Before I Kick The Bucket ?!

"Dream small that your dreams may come true.  Dream large that you may always have a dream." (Robert Brault )

I have a list of things I'd like to do in my lifetime, and it grows longer each year! The more years I add, the more dreams I have. It doesn't matter that ground realities make most of them highly improbable and near impossible. Before I added any more this year, I decided to pick out the top ten....actually it's only the first nine that I really want to happen....the tenth is a fun thing that makes me laugh, but if it does happen wow!  So here goes.....

This one has topped the list ever since I wrote it....a house of my own!

To compile a cookbook with family recipes that have come down the years, for posterity.

Publish some of my work....small would also do.

Finally make a friend; a 3.00 am one; one who has no personal agenda attached to the friendship except being a friend in the truest sense of the word, who will be there whenever needed come hail or sunshine!!

Spend some time luxuriating at Ananda spa in the Himalayas

Take the Orient Express through Europe...bliss!

Fly business/first class round trip.....to wherever I want to go!

                                Stomp grapes in France or Italy.

Start a small business of my own!

                                                                             



This last one is self explanatory....:))











Note: I do not own any of the pictures.

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Khaandaan Ka Paandaan....cont

My sister makes a wish



Daddy had decided to put in his papers and take a premature retirement. Premature it surely was, he was only forty-five and had a long way to go, but his heart was set on dedicating his time totally to evangelism. So in 1965, we moved to his town in Punjab. He was going home; we were going to Never Land! Of course, the descriptions differed in each of our minds. I am not sure what Never Land signified for my siblings, for me it was rich in every way; experiences, adventure, fantasy, challenges and fun.



My eldest sis didn’t fancy it much I guess, because as soon as she completed her Senior Cambridge, she came to the “village” from her snooty school in the hills, and dashed off to Delhi to train as a nurse. This left four of us kids ( my younger brother had arrived by then) with grandpa, grandma, mummy and Daddy, the cows, buffaloes, chickens, rabbits and a dog named Tommy; fruit trees, open spaces and rolling fields. It was an absolutely wonderful life for me and my brother initially, because, we had no school to attend and the whole day was spent exploring the surroundings, shooting pigeons and whatever flew or ran or crawled, with our catapults.



I don’t know how my elder sis spent most of her time, but there were rare occasions when she would join us to spend the afternoons in our treetop getaway. We would take up books, some munchies and lemonade, and while away the lazy noon swaying gently in our hammocks that were way up in the treetop. On one such rare day, three of us were sitting around in the vegetable garden behind our house and sharing our dreams, wishes and fantasies. As we tried to outdo ourselves in our imaginations, she blurted out that she would love to see two planes right above us in active combat. My brother and I guffawed. We knew she was right off her track, because she wasn’t into these sort of imaginings. She was very “girlie-girlie” and dreamt of “sissy” things. However, we had to agree that she had indeed outdone us in ‘bizarre.’



We heard the roar of planes and looked up. It wasn’t unusual to see these fighter planes in sorties, as the Air Force base was quite near. There were two Gnats chasing a plane, which we couldn’t identify. It was a bigger plane than the Gnats. My brother and I were intrigued. By then they were almost over us and he yelled.


“It’s an attack, run. That’s a Pakistani plane. Look at the insignia.”



It happened in a twinkling of an eye. Before we could even digest what he was saying, the air was rent with staccato gunshots. We stood transfixed as we watched a raging dogfight in the sky. I can recall the feeling even today. It was all in the extreme...the fear, the excitement, the amazement. Then in front of our eyes, the Pakistani plane took a fatal shot and burst into flames. It careened wildly and began a wobbly descent, away from our ‘home air space,’ and finally crashed in a field not far from where we were. Our yelling had brought out my uncle, who was on one of his breaks between joining ship again. He wouldn’t believe us because by then the plane had gone down, but the trail of black smoke convinced him, and he ran out with all the others who appeared from nowhere in an instant. We followed, my brother and I.



It was a terrible sight, but not as terrible as what was to follow. We were at war with Pakistan.



I peered at my sister later in the night, when we were in the trench and our town was taking flak from an attack on the Air Force base. She smiled wanly. I knew she was thinking what I was thinking, but I had to say it.



“Couldn’t you wish for something better,” I shouted in order to be heard, through the cotton plugs in her ears.



She wouldn’t reply. Her teeth remained clenched on the handkerchief in her mouth. I stuffed mine back into my mouth as Daddy yelled a warning. A bomb exploded two hundred and fifty metres away. This was just the beginning.

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The Chile Diary Chapter 12

The mom's guests



I set up my computer on the dining table and began to write. If I was looking for common sense to guide the mom and her guests, I was disappointed. Common sense was very conspicuous by its absence. They continued to sit around the table and chat in that high pitched sing-song way most Chilean women use. My head was beginning to ache. Just as I thought I should pack shop, the jing-bang got up and left, mom included. I broke into a Hallelujah chorus! About half an hour later they trooped in and the women began setting the table for tea. It was past seven in the evening! OMG! I moaned, not again? The gossiping, laughing and chomping went on and on. I glared at them from time to time but it was useless. Their total concentration was in the cake, bread, ham, palta, crackers and butter and tea and cold drinks they were walloping, as they kept up the steady high-pitched conversation. By now my head was really throbbing. I held my temples and looked directly at each one. I saw their mouths open and close but I couldn’t hear them talk. It was time for me to get up. I wasn’t in good shape and if I stayed longer I knew I’d say something and it wouldn't be anything very nice. I didn’t feel very appreciative of the mom right then. She should have warned me it would be an 'extended lunch' or better still an 'eat-a-thon.'



I discovered today that Indian beauticians were way ahead of their Chilean counterparts. And charged so little for the work they did. I needed to give some attention to my feet, so Manu took me to a place near-by. I got a pedicure done for eight thousand pesos, which roughly converts to eight hundred rupees, for half the service rendered in India. If it weren’t for my back and knees that prevent me from cleaning my feet thoroughly, I’d skip the pedicure in Chile. India, India.....things are so much more affordable back home. (Thank God Roxanna coloured my hair at her place) Manu warned me not to even try the manicure. After the pedicure I wouldn’t have any way.



So thus went my day. No more to write, so I’ll wind up. Then what? As usual stare at the walls and then lie on my bed and try not to think sad thoughts. For some reason these words of an old Hindi song pop up in my mind.....



Aye mere dil-e-nadaan, tu gham se na ghabrana
Ek din toh samajh legi, duniya tera afsana.

(O my naive heart, don't let sorrow worry you
One day this world will understand your story)

Armaan bhare dil mein, zakhmon ko jagah dede
Bhadke huye sholon ko, kuch aur hawaa dede
Banti hai toh ban jaye, yeh zindagi afsana.

(In a heart full of dreams and expectations, allow a bit of space for hurt and pain. The embers have burst into flame, fan them a bit more. If your life has become a story, let it be so)

Faryaad se kya haasil, rone se natija kya
Bekaar hain yeh baatein, in baton se hoga kya
Apna bhi ghari bar mein, ban jaata hai begaana.

(Nothing comes from complaining and tears bring no results. These are useless things and nothing is achieved by it. In a split second even our own become strangers)

Aye mere dil-e-nadaan, tu gham se na ghabrana
Ek din toh samajh legi, duniya tera afsana.

(O my naive heart, don't let sorrow worry you
One day this world will understand your story)

Uprooted!

Every time we shifted home, from one region to another I'd lament at the 'uprooting,' because that was how I felt at the time. We'd hardly settle into a new home, and I'd just start to say a warm "hello" to my neighbours ( it did take me a long time to say 'hello'!!) and get to pick up a smattering of the local lingo when bam! it was packing time again. Well beliefs do come apart at some time or the other....and so did this one.


When my younger son and his wife decided to shift base to foreign lands, I was thrilled. It made me feel as proud as a mother hen......all puffed up and clucking away to glory. After all they were in good jobs, living well, happy and what more could one want I'd think to myself contentedly. Then the elder one and his wife also shifted base. I clucked louder. But not for long. I would have to move too, I was told.


"I'm not," I said.


"But you have to," all trilled.


"I'm okay on my ownsome," I dug my heels in.


"You don't keep too well. What if something happens... there's no one there. Besides it's not safe for old people, especially old women to live all alone." They were playing the safety angle. I saw their point but decided to side-track.


"What do you mean by old? I'm still a long way off from the official 'senior citizen' tag," I sounded terribly offended.



It gave me a break. They were quiet. I knew they'd be back with fresh arguments and a different angle. In the meantime I was beginning to feel the clammy claws of dread clutching my innards. It all came together and in full force...my kids' reaction and my bowels' too! I used the times on the throne(which were many) to think a way out. This time they had me in a bind. I buckled....with weakness literally and figuratively.




I can't help feeling proud of their ingenuity. They know my weakness and have played their cards well and with sensitivity. I couldn't feel offended. If I did I'd hurt them. I would have termed it emotional blackmail and pooh-poohed the whole thing, but they were clever. Didn't give me that option. Worded the mail with skill. So that's how I am learning today what being uprooted really means.




I watched my home being dismantled twig by twig. The only words I heard were....sell, give away, discard, burn.... all the old memories in albums, the treasured letters in my hand-painted files. I watched as a tsunami of sorts took options and choices away from my feeble grasp, as it swept away years of building bit by bit in one big swell. I was being uprooted! Would I take root elsewhere in a foreign soil, I pondered. Will the main root be pulled out without damage? Will it take root again?




I left the thoughts unanswered for I did not know. The positive answer is yes it will. The cynical one is yes but how...Just taking root doesn't signify that the heart has taken root as well.




I have things to see to. All isn't wrapped up yet. Let the root decide how it will survive....I will just go with the flow.


"Keep my hand firmly in yours," I say to my friend up there. It helps as it has always done. I smile. He has His plans and they're definitely better than the best. In the meantime my children await my arrival eagerly with open arms!