Slides and Joy Rides...

One of my earliest childhood memories is that of sitting in the darkened drawing-room of my grandparents’ house (henceforth referred to as ‘that’ house) with my whole family and watching a slide-show of old photographs. My ‘whole family’ consisted of my parents, my uncle, my aunt, my little cousin and of course, my grandparents. These photographs were usually clicked on out-station trips that the family had made; someone had come up with the priceless idea of converting the pictures to slides. And thus had started the ritual of sitting down for these ‘trips-down-memory-lane’. Every once in a while, post-dinner, the compact little projector would be brought out, placed on a table and my uncle would play narrator. One-by-one, he would guide us through the slides, offering brief descriptions of each of them.

The years passed by and the constitution of my family changed. After a prolonged illness, my grandmother left us at the age of seventy-five. I can’t place a finger on how things changed after her death, but they did. Somehow, somewhere. Three years ago I lost my grandfather too. Like any other family, we moved on. But our busy routines snatched away the pleasure of those frequent visits. And, needless to say, of the slide-shows that had formed an integral part of my life.

Recently, some relatives happened to visit us and we had a family-get-together in that house. Post dinner, someone came up with the idea of a slide-show. And all of us readily agreed. In a few minutes, we were all ready. After a gap of six or seven years, here we were, sitting in the same darkened room, our eyes glued to the wall. As images of the yesteryears flashed on the wall and disappeared after the respective narration, I experienced that same childhood thrill, that same excitement; for a brief period, it was as if my grandparents had come back, that they were sitting in the same room and reliving their pasts as well.

In that span of forty minutes, the family vacations of long-long-ago became tangible realities - my grandparents, both young and spirited; my father and my uncle, men in the prime of their youth; their trustworthy blue ambassador, a dependable companion who took them wherever they wished to go. And decades later, in the present day, we all sat face-to-face with the yesteryears.

Why those lifeless bits of film are so important to me, some may ask. And I have my answer ready. There is so much about the past that I have witnessed only through these slide-shows, for instance, my father’s pet rabbit, Bunny, who died when my father was in doing his MBA, our palatial house in Nainital, which is today practically in ruins, birthdays that were celebrated with extended family and friends, and so much more. To me, these slide shows are like time-machines, or, more precisely, like the ‘Pensieve’ in the Harry Potter Series.

Tomorrow, the constitution of my family is bound to change further – some people will leave forever, and some will come in. And someday, when we are having another get-together, with both old and new family members, I will ask, make a special request, for the projector to be brought out again. So that we can, as a family, relish another beautiful rendezvous with the yesteryears.

Times Like These Make Me Believe That Mr. God Exists...

Don’t get me wrong; I believe in God just as much as chronic alcoholics believe in alcohol or chain smokers believe in cigarettes. (Stupid analogies, but they communicate the intensity of my faith). But then in one’s life, there are times when one questions the existence of that Power. Regardless of the strength of one’s conviction in Him.

I had been questioning Mr. God for quite some time. Maybe it was escapism; I refused to take the blame for all the things that had gone wrong and therefore comfortably shifted the charge to Him. These ‘things’ included Papa’s moving away to Hyderabad for an assignment, my post-graduation plans still being on hold, MICA abandoning me and a lot of other stuff.

And soon, miraculously, God did take heed. He saw me sulking and pouting and He heard me questioning Him. And He took action. No, He did not stop Papa’s shifting to Hyderabad, He did not get me a (magical) call for a post-graduation, and He DEFINITELY did not get me shortlisted for MICA. Instead, He made me win a prize on Zapak.com. A Garnier Gift Hamper worth about six hundred bucks. The hamper arrived three days ago, during one of my ‘über-low’ phases. And it was pretty loaded…there was their new ‘Mattifying Fairness Cream’, their new ‘Pimple Zapper’, an ‘Exfoliating Facewash’, a ‘Deep Clean Gel Face Wash’, a ‘ Pore Purifying Astringent’ and a ‘Daily Treatment Crème’.

And you know what? For a few hours, I did forget all those potential downers. For a few hours, I was all smiles, proudly displaying my new acquisitions to everyone who was around and calling people up and telling them. For a few hours, I was a child again, basking in the glory of having won a contest. And I thanked Mr. God for having taken some time out from His busy schedule just to gift me those broad grins.

Looking back, I can think of a lot of instances when the grins have come in at a least expected but most needed time. This one time, for instance, when I was really low, I decided that the only thing that I could do to feel better was to go to the temple. There, in those peaceful surroundings, I prayed and prayed for the peace to somehow enter my mind too. I wished desperately for one good reason to smile. (Yes, I know I sound terribly defeated, but that is precisely how I felt back then.)

After I finished praying, I got up, and with my eyes transfixed on Sai Baba, I started walking out of the temple. Backwards, mind you, for someone had once told me to never turn my back on God. And suddenly I felt my leg getting caught in something. In someone else’s leg, actually. And before I realized it, I had fallen REALLY REALLY CLUMSILY on top of this really thin man (poor soul!). Needless to say, the entire lot of devotees there started staring at me. And the next few moments were filled with sincere apologies from both of us (strangely the man asked me if I was hurt) and dollops of embarrassment. I hurriedly walked out. My face must have been red with embarrassment.

The funny thing is, once I started walking back home, I began seeing the funny side of the whole situation. And before I knew it, I was grinning. And I couldn’t stop grinning. Passersby on the road must’ve thought I was crazy or something. But the very thought of the atrocious way in which I had fallen only minutes ago was way too hilarious for me to control myself. And then I realized: I had asked God for a smile, and He had given me a grin immediately, probably as a stop-gap arrangement. The purpose of visiting Sai Baba, therefore, had been temporarily served.

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Sometimes, when you are going through a similar phase when you want to scream and shout out to Him that you don’t deserve what you are getting, and you aren’t getting what you actually deserve, wait for some time. For a LOT of time, if necessary. But trust me on this one: He will gift you your broad grins too, all in good time. Your grin might not be for the reason you desire, but it will be good enough for that moment. As for the real reason, that will come your way too, in some way or the other. I know it is still too early for me to comment on this so confidently, but something prompts me to. Because some days when I am low, and questioning the existence of God, I either happen to spot puppies, or see a rainbow, or get an unexpected phone call from some one close, or find some other reason to smile. And then I know. I know that He exists, and will watch over us ALL the time.

Much Love,

Misha.

Pixie and Me

Inspired by ‘Marley and Me’ (refer previous post), I decided to dedicate this particular entry to my dog, Pixie. This morning, I sat indulging in my favorite activity – thinking – and I thought yet again about how similar Pixie and I are. People usually tend to draw comparisons between themselves and their siblings; I draw comparisons between Pixie and myself. And even though we aren’t quite the same species, I am amazed at how much we have in common.

Both Pixie and I love people. A house full of immediate family members or guests delights both of us equally. The only difference is that Pixie wants to gobble up all the attention by seating himself strategically in the middle of everyone.

We both love going out with Dad - he on long walks or drives and I on book-shopping expeditions.

Both of us gorge on sweets.

Both of us are EXTREMELY fussy about our eating habits.

Both of us love to sleep.

Both of us are pretty demonstrative about our bad moods.

Both of us love photography – I do the photographer’s job and he does the modelling (and HOW!!)

Both of us love pillows.

Both of us try being adventurous and return with dog-bites.

Both of us love being pampered.

Both of us find the same people irritating (it’s true!!!)

Both of us can get extremely obstinate.

Both of us love Public Displays of Affection (to a certain extent, however) on ourselves.

Both of us love acting like kids.

And finally:

Both of us love Parle-G biscuits!!

That’s all for now, Folks!! See you later…..

Much Love,

Me.

Of Dogs And Humans

Dear all,

I just finished reading a book called ‘Marley and Me’. Authored by John Grogan, ‘M & M’ is all about the experiences of the Grogan family with its Labrador retriever, Marley. Now, Marley is all the things a pet shouldn’t be; he is destructive, disobedient, messy and in serious need of tranquilizers most of the time, but as you read on, you realize that everything apart, one thing that doesn’t change is Marley’s loyalty. Despite thick and thin, despite good and bad, and despite the changing behaviours of his caretakers Marley the dog continues to stand by his best friends-his family.

The Grogans, John and Jenny bring home a little yellow ball of fur shortly after they get married. What encourages them to bring home a puppy, apart from the fact that they are both dog-lovers, is that neither of them has taken up the responsibility of ‘nurturing’ a living being per se, and they both feel that before they start a family, raising a dog would be ‘good practice’. Shortly after that the subject of the book comes home. And from there begins the story of ‘the world’s worst dog’. A MUST read for all dog-lovers.

The book isn’t only about the unforgettable canine, though. It is interspersed with the life of the family; of the tough phases the couple’s marriage goes through, of blood-curdling incidents in the neighbourhood, of the author’s career…in short, the author has compressed about thirteen years of his life beautifully in this three-hundred page creation.

The book touched me in many ways, so much so that towards the end, when Marley is about to die, I started crying. I remembered the time my first dog Candy had died and realized, yet again, the value of my present dog Pixie, who is also in the evening of his dog-life.

Speaking of the book and giving in to the emotions that are surging within me now, I really want to share this little something with you. In today’s times, when you have such few people you can actually, seriously count on, undying loyalty and unconditional love are synonymous to heaven. When I look back on my twenty-one year old life, I see many things, both good and bad. I see people who have stood by their family and friends no matter what. I see people who have left them right when they needed them the most. I see the laughter and I see the tears. But what I see most is the need for loyalty and love. In everybody.

Some days when I am really low, I try and feed biscuits to stray dogs. Or else if I am broke or feeling stingy, I simply call out to them and stroke them affectionately. Either way, they accept my gesture with all their heart and soul, not once demanding anything more than that love and concern. And the best part is, the next time I walk down that same road, even if I don’t see them, they see me. And they come to me on their own wagging their tails away to glory. They recognize me, and tell me in their own special way that they love me because I have spent a few minutes of my life trying to make them feel loved and cared for. They always have time for me, and when I don’t have time for them, they understand. They come back another day, all prepared to forget my lack of attention and finding no need to forgive because I have committed no crime according to them. In other words, they harbour no spite. And that is the basic difference between them, the ‘silent’ species, and us, the ‘intelligent’ species. This might sound funny, but if even a fraction of the humans in this world can be as clean at heart as these ‘dumb’ animals, the world will become a much more beautiful place to live in.

Thank you for your time.

Much Love,

Misha.

Santa Claus: Myth or Reality?

Four months ago, on Christmas Day, I reached Bangalore for a short, but much-needed vacation. After the initial gleeful welcoming screams of my ten-year-old niece, Meghna and my five-year-old nephew, Akash, I learnt eventually that they were a wee-bit upset. The reason? Santa Claus hadn’t visited them that day. One probable reason, according to both the kids, was that Santa Claus had visited them at the stroke of midnight at their residence, but since they had been away until Christmas morning, Santa hadn’t found them and had hence decided against giving them gifts that year.

The reality, of course, was that my brother-in-law hadn’t been able to pick anything up for them in good time, since he, my sister and the kids had themselves been out of town,vacationing, until they had returned to Bangalore that morning. Sensing the kids’ disappointment and knowing that buying them something before the day ended was imperative, he left the house on the pretext of finishing some errands, returned in some time with the gifts, and hid them in the kids’ room.

A little later, Meghna squealed in delight- she had chanced upon the gift-wrapped parcels. “Santa DID give us our gifts after all!!!!” she shouted. (I have to mention, at this point, my brother-in-law’s feigned expression of surprise. One would have thought he believed in Santa Claus himself!) Anyway, the brother-and-sister duo then eagerly sat down to open their gifts. And I witnessed all this- a silent, much-amused spectator.

Initially, I must confess, I had found it all a little stupid…considering that I had learnt about the non-existence of Santa Claus when I was just a little older than Akash. But in hindsight, I realise the value of that one blind belief, and of the immense happiness that it carries. All year round, children long for that one occasion when they can bank on the red-robed, white-bearded jolly Grandfather-figure to grant them their most heartfelt wish. Someone they have never really seen or even heard. And even someday we learn that Santa Claus is but a fictitious figure, don’t we all wish to believe in someone, in some Santa-Claus-equivalent, who will grant us our wishes? All our lives? And I realize why this happens…it happens because no matter where we are, no matter how old we get, and no matter how many ups and downs we experience in life, we never, ever, cease to have wishes. The wish may be small, for example, craving a tiny bar of chocolate, or it may be big- a house, for instance. Or it may be neither…maybe just a tiny power nap, or a holiday, or the glimpse of a loved one, or of the touch of your beloved…whatever the wishes may be, they are there. And they are inevitable. Can we remember a single day when we haven’t wished for anything?

Sometimes, if we are lucky, we come across our own version of a Santa Claus, and our wishes are granted. However, more often than not, they do not transform into reality…they remain what they began as. Wishes. Plain and simple, genuine and heartfelt, Wishes. And we feel a little, just a little, a teensy bit dejected. But then, what would life have been, without wishes, both fulfilled and unfulfilled? We think life is reality. But, in reality, is it any more than one big wish? And, let’s face it; at the end of the day, don’t we all crave to believe, just once more, in someone like Santa Claus?