Memories

Day 718

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For 6 years I’ve been thinking about it. Fascinated with tribal, scripted and patterned decorative band-like tattoos on arms and forearms, I’ve got myself temporary ones whilst on holiday but haven’t had the guts to get a real one.

At work I am often amused to see big huge biker type, heavily tattooed men, claiming to be needle-phobic. One of them last week had his life story written all over him – kid’s and grand-kid’s names and dates of birth, many birds and butterflies, some pretty girls, hearts and crosses and even the football team he supports!

This morning I woke up with a resolve. Today is the day I get a tattoo on my left arm. The tiny city centre of Lagos has 3 or 4 tattoo parlours. I got a recommendation from the yoga instructor and went along to see John. He opens his shop from 3-7pm only. So cool! Initially I thought I would like a row of elephants going around the arm. That would be in line with Saagar’s elephant tattoos. When I really thought about it, I realised that all I wanted was ‘Saagar’. Although his soul is formless and nameless, he exists as Saagar, my beautiful son, in his and my earthly life. I love him and always will. So that’s what it was going to be.

Luckily I was the only customer in the shop and had John’s full attention. Luckily he asked me no questions about the set of letters. Very professional! We went through a range of fonts and patterns, sizes and shapes, colours and widths, styles and embellishments. It was a tough choice as I wanted something which brought together Hindi and English scripts, given he was a self-confessed ‘coconut’ (brown on the outside, white on the inside). Something really simple.

It was painful. Especially the first 10 minutes. In all it was three quarters of an hour of trying not to scrunch up my face with pain, of maintaining a slow, regular and rhythmic breathing pattern, allowing myself to be distracted by unfamiliar music playing in the shop and tapping my right foot to the beats while keeping my upper body absolutely still. Once or twice I was completely overwhelmed by the pain but managed to keep it together, just like when I was in labour.

It is simple and sweet.
He is always with me and always will be. Love you my darling!

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Day 717

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Sunday lunch at the start of autumn on a warm day of blue skies and a warm sun, sitting under a wise old carob tree with supported branches and multiple dried brown beans hanging from a wide umbrella of dark green leaves with friends and strangers making introductions followed by conversations, smiles and laughter, references to this and that, occupations, travels and hobbies, daughters and mothers, food and wine, so on and so forth …. as if straight out of a film set infused with a sweet subtle smell of eucalyptus.

All of it completely meaningless, empty, futile, feckless, inane and pointless. Words, words and more words! Exhausting! I had to get up and walk away with my i-pad and take pictures of something. Anything.

In 2 weeks time he will be dead. Around this time 2 years ago he was scoring max on his depression scores and he gave it in writing to his GP in the form of a PHQ-9 form but got no help. No escalation of care. No attention. No mention of ‘suicide’ to us and yet holding a firm belief that a safety plan was in place. Sent home with the suggestion, “It will get better. Give it time. Rome was not built in one day” and a piece of paper.

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It was early autumn then and it is early autumn now.
I lived in what I thought was our world then.
I live in a world of my own now. It sort of overlaps with this one in places but most of this one is irrelevant to me.

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Day 716

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Today I was a tourist in Lagos, Portugal.

This is our second visit here. Aside from having friends here, what brought us back is its pace and ease of life. It is an ancient seaside town, loaded with natural beauty and a few tourists.

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The Saturday Market, a short bike ride away from home was the highlight of this morning. With baskets hanging off the handles of our bikes, pretending to be two of the locals, we feigned annoyance at the ‘tourists’ getting in our way. Once in the market, the truth about us came spilling out. Out came our cameras and a huge appreciation for the ability to buy produce from the farmers directly. Friendly, relaxed faces manning tiny stalls sold locally grown seasonal produce – figs, chillies, grapes, olives, almonds, rosemary honey, tomatos, greens, homemade breads, sweetmeats, fresh and dried herbs, flowers, plants and other everyday little things. Saagar would have loved the real peri-peri.

The market reminded me of my childhood in India, buying real food from real people, sharing with them the value of their land and labour. It reminded me of sweeter, simpler times. Times when we had a feel for the land and a connection with each other through the food that it produced.

Simplicity is indeed a virtue, be it a town or a person.
The simple joy of breathing clean air, priceless.
So many simple things are now lost in many parts of the world!

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”
– Leonardo da Vinci

Day 713

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“Thank you Gas-lady” said the surgeon at the end of our working day as he picked up his bag to leave the operating theatre. I acknowledged it with a smile and a nod. That’s sweet. At that moment it didn’t register but later I realised that he does not know my name. We have worked in the same theatre complex one day per week for the past 4 years and he does not know my name. That’s interesting. I wondered how many people I see on a regular basis and don’t know the names of.

How did that make me feel? Not exactly insulted but definitely unimportant. I found myself making excuses for him – may be he finds my name difficult to remember. It is a foreign name after all. But this is London and many people here have foreign names. May be it is a reflection of a basic power imbalance – every one knows his name but he doesn’t have to know everyone’s name.

Knowing a name is a small thing, but it makes the difference between making someone feel that they matter or they don’t. When our name is known, we are more likely to have a sense of belonging to a person or a group. It also means that who we are is central to the interactions we have.

“Could someone get the defibrillator please?”
“James, could you please bring in the defibrillator?”

Which one of these two statements is likely to produce a quick and effective result? Knowing names can make it easier to get a job done.

Patients are not diabetics, schizophrenics, bed 10, ‘last on the list’, so on and so forth. They have their names and unique identities. Of course, it is not always easy to remember names. It does take some effort. It is easier to put in that effort if we know how much of a difference it can make not only to others but also to us. I find myself paying more attention to names now. Even if I get it wrong, I like to think I tried.
It is definitely worth the effort.

( Saagar was really good at remembering names. In fact, the more unusual the name, the more fun he had with it. Well, there’s a name I’ll never forget – Saagar.)

Day 702

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In one month it will be 2 years since Saagar’s time on this planet came to an end. I don’t want that date to arrive. I am absolutely dreading it. I remember when Saagar was coming close to finishing school, the thought of him going off to university made me feel terribly sad, almost panicked, knowing it was bound to happen. It’s the same feeling, only different. Another year! Another slot of time. A longer gap between him and me, more distance between the time when he lived and now. More fade. More erosion.

This evening we attended a unique black-tie event – a dinner/dance to honour and celebrate Ruth’s life. She was only 44 when she got tired of her Bipolar Disorder. She had suffered with it for most of her adult life. Her friends and family got together and had a great big fun party for her. It was a happy event. I have never met Ruth but her Mum and I have a unique bond. It felt special to be there with Si and my parents. I felt deep gratitude for all these lovely people in my life. All the proceeds went to the charity Mind.

The same adjectives I use to describe Saagar were used  to describe Ruth. She was actively involved in amateur theatre and her gorgeous photographs from various productions were displayed for our pleasure – Kismet, Sweet Charity, South Pacific and Oliver. Her twinkling eyes and cheeky smile sparkled through every photograph.

“Mem’ries light the corners of my mind
Misty water-colour mem’ries of the way we were
Scatterred pictures of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another for the way we were
Can it be that it was all so simple then
Or has time re-written ev’ry line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we? Could we?
Mem’ries may be beautiful yet
What’s too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it’s the laughter we will remember
Whenever we remember
The way we were… the way we were…”

The way we were from ‘The way we were’.

Bless you Ruthy!

Bless you Saagar!