Every one of you is cherished

 

 

I began this piece, meaning it as a tribute to a dear sister, Sowmya, on the occasion of Sister’s Day observed on 1^st August, or the first Sunday in August in various parts of the globe. This writing took off following a face-to-face chat that I had with her in the wee hours of one morning in March this year when we both visited our parents in Chennai.

Incidentally, of late, most of my writings have been triggered by conversations of which either I’ve been part, or to which I have been a mute spectator. From penning travelogues, I now script travels through life’s travails – broadly a collection of experiences and perceptions as seen by me and those around. Following closely on the heels of the exchange between Sowmya and me, was this outpourings of my forty plus year youthful friend, on the world we live in, about increasing selfishness and fake friends. “Timeservers all! There is nothing genuine about them and their friendship. You just don’t know who to believe, the way they sweet talk only to dump you. We’ve become like the use-and-throw objects. I find it so difficult to trust anyone now,” she rued. It was obvious she had undergone some bitter experience. JR who heard our conversation from the adjacent room, concurred with her thinking. He later added his bit of spice to the evening banter that I felt was turning unduly negative.

And viola, my original tale took a twist! The open dialogue in March between Sowmya and me brought home the fact, that I hadn’t been a particularly sensitive person or sister during our school years. As the elder sibling, older by half a dozen years, I guess, my priorities, if any, were at best addled.  Sowmya was, and is, everything that I was not ever, and am still not. In addition to being ladylike, she’s a brain in Mathematics, proficient in whatever she pursues, has a musical voice and is tall statured. A tomboy to the core, I would enjoy tree-climbing with friends, and monkey-pedalling the adult gents bicycle in the hope of vertically gaining a few inches. Comparisons were constant and consistent.

The growing years were not particularly easy as I had my own ghosts to exorcise. I cringed and crumbled often under the weight of labels – of being a physical Lilliputian, a mathematical pygmy and one whose voice box was not flattering in the least. Ego would disallow me from displaying my feelings and the tears remained unshed. 

Also, I guess I made matters worse for myself. I had that uncanny knack of landing myself in soups. Though I would not call myself a skeptic I was born with the attitude of questioning, but with malice towards none. Rituals, particularly, in the name of religion, intrigued and irked me. They still continue to do so. My persistent ‘whys’ were one too many, and uncomfortable for elders to answer. They themselves did not know the answers; hence at best, were dismissive with a final note, ‘like your sister, learn to listen to elders who have been following these practices since ages’. In the unspoken, unwritten word, I was perceived a rebel, even a black sheep of sorts.

My life’s introspective journey, that inward peep into my core being, began once I was married, established my own home and had children. The spate of autopsies that I began to brutally perform upon myself, relentlessly shadow me to date. A stark truth emerged from this battering - Sowmya has always been that anchor to which I have tethered myself during rough weather in the last couple of decades. For my kids, Sowmya chithi is their all-time favourite aunt with whom they enjoy a great equation. We’ve tided over some of the darkest days of our lives, thanks to her unwavering support, all rendered in the most unassuming manner, and with no strings attached. Even today, though thousands of miles separate us, as if by telepathy, I always get a call from her whenever my moods are at their lowest ebb! Time has erased memories of several incidents from childhood and I am clueless on the brash and thoughtless words or acts I may have indulged in, those which have caused her distress and pain. The clock cannot be put back. However, in all humility I can only tender sincere apologies for errors of omission and commission that my reckless behaviour brought on.

On that note, I change tracks to address my friend’s take on friends. Perhaps, we, born in the 1950s, 60s and 70s, believed in relationships being institutions. Friendships were formed for life. It was not as if we did not have arguments, differences of opinions or misunderstandings. Egos would take a back seat, differences dunked and misunderstanding brushed aside in the face stressful situation or crises even if one of us faced. We deftly navigated these bends, kinks and crevices, keeping intact the warp and weft of friendship. There would be no professions of affection, fondness, et al; actions truly spoke loud and clear. Our friends were there for us - they rose to our need without being told – despite their own problems.

Relationships, whatever form they take, are meant to be cherished and nurtured – done do for all reasons and seasons. Why assign one day in the year for the purpose! Siblings are friends as much as friends oftentimes become integral part of one’s family. In this spirit of camaraderie, this painting with words is an ode to all those friends of ours from Dubai who not only stood by us during our tough times, but shared our joys too.

Each one of you is always in our thoughts and prayers. Anagha, Deepak, Meelan aunty and Naik uncle, thank you is too small a word for your priceless gesture which inspires us to emulate you. Prabha, the Healing photograph of Satya Sai Baba that you handed over to me with so much warmth and concern, not only adorns various rooms in our house, but is being passed on to those witnessing troubled times. Lakshmi, no words to thanks you for the positive and much needed Baba vibhuthi prasadam and message. Usha Mohan – both of you have been such constants in our lives, the support you gave us and the subsequent visits to see us after we shifted base to India, we’d always cherish. Radha, no Thursday passes by without my having you and your family in my prayers – the CD of Sai bhajans you gave me get played on the day. Vijaya, your trademark flavoursome adharak chai would just enhance the inane banter you’d engage in, gauging a low mood so often.

There are a host of others who I don’t mention here if only to avoid repetitions, but they are treasured no less. Call it Sister’s Day, Sibling’s Day or Friendship Day – call it by any name – the idea is to express gratitude to all those who have inspired us to keep our trust and faith in humanity.

 

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