These are just few of my favorite things

I had a great 2 years in the U.K. Life as a student is anyway super. The backdrop of awesome places like Keele and Manchester only add to the charm! Even though I never intended to stay on forever, now that I'm back almost 4 years, there's a few things I really really miss, and have strong cravings for sometimes! Off the top of my head, in no particular order...
"Full English breakfast" at Weatherspoons. 
Fried eggs with runny yolks, crisp bacon and baked beans. 
Sausages and mash. 
Heat and eat meals from MnS Food. 
Cheap wine. 
Carrot cake. 
Angel cake. 
Red velvet cake. 
ANY cake. 
Daylight at 8pm. 
Weeknights at KPA with friends. 
Cafeteria food. 
Weekly trips to grocery stores. 
10 trip bus tickets. 
Random £1 shopping. 
Trafford center and Arndale. 
Train journeys. 
Bus rides. 
Strangers holding the door for you.
Politeness.
Random kindness.
Huge tress with bright blossoms. 
Primark. Shoes. Dresses! 
Steak. 
Pubs. 
Doner and fries. 
Afghan food joints. 
Curry mile. 
Counselling at Beacon. 
London. 
Being alone. 
Random walks.
Iceland.
Christmas.
Autumn!
Frost. Snow.
Choice of alcohol.
Variety of cleaning stuff - wipes, sprays, mops...
Hot chocolate.

Uh oh..that's longer than I expected. Got to find a way to visit soon! :) 

Difficult decisions

My grandmother is very unwell. She has been deteriorating for the last few weeks. It is heart-breaking to see her shriveling like that. Of course I want her to get better. Of course I want her to get out of bed and walk around like I am used to seeing her. A part of me knows though, that the possibility of that happening is quite bleak. It is something all of us have been told indirectly by the doctor.

Last week, she stopped all food and water intake and was semi-conscious for almost the entire day - flitting in and out of wakefulness and sleep. That's when the time came for one of the most difficult decisions. She is lucky in that she is surrounded by her children and grandchildren who love her dearly. But having so many people care for you complicates matter too. Every one of us wants the best for her. Each of us want her to 'be back'. Yet, there is a fundamental difference of opinions and values. While some have deep faith in medical miracles, others are of the opinion that prolonging her pain is unnecessary.

The question was, whether to admit her to a hospital or continue to care at home. It was hope vs. acceptance of a painful reality. But more than that, it was also the guilt - of giving up too easily, of not having done enough. After much deliberation, disagreement and drama, it was decided that she would be moved to a hospital. So that she could get round the clock professional attention, so that if there was even the slightest chance of her recovery - it wasn't missed.

It has been almost 4 days now. She is in the ICU. Only allowed visitors for 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening. Undergoing multiple tests everyday. With tubes stuck down her nose and wrist. Knowing her, I am guessing she is terrified. Her fear of abandonment must be stronger than ever before.

What is the point of this, I wonder. I understand why my elders made the decision they did. I know it was not an easy one. Yet I can't help but think - what if we had a different view of life and death? What if prolonging life artificially did not trump respecting death? Why are we doing this to her? So she lives on for a few more weeks? Are we really doing anything to reduce her pain? Or just consoling ourselves that we didn't let go. And who is it that we are trying to convince? We love her, we all do. Why does it have to be proved this way?

Tears

If you'd pause to think, you would see
my tears hold the answers that you seek
do you really seek answers, i often wonder
for i don't hear you pause
i hear your questions
and the anguish behind them
and i wish i could put the tears into words
but i can't
they flow, when there are no words.
i have always been
at a loss for spoken word
smiles and tears i am easy with.
my tears are not a means
to seek vengeance or to hurt
to punish or to rub in.
they are an expression
of a girl who is at a loss for spoken words.

Memories

My stomach hurt from laughing so much. This man had a wicked wicked sense of humor! I don't think I have laughed like this for decades now. As a divorced, reclusive workaholic 50-something, I did not give myself much opportunity to lighten up and enjoy.

I met J on an online dating site. I am quite a skeptic when it comes to connecting with people via internet. Call me conservative, old-school, whatever. I just don't think it's safe! But a friend of mine - one of the few non-work-humans I am in regular contact with - created a 'profile' for me and insisted on playing the matchmaker. I am not sure what made me indulge her, but I did. And I must admit, I'm glad about it!

The first person to 'express interest' in my profile was J. His profile described him as a teenager trapped in a middle-aged man's body. I found that funny; and with more than necessary goading from my friend, I started talking to him through chat. Our interests matched on many levels, and differed on many more. I had never come across anyone like J. He seemed to have interests ranging from wine to cricket, Harry Potter to Jagjit Singh, World wars to cottage industries. He seemed to know something about everything. He had strong opinions about politics, philosophy, science, economics, the list seemed endless! Yet somehow, he seemed real, grounded. Not once did I feel out of my depth or that I was interacting with a pretentious douche. After almost a week of near constant chatter about everything under the sun, J suggested we meet (his exact words: "'coz frankly my dear...my fingers hurt from all the typing!"). 

So here we are, 5 hours after we first met in person - having the best time I have had in years. To be completely honest, I don't think I am attracted to J. I don't think he is attracted to me either. But he seems like a terrific person. He reminds me of my ex-wife in some weird way. We were great together. She was my best friend for the longest time. My pillar of support, my confidante, my strength. No, it's not how you think it is. We did not part ways because I am gay. She knew about it. Maybe not when she fell in love with me...but soon after. 

We were really young then. Maybe it was foolish to get married knowing fully well that we would never be everything that the other wanted. But this was the 1980s. I couldn't dare to openly declare my sexuality. I don't think I can do it even today! I was not too sure about my sexuality either... But both of us were sure of one thing - that we loved each other's company. And in the innocence and recklessness of our youth, decided that that was all it would take for us to live happily ever after. Our families gladly consented to the match. 

Neither of us realized how frustrating it would get - and how soon! Not just because there was no sex in the marriage. We had an unsaid understanding. Both of us could gratify our sexual needs outside the marriage. I was naive enough to believe that this arrangement was flawless. I was in for a shock when 4 years after our marriage - almost 10 years since we had known each other - she declared that she was pregnant. And that she thought it was best to raise the child with its biological father. Needless to say, I  was devastated. I felt cheated, used. Why couldn't she just have sex without getting attached? I even tried reasoning with her. Told her that we could raise the child as our own. I would be the best father there ever was. She trampled over my heart by telling me that she did not love me anymore. That both of us were not in college now and one of us had to be an adult an put an end to our crazy "social experiment" that we called marriage. 

'Don't tell me you missed my finest joke!' J's voice jolted me back to the present. I couldn't keep reminiscing over something that happened almost 20 years ago. Why then, did it still feel so fresh? Why did it still hurt so bad?

The day I died

Disclaimer: Fiction ahead

I had made up my mind. As I got up from my desk at noon, for a split second, my hand hovered over the pen. Should I leave a note, a letter? Should I explain? No. There was no need for that. The reasons were clear enough. I didn’t want to seem even more pathetic by attempting flimsy excuses. Without another glance, I strode out of the office – my steps surer than they had ever been. Maybe that would draw attention. I slowed down my pace.

For once, I didn’t have to wait for the elevator. Was it a sign that things weren’t as bad as I thought? Or probably a sign that I should follow through with my plan? That seemed more plausible. The liftboy nodded absently at me. We saw each other at least twice a day every working day. Yet, the half-nod was all that ever transpired between us. A soft ping announced our arrival at the ground floor. Once more, I faltered. Was I really doing this? Shouldn’t I have apologised to all those I had let down? That would be a long list… no, all this was pointless now. For once I had made up my mind. And I intended to follow through with my plan.

And anyway, I didn’t want any reassurances. I didn’t want to be told ‘everything will be ok’. I knew things would be better. When I was gone. They will be grateful I did this. Maybe not immediately. After all, social mores would require them to go through the grief-anger-disbelief cycle. Eventually, they will come to see this as a blessing, I am pretty sure of that.

I made my way through groups of people huddled over coffee, cigarettes and more. My destination was a couple of lanes away; a newly constructed high-rise - largely unoccupied - overlooking an empty concrete courtyard. My plan was simple. I was going to dive headfirst from the terrace. I was going to put an end to this misery. I was going to free my wife and my parents. Nobody else mattered anyway.

I decided to climb up the 20 odd flights of stairs. Somehow, that seemed very important in that moment. I was probably convincing myself that this was a well thought out decision; that I was willing to make the effort. Or perhaps I was just buying myself some more time. Some more time for what? To chicken out at the last moment? No. I am not sure why it was so important but I was convinced I had to do this the hard way.

The first few flights went by easily. I felt calm and confident. It got tougher as I climbed higher. My feet hurt as I continued upwards, breathing harder, sweating. About halfway up, I decided to take a break and sat down to catch my breath. It amused me to think that even though I was going to hurl myself to a painful death, I still wanted to give my body a few moments of comfort. With a chuckle, I got up and continued.

I imagined how my wife would react to the news. Her first reaction would be disbelief. I wonder if she would feel any remorse for not responding to my I-love-you this morning. She was a practical woman though. I am sure she would find a rational explanation for my behaviour and move on. She could finally realize her dreams. My negativity or I would no longer hold her back. My mother would probably blame herself first. She is the kind of woman who is capable of making practically any incident sound like a personal failure! In this case however, it would not be so far fetched. If I could, I would want to let her know that this wasn’t her fault. That she had believed in me innumerable number of times. That I had let down her belief time and again. I had no delusions or hopes of an afterlife. This will be it. The end.

My father would help her cope. He is a sensible man, with no patience for emotional fools like my mother or myself. He would probably see this as an act of ultimate cowardice – proving that he was right all along – that he had fathered a good-for-nothing son. I was thinking of different occasions over the years when he had told me as much, as I reached the door to the terrace. The last time I came up here, it was locked. But it was a flimsy padlock that gave way to a swift tug. Evidently, no one had been up here since, so I walked out. Another sign.

I checked my watch – a minute to 1pm. That had taken longer than I expected! Well, it’s not like any one would notice how long I’d been gone. Would they? Brushing aside these thoughts, I made my way towards to other end of the terrace. I did not want to delay this any more. The final moment was near. 

I would probably make it to headlines of the local papers. Something like “depressed man jumps to death” perhaps? Maybe they will add some non-existent spin to the story. Just to make it a little more interesting. My real story had nothing worth reporting. I had done nothing note-worthy in the 37 years of my life. Even my failures were petty. Nothing grand about them! Such a life was pointless. I was not doing this out of anger or spite. I was not doing this out of hopelessness or depression. I was doing this because it felt right. Some people might see it as a selfish thing to do. Some people might pity me. But the minute they put down the paper, I would be out of their minds. So how did it matter what they thought.

I hoisted myself up on the three-feet protective wall between the terrace and the ledge, and gently slid down to the other side. The ground seemed closer this time. And welcoming. I knew this would hurt. I told myself that the pain would be momentary. And then, there would be peace. I realized that my sweaty palms were clutching the wall behind me. Letting go was harder than I had imagined. No time for second thoughts now. I did it all the time. I heard my wife’s voice in my head ‘you can never stick to a single decision you make’. Time to prove her wrong for once.

With an awkward jerk, I let go – hurtling towards my death – much faster than I had imagined. No…an involuntary scream escaped my lips. Stop! I was panicking. I wanted to turn back time. Frantically hoping for a miracle as the ground raced towards me. Hands and legs flailing, I desperately tried to slow down. Looked like I was going to fail, one last time. Thud. Crack.  

Nostalgia

Probably nostalgia doesn't quite fit what I'm feeling today..but I don't have the right word...

I'm going to miss using the huge, heavy, slightly crazy laptop. I am going to miss lugging it up and down the stairs..juggling between call centre exec and counsellor roles. I will miss the monkey wallpaper in my counselling room. And meeting new people everyday, with new stories. I will miss seeing my old clients' progress. I will miss cribbing about the insanely unreal expectations of the job, and the weird zeal to do it all anyway. I will miss being alone in a building full of people. I will miss the super sweet guards and cleaning aunties. And I'll miss the bhaiyas who get me coffee everyday. I'll miss watching the clock at 3 and sitting up to the clink of mugs. I'll miss typing out the randomest of emails. I will miss posing to be an 'expert'! I'll miss the long discussions...the far fetched plans..the excitement at the slightest hint of funding! I will miss being the one who knows it all. I will miss this place!

Lazy sunday rant

For the last nine months, my weekends have been a day long. Anyone with a 6 day work-week can well understand the plight of having one measly day off... By the time you set into your off-mode, half the day is gone! And with it, half your weekend!

We 6-day-weekers don't have the luxury to allow the weekend to 'set in'...so even though I'm dead tired by the end of a working Saturday, I'll make it a point to be in a 'different' mood. Perhaps it is the anticipation of sleeping in the day after. Or just the paranoia of not letting a precious Saturday night slip away! And then dawns Sunday...which is always shorter than allllllll the other days. A list of chores, pending visits, catchup calls...and at the same time a nagging thought at the back of my mind 'only x hours to before I'm back to my work week'

Well, that's how most of my Sundays are. But every once in a while, I'm blessed with a no-agenda-lazy-Sunday, and this is my absolute favourite! Today has been one such day. After a late breakfast, I spent most of my morning and a better part of the afternoon watching one of my favourite melodramas on TV. Followed by a great ordered-in lunch, watching the rain, browsing through pictures and updates of random Facebook friends, a nap and a slowwwww relaxed shower. Needless to say, that leaves me in quite a good place :D

So even though Monday looms ahead, and I have a zillion thoughts about the coming week zipping through my mind, I have a smile on my lips...Happy Sunday to you too!