Reflections of a restless eccentric

As is custom, I write this post on my birthday to express gratitude for another year in my life and reflect on all that I have learned. 2023 has been a very transformative year for me on so many fronts, and I am truly thankful for all these experiences. First, a shoutout to the most important people in my life. My father celebrated his 74th birthday this year, and I am beyond grateful to have him in my life for one more year. After his stroke, I do not take anything for granted. I know that every single day he lives on this earth is a gift to me. Funnily enough, his illness has melted away all our differences, leaving nothing but love on either side. My mother continues to take on all the challenges life throws at her with admirable grace. This year, my grandfather took a turn for the worse, and is bedridden too. This hit me hard, but I worried much more about her, realizing that both her father and husband were chronically ill at the same time, leaving her as the only healthy and resp

 I was reading 'Peace is in Every Step' by Thich Nhat Hanh this week, and these lines resonated so deeply with me: ‘I have lost my smile, but don’t worry. The dandelion has it.’ If you have lost your smile and yet are still capable of seeing that a dandelion is keeping it for you, the situation is not too bad. You still have enough mindfulness to see that the smile is there. You only need to breathe consciously one or two times and you will recover your smile. The dandelion is one member of your community of friends. It is there, quite faithful, keeping your smile for you. In fact, everything around you is keeping your smile for you. Oftentimes, when we lose our smiles, we are unable to see it anywhere else either. We are so deeply immersed in our grief and sorrow that nothing permeates through this. My workplace is a veritable forest, and at the nadir of my depression, I decided to go for long walks every day. Walking had always helped me, and surely walking in this beautiful

 For almost two years now, my narrative has been centered around outrage and grief at what my life has become. I went into great detail explaining how difficult, sad and horrifying it was to go through this journey. I truly did not know how to deal with this, let alone move on from it. I retreated from social life and spent most of my time alone. After a while, I realized something I had known all along but stubbornly refused to acknowledge: Life throws challenges at everyone. Maybe at different points in time, or in different ways. But my life was by no means an exception. After I had fully come to terms with this, I was curious to learn more about how people processed such experiences and what I could learn from them. In this series, I hope to share with my Reader anecdotes from my journey of healing and hope.  I bought a button rose plant in early June this year. I have had rose plants before, but this one surpassed the best I have ever had. It flowered 2-3 times a week, and each f

 My dad has been sick for one and a half years now. That amount of time has given me a sense of acceptance of the situation, no matter how horrifying the reality. On my many visits home in this span of time, I saw my Mom look more and more haggard due to the grueling regimen of her clinic, caregiving and household chores. I would despair seeing her, and worry more about her health too. But there was one presence in that house that always gave me some hope. My 93-year-old grandpa. Not that his life had been very pleasant. He had seen his fair share of deaths over the years - a wife, a son, a daughter, a sibling, most of his cousins and peers. He had grieved deeply over these, no doubt. Similarly, he had many many health woes - diabetes and high blood pressure for 40 years, heart problems for 50, cataracts in both eyes, loss of vision and hearing, multiple hospitalizations and surgeries. But there was this zest for life that he embodied that never ceased to dim even after all these ordea

 I write this on your birthday. There's so much on my mind that I haven't said to you. I don't know if I'll ever say all this to you, because being honest and being cruel don't seem very different at this point. But there's also all the love I have for you, and I find myself feeling this strange mixture of emotions - love, sorrow, pain, grief and hatred. I write this as much for me as for anyone else, as a catharsis from the intensity of watching a parent go through chronic illness and deterioration. Whenever I call, I hear your screams in the background. I hear the constant pain, the panic, and anxiety. The shrieks of a tortured soul existing. Not living, but merely existing, every moment spent so agonizingly. I genuinely feel sad for you, but I feel sadder for Mom. 'For better or worse, in sickness and in health' sounds glorious during a wedding, but surely there must be a limit to the worse and the sickness? How does one live with a spouse who not onl

Before this happened, I have felt many times that my life was busy. Hectic. It was hard to prioritize between so many things- work, hobbies, personal responsibilities at home, spending time with my husband, parents and in-laws. But now, all of that seems like a piece of cake. Because I had agency over most of these things. I could say to myself- Oh, I have 3 deadlines at work this week. I'm not going to visit my parents.  Or I'm going to prioritize spending time with my husband this weekend, so no work for a couple of days. Of course, there would be the unpredictable interruption every now and then. My parents would call asking for something during a busy period, or someone would fall sick, and so on. But on other "normal" days, things were manageable. After my dad's stroke though, I feel like I have zero control over my schedule. From one day to the next, I have no idea what will come up. And that makes me feel powerless. Especially because I don't want to co

Guilt has been a big part of my life for the past 1.5 years. Talking about it often brought up more guilt, and therefore I used to avoid it entirely. But eventually, living with it became harder, and I had to confront it and process it. Writing about it is one of the first things I wanted to do, and here I am. The guilt started from the very first moment of my father's stroke. I knew he was depressed. I should have done something. I should have definitely visited more often. Or at least called more often. He must have really missed me after I got married. I was filled with these thoughts, and my guilt was so extreme that I felt partly responsible for his stroke. In one of the most empathetic emails I have ever received, a dear friend told me the guilt was not mine to bear. Although I heard and remembered her words, I could not find relief. A few days later, as the financial crisis started to hit, I felt guilty about more things: I shouldn't have quit that job. My parents would

“Hope” is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words  And never stops at all           - Emily Dickinson One of the most intimidating things about this year was managing all of my parents' finances and chores along with my work and personal responsibilities. No matter how well I planned, something came up out of the blue at the last minute. My mom would tell me a day or two before the deadline and I would have to somehow accommodate it in my schedule and get it done. The fact that it was always unfamiliar stuff coupled with broken and badly designed websites and apps made it no easier on me. Dealing with this put a lot of pressure on me, and I despised it for taking away that last bit of control I thought I had over my life.  Among many such incidents, my mom once called telling me that my dad's chartered accountant license was due for renewal in the next two days and that he wanted it done. As usual, I had other stuff going on, and I