I is big!

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He loved the company of older boys. The younger ones annoyed him. His favourite thing as a toddler was to stand in super-big shoes belonging to the older men in the family. He waded around the house in them. He happily posed for the camera with a toothy grin, looking up with his twinkling eyes.

He couldn’t wait to grow up. As a 5 year old, he would sit studiously at the dining table and squiggle pages of nonsense words on a writing pad, claiming seriously, ”I am doing office work.”

About a year later, one Sunday I was on call. We were driving to his child-minder’s house at 7 am. There was no traffic at all. All of Belfast was asleep. I said to him, “Look Saagar, it’s so unfair. Everyone is resting today and I have to go to work.” After a moment’s thought he said, “But Mamma, you’re a good girl.”

One summer evening, he had been playing outside with his friends for a couple of hours. We lived in the hospital accommodation which was a block of 6 flats surrounded by green grounds and tall trees, a safe distance away from the road. At dinner time, he said he wasn’t hungry as he had had snacks at one of the neighbours. I had prepared dinner and had been waiting to have it with him. I tried to coax him to eat just a little bit. But he didn’t want to. I persisted with my efforts, making up stuff like, he would get bad dreams if he didn’t have a proper meal before bed. After a while he sat me down and said,  “Mamma, when you are not hungry, do I force you to eat?”

What can you say?

Goodbyes-are-only-for-those-who-love-with-their-eyes.-Because-for-those-who-love-with-heart-and-soul-there-is-no-such-thing-as-separation.-Rumi-Quote-about-love-and-separa

9 days to go.

Why? How did we get here?
Why us? How can this be?
Why him? Such a sweet child!

How did it feel to be him at that point?
How did it get that bad?
Why could no one see it?
How could I be so blind to his pain?
Did he try to tell me in code?
Could I not hear his cryptic messages? Why?
Did he hide it? Was he trying to protect me?
Were there clues I missed?
How could all this be happening straight in my line of vision?

Is this a crazy practical joke? Fake news?
Could I just go back and rearrange events like my dressing table?
Did he tell anyone else? His friends? His hair-dresser?

Why did he say nothing to me?
Did he not trust me enough?
Did he think I loved him too much to bear hearing those words?
Did he think I loved him too little?
Did he think I wouldn’t understand? Would I have understood?
Would I have freaked out?

Did he think I’d be better off without him?
Did he have any idea how wrong that could be?

Was it a choice or a complete lack of choice?

How bad was his pain? How unbearable?
I want to stand where he stood.
I want to see what he saw.
I want to feel what he felt.
I want to experience what he experienced.
I want to go back there. NOW!!!

How much love does it take to keep someone alive? Why was mine not enough?

The annual festival of my beastly treacherous demons has begun.
Thank you Autumn.

No more thorns

The bridge rumbles, shakes and shudders
as trains thunder over it.
I sit under the bridge and everything around me
rumbles, shakes and shudders.
The verticals, horizontals and things in between
judder
Outside and inside of me
I live under this bridge. It threatens to snap and bury me in rubble
Some trains are overloaded.
They crawl on top of my chest.
Crushing me to pulp.
Others come galloping,
Turning me to fine flying dust.
Almost non-existent
Yet, here.
Feeling. Breathing.

Thousands of us huddle under this bridge.
Wondering why our love wasn’t enough
Why no one said anything
Why it keeps happening at a maddening pace
Why we were blind
Why we didn’t know what to do
Why the Earth keeps spinning
Why the breath keeps oscillating
Why the heart keeps drumming.
Why?

4 years ago, it was all happening in September.
He didn’t know he was so close to the end.
I didn’t know I was so close to his end.
Now, I know.
Everyone’s talking.
Was I deaf or is it much too late?

Kingdom of Us: Lucy Cohen presents a film about the life of a family affected by suicide https://www.theguardian.com/film/2017/oct/08/the-kingdom-of-us-review-netflix-teenagers-lucy-cohen

Horizon: Stopping male suicide by Dr Xand Van Tulleken on BBC2 on 22nd August 2018
https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0bgv82g/horizon-2018-6-stopping-male-suicide

House of Commons, 5th September 2018: Transcript of a debate by Helen Jones, making a case for changing the standard of proof from ‘criminal’ to ‘civil’ for deaths by suicides
https://hansard.parliament.uk/commons/2018-09-05/debates/B8A2C436-64BE-4694-B4AA-F6535E49E31E/SuicideCoroners%E2%80%99Courts

NICE Guidelines: September 2018: Preventing Suicide in community and custodial settings.
https://www.nice.org.uk/guidance/NG105

A letter

Darling Saagar,

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon in mid-August and I am missing you. To say ‘I miss you’ is like saying ‘I am alive’. I think of all the evenings and weekends I spent at work while you were home. At that time, I thought I had no choice but now I know I did. I thought wrong. I think of the time we were walking through an ‘Ideal Home Show’ and you wanted to buy a brown leather bean-bag for your room and I said no. I thought you should have more floor space. Again, I thought wrong. These thoughts are sets of darts that fly in uninvited at supersonic speed and leave parallel rows of bleeding abrasions behind.

This summer has been exceptionally glorious but Nature at large is annoyed with us I think. There have been flash-floods, droughts and heat-waves in most unlikely of places, forest-fires and famines, violent volcanoes and earth-quakes. I wonder what you would’ve made of the burning Middle-east, Mr Trump, Brexit and North Korea. If only Electric cars could solve all the problems of the world.

They say the longest journey is from the head to the heart. I made that journey in one second – the second I knew you were gone. You won’t believe how many real friends and real conversations I now enjoy. I also read a lot more. I wonder what you think of my new reading glasses – metallic purple frame. Yes. The time has come. After carrying them all over the world in a red polka-dotted Cath Kidson case for more than a year, I have finally started wearing them.

While clearing up a corner of the study I found a set of drum-sticks that belong to you. They looked well used. ‘REGAL TIP USA But Naked’. 🙂 I held them in my hands like you would’ve. You remember how we competed in the game of ‘chop sticks’? One shrimp, one string of spaghetti, one edamame bean, one grain of rice, half an edamame bean and so on… you won every time. You rascal!

Yesterday, the ‘Old people’s’ radio said that ‘Friends’ was the most streamed TV programme on-line. I remember how our opinions about Rachel clashed as though she was the most important person in our lives. FYI, I’ve still not changed my mind about her.

West Norwood High street has many more cafés now – Thai, French, Brazilian and Portuguese. I feel a stronger sense of community is developing here. The new improved South London Theatre is putting up some great shows and a new Cinema is being built where the Library used to be. The streets and cafés miss you too my darling.

I attach a picture of your beloved drum-sticks for you. I could write, not just a letter but a whole book for you but, another time. I hope wherever you are, you’re having fun.

I love you.

A big huge soppy bear hug,
Mamma

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Noble Silence

Would it be best if I took myself to a mountain top where I didn’t have to say anything, hear anything, understand anything, process anything or feel anything? Is there somewhere I could be free of the wrath of time? Where my heartstrings wouldn’t constantly tug at me. Where I could find the much-conceptualised ‘perfect balance’. Where I could wash off those parts me that ache non-stop. Where I could find an oasis beyond ‘I like’, ‘I don’t like’. Where none of the facts of life would hold any power over me.

My 51st birthday is the 3rd one without Saagar. That’s how it is – two significances attached to one day. Aren’t years supposed to bring wisdom and clarity with them? Do they? Possibly in unnoticeably miniscule doses in my case. I could take myself to a mountain-top but the snag is that the source of the restlessness and pain will come with me – my mind.

Looking for peace and respite from my mind I made my way to the serenity of a Buddist Monastry just outside London for a 5-day Silence Retreat. The first few verses we chant are Buddha’s words on Loving-kindness.

“Be one who is skilled in goodness
And who knows the path of peace:
Let them be able and upright,
Straightforward and gentle in speech.

Humble and not conceited,
Contented and easily satisfied,
Unburdened with duties and frugal in their ways.
Peaceful and clam, and wise and skilful,
Not proud and demanding in nature.

Let them not do the slightest thing
That the wise would later reprove,
Wishing: In gladness and in safety,
May all beings be at ease.

Whatever living beings there may be,
Whether they are weak or strong, omitting none,
The great or the mighty, medium, short or small.
The seen and the unseen,
Those living near and far away,
Those born and to be born,
May all beings be at ease.

Let none deceive another
Or despise any being in any state.
Let none through anger or ill-will wish harm upon another.

Even as a mother protects with her life
Her child, her only child,
So with a boundless heart
Should one cherish all living beings,
Radiating kindness over the entire world:

Spreading upwards to the skies
And downwards to the depths,
Outwards and unbounded,
Freed from hatred and ill-will.

Whether standing or walking, seated,
Or lying down – free from drowsiness –
One should sustain this recollection.
This is said to be the sublime abiding.

By not holding to fixed views,
The pure-hearted one, having clarity of vision,
Being freed from all sense-desires,
Is not born again into this world.”

If there is just one thing I can take from these wise words, it is –
“Be at ease.”
“Relax.”
As Saagar would say in his notoriously funny south-Indian accent,
“Mamma. Chhillax.”
I think that’s a good place to start.

Day 973

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The days are just packed.

Days come and go, one after another, in a silent single file. Left to me, I would let the disciplined procession pass quietly. Luckily, it is not left to me alone. Si is an expert at creating things to look forward to. Never before has my diary been so full of fun things to do. Even when the diary is blank, he comes up with ideas that make the day go by in the most enjoyable way.

We had no plans for today but then we needed to buy hose connections to water our tiny garden. A trip to the garden centre meant we walked around with a trolley and looked at things and found a few that would be nice for the house. Before long, we had to get a second trolley for things we hadn’t thought of before we entered the store.

Dolly Parton famously quotes, “my definition of happiness is having something to do what you love to do, someone to love and something to look forward to.”

One argument against constantly wanting something to look forward to could be that it takes our attention away from the present moment. Yet, the two do not have to be mutually exclusive. Simple things like half an hour of peace to meditate or write a journal, a walk with a friend, a bike ride through the park, a warm shower or a bubble bath, trying out a new restaurant, a long chat with a friend on the phone, reading a book, cooking something nice and sharing with friends, a good stretch, a massage, a dance or exercise class can be uplifting. However, ‘doing’ something all the time is no fun. Doing less may be the answer for some.

Coming from a place of gratitude and abundance, looking forward to something is fabulous!

Thanks for helping me see that, Si.

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Day 914

Ding-dong – the laundryman with the ironing.
Ding-dong – the ever-smiling, podgy little cleaning lady.
Ding-dong – the air-con repair man with a helmet.
Ding-dong – the Fed-ex man with a delivery for the neighbours.
Ding-dong – one of the workmen upstairs requesting a bottle of cold drinking water and so on …

The lull of rotating fan blades. The hazy, lazy sun. The hopeful hint of an on-coming shower. The microscopic layer of fine urban dust on glass table tops. The colourful screw-tops of refrigerated water bottles. Old familiar Hindi film songs playing in the background like long lost friends. Dodgy links with the world-wide-web. The cool marble floors easing bare soles. Honey like water melons. Heavenly early mangos, semi-yellow, a wee bit raw around the stones. Heads taking respite under thin cotton scarves in multitudes of colours. Loose, airy, light, flowing, feminine garments. Childhood aromas emanating from Mum’s kitchen. Her annoyance with disobedient modern gadgetry. Dad’s concern. Their everyday household problems of retirement. Saagar’s pictures lining the walls adorned with flowers and silk. Being called by childhood names.

Specks of earth lifted off by droplets hitting parched ground. The magical heady confluence of moisture and earth teleporting my brain to a nearly buried, exotic moment from a long time ago. The awesome dance of the wind with the chime. The pure joy of the breath. The ecstacy of being.

The best things in life are not things.