Mothers in all forms

Women in the form of mothers are at her epitome of power. That, is my belief entirely. No wonder "Shakti" is the worship of the supreme power.  The power of womanhood was being manifested in front of me.  The power she uses to mold the life and lives around her for others. She does not need to be a birthing mother, she is a nurturer and a reformer for many and that makes her a mother in the real sense. Want to share a picture of a mother I met on my last visit home. She was from a lower middle class and a mother of girl. A girl, who survived after losing many children at birth, was with her. She was young and healthy, but her eyes carried the burden of those dead souls she carried in her womb at one time.

My ma had taken us to a place called "Boro Kachari", a Shiv Mandir of sorts in the interiors from where we lived. The Shiv Lingum was placed under a huge tree and surrounded with a circular veranda. There were tiny little notes to God, asking for some kind of boom, and a offering in return. I and my boys were enchanted with this, and we did our little note tying to the rails.  My young boys were very eager to visit this place, because my Ma had told them stories about it.  She had narrated to them about the Shiv over there that grants wishes, if you tie a note to the porch of the temple.  

On arrival, we bought some of the "puja" materials and washed our hands and and feet at the pond.  A winding pathway led us to the little circular porch surround the Shiv Ling. Could instantly hear the soft rustle of paper.  Tiny bits of paper tied with red string hung from every visible railing there were.  Little notes of wishes, prayers, needs, and wants.  Heart strings of whispered prayers were all rustling in the breeze and sending it heavenwards. 

Our puja was short, and then I stood out in the patio, looking and explaining to my older son the meaning of different things depicted over there.  What arrested me to the spot for next half an hour, was a mother who was doing "dondi". She had promised an offering of some number of "dondi" (laying on the floor and moving in circles around the temple area, while making circles with her hand), if her next child was alive. The little girl of hers was about 2 years old. She sat on her mother's back, and her mother rose up, then lay down and swung her arms in a full circle above her head. Then she rose to that point and continued. Her co-sister helped by splashing "ganga jal" around her. The mother was soaking wet, as she had taken a dip in the pond to purify her, just before she began. The mother did not look breathless, neither was she worried who was looking. Her only concentration was to keep the child on her back and do what she had promised to God.

I stood there not sure if this made sense to me. I was questioning the validity of her action. But, she was one woman I could not say was wasting time. She was giving, what she thought she can give for her child. Mothers all around the world have done it, and will do it again in a heartbeat. This I can say for sure. Our own way of making things happen for the people we care about. Happy mothering ladies to each and every one, to all those souls you took care of.

Anumita C. Roy

The 10 paisa story

Through out our lives we fill our basket of memories with various snippets of incidents.  Among all these, one or two of them have sparkles which twinkles back at us when ever we take a quick peek into the basket of past.  Such a little shiny tale  jumps out of my memory and wants to spill into your way.

Growing up in a joint family, has its highs and lows and share of stories which are different in form and nature.  We lived in a house of 14 members, yes, you heard me right, 14 members, of different ages and of various stages of life.  The head of this clan was my gallant "Dadu", as we the youngest generation called him.  A tall man of 6'2", with majorly shinny bald head and a border line of snowy silver fencing of hair.  He was lean and never walked with a cane.  His attitude was not to behave like a and old man, and so substituted the walking-stick by using his long umbrella instead.  Dadu had a very routine life, and being a man of very strict principles, he loved it when we followed those guidelines of his.  After  retiring from the Railways of India, he lived a life of casual leisure, although his retired life was longer than his actual work life.  He even joked that he had received more pension than salary and was, in some strange way proud about it.  The beginning of the month, he would, very patiently make some calculations with his fountain pen and his pocket note book.  Dressing up in his white long shirts and white dhoti, after taking a dip in the pond of our house, he would then make his way to the bank to receive his month's due.

We were half a dozen of female sibling in the house,  all cousins counting.  My sister being the youngest and the one with the most wicked of mind.  She was no doubt my "Thamma's" pet, that is my Grandma.  She was her shadow and always mimicked her in everything.  Being a sharp and witty little one, she always found ways to get Dadu to part with some of his treasure, often making us an allies to her escapades.

  Dadu, during the rest of the days, collected 10p coins from the family members, who came back from the bazaar.  He had a thin flask or container in which he collected this bounty.  The reason of collection was for a special day.  Come Sunday morning, out-side our main gate there would be a line of beggars or needy people.  Most of them were old widows, who were either homeless or were not taken care by their family.  How can a 10p. be such an important part of their earnings, made me sit and wonder, even today I am perplexed.  Many were familiar faces as I saw them every Sunday.  My Thamma knew many of them by name and what their background were.  It made me think, why do these same women travel all the way to our house just for 10p every Sunday, they could just sit in one place and beg yet get more alms.

This thought entered my head number of times, but could not find the courage to voice it to anyone, at the cost of being rebuked by Ma or even any other older members of the family.  Joint families had rules and some of them did not have any explanations, yet needed to be followed with full intensity. A query from the lower ranks of the family pyramid would mean one thing..."rebellion".  I  was the one who always tend to be colored in that hue, and Ma had her eye brows cocked at me when ever I tried to squeak my doubts.  Many a Sundays, when Dadu was not home, we got to do the honors of distributing the "10 paise" to the prospective ones.  On many occasions I saw my Grandma, talking to two particular old women and even gave them her old sarees.  As most of my infancy and few years of early childhood was out of the country, the ways of life over there was very perplexing to me.  The rituals were to an extend understandable but the social norms just did not make any sense.  My mind churned most of the time with all these thoughts and tried hard to fit in the mold my cousins were living in.  It was such a hard task as the molds were not absolutely made for me in any way.

Baba was the only one who understood me, yet did not verbally encourage my questions as he knew, it would be kindling a fire.  Life was like receiving 10p. to spend for what, I had no idea.  At times I felt the life of these needy people could be equated with mine, I needed a reason for following these "norms" all the people around me are following, yet I never understood why.

One fine day, I was the privileged one to deliver those prized 10p. coins and I got to meet one of the old ladies.  My curiosity saw the chance to jump into action and I actually blurted out, "why do you come all the way to our house to beg".  As soon as it was out of my mouth, I realized it did not sound so right, and my Ma magically appeared.  With no trace of softness of any kind, pinched my ears and pulled me inside the house.  My Thamma, on the other hand was shuffling from pacifying my Ma to stop punishing me and telling the old lady that am just a child and that children say the darn-est things. Ma wanted to both hide me from the torrent of words I was going to hear from the rest of the elders and  to make me realize the gravity of the things I had just done.  For me it felt like a big drama being unfolded in which I am the bad guy and am standing up for trial, a obvious observation for a 13year old with mixed feelings of the early teenage years.

Till Baba arrived in the scene I felt as if the earth needs to open up and swallow me up, had just learnt about the action of  Sita from the Ramayana.  Oh what a dramatic shape of mind I possessed.  With all that feverant praying the surface of the floor did  not seem to have any dent of any kind.  I took in the shower of words directed to me with few of Ma's well aimed blows. Heard Thamma telling, don't hit her, she does not know the ways of life here, instead explain it to her.  That was my chance to talk, and I said  voiced my confusion in total unrelated sentences.  The confused stage turned to anger and a wild feelings of trowing any thing I could get.  Doing that would only agrevate the situation, so all I could do was scream and stomp my foot into my room.  That was difiance enough for the rest of the house hold.  My Dadu appeared after his morning walk, quite oblivion of the drama that had just taken place and innocently asked if the 10paisas had been given.  My grandma pounced on him, accusing him of creating such an issue at home with his 10p. Dadu joined in my club of utter confused people.

It took me some number of year to understand at least a part of the what really happened that day.  Although some things seem to bug me still now.  My Dadu and Thamma are both bright stars in heaven today, I look at them every night and feel their love showing on me. Their blessings are part of my life's daily dose.  Many of my Dadu's teachings and my Thamma's love filled moments are in my basket of treasures to enrich my life.

I Stand Corrected

A incident that took place just a few mins ago when I visited my child's school needs to be narrated, as it taught me a lesson I thought I had alread learn. Like most Friday's, I packed my little one into my van, to drop him for his extra classes before school. Once in the parking lot, I do the usual routine of kissing his head and telling him all the right things to be done through out the day, a ritual most moms do with out fail. My little boy looks at me and then gives a lopside smile, making it very clear that this was what he expected to hear but does not really need to hear it again and again. Once that taken was taken care, of we march into the school building, and greeted the teachers. Again I kiss him goodbye, definately adding to his embarrasement. Mom's duty all done, I walk out with a smug smile, clicking my heeled boots on the side walk to my van.

Once inside, out of habit, took out my Android and checked updates and emails. While scanning through them, I chanced to see a guy get out of his car just a few feet to my right. As if by natural insticts my head whipped up. I see, a young fellow hardy in his early 20's, well dressed and walking with a joyful gait. The thing that perked my curoisity about his presense in the school, was his ear piercing. He had a peg in his ear, the side of coat button. He definately was not a parent and he was neither a teacher, as I consider myself a well versed parent, to be sure of who are the staff memebers of this particular school. I fidgeted in my seat, the warmth of my heater seeping in, debating about what should I do. Do I get down of the van and follow this guy and know his purpose of the school visit, or that would be crossing my limits?

Well, there you go the Mom won, and I switched off the van, and off I trodded back into the school building, defiantly clicking my heals. I looked around the corridor and did not see any sign of the person of interest. I marched myself to the office room, finding a pretext to chat up the office person, who I know for last 10years. Bingo, there was my target signing some papers and chatting happily with my source of information. Then he, picked up his bag and marched into the library. I smiled at the office lady and asked cheerfully, who "my person of interest was". The answer was what I was not sure I wanted to hear, he was a student teacher. Oh my God, my mind was whirling and swrilling. A student teacher, with a peg in his ear is going to work with my kid. Oh oh...thinking of all the effects and after effects its going to bring, made me quite amgry at the principle.

As if the principle, heard my thoughts, she stepped out of her office and looked at me. I smiled and then with a straight face, asked if I could stay a bit longer in the school premsss just to watch my child in the library, while he was in his extra classes. She seem to understand more than I needed to tell her, and nodded with a twinkle in her eye.

The scene I got to watch for the next 10 mins, changed my conception and made me so deeply assamed of my prejudiced and judgemental attitude, that I feel born all over again. The student teacher with a peg in his ear, whoes name I still do not know, was there with the 10 kids and the teacher in the media center. I did not need to go inside as the walls of the media center is all glass. He entered and all the girls in the group smiled and the boys waved a "hey". He definately was a favorite by all standards. He answered each and every kid individually and then pulled out things from his back pack. Handing them over one by one to each child he settled himself among them. The way the kids gravitated to him and the found him an ally to work with, surprised me. The huge black button on his ears did not bother them, and I was the one making all kind ofassumptions. He meticulously worked with each kid, smile, parting encouragement, and helping hand when the children needed it. Feeling all of a sudden concious of myself standing on the hallway, and gawking at the kids inside the media center, I dragged myself into the office of the principle. She was all smiles, and I thanked her and said that was sorry too. She just smiles and said, you do not have to feel sorry, you send us your precious bundles, you have all rights to know who is working with him or her during the 8 hours they spend with us. Assured and reprimanded, I trudged back to my van. Strangely enough my 3 inch heeled boots did not make me feel too tall and the clicking sound was muffed and not as defiant as before.

Little Brain's Big Life

Little Brain's Big Life

He picked up a dry stick and looked at it with eyes full of wonder and smiled. I looked from my kitchen window, wondering, what could interest him in a piece of twig? As I tip toed towards him, my curiosity knew no bounds. I called out. The angel face turned and continued to smile.

I squatted in front of him, pointed to the twig and asked, “Honey, what's in there?”

He said, “Nothing Ma.”

The answer surprised me. I expected an answer, an explanation, however odd. “Nothing”, was not what I wanted to hear. Controlling my frustration, I stood up, patted his hair and asked if he was ready to have a snack. His big brown eyes scanned my face. I could feel him trying to lift the curtains from my hidden feelings. But he just said, “Yes Ma, I want a bag of chips”. Chips it was!  This, and a few such unrelated incidents, kept playing on my mind for a long time.

Let me introduce myself. I am a new mother. This is my first child and the apple of my eyes. He came with a lot of fanfare, being the first grandchild of his generation. Through him I could see the sun rise and the moon shine. Being a mother for the first time was a wonderful experience in itself. Though very happy, it made me paranoid many a times. I started making minuscule observations in my little boy’s day to day life. Anything that was unusual. My in-laws and parents were doting grandparents. But whenever I brought their attention to an odd behavior, they advised it was due to my being a first time mother. I knew that I was taking my new designation of a mother all too seriously due to many books I had read on the subject. Yet, I was worried.

Seasons changed and soon my five year old son turned into a kindergartner. He was very friendly. He could talk with anyone, especially with people who were older than him. Not able to get along with his peers never worried me. He sometimes showed symptoms of separation anxiety, which everyone said, were very common for a child starting school. My son had been going to the pre-school for some time then why was he anxious, I often wondered.  Every day when he boarded the bus he asked me, “Ma, I am coming back, right?” Guilt was overtaking me and I felt I was drowning in that emotion. I rode on the self destructive train every day. This caused menacing repercussions. I started getting angry at him for his lack of capabilities. It made him coil up and shut himself. The more I pushed him, the more confused and isolated he became.

One day I found a health magazine in a pile of books in my house.  Out of curiosity I leafed through it and there is was in bold letters ADHD. That is what the symptoms suggested. I could not take my eyes off the article. I sat numbly reading it. My thoughts turned into a violent storm.

I called up the pediatrician, took an appointment and then decided to find out if it indeed was ADHD. I sat down with her and told her the whole story, even the ones I was getting from the school. :He is a sweet child,"they said. "But he cannot answer simple questions and does not play with the other kids of the class." The doctor was a sharp lady and she did not jump to any conclusions immediately. She wanted to do all the possible tests before giving her final opinion.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. We visited several behavioral specialists and social workers, who dissected and speculated on our lives and all that we were attached to. My son and I developed our own routine to deal with these strangers poking around.

Finally, the day of the verdict arrived. I drove to the doctor’s office, my heart doing a wild trapeze as my precious son in his car seat at the back was busy with one of his power ranger figures. Waiting in the room for my doctor to appear, I lived a thousand lives. Every time my son looked at me, my lips would quiver and tug till they formed a crescent for him to see and believe in.

The pediatrician came in and greeted us and instantly started chatting with him. She looked at me and said, "Honey, you have a very special child here." I pressed my lips together waiting for the blow and clenched my fist.

She lisped and I did not hear. She used words like "Asperger's syndrome", and learning disability in the same sentence. Many of the diction just flew over my head, some hit my heart and some befuddled my brain. I looked at him and then at the doctor. She rose from her seat and sat down beside me and said, “This is not the end of the world. He is a bright child and he is in the upper spectrum of Autism”. That threw me off, and I was stoned.

I listened to her and to the rest of her advice and directions. I even asked a few questions. Then I picked my baby, held his hand and walked out of the door of the doctor’s clinic. I gently helped him sit in his car seat, secured him with the belt, gave his snack pack and took my seat in front. Then it hit me, flooding me with an insane rush of guilt, anguish, shame, fear and anger. It was like a black hole had appeared in front of me and it was sucking me in its abyss. My body racked with pain and I howled and cried. I was blaming myself and all my loved ones to bring this day upon me. After what seemed like an eternity, I could hear a different cry, a more anguished sound which my heart recognized. My mind reeled me back to the present. My son was crying, thinking I was hurt. His chubby hands were outstretched and he was saying over and over again, “Ma don’t cry. I will be a good boy.”

Reflex kicked in, I got out of the car and into the back seat, held him and crooned to him, “Hush darling, it is not you, you are my good child.” I felt so ashamed for what I did. From that second on, I promised to the life I was holding, I will always be there for him. Self pity had no place in our relationship. I am his mother, his creator. With this started our journey. We have many times swum against the current, but we have never given up.

"Our future will be brilliant". that is my promise to my son. I have a feeling he now believes in it.

  

Smile in the sky

Today around 5 in the morning when I descended to my kitchen, feeling light footed, as it was Friday.  The sky was still dark and my eyes fleetingly scanned it through my little kitchen window.  I was about to turn my head away, but my eyes got transfixed on the slice of moon gleaming there.  It looked just like a smirk like smile on the face of the dark sky.  Involuntarily my lips curved up and I stood mesmerizer with it sparkling silver light. Later I kept thinking, I have seen the moon so many times, what was new today.  I could not find a answer, it was  just that the moment was right.  After few seconds of smiling and shallow breaths, I started my daily work of getting the breakfast going for my kids and husband.  Still from time to time I could not help myself sneaking a look through the window.  It was strange kind of magnetism I felt.  I was feeling that now, the whole scene will change and this slice of shimmering light in the ink dark sky will vanish from my view.  A sensation which translate so many precious moments and people, who we did not really feel or relish before they faded or moved away from our day to day lives.

The next thought that struck me was, I need to get this down so long it was fresh in my mind.  Just like the foot prints on the wet sand near the sea coast.  It just takes a directionless wave to hit it, and it is gone for ever.  During the task of taking out the dishes, getting the toaster to work to the optimum level of toasting and getting the milk to the right temperature, I could see the color change of the slice of light in the sky.  The way ahead rays of the sun was doing its thing, and the beauty of this celestial body is, it lets the huge star color it up.  The silver line now had a golden tint, as if to welcome the king of the day.  It seemed as if to say its good byes to the waking world down here.

In few minutes a wisp of cloud covered my night light, and I leaned on the counter to scan the sky, to see if the shimmer has died off.  I could make out a faint outline through the veil of clouds and my smile returned on my face and a hum filled my heart.  What was it today with the moon and me?  May be we were meant to be romanticizing  this early morning and have a tee-a-tee of our own kind.  I will take that as a very valid and satisfactory answer.

Then soon the lord of the day crept up the dome of the sky, and my beautiful dainty little moon said its farewell and gracefully exited the stage.  This cycle of welcoming the next is a constant motion of all our lives, yet we human beings some times make it so personal.  We can not really accept the fact that we come, we stay and then we go.  Back to what I started this writing with, my early morning episode with that celestial body in heaven, gave me a feeling of serenity and motion together.  Only hope this calmness could prevail though out, for sometime not only this day but for some days to come, I know it is a tad little much to ask for. Concluding with a warm smile and wishes for all.
                                     

Living in Paradise...

    The pre-teen years are supposed to be the rosiest of all, and that was exactly the case for me.  I was bout 10 to 11 years old, and living in one of the most gorgeous tropical places, I thought things will could not get any better than this.  Every day was a new adventure, living in Venezuela.  Baba got us bikes, second hand of course, we did not mind.  At least I had my own set of wheels now, and the freedom of whizzing around with the wind in my hair.  Oh, the biggest thing of all was, I did make a few friends.  My baba's company i.e. DCPL and an other compnay called M. N. Dastoor had few more deputed desis in that area.  I got to know some girls and boys of Indian origin and who were near about my age.  Many of them were Benagalies and some other languages.  We had frequent parties during the weekends, and small trips to nearby cities.  Every Friday we had a volley game which mostly the dads played and moms used cards or chatted.  We kids pranced around doing just about anything.  


  My best friends turned out to be two girls who were of latin origin.  One a was from Spain, Anna, beautiful and elegant; the other one from Mexico, Maria, tom boyish and the most adventurous.  Anna was about two inches taller than me, had a porcelain skin and looked like million bucks.  I always thought, God had taken time to make her and till date have not seen any one with such beauty.  I still remember her as clear as day.  In contrast with her was Maria.  She was a short cherub girl, with a ready smile.  She taught me how to eat and be happy with what you have.  She taught me how to live actually, and our parents became good friends too.  Although Anna lived in my neighborhood, it was Maria's house my family visited more. Her dad had the best taquilla, thats what baba used to say.  Life took a different pace and different color during all those days.


  Ma learnt how to drive, and when she used to take us to the near by grocery store, I kept an eye out for her, she had a very unique talent of parking on the side walk instead of the space allocated on the side of the road.  She said it happens when the care is too big, although I knew better, but never ever stated it.  I would rather take my bike and do her grocery for her, than drive with her.  But there were times when, Ma wanted to show her ability...and me and my sister were the perfect candidate to express it.


  Baba took us to the most exotic places during our few years of stay in Venezuela......beaches, mountains, falls and the best of all was the the trip on Amazon river....those few years made me open to all the wide variety of feelings and made me receptive about all the people and the varied amount of culture each of the place had ...

Lading in Venezuela

  After hopping so many flights and numerous problems, we landed on the sub-continent of South America.  The city of Caracas, the capital of Venezuela.  Every thing seemed so fuzzy, yet I do remember seeing my dad standing at the terminal.  I did not see any thing but ran to him to be hugged by the familiar arms.  He scooped me and my sister up in one swing and I remember to be hugged tight.  Oh the familiar smell and the familiar feel, (I still miss them), to be surrounded by that made me feel, we are safe now.


  We had to take one more short flight, to a city called Poerto O'daz, it was a city in the heart of  Venezuela.  Dad was deputed from his company called, DCPL, for a steel company called Sidore.  We were to live in a settlement with trailers.  When we were driving through the entrance, I stared at the duplicated housing society.  I thought ...oh God how in heaven's name am I going to remember where I live, all the houses look exactly the same, other than slight differences.  The only thing I remember was we had turned in the last road after the main entrance and that our house number was 300.


  Once we entered the block of the the trailer, it was well furnished. The entrance had the living area, which had one bedroom and bath to the right and a kitchen and dinning area on the other.  the dinning area had a long hallway running through it, which housed the an other bathroom and the laundry area.  This hallway ended into the second bedroom.  There was a back door exit too.  Our "house" was situated beside a big field of nothing but over grown shrubs and strange sized rocks.  That, later became our main source of exploration.  My sister and me were given the bedroom at the very end of the hall, to make it our kingdom.


  We were so tiered and exhausted that, just wanted to go to sleep, but dad gave us a drink to get our pains away.  Mom took a sip and said.... hey this is so bitter, dad said it is just bit of medicine just gulp it down.  I did just as baba(dad) told me to, and later learned , that dad made me gulp down brandy.  Ma just refused it and so did my sister.  With that we slept and slept and slept, till we could not sleep any more.


  Next day was our first school day, we got all dressed, as it was for the first time we came to know that we don't need uniforms for school.  What a trill it was for us, that we could put on what ever we want for school.  At the bus stop met a few people but did not have the courage to say hello.  Once in school, I discovered they were teaching all the things I had already done long long back.  Feeling dam proud of my intelligence, I started feeling a lot comfortable.  Then a call from the principle came through the phone system in the school intercom, calling my name, and telling me to go the principle's office.  Oh my God, what in heaven's name did I do.  With wobbly feet I entered the principle's office, the principle smiled and told me to sit as they brought my little weepy sister in.   One look at me and she was in my lap and crying her cute little head off.


  The teacher said they will have to drop us home as my sister was too small for school, and that I need to show them the way.  Oh my words...this is what I was so scared of...I can't recognize my own house, and how am I to tell them that.  I gulped in, and forced a radiant smile as I could do at that time, and said .... sure lets go.  The driver took us to the main gate and I crossed my fingers and started pointing out to the roads, and then I saw number 300, I almost yeppieed out of my seat.  After the teachers left us in mom's capable hands, she turned and said ...shona how did you find your way...I had no answer....I just pray to God that he help in finding my way the rest of my life too.....

The Night In Rome

  Rome is the city packed with history, and was standing on that soil ... God it was unbelievable.  My head was spinning, not from the thought of being in a historical place, but due to lack of sleep.  The bitter cold was doing no good.  As we entered the airport building, wanted to get all done in a jiffy.  I was looking forward to go to the hotel for a good night sleep.  Oh!  The thought of a soft bed was so alluring.  Mom shepherded us to the line for the customs and all the formalities. Fate had something in plan for us, as my mom struggled to explain to the customs official but none of them spoke English.  She signaled them with her hand explaining in staggered sounds, that we had a visa to stay a night in the city and then catch a flight the next day.  The officials did not comprehend her.  I was under the impression that once we leave India, everyone speaks English especially in Europe, but now I saw how wrong I was.  After hours of struggling with sign language, an official appeared who seemed to say a few words in English, and we finally made it through.  We were boarded on a bus to take us to the hotel.

  ROME.....the city with its awesome statues and architectures.....in the night light all these colossal figures seemed to have taken a new life of their own.  I looked out of the bus window with my mouth hanging, till it could not hang any more.  Every bit of the passing scenes was getting encoded in my memory.  I felt a strange kind of chill thinking of the ancient people building and carving these magnificent pieces of art.  My ma leaned in and whispered that I was lucky, as there were no flies around here, as by now I would have had some nestled in my tummy.  I looked at her and pulled my mouth shut.

  By the time the bus dropped us at the hotel it was almost midnight.  My little sister was fast asleep in ma's lap. We looked at the hotel in front of us, it had huge glass door with no door knobs on them.  In India usually when the doors are closed at night of a hotel, then it means it is closed for business.  My ma informed me at the verge of tears that, we will have to spend the whole night on the sidewalks in this new city.  I looked dumb found at mom then at the hotel.  Then all of a sudden I saw someone inside the hotel and I shrieked with joy.  I gallantly announced that, I will bang on the door and then they will let us in, as we have reservations.  With determination I walked to it and as I was about a yard in front of the door, it slid open with a "whoose".  I jumped out of my skin and ran to my mom.  She stared at me as if am I missed the greatest opportunity. She furiously told me that I should have held on to it, so we could have got in.  At that very moment there was another "whoose" sound.  We looked and saw a lady walk to the door and it opened and she went in and the door closed.  That was the introduction to automatic doors for us.  We entered the hotel looking a little peeved, lucky for us there was none of the people we knew around.  

  The next morning, when we reached to the airport to take a flight to New York, I realized that ma had been avoiding all the escalators since we started our travel.  When I asked her she sweetly smiled and said that her saree gets caught in it.  I looked suspiciously at her, and asked if she was scared of it, she just blushed and then we boarded the flight to Caracas.  We boarded the flight with bold writing of Royal Dutch Airline written on it...ready to fly into the new world....

  

The first air trip to wonderland...called Venezuela..Part I

  Dad had already left and we were to follow in a few days.  The days turned to months and finally the day arrived for us; mom, sister and me; to leave for that beautiful country settled in the Amazon forest area.

  We were travelling out of the country for the first time, and the added bonus was, by air plane that too for the first time.  Something we could only dream about in those days. It was big news for my immediate and extend  Ahh! those were the days so carefree, so bright and mostly sunny, me 9 years old, and was enjoying each and everyday of my life.  Dad got transferred to a country in the South American Continent, called Venezuela.  At that time it sounded so far away and so exotic.  I was all over the atlas with my cousins to find out where this country was.  I felt so proud and exited altogether, just like Alice when she was in her wonderland.
ed family that, we were going abroad.   No one in our family or any one known to them had ever taken an airplane, leave alone gone abroad.

  We were seen off with a big fan fare from our family and friends at the Dum Dum Airport in Kolkata.  My mom, put up a brave front, although her heart was pounding at million miles a second.  She had to travel with two young girls for more than 40 hours and change flights 3 times, as if this was not enough, we were to stay a night in Rome.  

  We were flying British airways, once aboard, we tried our best to decipher the mechanism of fastening our seat belts.  After much hard work, I decided it would be wise to take help of the air-hostess.  Then the plane took off, and the refreshments started.  In those days Coke and Pepsi was the drinks for wealthy people, and I had my eyes for those.  When the steward asked me, I bashfully pointed out to the drink, and waited breathlessly to take the first sip.  My mom had warned me against any drinks, she was not sure which was alcohol and which was not.  I took a long swing at it, and braved a sidewards glance at my mom.  She had a ice like stare set on her face.  I looked at her and took an other tentative sip, and gave her a bright smile and said, "Ma, it is ok, I am fine, look."  She just bend down and hissed in my ears, " I am not taking care of you, if you pass out, or act silly."  That did it, I just plunked down the drink and did not even look at it.  Today when we talk about that incident, she has the grace to find humor in the whole incident.  We laugh our bellies out, thinking how novice we were.

  Then we landed in Rome.  The great city of Italy.  As we walked down the plank way, the cold air hit us like a ton of bricks.  We knew it would be cold, but this cold, we had no idea.  The wind took us by total surprise as we were not equipped to handle the weather........

The shells I collected..

The memories of my childhood, is just like collecting shell at the shore of the ocean, one shell at a time. Each memory has it unique shape and a different pattern. Some are similar and some are so different, they all are distinct in their own value. I consider myself very lucky, as my Dad had a transferable job.

He being the best father I can ever have, had given us the best experience of variety of people and countries. An adventurer at heart, my father, taught me the magic of accepting people the way they are. Each and every place we settled, we had new home, new friends, and new life style to adopt and adapt to. I can say frankly, the early years were not so bad, as I guess, I was not really attached to a place or person; but with the progress of years things became more difficult for me to change my attitude to a place or person. But my father never even flinched, when we went to a new place to settle, he made the transition take place very smoothly.

My Mom, on the other hand, was a reserve but a very observant person. She had her set of rules, irrespective of the place or people we were with. I don't mean to say that, she was not flexible, but she had her own way of settling things. I had the good sense to be careful about what I say or do where my mother was concerned. She is a strong will lady, with a core of gold. If my father was the heart, she definitely was the brains.

They were like well oiled engine.....running on the track of life, and pulling me and sister along. They did their best to keep both of us in track and looking in the right direction, and when we could run on our own, they gently let us go. They both are there in the side tracks for us still now. So when ever, we have, some pain in the heart, we just need to look at them, we are sure to get some kind of balm to sooth away the pain. I don't feel ashamed to say that, I still rely on their words for my troubles, even after being such a big girl.

I guess, how much older we get in age, we will always be their baby in some way. My parents are living across the world from me, but our connection is constant, and ever lasting. I may not be able to talk to them everyday, but I can hear them all the time. I may not be able to see them in years, but I can close my eyes and their image is right there. They are the omni-potent souls which guild my day, as mother myself, in other words my guiding angels.