For you Daddy

 You were our anchor,

You were our rock

The years together formed,

That feelings never get lost 

Feelings of love 

That we feel for you..

They stay in the Universe,

Way after you

Feelings remain locked in our

Deepest insides.

A heart of love,

A gut of fire,

The imaginary world where you are beckoned when I desire.

My Daddy you were and will always be,

The greatest example of how a person can be free,

You dedicated your life to doing something good,

You are still a symbol of sincere brotherhood 

You did so much to take so few,

You did out of duty,

Not because you wanted the glory 

To you which you thought was due…

You are and were my biggest

Star,

You are so near 

Even if you’re far

Today is my Dad’s 🎁 birthday…even though he passed 19 years back, I remember him a lot. 

Ragini travelled by train to Chennai - Part 2

Beautiful wall art, Halle, Belgium

 Ragini had managed to reach Dadar Central Railway station early. Her train for Chennai was to leave at 4:30 in the afternoon. It would be a relatively fast journey as 24 hours was super-fast for the 1328kms that the train had to cover. 

She entered the train and made her way to the second-class sleeper compartment where she had a reserved seat. She was seated next to a family with a couple and a small child. They asked her if it was okay for her to sleep on the top-most berth. She didn't have any problem with that. That way she figured that she could sleep longer in the morning as the middle and lower berths were arranged pretty quickly to accommodate for the seated passengers once they woke up. Being a teenager meant she liked to sleep long hours. Also, having just finished her exams she looked forward to some extra rest. 

The evening earlier she had told two of her internet friends that she would be arriving in Chennai in a couple of days. There was one guy called Kishore and one girl called Rama. Kishore and Rama didn't know each other. Ragini had become friends over the months with each of them separately. Rama had asked Ragini if she could call her from her cousin Asha's house on the coming Friday. Then they could try and meet up over the weekend. The plan was to meet maybe at the beach that was supposedly not far from Asha's home. Kishore had also given Ragini his home telephone number and he hoped to be able to meet Ragini as soon as she reached. "That would be awkward", Ragini thought while she was watching the train leave the railway platform on time at Dadar station. 

Everyone was settled in. Ragini read the novel she had brought along with her until the train reached the first big station. Soon, the sun had set and reading inside the train was difficult.

She then generally found herself getting hungry and looked at what she had got along in her big hand bag. Since her mother was now generally always tired and sickly, Ragini didn't carry any home-made food. She found a packet of cream biscuits and drank what remained of her water. She ordered the railway canteen meal for later in the night when the person from a passing canteen staff member. Having settled in well, all the passengers in the compartment seemed to want to start up conversations.  The family travelling with her asked her a lot of questions about why she was travelling alone, etc. Ragini didn't mind. She loved telling stories about the people in her life. She was also very curious, so she listened intently to some anecdotes of their life they shared. Someone started singing a popular Hindi-movie song and they all found themselves immersed in the melody. Before she knew it, Ragini had eaten dinner, climbed up into her berth and fell asleep super quick.

The next thing she knew, she woke up sweating. It was already quite late the next morning.The family with whom she was travelling asked her to join them for breakfast at the next station. Apparently, it was famous for very good vadas and idlis. Ragini was excited about eating a hot breakfast and returned to her seat, waiting impatiently. While she was waiting, she looked across and saw the young girl who had sung the song the night before. She realised that the girl was probably her own age. She started a conversation with the girl, whose name was Radhika. Ragini was wondering why she had not noticed or chatted with Radhika the night before. She seemed friendly and they both were soon talking about movies, singing, fashion and their favorite shopping spots in Mumbai. At breakfast and the lunch that followed, Ragini learnt a lot about Radhika. Apparently, Radhika would probably be getting married to a boy in Chennai the next month. Radhika’s parents, whom she was travelling with, were convinced that it was a good match. Their horoscopes matched, the families knew each other from years and even though Radhika didn't remember it herself, she had even played with Kumaran as a child. 

Ragini was quite concerned whether Radhika would like the prospective groom enough to get married so quickly. She realised that she had had such a different upbringing and so much freedom. She thought of her old parents with a feeling of gratitude. Even though she was an only child, she was not raised by over-bearing parents. Her father was a free-spirited thinker and her mother was busy in her own world most of the time. They of course loved Ragini a lot and made a lot of sacrifices for her daily, but Ragini was not their sole focus. The day passed by in chats, exchanges of email addresses and a lot more singing. 

Chennai station would soon be arriving and all the passengers, Ragini included, started getting their stuff ready. The green landscapes whirling by outside the window were soon starting to have a more urban look and feel. 

Ragini missed her home and her family already but pushed those thoughts aside. 

Ragini travelling to Chennai - Part 1

 

 

 Ragini is now 19. She has just finished her final exams at university and is looking forward to her summer vacations. It's the hot summer of 1997 and she has been really lucky in general, the whole year. India is finally entering a modern era. Her house has a ‘MTNL' telephone landline since about 4 years. The internet is now available to most middle-class families. Her family actually has a second hand 486 computer that is now connected to the internet. There are new shops opening up around her home called Cybercafes. These places have several computers that one can rent for an hour to surf the internet. The rates are reasonable, so even younger Indians can access them easily. 

 During the months before her final exams, Ragini had made some pen pals from the more modern and technology savvy cities of the south of India. Some from Bengaluru and some from Chennai. During those times, it was common to write to people from different states and countries and this phenomenon was called ‘making a pen pal’. When Ragini had been 16 this was common to do by reading magazines in which there were pen pal sections. You could find someone giving out their postal address in this section!  The person's profile just comprised of age and gender. Ragini had already made a couple of pen pals using that method. One never met the friend in question. There were postcards and letters one sent and that came through the actual postal delivery service. Most people who want to make a ‘pen pal' are generally curious people. They are keen to discover life that happens elsewhere and generally check that most people all around the world are the same. 

 

Ragini was one of those kind of people. India had changed so much in three or four years. Being young meant, that she had access to the internet and making a friend somewhere across the country happened quicker than before. There were chat rooms where people made friends. There was a crazy buzz to switching on the computer, waiting for all the screens to reach the start point and then ringing in for the internet connection to take place. The tune of the connection was unique and unlike any sound young India knew till then. Msn and Yahoo were huge back then. On one of these websites, Ragini made friends with some young Indians. So her pen pals when she was 19 were actually 'internet pals'. Some of them were guys and some were girls. They connected once a day and had a lot to talk about. They spoke about their hobbies. They explained how it was to travel within their cities. They talked about everything that was unique to their youth. Ragini found that some were regular and sometimes there were weeks that went by for her to continue these connections. 

When it was the month before her final exams, Ragini connected to a cousin who also resided in the city of Chennai. She had occasionally seen her cousin, Asha, over the years. Once at Asha's wedding, another time at a common relative's wedding and also back when Asha visited Ragini's home when Asha was a younger woman. Ragini asked Asha in her letter if it would be ok if she could come stay at Asha's home. This was okay for Ragini's parents as this was sort of a normal thing during those times. Luckily, Ragini received news from her cousin that she was welcome to stay as long as she wished. 

 Ragini was keen to be able to travel on her own out of her city by train and discover Chennai. Just the 24hour train journey in a sleeper train alone was a very exciting. She was a bit scared about the prospect of anything untoward happening, but there was also this pull inside her that said that it would be fun and full of discovery. She was very lucky that her parents allowed her to do so. It had not been super difficult to convince them. She had not seen her cousin Asha since a couple of years. She was keen to discover her cousin's life in her own city. So, she bought herself a return ticket from Mumbai to Chennai. Ragini had planned a month of time away from home. 

She was not planning to tell her pals on the internet about her trip. But, of course, the upcoming vacations did become a topic for everyone and she ended up talking about her booked ticket.

My photo album - The arrival of spring in Brussels - Belgium - Europe

finally seeing the sun 

Magnolia in bloom

a beautiful hideout

I get all the attention when the sun's out

Framed and guilty of beauty 

Steely sunshine

I show off my beautiful coat while my friends have none

 

The Chronicles of the youngest Child - Part 3

Pic courtesy S. Libert 

When I was about five years old, I had gone with my parents to our native village. This was a month or so of very hot summer vacations. I was the youngest of four children and was born very late to my parents. Even though I always felt I didn't have any luxuries growing up, I know I was very lucky compared to my older siblings.

During our vacations we stayed at the homes of our relatives who lived all over the state of Kerala. I remember being asked to walk with my parents in the hot sun. For some reason, I was very cranky. Probably thirst, hunger, the heat and the travelling had gotten to me. I was walking alongside my father and my mother was a few meters behind us. All of us were sweating a lot. The heat was omnipresent and there seemed to be no cool, shaded area on our path. 

Suddenly, I started feeling really upset and asked my father how far we needed to go. He was someone who was very calm and he smiled and said, "not far". I continued walking for what seemed to me like an eternity. I caught up with my father and asked, "can we talk a bus?". He replied, "We are nearly there". We walked on. I turned to look at my mother, who was very slow and probably felt as hot as me. I thought of walking back to her and trying to get her to find a faster solution. Even though I was very young, I knew that my father would decide what we were to do at that moment. I repeated pleading, " Can we take an auto-rickshaw?". I was only five years old, but I knew my parents never took any public transport that cost a lot of money. I don't remember getting into auto-rickshaws as much as getting into trains and buses. 

As expected my father said "No". There it came, the No. I knew that once my father said No, he rarely ever gave in. I knew that I had lost my chance of getting what I wanted. On top of that the heat was now unbearable. In normal circumstances, I would have just not asked him anything anymore. But I found myself in this fit of rage, hunger, tiredness and overall uncontrollable helplessness. I started throwing a tantrum. I jumped up and down on the side of the road. I screamed on top of my lungs. I went on for long enough for my mother to reach my father and me. My father had not stopped walking, he just had slowed down, turned around, looked at me once and not said or done anything. 

I was now in a fatigued state of having given out the final drops of energy that were left in me. I asked my father, sobbing, "Can you at least carry me?". He didn't say anything. He continued walking. I dragged myself behind him. The world was so unjust, my daddy is ignoring me. I now felt that the top of my dress was wet with a mix of sweat and my tears. I had stopped wailing, I was just sobbing, there were sad sniffles in between each breath. I asked him to hold my hand. He didn't. I started wailing again.

We were now on the street near my uncle's home. My uncle's family lived in an independent house which had a porch which led to a front door. But on the side, there was a stairway that led up to the terrace of the home. When we reach the gate, here, my dad held my hand and firmly led me upwards towards the terrace. My aunt had noticed us enter. She saw my face all shrivelled and my father's silent and stern look. She sort of understood something was amiss and started following us upwards. I looked back towards her and beyond. I saw my mother enter the gate of the property. She looked at me. I didn't think she would follow us up as she was already exhausted. 

I was now crying with a sort of fear and foreboding. I wanted to run free into my aunt's arms. But when we went upstairs I knew I was alone in this. No one would be able to help me. My father had been the father figure for everyone in our family. He had brought up even my uncle. I saw my father switch on a tap at the side of the terrace. He looked at me and I looked at him, howling. He filled the bucket and switched off the tap. 

I was unprepared for what was going to happen next. My father lifted the bucket of water and poured its contents all over me. I stopped crying. I felt cool and nice. I was stunned. My father walked away into the house and I felt my aunt’s arms around me. All was calm again.

Note :- I would like to add that I never felt that any of the punishments my parents ever gave me were traumatic. Their intention was very clear and my naughtiness was constantly at heads with their idea of proper behaviour. I share these stories with a lot of love for my parents.  

How I trained to run and complete my first 20kms Half Marathon as a person who didn't run regularly.

Pic courtesy:- a proud me

 

In the beginning of 2003, I was not the fittest version of myself. But, yes, I had the luxury of being a young woman. The young woman I was, discovered that in Brussels there were several chances for ordinary people to participate in different sporting events. Amongst these were runs of 5kms, 10kms, half or even full marathons. I took this as a chance to be able to tick off at least one of the dreams I always had had on my bucket list. So, as soon as I could I started training for it. I had an indoor elliptical trainer that I used daily and on any sunny day, I was outdoors trying my best to see what I was capable of.t-variant-positio 

Sports had always been important to me during my teens, mainly because I was always on the chubbier side. But I never had had any actual training in sports and even when I did participate in school, I was not good. Luckily, I never let that deter any personal plans I had at self-improvement. I was good at getting others to work as a team with me and often did all kinds of exercise at home either with some friends or even alone to improve my flexibility. 

I remember some crazy challenges I had made up for myself. During one of the phases when I was busy learning what exercises existed for someone to do at home, I discovered that I was pretty good with a skipping rope (jump rope). So, I took up the challenge to do at least 1200 skips every single day for at least a month. I didn’t have any teacher; it was just me telling me what to do.

So, fast forward to 2003, I took up a challenge to run a distance of 20kms. I was already dreaming of holding a medal at the end of that distance. It would be my first ever medal for anything related to sports. This time there was no way any of the past lazy, procrastinating or bad-at-follow up versions of my younger self would be allowed to come into the picture. I somehow felt that it was a turning point for me and also a welcome gift that I would give myself for having survived my first European winter. 

So, after celebrating the exciting moment when I actually secured a place in the race, I started running regularly. However, I had no idea what sort of training to do. The internet was not a big part of people’s lives those days. Or at least not of mine. My goal was to just finish the race. The training generally meant I would plan a time to leave the house and a duration to keep running on the go and stick to it. I would train at home on the elliptic trainer or be outside putting one foot in front of the other. I did that for several weeks, I fail to remember how many in fact. 

Finally, the week of the race arrived. I received a notification to go and pick up my race number. I still remember thinking ‘oh wow look at this. My number is 30000 something. That means there will be at least 30000+ people running with me.’ The number humbled me. I felt part of a huge community who probably all had a similar goal and at that moment it didn’t matter that this would be my first time. I was now even more excited to participate and see the people and all that encompassed the event. Waiting for the D-day became difficult. 

Of course, time goes by in a wink and I found myself standing at the starting line. We were divided into four or five groups of people. Each group contained people who had a similar estimated finish time. I had no idea about my speed and so I had put down 4 hours. Which was what I thought I could do in the worst case if I walked. Let’s not dwell on the fact that back then I hated walking. I preferred running.

Our group waited in the cold, chilly weather while we heard the gun go off for each of the groups that preceded us. Then I heard our gunshot and that’s when the reality struck me. Here I was, really, really trying to do what I had prepared myself for. While it was difficult to think of anything at that moment because of the number of people I was running with, I soon found my head flooded with doubts and fears. I had decided to keep a strict ‘no exit’ policy. Ok, the thought was here and was telling me that I would probably be in pain or that I would never be able do it. But the voice in my head and heart said ‘there is only one finish line’. There was no way I was going to give up without putting up a huge fight. There was no way the older version of me, who as a child didn’t have what it took to be a sportsperson, was going to get her way again. 

All I remember today is that the first 10kms were pretty easy, I actually hadn’t felt any pain yet. Since I had had only a few weeks of intense training and no real method to follow, around the 13km mark I started really feeling the effort I was putting my body through. Running with so many other people in the beginning of the race also pushes one to go faster than training speed, but, since it was my first race I didn’t know that. I was starting to feel the strain of those initial kilometers. 

What one must understand is that the last 4 kms of this  Brussels race is totally uphill. Since it’s really a hard part of the race for everyone, most of the families and friends who come to cheer are found in this area. There are stalls to take a small break of water or grab some fruit at this point. One can find ‘help stations’ with Red Cross staff for people who have any issue to be looked at. There are several musicians who line the street and cheer the mass of runners with upbeat music and dance. Their energy helps immensely.

 I had promised myself that whatever happened throughout the race, I wouldn’t completely stop running. So, there I was at 16kms, having not stopped for a minute in those ‘God knows how many’ hours, still moving. Shuffling upwards, I really thought, ‘ok, now is when I’m going to pass out. Now I will start having a problem’. I countered this thought coming back to the fact that since  I had endured all this time, I just couldn’t give up at these last few kilometers. I needed something to give me a boost. But I didn’t have anything on me at that moment. I had already passed all the stalls and had decided to avoid going next to them. I had avoided any sort of excuse that could crop up in my mind which would put an end to my dream. 

Like a beacon of hope, I saw a lady cheering me on, on the left side of the road and she had something in her hand. It was a paper box full of sugar cubes. She placed a couple into my extended hand as I passed her. When I put one in my mouth, I felt a buzz of energy. This helped me hold on for about a kilometer. At around the 18km mark, I saw runners who had medals around their necks who were running towards us. These people had finished their ordeal and were running backwards to cheer on  people like me. ‘These people are heroes’, I said. 

That’s when I saw the Arc of the Cinquantenaire Park in the distance and knew I was close. That’s also when I felt this huge cramp envelop my right leg. I tried to move forward but found that I couldn’t run anymore. I was 600 meters away from the finish and I decided to walk. If one could call that walking. Limping and struggling with all my might, I moved ahead. People around me were falling like flies. There were so many fallen over, giving up. There were spectators trying to get those people to stand up. I said, ‘ok, it’s not just me who is finding it super hard right now.’ But no way was I going to crumble so close to the medal holding image of me, that I saw in my mind. I just kept ignoring the cramps which were now all over both legs. Kept ignoring people looking at me and kept ignoring the tears and the pain that I felt all over. I dragged myself to the finish line and I made it. I hobbled to where the medals were being placed on the finishers. Now, I had mine. And my medal met the new me.

Complaining seems like everyone's constant companion

Somewhere in France, 
pic courtesy B.Libert

 A complain is airing out plainly in view, 
that you don't like what's happening or what's coming to you.

You still hope to edit or tweak the idea,
that doesn't sit your way.
Break someone else's will and conquer,
Just a figure of speech I say.

Breath in, breath out,
there's so much to say.
Our wounds need healing, 
we can't wish them away.

I work on my healing, 
My mind learns not to yell,
I'm hoping all this will take me 
To a time I feel really very well.

Hurray, we reach a time when my mind is now at peace,
But what do I hear now,
someone's complaining about me!