Reflections of a restless eccentric

 I met Ginger and Pepper 6 years ago in November on my first visit to my in-laws' place in Mysore. I'd always loved dogs but had never had any of my own, and these two instantly won over my heart. Ginger was in the prime of her life, a brown indie with soulful eyes and an insatiable need for belly rubs. I was initially skittish around her, but gradually I let my guard down. She would excitedly pounce on me the moment I stepped in, and after a couple of minutes of running and jumping, would promptly plonk down at my feet asking for a belly rub. I delighted in petting her, in the deep rumbling noises of contentment she made, and the happy licks she gave me. Pepper was around the same age, a border collie mix with the softest fur and the sweetest temperament, and she greeted me with the same enthusiasm. Spending time with these two dogs was always the highlight of my visit to Mysore, and I always thought of them as part of my family. Although I did not know then, my time with Pepp...

Over these past three years, anxiousness has been my almost constant but unacknowledged companion. It never felt too severe to hamper my functioning, and I always brushed it off. It's been a stressful week. Maybe I've had too much caffeine, it's just jitters. I have had too little sleep for a while now, my nervous system is shot. Given my schedule and life, all these are very plausible and likely explanations for how I felt. And so, I continued on, finding coping mechanisms to deal with the bad days - no caffeine, meditation and breathing exercises, long walks.  A few months back, in May, I was preparing to leave for a summer in Amherst. This would be my first time living alone abroad for a few months, and I was definitely nervous about it. My husband had to travel ahead of me, which meant that I also had the responsibility of cleaning and winding up the house before I left. Added to this, I had a paper deadline a few hours before I left, which meant I would get little to n...

 Grief is a very non-linear journey, and I have known this for a very long time. Yet, each time I inhabit one of those black holes of loss, sorrow, worry and gloom, I forget this fact. Today is one such day, and I am writing this to remind myself and anyone else who may need this.  I woke up today, feeling an intense sorrow. It took me completely by surprise, because nothing had "happened". I'd gone to bed last night feeling pretty normal, and yet I woke up feeling utterly sad. I racked my brain. Did I eat too much sugar? Was I having a delayed reaction to something that happened a while ago? I couldn't find a logical reason for my sadness, except that everything that had been going on suddenly added up and descended upon me today. I sighed and sat down. I thought about my grandfather's death, my dad's continued illness for almost three years now, and so many other tragedies before that. The tears started rolling down.  This has been a very familiar experience...

 I am woken up at 4.25am by a phone call. Initially, I think that it is someone from India who is not aware that I'm in a different timezone. I groggily take a look at my phone. It is my husband. My heart skips a beat because I know too well what it likely means when a loved one calls you in the wee hours of the morning. He says Thatha is no more. I'm driving over to your parents' . I am numb, still waking up, and only shock registers. So many questions come to mind. When? How? Why? The answers reach me from a distance. He passed away in his sleep in the morning. Around 11am. And thus begins the horror of losing another loved one. The last grandparent I had. The one I knew the most. And the one I shared a house with for more than 20 years. And then the aftershocks hit me. I am continents away, and the logistical issues in traveling back home are too many. I will not go, and I will never get to see him again. I will never get to say goodbye. And so, I turn to writing, hopin...

 Loss comes in different colors. It may be that something tangible we possess is taken from us. It could be something or someone we always imagined as a part of our lives leaving. It could be relationships that sour over time. But the hardest part is finding acceptance. Not just of what happened, but all the voids created in our present and perceived future as a result of this event. When my Dad had a stroke, I looked at it as a transient event. That he would get better in a few months, maybe a year. After that, things would go back to how they were. Over time, gradually, I realized that this was not going to happen. He got worse, and all the negative traits he had became magnified. I saw depression take hold of him with a vengeance, and his anxiety ratcheted to the highest I'd ever seen it. He lives every day in agony, screaming continuously for the most part. Every other week, a physical ailment crops up, adding to all our burdens. Sometimes I look at him in disbelief. I can no l...

 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 h...

It is my ritual to write a thanksgiving post every time I turn a year older. Last year, I had ten months of normal life and one really tragic month. I focused on the ten and all the happy moments they had. But this year, I've spent all 12 months under the dark umbrella of grief. There hasn't been a single day in this year where I've been untouched by sorrow, stress or worry. I've forgotten what it is to have a normal life. To have a few days of pure and unadulterated happiness and peace. What do I have to be thankful for then?  A lot, actually. It can be really surprising to learn this, but grief and gratitude can co-exist. In the initial days following my dad's stroke, I experienced a profound sense of gratitude even for the smallest things. I was living on the edge, and felt the uncertainty of life in every breath. That actually made it easy for me to be grateful, even for the all things I'd taken for granted in the past.  I remember ordering a few essentials ...

For 3 months now, I have found no words to describe what is happening. Some horrors are best left undescribed, I think, and endure in silence. When people ask me How is your father doing? I struggle to find the words. For how do I tell them that the person I've always loved and looked up to has turned into a monster I barely recognize? How do I tell them that the person who was brave and strong all his life has become an emotional wreck? How do I tell them that I struggle to stay in his presence even for 5 minutes, that it feels like nothing short of torture to listen to his endless screams? How do I tell them any of this, all of this, while still respecting and honoring my father? I felt guilty and hesitant even when I think about it, and so I have labeled these thoughts unspeakable, and never given voice to them. But this is my reality now, a sordid and gruesome one that I must wake up to and confront, even if it makes me want to have never existed. Till yesterday, when a strang...

 I have not written for a while now, because I have been upset at my reality and the dissonance between that and what I wanted. I had expected my father's recovery to be slow and arduous, but I was completely unprepared for the emotional state it left him in. I have seen my father as a strong and resilient individual, and he has overcome many setbacks in his life. And so, I expected this setback to be temporary too. That within no time, he would go back to an optimistic state of mind and take on his old roles in the family. Maybe not physically, but at least emotionally.  But what has happened is the opposite. He has been extremely depressed; his emotions are very fragile. In the middle of a normal conversation, he would start sobbing. At first, I didn't even know how to react to this. I was just frozen, trying to take in this new identity of the man I had known all along as my father. Gradually, it worsened. He slept very poorly, restless all night, crying out in pain. He fre...

 It was a Tuesday night just like any other. Actually, it was better than many others. It was around 9.30pm, and I'd gotten through all my tasks early, and was feeling quite relaxed. I sought happiness in small things that night. All I wanted was to take a long hot bath before turning in, and I was greedy about how much water I wanted. The geyser gave me one full bucket of hot water, and I wanted two. So I went about this silly and elaborate procedure- turned on the geyser, let out a full bucket of steaming hot water, and turned it back on again, while I sat and waited. Feeling utterly serene and relaxed, I called up an old friend. We spoke, laughed, and reminisced. Then, at 10pm came the call that shattered my world and turned everything topsy-turvy. My father was battling for his life. After an entire night spent in the corridor of the ICU, I came back home to that bucket of water. Cold and lifeless, just like the way I felt. If you're a regular reader of my blog, by now, you...

Four months have passed since that dreadful day in November.  At times, I feel that I've fully accepted this "new normal". But my grasp on reality is fragile. Like hanging on to a cliff's edge by holding on to a few bushes. The leaves snap, and I go careening down, not knowing if I'll survive or be smashed to smithereens. Then, I find another handhold or foothold, and feel secure for a while, till I go tumbling yet again. And so it goes. Today is one of the falling days. As was yesterday and the day before. Sometimes, the trigger is merely seeing someone else's reality. A friend said to me "When I go home, my parents take care of everything. I love that carefree feeling." I struggled not to break down then and there, and suppressed the howls of anguish that threatened to erupt. Here I was discussing diapers and bedpans with my Mom, and planning out all the things I had to do over the weekend and coming. Would I ever have that carefree feeling again? ...

 It has been more than a 100 days at the hospital. Other than my dad, undoubtedly, the two people most affected by this are my Mom and me. She has lost her career, the comfort of her home and the security and strength of an able spouse. I am flailing in my personal life and career, having lost the strong physical, mental and emotional support I used to get from my parents. Both of us are seeing someone we love being reduced to a pitiful state. And it has broken us completely. All of this is understandable and quite expected. But the difficult part was this- I thought we'd be broken together. That we'd be there to support each other and help each other heal. My mom thought the same. After all, we love each other so deeply. And we are both strong and independent women. Yet, we both have been disappointed on this, and we feel more alone than before. Ever since this incident happened, our differences are even more marked. We end up arguing and hurl hurtful words at each other, addi...

 My dad's hospitalization has now hit the three month mark. His mind and body are out of sync. His mind has recovered, and he craves conversation, discussion and knowledge. But his body is still weak, paralysed, tired. He also realizes with a shock that society now treats him differently from before- he has gone from a respected professional to the dreaded "invalid". He feels trapped in his existence, and is morose and sad most of the time. Understandably so. In our times of sickness, we expect people to be there for us. To comfort us, and hold our hands through it. And our first circle of connections did do that, for the first couple of weeks. But beyond that, everyone had their own lives to get back to. Even me. I spent more than a month at the hospital, and then I too had to get back. By now, even the calls from relatives, friends and ex-colleagues have dwindled down. Knowing my work commitments, I did not make any unreasonable promises. I promised to visit the hospita...

 It has been two months since my father's stroke. He is still in the hospital, and his road to recovery has been full of setbacks. He tried eating a mouthful of food daily for a couple of days, but that only worsened his chest congestion and breathing. He had to be put on suction for three days after that, to just go back to where was a week before--tube feeding. Similarly, he was started on physiotherapy. The very first day, he was made to sit on a wheelchair, and his pulse and BP plummeted frighteningly. He had to be kept on oxygen and several other medications for days just for his vitals to come back to where they were before. Anytime we tried to push towards recovery, we immediately encountered a hurdle. All of us, myself included, were feeling the strain and pain of these two months. So much effort, time and money, and it felt like everything was in vain. My dad, a staunch South Indian, missed his idlis and dosas . After having tasted those spoonfuls of food after more than ...