Posts Tagged ‘life’

Walk home, 310118

January 31, 2018

My walk home this morning.

Newspapers flying through the air to land in sometimes wet front driveways. Vegetable vendors offloading from autorickshaws. Sunlight slanting in motes of dust, through the branches of trees. The still-lingering nip in the air that makes me–almost– forget that I am still limping, 9 weeks after the knee surgery.

Steaming, tiny cups of chai and kaapi at various corners. Rangolis that are much smaller than they were last month. A little boy reluctant to get off his mother’s two-wheeler, at his school. Beans more tender than a child’s finger, and a cauliflower with a caterpillar smiling up at me…that makes me decide to buy them (no pesticides!) Smiling at several people whom I don’t know but see regularly.

I arrive home, feeling peaceful and happy. Surely, this is a perfect life.

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On the passing of Mythri, 100118

January 10, 2018

Every moment that I live,breathe, look, sigh…
May be someone’s last moment on earth.
So tough to understand this, but it is true.
More and more often, when I hear of young people dying
I wonder why there is no logic in life or death.
Why should I, having lived a full life, and with no regrets,
Not be taken, and a young life,
Full of talent, hard work and promise,
Not be spared to the world?
Why should old sere trees, their uses long gone,
Creak on, moaning of the past to the world,
While young saplings,which we hope will grow
And mature into giants,
Be cut down in a lightning swathe of random fate?
I do not understand life…or death.

Another surgery..and back home again

November 24, 2017

2 weeks after the surgery that I described

here

the knee injury that I had sustained in Madhya Pradesh (a young man boarding the train to Bangalore in a rush pushed me from behind, and I fell with my knee hitting the corner of a tin trunk, leaving me in excruciating pain) flared up again, and I could not even move a few steps.

I realized that the “settling” of the knee problem with antibiotics in September had not really solved the problem. So I went to the orthopaedic surgeon in Fortis while I was underoing the follow up after the surgery.

This surgeon did not give me any feeling of confidence, so I went back to Dr Ananda Murthy, the orthopaedic surgeon I had consulted in September.

I went only with the idea of having physiotherapy to clear the inflammation, but I soon had to change my mind. Dr Ananda Murthy clearly explained that I had a meniscus tear in my knee, and there was some other growth that he could see. I also mentioned the

Plica syndrome

the Dr J V Srinivas, the orthopaedic surgeon at Fortis Hospital, had found, and he said he would take care of that, too. He explained the process of

arthroscopy

clearly to me.

The decision made, I felt there was no point in delaying, and suffering. Friends took me to Shanthi Hospital which he asked me to go to, and was admitted. At noon, the arthroscopy was carried out, and I was discharged the next day (23rd November). The bill, by the way, was half was what Fortis would have charged! The hospital was small, pleasant, and quiet. Very clean, and a lovely private room with a view of a mango and a jamun tree! Good nursing staff, and good food (at reasonable rates for visitors,too).

With some amount of pain, Anjana took me to her home, but I found my knee progressing really well as the day wore on, and late that night, she drove me back home. I put some of the stuff away, let the others lie, and zonked out at 11pm…waking up only at 7.45am today (24th Nov) instead of getting up early and crossing the road to Dr Ananda Murthy’s clinic and being the first patient when the clinic opened at 7.30am!

I managed to cross the dangerous Bannerghatta Road and went to the clinic, where the doctor saw me and pronounced me fit to carry on normally. Both he and the physiotherapists at Shanthi Hospital and the clinic made the same statement:

“At your age, we usually have to tell people to walk more, and take the stairs, but we have to give you the reverse advice. At the outset, don’t walk more than 2 km per day, and be a little careful. After that, you are fine. We are impressed with your level of fitness..it’s closer to a 40-year-old.” That’s the kind of compliment that is very reassuring!

I underwent some physiotherapy, made the dangerous crossing (the road!) back home, and the compressive bandage having been removed, I felt such a sense of relief.

I had the hot-water bucket-bath of a lifetime,cleaning away all the plaster and bandage gums (oh how affectionately they cling!), tender massaging of the various stitches. This was followed by a self-pampering full-body moisturizing-cum-massage (done by me!)

I look at my body. Perfection in looks? No! So many bulges and bumps. So many places where the call of gravity is being heeded. So much efficient storage of fat. It doesn’t look anything like Miss World’s. But there is one great thing about it…it’s alive, it has carried me through 63 years of healthy life.

It has bounced back–fast– from so much that has been thrown at it, and it houses me in great comfort still.To me, this body is perfect. I will pamper it with a good lunch and a siesta now….or should I walk 2km to my daughter’s home and be with the grandchildren?

Life with K2

October 25, 2017

K2, as I call Kalyan Mohan Shaffer, is an original thinker as all children are. Some examples:

K2, while getting ready for playschool: I want to be like the old pwesident of Amewica.
Me: Who’s the old president of Amewi..sorry, America?
K2: Obana (sic).
Father: The present president is older than the old president.
K2: Oh, Donald Twump is older?
….the things four-year-olds know!

K2: “Spell ‘thousand’, Deepamma.”
Me: “T-H-O-U-S-A….”
K2: “No! You are WONG! Thouzend…you have to spell it with ‘z’ and ‘e’. You don’t know ANYTHING!”
Me (humbly): “Yes…I am afraid so…”

K2: “You are WONG. You are saying ‘night’. There is a ‘k’ there, so you should say ‘kanight’ not ‘night’, Deepamma!”
Me: “OK, have it your way…”
K2: “No, it’s not MY way, it’s the WIGHT way!”

Stages, by Herman Hesse

October 24, 2017

Stages
As every flower fades and as all youth
Departs, so life at every stage,
So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,
Blooms in its day and may not last forever.
Since life may summon us at every age
Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,
Be ready bravely and without remorse
To find new light that old ties cannot give.
In all beginnings dwells a magic force
For guarding us and helping us to live.
Serenely let us move to distant places
And let no sentiments of home detain us.
The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us
But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.
If we accept a home of our own making,
Familiar habit makes for indolence.
We must prepare for parting and leave-taking
Or else remain the slaves of permanence.
Even the hour of our death may send
Us speeding on to fresh and newer spaces,
And life may summon us to newer races.
So be it, heart: bid farewell without end.
–Hermann Hesse
(translated by Richard and Clara Winston)

For life to begin

August 31, 2017

In an empty, silent house
I wait for life to begin.
Life will arrive
With the first young child
Bubbling over with tales from her school.
I make sure she eats the rest of her lunch.
While listening to her,
I make preparations
For the evening meal.
More noise, more tumult
When the little boy comes in.
“Dwag me to the bathwoom!” he yells
Glowing with the dirt of the day
Spent in playschool.
Soon, other children come in to play.
The house wakes up, is full of life.
Homework, Hindi, settling squabbles:
Bath, dinner, and a game or two.
I cuddle up to one, or both
As we say a prayer, or read a story.
The little, reassuring rituals of bedtime
Are done. Darkness prevails.
Peace reigns again as they lie asleep,
Hair tumbled over pillows, arms askew.
Life sleeps now, but will be up tomorrow,
Getting ready for the day, again.
Awake and asleep by turns, this house
Is the home of the future.

The river

May 1, 2017

Rush,rush, rush…
Around me, the seconds flow past
The minutes fly
The hours march,
The months creep slowly.
I hardly feel the year’s progress
Into the lap of what-has-been.
I live in the present…
That’s a conondrum
As with every ticking second
My present becomes the past.
As I sit here, writing,
My heart starts the next beat.
I take my next breath.
I am not what I was
When I first thought of writing this.
What a relentless river Time is.

IMG_9038

Govind

April 22, 2017

Should I wait
For it to be exactly six months
Since you decided
To change the plane of your existence?
Do I not remember you
Very often, never mind what date
Or day, or time it is?
When two of my friends
Had surgery recently
To remove growths
You come to mind
Whenever I lift a camera
I often see you,
Before I see the scene in front of me.
When I see good planning
And crisp execution
You slip into my thoughts.
When I laugh at jokes
I recollect how you used humour to heal yourself.
The determination that got you through so much,
The travels all over the world
The staunch affection…
You are there in every thought I have
About such things.
Time will flow past:
Six months may turn into years.
My friend, you are always here
Where it matters.
In my heart, and in my memories.

Haircut, 130417

April 13, 2017

Snip, snip, snip, go the scissors and bits of my hair fall (the best kind of hair fall there is.) I relax and close my eyes. Will this end well or will I look like Raggedy Ann? I don’t know, but I am content to leave it to fate, and the hairdresser. The lady in the next seat, with her hair in a made-of-dye-cap, smiles at me. Snip,snip,snip…every haircut is a calendar, measuring out the time in the length of my hair. Short hair has been a great thing for me; I learnt how to swim, I didn’t have to put up sweaty hair in a perpetual bun….with a light heart, and a lighter head, I walk home. Snip, snip, snip…a half hour more out of my life, but gone in serenity and peace.

What my friend Ravikiran had to say:

I love getting a haircut – That feeling of getting that weight off your head, the metronomic rhythmic snip-snipping of the scissors lulling you into a state of mild hypnotic drowsiness, the faint musky fragrance of the talcum powder, the slap-whack-rub scalp massage at the end – all followed by a long hot shower when I get home.

Morning walk back home, 050417

April 5, 2017

This morning’s walk back home:
Women dotting freshly-washed front yards with rangoli in the making.
The carpets of Honge, Copper Pod, and mahogany flowers on the roads.
The smell of onion cooking as a lady makes morning palya at a mobile cart.
Walkers with their morning filter kaapi, exchanging notes and spreading newspapers.
Sunlight filtering through the trees, haloing the head of an old man as he walks with difficulty but determination.
No school buses or sleepy-faced students.
Milk packets and newspapers on mopeds,being distributed.
A young girl stopping for a minute in front of a small shrine, her eyes closed over her hands folded in prayer.
Cut watermelons making red stars.
I reach my home, content, looking up at our resident bulbuls as their burbling song pours liquidly over the lawn.