19- My Dive
July 2002- I am looking at my toes at the edge of the pool, arms hanging limply by the side. Narindar the coach, shouts,” Madam taango ke beech mein se peeche dekhiye or kood jaiye”. I look between my unshapely legs, conscious of the bulging thighs beneath the tight black costume that I had bought from New York in 1994 when I was feeling ‘young and slim’ and assumed I would always be so. Pali my friend in the pool shouted, “come Veena Jump”. I focused at the depth of the water in my head without looking in, still focusing actually at the wobbly knees , bent them a bit, pushed the edge with the toes and WOW , WENT deep, head in and then all else----
Summer of 1958- Father pushed us to do the most, learn the most------ unlike mother who would have preferred nice coy homely girls. So the Herd of us teenage daughters of the 2 families joined ‘Swimming’ in the morning and Driving at noon. Floating on our back quickly followed treading/ cycling in the deep. The Coach would pull each of us by turn almost cradling the body ON HIS. Strange bulges underneath, strange movements, strange discoveries and strange feelings, confusing and frightening to say the least. Today those bulges of Anatomy of the Male are no more strange but that was ‘some plunge into the ‘Waters deep’.
Becoming Doctors in 1965- M.Azad Hostel to trips to the NSCI pool with Kusum, Bimla, Ina, Rajinder and Shashi. Splashes in the Rain with hot Tea and Pakodas on the side.
‘The first serious LIFE DIVE-1966’ Marriage
Honey Moon at GOA -1967– The Sea around was stormy, the waves relentless. I conceived ‘to be Divya’.
Isle of Wight, UK- 1968- Hovercrft rides from Southhampton and Portsmouth with Divya in our laps and then toddling around. We were with the Brits.
London- 1970- 1st trip trip to Europe with the Sabharwals after crossing the English Channel from Dover in his car. Brussels, Bonn, Cologne, Munich, Vienna the awesome, Salzburg, Innsbruck in Austria, lake Lucerne, Zurich, Geneva in Switzerland, picnics by the Autobahns, bed and breakfasts and finally unfriendly and exorbitant Paris with the famous Eiffel, Moulin rouge, German Beer and French wine.
Edgeware-1971- our first owned home. Trips to the Sea at Brighton, Blackpool, Norwich, Yarmouth, Inverness, Lochness with the monster, Edinburgh, Dundee, Aberdeen of Scotland and Cardiff at Wales------ Arrival of Karan.
I take Divya to the indoor pool and teach her to swim in the shallow end. A baby book dares me to dip Karan, face in, in the bath-tub at home while I practice blowing bubbles in the same tub.
US of A here we come! Cincinnati- 1976- We buy a home with our own pool. B’day parties galore and splashing in, from the circular ‘slide’ all the kids in a row. Every one seems to be swimming and frolicking----- I begin to slowly sink in my personal life ????
Psychiatry helps me stay afloat, or so it seems!!!!
Birmingham- 1980—I determine to stay afloat !!!!
Tommy Charles had custom built a beautiful White Ranch house. It was in the 13th elitest, affluent, part of the US called Mountain Brook. We were the first semibrown family to move in. Azaleas and Camillias filled the surroundings; Dogflower Branches hung outside the large picture windows. The heated pool with multiple color lights sat in the midst of a large deck overhung by picturesque Weeping willows. Wrought Iron chairs below and tall dense pines of the surrounding hillside above. All the bedrooms opened towards the pool with sliding glass doors. The shimmering rays of Sun falling on the water played on the walls inside.
First Rebecca, then Bernice and then Lilian took care of the family.
I began to sink again----!!!!!
1982-Sugar beeches of Florida and the Gulf coast. The sand was lovely, the sea devouring---- the salt would choke me and the waves were drowning me------
The Shrimps, the whiskey, the cigarettes---I walked alone on the sand at Sunrise, I thought alone on the sand at Sunset------
1984-I inhaled deep. A master stroke and I land at Sundar Nagar , Delhi. I walked alone in the by-lanes recovering from the ‘loss’, loss of my marriage, work, my beautiful home, the new adopted country, also my Uterus after a Hysterectomy of 10 days------ Karan kept me going. I began to surface from ‘my inner depth’.
1985- Divya graduated from Mountain Brook High, the first Indian. Karan and I took a trip for the graduation via the Pacific crossing the International midnight zone and reliving a day. From Gieshas of Tokyo to Disney land at Los Angeles where Shashi, Mona and Dips joined us. We toured the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas my favorite, picked up Divya from Birmingham, Panama city, Orlando with Disney world and returned via Hong-Kong and Macao back to Delhi.
1995- Baden-baden in the Snow with Bittony whom I escorted because of her flight Phobia. The 12 Baths in a row (coming from the Roman tradition of beauty) with changing temps. and variable speeds from gently flowing rivulets to thunderous falls like the Niagra had to be experienced from ‘Skin to Bone’ to be believed.
1998- Kusum hurt her knee. We spent 10 days by the Atlantic at Amagansett, The Hamptons, and Long Island, New York (Bill Clinton visited the neighbors).
Also experienced the Amazing Gulf of the Arabian Sea at Abu-Dhabi with the Pingles and Muscat with Manish while coming and going.
2000-Attending Psych. meets with friend V Garyali became ‘meetings of the mind, Brain and soul’. Guwahati in the East, Goa in the West, Arunachal in the North and Kanya-Kumari in the South where the Waters of the Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean inter-mingle and become one at the Vivekananda’s Rock.
2002- I drag my still slumbering bones to the pool of my local club and try to wiggle in the deep to whispers from within ‘wakey-wakey’!
A splash! a giggle! Another splash, a group of teenage ‘budding’ girls, are here on ‘special off’ from School to practice for their inter-School Swim contest. ‘I wake up’.
Each is perfecting her own ‘Stroke’. The tall one is fast with the ‘free style’, the plumpy one is bobbing up and down in her Canary yellow cap doing the ‘Butterfly’, the littlest, never mind the absence of the breasts dives in doing the Breast- stroke and last, I spot a lean and lanky green spotty costume on her ‘back’ trying to catch up with the others in spite of the disadvantaged position. They are full of Zeal to get ahead, fast, quick---be the first— ‘in the School contest’.
“Don’t stop to look”, the Swim coach yells, “keep going, take a breath, put your head in and kick hard”.
I kick hard too; kick hard to get to my next goal.
Veena
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
18- Chachaji
18-Chacha ji
Everyone has a Ma. Every one has a Pa. Many of us have an in-between generation Uncle or Aunt with whom there is a genetic and non-genetic sharing of mind and time.
My Father lost his real sibs and father early in life, he, independently took care of his Ma.
He was Mentor to the rest of the larger family and his youngest cousin Sushil, a decade older than me, became ‘that’ person.
He was in and out of our home through life.
Father himself a man of Finance, was also ‘bit’ by the ‘doctor bug’ and tried each Gumthala born after him to learn the Physics, Chemistry and Biology of the human body.
Well, Chachaji became a Doctor of Plants, studying Botany. He would bring some exotic Plant species from the Pusa Institute and teach us ‘Plant Classification’.
He then went to Madison, Wisconsin, USA for his Doctorate and thesis in Pathology in the ‘Potato’ and I guess many other Doctorates of life one does in one’s Youth.
On return after 5 years he was very Americanized, telling us tales of people, places, countries with jest and enthusiasm no one can match. That happened 40 years ago. He still narrates those as if it happened yesterday with nostalgia and a seething romance with another culture on the other side of the world.
He married Subodh and bought Land at Dhampur at the basin of River Ganga, ironically again becoming a ‘Farmer’ of sorts, growing Potatoes and storing them in a Cold Storage. He also had an Ice making unit in the Summer, a Rice shredding Mill, cattle on the farm and a sprawling Bungalow with loads of Gladioli and exotic Roses in the front lined by the tall Royal Palms and fruit trees at the back with broad leafy Teaks interspersed.
Sabina, Gesu and Gaurav, the offspring mostly schooled in Hostels in Cities and later settled with their spouses in the Corporate life of Bombay.
2 years ago Subodh had been seen for an Angiography at AIIMS. She had collapsed and shifted to the ICU. She recovered but expressed the one wish that Gorav be married while she was alive with or without the by-pass. Little did one believe that the count down had begun and this was not to be. She took treatment but her heart gave way suddenly.
We drove to the ‘Chautha’.
The house stood the same, sort of deep into and away from the main road. Some cars in the driveway, tent slightly blowing in the wind, dry earth, of the mid-afternoon Sun.
Some familiar and some strange faces, familiar with their expressions yet, accumulated unspoken emotion different than earlier exuberant times. We had reached late having taken the wrong turning. Nirman and his wife came to ask for Lunch. The people were ready for the ‘Pagri ceremony’. We politely asked to continue. Chachaji came and gave a soft hug, to Jhai, and me, again not saying ‘What’.
I sat amongst the ladies. We went through the rituals. Gorav was ‘Pagried’, seemed strange. Remembered the pudgy 6 month old who barely could sit steady in the center of the big ‘aangan’ where he later would play Table Tennis beating every one hollow.
The evening Sun was setting in the distance behind the leafless trees.
The crimson hue colored the barren earth, which had been dug out two days before. The potatoes lay in heaps uncounted, un-weighed and unbagged--- I could sight no Peacocks on land or on the Eucalyptus trees, just occasional chirping of some lone bird---.
The chowkidar came and wanted the attendance marked for the last 3 days. The laborer girls had been coming but leaving ‘un-reporting’ as Subodh was not there any more. Chcchaji picked up the register, opened a fresh page, drew a line for names and another for date and asked for their names. From now on they would have to report to him, some smiling bashfully, others with ‘no care’ in the world. I had my digital camera to catch the glimpses of the living farm. All showed interest and posed graciously in lines to be clicked.
‘The men’ had been around but actually it was ‘the women’ who seemed to have been sowing, nurturing, watering, watching, digging ------. While Sushil Uncle was around too, it had been Subodh who seemed to account for all and sundry. Although her own kids Sabina, Gesu and Gorav had moved to hostels after kindergarten, she was the ‘Mata’ of those who stayed on the farm.
She belonged to a family of Politicians of UP and I suppose there was some logic to owning and working on a farm by the Ganges if you are truly part of India, which as they say is 80% agriculture and farms. When she married him, he had returned from USA. After having tried his luck in Delhi and Calcutta where my father was posted he took up a job at the Punjab agricultural univ. Ludhiana and had a short posting at Abohar a small town not catering to the fancies of a foreign return Desi. He, we, had lands, not so fertile in Haryana, so the final decision of disposing them to move to Dhampur.
Of course she had also been actively involved in the Indian women’s organization and had formed the Dhampur chapter where a lot was being done.
Post the ‘Chautha’ my mother and I stayed on with the family of which we have always felt a part of. Things were in low-key, Sabina trying to get into her Mom’s shoes and taking care of the indoors and Gorav trying to ‘bond’ even stronger with the Dad and the farm clan, Gesu the middle sib unsure of her duties and emotions as was the Dad, of present, near or distant future.
The present was, this farm, forlorn without Subodh, without electricity for 10 hours a day, without grown children all products of high-tech management Schools, working high tech-jobs and settled in high-tech and high-rise Mumbai.
His life got amputated without Subodh. The future was a question mark?
“I feel forlorn and despondent. Gloom has engulfed me. Ambience deflects unbearable sadness. Nimbus overcast, Saturated Breeze, Seclusion around”.
We tried to communicate more often. He began to marvel at the way I had busied myself in my life living alone. Every time I met him I found, the gregarious fun loving guy in him was dwindling. “Evening is fast gliding into night on wayward roads. The last stretch is rather desolate for the forlorn recluse. Pensiveness sways me”, he wrote.
When I was small I began commuting to school on his bike in Kanpur. Now he saw me as the grown-up to commute with, to help find the meaning of remaining life.
He decided to dispose off the farm at Dhampur and move to Mumbai, nearer his kids and grand kids. I noticed he was walking with a slight limp, said his knee was getting Osteo-arthritic, had never been so before. Well I believe him but also believe that he will limp back to LIFE, his gregarious Fun Self again.
Veena
Everyone has a Ma. Every one has a Pa. Many of us have an in-between generation Uncle or Aunt with whom there is a genetic and non-genetic sharing of mind and time.
My Father lost his real sibs and father early in life, he, independently took care of his Ma.
He was Mentor to the rest of the larger family and his youngest cousin Sushil, a decade older than me, became ‘that’ person.
He was in and out of our home through life.
Father himself a man of Finance, was also ‘bit’ by the ‘doctor bug’ and tried each Gumthala born after him to learn the Physics, Chemistry and Biology of the human body.
Well, Chachaji became a Doctor of Plants, studying Botany. He would bring some exotic Plant species from the Pusa Institute and teach us ‘Plant Classification’.
He then went to Madison, Wisconsin, USA for his Doctorate and thesis in Pathology in the ‘Potato’ and I guess many other Doctorates of life one does in one’s Youth.
On return after 5 years he was very Americanized, telling us tales of people, places, countries with jest and enthusiasm no one can match. That happened 40 years ago. He still narrates those as if it happened yesterday with nostalgia and a seething romance with another culture on the other side of the world.
He married Subodh and bought Land at Dhampur at the basin of River Ganga, ironically again becoming a ‘Farmer’ of sorts, growing Potatoes and storing them in a Cold Storage. He also had an Ice making unit in the Summer, a Rice shredding Mill, cattle on the farm and a sprawling Bungalow with loads of Gladioli and exotic Roses in the front lined by the tall Royal Palms and fruit trees at the back with broad leafy Teaks interspersed.
Sabina, Gesu and Gaurav, the offspring mostly schooled in Hostels in Cities and later settled with their spouses in the Corporate life of Bombay.
2 years ago Subodh had been seen for an Angiography at AIIMS. She had collapsed and shifted to the ICU. She recovered but expressed the one wish that Gorav be married while she was alive with or without the by-pass. Little did one believe that the count down had begun and this was not to be. She took treatment but her heart gave way suddenly.
We drove to the ‘Chautha’.
The house stood the same, sort of deep into and away from the main road. Some cars in the driveway, tent slightly blowing in the wind, dry earth, of the mid-afternoon Sun.
Some familiar and some strange faces, familiar with their expressions yet, accumulated unspoken emotion different than earlier exuberant times. We had reached late having taken the wrong turning. Nirman and his wife came to ask for Lunch. The people were ready for the ‘Pagri ceremony’. We politely asked to continue. Chachaji came and gave a soft hug, to Jhai, and me, again not saying ‘What’.
I sat amongst the ladies. We went through the rituals. Gorav was ‘Pagried’, seemed strange. Remembered the pudgy 6 month old who barely could sit steady in the center of the big ‘aangan’ where he later would play Table Tennis beating every one hollow.
The evening Sun was setting in the distance behind the leafless trees.
The crimson hue colored the barren earth, which had been dug out two days before. The potatoes lay in heaps uncounted, un-weighed and unbagged--- I could sight no Peacocks on land or on the Eucalyptus trees, just occasional chirping of some lone bird---.
The chowkidar came and wanted the attendance marked for the last 3 days. The laborer girls had been coming but leaving ‘un-reporting’ as Subodh was not there any more. Chcchaji picked up the register, opened a fresh page, drew a line for names and another for date and asked for their names. From now on they would have to report to him, some smiling bashfully, others with ‘no care’ in the world. I had my digital camera to catch the glimpses of the living farm. All showed interest and posed graciously in lines to be clicked.
‘The men’ had been around but actually it was ‘the women’ who seemed to have been sowing, nurturing, watering, watching, digging ------. While Sushil Uncle was around too, it had been Subodh who seemed to account for all and sundry. Although her own kids Sabina, Gesu and Gorav had moved to hostels after kindergarten, she was the ‘Mata’ of those who stayed on the farm.
She belonged to a family of Politicians of UP and I suppose there was some logic to owning and working on a farm by the Ganges if you are truly part of India, which as they say is 80% agriculture and farms. When she married him, he had returned from USA. After having tried his luck in Delhi and Calcutta where my father was posted he took up a job at the Punjab agricultural univ. Ludhiana and had a short posting at Abohar a small town not catering to the fancies of a foreign return Desi. He, we, had lands, not so fertile in Haryana, so the final decision of disposing them to move to Dhampur.
Of course she had also been actively involved in the Indian women’s organization and had formed the Dhampur chapter where a lot was being done.
Post the ‘Chautha’ my mother and I stayed on with the family of which we have always felt a part of. Things were in low-key, Sabina trying to get into her Mom’s shoes and taking care of the indoors and Gorav trying to ‘bond’ even stronger with the Dad and the farm clan, Gesu the middle sib unsure of her duties and emotions as was the Dad, of present, near or distant future.
The present was, this farm, forlorn without Subodh, without electricity for 10 hours a day, without grown children all products of high-tech management Schools, working high tech-jobs and settled in high-tech and high-rise Mumbai.
His life got amputated without Subodh. The future was a question mark?
“I feel forlorn and despondent. Gloom has engulfed me. Ambience deflects unbearable sadness. Nimbus overcast, Saturated Breeze, Seclusion around”.
We tried to communicate more often. He began to marvel at the way I had busied myself in my life living alone. Every time I met him I found, the gregarious fun loving guy in him was dwindling. “Evening is fast gliding into night on wayward roads. The last stretch is rather desolate for the forlorn recluse. Pensiveness sways me”, he wrote.
When I was small I began commuting to school on his bike in Kanpur. Now he saw me as the grown-up to commute with, to help find the meaning of remaining life.
He decided to dispose off the farm at Dhampur and move to Mumbai, nearer his kids and grand kids. I noticed he was walking with a slight limp, said his knee was getting Osteo-arthritic, had never been so before. Well I believe him but also believe that he will limp back to LIFE, his gregarious Fun Self again.
Veena
Thursday, September 30, 2010
17- Delhi- Family Still
17-Delhi- Family Still
“Dear Rakesh,
This is an emotion I can only share with you although we no longer share our lives.
Karan just left in his Fiat car to go for the interview for admission for his MBA at Ahmedabad. He was dressed in a blue blazer, grey pants, red tie – looked smart, slightly clumsy with a Folder file of certificates of honor in one hand and jug of water in the other, for the engine of the car. A tear rolled down with “pride”. He has been called by all 4 leading Institutes of Management of India.
The tear took me back 19 years. The first day I had taken him to the day school in London when he was still in diapers 18 months old, big heavy shoes on his tiny “flat” feet, cute curly hair – he had cried when I left him and I cried on the way, back to Edgware, our home then.
I also remembered July ’84, his first day at Delhi Public School, class 6, when he stood in rows and rows of kids under the scorching Sun. I was peeping from the big Iron railing outside, tears flowing, wondering if my boy will be o.k.
Of course our boy has done ‘O.K.’ He has passed every test with honors – he truly is ‘gifted’ like he was in grade 2 in Mountain brook Elementary, where you and I were called by the teacher to put him in the special gifted children’s class!! And then he proved his mettle when he got selected for every Ivy League college he applied in U.S.A. after school, and now this morning – in his quiet dignified style he has done it again.”
I had lived alone for 10 years. It had been the life of a single woman and parent.
The main focus had been Karan. He had been adjusting to the change I subjected him to. The first year in School was tough speaking a different language and even English i.e. was American and not Oxford or Indian. He felt much better in the 11th after he got his subjects of choice and then friends of his choice. Hindu College was where he really came into his elements and further made thicker friends including his present wife.
Later his name was on the Scholars Golden board for being the only Delhi boy who got into all 4 institutes of Management. Well so he became an Ahmedabad grad. Which they say is like Harvard from USA. I feel proud of that even today, as the switch had not been easy for him and proud of myself for watching over him, growing here.
For him, I had kept a dog, so he would take her responsibility which never happened of course. Zoya the dog became my companion instead. She took care of my security, kept the flat lively with her Bark and her wagging tail. She lived long and like all dog people was the most loyal to me.
With Rakesh, there were some years of low communication which carried subtle bitterness on both sides. I then made an effort at being friendly for the sake of our children and he reciprocated. We then remained decent and at times even affectionate, sharing meeting and parting ‘hugs’ which was an annual affair. There was mutual sharing about Karan and Divya and ‘other family’, mine loving him and his loving me. His ‘Alcohol abuse’ had worsened but he was able to maintain himself professionally.
Talking about ‘family’, although there was opposition about my decision to return, once I came back there was total support from them in every kind of way. It was to my father’s protest that I had rented my own Barsati flat and chose to live by myself with Karan. His health of course deteriorated and soon he left us. Till today I am grateful to God for my return, so I, at least had ‘some time’ to spend with him.
In strange ways, my parents, their parents, my extended family put me in a pivotal position. In ways, I think I influenced all and we were therapeutic to each other.
Divya graduated from Mountain Brook Senior School and chose to go to Mobile to pursue Art in the Univ. of Alabama. Rakesh continued to stay in Birmingham and provided what support he could under difficult circumstances. Although over time, she was mothering him more emotionally, than he fathering her.
She did well and met Craig Stephens also in the field of Art and they continued the relationship till her Marriage to him at age 28. She worked for many years at QMS as a Graphic designer seriously and diligently till she had Anna at the age of 34.
I was spending 4-8 wks. with her every year, either me going there or she coming to India. Also tried to maintain cordiality with Rakesh and spend some time together as ‘family’ including Karan.
In spite of this I could never get rid of my guilt about leaving her or she, her resentment and anger for the same and jealousy towards Karan who got to live with me. All this was understandable and whilst each visit, I tried working on it, sooner or later she would blow up and it would leave us both in tears and pain. It certainly got better after she herself became a parent.
After Babuji’s demise, there was a significant shift at Firozeshah, which by now had become the new parental ‘address’. JhaiJi, my mother who had been conservative, submissive and passive felt ‘the head’ and so stronger. Shashi and I, the elder sisters took charge at the Physical and emotional levels. Vikram became the ‘Man’ in charge of most financial and other practical decisions which mother would usually sanction after begrudging him a little to us. Youngest sister Sunita lived close by and they mutually took care of daily little needs. Mita, ‘the daughter-in-law’ actually felt ‘so’ to my mother, which was tough for them both and all of us.
Personally, Vikram took my father’s place and I began to rely more on him. Overall he grew, wiser, mature, responsible and dependable. He constantly helped me in my struggles to settle as a single woman, parent and professional, for the remaining years and became the strong net that held me in visible and invisible ways.
Veena
“Dear Rakesh,
This is an emotion I can only share with you although we no longer share our lives.
Karan just left in his Fiat car to go for the interview for admission for his MBA at Ahmedabad. He was dressed in a blue blazer, grey pants, red tie – looked smart, slightly clumsy with a Folder file of certificates of honor in one hand and jug of water in the other, for the engine of the car. A tear rolled down with “pride”. He has been called by all 4 leading Institutes of Management of India.
The tear took me back 19 years. The first day I had taken him to the day school in London when he was still in diapers 18 months old, big heavy shoes on his tiny “flat” feet, cute curly hair – he had cried when I left him and I cried on the way, back to Edgware, our home then.
I also remembered July ’84, his first day at Delhi Public School, class 6, when he stood in rows and rows of kids under the scorching Sun. I was peeping from the big Iron railing outside, tears flowing, wondering if my boy will be o.k.
Of course our boy has done ‘O.K.’ He has passed every test with honors – he truly is ‘gifted’ like he was in grade 2 in Mountain brook Elementary, where you and I were called by the teacher to put him in the special gifted children’s class!! And then he proved his mettle when he got selected for every Ivy League college he applied in U.S.A. after school, and now this morning – in his quiet dignified style he has done it again.”
I had lived alone for 10 years. It had been the life of a single woman and parent.
The main focus had been Karan. He had been adjusting to the change I subjected him to. The first year in School was tough speaking a different language and even English i.e. was American and not Oxford or Indian. He felt much better in the 11th after he got his subjects of choice and then friends of his choice. Hindu College was where he really came into his elements and further made thicker friends including his present wife.
Later his name was on the Scholars Golden board for being the only Delhi boy who got into all 4 institutes of Management. Well so he became an Ahmedabad grad. Which they say is like Harvard from USA. I feel proud of that even today, as the switch had not been easy for him and proud of myself for watching over him, growing here.
For him, I had kept a dog, so he would take her responsibility which never happened of course. Zoya the dog became my companion instead. She took care of my security, kept the flat lively with her Bark and her wagging tail. She lived long and like all dog people was the most loyal to me.
With Rakesh, there were some years of low communication which carried subtle bitterness on both sides. I then made an effort at being friendly for the sake of our children and he reciprocated. We then remained decent and at times even affectionate, sharing meeting and parting ‘hugs’ which was an annual affair. There was mutual sharing about Karan and Divya and ‘other family’, mine loving him and his loving me. His ‘Alcohol abuse’ had worsened but he was able to maintain himself professionally.
Talking about ‘family’, although there was opposition about my decision to return, once I came back there was total support from them in every kind of way. It was to my father’s protest that I had rented my own Barsati flat and chose to live by myself with Karan. His health of course deteriorated and soon he left us. Till today I am grateful to God for my return, so I, at least had ‘some time’ to spend with him.
In strange ways, my parents, their parents, my extended family put me in a pivotal position. In ways, I think I influenced all and we were therapeutic to each other.
Divya graduated from Mountain Brook Senior School and chose to go to Mobile to pursue Art in the Univ. of Alabama. Rakesh continued to stay in Birmingham and provided what support he could under difficult circumstances. Although over time, she was mothering him more emotionally, than he fathering her.
She did well and met Craig Stephens also in the field of Art and they continued the relationship till her Marriage to him at age 28. She worked for many years at QMS as a Graphic designer seriously and diligently till she had Anna at the age of 34.
I was spending 4-8 wks. with her every year, either me going there or she coming to India. Also tried to maintain cordiality with Rakesh and spend some time together as ‘family’ including Karan.
In spite of this I could never get rid of my guilt about leaving her or she, her resentment and anger for the same and jealousy towards Karan who got to live with me. All this was understandable and whilst each visit, I tried working on it, sooner or later she would blow up and it would leave us both in tears and pain. It certainly got better after she herself became a parent.
After Babuji’s demise, there was a significant shift at Firozeshah, which by now had become the new parental ‘address’. JhaiJi, my mother who had been conservative, submissive and passive felt ‘the head’ and so stronger. Shashi and I, the elder sisters took charge at the Physical and emotional levels. Vikram became the ‘Man’ in charge of most financial and other practical decisions which mother would usually sanction after begrudging him a little to us. Youngest sister Sunita lived close by and they mutually took care of daily little needs. Mita, ‘the daughter-in-law’ actually felt ‘so’ to my mother, which was tough for them both and all of us.
Personally, Vikram took my father’s place and I began to rely more on him. Overall he grew, wiser, mature, responsible and dependable. He constantly helped me in my struggles to settle as a single woman, parent and professional, for the remaining years and became the strong net that held me in visible and invisible ways.
Veena
Saturday, September 25, 2010
16- Socially in Delhi
16-Socially in Delhi
After many years of oppression in the marriage, I felt happy and ‘free’ in my Barsati on the 2nd floor where I would often sit on the terrace and watch the clear blue sky in the day and stars at night. While initially I missed Rakesh’s body on the bed, I soon became comfortable and actually never felt the need of a ‘man’ emotionally or sexually.
Since Karan was my first concern, I became member of ACSA which is the local club for the American community living in Delhi. This provided access to the Canteen for him for an occasional burger or coke. Also, a dip in the clean Pool followed by a Shower where the water was at a wonderful temperature and pressure unavailable any where else. I was able to meet lot of mixed ethnic women and families who organized regular ‘Coffee meets’. There was a ‘book club’ of my interest. There was a ‘cooking club’ where one could find easy ways to cook ‘continental’ with local ingredients from local shops like the INA or Khan Market. I also got to take my Volkswagen Jetta on Shanti path which was the only road I could drive, at a speed that Karan and me enjoyed. There were carnivals with stalls showing select Indian wares that one could get without un-necessary bargaining.
I was also introduced as a Professional Psychiatrist, able to give some talks and met women of various calibers in other fields striving to live and learn.
Janet was married to Pal Singh and living at Sundar Nagar where my parents were. She was a counselor working with pregnant women in Ante-natals to promote ‘natural child-birth’ as opposed to Caesarian which was more a norm now. We became friends and formed a group of other women in related fields, both Indian and foreign, more to talk ‘personal’ than ‘work’.
All along, I was aware of a social stigma as a ‘single woman’, in both my medical and non-medical circles. In India it was not something one talked about easily. In Delhi, even now it was still a thing of ‘curiosity’ than ‘concern’. After a small ad in the local neighborhood paper, I invited ‘single professional working women’ to my home. They felt the same way and we started meeting often and became invaluable supports to each other.
‘Singles fellowship’ was another such forum under the guardianship of Mr. Rana, a widower and an elderly retired Sikh Army Col. He surely was always full of humor and yet had a serious purpose for living happily ‘with a purpose’.
We joined with them and began to invite our single men friends and the group became mixed. It was a lot of fun with music, dancing, sharing of jokes, poetry and other personal things if one wanted to. Although it was not a matrimonial platform and overall we tended to be conservative, 2 couples did get married amongst us.
I kept in touch with friends abroad. They were always ‘so good’. I visited often and they visited me, often staying at my place. I always got affection and support. Along with this there was also lot of travel within and outside India with them and family.
March ‘91 MT ABU
At an ‘Art workshop’ I met Lydia who introduced me to Judi who was a ‘chemical dependency rehab counselor’ in Sydney, Australia. When she visited Delhi, we did some therapy work with many of my ‘alcohol and drug dependent’ clients. We also organized a seminar at India International centre inviting other speakers like Dr. Sharma, Delhi Transactional Analysis team and senior members of AA and Al-Anon which was well received.
Judi and I became a team, professionally and personally.
She was into Eastern spirituality and on her way to Mt. Abu ‘seat the Brahmakumaris’.
I decided to take a break from Samvedna klinik and accompanied her to Mt. Abu. Dr. Sharma also joined us. This place was swarming with ‘double foreigners’ who were trying to find their ‘soul’. It was like a little ‘oasis’, teaching Raj Yoga. . We were not yet clear of our feelings on that but there was apparent inspiration for purity, honesty and service all around.
My attraction of course was spending time with Judi, who was an exhilarating and effervescing soul. The three of us got along famously and had lots to talk about and ponder over.
This started my personal exploration of ‘Spirituality’.
Back at G. Kailash, Aloke was part of the Vedanta academy. I started attending wkly classes where there was an opportunity for further intellectual discussions.
Swami Sukha Bodha Nanda who had a psychology background did a ‘life enhancing course’. He constantly talked and taught ‘rejoicing and celebrating life every moment’ and for it to be lived and loved with vitality, ecstasy, beauty and peace. Serious stuff and light, was all thrown together in a deeply moving, experiential manner – an ‘out of the world’ experience.
Following this, he had an ‘existential workshop’ at Bangalore. Here I was able to spend some time with Dr. Ravi Kapoor and his wife Malvika who were both wonderful professional friends by now.
Being alone and being free gave choices ‘to make or not make commitments’ which felt good.
Men in various walks of life did try to take advantage in a ‘mans’ way. After all I was living in a Patriarchal world, especially so in India. Whether it was my landlord harassing me for rent, a senior doctor showing interest in Psychology, a ‘supposed Police protector’ trying to ‘probe’, sometimes even a colleague or simply the man on the street, a woman was first a ‘pound of flesh’ and then any thing else, if any.
It had to do with ‘societal’ double and quadruple Moral standards existing at all levels.
There were ‘hurts’ one learnt to cope with, each time making one stronger for the next on-slaught.
Even guys who were good to relate to, found it difficult adjusting at par, to a woman who could ‘take care of herself’. This kept one at a strange position of ‘Isolation’.
Social support from men was dicey and women, unbeatable.
Any way, it never got the better of me after all that I had gone through in my earlier life. Over time, I gained the respect of my family, friends and colleagues and felt surrounded by a circle of warmth and comfort.
Veena
After many years of oppression in the marriage, I felt happy and ‘free’ in my Barsati on the 2nd floor where I would often sit on the terrace and watch the clear blue sky in the day and stars at night. While initially I missed Rakesh’s body on the bed, I soon became comfortable and actually never felt the need of a ‘man’ emotionally or sexually.
Since Karan was my first concern, I became member of ACSA which is the local club for the American community living in Delhi. This provided access to the Canteen for him for an occasional burger or coke. Also, a dip in the clean Pool followed by a Shower where the water was at a wonderful temperature and pressure unavailable any where else. I was able to meet lot of mixed ethnic women and families who organized regular ‘Coffee meets’. There was a ‘book club’ of my interest. There was a ‘cooking club’ where one could find easy ways to cook ‘continental’ with local ingredients from local shops like the INA or Khan Market. I also got to take my Volkswagen Jetta on Shanti path which was the only road I could drive, at a speed that Karan and me enjoyed. There were carnivals with stalls showing select Indian wares that one could get without un-necessary bargaining.
I was also introduced as a Professional Psychiatrist, able to give some talks and met women of various calibers in other fields striving to live and learn.
Janet was married to Pal Singh and living at Sundar Nagar where my parents were. She was a counselor working with pregnant women in Ante-natals to promote ‘natural child-birth’ as opposed to Caesarian which was more a norm now. We became friends and formed a group of other women in related fields, both Indian and foreign, more to talk ‘personal’ than ‘work’.
All along, I was aware of a social stigma as a ‘single woman’, in both my medical and non-medical circles. In India it was not something one talked about easily. In Delhi, even now it was still a thing of ‘curiosity’ than ‘concern’. After a small ad in the local neighborhood paper, I invited ‘single professional working women’ to my home. They felt the same way and we started meeting often and became invaluable supports to each other.
‘Singles fellowship’ was another such forum under the guardianship of Mr. Rana, a widower and an elderly retired Sikh Army Col. He surely was always full of humor and yet had a serious purpose for living happily ‘with a purpose’.
We joined with them and began to invite our single men friends and the group became mixed. It was a lot of fun with music, dancing, sharing of jokes, poetry and other personal things if one wanted to. Although it was not a matrimonial platform and overall we tended to be conservative, 2 couples did get married amongst us.
I kept in touch with friends abroad. They were always ‘so good’. I visited often and they visited me, often staying at my place. I always got affection and support. Along with this there was also lot of travel within and outside India with them and family.
March ‘91 MT ABU
At an ‘Art workshop’ I met Lydia who introduced me to Judi who was a ‘chemical dependency rehab counselor’ in Sydney, Australia. When she visited Delhi, we did some therapy work with many of my ‘alcohol and drug dependent’ clients. We also organized a seminar at India International centre inviting other speakers like Dr. Sharma, Delhi Transactional Analysis team and senior members of AA and Al-Anon which was well received.
Judi and I became a team, professionally and personally.
She was into Eastern spirituality and on her way to Mt. Abu ‘seat the Brahmakumaris’.
I decided to take a break from Samvedna klinik and accompanied her to Mt. Abu. Dr. Sharma also joined us. This place was swarming with ‘double foreigners’ who were trying to find their ‘soul’. It was like a little ‘oasis’, teaching Raj Yoga. . We were not yet clear of our feelings on that but there was apparent inspiration for purity, honesty and service all around.
My attraction of course was spending time with Judi, who was an exhilarating and effervescing soul. The three of us got along famously and had lots to talk about and ponder over.
This started my personal exploration of ‘Spirituality’.
Back at G. Kailash, Aloke was part of the Vedanta academy. I started attending wkly classes where there was an opportunity for further intellectual discussions.
Swami Sukha Bodha Nanda who had a psychology background did a ‘life enhancing course’. He constantly talked and taught ‘rejoicing and celebrating life every moment’ and for it to be lived and loved with vitality, ecstasy, beauty and peace. Serious stuff and light, was all thrown together in a deeply moving, experiential manner – an ‘out of the world’ experience.
Following this, he had an ‘existential workshop’ at Bangalore. Here I was able to spend some time with Dr. Ravi Kapoor and his wife Malvika who were both wonderful professional friends by now.
Being alone and being free gave choices ‘to make or not make commitments’ which felt good.
Men in various walks of life did try to take advantage in a ‘mans’ way. After all I was living in a Patriarchal world, especially so in India. Whether it was my landlord harassing me for rent, a senior doctor showing interest in Psychology, a ‘supposed Police protector’ trying to ‘probe’, sometimes even a colleague or simply the man on the street, a woman was first a ‘pound of flesh’ and then any thing else, if any.
It had to do with ‘societal’ double and quadruple Moral standards existing at all levels.
There were ‘hurts’ one learnt to cope with, each time making one stronger for the next on-slaught.
Even guys who were good to relate to, found it difficult adjusting at par, to a woman who could ‘take care of herself’. This kept one at a strange position of ‘Isolation’.
Social support from men was dicey and women, unbeatable.
Any way, it never got the better of me after all that I had gone through in my earlier life. Over time, I gained the respect of my family, friends and colleagues and felt surrounded by a circle of warmth and comfort.
Veena
Friday, September 17, 2010
15- Psychatrist in Delhi
15-Psychiatrist in Delhi
October ’84- Indira Gandhi was assassinated. This followed riots in Delhi in November. I put an ad. in the paper that ‘I would be available to see the victims of the aftermath of the riots’.
I set up my small ‘practice area’ in the basement of my sister Shashi and Mohan’s clinic in Greater Kailash and started seeing ‘ikka-dukka’ patients.
Soon, I got selected as Consultant and Psychiatrist at Batra Hospital to start the Department which was really good for me. I was back in a hospital setting with other medical fraternity which gave me the opportunity to work as a specialist from home base, so to say.
It was a full time assignment. Quickly, I discovered that to be part of the hospital, I had to go by certain ‘management dictated hierchical rules’ and not necessarily as ‘I’ felt ‘clinically best’ for the patients. I felt, perhaps, the Industrialists built the hospital more for ‘revenues’. The ‘primary intent’ was not necessarily medical service. I did not wish to fight the system and neither was I willing to accept ‘this’.
Also Karan would return to school by Lunch time and I wanted to be at home for him, instead of sitting in the hospital ‘without work’. I took the advice and consent of Dr. I.D. Bajaj who had been our warden at Maulana Azad and was 2nd in command to the MD Dr. Nagpal.
My life had changed its course from one of giving in and going along to one of steering my ship my way……. So I decided to convert to my position to ‘half time’.
I had already started ‘practice’ at Shashi’s Nursing home and was gradually, getting more patients. I had the advantage ‘of being a Woman Psychiatrist’ and also one who had returned from abroad with a foreign degree which was an attraction for people here.
The first problem I faced was that of ‘language’. Although I spoke in Hindi, I would automatically think in English. When my patients spoke, my reflex would be to answer them in English. It would take my mind a little time to translate. This felt ridiculous and I was very conscious of it. The other difference was that most patients here came with many family members, friends and even neighbors who were keener to see me than the patient himself. It was actually difficult for me to sometime make out who the patient was. In treatment therefore the whole family also had to be included, much in contrast to the method of working in America where everything was more individualistic and autonomous. Most patients over there went ‘on their own’ to the doctor.
I was energetic and started going to Lectures and Conferences, myself taking part and also presenting Papers. Dr. Sunil Kaul was a fresh graduate who came from Pune and was interested in Sports medicine and Physical Health. Both of us started Aerobic and Dance classes in my clinic for my Psychiatric patients as part of their treatment. (The concept of such Dancing/jazzercises caught on much later in Delhi-perhaps the 90s).
I remained active, academically, attending Psychiatric meetings here in India and the USA when possible.
Gradually, there was increasing sensitivity and awareness in the Media, lot of attention being paid to Psychiatry in the Magazines, newspapers, radio and television. I would put in ‘my bit’ as and when the opportunity came my way.
My friend, Shubhadarshini started her own Film Company with a regular Medical/Physician oriented educational program making me in- charge of the Psychiatric segment. And we did quite a few clips together.
I was getting more and more patients who needed acute Hospitalization. I didn’t find Batra a satisfactory place, due to it being an Open General hospital and Psychiatric patients actually needing a more confidential, intensive and inclusive set up.
Brother Vikram and I therefore looked around and my mother bought a place for me in G.K.2 itself.
I designed it gracefully for the needs of a small ‘psychiatric nursing home’. There were huge beurocratic hassles at every step during its establishment, but I coped and survived.
Then I shifted my Venue of practice to ‘SAMVEDNA PSYCHIATRIC KLINIC’, Ved being my father’s first name. This was my new professional project now.
Ila volunteered to be the Receptionist. She was really good with patients, active, understanding and encouraged my ‘Practice”. She and I got along famously and became Personal friends. Madhumati Singh joined as a fresh Psychologist and Rachna as an Aesthetic counselor. In the beginning, it was difficult to find good Nurses and the Domestic staff. However over time I was able to find suitable people and trained them for my patients’ needs and my style of working.
In the mean time I had reduced my work at Batra, some more, to twice a week, for two hours only. My ‘Practice’ now was becoming more and more ‘In patient’ requiring more time and energy. I enjoyed the work during the following years. I also then, added another Male Psychiatrist and Psychologist to help and share Patient care as a team. We were doing ‘group therapy’ programs including Yoga and meditation. ‘Alcoholic anonymous’ meetings were conducted at the premises with an in-house ‘Chemical dependency’ counselor.
I was by now, very much a part of the rest of the Psychiatric doctor community of India, who accepted and looked up to me as----‘Me’ as I was I guess!
Typically at a Conference of Psychiatrists, people behaved differently, some with respect to the psychiatrist in me, some with flirtatious teasing to the woman in me, some with a slight awe to the whole of me, some just friendly and some wondering about my status.
I remained strong, re-establishing professionally back home in a very competitive world, which was every day and every moment ready to pounce on a single woman. My vulnerability became my strength and I did WELL. Besides being able to work for the ‘woman’s’ cause’, by now I was also known for the ‘psychotherapy’ rather than the purely ‘medicinal approach’ that I used for patient care. More and more younger clients seeking better lives, wanting to make proper personal and career choices, marital couples, teens with adolescent issues with parents, added to the rest of the ‘seriously depressed and unwell population’.
After nearly 20 years of work here, some of the seniors asked me to form the ‘Delhi Chapter’ of the ‘Indian Association of private psychiatry’.
This I did and as its President, worked further towards the ‘Road to good mental Health’.
Veena
October ’84- Indira Gandhi was assassinated. This followed riots in Delhi in November. I put an ad. in the paper that ‘I would be available to see the victims of the aftermath of the riots’.
I set up my small ‘practice area’ in the basement of my sister Shashi and Mohan’s clinic in Greater Kailash and started seeing ‘ikka-dukka’ patients.
Soon, I got selected as Consultant and Psychiatrist at Batra Hospital to start the Department which was really good for me. I was back in a hospital setting with other medical fraternity which gave me the opportunity to work as a specialist from home base, so to say.
It was a full time assignment. Quickly, I discovered that to be part of the hospital, I had to go by certain ‘management dictated hierchical rules’ and not necessarily as ‘I’ felt ‘clinically best’ for the patients. I felt, perhaps, the Industrialists built the hospital more for ‘revenues’. The ‘primary intent’ was not necessarily medical service. I did not wish to fight the system and neither was I willing to accept ‘this’.
Also Karan would return to school by Lunch time and I wanted to be at home for him, instead of sitting in the hospital ‘without work’. I took the advice and consent of Dr. I.D. Bajaj who had been our warden at Maulana Azad and was 2nd in command to the MD Dr. Nagpal.
My life had changed its course from one of giving in and going along to one of steering my ship my way……. So I decided to convert to my position to ‘half time’.
I had already started ‘practice’ at Shashi’s Nursing home and was gradually, getting more patients. I had the advantage ‘of being a Woman Psychiatrist’ and also one who had returned from abroad with a foreign degree which was an attraction for people here.
The first problem I faced was that of ‘language’. Although I spoke in Hindi, I would automatically think in English. When my patients spoke, my reflex would be to answer them in English. It would take my mind a little time to translate. This felt ridiculous and I was very conscious of it. The other difference was that most patients here came with many family members, friends and even neighbors who were keener to see me than the patient himself. It was actually difficult for me to sometime make out who the patient was. In treatment therefore the whole family also had to be included, much in contrast to the method of working in America where everything was more individualistic and autonomous. Most patients over there went ‘on their own’ to the doctor.
I was energetic and started going to Lectures and Conferences, myself taking part and also presenting Papers. Dr. Sunil Kaul was a fresh graduate who came from Pune and was interested in Sports medicine and Physical Health. Both of us started Aerobic and Dance classes in my clinic for my Psychiatric patients as part of their treatment. (The concept of such Dancing/jazzercises caught on much later in Delhi-perhaps the 90s).
I remained active, academically, attending Psychiatric meetings here in India and the USA when possible.
Gradually, there was increasing sensitivity and awareness in the Media, lot of attention being paid to Psychiatry in the Magazines, newspapers, radio and television. I would put in ‘my bit’ as and when the opportunity came my way.
My friend, Shubhadarshini started her own Film Company with a regular Medical/Physician oriented educational program making me in- charge of the Psychiatric segment. And we did quite a few clips together.
I was getting more and more patients who needed acute Hospitalization. I didn’t find Batra a satisfactory place, due to it being an Open General hospital and Psychiatric patients actually needing a more confidential, intensive and inclusive set up.
Brother Vikram and I therefore looked around and my mother bought a place for me in G.K.2 itself.
I designed it gracefully for the needs of a small ‘psychiatric nursing home’. There were huge beurocratic hassles at every step during its establishment, but I coped and survived.
Then I shifted my Venue of practice to ‘SAMVEDNA PSYCHIATRIC KLINIC’, Ved being my father’s first name. This was my new professional project now.
Ila volunteered to be the Receptionist. She was really good with patients, active, understanding and encouraged my ‘Practice”. She and I got along famously and became Personal friends. Madhumati Singh joined as a fresh Psychologist and Rachna as an Aesthetic counselor. In the beginning, it was difficult to find good Nurses and the Domestic staff. However over time I was able to find suitable people and trained them for my patients’ needs and my style of working.
In the mean time I had reduced my work at Batra, some more, to twice a week, for two hours only. My ‘Practice’ now was becoming more and more ‘In patient’ requiring more time and energy. I enjoyed the work during the following years. I also then, added another Male Psychiatrist and Psychologist to help and share Patient care as a team. We were doing ‘group therapy’ programs including Yoga and meditation. ‘Alcoholic anonymous’ meetings were conducted at the premises with an in-house ‘Chemical dependency’ counselor.
I was by now, very much a part of the rest of the Psychiatric doctor community of India, who accepted and looked up to me as----‘Me’ as I was I guess!
Typically at a Conference of Psychiatrists, people behaved differently, some with respect to the psychiatrist in me, some with flirtatious teasing to the woman in me, some with a slight awe to the whole of me, some just friendly and some wondering about my status.
I remained strong, re-establishing professionally back home in a very competitive world, which was every day and every moment ready to pounce on a single woman. My vulnerability became my strength and I did WELL. Besides being able to work for the ‘woman’s’ cause’, by now I was also known for the ‘psychotherapy’ rather than the purely ‘medicinal approach’ that I used for patient care. More and more younger clients seeking better lives, wanting to make proper personal and career choices, marital couples, teens with adolescent issues with parents, added to the rest of the ‘seriously depressed and unwell population’.
After nearly 20 years of work here, some of the seniors asked me to form the ‘Delhi Chapter’ of the ‘Indian Association of private psychiatry’.
This I did and as its President, worked further towards the ‘Road to good mental Health’.
Veena
Friday, September 10, 2010
14- Father
14- FATHER- my father
Babuji was born in a small village in Haryana called Pehowa in March, 1919. His father died when he was about 10, from Tuberculosis as did his other siblings, which was ‘the Scourge’ those years. Dadi brought him up in a corner of a room shared with Taiji.
He would take tuitions and go to School when a little older. He went to do law and Commerce in Lahore which was the Mecca of education in the North at that time. All his cousins were younger and he began to be their guide and senior.
He married my mother of 16, at Ludhiana when he was 23. Then, earning about 100 Rs. per month at Ambala, he retired as Commissioner Income tax at Delhi after a full life at 58.
We went abroad and I toiled with my marriage, children, home, post graduation in Pathology, then Psychiatry and work from hospital to hospital and city to city. Father presumed I was happy, I presumed I was OK, but gradually was not OK.
Back there I kept getting sketchy information about his odd ‘withdrawn’ behaviors and the rounds of visits to the physicians/ psychiatrists. On one of my visits home, with some hesitation, a struggling teardrop rolling down his eye and shaky voice, he expressed his suicidal thoughts to me. I met Dr. Mohan at AIIMS and we agreed that Babuji had a bipolar mood disorder with Depressions. He was started on Lithium along with other things and
I encouraged Jhai Ji to be more tolerant of his moods and more supportive when he had side effects from medication that were irritating and difficult for her to handle.
When I finally returned with Karan, he lived in a ‘Kothi’ at Sundar Nagar with Jhai and Vikram. Youngest sister Sunita had been married some years ago to Sudhir.
The Cook Bahadur who could never clean to Karan’s standards, Driver Ishrat who drove the old Rickety Fiat too fast for safety and Sharmaji the Typist sitting on an antique noisy typewriter, mostly yawning in the verandah were around, as domestic help. The ‘Grand living’ for a govt. retired officer was according to him, to fetch a worthy bride for my kid brother, his and my mother’s pride and joy.
Although technically retired he still continued to address himself as ’Commissioner Income tax’ and refused to give up on paltry and not so paltry gains accorded to one in such a position.
Maji, my dadi who was no more, used to tell us of the days when they survived only on ‘Chana’. His friends and relations at one time called him ‘Badshah of Delhi’ when he actually was at the peak professionally. He was no more that now.
My mother said, as the years went, his prolonged ‘depressions’ and occasional ‘highs’ became more and more disruptive. After Calcutta he spent his last working years at Bhopal and Jabalpur which were not at all to his liking or preference.
He had a stroke of good luck with Bara Khamba Rd. house where he lived for some years. This area was declared ‘Greater Cannaught place’ in later years and to vacate, he got financial compensation in the form of a flat on Firoze Shah Rd. a prime locale, where my mother now lives.
My return as it was, was painful for him but it also gave him a new leash for life. I shared this exactly the same way. ‘I’ became his new goal to help me out of my crisis and ‘he’ for me to mend the broken-ness of the inner sufferings of his mind.
Returning home after prolonged difficult times, I felt childlike, vulnerable and looked to him for all the strength, emotional and physical. He gave all. He began to ‘anchor’ me to the new, New Delhi. Karan started DPS at Mathura Rd. and I was appointed department in charge of Psychiatry at Batra hospital.
Very soon I began to recognize that father was fragile now, although feigning ‘self made man’ strength. I could no more be the needy child. There followed a subtle role reversal and I tried to do ‘my little’ for the man who was responsible for ‘me, who or what, the me in me’.
When necessary, I began to rely more on my kid brother Vikram who I sensed was no more a kid. In fact he was multifarious, a kid in the overall family equation to tell stories to, an equal to joke and have fun with, an elder to guide and advise, and overall wise, mature, responsible and dependable to take over my care (struggling to settle as a single woman, parent and professional), for the remaining years and become the strong net that holds me in visible and invisible ways.
To Babuji’s dismay, I had rented a small flat separately but I continued to spend all available time with him including the early morning bed tea when I would drop in by surprise after taking Karan to School, this having become his habit to miss the regular bus to hitch a ride with mummy in the Volkswagen Jetta that came from the US.
The door was always open, he would be absorbed in the editorial of Hindustan Times, I would say, “Babuji ?” and he would look up, throw the paper away, smile and ask me to sit near. He would be happy but he would be worried, so was I, happy to be at Sundar Nagar and worried. Tea was ordered and Jhai would wake up with the Hulla-gulla. Soon it was time for me to drive back, sadly he would walk out, to the car, hand on my shoulder, the same gentle pat again that he had given me when he left me at the Hostel gate at Patiala over 20 years ago.
He was maintained on fairly high dose of medications for Depression and Hypertension. He was never too bad but also never OK, OK. He tended to oscillate between passive blank inactive periods to Agitated, thoughtless activities bordering on overspending and disappearing from the house at odd times much to the chagrin of my mother. Lithium ‘shook’ his hands and in spite of reassurances he couldn’t stop fearing being in the same state as Pandit G.B.Pant who had Parkinsonism.
As a family, for Jhai, for all of us sisters and Vikram, for all his cousins who had shared their lives with this very dynamic and domineering man it was difficult to see him full of fears and go downhill thus, but nevertheless he maintained his sense of command and influence on all, as long as he could.
Sharmaji was kept at his task mostly for Babuji’s serious project of sorting out advertisements, letters, photographs and other sundry details of ‘prospectives’ for Vikram only to be filed away and piled up on the antique wooden desk in antique wooden trays while Vikram maintained a solidly WOODEN stance towards the whole deal till Mita came on the scene dressed in a Sky Blue skirt to entice him.
I had become the go-between and frankly quite enjoyed the ‘diversion from my real life’. By now Vikram also had a healthy respect for my opinions and finally agreed to be married.
Parents, Vikram and Mita moved from Sundar Nagar to Firozeshah Road flat.
It was now that his heart started to play up.
His mother had suffered serious Asthma and we kids had witnessed Doctors’ comings and goings frequently. Although the medical fraternity was familiar to him, when it came to his ‘heart’ he was gripped in fears and once again I took over and got him treated by the Cardiac team at Batra Hospital.
Jan.’87-
It was 7PM. I was visiting my parents. Babuji said he had pain in the chest. It had waxed and waned since the afternoon. He had been discharged from Batra 2 days ago.
In spite of the ‘blocks’ it had been decided to go conservative in view of his co-existing chronic recurrent ‘depressive condition’.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said “Does any thing need to be done?”
“Perhaps an ECG?” I said.
“OK yes it is a little late” --In his usual authoritarian style he said, ’Diwan Chand’ should be open !’
‘Diwan Chand’ it was who kept the place especially open for him till late. He put his hand on my shoulder and said to him, I was ‘his’ daughter.
I helped his shaky hands un-buttoning his shirt and getting the ECG done.
The doctor re-assured him. We drove back. He took the lift to go up, his one hand on my shoulder and ‘me’ feeling shaky within.
My father died 2 days later before I could even reach him on way to Willington hospital in the Ambulance while Vikram tried to pump his heart----
My father was ‘inside’ a pile of logs at Lodhi Crematorium. The son Vikram lit the pyre. I couldn’t let him go just like that. I was ‘his’ too.
So I also lit the pyre.
Many nights I would wake up ‘lighting’ Father’s body. Many days I hallucinated, seeing and hearing and feeling him.
The grief can never be over, though less painful now.
A pencil sketch of him that Divya made is on my study wall.
He sketched my life. He filled my life.
He is me now and I, ‘remains’ of him.
Veena
Babuji was born in a small village in Haryana called Pehowa in March, 1919. His father died when he was about 10, from Tuberculosis as did his other siblings, which was ‘the Scourge’ those years. Dadi brought him up in a corner of a room shared with Taiji.
He would take tuitions and go to School when a little older. He went to do law and Commerce in Lahore which was the Mecca of education in the North at that time. All his cousins were younger and he began to be their guide and senior.
He married my mother of 16, at Ludhiana when he was 23. Then, earning about 100 Rs. per month at Ambala, he retired as Commissioner Income tax at Delhi after a full life at 58.
We went abroad and I toiled with my marriage, children, home, post graduation in Pathology, then Psychiatry and work from hospital to hospital and city to city. Father presumed I was happy, I presumed I was OK, but gradually was not OK.
Back there I kept getting sketchy information about his odd ‘withdrawn’ behaviors and the rounds of visits to the physicians/ psychiatrists. On one of my visits home, with some hesitation, a struggling teardrop rolling down his eye and shaky voice, he expressed his suicidal thoughts to me. I met Dr. Mohan at AIIMS and we agreed that Babuji had a bipolar mood disorder with Depressions. He was started on Lithium along with other things and
I encouraged Jhai Ji to be more tolerant of his moods and more supportive when he had side effects from medication that were irritating and difficult for her to handle.
When I finally returned with Karan, he lived in a ‘Kothi’ at Sundar Nagar with Jhai and Vikram. Youngest sister Sunita had been married some years ago to Sudhir.
The Cook Bahadur who could never clean to Karan’s standards, Driver Ishrat who drove the old Rickety Fiat too fast for safety and Sharmaji the Typist sitting on an antique noisy typewriter, mostly yawning in the verandah were around, as domestic help. The ‘Grand living’ for a govt. retired officer was according to him, to fetch a worthy bride for my kid brother, his and my mother’s pride and joy.
Although technically retired he still continued to address himself as ’Commissioner Income tax’ and refused to give up on paltry and not so paltry gains accorded to one in such a position.
Maji, my dadi who was no more, used to tell us of the days when they survived only on ‘Chana’. His friends and relations at one time called him ‘Badshah of Delhi’ when he actually was at the peak professionally. He was no more that now.
My mother said, as the years went, his prolonged ‘depressions’ and occasional ‘highs’ became more and more disruptive. After Calcutta he spent his last working years at Bhopal and Jabalpur which were not at all to his liking or preference.
He had a stroke of good luck with Bara Khamba Rd. house where he lived for some years. This area was declared ‘Greater Cannaught place’ in later years and to vacate, he got financial compensation in the form of a flat on Firoze Shah Rd. a prime locale, where my mother now lives.
My return as it was, was painful for him but it also gave him a new leash for life. I shared this exactly the same way. ‘I’ became his new goal to help me out of my crisis and ‘he’ for me to mend the broken-ness of the inner sufferings of his mind.
Returning home after prolonged difficult times, I felt childlike, vulnerable and looked to him for all the strength, emotional and physical. He gave all. He began to ‘anchor’ me to the new, New Delhi. Karan started DPS at Mathura Rd. and I was appointed department in charge of Psychiatry at Batra hospital.
Very soon I began to recognize that father was fragile now, although feigning ‘self made man’ strength. I could no more be the needy child. There followed a subtle role reversal and I tried to do ‘my little’ for the man who was responsible for ‘me, who or what, the me in me’.
When necessary, I began to rely more on my kid brother Vikram who I sensed was no more a kid. In fact he was multifarious, a kid in the overall family equation to tell stories to, an equal to joke and have fun with, an elder to guide and advise, and overall wise, mature, responsible and dependable to take over my care (struggling to settle as a single woman, parent and professional), for the remaining years and become the strong net that holds me in visible and invisible ways.
To Babuji’s dismay, I had rented a small flat separately but I continued to spend all available time with him including the early morning bed tea when I would drop in by surprise after taking Karan to School, this having become his habit to miss the regular bus to hitch a ride with mummy in the Volkswagen Jetta that came from the US.
The door was always open, he would be absorbed in the editorial of Hindustan Times, I would say, “Babuji ?” and he would look up, throw the paper away, smile and ask me to sit near. He would be happy but he would be worried, so was I, happy to be at Sundar Nagar and worried. Tea was ordered and Jhai would wake up with the Hulla-gulla. Soon it was time for me to drive back, sadly he would walk out, to the car, hand on my shoulder, the same gentle pat again that he had given me when he left me at the Hostel gate at Patiala over 20 years ago.
He was maintained on fairly high dose of medications for Depression and Hypertension. He was never too bad but also never OK, OK. He tended to oscillate between passive blank inactive periods to Agitated, thoughtless activities bordering on overspending and disappearing from the house at odd times much to the chagrin of my mother. Lithium ‘shook’ his hands and in spite of reassurances he couldn’t stop fearing being in the same state as Pandit G.B.Pant who had Parkinsonism.
As a family, for Jhai, for all of us sisters and Vikram, for all his cousins who had shared their lives with this very dynamic and domineering man it was difficult to see him full of fears and go downhill thus, but nevertheless he maintained his sense of command and influence on all, as long as he could.
Sharmaji was kept at his task mostly for Babuji’s serious project of sorting out advertisements, letters, photographs and other sundry details of ‘prospectives’ for Vikram only to be filed away and piled up on the antique wooden desk in antique wooden trays while Vikram maintained a solidly WOODEN stance towards the whole deal till Mita came on the scene dressed in a Sky Blue skirt to entice him.
I had become the go-between and frankly quite enjoyed the ‘diversion from my real life’. By now Vikram also had a healthy respect for my opinions and finally agreed to be married.
Parents, Vikram and Mita moved from Sundar Nagar to Firozeshah Road flat.
It was now that his heart started to play up.
His mother had suffered serious Asthma and we kids had witnessed Doctors’ comings and goings frequently. Although the medical fraternity was familiar to him, when it came to his ‘heart’ he was gripped in fears and once again I took over and got him treated by the Cardiac team at Batra Hospital.
Jan.’87-
It was 7PM. I was visiting my parents. Babuji said he had pain in the chest. It had waxed and waned since the afternoon. He had been discharged from Batra 2 days ago.
In spite of the ‘blocks’ it had been decided to go conservative in view of his co-existing chronic recurrent ‘depressive condition’.
He put his hand on my shoulder and said “Does any thing need to be done?”
“Perhaps an ECG?” I said.
“OK yes it is a little late” --In his usual authoritarian style he said, ’Diwan Chand’ should be open !’
‘Diwan Chand’ it was who kept the place especially open for him till late. He put his hand on my shoulder and said to him, I was ‘his’ daughter.
I helped his shaky hands un-buttoning his shirt and getting the ECG done.
The doctor re-assured him. We drove back. He took the lift to go up, his one hand on my shoulder and ‘me’ feeling shaky within.
My father died 2 days later before I could even reach him on way to Willington hospital in the Ambulance while Vikram tried to pump his heart----
My father was ‘inside’ a pile of logs at Lodhi Crematorium. The son Vikram lit the pyre. I couldn’t let him go just like that. I was ‘his’ too.
So I also lit the pyre.
Many nights I would wake up ‘lighting’ Father’s body. Many days I hallucinated, seeing and hearing and feeling him.
The grief can never be over, though less painful now.
A pencil sketch of him that Divya made is on my study wall.
He sketched my life. He filled my life.
He is me now and I, ‘remains’ of him.
Veena
Monday, September 6, 2010
13- Back to Roots- Delhi
13-Back to Roots -New Delhi
Back in my parents home! We celebrated my 42nd birthday with them, Vikram, Shashi, Sunita and our 7 kids. It was wonderful. Towards the end of the day Martha called from America. We used to celebrate our birthday together on Ward 1st East. She sort of connected me to my life a month ago, just a month ago. It seemed so, so far away in the past- unbelievable that I actually was living in it. There was a strange amnesia about it and equally about the future. The present felt sheltered and cared for, warm, I needed now.
Karan was admitted at Delhi Public School, Mathura Rd, near Babuji’s home. Thanks to the ‘spade-work’ he had done and Karan’s good academic records from Mountain Brook. The adjustment was difficult for him to say the least. He did not speak Hindi, had not done a year of French or Sanskrit and spoke American and not the Queen’s English. Although he was an Ace Swimmer for the School team, he refused to join because of the ’Green’ pool and stinky toilets, for that matter lot of other stinky stuff around too.
‘He’ became my first ‘goal’.
Our ’20 ft. Container’ from the US had reached the Shores of Bombay. This turned out the first horrendous task in India, ‘a trailer’ for every attempt to achieve any thing in future here. Thanks to Vikram and Rakesh’s family to assist with ‘Customs’ where we made regular trips for a whole month, dealing with the ‘Workers Hartals’, the ‘under and over the table’ handing of ‘number 1 and 2 monies’.
In spite of Fathers’ protests and assurance that there was always going to be ‘room’ for us with him, I signed the lease for a small flat in Greater Kailash 2, my home without Rakesh. A tear trickled slowly, that sense of separation, although I was looking forward to the move, to start life again……… to move into the future…………..to live again.
It was close to where Shashi lived, Shashi with whom I had shared a life bond of togetherness. I furnished it like an American Home and the car, Jetta Volkswagen stood in the Driveway. We joined ACSA, club for local US citizens where Karan could feast on a Burger or a can of Coke and we could Drive the Car on Shanti Path to breathe some clean air. At DPS he was with Indian kids, here he joined the Boy Scouts of America to be able to run and camp around with ‘the familiar’.
Understanding his intense craving for any thing American and accepting his sensitive criticism of India, I wanted the transition, gradual.
Nov. 4-84
Indira Gandhi was assassinated. The world was shocked. Hindus were killing the Sikhs. Delhi was under curfew. More news came from B.B.C. than AIR. World leaders stood up at Shanti Van to pay her ‘the greatest woman and statesman’ of this time, homage, as the pyre on which she lay was lit by her son Rajeev who became the Torch bearer to carry India on, on, to carry India on……. On…… where ………. How …….
“India so rampant with corruption, poverty, steeped with immorality … it had become a passive nation- each individual struggling to survive at the cost of others…….. At the cast of all others till that cost becomes unbearable ……. What is wrong? Why is it so?” I thought.
I was here. Having this experience was frightening. Clean shaven Sikhs on the streets with Machine guns to ‘get’ the Hindus……….. I felt part of this turmoil, a witness of this whole scene, and yet sort of at home, for ‘this’ is where I ‘belonged’.
A year got over, Karan went to class 8, did great and became the PREFECT (sort of Monitor).
I also felt good during the year- having an amazing inner strength and peace of mind. Never did I regret this Move or my decision to return. No one of course, understood this.
It was time for Divya to finish School and join College. I wanted to spend time with her and be part of her decision making. So Karan and I went, Eastwards via the Pacific, via Expo ’85 at Tokyo. After all Japan was the leader now. Little did I anticipate then, that he would take up his first assignment with Mitsubishi upon his own graduation.
We traveled via Tokyo, LA, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon and then home to Birmingham.
It was difficult family time emotionally. Divya was negative and angry towards me- ‘this’ I tried to resolve constantly. My heart wanted to reach out to her- but as I tried she would reject. We did better later but I really felt sad leaving her. She felt close to Rakesh.
I was glad of that. He was mostly quiet and passive. It was difficult to put up with his almost ‘no communication’-
Well, she was going to pursue Art at Univ. of Alabama, Mobile and go there after summer.
Next summer we took a week off to go to Mussourie with Karan, Shashi and daughters Deepa and Ruchi. We stayed in a ‘time sharing apartment’ bought by Vikram where the management was poor but tolerable.
Across, at various levels were ‘the some what shoddy looking multistory buildings’ with clothes on washing lines, trash littered in heaps, smell of horse dung, poor hillside people in rags. A little away were neater looking, private homes with sloping Brick Red roof tops, and surrounding lush green, in and around them. There was the famous ‘Woodstock school’, its courts and an impressive circular structure in the middle. Beyond and away were the mountains, range after range, green, grey, shades merging into the sky. Thick fog creeping out was hovering, clouding, misting, curling and ‘softening the strength’ of the Mountains. And above, jutting, arose the bare steel structure, the TV tower.
It inspired me- it filled me with strength. The tower rising above the squalor, dirt, neat residences and the Mountain ranges.
I felt good emerging out of my ‘past’. It had been almost 2 years since the return back to Delhi. Some moments of loneliness, panic and mild lows but mostly, good.
Veena
Back in my parents home! We celebrated my 42nd birthday with them, Vikram, Shashi, Sunita and our 7 kids. It was wonderful. Towards the end of the day Martha called from America. We used to celebrate our birthday together on Ward 1st East. She sort of connected me to my life a month ago, just a month ago. It seemed so, so far away in the past- unbelievable that I actually was living in it. There was a strange amnesia about it and equally about the future. The present felt sheltered and cared for, warm, I needed now.
Karan was admitted at Delhi Public School, Mathura Rd, near Babuji’s home. Thanks to the ‘spade-work’ he had done and Karan’s good academic records from Mountain Brook. The adjustment was difficult for him to say the least. He did not speak Hindi, had not done a year of French or Sanskrit and spoke American and not the Queen’s English. Although he was an Ace Swimmer for the School team, he refused to join because of the ’Green’ pool and stinky toilets, for that matter lot of other stinky stuff around too.
‘He’ became my first ‘goal’.
Our ’20 ft. Container’ from the US had reached the Shores of Bombay. This turned out the first horrendous task in India, ‘a trailer’ for every attempt to achieve any thing in future here. Thanks to Vikram and Rakesh’s family to assist with ‘Customs’ where we made regular trips for a whole month, dealing with the ‘Workers Hartals’, the ‘under and over the table’ handing of ‘number 1 and 2 monies’.
In spite of Fathers’ protests and assurance that there was always going to be ‘room’ for us with him, I signed the lease for a small flat in Greater Kailash 2, my home without Rakesh. A tear trickled slowly, that sense of separation, although I was looking forward to the move, to start life again……… to move into the future…………..to live again.
It was close to where Shashi lived, Shashi with whom I had shared a life bond of togetherness. I furnished it like an American Home and the car, Jetta Volkswagen stood in the Driveway. We joined ACSA, club for local US citizens where Karan could feast on a Burger or a can of Coke and we could Drive the Car on Shanti Path to breathe some clean air. At DPS he was with Indian kids, here he joined the Boy Scouts of America to be able to run and camp around with ‘the familiar’.
Understanding his intense craving for any thing American and accepting his sensitive criticism of India, I wanted the transition, gradual.
Nov. 4-84
Indira Gandhi was assassinated. The world was shocked. Hindus were killing the Sikhs. Delhi was under curfew. More news came from B.B.C. than AIR. World leaders stood up at Shanti Van to pay her ‘the greatest woman and statesman’ of this time, homage, as the pyre on which she lay was lit by her son Rajeev who became the Torch bearer to carry India on, on, to carry India on……. On…… where ………. How …….
“India so rampant with corruption, poverty, steeped with immorality … it had become a passive nation- each individual struggling to survive at the cost of others…….. At the cast of all others till that cost becomes unbearable ……. What is wrong? Why is it so?” I thought.
I was here. Having this experience was frightening. Clean shaven Sikhs on the streets with Machine guns to ‘get’ the Hindus……….. I felt part of this turmoil, a witness of this whole scene, and yet sort of at home, for ‘this’ is where I ‘belonged’.
A year got over, Karan went to class 8, did great and became the PREFECT (sort of Monitor).
I also felt good during the year- having an amazing inner strength and peace of mind. Never did I regret this Move or my decision to return. No one of course, understood this.
It was time for Divya to finish School and join College. I wanted to spend time with her and be part of her decision making. So Karan and I went, Eastwards via the Pacific, via Expo ’85 at Tokyo. After all Japan was the leader now. Little did I anticipate then, that he would take up his first assignment with Mitsubishi upon his own graduation.
We traveled via Tokyo, LA, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon and then home to Birmingham.
It was difficult family time emotionally. Divya was negative and angry towards me- ‘this’ I tried to resolve constantly. My heart wanted to reach out to her- but as I tried she would reject. We did better later but I really felt sad leaving her. She felt close to Rakesh.
I was glad of that. He was mostly quiet and passive. It was difficult to put up with his almost ‘no communication’-
Well, she was going to pursue Art at Univ. of Alabama, Mobile and go there after summer.
Next summer we took a week off to go to Mussourie with Karan, Shashi and daughters Deepa and Ruchi. We stayed in a ‘time sharing apartment’ bought by Vikram where the management was poor but tolerable.
Across, at various levels were ‘the some what shoddy looking multistory buildings’ with clothes on washing lines, trash littered in heaps, smell of horse dung, poor hillside people in rags. A little away were neater looking, private homes with sloping Brick Red roof tops, and surrounding lush green, in and around them. There was the famous ‘Woodstock school’, its courts and an impressive circular structure in the middle. Beyond and away were the mountains, range after range, green, grey, shades merging into the sky. Thick fog creeping out was hovering, clouding, misting, curling and ‘softening the strength’ of the Mountains. And above, jutting, arose the bare steel structure, the TV tower.
It inspired me- it filled me with strength. The tower rising above the squalor, dirt, neat residences and the Mountain ranges.
I felt good emerging out of my ‘past’. It had been almost 2 years since the return back to Delhi. Some moments of loneliness, panic and mild lows but mostly, good.
Veena
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