Cave in.

The first time I let my mind cave in.  

I remember the day, I first gave in to my mind that I can't do it.  

The walk was up Rishikesh to some water fall.  

2010 Good Friday, it was. 

I decided for myself.  

To suffer Pain and panting and running out of breath was not for me.   

I imagined : I could not carry the burden of my 3 year old son and my own weight.   I could probably drag myself but I could not drag the little one. I did not believe in myself. So I actually did not trust myself to physically endure the pain. 

Kind of strange because  I had my wife with me.  I had friends younger than me with a kid younger than mine and they were carrying the load without a thought.  They had a destination and the view of a waterfall in mind while I had my unexperienced  laboured breath like never before on mine.   I was 37.   

We could have shared the load but that thought never crossed my mind.

We all carry our own cross don't we.  No one shares our cross for us.   

I was less than human enough to accept that I could not do it upfront.

Accepting your weakness to yourself is pretty easy.  It's just a thought.  

Accepting and admitting and voicing it and sharing it with your friends and family is a tough one.  

Telling your friends that you can't do it.  

Telling your wife : sorry, can't walk further, just can't do it.  I am turning back.   

How to say it ? choosing the words was difficult.  

I don't really recall what exactly I said to them at that point of time. 

Come to think of it - I was leading the way as always.  Arjun and I were way ahead of everyone else on that lonely mountain trail, the others following us slowly.  But I just could not imagine carrying on further even if it meant being a spoil sport.  

Maybe it was staying in the lead alone with my own son and carrying him for sometime when he could not walk further. Maybe talking to myself is not a such a great idea for I have not been there and done that.   But my mind caved in.  It was not like I was saying that I don't want to climb the Mount Everest at the base camp itself.  I was saying, that I don't want to endure the huffing and panting to see a waterfall.  Maybe I was not motivated enough.  Whatever it be ; most personal battles are lost and won In the mind.  

I had thought there would be some sort of protest and egging on and motivating speeches of the type "come on man lets do it" and I had mentally thought of lots of things to say to get out of the trek, and that you guys carry on while I head back. 

For me the walk back to the hotel itself seemed like a walk back to the house on the moon and I was more worried about even surviving the downhill path back. 

But as my wife and my friends caught up with Arjun and me and I said the unthinkable. " I am turning back. " Other than a token suggestion of let's try and catch our breath for sometime and then think if we want to carry on further from everyone.  There was no protest in turning back after spending some time together in silence in the wilderness.  

5 adults and 2 toddlers in arms turned back because of one weak link - that was my mind.  

They say that  pain is temporary. The feeling of winning over pain is permanent.  We could have seen the waterfall that day and come back safe and sound and lived happily ever after.  

The reverse is also true, pain is temporary, the feeling of losing to pain is permanent.   

That 6 years down the line I write about that moment In time and I relive that moment is proof enough.  

That 5 years later I followed some one blindly over probably a longer trek practically vertically uphill with no particular trail for more than an hour and a half. 

Just when I was starting on my medication for regulating blood pressure and having a history of high altitude sickness. 

I was the slow walker. I was the follower.  I was not the leader. I did not really have to shoulder the responsibility of carrying Arjun  to the destination.  Arjun was 8 and  had more than 10 times the spring in his steps than mine.  But that's another story for another day.  

It even crossed my mind what if we have a heart attack and die here  ? I imagined that We could die of a heart attack in the car stuck in a traffic jam few hundred meters from the hospital  in the city and no one would still be able to do anything at all.  

And I laboured on :  the summers of 2015.  

There is no memory of turning back and what could have been, no memory of being a lesser human being in the eyes of my son.  Just an acceptance that I can follow slowly in his footsteps.    

PS.  This one is dedicated to Niraj and Shalini Sharma for carrying me all the way uphill and downhill and being an inspiration all the way for the rest of my lifetime.  

Sunday Daddy.

It's very easy to be a Sunday daddy. 

I know exactly what prompted me to this conclusion.  

I was a single parent child for most part of my life and my father had certain expectations from me in terms of the love and affection and attention that I was to shower upon him.  To that extent I was clear I had no such expectations from my offspring.  

The one big expectation that I had of my son was for him to be happy with himself and not be disobedient towards his parents.  

There is a big difference between obedient and disobedient.  

He is a happy kid.  

The happiness overflows.

It's infectious.  

But only a parent can understand that when a kid is happy it often is at the expense of his own interest of the future and needless to say also at the expense of the parent's peace of mind.  

The kid lives in the moment and for the moment. There is no tomorrow.  Make the most of NOW.   Seize the day is what the kid  believes in, without knowing what it means.  

I, me, myself and my happiness comes naturally. The people surrounding the kid are but mere resources to use.  Parents are but resources to extract from - what the child wants. 

There is no guilt attached to the expense attached to the happiness.  Life is mostly self centred and rightly so.  

And like one of my supervisors at work had taught me repeatedly, if you want the resources from the management :   "The child who does not cry does not get what he wants."   I still refuse to cry knowing fully well it's stupid of me.  

Well my son also does not cry.  He does not pester you.  He simply defeats your steely resolve by his happy smile and dissolves your resolution by simply badgering you by talking about what he wants by turning any conversation back to his subject of Interest indirectly.  It's the gift of the gab. If you engage in the conversation that's the end of it for you, he has fun. After all "baat karne SE hi toh baat Banti hai. ". You  can't really defeat or kill  a child's enthusiasm. You are not so cruel. Well I am not so cruel. Till 8 years of his age I can't recall a single incident where in he has gone wailing away or rolled on the floor anywhere  or in a shop when he has not got what he has wanted.  

Yes he has sulked and gone into his shell and he has hidden his face in the pillows on the bed, refusing to talk to you but he has never said that you are bad or that you are the worst father on this earth and that I hate you and all the Jazz and melodrama of theatrics that most normal kids do.  I assume he is a normal kid because he has said all the possible spiteful statements that regular kids do but all of them are addressed to the mother.  Never to the father.  I have seen him at his worst behaviour but all of this has been brought out by the mother. Never by me.  Or so I like to believe. 

I have always believed that towing your parent's line till a certain age of maturity is attained by the child is absolutely essential and non comprisable.  

That the mother bears the brunt of all the hatred of a child is simply because of the fact that she is the one who spends the maximum time with the kid and ALLOWS the father to be the good parent when he comes back home after work and the preconditioning of the child has been done over the years that dad comes back home after a hard day's work ( true or not is questionable ) and that be nice and sweet and at your best behaviour in front of dad.  

This drill -- It's kind of funny because most mothers put in an equal amount of hard days work and squeeze in more work per hour and rush home   to attend to the child and home while the father probably chills at work after working hours over a smoke or a beer and then strolls in like the Lord of the house to the image of a doting wife and child.  .........   

Well it's all a set up.  It's a lie.  The pressure cooker environment that the mother and child live in day in and day out with the house hold chores and the demands of work and the ferrying of the child to the activity class and back or organising the car pooling with other mothers, completing the home work and the project and a lot of other things that would fill an entire ream.  

It's funny but there is more logistics involved in running a household with a human child than Blue Dart  and DHL can imagine.   FedEx Is in a different league.

Having spent a considerable amount of time at home behind my wife's back and trying to partially cover her duties as a parent, my perfect doting image as a chilled out father with the perfect chilled out well mannered son has starting to wear out. The nerves are frayed on either side.  After all how long can artificiality last in the long run.  Every one of us has a dark side.  Child or beast. Which ever way we look at it.  It all comes out in due course if two individuals are left alone for a considerable length of time.  

After having being the perfect Sunday daddy I am glad for having being initiated into and being groomed by my wife as the well engaged participative father behind her back. That I fail miserably in both my son and his mother's eyes makes me feel happy because they don't give up on me.  My son says -  don't worry mom does like this and pulls me along.  On the other side my wife let's me figure things out on my own and is appreciative of my minuscule success.  They don't murder me for being more a part of their life suddenly and breaking into their well set lives.  

All said and done, hiding behind the excuse of a hard day's work and clocking 16 hours out of the 4 walls of the house including the last 2 weekends of the month --  it was easy being the sugar sweet Sunday daddy.   But that's a thing of the past.  I am so glad about discovering my real Wife and my real Son in real life and what they were like behind me when I was away at work and I am happy to be able to pitch more into their lives.  

I hope they feel the same way too while this phase of experiencing life lasts.  

This note was written after a day of raving and ranting at my son for 10 minutes of how he goofs up and giving him a piece of my bad side of my tongue and language.  

June 2016.  

Time to Relook your banking habits and have a look at your Bank statements.

BANK CHARGES – would you really want to incur them voluntarily  

All of a sudden all small expenses have started hurting, pinching. It's like what do I say ? How do I put it ? ... Off late it’s like always playing on my mind.. It's like because you exist there is a parasitic expense that comes and sucks your blood without you realizing, flies away and leaves a sore spot. The sore spot is not the problem, the feeling of not being able to prevent it is irritating – it’s the feeling of helplessness of not being able to protect yourself from a mosquito bite while you are still alive. 

Sample this.

A debit card fee. 

You have the highest version of the card.  Platinum annual fee of Rs 750/- plus taxes.  One fine day It increased from Rs 500/- plus taxes. Per annum.

Why do you and I have it ? 

It allows us  to withdraw Rs 1 lakh in a day in one go.   

That I never have the Rs one lakh in my account is another story.   

So it's a bloody big bite.   

You can't reverse those charges.  – Please use it for this year next year you may cancel it and get a regular card. What are the odds that you will remember to cancel it next time before it is levied again at a higher charge.

Sheer waste of money.  That's a 50% increase in charges with no additional value and no choice.  

The husband is smart he has not got a debit card for the wife’s account itself.  

He leaves negligible money in the account so there is nothing to withdraw so he saved the annual debit card fee.  

What a genius !  He gets an ATM card issued but conveniently forgets to keep track of the PIN number and he has no clue on how to get it regenerated. So technically speaking the earning wife has an account but no immediate access to the account from the ATM. She can issue cheques though, but she hates to do that.

Internet banking.  Can't figure out the password ? Get it regenerated online don't know the ATM card’s pin too so opt for physical delivery of the password which leaves you poorer by Rs 75 plus taxes without realizing.  

The wife has an ISA account linked to her bank account.   She has no clue what it is about. She had a preferred account so it was free to start with, then it became chargeable. 

Investment Services Account = ISA

She would never buy a single unit in any mutual fund in her entire lifetime but she has it.  

She has no clue that Rs 170 odd bucks gets deducted every quarter and that stings without hurting.  Husband gets it reversed after every few quarters by encashing his goodwill.  It all adds up.  Closing the ISA is not an option ?  Yes of course it is but she needs to visit the bank. She does not have the bloody time to save Rs 170 every 3 months. So this cycle of donating money to the bank will last a lifetime? Maybe yes ! By the way as per the latest statement the charges have increased to Rs 250/- plus taxes per quarter.. So maybe I can manage to motivate the wife to visit a bank to close the ISA account.

For opening something the bank comes to the house but for closing something you are at their mercy of your inconvenience. It is your choice or is it really a choice ?    

Empty Demat accounts ?  

What are those.   ?  

You want to participate in the growth of the country and the share market is where you participate.  

Now, the first step to it is to open a Demat account with 61 signatures all of which need to match.  But for step 2, where do I go ? who will teach me how to buy and sell on the phone or on the internet ?

I have still not evolved over the story of risk and appetites are two different things on the platter.  I can only take care of my son's appetite to eat a Rs 200 plus taxes pastry at 11pm  so screw the Demat account, I can’t do that during banking hours and it’s called anytime banking.

Empty Demat account sucks out 350 bucks or more a year plus taxes for keeping it empty.  

Husband gets it reversed by making a few phone calls.   It all adds up.  

Hey I don't care a shit about all this bank statements and what all.  

I just know how to fight for my rights and get a fair deal at the work place so that the bank can suck money out of my account repeatedly by selling me something free and then charging me for it subsequently and not allowing someone to send someone to your doorstep to close it.  It's not their fault.  It's our fault, we can't say no. We are not allowed to say no.  YOU AND I are part of the economy and its growth.

Average quarterly balances changed to Average monthly balances non maintenance charges.  Non usage of the account means account turns dormant.  Dormancy attracts more charges. So it’s like if  you do not you’re your account you get penalized for that too. Old people visit the bank.  Bank forces them to transact so old people withdraw some money to conduct a transaction without realizing the trap of the non maintenance of AMB being levied month after month. So it’s a double whammy pay for using and pay for not using.  It all adds up and then one fine day the old husband says let's close the account.  So 75 year old couple walks into the bank jointly to close a joint account to be told  “Sir please don't close the account – you are an esteemed customer, one of our oldest customers and we will give you doorstep service and We will reverse the charges but please deposit some money.”  

Kind gentle old people feebly say “ok” after undergoing the ordeal of making it to the bank and climbing the stairs and finding someone willing to listen to them. 

You plan to close the stupid bank account, who needs them and you get sucked into depositing more money ?

Few months pass by, 75 year old couple live in the dream land of reversal of charges amounting to more than Rs 2400.  That a lot of money sucked out on a monthly basis for a pensioner for doing nothing.   

What a scam, banks show a profit growth of 24% QoQ thanks to treasury operations and retail loan growth and new customer acquisition when the corporate lending has slowed down and the economy is on the downhill.  

Son steps in as the knight in shining armor to rescue the Rs 2400 from the jaws of the polite banker and gets Rs 1200 reversed as that's the maximum possible in one go as time elapsed is so long that the backlog is enough excuse to digest and excrete it out without any recourse other than to wait for another quarter.  Old folks are happy with Rs 1200 coming back at least and wait for the next tranche of Rs 1200. 

The amount of money spent in visiting bank to bank branch to branch to submit the form 15H is not funny.    

The got helps cover the bank's ass to deduct TDS which old people can never try or attempt to try to recover unless they are willing to take it up as a hobby or a pastime and subsequent obsessional  value of the recovery of the hard earned money at 9% given to senior citizens. I can't help but laugh when the bank offers you to have a seat and then offers you the choice of water, tepid tea and sugar syrup coffee but no solution other than the fact that system is down please come again when you are in the neighborhood or better still give a board line number to call and please confirm before coming.  A number which is call forwarded to the bank's helpline number.   God and they do it smiling apart from trying to sell life insurance to a 75 year old in the name of saving for their 45 years old married daughter who lives in another city or 18 year old grandson who is studying abroad.    

We will do anything to present our skin to get blood sucked out with a straw rather than the proboscis.  

Did I tell you all those Sms alerts that you get are paid for you every quarter whether you transact or you don’t transact. A few hundred  Rs taken out without permission. Even better the transaction has to be of Rs 5000 or more to qualify as a Sms alert in most banks. All the while you are waiting for the cheque issued for Rs 4300 to the water purifier AMC to ping on your phone in anticipation that you have advanced to the next level of digital information, without it actually happening.   

You issue a cheque from your son's account to pay his school fee and bang after paying so many months after month and years after years they don't honor one cheque for the reason “refer to drawer” with no explanation.

God Damn it the only cheques ever issued from the account are to the school AIS NOIDA and the SHRI SAI ENTERPRISES for the school bus fee.

God damn it I know better than to bark up any tree for an apology and waste my time. Thank God there is money in the account else cheque bouncing could be a non bailable offence apart from Rs 500 plus taxes for the cheque bounce.  You escape the bank charges to be paid by paying the school Rs 250 for their bounce charges fee  along with the ordeal of standing in the queue to deposit the same in cash for which you visit the ATM using the card from which you can withdraw Rs 1 lakh in one go ! Because you don't keep that kind of money - as  the school fee is not really loose change at home to be readily available.   

Inconvenience has no price but deliberate bouncing of cheque by the bank has no recourse. It's not funny it's just true.  You really want to fight the bank’s system and find the person responsible for your inconvenience – No you can’t do that ! You simply can't do that ! even if the MD of the bank is your drinking partner – the bank never – NEVER admits to its mistake in writing, people will sweet talk you and say sorry and again offer you tea and coffee and water but give it to you in writing – NO WAY  your home branch is 38km away and they call it you can bank at any branch of the bank – try doing it someday and discover all the charges associated with it along with the charges and the restrictions and the limitations of each such activity other than using the cheque drop box.

Thank god the school charged only cheque bouncing fee instead of re admission fee.   I got away lightly.  

I always remain on tender hooks whenever  I issue a cheque till the time it does not reflect in both parties’ accounts.  

Hey did you know by using the Internet banking you can avoid using a cheque but little did you know that   Neft also costs money.  5 bucks.  Plus taxes. Per transaction and comes with a grid of amount to and to  cost so and so.   By the time you read the fine print your session gets timed out and you are told to wait for half an hour to login.   I simply love waiting and donating money over the internet. There is so much song and dance about technology making things cheaper- cheaper for whom – you get reduced number of cheque leafs and then you get charged for using the Neft and RTGS so it’s like the cheaper mode of transportation is actually  expensive for you…  would you like to use write a cheque or use the internet ?

So the bank told you that if you keep an FD of a certain figure the savings account linked to it would be a zero balance account.   Even the person selling the proposition did not know that one day this would change and the customer maintains the FD  for year after year his son turns 8 and the bank charges his zero balance account for non maintenance of AMB by a few Rs 650/- multiples.  Plus taxes.   You get in touch with the bank and knock on some phone number and number and punching yourself for being poor and unable to leave money in the SB account as charity to the bank.  You somehow manage to get the same reversed by encashing your goodwill of banking with the bank for ten years over the email but you can't liquidate the fixed deposit that has been there for the last 8 years without physically visiting the branch.  Automatic renewals have another pitfall, automatic renewal of FD ensures a  lower ROI for the same tenor because every year the bank increased the lower rate tenor by one day. So it's like you get a lower rate of interest for   1 year 17 days and higher rate for 1 year 18 days.   So effectively if you go back in time this one day every year scam has been going on from the time that the bank and fixed deposit and automatic renewals came into existence.   Imagine how every year the bank saved interest outflow repeatedly by changing the rate card by a single day on a few thousands of crores. Customer donated the same happily.  “Oh man I have an automatic renewal feature on my fixed deposit.   Man its automatic. “  Figure that one out : mastermind plan that's set for a lifetime before being sucked in again by being given the power to bank.   Automatic donation to the bank from you graciously without a whimper of protest.

I guess my son's money is better off in the Piggy bank than in the Bank.  We talk about interest rates and inflation.  Has anyone given a thought of actual interest rate earned after paying for any one of the charges levied upon you knowingly or unknowingly even once in a year. 

Do we really believe that the bank is happy having us ? They are happy only by drinking money with a straw, they can't simply take it all away in the name of charges and get closed for ever    Keep taking small sips so that it does not hurt too much.   

In the name of safety we keep paying something or the other.  Paying for cheque books.  Ever wonder how much you pay for your cheque book.  Ever wonder how much you pay for a cheque return.  Do you even know how many free cheques you are entitled to every quarter ? 

Every wonder how much you pay for your own bank statement ? Even wonder how regulated the environment is that the RBI says that you need to provide the statement free of cost so they give you a passbook which need special printers that are mostly out of order, how by default your statements stop coming to your home and start coming on email when you did not even have an email id when you opened your bank account or you never provided one though you had it.   In the name of saving trees you further save on postage expenses. No one looks at the cost of inconvenience to the old folk who can't use the Internet and has arthritic fingers that can't use the touch phone or any phone, leave aside operate mobile internet banking and the phone banking leaves you distracted and frustrated as In with Parkinson and Alzheimer's or both combined. How does it matter. I have your money safe in the bank even safe from your own eyes.  Ok ok you can sign a cheque and stand in a queue to take out your own money because I sold you an ATM card which can withdraw only Rs 20000 in a day.  

Big deal I love paying for small conveniences that I use. But not for what I don't use ?  

The kids account. 

The woman's silk account 

The man's account 

The family account 

The group account 

The senior citizen account. 

all opened with the simple thread that the customer remains enchanted and enamored by the cup of sugar syrup coffee and the packet of masala that you get to add spice to your banking and we understand your world of how it's so much easier to take money from you than steal because you authorized me yourself with your own hand to take it and informing you for it.    

Calling up Phone banking and speaking to a customer care executive who does not even begin to understand your problem and you are paying for it is like worse than the phone sex scam. Did you know calling up the phone banking number and talking to someone human on the other side costs you money if for that month your AMB is not maintained or some other reason.  

This is plain rambling of the mind nuisance writing this was just giving vent to it and sharing it because it's hitting your life and everyone you know too without you realizing it.  

DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT… It’s your hard earned money.

I finally walked into a bank brick and mortar branch after parking a car and paying Rs 20 as parking fee and requested to stop deducting Rs 17.10  in the name of weekly balance alerts and they were like aghast how can I make a request like that ? I said my parents are 75 years old they  know exactly how much money they have in their account down to the last paisa at any given point of time they don’t need this service and they don’t access any form of internet for any email alert and their mobile phone is the type that can accommodate only 30 Sms after which Sms just don’t get delivered and they don’t even know how to delete Sms to make space for fresh Sms to come in.. Unless they come up with a television alert in the middle of the screen  I don’t see any other way of the bank trying to connect to them in a wireless mode.  After gaping at my face as if I was a beggar demanding     Rs 17.10 ( the new swach bharat tax has increased the Rs 16.85 to Rs 17.10) to not be deducted. Well I don’t care what you think of me at my age of 40, I want a stop to these mindless forceful deduction of my parents peace of mind at the age of 75. So I finally get a form which says deactivate Sms and email alerts.—I need to choose between large transactions alerts , small transactions alerts , low balance alert,  AMB balance not met warning alerts and a couple more that are irrelevant.  I give up – I would rather ask my parents to close the account .

My suggestion is  get a grip on your banking habits before you get milked for doing nothing.

PS :  these are just a top of the mind recall value real life charges and situation and definitely not conclusive,  I am just a typical lower middle class Indian who still respects  Rs 20 spent for  parking the car if it is not too much of a bother though I would not think twice before buying a bottle of cold mineral water worth Rs  12 to quench my thirst and prevent water borne diseases .  But why would I allow a bank to steal my money for parking my money in their bank ?  Think about it and do what you have to do. 

Mothers and 1 Hour.

Off late I have been able to get time to take Arjun for his 6pm to 7pm basketball sessions at 8 years of age.  

It's been 4 years since he has been playing with the ball as a dedicated routine,  all thanks to his own interest and his mother's push and motivation and commitment to schedule her own working hours to ensure she reaches in time to take him to the court, from changing timings from 4pm to 5pm to again 5pm to 6pm and so on so forth plus combine the combinations between the changes in winter and summer and monsoon timings every year. 4 years is a long time to sustain the continuity of any form of activity with any child. no matter how driven you are.  It is the mothers who run the show and provide for the show.  80% of who you are and what you do is purely because of the path that the mother in the house chose, come hail or storm.  

Coming back to my own observations of the last few weeks it's probably 75%  of the mothers who are instrumental in ferrying the kids to the venue, remaining 25% being split between grandparents, drivers and maids and the bottom of the pile made up by Sunday daddies like me who sometimes find time to reach home. So seeing my Child on the basket ball court on consecutive days was an impossibility that came true after 4 years.   

Through the past 4 years and a dozen odd visits to the court, the only person I have got to know is the coach and is the only familiar face.  Even other kids did not sustain the continuity given the sporadic fickle minded activity of bouncing a ball and more than that the activity of running without a ball and stretching your limbs for half an hour, out of one hour  is not really an exciting activity.  I am not saying Arjun is the only one who has survived the ordeal; there are a few others who I know by name and a few pretty faces that have grown up over the last few years. After all there are some kids who are stars from the time they step onto the court.  They shine. 

Cut the paraphernalia, this one is about the mothers.   So, there are mothers who sit on the stairways alone quietly, chatting up on the phone or listening to music on the phone or catching up on a book or the odd group of likeminded ladies of all shapes and sizes and heights, heels and hairdo : ganging up to share a few laughs and catch up on life in general for 60 minutes, while the kids sweat it out under the watchful eyes of a 50 year old coach. 

Beyond these obvious bunch of visible mothers, I have found a few invisible individuals, mothers who have taken upon themselves to dedicate this time of an hour to themselves and themselves alone. They walk for an hour at their own pace.  The sincerity of their commitment was discovered by me when I tried to take this opportunity on a regular basis to walk my own bum and still my idle mind.  Walking is a senseless activity or so it seems. Half an hour of watching children playing flies by but 30 minutes of walking on the perimeter of a football field or just the length of the field is serious business.     

There are so many other exciting things to do in an hour after all, than simply Walk. These women are walking relentlessly for the hour by the clock with whatever may the expectation of the end result of the activity be. Each walking at their own pace, own variation of swinging arms and flaying ear phones wires plugged into the phone, listening to who knows what ?   The odd disturbance being the odd phone calls only wrapped up quickly or engaged in at length but nothing breaks the pace of the walk. Interesting conversations at times but my wife would kill me for overhearing and paying attention to ladies and their conversations, but then I have no choice, I am neither blind nor am I deaf. 

Over the past few weeks I have started to truly appreciate the dedication with which these moms are taking out time for themselves in their routine to give something back to themselves from themselves on their own. Maybe I am reading too much into the efforts that go into the attempts of Weight loss and increase in metabolic activity and sustained self belief of keeping on walking when the weighing scales just don't seem to tip downwards. 60 minutes is a lot of time. I can vouch for it because I just can't average out the boredom of walking with a pot belly so I end it with a super sprint run of 2 minutes till I am gasping for breath and cursing myself for weighing 75 kg which is like topped up with the lack of inertia and lack of intent built over the last 40 years.  I breathe heavily for the next 15 minutes and curse myself for being out of shape while trying to normalize my breathing pattern, while the walking mothers are gliding and floating on the grass or the fly ash tiles for the remainder of the session.  

What sets this set of mothers apart from the rest of the self obsessed fitness fad women trying to sculpt the perfect body is that they are stealing time for themselves without sacrificing anything other than their own comfort zones and whatever the walk gives to them and they are out there doing it all alone.   

As for the treadmill driven type of women trying to sculpt something as a mission I get to see those too from behind, given the glass walls of the gym but that's I path I chose not to tread.  

Moral of the story.  

"Don't treat women like objects" : like a friend always used to say.   So this one is for the respect for the mothers who are taking out time for themselves to do something for themselves even if it is something as simple as WALK.   WALK and simple ? Think again.

  

16 December 2015 
The winter moon before night sets in 

Green tea. Organic India.

I have been getting some time to do nothing at home.    

 I drank Green tea for the first time in my life a few days ago.  

These guys are amazing writers, with not a single reason being a figment of imagination, not that people who drink green tea ever read what's written on the pack on the reasons on why you should drink it.  

Helps you relax 

Reduces stress 

Strengthens immune system 

Abundant in antioxidants 

Keeps you going 

Boosts stamina 

Improves digestion 

Improves metabolism 

Helps fight illness 

Helps fight cough and cold 

Anti aging 

Uplifts mood 

Anti jet lag 

They missed out anti dengue.

Featured here 5 minutes of twin infusion. 

Feeling Lost ? It is just a feeling, not reality.

Everyday While I spend approx 70 to 80 minutes behind the wheel, on my way from home to work. I feel lost in the traffic, work and life and imagine I could have done better and I deserve better and I could have been somewhere else. I should have been somewhere else.  

These are just daily repetitive repeated fleeting thoughts of no consequence. 

Every stretch of the 26km drive to work through the city has its own different calling. theme of the city flavour of the city call it whatever.  From crossing the river on a toll road at 100 KMPH to 1kmph in 1st gear to exit the same toll road.   

The entire stretch of the dark side of the city visible marked in particular with the top of the lotus temple in the centre, and its not an irony.  It's plain reality.  

Crossing the replica of the shanti stupa is a reminder that peace is inside you. Don't waste time searching for it.  

Crossing the bhairo temple reminds me that it's ok to be drunk in the morning.  What you can do in the night can be done during the day. 

Crossing the Supreme Court and the supposedly orderly chaos outside with all the red beacon ambassadors and the three pointed stars and the four inter twined circles and everything mean nothing to justice. But they come to deliver and receive or delay justice in it.  

Inevitably I do have to stop at the red light at barakhamba road which reminds me of the Delhiites dream of schooling their children in "Modern school".

CP is nothing but a circle of everything in life which one has to exit.  

 I pass the crematorium everyday, reminds me that the resting ground is not far away and you don't have to walk or drive yourself there.  

The pigeon feeding point always makes me want to stop and click a few moments of hundreds of pigeons in flight taking off and landing without bumping into each other.   I take imaginary shots with my mind and no memory stick. It's a daily opportunity missed thanks to the traffic around the roundabout. But I never miss the lady seated on the divider with her prayer book, praying and turning the pages.  I am positive she is not lost. She might have lost her mind but she is surely not lost.  

 It's this last stretch and the feeling of being lost that brings me back to reality with lone physically blind humans walking with their sticks constantly on the move negotiating what they can't see and still being in control of where they want to go.  They are daily reminders to me that lack of sight does not mean lack of vision and direction.  They step out everyday for their mission of whatever it is , not knowing who will help them cross the road but they have the belief that when they will reach that point some one will stop and help them cross the road.  The same road that I have difficulty in negotiating behind the wheel and feeling lost despite being blessed with sight and vision and all basic faculties.  The day begins. 

Gear shifts

It’s a scene that replays on my mind time and time again – not many scenes do.

Its not even a scene – its just a fleeting moment.

Winters are cold, Delhi winters are not cold, they are bitterly cold, the zen’s air blower struggling to warm the feet is the only way I remember it, I don’t remember if the sun came out that day or not.

The road, one of the only long and winding roads in Delhi, the Ridge road, the bend just before the Raj Niwas up the hill.

I was not always the driver I am today, I was habituated to keeping my left palm on the gear shift lever, it’s a kink I had, to drive the perfect drive where you never feel the shift in the gear downwards and the sound of the engine engaging into the power train again merges with the release of the clutch without a change of sound, its an unconscious moment most people don’t even feel it or care about it but it’s the difference of those split seconds of shift -  engage - and release, that is imperceptible  that decide how smooth are you ?  its happening all the time.  It was the way I was taught to drive by the sound of the engine. 

Call me addicted to it or call me obsessed about it but that’s the way I am. It comes naturally to me, its part of me,  an extension of my body but when my father is seated next to me on the other side – I am conscious about the entire process, “conscious”  how many times ?, I have no clue, you can imagine the number of times I would have changed a gear shift lever with him next to me – there has never been a time I have not been conscious about it no matter what the situation, its like every time I am being judged for my performance of that seamless transition in and out of the shift.  Its like breathing, you are not conscious about it and now imagine that you are conscious about your every breath and imagine that every shift of the gear downward or upward is a breath you take - and you can understand what I am trying to say about the frequency of the activity performed.

 

Empty road, no rush hour, I know the stretch of the road well, (I have been lost walking on these roads as a child visiting my grandmother's home and that is where this drive started), like the back of my hand, the destination 10, K.G. Marg is a second visit in a lifetime only and both on the same day, today.  

I hate not knowing the route,  it disturbs my gear shift pattern,  every turn has to be etched in memory to be the perfect driver, I simply hate not knowing the road.

 

Am lost in myself with my palm on the gear shift lever,  I can see Pooja in the rear view mirror,  staring into emptiness, from the corner of my eye,  I can see my dad on the left looking into his own folded hands,  the quietness of the cocoon speeding down the road is broken only by the warm whirring of the blower. 

And as I take the bend and I shift the stick forward my dad’s palm slips over my hand and he says quietly “ I don’t want to die“ the clutch released under my foot, the power train engages, I lift my right hand off the steering wheel and across my heart and put it on my dad’s hand on the gear shift and say nothing.  For those split seconds of life – life stood still in a void with the car going into the bend with no hands on the wheel, till reality forced my right hand back onto the steering wheel.

 

It was one of the few rare moments of my life when I saw a conscious acceptance of a weak moment in my father’s life span spent with him.

It was the only moment that I saw from the corner of my eyes, a man looking into his folded hands that life was only a matter of time.

That said I don't remember him  even flinching one more time ever again till the end, other than the one request.    " please don't let me suffer " 

 

Every time I shift gears I hear those words “I don’t want to die.”