23- Jhaiji my mother

23- Jhaiji, my Mother

The Cell Phone buzzed aloud. I looked up and realized, it had not rung all night and said “Thank-you Lord!”
Like other past mornings my mind wandered. It was early outside the window. My steps took me into the Batra Hospital Corridors. Retiring nurses were finishing patient notes consulting each other in whispers. The guards were loitering around keeping awake as were the waking orderlies. Cleaners were doing the cleaning as best as they thought they ought, without getting fired.

Outside, ah! A breath of fresh air, the chirping birds, some still hiding crickets, white puffy clouds in Blueing skies comforting to the soul---.
Walking towards the Park, noticed a big Padlock on the Gate, perhaps the Hospital assumed walking was not good for people and certainly not for ailing patients.
At a little distance on the Left was the Main road with the main Gate. Already a fleet of Cars, buses, Ambulances, Bikes motorized and un-motorized peddled into-----the day.
I turned Right. Sweepers swept the grounds, raising dust, the dust and haze---

Through the haze I remembered entering the corridors of the medical College.
The first sight of the Anatomy hall where bodies lay, rows after rows on marble slabs for our learning. As a new one wheeled inside, Anju had fainted. Then the study of Physiology from the Cockroach, to Frog, to Rat to Dog and finally Man.
The long and winding corridors, the turns and familiar and not so familiar corners of Irwin hospital-the wards, the wards, the rounds, the rounds, the Pathology on the Beds, on Floors, on Benches---
The Chaos, Wheeling chairs, Rushing doors, Blood, Gory blood, life saving Blood—
From Babies born to Shrieking mothers to Shrieking sons of dying dear ones.

I turned around into the swallowing corridors, the life saving corridors of Hope and Despair.
ICU –Outside, the waking and already awake relatives waiting, waiting ----for the Guard to call their name---perhaps to get another prescription life saver, perhaps good news, perhaps bad---
I walked in. Was allowed to sort of wander in and out as and when, by the Guard who knew I was doctor, also daughter of my mother inside—
There was an ‘unquiet quietness’. The gentle and yet hurried scrutiny by the Nurses, male and female. Gadgets, monitors, tubes, fluids, charts, green and white bandages, tapes—
The patients were lumbering, some lying oblivious, some sitting oblivious.
Mother lay in the distance, oblivious to my form in Green gown, mask and quiet steps.
Eyes were closed, pale-looking, ruddy and pale.
Breathing gently through the blankets—50% ventilator now and reduced Vaso-pressors, increased urine output, the monitor more regular, than irregular—the patterns less zigzag.
“Medical parameters improving—but the Septicemia has wrecked the right hand—leave it alone” they said—“wait and watch” they said----
I hoped. I despaired. I walked out. I walked back, “Where to, dear Lord?”

‘A Creaking Stretcher comes through the flapping plastic doors. Fluid running down the plastic bag into the veins, into the Heart—‘
Hopes creaking, feebly hanging on, I entered Room 362. “Aap kee Chai, Madam”
Thank you!
I sipped the insipid Tea, swallowed a Pill, closed my eyes and lay down again.

Jhai, the eldest of 7 sibs was born in Mullapur and Nana Vakilji brought her up in Ludhiana till she was a Metriculate. Married at 18, ‘the fair fashionable’ bride from the city of Punjab was welcomed in the Rural Haveli of Gumthala in Haryana.

Whilst she had to be a submissive housewife, she certainly had her ‘Saas-Bahu’ protests with my Dadi who had been possessive of Babuji, her only off-spring.

After Babuji’s demise Jhai lived with Vikram and wife Mita for 20 years, but now, more a subtle ‘controller’ than ‘controlled’. The ‘Saas-Bahu’ equation reversed and Mita bore the brunt. For me personally, she helped in my re-settlement in Delhi, financially and otherwise, knowing that Babuji also would have wished so.

Back at Batra ICU, she was now, stuck between the ventilator and the monitors. She stayed un-conscious with the Heart beating feebly. Her demise was not easy for her.
Neither was it easy for all of us as it involved lot of tough emotions and decisions of responsibility at various points of her suffering during the last days.

Well, both Jhai and Babuji are no more. But we carry their Genes forwards.
They have given us the Best Education and made us into capable human beings.
They have given us Security both Material and Emotional on which we and our children can live lavishly and comfortably for all of our lives.
They have also imbibed in us values, morals and a sense of Freedom and Confidence to conduct our lives.

There is a strange void now. The walls of their house that felt as the Womb where we were conceived and the bed where I could put my head and instantly go into a peaceful slumber does not embed us any more.

I know, we, my generation and the next, shall continue to support each other in good and bad times and after this time of ‘crisis’, stay supportive and together. May God bestow us with strength in carrying our family into the future with integrity and a rightful purpose!

Veena

22- The 60s

22- The 60s

Hotel Citade-de- Goa
‘It is Five star deluxe in every way, my friend VG left me yesterday to fly back to New York. I decided to stay some more to soak it all in.
The room is perfect with a large bay window looking on to the Sea. With cushions, pillows and a chair with stool, for aching legs, I feel IN as well as OUT of the Sea. You see the TIDES and you hear the TIDES right from here.

A minute ago I stood there, the SAND giving way to my feet. The tide seemed powerful, building as it came, and then giving a little push it fragmented and broke into bubbles and foam, receding back as if in ‘defeat to try again and the again’ leaving a line of salt, in protest. Strong as it seemed, the Sea stood there. I was free to stay or not.

Boats, small ships, a ferry, divers, Black rocks and interspersed bungalows were on the other side. Turning around, the Citade-de was majestic, sprawling the ‘CANVASS’, Coconut Palms rising from its midst and around, bending towards the ocean, reminding me of Arundhati’s ‘God of small things’. In the evening, soft western music fills the air and a platter of Goan, Indian, Chinese and continental food, people and Vernaculars abound.’

I had started taking the ‘Mood Stabilizer’ which curbed my energies to some degree.

Although I continued work, it began to often ‘feel’ a Burden on my mind. Depressed patients would make me depressed and Psychotics drained me. Dr. Gupta joined the ‘Practice’. He was energetic and increased the number of patients; also looking after them more. We got along but he was young and gradually, decided to build his own private set up and moved on.

In the mean time, the Male Nurse Surinder who had learnt, working with the difficult, often confused, violent, suicidal or un-co-operative admitted patients obtained a regular full time Govt. Job at Ranchi Mental Hospital. He had been with me for many years, working diligently, in his soft dignified and caring manner. By now he had himself gotten married and acquired 2 children. This new permanent Job with its ‘perks’ in the beautiful hill town of Ranchi, was too much to let go, and he also moved on.
All this gradually kept dis-heartening me. Outside world would still see me as the same energetic, dynamic Psychiatrist but within I was slowly and subtly feeling weaker.

I took a vacation in the summer of 2005 to go and see Divya, Anna and Craig in USA. She herself was going through her own issues. I returned disturbed.

It was at this time in 2006; I finally decided to close down my Inpatient unit at Samvedna. Nurse Jini who was also able to use the computer stayed on.
By now I was sort of comfortable with ‘the Windows’, the ‘Hot instant mails’, surfing, Googling and ‘Yahooing’ with friends and colleagues in the virtual e-Groups sitting in the comfort of my home. With Jini’s help we started computing some of my earlier and present ‘Out patient work’.

Although initially, I was not sure I was happy having done so but I certainly felt a relief and less burdened. The excitement and challenge of ‘care for acutely sick’ patients was now missing.
Out patients are a chronic lot. They become attached and dependent and their security is in you. At times this in itself becomes too much to handle. At other times this gives the drive and the motivation to go on. Each patient who had been under my care for years occupied a special chamber in my brain, of which they seemed a permanent part. There were even families where 3 consecutive generations had been in treatment. Gradually I started referring children and adolescents to the Child Psychiatrists and Drug and Alcohol dependents to the rehab programs. The nature of my clients began to change from the ‘sicker’ to ‘healthier’ others seeking solutions to daily living, problem careers, marriages, relationships and other types needing more therapy.

Dr. Rajesh again assigned me another role to be a co-chair person of the ‘Art of psychiatry’.
He thought I was the right person because of my ‘psycho-dynamically oriented and psycho- therapeutic training and approach’. How much of the dynamism was left in me, who could answer ???

It was perhaps 50 years ago, Mrs Ramsden, my English Teacher was leaving School to go abroad. In my Autograph book she wrote a line, “-----Veena you can be a leader too, inculcate this quality in yourself”.

Well it happened from time to time, without my doing too much about it.
In USA- Cincinnati I became the Chief Resident of My Psychiatry program.
In Birmingham I was the President of the Indian Association.
And now the President of Ind. Association of Private Psychiatry- Delhi

I do not want to be President of any thing any more. I am actually tired !!!

I live alone.
I have been accused of a ‘dictatorial’ streak in me.
I believe this to be true and responsible for me being ‘alone’.
It is hard to compromise if I ‘truly do not believe’ in some thing.
It has been hard to fight to survive as a ‘woman’.
I know many other women share the feeling and also fight.
I know also, many men ‘do not understand’, even those who love you and would ‘die for you’--

Is this ‘a madness’ on my part to ‘choose’ to live alone ?
Or is this a Rational reality to cope with that Dictatorial streak ?
In my character, is it a strength or a weakness ???

Son Karan was awarded the top ‘India times BPO emerging company of the year award 2008’ for outstanding performance in the young entrepreneur category.
I can surely take some credit for it.

Now I am a grand mother of Karan’s 2 boys and Divya’s daughter and Member of the Senior citizens forum. Life is going at a relaxed pace with less work, an ongoing group of friends
and close supportive family.

I also met Anil and struck a friendship. He is a widower having lost his wife some years ago to Cancer. He is a gentle and simple man of integrity, sense of humor and easy habits to get along with. We have some things in common and can share a bit of life. We also have our differences in that ‘Brain chemistry’ as it is called, but mostly, he goes along with me, which makes it all worth its while.

So I guess I can summarize and say, finally, I am taking life slow and easy, as it comes every day and trying to keep my ‘stability’.

Veena

21- the Patient

21- 2004 – The Patient

K visited last month. We had had some differences after and during our Italy trip, according to her, due to my over activity and irritability. Basically she has been my best friend for 40 years i.e. all of my adult life. We have shared our emotional lives in all times of ‘crisis’ no matter what and tried in our capacities to do what we could to comfort each other. She has been a mini mother to me all along.

She expressed her concern for me and my emotional state of ‘some times’ that I had spent with her through the years going way back. Also in view of my father’s illness of which she had been an observer and participant, there could be medical issues. She suggested that I get an objective view, an assessment. All along the last 30 years I used to feel I had mood changes periodically with pre-dominance of depression but no one would consider or agree that they were biological like my father’s.

I agreed. And we met a senior Psychiatrist ‘together’. Dr. Z agreed that I had a ‘Soft Bipolar illness’. He said it was true that I had not had a major episode of depression or elation as defined in the ‘text book’ but I had certainly suffered.
We discussed----my emotional lability sometimes taking me overboard.
He said, it was important that from now on I stayed in a balanced ‘mood state’.

For this I was suggested a ‘Stabilizer’, a chemical molecule or medicine that would keep the Brain Neurotransmitters within limits to prevent excess or depletion, resulting in clinical ‘elation or depression’.

I introspected. I knew, I and only I, was responsible for my life, my ideas and actions.

At times seriously, at times playfully, in spite of taking risks in school, college, jumping fences, literally, I was always able to perform, perform well, always able to laugh and cry.
I thought of the heavily laden emotional decisions I had made in life at various times not afraid of the risks.
I thought of the years of a life where every one saw me involved and active and happy.
I had lived life with energy, creativity and a certain leadership, steering my ship and reaching places.
And yet, there had been the constant stirrings of my ‘mind’,
There always was an awareness of a deeper sadness but I kept ‘going’ in more ways than one.

And then at times, I would feel tired just plain tired of doing and living—I need ‘not have felt so’ and so, tried to cut down, it only helped temporarily---

One evening, I had a good family visit with Jhai, Vikram and his family.
Decided to stay overnight and next morning drove the familiar Bara-khamba and Haley rd. crossing and parked before ‘Diwan Chand X rays’.
Dr. Surinder Aggarwal was a good friend of Babuji but I decided to be ‘me the patient’ rather than his daughter. The place was already crowded. The initial form filling, payment etc. etc---
I lay under the big machines eyeing my insides, upto the bone. I was to be still for 10 minutes-----
---I remembered having brought Babuji here some years ago for a late evening ECG. Of course he had passed away two days later---.

The cellular suddenly rang and I came back under the machine. I had the X RAYS and the Bone density. They were all OK.
I thought of the ACHES, these stupid aches and this stupid TIREDNESS.
Is it my hypochondriasis, ‘rheumatism’, a gene from my Mom? Is it bone, Joint, Muscle, Tendon, Spirit, or a rheumatic soul?
Is it the gene from my Dad?

I thought of some times of, ‘Vagueness, Blankness, Desire less-ness, Stillness, tendency to postpone, certain meaninglessness, a certain fear, lethargy, indifference, forced acceptance of life, clutter all around causing irritation----- ‘

I was holding a sensitive position as President of the Delhi chapter of Private Psychiatry.
Something within was sad, sad that I had to control my Brain from now on with Dr. Z’s help. Me ‘a doctor of the Brain’ for others, me responsible for so many others---.

So I agreed to go on the ‘Stabilizer’.

Veena

20- Italy for me-3

20-Italy for me-3

Firenze or Florence was 2 hours train ride from Venice.

Hotel Lungarno was close to the station, overlooking the River. Although we were booked for the river view we were told all rooms with the view had been taken. Kusum looked at me and looked at the Italian at the counter and decided to act ‘Indian’. She flashed her Gold, sorry, Platinum American Express card at him and demanded to talk to ‘The incharge’. We were immediately asked to wait with a cup of tea and then upgraded to special suits although still not with the ‘view’. The bathroom was huge with 2 separate showerheads for him and her I suppose.

We decided to take a walk in the city, Capital of Tuscany and were amazed at the narrow streets, mostly one way or cobbled but lined with the most exquisite and famous brand name stores. Across the bridge was the ‘Jewels’ street filled with Gold and Diamonds galore. Every few steps one heard music from the strings of a Guitar or drums beating to tapping feet of hovering tourists like us. As the Sun set on the waters of the River, my friend would spot a spot for a glass of Wine and Pasta for Dinner.

According to UNESCO 60% of world’s most important Art works are in Italy and half of these are in Florence. It is the city of the Great personalities of the 16th century like Leonardo, Raffaello and Michelangelo, replete with their works. After a tiring morning tour of the Uffizi gallery and the Duomo or Cathedral, we walked to Galleria Academia which houses ‘David’ the young shepherd who was to become the King of Israel, the ‘Biblical hero’ who had defeated the giant Goliath. Nothing said could prepare you for the grandeur, the perfect proportions and beauty of the sculpture of David, indeed the handsomest man I ever experienced even though in Marble.

Life of Michelangelo was entirely dedicated to art. Not only did he sculpt, he was an astounding painter, an Architect and a poet. A long and existential route fed on passionate research and maniacal energy that seemed to be born from an infinite pain, melancholy and extravagant temperament. He worked without a pause absorbed by creative frenzy and an unquenchable thirst for beauty. So it is said, and we believe, that ‘Genius and desperation seem universal and timeless’.

We took a day trip to Sienna, capital of Chianti, which may sound a familiar bell for the wine connoisseurs. The Tuscan country side is set across rolling hills, valleys, rows of Cypresses, deep green vineyards, Olives, olives and olive trees. No wonder, the lady sitting next to me with a ruddy complexion, said this was her 13th trip to Tuscany from the U.S. She with 3 others was on a Bicycle tour, staying in a private villa they had discovered earlier. The bus dropped us at a point outside the walled town San Giovanni, perched on a hilltop. Main street was lined by little Tuscan ceramic pottery shops, art galleries, pastticcerias (pastry shops) and geleterias (gelato being an incomparable hand made Italian Icecream) of which I had a lick from Kusum who was not counting calories at this moment. At the end was a Piazza named after a well at the center, ancient palaces and a huge Cathedral on one side.

Sienna further down has the Town hall with Bells, which can be heard all the way to Rome, if the wind is right. The heart shaped Piazza is the urban meeting point where the world famous Palio horse race is held every year. Its main cathedral has striking Zebra like Black and white marble stripes on the walls and inlays of mythological figures from the Old Testament on the floor.

We were taken for Lunch to what seemed like a dark dungeon like basement but was enchanting once the eyes adjusted. Of course we wined and ate in candle-light. Kusum a doctor of kids struck up friendship with Amy across our table, a 3 year old who was also touring with her ‘Male mom and Dad’.

The day done, we found tea by the setting Sun, not enough hot, for us from India and boarded the bus to Firenze and then the train next morning to Rome and then the plane, Delta and KLM to our respective destinations, Delhi and the big Apple New york.

Veena

20- Italy for me-2

20-Italy for me- 2

It was darkish when I opened my eyes. I could hear my friend Kusum’s heavy breathing. Having come from Delhi, I had gained 5 hours and traveling East, she had lost 5. We were dealing with this along with other mis-matches, like her excessive energy and faster reflexes compared to mine, her dynamism compared to my laid backish-ness, her fondness for the various little edible residents of the Sea with bubbly wine to my having detached somewhat from desires of fanciful foods etc.

Under the soft blankets I, dorsi and planter flexed my toes to get a head start, I squeezed various muscles of the top and low back, I dug my shoulders, small of the spine and Knees into the mattress and finally stealthily got out, responding to my nature’s call.
The ‘loo’ was as luxurious as the room. Outside the window, the sky was turning a slight pink. The Brick building was the Stazione/station with sparse tourists at this time. The steps going down, a wide platform and then the Canal, the Grand Canal which was the main street of Venice, right beneath my window---. A boat stopped at the Hotel steps with boxes, which were downloaded by the staff. Another boat with groceries, a water taxi as they call it speeded fast, the passenger water bus stopping across with hardly any people, suitcases coming out of the hotel queuing before another boat----. It was fantastic, so much going on so smoothly, the muffled sounds and the natural lapping of the waves of water flowing on----. The sky was brightening------

We had had a 4 hour run by Euro-rail from Rome and reached here yesterday. It was better than 1st class travel back home. Outside, were the range of Blue hills under Blue skies. The train would advance into them and then get enclosed by Chalets, villas, fields and the valley. Lunch was lavish with many courses and lots of pasta and Meat.

Orienting ourselves to this water city and reaching Hotel Carlton was a bit tough with our bags but once in, we were really taken in.

Called the Queen of the Adriatic, Venice was built on 117 small islands with many bridges and a town settlement around Rivo Alto later called Rialto. It was an enduring Mercantile Sea-power in the 5th-6th AD but down the years has become neglected and polluted. It nevertheless, is always bursting with tourists visiting its monuments, Boroque back street churches and quaint markets.
St. Mark’s Basilica is a spectacular house of worship with Golden Mosaics and 12th century marble pavement.
St. Mark’s square with the columns and bell-tower of San Marco, was chosen, plundered and housed by Napoleon, later flocked by pigeons and tourists alike. A statue of Garibaldi stands with the ‘winged Lion’.
Rialto with its stone Bridge is the commercial center of Venice. In the interior one can find the over full vegetable market called the ’Erbaria’, the ‘Drapperria’ for the sale of fabric and finest silk, the ‘Beccaria for the sale of meats, the ‘Caseri’ for cheese and Pescheria’ for fish--- Every day, among sardines, and giltheads, clams, tramps, basses and sturgeions a tradition is celebrated. All around are also several Artisan shops with Glass works from famous Murano and colorful jewelry items.

Personally after riding the Shikaras of Kashmir I was a little disappointed with the famous Gondola ride which was rather expensive and cold at night---
Ofcourse when they sang “O Sole Mio and Be Sami Mucho” I was truly missing Vikram Seth’s---- ‘Equal Music’, the part where Michael and Julia re-visit Venice and go to the performance---Was it Bach? Mozart? “No, Monteverdi and Vivaldi”, she had said.

“The gleaming fractured ochre and black floor of the main hall led to the rooms. Each room became more fantastical, filled with the assorted brilliance and bric-a-brac of centuries, tapestries, gilt sofas with Brocade backs, painted doors, huge ornate green marble topped tables, glass candelabra bursting into wings and flowers, clocks supported by yawning bears, little statuettes peering and beckoning at us from every niche and corner------ ” goes on Vikram Seth.
Sorry I got carried away ---He does that to me----

And so then, we were carried to the Stazione by the water boat and left the Adriatic also known as the city of the ‘Winged Lion’.

Veena Kapoor

20-Italy for me-1

20-Italy for me-1

Friday- 9.30 PM- Delhi-Oct.2003
Just flicking the TV channels I thought I would check on today’s Movie, and lo and behold Universal and Dreamworks production ‘Gladiator’ was on. Since I had missed seeing it earlier I stayed on to watch Russell Crowe, the Oscar winner. Absolutely fantastic! Especially so, as my friend Kusum and I had planned an Italian Holiday soon after.

I had taken the cab at Leonardo da vinci air port and had entered Rome of the Romans, passing by lot of familiar and not so familiar structures, images from History - “Is that the Coliseum” I asked the fat cab guy. He nodded his head in affirmative. Wow!
Passed by lots and lots of narrow winding streets and sharp bends and finally reached the Hotel. Parted with 80 Euro which I felt was steep and buzzed Kusum who was slumbering, having arrived 3 hours ahead of me from Manhattan, New York.

She laughed in mirth when she saw and met me. You see, she has been a friend of 40 years, right from the times we ‘shared’ the hostel room at Maulana Azad and of course also the Matching Chunnies and Salwars which, never could I find when in need. But she had been a good friend helping me in many of my life’s ‘crisis’ as ‘life’ rolled by, a roller coaster ride on the virtual Disney globe of ours.

We charted our plans after a ‘cuppa’. First things first, the room roared of ‘Bikes’ on the road going at Suicidal speed. It was customary to go without silencers in Rome, I learnt later. So we moved the room to the other side, also with an adjoining little open balcony where Kusum inhaled the breath from the Italian Sky and I from Delhi, glanced through the windows feeling the chill. (Lack of Thyroid did not seem to bother her)

The Hotel stood on the top edge of Spanish steps and commanded an excellent view of the ‘Steps’ and those perched on them. At the bottom was the Boat shaped fountain of Bernini surrounded by the Piazza and the Musicians ‘hanging around’, who I learnt were always there, one group or another.

‘Italo’ was the guide and ‘Amalo’ was the driver of our first city tour.
I was conscious of the shift from 3rd world humanity to 1st around me, from disarray to array, indiscipline to discipline, disorder to some rational order in the general scheme of things.

Rome was probably one of the first cities that came up 7-800BC around River Tiber. The people were gregarious as they are even today (we have seen them in the series of ‘Godfathers’) and the Empire spread from Northern England to Mesopotamia, River Danube in North to the Nile in the South. After the Monarchs, the Soldiers, the Barbarians and the Republicans there was the rise of Christianity in the 10th century and the pope got powerful. Things were lavish and pilgrims came from all over. The great Artists Raphel, Bernini, Medicis transformed Rome into a wonderland. As we did the tours we realized, Rome meant History, layers and layers of it. The Imperial temples, the Churches, Renaissance palaces and Boroque basilicas are all breathtaking. Roman Forum now in ruins, used to be the political and religious center in Ancient times, reminded me of Purana Kila and the Tughlakabad Fort at Delhi.

The Coliseum built in 80 AD was the amphitheater that could house 50,000 spectators, a sample of the setting of the Modern Olympics. It actually seemed a house of Horrors, a sample of which is shown by Russel Crowe as the Gladiator in the ‘Gladiator’ who saved the honor of Rome and had returned it to the Romans from the tyranny of a useless Monarch.

Trevi fountain is the famous ‘3 coins in the fountain’ attracting most romantics and most coins in the world. I could not but miss the rather assertive Bangla-deshi boys selling red Roses to young couples, making plenty of Euros for a living. Needless to say, we put our coins, hummed, “Three coins in the fountain, which one shall it -----“, sat gazing at the fountains and ruminating over past and future ‘loves’.

Vatican City in the heart of Rome is the World’s smallest independent state. Headed by the Pope it is house to a million Catholics worldwide. It is probably per square foot the richest country in the world owning an astonishing collection of priceless art treasures including Michelangelo’s work in the Sistine Chapel. If I had one place to see in the world I would see the ‘Vatican’.

Rome ostensibly remains a tourist center with Sculpture and marble at every nook, Wine with every meal and Pasta, pasta and more pasta-----

Veena

19- My DIVE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

12-West for us

12. The West for us

A wk-end at the Beach, Panama City Florida, I wrote,” As I walk on the wet sand, the foot marks keep getting washed away, lost and gone, leaving me lost and gone. The tides hit me and I fall. I am up but am hit again and fall further away. I dig my feet in, to stay firm, here it comes, a big one, the sand slips and I fall. I jump, swim and try to stay afloat. The Sea comes, keeps coming and almost drowns me.”

My depression worsened.

Professionally I was doing well. I was also adding a different patient populace to our group, being a woman and with a bend towards psycho-therapy. I ran the inpatient group with the Pastoral counselor John Sims and other staff. The Medical chief would send all residents to me for a Psychiatric Orientation Program and any personal problem they needed to resolve. My Psychiatric partners began to call me ‘Gendi’, they meant Indira Gandhi.

I had become the President of the Indian Association of Birmingham. Each year the city hosted a festival where they saluted a chosen country. We educated school kids about India by doing fun projects. There was a cultural Bonanza for a Whole week inaugurated by none other than, the then Ambassador Dr. K R Narayanan. Performers included Mallika Sarabhai doing the Oddisi, Hari Prasad Chaurasia on the flute, Uday Shankar’s troup doing an dance act from the Maha Bharata. There was also of course, sumptuous food from North, South, East and Western parts of India.

Whilst earlier, at home there had been swimming parties with Booze and Barbequed Murga in the evenings, now I began to spend solitary hours floating in the pool in semi darkness.

Another crisis occurred which took Rakesh and me to India. Papaji, his father was in the hospital following a gastric bleed which was a result of serious Liver Cirrhosis. Following a Blood transfusion he developed further Jaundice and renal failure. He passed away at the early age of 58. All Hindus put Ganga jal in the mouth of the dying man. I don’t know if it could wash away the alcohol in his system now. Papaji had really loved me like a daughter as there was no girl in the family prior to me. This of course further saddened all of us.

I began to share ‘myself’ with friends in USA and family at home. There were frequent trips to India with and without the kids.
I needed to put things in order. What did I want and what could I save.
It was the beginning of my questions about the Marriage and stay in the West. What had been subtle and accepted began to be serious issues.

I had never felt that I wanted to settle abroad. I was always giving in to Rakesh because of his weak family ties. I had always ‘wished’ to return. As soon as we started making good money, Rakesh started mishandling it. Living there was comfortable physically but a vacuum in the West constantly haunted me. It was a place of plenty but never felt like ‘my home’.

I decided I wasn’t going to let Rakesh continue like this. He was going to help running the house now from his earnings. I had worked extremely hard all these years and I was going to save mine for going to India later. At least I needed to give it a try. I felt I had to save the children and myself.

Ironically, our American citizenship papers came through now. I did not feel American. I didn’t want to become American. I didn’t want to lose ‘my’ Indian identity but being unsure of the future, I accepted. I answered questions about American History at the interview although I felt no part of it. I could not let go of that to which I felt I belonged, centuries of my own ancestry and the soil of the Geography of my land.

The last year was very difficult. Divya chose to stay there as this was her final in High School and then she would go away from Birmingham to University. I worried about her, was frightened of leaving her, and yet could not go on there. I was trying handling Rakesh and the children and dealing with their feelings around this issue of Family split up and Country move to India, both at the same time.
Rakesh had finally accepted hoping it may be temporary.

There was a superficial calm. There was the question “Am I doing the right thing? I made a mistake when I married Rakesh. I rebelled against my family, my parents to whom I am so close now. Am I now rebelling against this present family?”

With opposition from all quarters, I decided to take the plunge. I felt frightened but stood my ground. While emotions and deep, deep pain devoured me inside, something else, a much stronger force continued to instill a sense of confidence at the same time.

I needed to prepare Divya who was to stay back. She was already ‘driving’ to School by now. At Christmas that year, she, Karan and I, drove 1500 miles to New York through Snowy roads, with her at the steering wheel. We were spending a week at my friend Kusum’s place with her family. We talked, they cried, they talked and we cried. Then we spent the 31st eve at Times Square where the Big Apple descended at midnight and the world went crazy with shouts of joy, heralding the New Year.

I needed to prepare myself too. I had been having problem ‘periods’ for some while. With the Gynecologist’s advice, I had a Hysterectomy.
I was in room 274 Brook wood hospital. Jim, Ed and Carol, my partners at work, all came to see me, also to say Good-bye. They were wonderful. We had good times working together.
I finished ‘Work’ at Princeton and bade remaining Good-byes. Emptying the office was sad. Tons of memories of my faithful patients, will always occupy the crevices of my brain.

Outside, it was dark. The Red lights in the Tower house and the Green of
‘the Vulcan, Steel God’ twinkled constantly, brightly, hopefully.
“All this will be behind me and I shall be starting a new life, new life, and new life”.

At home, the Shipping container arrived and 14 years of my life were packed and shipped to India.

As the plane took off with me and Karan, the Sun Set outside my window, it sort of Set on America for me.

Veena

11- Birmingham

11- Birmingham, Alabama USA

We moved deeper South. It was Spring and the Azaleas, the Gardenias and Dogwoods were in full bloom.
The house looking like a ranch stood on a hillock facing a Catholic Church in the best part of Birmingham, Alabama. At the end of the steep driveway, was a Deck holding a Kidney shaped pool over which hung a lush willow. Bedrooms faced the water, its sunny reflections playing games on the walls inside.

We started our respective practices. Rakesh joined a large private Hospital and a Dialysis unit individually. I joined ‘Birmingham Psychiatry’ as part of a ‘group of Psychiatrists and Psychologists’ connected to 2 hospitals. Patients were of mixed ethnicity, largely Caucasian, with openness and readiness to get better.

Children began at Mountain brook Elementary in a good School system adjusting well.

There was a fair sized Indian/Punjabi community, as is, in most cities in US and we were welcomed to the ‘wk-end dos’ with emphasis on Desi Food, Desi music, Scottish Brew and more than just a dash of ‘material opulence’ thrown in.
We could now afford a live-in help and things seemed to look good.

After Spring, was Summer, Autumn and then Winter. I don’t know when things began to ‘not look’ so good.

At Cincinnati, Rakesh’s alcohol use had increased. Back home in Bombay, his father drank heavily to the chagrin of his mother and younger brothers who were also bearing the brunt. It began to bother me. We would get into arguments to no avail. It was after one such ‘scuffle’ I made an appointment with a Psychiatrist for us. He did come initially but as we began to address issues, he withdrew, labeling it as ‘my problem’ which indeed it had become.

It was then that I decided to continue in therapy along with my Residency training. I did it, also to sort out my own questions and self ‘perceived vulnerabilities’.

This proved to be a ‘significant chapter’ in my conscious life.

“The eldest girl who grew with father’s domination and mothers passivity, choices dictated by him- leading me to rebel, following his first long depression, inducing a guilt, perpetuating further need to conform to the now man i.e. husband. The marriage was an impulsive decision, once taken; I took the ‘role’ seriously as was my nature. While I was equally versed intellectually and emotionally, I accepted a position of ‘submission’ and played the martyr, as I thought was or ‘should be’ the norm for the ‘wife’. I was the passive, obedient sexual partner and conceived a child and then another, thus having to change the direction of my life prematurely and immersed in half hearted motherhood and half hearted medical jobs and education. There was little sharing between husband and wife. In fact now, his Alcohol intake was more regular, a cause of concern to me. It felt as if this was a price I had to pay.”

It was in therapy that I began to ‘grow again’ internally, subtly. It was in therapy that I began to take ‘responsibility’ for my future choices with deliberation and careful thinking.

Having worked and trained hard as Professionals, parents, home makers, we together had taken the decision to move for Private Practice to Birmingham.

Now, the house that we had, had our living-room at one end with the TV, which was Rakesh’s den, with his newspaper and Whiskey. On the other side was the ‘kitchen and Dining area’ where I would be and the kids’ rooms were in between. This physical distance at home between Rakesh and me became symbolic of our growing emotional distance. We were under one roof but really under different roofs.
I began to sense sadness within me but continued to devote my self to Divya, Karan and my patients. Rakesh and my Philosophy and ideas were completely different from beginning of marriage. He lived to eat and I ate to live.

As we settled more, once again, it began to seem that the last 13 years of my Marriage, children, home and Profession were not my own. I had constantly ‘conformed’. I began to feel a stranger in my own ‘self’. I kept trying to make adjustment.
Our conflicts, my growing unrest, had taken me to an ‘Analyst’ in Cincinnati.
I called him and resumed sessions on phone.

Another year dawned. Divya began rebelling like any teenager, partly because of the silent rift at home and partly the need to conform to School where she and Karan were the only Indian kids. Her rebellion surfaced further dormant feelings in me.

One day, a call came from the School. They said she had some ‘Valiums’ with her. Some time ago we had given her a pain pill and a valium for monthly period stress .The School board was tough. Rakesh and I felt they were being discriminatory. They were totally closed to hearing us as parents and as two senior medical professionals. No matter what we said, mattered.
Besides Divya’s problem, for the first time we felt alienated as Indians in this Caucasian culture.

We were directed to have family counseling which I thought then, was a blessing in disguise. Whilst Divya opened up, when Rakesh’s drinking came up, he once again refused further therapy.

Another crisis occurred.
Suddenly one day ‘The IRS’ called home. We were in big losses and no tax had been paid since the beginning of our move. To my horror, I discovered that Rakesh had been losing money in ‘speculative stocks’ not once but consistently. He would spend all his earnings in it, whilst telling me, his practice wasn’t still good and all house expense went from mine.

This woke me up. I felt cheated.

It was not just the loss of money in stocks but the realization that this was part of the syndrome of gambling. He always had a ‘streak’ but never like this. From Soccer-betting in UK to Horses, to ‘Grey hounds’ to Casinos to speculative ---- to now the impending take over of our ‘every thing’, perhaps everything that we owned----

There was complete denial of the magnitude and enormity of the problem by him.
He assured me, every thing will be ‘OK’!
I was not so sure---

Veena

10- Shift to ' Psyche'

10. Shift to Psychiatry

It was now time for me to take a break and get my daughter Divya back.
Saji and Papaji, Rakesh’s parents visited and she came with them. London was difficult for her. I was still a half baked mother and that too a second after Saji, her Dadi. We also decided now to plan for a 2nd child and Karan came along.

Life was now home and family in my three bed room centrally heated, semidetached, beautiful, comfortable house. There were many ‘girlie’ things I could do besides. The trips to Oxford Street, learning designing clothes with lovely fabrics from John Lewis for Divya, shopping at Marks and Spencer, doing a journalism course writing about a ‘Women’s magazine’, entertaining old friends from Med. school at home--- tending the Garden and basking in the rare London Sun under the Blossom of our Apple tree in the back yard.

It seemed leisure for a while but the routine became routine. I started part time ‘family planning clinics’ after doing a short course. Divya started School and Karan could be left with our friendly Gujrati neighbor Ba, an affectionate family who had migrated from Kenya in the Idi Amin’s regime in Uganda.

There were senior nurses and health workers helping us the doctors. It was a pleasant change to deal with ‘people’ rather than ‘specimens in the Path lab and peering down microscopes’. This was my first exposure to ‘counseling’, dealing with teen age girls, boyfriends, young and old mothers, and different situations, issues around planning life, relationships, sex and abortion. Prescribing the ‘pill’ or inserting IUDs was only a part of the exercise. I came in close contact with personal ‘lives’ and liked it.

Rakesh became a senior Registrar and finished ‘Membership of the Royal College of Physicians’ of London.

We had all left India ‘supposedly’ for post-education abroad which seemed attained now.
There was recognition that whilst the British needed us for their ’National Health service’, there was a professional ceiling and we could never become Consultants. Considering future options, the choice was to move back to India or further West. Those in USA were still in the magical throes of the Dollar. Rakesh felt England had been comfortable but not to give us a Bank balance enough for settling home – so we continued and moved further West to the ‘Wonder land of the Disney’.
Cincinnati, Ohio was our next home where Rakesh accepted a fellow-ship in Nephrology.
Destiny opened its doors and a vacancy in Psychiatry happened for me. That seemed fascinating. Rollman’s Institute was under Univ. of Cincinnati, historically basically Freudian but becoming eclectic now. I had a round of interviews with the Professors and was told that instead of the Microscope, I would here, have to look at the deeper mind telescopically and shift my focus away from the ‘body’. I had always been a thinker, feeler and life was more ‘philosophic’ rather than just tangible. I considered this and Instead of repeating Pathology and dealing with specimens, with some excitement, took the ‘decision to accept’, which turned out to be the best for me.
England had already put us in a groove, a ‘logical reason and method’ to ‘do’ in life and not to ‘pretend to do’. USA was the playground – it was open, it welcomed freedom and autonomy of thought and action.
The ‘Whites’ here seemed friendlier, not ruling, but still felt the native owners of the ‘Land’ and we ‘the additional foreigners’.
From an initially, rented townhouse in Hawaiian Village, soon, we bought a pretty big home with Swim pool in the big Back yard and all else to Finney town. Kids were good in School. Rakesh was good in Nephrology.

So started the training to become a Mind healer, a Mood healer and all else pertinent and not pertinent to human body alone and learning ways of dealing with the whole person. It stimulated me and filled me with life and energy. Every thing needed to be explored and understood in the language of thought and emotion. Every action was designed and had layers of intricate threads woven in years. It was a Freudian School with heavy emphasis on ‘his method’. Psychotherapy was the backbone of learning. While it was not mandatory, it was recommended to undergo ‘self analyses’ as part of the making of a good therapist.

At the end of three years, I finished the program as the ‘Chief resident’ and was offered a ‘faculty position’. As a Nephrologist, Rakesh now needed to be associated with a ‘Dialysis centre’. An ex-colleague from Med. School offered a position at Birmingham, Alabama.

We decided that, this was where both of us would start ‘private practice’ in our respective fields of specialization. The lure of that Dollar should now be fulfilled and one day perhaps, we would be able to head ‘Home’ to India. At least I wished so and vaguely Rakesh did too.

Veena

9- Marriage/ Family /Pathology

Marriage/family /Pathology
College ended and time came for the daughters to get settled and parents sent for them for the next task before them.
Father brought me up as a son but when it came to marriage he wanted to select the right ‘master’ by advertising ‘me ‘in the matrimonial market of the newspaper.
Life took a turn, a sharp one. I felt crushed – I lost my own control and felt a slavery of thoughts and actions. Things started losing meaning with an upsurge of emotions. Whilst mother had been conservative, father had always encouraged liberal views, but here he was not going to compromise.

Looking back I really cannot tell if we knew what ‘love’ was. Of course there had been what one thought then, some matching of chemistries and pairing up. For me, as for many like me, there were triads and confusions. Rakesh had followed me and had wowed to get me in the end.

So I rebelled and in my confusion and helplessness got married to him secretly.
To our good fortune, when disclosed, both sides of Parents acted graciously and accepted our ‘act’ announcing it formally by a ‘reception’ at the Oberoi, the then, only 5 star of Delhi. After all I had been the ‘star’ of Babuji’s life.
Rakesh was the eldest of 4 brothers so; I was welcomed as the first daughter of their house.

My Marriage however threw my father into his first serious ’Depression’, which effected me for years to come.

We went for our Honey-moon to Bombay and Goa.
The Sea was green – it was deep – it was vast. It was stormy, the waves relentless. The pearls scattered in river Mondovi got mixed in the waters with the lights of Panjim. And so lay life before us.

Not knowing how fertile I was, I conceived ‘Divya to be’ immediately.
Jobs were scarce, doctors not well paid. It was the year of the mid-60s, the ‘Brain drain’ had begun and at least 80% of our batch mates flew away, mostly to UK others to USA. It was a wave that swept us too to leave home and country. Ironically, we had pushed the British out of India and yet followed them back.
We were given ‘job vouchers’ as entry tickets and jobs were allotted in small city hospitals. Rakesh started his Medical House-man ship on the Isle of Wight at the southern tip of England. I followed as a wife carrying my 6 month old Divya dressed in a Pink knitted suit, on my shoulder.
The change was sudden, landing at huge Heathrow. In the bathrooms, Indian ladies clad in Salwar kameez smiled, cleaning the floors. It was strangely not a welcome ‘Welcome’. Well at least there were no Coolies at Charring Cross railway station. The train ride to Southampton was comfortable followed by hovercraft to the island. The hovercraft did hover on the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, carrying about 30 of us reaching the other shore.
St. Mary’s hospital provided us with reasonably furnished 2 room apartments with a cleaning lady for the kitchen shared by 2 married doctors, the other from UK. We the wives made sure the kitchen was not too dirty and the dishes too greasy ‘before’ she came. The initial graduation was from the Indian to the Western toilet, the washing to wiping with paper, the bucket bath to the tub bath and the learning to clean the pot and the tub. Dealing with the meals with sparse vegetables, Uncle Brown’s rice and British or New Zealand lamb to begin with and then ‘tinned foods’ for us as well Divya. “Yes Mama! I should have learnt how to cook”, here I was……. No doctor status, ‘no many things’ that go with it in India, but pretending to be happy with ‘my handsome husband’ and ‘big black eyed beautiful daughter’.
Doctors were needed; I would do locum casualty/emergency clinics to fill in. It was amazing how much the nurses knew and how good they were, totally disciplined, dedicated and helpful. The English knew when to work and when to play. Work was work, serious, intended for a purpose. One learnt because one wished to learn, one wished to learn because it came from within and needed to be understood. It was after going ‘West’ that I started to learn, not to finish the course or pass the exam or become a doctor as ‘had been planned’.
During a wk-end trip to London to see Kusum, my friend from MAMC, I forgot my ‘pill’ and lo and behold got ‘fertile’ again. An angry me but had to pay the price for the mini /maxi carelessness. Became a ‘mother to be’ again. I reconciled to my homely life and the Winter Snow of the Island till one ‘antenatal check’.
It had been a bright, rare, Sunny day in the month of November. I wore a special flowery dress I had made. The midwife, who had complained that I was getting rather too plump last time, put me on the machine and adjusted her scales. “Well the baby is taking some of your fat – you are the same, my dear”. Inside I went for the ‘Check’ “Kicking about?” the doc asked; patting me and then ‘it’ he inquired.
“Think it is taking a bit of rest” I said- “been a little quiet this weekend”.
He was feeling it up and down, side to side; he was putting his ear to it. He was listening with another instrument, another machine. I had been lying still – and all of a sudden the news had come. There was no fetal heart beat.
“But why? Why doctor, has it happened” I had gone on repeating, feeling numb inside. The doctor could not say!
Rakesh came looking cheerful; Boss had been pleased with him that day.
“Rakesh our baby is dead – it is dead, do you know?”

The baby was dead. “There is no need to be panicky it is best to wait; soon there would follow labor and I would deliver.’’ The Doc pronounced.
From that day on, every morning when I lay in the bath there it was, before me, the sight of the dead thing inside. I writhed with the thought. At night I got the worst night mares. I felt like my body was a graveyard wherein was buried a precious thing of my life. Days passed by – nothing seemed to happen.

Now it was the eve of Christmas. Every house was gay inside. Every room had decorations as if to welcome the holy baby. Outside the window were soft snowy flakes that came noiselessly and majestically layer upon layer. Suddenly I felt a twist in my tummy, it was only a moment – it happened again and again and again.
“Oh God not tonight”, – tears poured, another wave of the terrible pain.

It was morning, still snowing softly. I did not have it inside me anymore.

Instead was, a strange emptiness, a pain deep within. The agony so unbearable I wished I would drift from this world. A mist covering the eyes dried by it self. All the time was that nagging, quivering continuous pain – pain not expressed, not seen, just felt----.
It consumed me, my thoughts, my very being.

Rakesh traveled to Bombay and left Divya, a year and a half old, with his mother who took care of her for some time.

I decided to do Pathology as had been earlier decided by my father, to go with ‘husband’s medical practice’ in possible future settlement in Delhi.

The first was a house job in Hematology followed by Bacteriology at Mile-end Hospital in East London. Needless to say, it felt good. I was a student again, commuting to meet Rakesh on wk-ends, who also had shifted to the vicinity.

Then I did a years’ stint at Hosp. for Sick Children Gt. Ormond Street, doing Virology under Proff. Dudgen.
He was the giant researcher of Rubella. This would take me to the central parts of London like the Soho square with its cobbled stone lanes, so familiar in a way after having read Dickens, Bernard Shaw’s ‘My fair lady’ and other English fiction growing up.

Finally, took Histo-pathology & Morbid Anatomy at Edgware Gen. Hosp.in the North which I liked the most. By now Rakesh and I were both Registrars at Edgware, ‘he a Chest Physician’, never mind how much he smoked.

Our old friends, Sabharwals enthused us to buy a Home which we did, although we had to borrow the ‘down payment’ from Shashi’s husband Mohan. Shashi’s marriage had followed mine within the year as my Father wished, of his choice and I felt ever grateful to her for acceding.
The discipline of living, of thinking, of doing, of planning, of succeeding began to take a deeper meaning. What ever one did at home or in the hospital was not to please father, husband, or the ‘other’ but to perform a better task for the sake of the task itself. No supervisor was watching how much time and how I was spending it, but how well I actually did in the end.
Whilst in the ‘Hospital for Sick children’ at Great Ormond street, an infant got diarrhea, not only his stools but the diapers he used, the mattress he lay on, the nurses station, the kitchen gadgets, the cooks had to be swabbed and tested for the source of infection. Hilarious as it may sound, it was after all the best children’s hosp. on the globe.
I remember a second year med. student came to see a slide of histology in the lab. to me. He had originally seen the patient with ‘pain abdomen’ in Casualty, admitted him for investigations, attended his surgery in the Operation theatre, followed up the specimen of appendix as we had sliced, paraffin embedded and stained it. He now came to see the acute inflammatory cells in the Appendix. (In Delhi, we would identify the slide from the small circles in the middle and guess the diagnosis for the exam).
My Consultant, Dr Patterson would sit on the double Microscope with me and showed the transition from a regular cell to one with enlarging nucleus, to one now getting more vicious, ready to swallow the one next to it and thus becoming more and more malignant in the process. Even Bert, the Mortuary attendant was so much help with post-mortems; I looked forward to do them.
There was certain dynamism in teaching and learning.
Shree who was also doing Pathology and I, would trudge to the Academic world at Hammersmith Institute to hear the ‘Authorities’. I finally finished with the learning of ‘what caused and happened in disease’ and obtained the ‘Diploma in Clinical Pathology’ from the University of London.

Veena