This got be a special month as I resumed this blog after a hiatus of one-and-a-half years. It feels good to be back here.
I have recuperated well from a small accident that happened in January. I almost broke my left arm. Few ligaments and tendons got ruptured. The pain was intense. I did nothing but eat and sleep. Never had this kind of rest in my entire life. That was way back in January.
We had gone to native to celebrate Ugadi. That was good without much hubbub. We had visited my aunt for the first time after uncle's demise. I couldn't attend his funeral as well as 14th rituals because of the above-mentioned injury. I was afraid she will start crying immediately after seeing me, but she didn't initially. It is obviously tough for her to overcome the loss and pain. She cared for him with might and main. He was her life partner for 48 years. Until a-year-and-a half ago death was something I have seen only in movies and read in books; I have heard people talking about the death of their loved ones. I was sympathetic, compassionate, and sensitive towards them, but I never felt the pain. Now two deaths in the family in a short span of time. In our last interaction my uncle suggested me to learn driving, that is still afresh in my memory. I had tears in my eyes before saying goodbye, probably I had the inkling to know that was the last time I'm going to see him. He was unwell for quite sometime. Mom is staying with aunt and I wish and hope they will be one another's strength.
Visited Ammamma's home too. She was ecstatic too see me. She kept on asking when I'm going to come and stay with next. Even she was staying with my aunt until a week ago. She isn't comfortable in lodging in anybody's house, even if it's her own daughters'. Very proud, dignified, and self assured lady. She is 90 and the love and regards I have for her is immeasurable. Her unconditional love and care made me the person I'm today and the person I'm going to be. I know I'm totally blessed and fortunate to have a grandmother like this. Somehow this post is making me mushy and sentimental.
March saw us finishing 'The Tudor". I know we are very very late to the party, but what a party it was. If time and energy permits I intend to write a post about this show. We started it in January and it was an exciting feeling to wait every night to watch it together. This time hubby had this void feeling once it got over. To beat that hollowness we began binging on "Big little lies" and that concluded within a week.
The book reading was slow. I could finish only two books, all time low, Finding Audrey and Husband's Secrets. On the film front the number is quite impressive, 12 (Raid, Megan Leavy, Indu Sarkar, Shadi Me Zaroor Aana, Bad Mother's Christmas, Fukrey Returns, Ever After, Charlie, Shape of Water, Anjaniputra, Vivegam, Urvi) considering our tight schedule.
On third weekend I met my college friends for lunch. We were meeting after two years and it was fun. We laughed like Shoorpanakas and chugged beer like, well humans. Pun intended if you know what I mean.
First quarter of the new year came to an end quite rapidly. Hope next two months shall pass as swiftly as possible. It is boiling hot in Bangalore. And hubby never misses a chance to ridicule me. He thinks I'm melodramatic when it comes to summer. "Swiss Girl" he calls me because he thinks I overact as if I was born in Switzerland wherein truth I was born and brought in one of the coastal towns of Karnataka. Everybody knows how hot and humid the seaside weather is.
How was your March folks?
My father was a giver, the giver of love, care, and affection. I'm told five-and-a-half years of my life was split between my Ammamma's place and my parents'. I was the Apple of grand mom's and my aunts' eyes. Like a royalty I used to split my time between my parents' and grandmother's. Once every 15 days my father used to come and pick me up from my granny's home. Mom tells me that every 15 days my father used to buy me a new dress. However, I don't have recollection of this.
Just before starting my first standard I was down with mumps. They say it was the first time I forced my dad to take me with him. I remember missing my Ammamma and aunts back then. He was very strict when it comes to the matter of studies. He used to help picking up songs to be sung for the school music competition. Not that I was any good singer, though I believed myself to be the one for a very very long time. He was just good at it. It was he who wrote essays and speeches for my school events. How can I forget our every month's visit to movie theater? Both my parents were movie buffs. There were colourful tales of their movie escapades in the family gatherings. Its no wonder I inherited that gene from them. I don't remember taking beatings from him. I have to confess here. I was very thin and sickly girl back then. I used to act hyperventilating to avoid the punishment. So, he made me to do tables and copy writing many times, that was his way of disciplining me. That exercise was plain meaningless and tedious. I still don't understand why parents do that? But I will take that boring torture over the actual beating anytime for that matter.
We had not very nice neighbors back then. Their kids were bully and trouble makers. Now I think probably they also had the same opinion about us. Luckily we were a team of three and learnt very young to fight our own battles. Everything was under control until elders got involved. My mother is a soft, docile lady who is too fragile to support us. And genuinely she believed her kids are little rowdies and nuisance, which could be true if I recall those days. On the other hand we had our father's backing publicly and socially. He never flinched a moment to stand up for us. Later he interrogated and meted out his own little punishment to all of us, in my case copy writing. In that way we were never embarrassed in front of others, even though we were at fault. Isn't that a family supposed to do?
Because of my dad's encouragement I never came home crying from bullying or harassment. Like every other child I truly believed my father is the strongest. He was the provider, caregiver, and an over protective father. They say you can't have favourite parent. Somehow I never shied away from saying my father was my favourite, and I think he always will be.
Title: Finding Audrey
Author: Sophie Kinsella
Genre: Young Adult
Paperback: 299
“I think what I've realized is, life is all about climbing up, slipping down, and picking yourself up again"
Sophie Kinsella is my guilty pleasure writer. I loved her shopaholic series and several other stand alone novels. Mostly her characters are hilarious, ridiculous, and will have you in splits. Some say Kinsella's genre is chic-lit, and I dislike the word chic-lit attached to any books for that matter.
Audrey, a 14-year-old girl suffers from social anxiety disorder after a disturbing incident of bullying at her school. The gang of girls responsible for this was suspended. Audrey stays in home, wears dark glasses even at home to avoid eye contact with anybody and everybody. she is mostly home-schooled and is hopeful to go to a different school the next academic year. She has a therapist named Dr. Sarah who is helping Audrey to get better slowly and steadily. Though proactive about recovery, Audrey feels she is not inching towards the goal faster. One fine day she meets Linus, her brother's friend and things start to look up. They befriend and Linus sets few challenges for her to achieve as a part of exposure therapy to overcome her anxiety.
Kinsella writes about a mental illness in a light-hearted manner. The family dynamics is hilarious and cute. Audrey's Daily Mail obsessed mother who thinks playing video game is bad and hell-bend on sending her son to more outdoor activities. Her father is typical "Yes Man" who is always on his blackberry and agrees with everything his wife says. Both the characters are cliched, but evokes giggle on many occasions. Frank, Audrey's brother is my favourite who is hooked to the LOC (Land of conqueror) game. His constant bickering with his mother had me in snort to no end. He is manipulative, naughty, and grumpy, typical for a teenager. He is a supportive and understanding brother who goes out of his way to make her feel better. The love story between Linus and Audrey is okay nothing earth shattering. And mental illness doesn't get automatically cured by a lover. She had a very supportive and protective family, so there is no lack of love and affection in her life. Her recovery graph elevated without much glitches, which is quite impossible in real life. Thankfully they haven't showed Audrey completely getting cured from anxiety disorder. I wished there was a small chapter explaining the bullying incident that triggered Audrey's anxiety. We were given insight and clues here and there about the incident and I know it is left to reader's imagination.
It is an easy read and one can finish within 3 hours in a go. For me there can never be a bad book. This one had me in cackles several times.
My father was known as the most hands-on father. My mother vouches for it as well as my grandmother and aunts. He was equally involved in raising three of us. Back in the 80's it was not fashionable. Father's primary job was to work outside and provide for the family and mother was the primary caregiver. I am told he used to help mom as much as he could before going to office.
I remember learning alphabets from him. He made big chart with alphabets that was hung on the wall. His hand writing was the best in the whole wide word. He bought audio cassettes of rhymes; songs that croons weeks, months, numbers, animals, etc. I still recall those and can reproduce at a go.
The biggest gift he ever gave me was inculcating the habit of reading. He showed me the joy of reading books. It started with comics and then moved on to big fat books. Every month he invested certain amount of money on books. He himself was a voracious reader. We used to discuss those books to no end. He introduced me to wide variety of writers and never once tried to influence his favourites. He let me to have my own opinion. However, like every middle class father he never liked the interference of books in the middle of academic year.
He was a firm believer of almighty. When my 10-year-old self declared atheism for the first time, he suggested a few literature of atheists and rational thinkers. He never ever tried to change my belief. When I say I'm an atheist, the first question I get is "don't your parents tell anything?"
My father was an amazing writer. He wrote many Yakshagana (traditional theater of coastal Karnataka and Malnadu) prasangas (story, music, raga). He nurtured me to appreciate theater, dramas, music, in general art. The irony is being a patronage of art himself he was against the idea of I pursuing the art as my academic option. He emotionally blackmailed me to take the science stream after my board exam. I was too young to object and totally clueless of what I wanted to do. I admire this generation children who are so focused and single-minded in their educational choice. Father was heart broken when I scored less than what was expected of me. But never once he scolded or insulted me in anyway.
He was strict only on the matter of studies. Other than that he allowed me to do whatever I wanted to do. Probably I should have studied hard to meet the expectations. Anyhow after three-and-a-half decades I have realized perhaps that was my limitation. Have I failed my father? Maybe. Definitely yes. Now he is gone and I could never ask him.
Don't wait for the right time to ask any questions you have for your parents. Just do it. Then and there. You never know how much time they have.
I have been absent from this space for a very long time. Almost one-and-half years. Something happened in my personal life. I lost my father in September 22, 2016. It was so sudden, unexpected. And I still ask why my father? He was hale and healthy. Never in his life he was ill or in poor health, but for seasonal cold and fever. If one follows my earlier posts they will know he had hernia surgery in the beginning of the year. He had a speedy recovery from that. He was an active man. It breaks my heart to address him in the past tense. He never had any heart aliment or hypertension, but for diabetes, which he had under control. I still remember that fateful night. At 9 o'clock I spoke with him. It was the time when Kaveri agitation was going on and he discussed about it. Exactly at 1 p.m. I get a call from our neighbour saying my father has taken ill and we need to leave immediately. I knew then and there I lost the one of the two best men in my life. Hubby spoke with the same neighbor again and confirmed my worst fear. There was no time. We left immediately with my younger brother and sister-in-law. Though blabbering something I was in complete shock. It is impossible for me to talk about funeral or rituals as of now.
My father's death broke something in me. The family cannot be the same again. It hurts each and every moment of life. Yes, I stopped crying after sometime. Pain eases with time they say, it sure does, but it lingers it's ugly head at unexpected times. I was drawn into a cocoon. I pulled myself up for my mother's sake. My loss is unimaginable, but less compared to my mother's who lost her partner of 37 years. I know nobody can replace his place in her life.
I smiled, but it wouldn't reach my eyes. It was expected me to be strong and I posed a brave and dignified face. And tried to hide my pain by cracking lame jokes. I thought my father will live forever. Now I have to live my life without him. I will never be able to hear his voice again, hug him, or hold him. There will not be any conversation about politics, books, religion, movies, theater, gossip anymore with him. There won't be any light-hearted banter anymore. He was my confidant, strength, my main man. And all the memories I create in my life will be without him being a part of it.
They say your loved ones will be watching over you even after death. I couldn't find solace in that thought either because of being an atheist. And I remember my father telling in no unflinching words "Nobody knows what happens after death. You can imagine and live in a bubble to avoid pain, but the truth is once you are dead, you are just dead".
People know me say I'm very much like my father, both in looks and nature. Probably that is how I get to keep him with me forever.
