Gratitude diaries- 6

Sonal

I can remember having 'best friends' since second grade. Since I shifted so many schools, I had a different best friend in each school- so many best friends over my school life. But the one that stands out from all my school years is Sonal. We were friends through the ages 12 and 13, which i suppose are tumultuous- we had just attained puberty and were becoming teenagers. Sonal was probably the first person I confided in about my mom's illness, outside my family. She was terribly sweet and sympathetic. She loved me a lot and would feel my pain acutely. Through her, I also got a different perspective on my family. I'd always felt sorry for myself in the family department, but through Sonal's envious reaction on witnessing my father kissing me after returning from a tour, I realised that I was perhaps not so unlucky after all. We were extremely comfortable with each other and could talk about anything and everything. It was a first for me. I was not really used to being so open with people outside my immediate family. I am grateful to Sonal for introducing me to that, for teaching me that I need not always be so guarded. She was very much my champion, cheering me on for my intelligence and proud of my good grades. She was luckier than me in the guys department but she never rubbed it in my face. She was very encouraging about my looks and always tried to make me feel good about myself and to make the most of my looks. She was very rich and lived in a huge house, but she was extremely kind hearted and generous and never let me feel awkward about the differences in our station. I practically lived at her house and ate majority of my meals there, and the food was so yummy! I am really ashamed for falling out of touch with her during my MBA and afterwards and for forgetting to invite her for my wedding. Thank you Sonal for being my most special school friend and for your love and generosity and friendship. Gosh, we were so lucky to have each other and I, especially was really lucky to have you.

Gratitude diaries- 5

Keshmira


I just met Keshmira on Thursday, We did something we'd never done before together- grocery shopping! and then had tea. Here is a friendship that has endured for twenty-five years, starting from the first day of college in 1992 in Mumbai to the here and present in Dubai in 2017. My friendship with Keshmira and Aban has been a rock for me to lean on for most of my adult life and I count myself as extremely fortunate to have both of them in my life.

Kesh is extremely easy to talk to- not just for me, for any one. She is always ready to lend a sympathetic ear, which I have no doubt I have chewed off with many a rants over many a telephone conversations. Thanks to her, I have been able to get insight into the Bohri culture. I have always been impressed by how cosmopolitan and modern her family is, and it gives me ammunition to counter the people who tend to dismiss Muslims as conservative and backward.

We share so many memories together- of being young and carefree, having fun, experimenting with new things. It is really heart-warming to be able to go over the memories together and re-live them together. We've comforted one another through heartbreaks and disappointments and depended on one another for advice.

Kash always puts up with my excesses- I can be quite annoyingly know-it-all and arrogant about my intelligence sometimes, but she never tries to put me in my place. She is my big admirer and champion and I can always count on her for praise and cheering.

She is also very forgiving. I remember when I was upset with her in college, even called her a 'bitch' but she never held it against me.

I know that at some level my sister must be envious of the deep bond that I share with Kash and Aban, because in spite of her numerous close friends, she doesn't have this deep and steadfast friendship with another woman.

Thank you Kash, for being my friend, for always being there for me whenever I need you. Our friendship is one of the great gifts of my life and I cherish it deeply.

Gratitude diaries- 4

Back after a few days of absence. Since it was Alka's birthday yesterday, in honour of that (her 40th), I'll write about her.
Alka and I have been friends since 1998, the year we both entered IIM-A. I had very few friends on the campus and she was one of them. We've had good times together and shared some bad times. When I wanted to drop out of the course because I found it too tough, she was supportive and encouraging and helped me to hang on. She could be tough when needed. I still remember her words to me, when I was ranting about how I could not do this- meaning study late into the night, survive on few hours of sleep, eat this horrible mess food. She said, 'who doesn't those luxuries? Everyone who is here wants to sleep late, eat good home cooked food, not slog so hard. You're no different from us in this respect.' This made me understand that I was not a special case. Others were suffering too. if they could stick it out, perhaps so could I.
Alka's free spirit, boldness and joie de vivre is something I truly admire and want to emulate, but can't. But I do think it's great that I could see her example from close at hand.
I've always appreciated the fact that she keeps in touch. It is easy for me to keep in touch with my friends because I can count them on one hand. She however has dozens of close friends, yet she always calls, and tries to meet whenever she is in the same city, inspite of the fact that she lives in another country.
Whenever i have asked for help, whether for contacts for finding jobs, or for moral support or advice, she has always been there and helped if it was possible for her. Her support especially meant a lot to me during the traumatic incident in New York in December 2013.
I am grateful to have such a steadfast friend, whom I can look up to and admire and with whom I have a lot of shared memories. Thank you for everything, Alka.

Gratitude diaries- 3

My father

Pages and pages could be written about my father without them doing justice to him. He is a public figure, a minor celebrity and an inspiration to many people in our home state of Maharashtra for his rise from humble beginnings to great power and influence. To me, he is more the father who sacrificed personal happiness and comfort to give my sister and I a stable home. He is hero for having lived with a schizophrenic wife for his entire adult life. My sister and I are bound to our mother by blood and could never abandon her. But he is not and could have, easily. It would have been far easier for him to walk away and start a new life with someone else. But he stayed for our sakes. and even now, when my sister and I live away, in our own homes with own families and can give limited time to the well-being of our mother, he is the one who is her rock, her support and main care giver. I can never be grateful enough.

I am lucky to have a living example in him of grit and determination, of trying, failing, never giving up and of being courageous. Unfortunately, I have not internalised these traits as much as I'd like to have, because my personality is fundamentally different from his. But at times, I've tried. My values, ethics, sense of social responsibility and empathy towards the poor and weak, comes directly from him. I modelled my behaviour on how I saw him behaving. How many people have the opportunity to have such a strong role model in their lives? I lucked out.

He has always been extremely supportive in everything we set out to do. Even now, I know I can count on him any time of the day or night, if I need his help, whether emotionally, practically or financially. His love is unconditional.

I have often in the past lamented about my difficult childhood and family life in my early years, but now I can look back and see that inspite of the difficulties, I was very lucky indeed to be surrounded by love. And looking at each of the three main figures in my life- mother, sister and father, I realise that I could not wish for anything other than these three people to have lived my life with.

It is no small thing to be thankful for, that they are all alive and in good health. What more could i want from life? May God keep them well and happy, all into ripe old age, along with me.

Gratitude diaries- 2

My older sister. I am so grateful to have her in my life.
The bond between sisters is special.  My sister and I are probably even closer than most sisters, maybe because of the difficult childhood we shared.
Growing up, she wasn't always very nice to me. She surely resented the special place I occupied in our mother's affection, being the youngest. But by the time we were adolescents, we were as thick as theives.
We shouldered the burden of our mother's illness together and it was a comfort to have someone to share the load with.
She was always super proud of my academic successes, never resenting them even when she looked poorer by comparison. She always encouraged me to do better.
She had the superior social skills and tried to draw me out of my shell, make me more sociable. She gave me beauty and fashion advice and made sure that I made the most of my looks. Her dress sense continues to be impeccable and inspirational to me to this day.
She never shut me out, always included me with her friends and continues to do so today.
She has always supported me and given me courage when I was going through difficulties or stressful periods. I am so lucky to have someone who I can always count on, no matter where or when I need her.
She inspires strength through her personal example. She has suffered from a lot of public opprobrium, but has never let it shake her confidence and faith in herself.
when her daughter was born, I was a bit taken aback by the tenderness which she showed towards the baby- she had never shown that depth of feeling for any other person than me!
I am really, really grateful to have her in my life.

Gratitude diaries- 1

As part of my private fortieth birthday celebrations, I have decided to write thank-you notes to 40 people, or places, or institutions or experiences.

This is the first one.

Thank you note to my mother.

Mother-daughter relationships are complicated, so I've read. My earliest memories are of me and my sister competing for my mother's attention, and me coming out on top. Perhaps it is natural for a mother to be extra fond of her youngest. I certainly find that in my own case. I know my sister was jealous of the spot I occupied and felt vaguely guilty about that when I was a kid.

I have been aware since my childhood that my mother was 'different' and not in a good way. Her mental illness was the most dominant influence in our childhood. I often feel that my tendency to be negative, melancholy and unhappy can be traced to growing up with a mentally ill parent. But this is probably partially true only. I see shyness, lack of confidence and a tendency to bottle up emotions in my youngest as well and I lament that he has inherited these from me. I think that I must have inherited these from my mother, and coupled with the stress of my childhood environment, these would have got exacerbated to the extent that being unhappy is simply a habit of mine. Sasha has a happy childhood so he will probably be spared.

Hard though it was, growing up with a very vulnerable adult has instilled a strong sense of empathy in me. It has made me sensitive to the pain that dysfunctional families suffer.

When I look back, I am overawed by how well my mother managed, given her circumstances. I don't think I'd have been able to do half as well as her. To manage a household, often complicated by a large number of servants (thanks to my father's district postings) and frequent moves and to bring up two daughters seems like a heroic achievement to me, when your mind is full of voices. She never neglected her motherly and household duties and gave us as normal a life as possible in terms of practicalities. We were always as well-fed, well-groomed as any other kids and had everything we needed in our day-to-day school lives. Although she did not supervise my studies or involve herself greatly in them, she always made sure that we knew we were supposed to do well at school and we always did.

Now that I know firsthand how crippling depression can be, how easy it is to shirk all your responsibilities because you don't have the mental energy, I think that my mother was heroine in that she never shirked hers. She is incredibly strong in that respect, to this day.

At times when I expected her to break down and be weak, she has remained strong and given me strength instead. I recall two specific incidents. The first one was when I was leaving for Ahmedabad to do my MBA. This was the first time I was leaving home and though I was excited and happy to get away, I remember the pain and anguish I felt at the doorstep as I was walking out to go to the airport. I broke down and fully expected my mother to break down even more. But even as she was crying, she hugged me and said, 'you need to do this for your education. Even your cousin Vinaya went to IIM Calcutta for her education, didn't she?'. And with those encouraging words, she sent me on my way to become an adult.

The second occasion was  when I was married. When the wedding reception was over and I said my good byes to everyone and it was time for me to go to my marital home, I again felt the pain of separation from my natal family and fear of the future and burst into tears. Again, I expected her to break down at the sight of my tears. But she didn't. She didn't even cry. She admonished me instead, 'go with joy, not tears.' I know she must have cried later after my car left. But on these two occasions, she gave me strength when I most needed it.

Thank you, mummy for everything you've ever done, all the sacrifices you have made for me and my sister. All children, once they are old enough, understand the sacrifices their parents made. You parented with the heavy burden of your illness as well as you could. Today, you are unselfish and undemanding, content with whatever time we can spend with you, never making us feel guilty of not spending more. You ask nothing of us. I hope that I can be as unselfish with my kids when I am older.

I do not believe in reincarnation. But at some level, I hope for it for you. I hope that you are born again, and born whole, normal and that you enjoy a life without the burden of mental illness, so you can fulfil your ambitions and reach your potential, which you couldn't do in this life.

Some random facts about Salalah, Oman

We visited Salalah in Oman for a few days over the Christmas break. Since I am feeling too lazy to write a proper account of our travels, here is a lightweight substitute in form of random collected facts:

December may be the peak tourist season for pretty much every place in the northern hemisphere. But it is off season for Salalah. Go figure.

Reason is something called 'Khareef'- the monsoon season (surprise, surprise) which graces Salalah with rainfall from July-September, turning Salalah green. If you've lived in this part of the world long enough, you'll know what a big deal natural green is over here.

The headdress of Omani men is different from the head dress of Emirati Arabs. Instead of being long and flowing, it is short and tightly wrapped around the head.

The traditional dress of Omani women is different from the unicolour/black of Emirati Arab women. It is coloured, patterned and flowing, reminiscent of African traditional dresses.

Salalah has fancy lamp posts in some parts- made of black metal with Arabic designs, very art deco in look, reminiscent of Paris.

All buildings and structures in Salalah are white in colour, or off-white or beige in colour. No other colours. The architecture is Islamic. All houses have multiple identical, symmetric windows.

Salalah resembles Goa a lot- has a similar laid-back, old world feel to it, minus the Portugese architecture and influence (and alcohol).

The hills around Salalah are green is season, brown in off-season and at places, have swathes of underlying white rock (limestone) exposed, as if a giant hand with sharp claws has ripped away the brown cover.

The caves are natural formations, formed at the base of hill, where the sea has hollowed out the earth. Think of a giant ice cream scoop scooping out the earth to leave a concave space.

The famous blowholes ( holes in the rocky seashore from which water rushes up, like a fountain or geyser) are active only in Khareef season.

The contrast of the emerald green waters against the brown or white hills is what makes Salalah so captivating.

One of the prophets from old Testament of Bible, namely Job, is buried in Salalah. He goes by the name Nabi in this region. He was apparently twelve feet tall, so his tomb is extra large in size.

Camels graze on the countryside, even on the hill slopes, much the way cow or sheep would graze in other parts of the world.

The camels are of different shades of colour- some very dark brown, some medium brown, some very light brown. How does that work out, I wonder?

The camels look wild, but are actually owned by the people who live in the hills- the Jebelis.

For all its talk of being a tourist trap in season, the infrastructure for tourism is poorly developed. The beaches have no restaurants or beach beds. Water sports are done only by hotels.

There are a few potholes on the roads. Makes Indians feel comfortable immediately.

There are scarecrows on the road where construction is going on. These are dressed as construction workers and put there to warn people of the construction going on. Definitely a first for me.

Some portions of the beach town of Mirbat are absolutely deserted. It looks like a ghost town but there are cars parked in front of some of the houses!

The souk is full of frankincense and little else. Some clothes and knick knacks. But mainly frankincense. No spices.

Our bill for the taxi hired for four days was more than our return airfare from Dubai- Salalah.

While it was pretty and relaxing, we doubt we will want to come back again.