkened her mind, the inconsistencies he refused to talk about, easily swept under the carpet. Till the terrible day he failed to come. A million explanations she offered to herself, none of which provided any comfort. The tears flowed unhindered, the next day and the next. The world ceased to matter as she went through the motions of life. Reliving each moment, going over the minute details in the vain hope of making sense. Darkness descended over the world, igniting a streak of insanity in her. A million messages sent, angry, entreating, each more desperate than the other, to no avail. The days turned to months, the tears stopped but the world lost all light. Years have passed, but her eyes still seek him, she longs to hear his voice. Though she knows he is lost to her forever, she spends hours thinking of what may have happened. Did he never feel what she felt? Was she one of many for him? Or was he no longer of this world? Questions, each more haunting than the other, with no answers. Blissful ignorance, she tells herself is better than damning knowledge. Still she waits, yearning for the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

The Accidental Facebooker

          A couple of years back I was cruising along the highways of busy domesticity, a soul content in my cosy cocoon of gardening, cooking, reading, and socializing in the real world. The online community and it's denizens were an alien species I knew little about and cared even less for, so much so that I did not have an email address of my own!  However a sudden urge to contact an acquaintance I had lost touch with necessitated a Google search, only to be informed that so and so was on Facebook.Thus began my initiation into the world of social networking as I signed up for Facebook within a matter of days. Since then there has been no looking back.
            However the early months were a lonely existence when I would log in and regard myself in solitary splendour on my page. Desperate searches ensued but none of my real life friends seemed to be on Facebook. I was growing resigned to a friendless existence when  one fine day a miracle occured and I received an actual friend request! Oh, what bliss! It did not matter that I did not know the person concerned from Adam. Of course I accepted but the bubble burst soon after. My first online friend turned out to be somewhat shady and I learned the first of my lessons, do not trust strangers just because they seem friendly.
                Soon however I struck paydirt as I found one of my school friends who had retained her maiden name. One followed another and before long I was connected to the old school network, most of whom seemed to have moved to the States.  Many exclamations followed, how this one had changed and the other had doubled in size. Facebook was happy meeting ground and many a pleasant moment was spent reminiscing and oohing and aahing over spouses and children and wonderful careers achieved. Old school photographs were uploaded and nostalgia reigned supreme. One fine day, a long forgotten friend from college sent me a message and as we connected, voila, more friends seemed to crawl out of the woodworks. Gradually, I reconnected with cousins settled abroad and made the acquaintance of the newer generation I had never met before and  bonded over books, music and similar likes and dislikes.
                 As I waxed eloquent about the wonders of Facebook, some friends were enticed to sign up and the ranks of my online friends swelled. Virtual flowers, confectionaries and even medication was exchanged on Facebook. Thinking of creative and original status updates and receiving the most number of comments and Likes became one of the joys of my life. I made friends with fellow Scrabble players from all over the world on Facebook and have been fortunate enough to convert some virtual friendships into real life ones. Birthdays, anniversaries and festive occasions became even more so as they were shared by friends real and virtual,old and new. People I had not been close to in real life became soul mates on Facebook and I felt bereft if I can not communicate with my online buddies. I was totally hooked on to Facebook and experienced my first withdrawal symptoms when I lost my net connection for a while. I would rush to switch on my computer the moment I woke up, even before the first cuppa and the more the notifications, pokes and messages, the better my day began. My plants were looking forlorn, books were piling up unread and it seemed takeaway menus were proliferating dramatically. Friends not connected online complained that I did not answer phone calls or reply to messages. But I was so busy milking cows and building barns on Farmville and becoming a hardy pioneer in Frontierville that real life had taken a backseat. It has taken quite a few nudges from an increasingly neglected husband and offspring, parents and friends to regulate the time I spend Facebooking. Indeed, on quite a few occasions I have de-activated my account, only to get back to it the very next day! And while I may no longer hit the PC the first thing in the morning, it is my Blackberry I reach out for with just one eye just opened.
                    It is incredible how a social networking site that was meant for students in Harvard has  become a household phenomenon. Facebook now has an astounding five hundred million members, including me! As one of my friend's status update said, I was ordinary, till Facebook happened. Now I am awesome, beautiful, wow, outstanding and on one occasion even a flower in a forest! But seriously, Facebook gives me new reasons to smile everyday and even shed a few tears like I did today, talking to a childhood friend after twenty years. It has been instrumental in making me pick up my pen  and take some baby steps towards my long forgotten ambition of writing. For me, Facebook is a love story that shows no sign of waning. But in a broader perspective, Facebook is an effective social media that has the power to revolutionize lives, empower businesses, mobilize opinion, organize blood donation drives and fundraising, raise environmental issues, and make political statements. Is it a wonder then that The Accidental Millionaire, Mark Zuckerberg, the creator of Facebook  has been named the Person of the Year by Time magazine!
        
    

The Ethics of Euthanasia

                   The word "euthanasia" translates from Greek as a "good death" ,a pleasant way to depart well from life. The recent Bollywood movie Guzarish deals with this sensitive topic,albeit through rose-tinted glasses. Euthanasia is a matter of continuing debate, with opinions ranging from vociferous advocacy, careful approval to outright rejection. Indeed, some would go so far as to call euthanasia murder. But who decides when the quality of a person's life is too poor to continue living? Physicians? Relatives? Or the law? Is it only the terminally ill who can be administered merciful death or even the mentally ill who merit euthanasia?

                      The arguments for mercy-killing are indeed pertinent and valid. It is the only relief available to people suffering from incurable, painful and end-stage diseases like cancer. A once proud individual reduced to a vegetable-like existence is justified in demanding alleviation from pain. In a free world, each and everyone of us should have the freedom of choice. And purely from a practical point of view, it  frees up medical resources and funds to help other patients who will benefit from it.

                        On the other hand, euthanasia is a form of killing, both from the legal as well as moral point of view. In a country like India, it may well be used as a license for criminal and intentional murder. It is possible mercy killing may cause a decline in medical standards as well.For a physician who has taken the Hippocratic Oath, killing patients is the primary taboo. With the advancement of medical science, palliative care is a better way to help terminal patients live a pain free and dignified existence. Euthanasia would nip in the bud so many miraculous death bed recoveries one hears of. Depressed individuals might take recourse to it as the easy way out.

                         One wonders what opinion Aruna Shanbagh would hold on this issue,if she were capable of rational thought. Raped in 1973 and in a vegetative state since then, with no relatives to look after her, Aruna has been cared for by nurses at the KEM hospital for 36 years. A petition to allow Aruna to die has sparked a heated debate across India. The Supreme Court does not give permission to die and  Indian scriptures have for centuries upheld the values of life and its preservation.But these words are cold comfort to Aruna and others like her who lead an existence that can at best be called sub-human.  In the US,the case of Terry Schiavo was another distressing  example of a conflict between family members which led her to be sustained through artificial feeding for 15 years though she had been left in a vegetative state after a cardiac arrest. Ms Shiavo's feeding tube was removed in 2005  after protracted legal battle and she died some days later. She died in a natural,humane process,and dozens of other patients in her similar physical state deserve the same consideration. Or so would believe Dr Kevorkian, dubbed Dr Death for his passionate defense of choice for terminal patients. In 1998, he assisted a terminally ill patient with a lethal injection that was broadcast on television. Arrested soon after, Dr Kevorkian has been instrumental in winning terminally ill patients the right to decide on the time and method of their own death. Dr Death or Angel of Mercy, the debate rages on.

                         Popular opinion holds that the Final Departure should be a dignified one. A person with an incurable disease,or in terrible pain with no hope of recovery should be given the right to decide if he wants to die in peace. The central issue should not be what family members desire for themselves or for their loved one. The point to consider is what the patient would want. If there is no clear indication of what he would have preferred, and in the absence of  public policy or clear family consensus,medical aid should be continued. But enforcing life-prolonging treatment against the patient's desire is unethical.  At the same time, there should be stringent laws in place that ensure that no false play is possible. Every patient admitted to a hospital should fill out a "living will" indicating their wishes in the event that they lose their competence in future. Each human being is an individual and there can be no single rule that applies to each and everyone. It is up to the family,medical professionals and the law to decide which path to take. But every person has the right to a Death of Dignity and one hopes the law guarantees that for each of us.

The Many Hues of Pleasure

         On days when the blues threaten to beset me, I uncap my bottle of memories and like an exotic perfume, a whiff of the happy past lifts my spirits and my world seems brighter again.

          My first pleasant memory is of lying with my head on my mothers's lap when I was about three, lulled to sleep by the buzz of adult conversation. Oh, to be back in that warm cocoon of security and love, when it seemed nothing would ever go wrong in my little world. Happiness was a picnic in the zoo with my cousins from all across the world, a day of elephant rides, candy floss, blue skies and rolling in the green grass. The first hailstorm I experienced and the taste of the icy pellets melting in my warm mouth. A cup of my mother's famous hot chocolate, the warm smooth liquid slowly making its way down my throat.

           Happy school days, best friends, girlie-talk. Bicycle rides down empty roads with the wind in my face. Discovering the world of books, Enid Blytons, William, Raold Dahl. Making my acquaintance with the tall, dark stranger in the world of Mills and Boon. The first grown-up books I read, Gone With The Wind, Rebecca, The Thornbirds. The warm tingle whenever I thought of the neighbourhood Adonis. My crushes at various points of my life, when it seemed love was just around the corner. How soon we grow up, for soon I was in college. The heady feeling of independence when I realized how easy it was to bunk classes. The wonder of falling in love for the first time. Stolen glances, holding hands and slipping away from the crowd are the stuff of perfect memories.

          A thunderstorm I remember, a flock of white birds juxtaposed against the suddenly dark skies, the icy gusts of wind, the rippling waters of a pond and the smell of wet earth after a hot Indian summer.

          Swept along by the inexorable passage of time, I am now a young adult. The wondrous occasion of meeting my husband for the first time and knowing he was the one. The thrill of setting up house and the hilarious misadventures the pair of us had. Oh,the truimph of baking my first perfect cake, hosting a fabulous party. Some pages of life shine bright, untarnished by time. The first salary I received and buying a gift for the better half, And then the greatest gift of all, eight pounds of love with the brightest button eyes I have ever seen. So many milestones, the first word, the first step. The bittersweet memories of the first day of school.

          The small things in life remain etched in memory. A rare occasion when the husband served me breakfast in bed, sunny eggs, crisp slices of bacon and cool orange juice. The day I got my doggie home, all of six weeks old. Going on a long drive. A perfect cup of Darjeeling tea, savoured in solitude. An  A.R.Rahman melody that made me feel I could dance. Discovering the poetry of Sara Teasdale.

          My first glimpse of London and standing in the swirling snow in Switzerland. A cruise on the river Siene  when Paris seemed to be out of a fairytale.A 4-D show in Disneyland.

          And today, the pleasure of picking up the pen after such a long interlude and the thought that my words may bring a smile to your lips. What is unhappiness when we have this greatest gift of all, recollection of love, joy and triumph in this beautiful world.

                


        

Banarasi Baatein

           Having been born with more than my share of Bengali wanderlust,the urge to take off hits me often and out of nowhere.On the last such occasion,it was an unanimous decision to revisit Varanasi,the city of Moksha and Banarasi sarees.It is said time stands still in Varanasi and indeed little seems to have changed in the many years since I saw it last.It remains the most colourful,charismatic and spiritual of all Indian cities.

           One of the charms of the holy city are the many ghats built on the Ganges.The beautiful Assi Ghat was relatively deserted at dusk but for a few dreadlocked westerners garbed in saffron and rudrakshas. Sitting on the riverbank,I felt an ethereal serenity gradually overwhelm me.Is this what brings people of varied nationalities to this dilapidated,dung-strewn city where buffaloes get precedence over humans and cycles seem to miss you by inches?The spectacular Dashashwamedh Ghat,on the other hand was overflowing with tourists,eager to catch sight of the evening Aarti performed by priests.Never an hour goes by when Dashaswamedh Ghat does not witness activity of some sort or the other.Even at four in the morning,which is when I went for a boat ride,people were queuing up for a dip in the river,said to wash away one's sins.I wonder if a finger dipped in water did the trick for me!! Irreverence aside,the sight of the cascading temples,terraces and houses of Benaras, bathed in the rays of the rising sun is a lifetime experience.From the boat,the lyrically named Manikarnika Ghat,where mortal remains are consigned to flames seemed to be a juxtaposition of dream and reality.It is said being cremated here frees one from the endless cycle of life and birth.Instant Nirvana,in the time of instant noodles!!           

          When in Varanasi,it is de rigeur to visit the Vishwanath temple which houses one of the twelve ancient Jyotirlingas.The walk down the lane leading upto the temple is a fascinating journey in itself.The jostling crowds,the colourful saree and ornament shops,the aroma of sweets,the heady smells of cowdung and rotting flowers had an intoxicating effect on me.Only to be brought back to earth by a near collision with a scooter maneuvering its way through the two feet lane!! The vibrations of the temple, the recitation of the slokas entranced me and the mystical experience was completed when a total stranger pressed a rudraksha bead into my hand,saying it would immensely benefit my son!!God indeed moves in strange ways.After my spiritual pursuits it was time to appease the palate and the rabdi and malai in the temple lane rose to the occasion superbly.Varanasi is famous for these sweets and along with the famous pedas,they contibuted in piling on some unwanted pounds.Indeed,the foodie in me went berserk,kachauris,jalebis,lassis,none disappointed.

         Being an inveterate shopper,I had strictly resolved not to venture near the saree shops.Each stunning Banarasi woven saree is six yards of magic with an unique story to tell.It goes without saying,I could not resist the opulently embroidered zari creations and ended up a few thousands poorer!!Shopping in Varanasi is a wonderful experience with sweet tongued salesmen even ready to drape sarees around themselves to entice buyers.The people of Varanasi are replete with an old world charm and the lyrical Hindi and Bhojpuri was like music after the rough Mumbai dialects.Varanasi is a centre of Indian culture,art and music,home to eminent philosophers,scolars and musicians.How I wished Pandit Bismillah Khan was still playing his shehenai.

           From Varanasi,it is an hour's trip to Sarnath where the Buddha first taught his Dharma.Being an important centre of Buddhism,Varanasi sees a lot of Japanese,Sri Lankan and Thai tourists as well.The Banaras Hindu University with its huge campus is also worth a visit.But for me,the spirit of the holy city is to be found in the ghats,the mazes of narrow identical alleys where majestic bulls sway along, the  mourning processions with their soft chant of Ram Ram,the sweet-snatching monkeys,the stoned sannyasis,the boats and the colourful spice shops.As I floated a couple of flower candles in the murky waters of the holy Ganges on my last day,I sent up a prayer that I may once again return to this fascinating city,which has been in existence before the advent of civilization as we know it.Who knows,Banarasi saree this time,maybe Moksha the next!!

The First Foray of a Wannabe Blogger

  Having been a homemaker most of my life,lately I have been feeling the urge to spread my wings and take off on my flights of fancy!!A friend's prolific blogging was an inspiration,though as I put pen to paper I am scratching my head wondering what I should write about.Will anybody even read my ramblings?Or will it just be an indulgent self- appeasement?Give me a chance,my dear friend,if your eyes have chanced upon my amateur outpourings.
   A dyed-in-the-wool Bengali,the transition to Bombay from Calcutta was traumatic to say the least.A five hundred square-feet house??That was almost the size of my bathroom back home!And the long commute?I felt like a sardine packed in the local trains.Not to speak of the local lingo,the strange street food and the whistle that meant someone was trying to get my attention.Where were my genteel bhadralok friends?The hubby,long accustomed to life in Bombay was no help at all as I struggled to find my feet in the city which is a potpourri of composite cultures.But gradually,as the days turned into months,the terror receded.Space-saving,multi-functional box beds,folding dining tables,sofa-cum beds came to my rescue.As the language began to make sense,I realized there were hearts of gold under the rough facades.Neighbours,unlike in Calcutta may be too busy to have adda sessions but were always there in times of need.And wonder of wonder,the ubiquitious vada-pav began to make my taste-buds tingle!!
   It has been a long journey since those arriviste days!There are still times when I long to be in Calcutta.But amchi Mumbai now has me in her thrall!The long drive to town is an opportunity to catch up with the Top 20 countdown on FM radios!!And once in town,Colaba Causeway,Fashion Street and Chowpatty welcome me with open arms.Parsi food,Goan fishcurry,Bade Miyan,we are spoilt for choices!What can beat the experience of listening to Sufi music in Horniman Circle at midnight!Or watching the Queen's Necklace twinkling as cars whizz past!The Queen of Suburbs with its starry residents,a must-visit for all visitors from Calcutta.Indeed,the charms of Mumbai are many and varied,as she reaches out and embraces me and countless other newly arrived lost souls.As my friends and I say proudly,Mee Mumbaikar,in a home away from home!

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Sharmila Burman

A homemaker seeking to spread her wings!

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