Walking through the Old Town

Business trips, are known for packed schedules, long working hours and tiring travel. What one least expects is to find leisurely strolls and unknown friends.

My recently concluded travel was also my first visit to this part of the world. Thus apprehensions of unknown were natural. I packed my bags with some needed and some ‘may-be needed’ stuff and embarked on this journey.

Morning of my first day was an open slot. A part of the team was only expected to reach by noon, leaving me with few free hours. Sitting at the breakfast table, I was going through my possible task list when a colleague handed me a thin file. It was an interesting compilation of necessary and useful information. There were emergency contact details, key words of local language, train and taxi details etc. In addition there were 10 pages on 10 tourist attractions of the city. Each page contained name, brief description, a picture, a snap-shot of road-map, physical address and transportation options. In short it was a user-friendly mini-guide to the city, which the local team had prepared for their travelling colleagues.

Excited by this warm welcome gesture, I decided to put this useful guide to use. I took the first few hours off from work, changed from business formals to denims and sneakers, and headed towards the metro station following the instructions manual.

In this age of online direction maps, automated voice guidance tools and language translators, using those printed sheets was a novel experience. I stopped at every turn to seek directions from passersby. Some understood it through pictures, some through address, but most pointed me in right direction.

At one such turn i requested help from a shopkeeper woman. She seemed clueless about the place I was seeking. I was about to move ahead when an old lady passing by me stopped. Dressed in a long black coat, she was carrying a bag of groceries, and had a sweet and amused smile on her face. The two exchanged a few words in their native tongue. With a wave of her hand, the old woman asked me to accompany her. A bit hesitant and a bit confused I started walking a few steps behind her. When she turned into an inner lane, I could hear emergency alarm bells ringing in my head, cautioning me to stay alert. I stopped and called her again to inquire about the place I wanted to visit. Without looking at the paper in my hand, she again gestured, asking me to follow her.

I stopped another time, seeing her enter a small shop. Once inside, she spoke to another woman, and explained something which I obviously couldn’t understand. This other woman seemed about two decades younger than the first one, and around a decade older to me. I was relieved to see her speak in broken English. I was still expecting some directional instructions when she picked up her bag and came out with me. At last my anxieties were addressed as she told me that she will walk me to this place as it was quite close by. I felt thankful for her kind help.

In less than five minutes we reached my destination. It was the old part of the city, known for its old architecture. Some of the buildings were nearly two hundred year old. My guide kept walking with me pointing towards various interesting structures. We conversed in broken sentences and phrases, sometimes using only single words, yet almost perfectly understanding each other.

I expressed my gratitude many times over. She in turn explained that she was enjoying the walk. Even though she was staying so close to this place she hadn’t visited it in last 7 years. And so we continued our walk and discussions, each thankful to other for this unforeseen break.

We shared a strange commonality and an unseen connect. Both of us were thoroughly enjoying this unplanned unexpected walk through some old historical structures. She was as excited in showing the carvings on walls as I was in seeing them. Very patiently she translated the writings, explaining the significance and history of these buildings, adding anecdotes wherever possible. Like a sincere student I devoured every word. From wall paintings to tall pillars, from falling structures to buildings under repair, everything seemed interesting, everything worth a look. A couple of times we even stopped at neighboring shops, as if we didn’t want to miss anything.

Many of these buildings are still in use housing museums, banks, administrative offices and even restaurants. They continue to be an active part of the city. After walking for nearly half an hour we reached the end of the street. She stopped in front of a Metro Station and explained the route back to my office. I thanked her many times again for her kind help. Both of us repeated how much each of us had enjoyed the experience.

As I sat down in train, thinking about events of the day, I realized I hadn’t even asked her name, nor did I tell her anything about myself. Neither did she ask. Sorting pictures of the day in my camera, I noticed I didn’t have any picture of hers. We were perfectly comfortable in being complete strangers.

A woman without name or face, who walked a few steps with me, is still worth remembering and retaining as a warm touch of my heart.

Cheating Partner

“What if you find that he is cheating on you? What will you do?”

Hypothetically this question was as true for me, as it is for any of us in a committed relationship. Hypothetically it is valid for all, not restricted by gender, place, caste or creed.

And like in most such cases there is no correct answer.

Each one of us has a separate equation that we try to optimally balance. Throw in the parameters of child-care, family pressure, emotional bonding, financial dependence, social stigma and willingness to fight, and the balance can tilt in any direction.

My protagonist of the day didn’t have any of the binding constraints. Or even if there were, they didn’t matter. What I saw in front of me was an epitome of self-confidence and self-control. Totally devoid of any trait of self-pity. I looked hard, but couldn’t see any bruised ego, bursting emotions or maddening anger. All I could see was a calm smile and a pair of inquisitive eyes staring at me.

“We all have different levels of endurance and different tipping points. What is important is to realize when you reach that tipping point. Thankfully I did realize it.

I never shied away from compromises, adjustments and acceptances – all of which come as part of a healthy sustainable relationship. But then I reached a point where I could accept no more. I reached my tipping point. And I also realized that if I don’t balance myself, I will tip-over.

I won’t say it was easy. To forgive and forget is never easy. But I still had to try. I just had to. After this I won’t have any regrets.

We all are showered with advises in such situations – ‘at least your bills are being paid’, ‘you shouldn’t accept this behavior’, ‘it’s not easy to live alone’, ‘such people never change’, ‘is it worth it’. And honestly there were times when I wished something should just tie me down. I would look for excuses to avoid a decision. It was like bearing the burden of two people in a relationship - when I wasn't even sure if the other person was in it with me. And the burden was weighing heavy on me.

Sometimes it’s easier when you don’t have a choice, you just accept things and live on. But fortunately or unfortunately I had the option of making a choice. “

My protagonist decided to give the relationship a second chance. I am still not sure of the motivation behind it, I could only see the strength of character. All I know is that it was not a compromise. It was on clearly laid out terms. Each one knew the risks involved and the challenges ahead. In lot of ways this arrangement was contractual.

I don’t know how this relationship will evolve from this point onward. And honestly, I don’t even want to predict it. I don’t even want to answer the question we started with. Not for myself, nor for anyone else.

But what I take away from this entire story is the strength my friend showed. Strength to stand for oneself. Without arguments, fights, emotional outbursts or display of anger. It was on calm, logical and strong grounds that this battle was won.

And irrespective of the outcome of this arrangement, in my eyes my friend is a winner – simply for the heroic display of inner strength. 

Motherhood is not a project......

......It doesn't end in 6 months

“I am so glad that we have this new maternity policy. Now I can be off work for 6 months post-delivery.” My soon-to-be-a-mum friend beamed.

I was about to prick her bubble of excitement – what makes you think that your baby won’t need you after 6 months. But kept quiet seeing her hopeful smile.

“Yes, initial few months are difficult.” Jumped in another friend, who for last half hour had been sharing her woes of ‘terrible twos’. Yet another one was fretting over the new pre-school and the changes it was bringing in their daily schedules. From toilet-training to vaccinations, from teething troubles to baby-sitter distresses, from challenges of work-life balance to perils of a working-mother, notes were exchanged and noted.

“For you things must be quite stable now.” “Your daughter goes to school now.” Their remarks were directly aimed at me. “Once she starts managing her studies, you’ll be a free bird again.”

And it was becoming difficult to hold back my thoughts.

My role models are women who have been working-mothers for more than 40 years now. All these women have now taken retirement from active work-life but their ‘job’ as a ‘mother’ continues.

The first one was a trained musician and a teacher. Music continues to be her pastime, while teaching has become a forgotten skill. But she has kept traits of a working mother alive. Even now she gets up early every day to prepare and pack lunch boxes for the entire family. A ritual which began when her first-born joined school, has been continuing with his better-half and kids. While most of the other household duties have passed over to younger and stronger hands, this one daily task makes her an integral part of their lives.

My second role model has had a very successful career. After retiring from the post of a senior government officer, she started taking up ad-hoc consultation assignments. But even when her days are tightly packed, her evening are always free for her grand-children. Dividing her time between her four grand-kids, she teaches them intricacies of literature and music, two of her favorite subjects. An inspiration as a mother, she has grown up to be a role model as a grand-mother.  

Another mother who I admire a lot, didn’t allow the feeling of ‘empty nest’ take over her. Both her kids are now settled in different cities. A business woman and a sports enthusiast, she started learning yoga after moving to the category of ‘senior citizen’.  However her otherwise active social life comes to a halt when her kids need her. From baby-sitting during high pressure times, to joining them for family vacations, from summer camps to festival seasons – she is just a phone-call away. A true example of a ‘friend in a need is a friend indeed’, her otherwise independent kids still come seeking her support when in need.

Compared to these seniors, I have just started my journey of ‘motherhood’. But seeing them I believe I have a long way to go. An investment of nine months has turned out to be a commitment of a life-time. And there is a lot I need to learn and evolve into as a ‘working mother’. 

Not From a Princess Diary

While growing up I always felt my chances of finding a ‘Prince Charming’ were rather bleak. Simply because I didn’t meet any of the qualifying criteria – I didn’t have a cruel step-mother to start with. There were no villainous characters either, trying to make my life difficult for no fault of mine. I was not locked away in a high tower. And last but not least, my doting parents provided me with more than sufficient clothes and toys and books and everything else, to disqualify me from a rags to riches story.

I didn’t have anything in common with Cinderella, Rapunzel, Snow White or Belle. I was an ordinary girl, destined to have an ordinary story.

Today, when my daughter is growing up, Rapunzel has become a rebel. She doesn’t wait for any prince to climb the high tower, but jumps down instead.  Today Moana is not scared of the high tide. They are independent and courageous. They write their own stories. And probably aim to inspire my daughter and her generation to do the same.

But what if, just like me, my daughter also finds it difficult to emulate these heroic tales. After all, just like my parents, I also leave no stone unturned to ensure she has a happy, trouble-free childhood. With her adventures being restricted to the monkey-bar in kids’ play-area.

I wonder why we undermine the ‘ordinary’ so much? Why is it not worth writing about? Why it fails to inspire us?

My father could cook a full meal for himself, and for anyone else who cared to eat. My mother was both highly educated and financially independent. And thus today I find paying EMIs is as much my responsibility, as buying grocery is my husband’s. Both my husband and I have clear and vivid memories of growing up amongst grand-parents and cousins. And we strive to give the same to our daughter. From soaking in monsoon rains, to coming back home with bruised knees, from sharing school lunch-box to fighting over petty issues, we wish the same for her.

I wasn’t swept off my feet by a ‘prince’. Neither did he travel far and wide in my search. Nor did I win any ugly battle to win his heart. And yet, I am living the ‘happily ever-after’ of my fairy-less tale. Punctuated with challenges, troubles, sorrows and worries, the saga of this ‘ordinary’ girl continues.  

My Dilemma or Drama – It continues.

I feel like a person who has been given a death sentence. My fate is sealed. I can neither pre-pone it, nor can postpone it. I just wait for my time to come. And yet, from now to that day I must live. Live every moment. Live a normal life. Like all others around me.

If I am hungry they will feed me. If I ail, they will treat me. If I refuse they will force.

And so I must live. Live every day. Live till I die.

And yet I am NOT like a person who has been given a death sentence. As I have hope. Hope of a life after death. I can rise from ashes. If I choose. And thus I must choose.

Live now, in a hope that I will live then.

There was a long pause. My animated monologue had come to an end. My friend, and then my only audience, had her eyes wide open, staring intently at my face.

Finally she broke her silence. “Don’t write that in your farewell note. Its total melodrama.”

Role changes, transfers and even lay-offs, are the realities of today’s corporate world. All of us have been through at least one of these, at least once in our careers. For the new-age workers everything is transitory. Employers, jobs, roles and responsibilities, colleagues and of course the salary levels – everything can and does changes.

In my decade long work experience, I had already come face-to-face with this reality – ‘change is the only constant’. And I was prepared to brace it.

But what stood before me now was not a change. It was a full-stop. I had decided to move out of permanent employment to be with my new born.  I had loved my work. I had enjoyed my freedom. I had lived my independence. And now I was preparing to give up all of this. And probably thus the analogy to a death sentence, to end of one’s career, and to the discipline of work during notice period.

 

Yes, I love my child. Love her to the core. I can’t imagine a life without her. But I love myself too.

In my 35 years of existence I have maybe only spent initial 2.5 years sitting at home. After that it was a daily visit to school, daily travel to university, and daily commute to office. Even weekends had come accompanied with supermarket visits. It had been a long and continuous journey.

And thus quite naturally I was getting goose bumps at the thought of being confined to the four walls of my house. At one hand I was trying to convince myself and everyone around me that I will resume full-time employment. In my heart I was scared. I had seen many fail this attempt. I was no different. I could be one of them.

It has been almost 3 years since then. My hope of a life after death has come true. I am pursuing a career of my choice. I even picked up new hobbies, unearthed new talents. I changed organizations and acquired new skills. Yet I don’t claim to be a phoenix, as I am still scared of ashes. I don’t feel proud of my achievements as they are not just mine, but a collaboration of many.

But I let the dilemma continue. Drama accompanies. The tussle of a mother, a daughter, a wife and an individual continues. My struggle continues. 

Woman - And her wars within

She was sitting on the window sill, a mute spectator of the hustle and bustle in street below. Sun was setting in some far-away land. Her hairs were loosely tied in a bun, with a few stray stands dancing with evening breeze. But she was oblivious to everything around her. Maybe even oblivious of her own existence.

A white paper on her study table fluttered with evening breeze. It was an invite letter from her company's head office, informing her that her project had been selected for further research and implementation. Also, she was expected to join the new team being set-up for this plan. Her manager told her at least a dozen times, how proud he felt of her achievements. They all agreed it was a golden opportunity and that she was a deserving candidate. The only challenge - it meant that she will have to relocate to a foreign land for at least a year. 

A mother, a wife and a daughter. The guilt of leaving her family behind overpowered any sign of happiness or excitement she may have felt. Her job, future prospects, family responsibilities, financial liabilities, social pressure, emotional bindings – her options were limited, her constraints unlimited.

A strong gush of wind came in and the white sheet of paper fell down. Just then the housekeeping woman came in. She had come to pick up empty coffee mug from the table. She picked up the white sheet and kept it back on the table, covering it with a weight. Her old but neatly worn clothes reflected a weak financial and strong moral standing. Lost in her thoughts, this poor and illiterate woman was completing her daily tasks mechanically, yet efficiently.

She had accepted it as her fate when her husband passed away in a road accident. Her own family labelled it as God’s punishment for marrying against their wishes. Her husband’s family cursed her for bringing in this bad-luck. Carrying her two-year old daughter she had moved to a different city, single-handedly surviving all challenges that life presented.

And now this proposal to remarry had caused a hurricane in her mind. It was the friendly old neighbor who initiated the conversation. This man lived in the same neighborhood, and his wife had passed away a few years back. His kids and her daughter were friends. “Kids will get love of both parents. You can manage his house. He will run your errands.” The old woman had suggested. “You need support of a man in your life.” But was it right to remarry? Wasn’t it against her religion and social beliefs? What if she is truly unlucky? What if luck betrays her yet again? Was she so vulnerable? Scars of her past were still not healed. If now life gives another wound, how will she bear it? Her internal monsters were haunting, her strength was weakening.

She paused for a minute at the table, contemplating if she should seek advice from her learned employer. But couldn’t muster up the courage and quietly went back to the kitchen.

Just then the doorbell rang. It was the young next-door girl. She came and almost threw herself on the couch. This was like a second-home to her, with its occupant being her friend, philosopher and guide.

Normally a bubbly girl, today she seemed tired and lost. She switched on the television, as if to take her mind off her troubles. A graduate now, she wanted to pursue a course in television reporting. However her family was totally against this decision. Her security and well-being were their main concerns. Rising crime rate against women & high probability of being in potentially dangerous situations were considered as big threats. And her family was not ready to take any kind of risk with a daughter they loved and cherished since birth.

But for her young mind this was somewhat confusing. She was always taught to take independent decisions. She was taught to stand for what is right. But how could she be independent if she is constantly dependent on someone else for her security. Inside the house she had equal rights, but out on streets even her right to exist was denied. Some unknown unseen people were now effecting one of the biggest decisions of her life. Her mind was determined, her heart frightened.

Tea was served. News channels were telecasting world-wide celebrations for Women’s Day. And three women, sitting in that room felt their hearts tied down, shying away from a leap of faith, scared to fly.

Stressed, Depressed but Well Dressed

This is a quote my colleague uses often for describing the ‘stress’ and related ‘depression’ common among our generation. Crumbling family and social structures, challenged work-life balance, peer pressure to grow and an expanding economy offering innumerable opportunities. Add to it the social media need of looking good and feeling good. We are a generation of ‘stressed, depressed but well dressed’ individuals.

I have added a small variation to this quote – resources compressed, emotions suppressed, but still well dressed.

From suffering movie stars to suicidal fashion models, from academic conferences to stand-up comedy shows, from guest lectures to self-help forums – the word depression seems omni-present. It seemed like the flavor of the day too…..at least 3 articles of the magazine I was flipping through, were referring to it in some form or other. I quickly kept it back on table, as if I was fearful of catching the infection through those pages.

As I moved to the coffee vending machine, a colleague walked up. He was wearing new bright red shoes. I complimented him on his newly acquired asset. He smiled, “I bought these online. A retail site was offering massive discounts. I was a bit skeptical about the color." He smiled, “but I am hoping these will make me feel brighter.” He added with a winking smiley on his face. I didn’t make much attempt to understand the color-therapy details he shared. 

Back at my desk, my smart phone notification showed an update from an old-time friend. He had posted a pic with his swanky new car. Happy to see his progress I decided to make a congratulatory call. “I needed something to cheer me up.” he admitted. “My current job is too demanding. With this new possession I at least feel like driving down to office.” Spending nearly one-third of his annual pay-check as motivation to earn the remaining two-third. There must be some math in it which I couldn't get. 

There was also an update from my neighbor, a fashionista, who is ‘hyper-active’ on social media and a pro at selfie-art. She also owns a brand of kids’ wear, which she sells through select outlets. Being a mom and an entrepreneur at the same time is not easy, she often says. You can give 100% of your time and energy to each, and yet there is scope for more. “For me a smiling picture-of-self works like a therapy. A reminder that I can be happy even in middle of this madness.”

I kept the phone away. It seemed to be echoing the same sentiment. 

A tap on my shoulder made me look up from laptop. “Nice color”, my colleague chuckled. “Same to you”, I noticed that he was dressed in formal business attire. The brand logo on the shirt pocket was adding to its ‘chique’ appeal. “I have a customer presentation today. Haven’t slept properly for a week now. And this is just the beginning of a series of meetings. Not sure how I am going to survive it. But you are looking good today.” He hurried off without waiting for a reply.

I turned back to my laptop with a smile. Who could guess that the words at top of my mind at the moment are – stress, compress, suppress and depress……and maybe I am too....

Let me get back to work now. If I think and say too much, the bug may bite me too.