Skip to main content

Grief & I

Despite being so visible on Facebook, I have been busy the last week trying to meet deadlines. Happy with the outcome of two stories I did for a local magazine. Will put them up here once the magazine goes to print. But in all this, I have been consumed by an underlying sense of sadness at the news of my nephew being unwell again. He has fever just after a month. I am told that kids get ill very often, they go to school and pick up all kinds of viruses and that he will be better soon. Maybe he is still low on immunity after the long fever last time. I pray and hope he is on the mend. Just as I write this, the sun breaks out. It has been a gloomy, wet weekend and waking  up to the pitter patter of rains on a Monday has not been very helpful. But I take this ray of sunshine as a sign of good luck.

Ever the sentimental bore, I am so prone to sadness I think. Reading my friend Deepika’s blog on her dad a few minutes back, we are on the same plane. Somewhere, sometime in life, people do meet grief and in the recesses of the mind, that sadness stays forever. I know people who mourn so much for the loss of their near ones that they never come out of that grief. I have had an irreplaceable loss in my life – my mother – and the chance of never being able to call Mama again is something that no one, except the one going through, will understand. Which is my I understand why a trip to McDonald's and hearing someone call Baba made Deepika lose her appetite on an otherwise, hungry night of hard work. In my heart, I will always regret the fact that I did not spend much of my adult life with my mother sharing the banalities and joys of life. How do I handle this loss? I think I try not to delve into it. And in the humdrum of life, we just move on.

While I do not want my life to be defined by sadness, I also think one is allowed to be sad. It is good to be pragmatic in life but it is also human to allow the crevices of the heart to sink into a bottomless pit of sorrow. Coming out of it takes a few hours, sometime even days. The dreams too are full of sad visions. Nothing strange there, I think the subconscious soaks up the sadness and lets it manifest in the forms of dreams. It just has a way to overstay its welcome.

Growing up I have always felt that sadness is an inherent part of my personality and that I get drawn to all things sentimental. But I yes I don’t believe life is about grieving, and my optimism to life and the love I have around me has always made me balanced. I enjoy life, I love life and I want to spread happiness. Sadness finds a way to seep in, I allow it in, it is the inevitable part of life but in adulthood, I have learnt to balance it with some therapy. I am heading to the gym now and then catch up for coffee with a friend.  We will talk our blues away.


Popular posts from this blog

A Mad Man Or A Boor

What does one do when one encounters a mad dog? Or what does one do when one encounters a man with pre-fixed notions about everything in life, most specifically of women who live alone and give him some importance? The two are equivalent to me and basic intelligence says avoid the paths they tread like plague. But I chose to tackle them head on. I almost got rabbies. The mad man said [sic] " You sound like a very desperate person. A single and frustrated woman who is looking for anyone to leave a comment on your blog so much so that you wouldn't even spare a spammer ." Spammer being, the first comment on the previous post is apparently a spam, an advert for T-shirts. Bummer! I thought it was a handsome Spaniard or Latino, so I had replied "Hi Rodrigo", hoping to take the conversation forward offline. Anyway! All this the mad man found out. I didnt. Sure, I dig comments because I love the spontaneity and intelligence of my friends. And I didn't invite the ma


Two million people at the National Mall in Washington alone. The world watched too as Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. So did I. I rudely cut roomie's soap operas and switched to CNN to witness history being created. Some day I may live to tell the tale of how Barack, the much touted Afro-American President of the United States, stumbled with his swearing-in oath. I was a bit disappointed as I watched the man who had run the most successful of election campaigns, the man who Americans were pinning their hopes on, take his oath. Clearly, he was under too much of a pressure to be the best. So before Chief Justice John Roberts could complete the first sentence, there was Obama abruptly breaking out into his first names... " I Barack Hussein Obama.." and then waited for the judge to complete the sentence.. The next line was even taxing. He stopped short after two words... " That I will excute ..." and then Justice Roberts cont

Good Girls Don't Drink?

I have been disturbed by the news coming out of my region – the northeast of India - where a teenage girl coming out of a bar at 9:30 pm was molested and beaten by a group of 20 men. The news has even found its way down under for the shocking nature of it. Tabloids and even TV have carried the news. I have always prided myself in belonging to a region that is known for its high tolerance and where women are generally safe and independent. But I have always felt a bit squidgy about Guwahati unlike the rest of the seven sisters. The place is so like the rest of India in many ways, dirty and claustrophobic. That explains why bars are looked upon as sleazy places and women going there beaten up as with the recent case. Just 150 km away is Shillong, the place where I grew up. Night clubs thrive there and till date there has been no case of attacks against women. Reading the news, I am appalled by some of the reactions. “But the girl was drinking,” or “only prostitutes visit that