Mother and child bonding have been depicted in stories, sculpture, art, and this special bond is studied and even glorified. While the father remains an elusive figure, as protector and provider, it is the mother who signifies, eternal love and compassion. Human children are dependent on their mother for survival, for far longer, than other species. This bond is eternal as without it, we would not survive, in this universe. Please treasure your mother above all else, as she is the one who made you, in more ways than you can imagine. History speaks of great male leaders and their magnificent achievements. Our ambitions and conquests are nothing, when compared to the sacrifices of our mothers, who helped us survive all the bloodshed and ruin. Our hearts should be ever grateful and not try to understand, the reason for our mother’s love. It’s depth is unknowable, and it is the single most powerful reason, that we are alive today.
Old memories from FB:
The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of. -Blaise Pascal, philosopher and mathematician (1623-1662) Each mother and daughter has a relationship that reason does not define, only the heart knows; when skin touches skin that a special bond exists. The eyes communicate fathoms of depth and just an inflection in the voice strikes a cord, that no one else can play. Madonna and the child are age old ties, that define our very existence and defy the age of reason… Form Aug 2 2012 posting.
When humanoids first walked the earth, they must have looked up at spectacular sunrises and sunsets. Our universe will go in all its glory, long after; all of us humanoids, are gone. As we looked up into the heavens through the millennia, what did our minds seek? We must have wondered at the stars and the Milky Way and the celestial sightings. At the same time, we must have sought the understanding of our life, on Mother Earth. Our ancestors must have sought to grasp the meaning of this existence and what it means for our future. There is no single purpose, that a God bestows on our foreheads, when we are born. We are left to our own devices; we have free choice, withing our limited circumstances. It remains up to us to choose wisely, now that we have accumulated the knowledge, of a million years of evolution. Knowledge is just the sum of our past experiences, stored in our Human brain. Here we must dwell, now we must create, to make our life meaningful. I look up at my heavens and see this celestial sight, created just for me at this moment. My purpose is to remain fully conscious of this moment, and stay focused on this event. My mind stops its chatter, and I live as the part of the universe all around me. Life and I walk hand in hand, with no conflict, at peace with each other, till death Our universe will go on, so what is there to fear?
Came upon this old memory in my FB page from many years ago:
Its chilling breath sent shudders down to my bones, and its dark shadow seemed to cover all the horizons and stifle my very soul. Yet he is an old companion and I no longer fear him, or am swayed by his power. He has made many attempts before to tempt me to accept his embrace; from my piddling birth, to a great fall as a child, horrific auto accidents, burning towers, and now the descent into a darkness, that only he can induce.
I turn around and laugh in his harrowing face; and bid him to be gone, and pick on some other purposeless soul. I wave him away with a dismissal thought; as I have no time for his histrionics, and a life of wonder to live. My purpose is greater than his; and he gazes long into my eyes trying to drag me into his darkness. Then he sees my smile, for as old friends we can read each other’s minds. “Death be gone,” I order for I have things to do, and deeds yet to accomplish. My happiness; dissipates his darkness, and light reemerges. I still have the power of the life force, that needs to bring the message of enlightenment to those around me. We are not thrown here or leave by chance; and each one of us has a greater purpose, which we must strive to achieve. Let my life sing and show the path to the glory of this creation, and bring joy to all around me. I have to walk bravely into the night; bearing this beacon of hope, and not be cowed down into submission by fear or despair. Live true to our vision of compassion for all beings; and that alone will be our eternal achievement. I truly believe that even my old friend death, will welcome me with open arms, when I am done with this idealistic life.
A lovely spring evening, and today’s work is done. It is the end of the week in fact, and I get up from my desk and stretch. I venture out hopefully, to take a walk, and refresh myself, from being tied to a computer, all day. Not many people are about, as I start to get into my stride. I adjust the volume on my headphones, to the music playing from my iPhone. It is the Beatles, playing ‘Elanor Rigby,’ and I pick up pace, while reminiscing about my school days. The printed paper, the Jesuit Father passed to me, with the words of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, for us to study for Moral Science Class. It was one of the 3 songs we studied, over 3 weeks. I knew the words well and the music brought pleasant memories, of old friends, and companions. What an education it was, and what great bonds we formed.
The walkways lead me past some of the other people, who are up and about, taking their evening walk. I pass some couples with their dogs. We all kept a safe social distance from each other. I would often step on to the road, to let a couple pass on the walkway, as there is little traffic these days. Silently etiquette is maintained between us as we pass, avoiding coughing or coming close. By now the Rolling Stones are playing ‘Brown Sugar,’ and I am bent down, slowly climbing the slight incline. The nearby wooded path beckoned me, and I crossed the road from the walkway, to head into the trees.
Within a few steps on the by now familiar path, it went into a steep incline. I knew the path well, and stepped on familiar flat rocks, avoiding the slippery slope. It was a zig zag pattern I followed of my own choosing, and anyone watching; would have been baffled, at my approach. It was to make the climb easier, and gave me better views of my surroundings, instead of just gazing down and concentrating, on the soil and the roots. This wood and I had become old friends, and we knew each other well. Now in the spring evening except for the occasional blossoms, most of the lofty Oaks and Maples, were still bare. The wind did not whisper, as it did in the summer, through the thick leaf cover. Now it was more the sighing sound, of the open sky, as the wind swept freely about.
There along the way were fallen trees, whicht I had to cross, as
I followed the path higher. Then it started to level off and I saw, the Arch of
the Spring Blossoms, strung across the path. It was like a gate, made specially
for me to enter, as if I imagined it to be a gateway, to a different land. I
stopped to take a photograph of the path which beckoned, my very soul. What was
so special, that it drew me back again and again, to walk only this path, and
no other? I have the whole universe to explore, and still I stand here and admire
the blossoms, and love this sight.
As I walked on and passed under the Arch of the Spring Blossoms, I passed into a different realm. The old laws did not hold, for now. I found myself in a strange land, of quite and beauty. Life was reduced to its elemental form, of man and nature, as one. There was no me walking on the path anymore. In fact, it was not a path distinct and different, or an extension, outside me. We are one, and so is the forest around us. The birds that fly across the branches above, and the deer who stand below and stare up at me, with their white tails raised, ready for flight. We are all one in this moment, and time becomes a wave, and space is flowing. I look up to see and an eagle flies high above, in the clear blue sky, with white puffy clouds, floating in space.
The setting sun sends its rays, at angles, through the bare branches, to my foot steps. I walk on and the light and shadows, play with my eyes, in delight. What is inside, is outside, and what is outside, is inside; in a strange feeling, as the boundaries of my body blur. The unity of everything into one moment, can only be experienced, or so this path, led me to believe. I am no longer a walker, who walks his solitary path. Now there is only one universe, and the path itself is gone. There is no longer a goal for the future, or a fear of the past. There is only this one forgotten raindrop, sheltered on a fallen leaf, glistening in the rays of the dying sun, as if alive with joy. I meditate on the light, and here is no goal to strive for; as desire falls on the path, left behind.
The weight of existence is lifted; from my shoulders, and I walk erect. Each step is now an effortless move; as nothing binds it down, anymore. The Earth Mother, on this Earth Day; binds me to her bosom, and I am content. The vines hang down from the tall Oaks and I can almost feel; the budding leaves, about to sprout. Nature is no longer a mystery, as I have become nature. A Robin calls and a sparrow answers, and now I listen only to the music, of my fellow creatures. A feeling arises, from the soil; beneath my feet, that now I have become the path. Who was the walker, and who watched him in the woods?
Bergen County now stands at 15,830 positive test results for
now stands at 15,148 positive test results for coronavirus
now stands at 13,994 positive test results for coronavirus
now stands at 12,814 positive test results for coronavirus
May Day 2020, NJ – ‘ Ah, look at all the lonely people ‘
In this time, some of us are reevaluating our values, and our pursuits, in our life. It has taken a Pandemic to cloister people into their homes, to isolate, and hopefully become human again. As we examine our actions and our lifestyle, I wonder what have our possessions given us, in our time of need? As time passes, those of us who are wise, simplify our needs and aspirations. We realize how little we need to survive, on a day to day basis. We start to question the continued accumulation of more material objects. We realize a lot of humanity, has none of our comforts, or our security, of home and food. We also realize that a virus attacks anyone, and no religion, or class, is immune from its effects. We are all in this together, as simple, plain, human beings. A universal income is within our reach; as no person should starve, in our modern world. Instead we will see million’s livelihood ruined and will see them struggling for food and survival, if this pandemic spreads further.
A more equitable society with law and order, is a must, for human development. Hopefully we will all come out of our introspection, stronger, and more willing to make the sacrifices needed; for all of us, to prosper together. Great economic and social change is coming, and may it be for the better for everyone, after this health crisis has passed. We should not allow this to develop into a mass killing of innocents, due to lack of food and other essential commodities. We must learn from past famines and other natural disasters in human history. For the strongest to survive, we must also provide for the weakest; as in a chain the weakest link, causes the whole chain to break. We must do better and learn to take care of ourselves, and not get distracted, by fake news, or poor political and social actions. Humanity is about loving and caring for all creatures, in the worst of times. May we all rise to this challenge together to raise our thinking, and do the right actions within reason!
I am surprised, to read that in the US, “ Research and
development have been cut so much that the US is now in second place and
high-quality higher education is becoming unaffordable for most middle-class
students. Yet every time someone proposes new investments in our future, they
are told that the nation is broke, massively in debt, and cannot afford new
The Jouirnal Blog continued, “The United States had plenty of
money half a century ago. In the 1950s and 1960s, we paid down the huge World
War II debt at a time when we maintained a much larger military than today and
fought wars in Korea and Vietnam. We built the Interstate Highway System and
much of the other physical infrastructure we use today. We funded vigorous
research and development, including the fabulously expensive Apollo program. We
supported higher education well enough that middle-class students could
graduate from elite universities without crippling debt.”
I am surprised, as I always believed that the best years are
ahead of us. Yet the article sounded as if our wild economy, and can-do
attitude, is a setting Western sun. We have become a nation that refuses to invest
in itself, it allows private business to thrive, at the cost of public
expenditure. Who will build the future modes of transportation, or the new fuel
cells and batteries? Future cities will house, millions in a new tech world. Future
farms will be climate controlled. Flora and Fauna will be preserved in video,
and reserves. Humans will use artificial companions, for living, and transportation.
Entertainment will be through focused sensory stimulation experiences, including
physical, chemical and mental stimulants.
Traditionally we have been a nation of Innovators and Free Thinkers as part of the American Way. Unfortunately, the cost of fostering human social conditions, for this innovation and education, has been going up. Over the past 5 decades, cost of social justice and security, has largely drawn from the pocketbook of employees, instead of the pockets of the corporations. Even before Reagan the cry to lower taxes, on the corporate and Wall Street big wigs, had a quaint resonance, in the elected house and Senate. Lobbyist swarmed and payroll taxes doubled many times, since initiation. Corporate taxes continued to slide, even hailed today by current President Trump, as one of his proudest moment, in this White House.
It is time now, to once again invest in the American Spirit and our people. Ever since the revolution, we have always risen from the ashes of past wars, and failures, with even more strength and determination. We are on the cusp of another revolution, where we tax more, and invest more, into American roots. The roots will grow green shoots which will create the forests of tomorrow. These schools and, universities are incubators, of our future world. What we teach them today, as basic human values, will take our place; in the universe, of tomorrow May they live long and prosper, on our blue planet!
Sam looked at me, with those large innocent eyes of hers, blinked her larger eye lashes twice, smiled, and said to me, “You have always had a way with words, Ashok. I can never imagine, what you will think of, next. I wouldn’t even last five minutes, in that crazy head of yours?” She became lost in her own thoughts as we waited, I squeezed Sam’s hand and she looked at me and I smiled back, as these moments were rare. I looked at my watch as I had to leave. The Producer came into the recording studio, and gave us a thumbs up sign, and Sam yelled with delight. He was followed by the sound engineer, and our agent Suresh.
“I am tired, and have an early train, to catch,” I said.
“Ashok, that last track you laid today, is just amazing, how do you come up with these rhythms, and beats.” Suresh gushed, giving me a hasty hug. Suresh is my agent and childhood friend. “Why do you have to go on this discovery trip, I cannot understand?”
“Like I told you Suresh, something is calling out to me, from out there. I am going to the rock, where Swami Vivekananda sat, where Lord Ram sat, and prayed to Lord Shiva. Something is telling me to go there, and find the truth, of what is India? I can’t explain it.”
“You can’t do this to me,” Suresh, “to us”, he continued
I replied. “I have given all I have, for this album, for over a year, now I need some time for myself. Suresh my dear friend, this is not about you or us, this is a strange hollow feeling, inside of me. All my mathematical rigor and training is lost, within this, self-doubt. I do not even know myself or what is my purpose. I have made up my mind, to just go out there, and travel our land. I hope to find what is missing, in my current life?”
Sam went off with the sound engineer, to listen to the last tracks, we had played. She had a better ear for music, I just knew instinctively, when my drum notes flowed in rhythms, like mathematical equations. I just followed my instincts, and strict composition steps, and made my notes, follow my mathematical patterns, which only I could see. We had realized early in our partnership, that it is Sam, who just made the melody flow, with her singing. She played the guitar and harmonica and had an amazingly versatile voice. Somehow mine and Sam’s singing, worked well together, and this was tour second album together. We co wrote the lyrics of most of our songs.
“My work is done here.” and I handed my drum sticks to our producer, and walked out.
The next day I had started my journey, just like Mahatma Gandhi had started his journey, on his arrival from South Africa. I had my sleeping bag and my laptop, and phone and books for the way. I wanted to see India, from the ground, and hear the names, of the familiar stations. I wanted to hear the languages, and the dialects, of the people, from the millions, who had passed before us. They too must have traveled on these same rails, on their way south. I wondered how many of them had sought the meaning of their lives, in the clackity-clack of these trains wheels, rolling down these rails.
Delhi was left far behind and I heard the clackety-clack of the railroad tracks, as the electric trains did not huff and puff, anymore. The countryside passed, as I gazed out the window, and he went from State to State. I had a sleeper and slept in my sleeping bag, on the foam-covered bed. Late in the night, I heard the now familiar calls, of the tea hawkers, and the food vendors. The PM had helped his father, at a tea stall, I thought to himself, as another day passed, on the tracks. I loved the smell and color of the passing countryside. The sun broke out and the fields are green, and I am away from the dry cold land, of my air polluted city. The green Ghats beckoned my soul, and I thought I saw, a waterfall with a rainbow, flash by from my window, and then it was gone.
An year has passed, and I have become a Math teacher, in an all-girls school, in the town of Gangtok, in Sikkim. I had come there to study, in the Buddhist Monastery, almost nine months ago, with a companion I found, in Ma’s ashram, in Pondicherry. It had been a long journey by train and Bus, to cross into the mountains, of the Eastern Himalayas. We had then hired a jeep, to take us, across some very remote areas, to the monastery, at the top of a cliff face. We had to climb on foot up the narrow path, along the cliff face, to get to the Monastery. There we finally come to a rest. We were admitted by the Abbot, and we studied with the monks.
We meditated for three months, and then went herd gathering, in the mountains. I helped to bring the animals back, from their summer, alpine forage lands. The rhythms of the seasons, and the might of the towering mountains, moved me. We would begin by rising at early morning, before dawn and start our trek. We had to climb a thousand meters up, around the hills, to get to the grazing grounds. My mind and body were fully engaged in these long walks. away from civilization. They made me face the last of my inner demons. As I gathered the Goats and the cattle, I made a new life, for myself. The cows and the goats helped me gain the realization, of what I am.
My meditation is progressing well, with my guide, and I feel a healthy glow of joy, for all creatures, I am now comfortable with myself. I sat on the side of some running water, taking a break. I had my bare feet, in the cold, clear, water, of this mountain tributary, of the Teesta river. My mind is as clear, as the flowing water, and only time is still. As I watch, a fish nibbles, on my big toe, and then swims on, as if, uninterested. But at that time, I was fully present in this moment. I have peered into the eye of this fish, who peered back, and there was a deep connection. I felt a sudden belonging to this eye, this fish, this stream, this land, this India, this universe. I looked up, and the sun was rising, over the evergreens, its rays lit up the rushing water, and my being, and this creation, is complete. Tears of joy, ran down my cheeks, at the realization; that the sun’s eye, and the fish’s eye, and the light reflecting off the waters, are part of my being.
I bade farewell to the Abbott and on his assistant’s advice I started teaching Math’s again, at the High School for Girls. They were desperate for a good math’s teacher in Gangtok. The girls loved his no-nonsense style and fell into his fevered pace, of teaching math’s. Their minds were fresh as the mountain air, and they seemed to grasp everything Ashok taught, with the rapidity of sponges. Their marks began to show steady progress, and the laggards were helped, by his open teaching methods. Tough concepts and theorems, where explained by examples, they could understand and use. He had taught far advanced students before, but the girls of this new generation, had access to so much more information. He challenged them individually, and in small competitive groups, and his students grew.
The music teacher was the one, who encouraged Ashok to help (when he found out that Ashok was a drummer), with the group, who had won the State Championship, in group singing, last year. The area had some very bright musicians and the girls in the school, had especially great voices. It wasn’t every year but for the past few years, they had some outstanding talent. He loved this work and he threw himself into the music and the girls loved him for his strange rhythms and sounds. He tried to teach some of them the mathematical patterns behind them and some of the brighter ones understood. Their voices began to rise and fall with the rhythms he adopted from them, making a strangely uniquely sound of the mountains of Sikkim. You could almost feel, as if the music was carrying you there. The beat one was hearing is the beat of the hunters and gatherers, who had done this in these beautiful mountains, from time immemorial. Everyone is saying that this time, the group may win the National championship.
When he got home late, he checked his email and noticed a message from his old friend Sam. He had not heard from her for a few months, so was intrigued, and opened the message. She wrote, “Dear Ashok, Just had dinner with the producer in Mumbai. We have got ourselves, a multi crore deal, for two albums (including “Dunia” our new album). We open this Christmas at the Goa Christmas Festival, with Dunia, doing a National rollout. You are the drummer, and cocreator, singer, and the new corporate producer is dying, to finally meet you. He is a mathematician also, and was mumbling your kind of lingo, on algorithms and geometrical patters, in the music. More when we meet, your’s, Sam”
“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” -E.M. Forster, novelist (1 Jan 1879-1970)
The day had started on a bright note, as I left my flat in
Gurgaon and headed off to my office. It was not far in distance, a mere 7 miles,
in a nearby glass and steel office tower. It was the traffic cacophony, I was
trying to beat, which had always bothered me. Soon as I crawled in my car to
the end of our lane, I beheld the same daily mayhem; at the merge point, with
the feeder road. The sound of all variety of honking, of truck and car horns,
was constantly blaring I quickly put up my window and turned on my AC, even
though it was a relatively cooler day. When I had moved to my apartment, it had
been a deceptively serene lane, with minimal traffic about 7 years ago. I had
just graduated from my college, got my current job, at the multinational IT
firm, as software security trainee.
Since then Gurgaon had exploded in traffic as more and more
people, moved in. The empty plots started to fill along with the new towers
that were only tall cranes, when I moved in. Now I am surrounded, by huge
residential towers, which had led to the explosion in traffic, at all the
crossroads, during rush hour. I found nothing on the morning news on the radio,
as I waited. I switched to the disc player. The music that Sudha loves so much,
filled my car, and I closed my eyes, thinking of her, as I waited for the light
to change. Ours had been an arranged marriage, which had blossomed into love.
She has introduced me to the classical Indian music gharana, that she had been
tutored at, as a young girl, growing up in Lucknow in UP.
We were of the same caste but our upbringing could not have
been more different. She had been brought up, in an orthodox Hindu household.
Her father was a professor at the University, and her mother a teacher at the
local school. They celebrated all the festivals with regularity and she was
encouraged to study music and the arts. Her mother would tie her saree around
her waist; she would tuck it tightly into her petticoat to avoid any flames.
She would then proceed to show her daughter, the fundamentals of vegetarian
cooking. Being the girl in the family,
she had to provide steady help to her mother in the kitchen, to learn the
traditional dishes for family meals. It was her Guru Ji, who mesmerized me, as
his rendering of the traditional Ragas while playing a Harmonium, accompanied
by his table players and ensemble, was truly uplifting.
Despite my lack of knowledge of this ancient tradition, I
also soon also discovered, that I had no ear for music. I could not follow the
nuances of the tones, or the flow and beats of the melodies. I missed all the
changes in tempos and beats, and could just hum the most basic of melodies, in
the shower. I had listened more to western bands and foreign artists, singing
in English, in School and Engineering College. I had led an isolated life from
general society, as the hostel and the college, was an intense place. We worked
very hard just to stay up with the courses we are attending, each year. Each
year the courses became more intense and I escaped into Western modern music
and listened with my headphones and cheap device for endless hours, sometimes
even while I studied. I completed my Masters from IIT Delhi and had started
working right away.
Sudha came into my life after I had settled into my job and
saved some money, to rent my own two-bedroom apartment with two bathrooms.
Somebody from my family was always visiting and one room was for my parents or
other visitors. More and more young professionals had moved in, and there was a
lot of gossip on where to eat, and where to hang out after work. New
restaurants had opened catering to a wide variety of Indian food, and some
Italian and Chinese and Thai. Sometimes when we could get away, we would even
meet for lunch, in the various cafes and new gourmet chef’s offerings.
When my father decided that I had a steady job and
sufficient savings, he had my mother show me the picture of Sudha amongst other
girls, which my Mom liked. She was the daughter of his best friend from his college
days and of our caste also. I had gone through the photos on a whim, not
expecting to find anyone I would find attractive. Suddenly the picture of Sudha
passed before the front of my face, and my eyes seemed to catch a glimpse of
“This is the one,
your father likes.” Said in my mother’s usual stern tone, when she did not
approve of something, her husband wanted. I stared at a lovely young woman,
clad in a traditional Indian Saree, in bright Red color. The traditional
Banarsi Sari had a gold embroidered border that framed her face and was draped
smartly, across her body. She sat erect, strumming at her Veena with one hand
and singing intensely. Her hand had henna and her long fingers extended out in
the gesture of a mudra, which seemed very mysterious to me. I was intrigued, as
she seemed to be lost in her performance. She probably had no idea, that this
photograph, was even taken. She reminded me of the Goddess Sarasvati, I had
seen in Raja Ram Mohan Roy’s painting, which my great grandfather had framed,
from a calendar in our old home. It had always intrigued me and I couldn’t
believe my eyes, that a real women could exist like her, as I thought she was
just a fable.
I looked up inquiringly at my mother, who was already
pulling the photo of another more suitable girl, having fulfilled her marital
“Who is she Maa Ji?” I asked pointing at the disappearing
Sudha, knowing she didn’t like the formal title, but preferred, the modern mummy.
“It is Sudha” said Mom flipping the photo over and checking
some details, “she is the daughter of his friend Bipin in Lucknow.”
“Tell me more,” I said reaching out, and taking the phot
from her retreating hand. I looked closely and started admiring her thin lips,
angular nose and wide fair forehead. Large eyes gazed away, looking at the
mudra that her long fingers were making. A small gold ornament ran along the
parted flat dark hair, peeking out from under her Sari’s Pallu. Around her neck
above her young breasts, peeking above her silk blouse was a Sarasvati goddess
pendant. My head spun, at the sight, of my thoughts personified. I was even
more attracted to this strange mythical creature, my father wanted to become my
“Oh nothing he is Professor Sahib’s college friend. They
were very close even though Bipin was from Lucknow. We have seen Shobha grow up
from our visits between our homes, over the years.” as she would refer to my
father. “She is too traditional for you and from a small town. You need a
vibrant and modern young girl, to suite your multinational lifestyle.” My
She handed me the photo of another girl and said, “This one
is more suited to being your wife. She graduated from Ladies Sri Ram College here
in Delhi, and is becoming a lawyer. You should marry a professional working
women, as now both of you have to work, to live a good lifestyle.” Mom advised
me with a smile.
I vaguely remembered a large home in Lucknow from my
childhood visits, listening to a girl learning singing, in the home somewhere.
My father was happy there, and I had enjoyed the visits, though my mother had
kept me close. I looked at an innocent face staring of the stranger, my mother
handed to me. The girl was smiling, but it did not do anything for me, and I
handed it back to mummy, and continued to stare at Shobha’s photo. There was
something in her intensity of expression, which seemed to say, that she truly
loved her life.
Much to my mother’s disappointment and my father’s delight,
I was married off to Sudha within six months. It was a regular middle class
marriage with all the ceremonies and Sudha and her friends entertained us one
evening, at the Sangeet, to my father’s joy. I was mesmerized at her rendering
and my mother was still getting over the shock, but was warming up to their kind
hospitality. Our barat had gone to Lucknow and their arrangements were well
suited, to our caste’s expectations, of food and places to stay. My father and
Bipin my new Father in law got along fabulously, and catered to all the demands
of our various relatives and friends, who attended the functions. After the
marriage, we came back from the gracious city of Lucknow, and my parents held a
reception to welcome the new bride in Gurgaon.
Sudha and I set off to Nanital for our honeymoon and over
the next week I discovered, that she was full of life and a joy to be with. We
took walks, sat by the lake, and talked about our friends and our families. She
was much more interesting and I soon ran out of the tales of my hostel life,
and college pranks. She seemed uninterested in the world of cyber security, to
which I had devoted my life, since leaving college. I started to enjoy her
telling of life from a very human perspective, while I seemed tied up, in my
digital world. She was beautiful, and I became enchanted with her common sense
and quick responses. She always seemed ready to explore, new ideas and experiences,
and I felt faded in my experiences.
A completely new world seemed to open up for me, which I had
lost in my insular life. Our nights were fun and she showed me how to laugh again.
I slowly lost my seriousness, with which I had approached every endeavor, in my
young life, so far. We settled into a routine, as I would set off for work
early, and she would pull out her harmonium and get ready to do her music riaz
and Alap in the mornings. Sometimes I would even sneak back at lunch, if I
could get away from work, to enjoy her company. Evenings I usually worked late
at work, and would return to a fresh and enthusiastic Sudha, who would tell me
about the new friends she had made, or the places and stores she had visited. I
enjoyed the delicious dinner she would make and on weekends, I would take her
out and hang out with my coworkers at the local hangouts. Sudha enthralled them
all as she brought a completely new world of experience into our lives, from
her traditional but cultured upbringing.
In a years’ time Sudha bought our first 3-bedroom apartment,
in a close by residential tower. We were helped by my Father and Father-in-Law,
to put down the deposit, and I used up my savings and started to pay the
monthly payments, from my rising salary. Sudha did not mind the frugality we
had to live with now, as I had also bought a better car. She went about making
our new apartment, into our home, by decorating it with the artistic collection
of paintings of the artists she liked. Each piece of furniture and decoration
were chosen for their esthetic value, and I was delighted at her sense of
tradition and knowledge of historical and cultural refinement. Our apartment
became the gathering place for our new friends that she had cultivated. We
enjoyed long evenings of discussions and music becoming the norm on our weekends,
along with Sudha’s delicious food.
Sudha the homemaker was ordained in her nature. Unlike me
who often got caught up, in the latest fashion sneakers and other nice to have
things, she planned ahead. She knew what she wanted in her carpets, curtains,
sofas, beds and even chairs (old wooden carved designs, with comfortable
cushions, straight back). She waited patiently for our savings to grow, until
she could buy each item. Over the years, I saw her dream home take shape. Her
one constant was her music space, where she continued her morning practice on
weekdays, when I was in the office. She became socially popular with her
outgoing easy personality. She got invitations to sing at various social
gatherings, and became very popular singing our folk songs, with great gusto,
at weddings. Aunts invited her for other suitable occasions, with other women
and her popularity increased. Even Mummy would beam lovingly, at her beautiful
and accomplished daughter in law, in front of her friends and relatives.
We would take a trip each year to a hill station, or down
south, to places; we had not visited in India. Sudha was always interested in
the local musicians, and looked for other musician’s performances, wherever we
went. I attended more music concerts and festivals, than I could follow, but
oftentimes we just visited the local sights, and returned with many
photos. She was invited to sing in some
of these concerts, as a proponent of her Guru Ji’s, Lucknow Gharana. She would
get carried away in her live performances, always performing with a deep
understanding of the music, she was singing devotionally. Her love for her Guru
Ji, and his style, flowed in her melodious voice, filling the hall. Along with
the raga, her voice’s tempo, kept rising and falling, as people listened swaying,
in pin drop silence. She had a way with her fans and they loved her natural
rhythms, coming down from ancient times. It was a primordial sound, coming down
in a vocal tradition, since humanity’s existence started.
I rose in my MNC and started travelling abroad on
assignments. Sudha didn’t mind my travels, as she loved her home and her music.
Then I got an extended assignment in USA and I was ecstatic. It was a great
opportunity and my boss told me, I should leave immediately. Sudha helped me
pack two suitcases and with quick basic cooking lessons to survive, in a
non-vegetarian country. Half a suitcase was packed with beans and daals with
instructions on how long to cook them. They came with recipes, and suggested
spices, for various dishes. It all came along with a small pressure cooker.
Packed in plastic bags was a small masala box with coriander, garam masala,
haldi, kali mirch and many oher spices and dried leaves and seeds, in various
compartments, with see through lids. It was meticulously planned as I had
learned was the norm, with my beautiful and gifted wife.
So began my two-year stint in Huston, looking after the
cyber security of a major Oil and Gas Conglomerate. It was followed by a
two-year stint, in a Bank in the Carolinas. Then came a 3-year stint, at a
Health Care company, in Indianapolis. Sudha would visit over the summer months
and we would travel across America, to the usual places; like the trip to the
Niagara Falls and New York City. We loved the night in Niagara with the falls lit
up at night, and the rainbows in the daytime. It was a magical evening, as we
walked along the sound of the falls in the mist, rising around us. We had never
been more in love, than when we walked in our hooded parkas, holding hands; and
Sudha hummed a song, from the monsoon season. We found protection in a covered Octangular
shaped space, and she sat down on the wooden floor, and started to sing. I sat mesmerized,
as the sound of the falls seemed to rise and fall with her music, or she had
become, one with the falls. When she finished we realized that many couples has
joined us and they clapped softly in appreciation.
We were used to our separate lives, and we never thought of
having kids, despite the social pressures; from both, our families. We were
both busy with our careers and life was giving us; whatever we could desire,
from it. She now had her own songs, on All India Radio. Sudha had produced an
album, which had been well received, in critical music circles. Now she was
busy, on her second album, where she was trying to fuse the ancient ragas; into
a more modern interpretation. She wanted to add her extensive touring
experiences, and add her current experiences, from the cultural bylines’ of a
resurgent New Delhi
She was touring with another famous singer from Delhi, who
specialized in Sufi music. It was a strange mixture of Hindustani Classical,
with Sufi mystic, but the combination seemed to work for their eclectic fans. They
became very popular, as the word spread of their wonderful live performances.
The producers had released a live album last year, and their popularity grew. I
would watch her performances on You Tube, and we would talk on skype, for
hours. Most days we were too busy, so time became a river, and we met on the
islands in the Caribbean, or in the Maldives, or Indonesia, as her tastes
became more exotic. She took me to the Greek islands and we danced the night
away, with the local musicians, in a town center. She had become very good at
finding exotic locations, and somehow I started to feel that I was just was
along for the ride. I loved every moment with my exotic wife, who was as
comfortable in a bikini, or in a sari, or a sarong.
Sudha had purchased a 2 acre plot of land in a “farmhouse”
in New Delhi. She went about hiring a famous architect, to make her future
home. I had got my Green Card for living permanently in the US and had moved to
another better position in San Francisco, with one of the FANGS. I started funneling my excess income, to help
Sudha, with our new future home. I trusted Sudha, as she now moved in some of
the most exclusive circles in India, as many of the rich and famous were not only
her fans; but had become friends. During my visits I saw Sudha blossom into a
woman of stature, due to her social standing in the music world. She had taken
up the cause of girl’s education, and become very active in an NGO, and was its
new spokesperson. I saw her on You Tube performing in fundraisers, for catering
to the needs, of the underprivileged and poor families.
My parents came and visited me in my new apartment in San
Francisco and my mother lamented the absence of her grandchildren. She argued
with my father, that if I had just selected the lawyer she liked, for my
marriage (as she now had 2 boys, and 2 older girls, and we had none). Luckily,
Sudha was not there but I was sure, that she had heard my mother’s demands in
India, when they met. My father was
fascinated by the city, and we took long walks along its busy streets, or the
beaches, and talked about life. His friend Bipin had passed away, and Sudha had
got a full time maid to live with her mother. I was unable to go for the
funeral and my father had represented me.
Another 5 years passed and Sudha’s new Farmhouse was now
complete and she named it Alap in memory of her music training, with her Guru.
The home itself was not large and had barely 3 bedrooms like our old apartment.
Yet it had its own unique style, which was reminiscent of the ancient pleasure
homes of the Maharaja’s and blended in, with its surroundings. The large music
room with its excellent acoustics, with large glass rising to the ceilings,
seemed to blend in with the greenery and the old trees that she had
preserved. The rooms, kitchen and
bathrooms were huge and luxurious to my mind, but she had apparently spent a
lot of time, in imagining what an Indian home, should be. She had acquired two
German Shepard’s and they were her constant companions now. I had become a footnote it seemed in her life,
as all her friends seemed to absorb all her attention.
Our trips together have come down and I missed her laughter and companionship. We have drifted apart now and seldom meet. On my drive to my office in my Tesla, it remembers the songs I like. The recording of Sudha singing the songs of our early days, come on. Sometimes a tear slips down my cheek and I become melancholic. I shake off my melancholy, and re-immerse myself, in my current and hectically busy, American life.
A new American friend asked me once, as we were driving to a
Lady Gaga concert, “What is this beautiful music?” as the car played Sudha’s
songs again, out of my favorites.
I replied haltingly, as so many memories, came flooding back,
“It is from a past era, from someone I knew, in India.”
She replied, “Wow, you are lucky to know someone, who is
such an accomplished music singer.”
I turned and looked at her honey brown eyes, red hair, and intelligent and inquisitive look, but it did nothing for me. Lost in my thoughts, she felt my mood change, and patted my hand, in reassurance and compassion. I pulled into the parking lot, and mumbled, “Yes I also feel lucky, to have known her, as she taught me, how real music, and wisdom coexist. She was my goddess of wisdom, and she loved her music, more than anything, in our life. Somehow I lost her, and now all I have are her memories…”
The view from the bus on
the helix, of the approach into the Lincoln Tunnel from New Jersey excited me,
no matter how many times I saw it. Empire State Building and the Chrysler tower
rose to a great height in Mid-Town, while downtown had the spectacular World
Trade Centre Towers, with the other tall buildings in the Financial District.
In the early morning the sun would be rising from the East casting strange
shadows and light on the city. Most of my fellow commuters slept or read, and
did not even look out of their windows. My fascination with the great city of
New York continued and my friend Eddie, showed me the romantic side of its
The walk from Port
Authority down from the third floor to the bustling streets of Mid-Town
Manhattan, was a hurried affair. Everyone wanted to get out in the streets to
avoid the occasional bum, or pan handler, or drunk, who had slunk in to the
crowds. The streets were flowing with traffic, as one walked pass the peep
shows, and the XXX theaters that surrounded Times Square. From the Garment
District, I would walk down a few blocks, and then cut across East on the
Streets, after Macy’s. My office was on the third floor of an old brick
building, which served as our back office and production center.
Wendy was always there
before me heading her shift with her girls. They would laugh and joke amongst
themselves, as while she was a hard taskmaster, she was still a good boss. We had become friends as she was half Indian,
from the West Indies. They also ate whole wheat rotis as bread, but their
dishes were spiced differently. She would surprise me sometimes with a homemade
lunch, and I would eat the food at my desk, enjoying the strange flavors. She
would talk about her Grandfather, who had come from a town in Bihar, India, to
work in the sugar plantations. Her mother had brought her up and her siblings,
as a school teacher and a husband, who was also a farmer.
Wendy now lived in Queens,
and so did most of her girls. They would ride the Subway into Manhattan, and it
was an easy commute with a short walk on both ends. She kind of looked down on
me, because I had to travel into her city, from NJ. She admired our owner
however, with her Apartment in Manhattan, and the week-end home in the
Hamptons. Wendy and her husband, who worked in a Bodega near their home, had
scraped up enough money, to put a down payment, on a 3 bedroom apartment. With
their two kids, and a dog, and color TV, they were living the American Dream.
Her two girls went to the Public School, and were becoming more American every
year, in the way they dressed, and talked, and what they watched.
David was the one who
would arrive next and would head into the room to gather his orders and papers,
and then head of to his belt makers. Eddie would saunter in when he felt like
it and you could hear the giggles of the girls, as he joked with them, even
from my desk. My two junior accountants were very punctual and would become
busy in their work upon their Arrival. Ralphi was from Cebu in the Philippines,
and extremely intelligent and diligent, and carried a lot of the routine load,
of following up on the accounts receivables. Sam the other one was married to a
nurse, and he was quieter, and kept mostly to himself. Ralphi had recommended
him, when we were extremely stressed, and the owner had finally agreed to add
another person, on Lou’s recommendation. We were an efficient team, as we
managed to keep the business back office going.
Towards mid-morning I
would take a break and walk around to stretch my legs. If Eddie was around he
too would see me walking and he too would take a break. We would go into his
and David’s office and take a coffee break. Eddie would have collected the
latest Fashion Trade Rags that the mailman dropped off, and would skim through
them, while we drank. He would read aloud anything interesting, or share an
article or picture for me to look at. His knowledge of people and events was incredible
and he would tell me outlandish stories of his capers from the past night,
after a particularly interesting show. He did not linger long as he was a
workaholic, when it came to his ladies hair accessory creations.
Eddie had extended his
range to other accessories, like fabric belts, and some I called jewelry, and
he referred to as his dear baubles, for his darlings. He would painstakingly
make the samples, using newer materials, and exotic imports. The girls would
cry at him, when he made them too complex, and he learnt to bring simplicity,
and elegance into his pieces, over time. He realized that not everyone was as
he gifted with their fingers, as he was, or had the eye, he had for detail.
Plus the rush of orders demanded speedy execution, and he was always rushing
from work table, to work table, correcting and improving his creations. Then in
the late afternoon he would rush off to the showroom, or his suppliers
depending on our needs. The owner loved him and David was upset, that Eddie was
now making even more money, than even him.
The fall from being the
head Designer of the company, to second fiddle, did not really go down well
with David, but even he was overawed by Eddie’s creativity, and
resourcefulness. The man just had a natural tendency, to pick up on the latest
trends, which would sell in the next season. His color selections were seldom
off, for the Spring, or Holiday Season. His prints were vibrant, or very
delicate, depending on the style, or age group, he was going after. The Junior Store
buyers loved him, and he would flirt with them, and entertain them, at the
latest happening places, in the city. He was loads of fun, and the young women
would find him exotic, and ‘just marvelous dear,’ as he called it. The big
black muscled man, with often a couple of young things, hanging from either arm,
was a common sight at events. The women felt safer in numbers with him, and he
was quite capable, of having fun with all of them.
Sometimes when I got off from work, and he
would drag me off, when it wasn’t Fashion Night, or he had some other
appointment. His current boyfriend would often join up with us, at the latest
haunt and he would transform himself into his night creature mode. He would
transform from being the Giant ladies hair accessory designer, into a lover
with no restraints. Then the true talk would start of the Jazz bars, and comedy
shows, or the next major music band, which was playing in Madison Square
Gardens. He would hang out with famous actors from Broadway, and once even a
Ballet Dancer from the Met. Each one seemed more creative and talented than the
last, and it was a merry go round, that I could not keep count of. Yet each
creature was even more exotic, and no wonder Eddie loved them so much.
Then one day Eddie
retched all over the bushes, on the side of Bryant Park, in the back of the NY
Public Library, after an event. I was there with him, and looked around at the
old Baroque, and Gothic buildings, and then stared at the sleekly flowing glass
tower, that surrounded the park. I had never seen Eddie throw up, no matter how
much he drank, or inhaled substances. His friend gathered him up in his arms,
as Eddie felt he was suddenly dizzy, and he guided him, to a nearby bench. He
sat him down carefully and put his arms around his broad shoulders, and sat
there, waiting for him, to catch his breath. He then went and got a water
bottle for Eddie. I sat there holding Eddie’s hand not knowing what to do, as I
stared down, at his long artistic fingers against mine. When his friend returned
he drank some water slowly. He then gargled and spat some out, as if his mouth
tasted foul and then dry heaved, but nothing came out.
Eventually he got his
bearings again and looked around, and his lover smiled at him hopefully. Eddie
gave a twisted smile back, and passed his hand over his head, as if he was
still dizzy, and not really sure of what was going on. I looked at my watch and
noticed I was running late, and would have to rush off for my bus down 41st
Street soon. Luckily Bryant Park was not far from Port Authority, and I stayed
for another ten minutes, as Eddies friend softly spoke to him. They looked so
much in love. The light from the Street lights and the shadows of the Park,
made their silhouette look like two lovers, out for the evening, enjoying
companionship, on a Park Bench. It was the quintessential city scene, which
must be enacted out everywhere, that people were free. Seeing everything returning
to normal, I took my leave of Eddie, and he blew me his usual kiss, and I heard
him joke, as I walked away “Beware those peep shows darling, and those
beautiful whores, on the corner of Eighth.”
He thought he was
suffering from the flu when he had thrown up, as he had a fever and headache
for a few days and did not come into work and the work tables seemed empty
without him. Months passed without incident, but Eddie seemed to be losing his
bulk and getting gaunt. Summer came and
the owner went off to the Hamptons, and Eddie was not as busy and I saw less of
him. He would come in occasionally to ensure the girls, did not need his help,
and work on the pieces, for the next season. David told me that he thought
Eddie was not his usual self, some months later. He said that they were not
hanging out as much later into night, when the cooler fall nights came along. The
fashion season started and this used to be Eddie’s favorite time, to hang out,
and he would be the life of the party wherever he went. Now he would often
leave early on some nights, claiming he had things to do, but David knew he just
appeared very tired and exhausted.
Months later in January
only David was in his office, and Eddie’s desk was empty. I presumed he was
also away on a much needed break. I got into my routine and was swamped with
the work that was waiting for me to catch up on. It was a week later and I
heard Eddie’s voice and the girls giggling at work one afternoon. I was busy in
something for our Bank, and silently smiled to myself, and decided to go and
meet him once I finished. In an hour I finished my report and headed off and
found that Eddie was not with the girls anymore, and they were busy on their
routine. I went to David’s office and thought I saw the back of a stranger
sitting at Eddie’s desk, and thought it may be one of his friends waiting for
him to return.
He was smaller than
Eddie, although he seemed to have a similar build and hairstyle. Then he turned
around, and I realized that it was no one other than Eddie himself. He had lost
a lot of weight, and was looking very gaunt. He smiled when he saw me and the
same old booming voice spoke up “Darling, where have you been? I have been
missing you terribly, and am so happy to see you. David is no fun anymore and
it is good to see you and is that a new tan that you have got? You are looking
great so the time off was good for you.”
I walked in and took his
proffered hand, and felt the familiar artistic fingers, but the handshake, was
not as firm as before. His bulk seemed to have shrunk much more than the last
time I had seen him. He had on a long sleeve shirt and it looked strange on him
as he normally wore tight fitting fashion Ts, to show off his great body and
arms. I looked into the eyes of my friend and they were the same, all full of
life and mischief. Then he turned away and pointed to the article he was
reading, “Look at my darling wearing my latest creation, in Aspen, at the ski
slopes.” He said pointing to a famous model, photographed on the snow white
slopes looking very glamorous in the latest colors, of Eddie’s design.
Even to my untrained eye
the piece looked beautiful and intricately made. Eddie spoke up again, “My new
line is doing fabulously, and the beautiful people just love it. Wendy says the
girls can’t keep up with the demand, and she has started farming work out for
her girls, to work at home, with additional help.” We had started the piece
work last year, as we were losing too much business, with our constrained
capacity. Eddie had ranted and raved that the quality of work will go down,
without his direct input, and supervision. Our owner had agreed with me, that
we had to do this to increase volumes. I also found it easier to control costs,
as I could reduce the per piece cost, for the new contractors. Plus we had run
out of space and the owner was not ready to sign another long time lease which
could prove to be expensive fixed cost, if trends changed and our business went
We chatted for some time
catching up on the recent shows, which Eddie had attended while I was away. I
tried not to stare as he looked so strange, as I was used to his overpowering
presence and now he seemed to have lost, some of his mojo. Besides the
gauntness he seemed to have slumped as he did not appear as big as he used to
be. As I left to get back to my desk, I saw Eddie out of the side of my eye,
pull his sleeve up and rub a purple bruise on his left arm. Even his
extraordinarily muscular arms, seemed to have lost bulk. I quickly looked away
and walked off to my desk, deeply troubled about the changes, I saw in my
The next day I caught
David before he went off on his rounds. Eddie was still not in as was usual and
I wanted to talk to David about what was happening to Eddie. David hung out
with Eddie much more than me, and I thought he could explain the changes I was
seeing. David explained that Eddie was seeing doctors for the past few months,
as he continued to lose weight, and nobody could really explain what was wrong
with him. He had been admitted to a Hospital for further checks and
investigation and the specialists were stumped. All they would say was that
something seemed to be wrong with his auto immune system as his body seemed to
be suffering symptoms that normally would go away with anti-biotics, or other
medicine. In Eddie’s case nothing seemed to work, and his condition continued
David further informed me
that at first Eddie had withdrawn to himself, and just stayed in bed and
relaxed, hoping that all his troubles, would go away with time. He ate healthy,
gave up smoking and his other vices and tried to get back in shape. Then one
day another friend had visited with David and shared a motivational book and
music tapes with Eddie. It appeared to make a difference, as a gaunt Eddie had shown
up at work the following week. The girls were shocked to see him looking so
gaunt, but had soon realized that he was still the same person, who joked with
them, and showed them amazing things. They learnt to ignore his physical
appearance, and just treat him like before.
David and I, visited
Eddie in the hospital. He lay there on the white sheets, with flowers from his
friends, spread around him. In his military gown, he lay on the bed with an IV
sticking out of his arm to the medicine’s being dispensed into him. David had
told me that they had diagnosed Eddie with an Auto Immune disease and there was
no cure for it. The decrease had come from Sub-Saharan Africa and was spreading
fast all over the world, especially in urban areas or transit points. India and
USA were reporting sporadic incidents of the disease also, and the numbers were
spreading. Nobody knew what was causing it and it may be viral, but it was
becoming associated with Gay, or Bi-Sexual men. Poor Eddie could have caught
the disease from any one of his beautiful partners. The exotic life also led to
a great exposure to many different partners and Eddie had no idea as to who
gave it to him. The tragic part that Eddie told us from his bead as lively in
his head as ever. It was strange to hear the same voice and mannerisms come
from his bed. It looked like life had taken everything from him that he had
physically built of himself.
This great towering large
muscled man who had been my friend, looked so frail and shrunken. The nurses
had a hard time inserting an IV to find a vein, from what had been beautifully
muscled arms and legs. He beckoned to me and joked, “What darling you did not bring
any flowers? Look what Freddy sent me – what a fabulous bouquet.” Referring to Freddy
Mercury and I looked carefully, and there was a short poem, on a personal note,
on his side table. It was from Freddy, lying on his side table, along with many
other letters, and cards. He sadly informed us, that a lot of his fabulous
friends, had died, or also had the same disease. It was the scourge of his
artistic friends, he told me.
David was more regular
than me, in visiting Eddie, as he was far stronger, than me and was a true
Eddie friend. Their friendship was as deep, as it came; even though they had
nothing in common, in their backgrounds. Life and human tragedy, had made them,
soul mates, in NYC. I had nothing more to say to Eddie, as his life source, had
been my main source of life also, it seemed. The talk of my family, and my
economic concerns, on how well my peers with similar backgrounds from elite
Indian Universities, were doing, meant nothing to Eddie. He would listen to me
talk, about my children, and cousins, but beyond that, I had nothing to say. All
my thoughts had also shrunk with Eddie and all my educations, could not share
another joke, with Eddie. How could this fantastic man, in the prime of his
life, the ultimate ladies’ hair accessory designer become this man, lying in a
hospital gown? How do you talk about the future, to your friend who has none?
Farrokh Bulsara was born in Sep 1946, in Stone Town, Zanzibar; to Indian Parsee, parents. For some time he studied in Indian boarding schools, modelled after the British system, led to an interest, in the writing and performance of music. . The revolution in Zanzibar, which later became part of Tanzania, drove the family out, to England. There he transformed himself into the lead singer of Queen, due to his love of music. Freddy Mercury became one of the best performers in modern music and their concerts were legendary. His creations and his songs topped the charts for many years, and he spent the last part of his life collaborating with some of the other greats of the age. He died in Nov 1991 aged just 45, at the height of his career. He admitted to a friend on the day before he died, that he had AIDS. That was the first time I learnt, about this dreaded new disease to which we went on to lose, some of the brightest people, in our generation.