Another Station.. Refuelling the Traveller

Thoughts come rather quickly these days...

I sit in the night. thinking tight.

ghosts and memories cloud my sight.

the past looms up, big and bright.

I shut my eyes. closed in fright.

in the morning. the day is clear.

the nightmare remains. it's all i can bear.

it ties me down. feeds off my fear.

prevents rational thought. my mind unclear.

says, 'you can't let go. not now. not ever.'

i stare wide-eyed. in fright. in terror.

My future gone. hopes dashed forever.

dumbstruck i think, "i used to be clever".

the day passes by. no tear. no sigh.

i look at my future. all shrivelled and dry.

gathering courage, i face the past so sly

renewed resolve. this time to fight or die.

my present decides what i make of myself.

a big giant troll, or a tiny little elf.

my present that shapes the future bright.

my present that finally will, the past, unite.

my future awaits. my past sustains.

my present, from me, a duty entails.

a heart. a will. a thousand water pails.

to set myself free. like the spirited whales.

set me free. now i have grown.

every day familiar, every day unknown.

linking them all, like pieces together sewn

the past to teach. my future to learn.

Today it's time. it's been awhile.

my yesterday and tomorrow will reconcile.

Another day... another thought...

So I was coming home in the bus today, and a couple of really old sardarjis entered the bus. The bus was quite full, but they got a place to sit. Looking at them, this thought suddenly crossed my mind and I feel I should spell it out, so that I can get your feedback on it.

Now, I stay in Brampton. And this city is like a Mini-Punjab. Actually I think if you look at the number of Punjabis here, it might in fact be the real Punjab. As a result, I get to see a huge Punjabi population. And it is a variety of ages there too. So I see small kids trying to speak in Punjabi, Teens speaking fluent punjabi and fluent english, college going kids speaking mostly English, middle-aged people speaking in punjabi and their level of english depending on when they migrated to Canada, and the very old people.

What you notice when you look at the old people, is that the lines on their faces tell you a short history of their lives. Many a times the way they behave, respond to what others say and react to others around them tells you what they have been through in their life. I have noticed that the way these people have adapted to the Canadian culture, the people, the manners, the language, the etiquette can be largely and very broadly categorized into three categories.

Some of them have become docile: The new culture, their own inadequacy and illiteracy in spoken English and the rather “Indian” notion of the “white” being superior to us, makes them meek, and obedient. You realize this when you see them say, “Beg your pardon” or “sorry” at every single thing, and smile embarrassedly. Some others have become aggressive: The same factors have a completely different influence on them. They feel threatened by this culture and try to overcome this threat by being even aggressive. This feeling is brought about when you look at people who look at and judge other people with a very narrow and limited scope of mind. And last, but not the least, some have become indifferent: This indifference comes out in their non-conformance to the culture and language; and moreover with a total lack of their interest in the same. It is just them and the lives that they are leading.

When I look at the equation between the different generations here, I realize that there is, in fact, a huge gap between them. Imagine three generations living in one household. Of course there is a gap between the youngsters and their parents. Also what I feel is important is the gap between the grandparents and the younger generations. It has been addressed, but I don’t think sensitively enough.

What happens to those old people who have been here for, say 10 years? They have integrated into the culture in so far as they know their way around in the city. But what do they feel about this problem? What about the feeling of loneliness and boredom that they feel once they are forced to retire and have nothing else to do? No one here has time to be available for the other person. Everyone fends for themselves and even if they provide for a family member, they don’t have the time to be on their beck and call. This sort of demand is also irrational. These elderly people are forced to look for things to keep them occupied. Some find them, some don’t. Those who don’t, go to religious places and make “friends” that they meet.

Another pressure they face is to uphold the "myth" that life in a "foreign" country is nice, easy, more comfortable and in general, happier. I call this a pressurebecause how do you convince others you are happy when you are, in face, not happy? And you have to convince them because it is a myth you believed when you came here, and it is a myth you have been propagating all these years. What happens when all the pressures come on to you at once, that too when you have grown old?

Many a times, a cute old man has come up to me, and spoken to me as though to his granddaughter. While I love talking to them, I think our generation is becoming rather indifferent to anyone’s needs but their own.

I don’t want to imply that I am “pitying” the elderly in any sense. Who am I to do that?

All I am saying is that there is growing need for us to take notice of what our parents and our grandparents might be going through. A need for us to become a little less selfish. :)

Having said all this, I do admit the possibility that I might be completely off-mark and misinterpreting what I see. After all, we all have different perception. :) So feel free to comment. :D :)

A train of thought caught at a station...

Its been two months and ten days since I came to Canada. I will be honest. When I came here, I couldn't wait to go back. And yet, as I spent time here, I realised I have the choice to either go back and follow the plan of life, or view the next three years as an adventure in a new country.

Knowing me as you do, it is not hard to guess what I chose.

Now as I look back, I think that it was perhaps one of the few sensible decisions I've made in life. And being a sensible decision, it undoubtedly was also painful. I have moved far away from people I have grown attached to in a very short span. Those few people, that I miss more than words can ever express.

True. It is easy for me to move on. New place. New friends. New hardships. New adventures. Nothing to remind me of those people I left behind. And yet, there comes a time when one feels the need. A need to be with someone to just hangout with, someone you can sit with and talk about everything and nothing. It is most hard-felt when you are alone, when you suddenly find yourself doing nothing, when the hours in a day become too many to be productive.

At this time, no amount of calling, chatting and emailing can bring back the intimacy shared over pav-bhaji at colaba and a gola at kala ghoda, during long walks from the station to the guest-house in the sweltering heat and over boxes of pizza ordered to celebrate nothing, while drinking bottles of fizz downed in hours that passed like minutes and texting 24*7, and during the long journey to vashi undertaken right after a sleepless night and 10 hours of inter-state travelling just to meet, hug and say hi. Intimacy shared while randomly calling out "heroine" from one end of the canteen to the other knowing that the person willknow it is her, and while quietly sitting in a corner there complaining about everything going wrong in our messed up teen-lives, in randomly shooing crows off the table by trying to make them (crows) understand why it was annoying to have them around, and while randomly treating eachother to the infamous canteen chaats- bhelpuri and sevpuri, and ice cream.

Nothing makes up for the time spent during extra long walks at Amarsons and Marine Drive, eating pav-bhaji at Chowpatty and Kulfi at the Dairy, while drooling over extra hot guys at Britannia and walking all the way to and from Colaba, time spent when going completely crazy watching back-to-back movies or shocking the hell out of the other by ordering a half kg cake just because one felt like having some. Nothing, as I say, makes up for the bond created and cherished over long talks and tears spilled over seemingly "important" issues in life, and on the night-outer on the terrace watching exceedingly boring movies, followed by 3 am maggi and then two chocolate cakes baked in the hostel oven for at least half the hostel. The bond that only grew stronger while studying seriously, huddled together in our "secret" place or in charming the library staff to keep the library open for the precious extra 5 minutes during exam times.

A great number of hearts and smileys do not make up for three years spent together in classes- studying, drawing graffiti, catching up on the latest gossip. Years spent building a friendship that started either in the library reference room (of all places!), or the literature class and grew through the hours in the high dark alleys of Bhabha Hall, the crowded lane of Colaba Causeway, the cheesy music at Colaba McDonald's, the roads of colaba, the room of UTBT treating ourselves to "Cheese me Please me" and to Relish, going crazy over the intense pleasure of eating hot cheese. Friendships that grew from being just classmates, to co-techs at lit conference and Kscope, the creative head of the best campaign in the history of SBP elections at Sophia, becoming co-workers under Sr.Rosa, philo single majors under Sir and Ma'am, all the way to becoming friends for a life-time. Being very different in our interests and hobbies, we found the midway to our interests where we influenced each other to grow as individuals.

As I realise the hard way, no amount of virtual hugging, online texting and telephonic conversations that end abruptly can make up for the unexpected geographical vastness that separates us.

And yet, it wouldn't be "me" if I were to end this rather nostalgic note at this gloomy stage. Would it?

Having moved from place-to-place ever since I was a kid had made me adventurous and open to new ideas and people. A bond once made with a person doesn't become the "clingy close connection" that threatens every relation.

The experience shared becomes a seed planted which over a period of time, with proper care and periodic inputs from both parties manages to remain alive and healthy.

So, today, I look ahead to the future that I can see, the past that has been and the present that stands affected by the two. I can proudly and confidently say that while distances create nuances in friendships that I hold dear to my heart, the support of these same people will help us get over the past, through the present and beyond the future.

[These my friends, are the words of The Wise One - the one and only, Nirmolak Kang. Words that have been carefully selected from Her pool of knowledge, that has been made sweet and deep over the years with experience]