An ode to Arepa and the Friends Who Cook Them.

 I first encountered arepas in the fall of 2017, a few years after moving to Canada. It was then that my love affair with this delectable South American flatbread, as Wikipedia calls it, began. Coincidentally, around the same time, my husband and I were introduced to my now-dear friend, “W,” for insurance purposes.  During our initial conversation, I learned that W was originally from Venezuela and, to my delight, knew how to make arepas! The planets had aligned. I knew I had found someone who could not only introduce me to this mouthwatering bread but also, on occasion, cook it for me. And I was right!

If I had to describe W, I'd say he is one of the kindest, most compassionate people I've ever met. He is the gentlest man, all six-foot-something of him, I have ever encountered.  Beyond his kindness and compassion, W is an excellent listener with a knack for offering solutions that perfectly suit his clients' needs without ever being pushy. Fortunately, my husband and I know W beyond his professional achievements. We have had the privilege of knowing him and his equally wonderful wife, "L".

Between W and L, it's hard to say who is kinder and more compassionate. These two incredible people are filled with selfless love for their family, friends, and community. Their story of hard work, grit, and determination is both inspiring and uplifting.

But back to the star of this blog post – the arepa! I had casually mentioned to W that my husband and I had tried arepas once and absolutely loved them. I didn't even ask him to cook them for us. However, a few days later, W invited us for an early supper at his home. That evening was the first of many, many more evenings filled with delicious food, warm conversation, and, of course, arepas.

W and L fill our lives with so much love through their friendship. We have been treated to their delicious arepas on numerous occasions, and L even packs some for us to take home for breakfast the next day.

Two years ago, when I was dealing with the worst phase of my life after the death of my beloved niece and my only sister, I found myself unable to socialize. All I wanted to do was withdraw from the world. I wanted to disappear. W and L knew I was battling depression. They didn't pressure me to see them, yet they were always there for me, for us. They offered support through text messages, Zoom calls, and phone calls.

And during that dark time, one morning my doorbell rang. As I opened the door, I found a tray of piping hot arepas left for us. W waved from the parking lot, indicating the gift was from them. It was a tangible expression of his and L's love and support.

Today, I am in a better place mentally. Last evening, W and L invited my husband and I for a Christmas meal in their lovely home. There, among other delicious dishes, I saw a bowl piled high with steaming arepas.  It was a heartwarming reminder of our love for each other, our friendship that has now spanned over seven years, and the incredible blessing that W and L have been in our lives.

Of course, we couldn't finish all the arepas last night, so, as always, L packed some for us. We had a wonderful breakfast this morning.

We cannot thank our beautiful friends enough for their kindness and for their presence in our lives. They say friends are the family we choose. And we will choose W and L again and again and again!

Mediocrity

He had always been a mediocre child. Allan Burns, the youngest of the lot. His parents were doctors and taught medicine in A class university. His three elder brothers were achievers. Andrew the oldest was an athlete and played competitive hockey. Arthur had taken after his parents and was studying to get into the top medical school there was. Adam was an A grader and wanted to be a space scientist. But Allan was a mediocre. He had no ambitions, was an average student, played poor baseball, and lived a mediocre life. He was happy. 

As time went by and his siblings left one after the other to pursue their dreams, Allan stayed. Someone needed to look after his aging parents he would reason. It made sense because renting elsewhere was expensive. When the time came Allan took up a job because that was what everyone did. It was a mediocre job and paid decent. It was enough to pay his bills and save some. Allan loved his life. He neither felt the urge to achieve something extra ordinary nor felt the pressure because his siblings were going places. He called it contentment.

Soon his hormones raged, and Allan felt the need to have a partner to share his life with. A charming boy like him deserved a nice girl. A girl who could live a mediocre life with ease. It was odd to find someone though. Girls looked for go-getters and Allan was not chasing anything. He was happy.  But love is a funny thing. It certainly is.

Allan met Rhonda at a bar. She fell for his charm and he fell for her confidence. It was instant. They were spotted together often, and Allan loved her company. She made him laugh and he was always happy around her. Rhonda was pretty, intelligent, had a great career, and she loved with passion. But she was different too. Rhonda was a go-getter and she wanted Allan to make something of his life too.

Allan was motivated to dream big, to have an ambition. Taking Rhonda’s advice, Allan signed up for a certificate course in computers. He decided to take a break from his job and focus on his schoolwork. Software industry was growing, and a certificate would have given him that perfect start to a thriving career. He worked hard each day. Mornings became nights and fall turned into winter. Three months had passed. Rhonda was by Allan’s side supporting him. His family cheered for him. But something was strange.

Allan was not happy. Project work, coding, grades did not make him happy. He was suffocated. Trapped in a maze. He missed his old life. He missed his routine. He dropped out of the course and went back to his old job for an even lesser pay. He broke up with Rhonda because she did not make him happy anymore. His old ways made him happy and Rhonda did not fit in the puzzle anyway.

Breaking up did not hurt him and he moved on with ease. He met Madge his new co-worker. She seemed to love the mediocre job that he loved so much. She enjoyed the routine as much as he did. She had never been an achiever much herself. She was content as was he. She liked Allan and fell for his charm. They married. She fit the puzzle, perfectly.

Allan knew he did not love her, but he loved mediocrity.

PC - Rakesh Rana

Saree Challenge

Few weeks ago, I woke up to a few tags on Facebook inviting me to accept a challenge for a saree post. The challenge was to post one photo of myself dressed in a saree and tag other women and challenge them to do the same. I was reluctant. I have not participated in FB challenges ever. But I decided to accept it anyway because I was tagged by two wonderful women I absolutely admire. I followed the instructions and soon my FB page was filled with beautiful women draped in the most beautiful sarees I had ever seen. Happiness - that is what I felt.  

For once my news feed was not filled with hate posts. It was not filled with xenophobic, racist, and intolerant posts and comments. I was not waking up to see fake news from people shooting them from the comfort of their homes. I was evading fanatics who believed that the other was bringing the country down. And for once I was relieved to not see Facebook politicians shooting suggestions to the government without thought and logic. Instead all I saw was women draped in traditional, chic, modern, and / or ethnic sarees. Some like me dug up old pictures from their wedding albums and posted them. It was a relief.  

But with everything positive there are bound to be critics. Soon there were memes (some were hilarious though) showing how Indian women were more concerned about their sarees. There were sarcastic posts mocking women who participated in it. And some took it to another level by trolling women. Like several others I was trolled too. I laughed at these memes, and the people who threw it out there. That is the most they deserve. I wondered to myself where do these people hide when hate is spooned out on FB? I have never seen them shutting down racists or homophobics. They crawl back to their caves then (I am guessing). 

I also had friends who chose to not participate and politely asked me untag their names. I immediately did. To participate or not is a personal choice and we are absolutely free to choose. As long as the world does not judge / harm the other we can all chose to do or not do things that suit/don't suit us. But to be cruel and mock someone is unfair and needs to be called out. 

The saree challenge was meant to divert our attention from all the negativity that surrounded us with the current climate. The war that is being fought out there. It was meant to make us smile. It was meant to bring our attention to the little joys of life while keeping our spirits high. And that it did. The fact that trolls and critics took notice of the challenge meant that it was a success. It made anger and hate filled individuals take cognizance that sarees had taken over Facebook and that they had little to no space for their hateful and divisive living room politics. 

Each post shut down avenues for negativity. It made FB a pleasant place instead. And it opened doors for more such happy challenges throwing hatemongers completely out of business. The pictures I saw had stories to them. Some filled with love and some with warm memories of loved ones. 

To everyone out there who participated and has been participating in any of those fun challenges - more power to you. Thank you for making this virtual world a happy place. This virtual world is what is keeping us sane in such desperate times. And if this is filled with negative posts and comments it makes a desperate situation much worse. Don't let trolls shame you. For each troll bring up a new happy challenge. Spread the cheer and be merry.

In case you are curious about the saree challenge, it painted the town red, purple, yellow, and in all colors of joy and hope. 

I had to dig out a decade old picture for the challenge. This is from a wedding ritual in 2008. 

Review - Panchayat Season 1 (Web Series)

As the world is locked down, many of us are privileged enough to have some time for ourselves, finally. Like millions of others my husband and I are surviving by pursuing our hobbies and doing things we otherwise found little time to do. It is during this time that I was recommended to watch a new web series by TVF (The Viral Fever) team called – Panchayat. It is now streaming on Amazon Prime Video and available to watch. I have been an ardent fan of good content and TVF has never disappointed me. My husband and I completed the series in one go and are charmed by this novel content, brilliant acting, and the simplicity of the set up. Hence, I decided that a series as wonderful deserves a review.

Cast: Neena Gupta, Raghuvir Yadav, Jitendra Kumar, Chandan Roy, and Faisal Malik.

Directed By: Deepak Kumar Mishra

Screenplay – Chandan Kumar

Verdict: 4.5 stars

Review: The plot opens with Abhishek Tripathi (Jitendra Kumar) whining about not being able to grab a well-paying job like his friend in a city. Instead he has a job as a Panchayat secretary in a remote village of Uttar Pradesh with a humble salary of INR 20,000. Suggested by his friend to take it up as a Swades challennge, Abhishek Tripathi pulls up his socks and starts on his adventure. What follows is a series of rib-tickling thought-provoking encounters that change Abhishek Tripathi in more ways than one. It lets him taste both success and failures with equal sweetness. 

Each episode picks up a theme and does it a great deal of justice. The backdrop is a typical village of India including greener fields, paint peeled government offices, muddy roads, small shanty shops, a hand pump, and palm greasing attitude.  The plot is neither preachy nor does it try hard to impress. The characters grow organically and cleverly convey the message. Several issues are highlighted albeit subtly and wittingly.

Several scenes are brilliantly crafted with an exceptional work of screenplay. Like the scene where the tantrum throwing, wrapped in dowry groom is shut down by Abhishek when the latter calls the former an asshole. Eventually Abhishek apologizes and loses a part of his self-respect. The scene where the Pradhan Pati considers the secretary a good match for his daughter because both belong to the same caste. The scene where the Pradhan (Neena Gupta) does not participate in any administrative responsibility due her lack of interest and education both. She later tries to learn things and starts by learning the national anthem of India. Hilariously a villager with 2 elder daughters and one young son is offended because the government’s slogan for 2 children calls any extra child “bawaseer” – Piles.

There is so much more that Panchayat offers. It offers an outstanding ensemble of actors, quirky dialogues that linger for long, lighthearted humor, and a story so new. Panchayat takes you to your own village through the bhootiya (possessed) pedh (tree), electricity that comes and goes at will, politics over implementation of government policies, and pethas served with a glass of water. It does this with ease. It offers hope, inspiration, and a warmth. Every actor has done justice to their character whether it be Raguvir Yadav as Pardhan Pati or the lead Jitendra Kumar himself as a frustrated urban boy stuck in a rural setting. Neena gupta is great as always but I wish she had more screen time. Two characters that stand out amidst these big names are Chandan Roy as Vikas – helper to the secretary and Faisal Malik as Prahlad – the Deputy Pradhan.  

All in all, Panchayat is a fresh breath of air that has opened new avenues for the makers and their audience alike. It is a must watch.

The trailer is shared below. Link courtesy – Youtube.

(Not) Just Another Saturday!

In a parallel world it is a Saturday. “S” is here for her weekly cleaning while husband and I are busy arguing over who will make breakfast today. “S” smiles and tells us her other job is going well. We talk about her grandson with round cheeks and how he loves dancing. Husband and I resume our argument. “S” picks up her vacuum cleaner and starts cleaning. The usual Saturday.

In this world, none of that happened. “S” won’t see us for the next few weeks because social distancing and all that. Husband and I did not argue instead we decided to go grocery shopping early morning to ditch other potential customers who might arrive later in the day. I was nervous. There was eerie silence on our street. It was not because it was too early in the morning, it has been like that for the past few days. We don’t pet our neighbors’ pets anymore. They might not like it. Instead we do the usual hello from a distance and go about out business. Today was no different.

I have been mentally exhausted and heartbroken with the current situation. There has been such sadness and anger with this situation. So much has been lost. So much is at stake. This tunnel seems too long to end and shows no signs of some light at the end of it. It does not help being away from family either. Although, our friends here have become our family here. I get to call my closest friends’ children my nephew and niece (and they are precious). But with this situation I don’t get to see my friends or extended family. That is not the issue either. Because I know it is for the greater good of everyone, of the country, of mankind. When this ends everything will be back to normal. Perhaps, it is the stress that has been surrounding everyone. High risk parents, financial insecurity, career uncertainty, and no answer to when all of this might potentially end. There is anger, anxiety, and a host of other not so pleasant emotions that I feel so often these days. Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!

My mother says find happiness wherever you are. And when the situation is out of your control, take one step at a time. Do what you can and look at the brighter side. Cliched mom talk. But it helps. It does. Thanks to technology, I get to see my parents regularly. I get to play charades with my niece on facetime. Our nephew and niece here send us funny streaks on snapchat (adorable and cute). I am in touch with friends and extended family on whatsapp, FB, and emails. The weather is getting better and we wake up to birds chirping in our porch. The grass is turning green and greener. Spring is here. We still get to go out for quick walks (while socially distancing from others). Husband has started cooking (this is a big one). Chai times are a leisure with husband. Husband and I are working from home together. I have plenty of time to read my favorite books. My loved ones are healthy. I am healthy and alive. And so much more. 

It does take effort to remind myself of the many blessings I have been showered with. But I am grateful for each one of them. I am grateful for friends and family that have reached out to us to ask if we are doing fine. I am grateful for the I love you’s and I miss you’s I have said and heard in the past few days. I am grateful for the love I have felt these past few weeks. And I am grateful that I have so much. So, I will take each day at a time. For today I am impatient and nervous, but I am also filled with gratitude for every blessing and for the little joys of life.

Beautiful spring day in the North Pole

In a parallel world, its late night on a lazy Saturday. I am happy because tomorrow Mr. Husband will drive me to our favorite neighborhood café for a delicious breakfast. I will get to hug “R and K’s” dog. We will promise each other to catch up over a cup of coffee. The neighborhood cat will be out for a walk. The sky will be clear, and I will play – “Take me home” by John Denver in my head in a loop. Almost heaven…!!

One of those happy moments - Husband and I

Happy Birthday - from the future!

My first post of 2020 is dedicated to my awesome husband. One of the things he wanted as his birthday gift from me was that I get back to writing. I gladly obliged. 

This letter is to the 27 year old "R" I first met and fell in love with! 


Dear R,

As I write this letter to you on your 27th birthday, know that this year your life is going to change,
and it's going to change for good. I am here with some great news for you and some not so good. But I promise, I am here to give you hope. Hope of a bright and happy future. 

This year you will move back to your city, closer to your parents. And you will have a
wonderful job too. There is so much you will learn at this new job and there are going to be challenges. But don't give up, you will sail through. 

Please continue your love for fitness. Do not give it up. You may not realize it now but you will
reap the benefits in the future when you will get busy chasing your dream for programming. It
is this love for fitness that will help you deal with the stress that is to come. Keep that self love going, you will need it soon. 

Your beloved friend "J" will become your Godmother and she will be your biggest
cheerleader and support. Stay in touch with her, respond to that email, and make that phone
call. Tell her how much she means to you. Tell her now. 

As far as catching up is concerned, don't worry about not being able to catch up to the world right now. Not everyone can be as awesome an introvert as you are. Don't let people's opinion of you rob you of your dreams. Be the wonderful boy you are! The one's judging you now, wont even matter in the future. Instead focus on your dreams and chase them, one dream at a time. Take that test, write that code. One day you will make it big and how! 

You will make some wonderful friends around the globe in the future. These friends (some little and some tall) will fill your heart with the joy of their friendship. Learn to let go of what doesn't serve you. This lesson in letting go will help you grow. 

Learn to make Tea, it will come handy in the future. If possible, please learn the difference between cumin and fennel seeds. They DO NOT complement each other. 

Lastly, that girl from Bombay you just met, is the one for you. When the time comes, tell her how you feel for her. She will say yes, I promise. But please do not crack that awful HR joke to her. You will instantly regret it. Work on your listening skills too, she can talk a lot. :)

Keep smiling and keep up with that weird sense of humor. You might not know, but you do have some fan following there. 

For your birthday today and every birthday in the future, I wish you nothing but love, joy, and good health. 

Love, 
your future wife - Khushi

P.S. Go get that salon appointment for your hair, this will be a regular in the future. 

About Last Night - Christmas 2019

Last night was about little bits of happiness,

and large pieces of joy. 

Last night was about mushrooms, and samosas,

and truffles, and macaroons.

Last night was about old traditions,

and learning some new ones.

Last night was about loud laughs,

and some silly jokes.

Last night was about little people,

and them growing up so fast.

Last night was about wonderful thoughts,

and brilliant creative ideas.

Last night was about playing board games,

and about giggling over it.

Last night was about healing,

and reaffirming faith in good health.

Last night was about friends,

and friends who have become family.

Last night was about loved ones far,

and loved ones in our hearts.

Last night was about letters from across the globe,

and loved wrapped in several envelopes.

Last night was about effort and courage,
and about applause for it all. 

Last night was about journals,

and some scribbled notes. 

Last night was about Santa Claus,

and Rudolph with his shiny nose.

Last night was about songs and guitars,

and little budding artists.

Last night was about revisiting memories,

and making new ones.

Last night was about several stories,

and the heart strings they tugged.

Last night was about smiling faces,

and long warm hugs.

Last night was about meeting family,

and making room for friends.

Last night was about the tall Christmas tree,

and everyone who had gathered around it.

Last night was about gratitude,
and thanking life for its blessings.

Last night was about full stomachs,

and fuller hearts.

Photo Credit - Mr. Husband

Recipe of Joy

Recipe of Joy

Nostalgia is an emotion that can wrap around you anytime, anywhere. Couple it with homesickness and you have a perfect recipe for a blog on a snowy winter day. That’s how R and I have for the past few weeks. December tested our patience and hope both. R’s dad’s health wasn’t doing the best and we were biting our nails here on the other side of the globe, hoping he recovers soon. But they say Christmas is a magical time of the year and how! My dad in law started recovering soon after Christmas and ever since has been fit and fine. Thank goodness! All’s well that ends well. Anyway, that story for some other day.

Let’s get back to “Nostalgia”. Ever since we heard of my dad in laws’ illness both of us have been homesick. Now that he is hale and hearty, we are relieved. One thing leads to the other and homesickness led to home, family, and our favorite childhood food. And when one talks of childhood, matters do get out of hand (in a good way). Childhood takes you back to sibling fights, school, friends, lanes that recognize you, people who love you, and food that you love.

Lunch boxes - something every Indian mother is obsessed with. If you have grown up in India in the 90’s you will identify with this. I did not grow up with pizzas and burgers, neither did R. In fact, it only became popular in the last decade or so. Before the advent of cheese pizzas and fries, parathas ruled many kitchens in India along with their counterparts like dosas and idlis and the likes of it. My mother’s simple recipe of “meetha paratha” did the trick for me every time (Indian sweet bread stuffed with either sugar or jaggery). Childhood was easy. Bad grades, meetha paratha. Sibling torture, meetha paratha. Maths homework – meetha paratha. On days when my lunch box had meetha paratha, I felt hungry much before the recess bell rang. R and I got talking about it and we discovered that his childhood revolved around meethi roti (another name for the same paratha that I devoured while growing up). As if that was his answer to life’s problems back then. Hilarious, I thought to myself. We are so alike.

This time around too we decided to cope with homesickness with meetha paratha/meethi roti (or whatever name you would like to call it). Nostalgia took over my house with every bite of it. We laughed at things that once seemed so important. We talked about the pranks we played, the trees we climbed, the friends we made, and the subjects we loved or hated with equal passion. The innocent yet embarrassing questions we threw at our elders. We laughed harder on their (our elders) coping mechanisms to situations when they had no answer to our silly questions. Giggles!  

During one of my calls to my mother I told her how her recipe saved us. She laughed and said it was the easiest thing she could do to make me happy. "Sigh! I knew my sweet tooth has always been my weakness," I joked.

As the day ended and the sweetness of our childhood lingered on our tongue, we wondered how this recipe of joy was lost and forgotten. "It indeed is a recipe of bliss and deserves a special place in the family recipe book for future generations," I winked. R acknowledged it with a grin as we glided in to slumber. Funny, after so many years this unusual recipe was once again our way to trick life’s uncanny snags. Nostalgia is not a bad thing after all.

Photo Credit - Mr. Husband

Dear Nandita

Dear Nandita,

When you first told me I should update my blog little did I know that soon I’d be writing about you. Today our conversations are playing in my head, in a loop. We’ve spent such a good time together in such little time. Funny, isn’t it? But then you left suddenly. You did not give me any warning. Or maybe you did. May be I thought your “I-won’t-ever-give-up” spirit will win again. But one day I woke up and realized that you are not around anymore. I woke up to the harsh reality that I don’t have the luxury of calling you and asking you to meet for a cup of tea. That now when the fire alarm beeps I can no longer find refuge in your house with you. That I can no longer discuss my office worries with you. That I can no longer tell you anything. That I can no longer go on those little picnics at Glendora with you. That I won’t see you anymore. And that my friend has broken my heart in to a million pieces. Your sudden departure has left a void in my heart. Your leaving us has wounded our souls and we will all take a long time to heal. You left us too soon, too soon.

But today I won’t write about all of this. Today I will write about the wonderful person that you were. I will write about how beautifully you celebrated life! I will write about the wonderful time we spent celebrating our little friendship. Today as I take stock of my life I understand that our friendship blossomed over cups of tea (your masala chai will always be my favorite), over random rumblings, over books, over spiritual journeys of people we have known, and sometimes giggling at our childish husbands too. 😊 We were not best friends, or childhood friends, or long times buddies. We were just friends. Friends who were always happy to see each other.

We laughed at stupid things like crazy. Reminds me of the time when these boys brought the huge flask for my “single” cup of tea. They convinced me that they are visionaries and that I must make tea for them henceforth to award them for their “intelligence”. I am still laughing at it Nandita and I know some where you are laughing too. You remember how we smiled when Rakesh cracked horrible PJ’s? I wonder why we never told me how terrible his jokes were! You remember how we laughed like crazy when Harsh imitated that Chinese man drooling over women. Uff!! It was hilarious. You remember how Harsh was sitting like a round laddoo until he convinced us to go to Wonderland with him? Do you remember those funny looking glasses that Harsh and Rakesh picked up? I still have them. 

This is my favourite photo of ours.

In the little time that we had together you taught me so much, Nandita. Your attitude of never giving up is so much to learn from. You’ve taught me to remain positive in the most difficult situations. You’ve taught me to forgive and let go. You’ve taught me to live in the now, in today. You’ve taught me to face difficulties head on. You are the bravest person I have ever known, Nandita. You braved such a disease with your smile. You never complained or whined. You never questioned the pain you went through. And that is how I will always remember you.

You’ve taught me to be grateful, Nandita. So, today I am grateful that we met. Although for very little time our paths crossed and we made memories. Ones that will stay with me for a long time. Our trip to Port Hope will always be my favorite. We had planned so much more but we couldn’t do everything. There is so much more that I need to tell you. There is so much more to do. I have been told that one day we all meet our loved ones on the other side. That gives me hope. I have been told that you are in a much better place and that you were meant for a higher purpose. Shreya told us today that now you have everything you need. I believe her. My dear friend you have embarked on a new journey and I am sure this will be one of peace and love.

The next time I go to Tim Horton’s I will look for you, Nandita. Hoping to see you in that corner sitting on the couch waving at me and telling me how they never have your favorite bagel.

You’ve brightened every life you touched. Saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I ever did. Be happy wherever you are!

Until we meet again on the other side, I’ll miss you my Hero.

Love,

Khushboo

P.S. Today I wore the stole you gifted me on my birthday. I was hoping you will see it.

The Last Night Supper

Somethings just happen to you and you are so overwhelmed by the effect of it that you don’t know if you should react or just remain poised and silently and subtly enjoy every bit of it. Moreover, sometimes these things that happen to you are so small for the world outside that you are left wondering whether or not you should even talk about it. But I have left those inhibitions far and behind. So here I am to talk to you about something as small as a supper but something that has had a far reaching effect on me.

So if you know me you know that I have immigrated to a new country about 3 weeks ago. They say that the experience of moving from one country to the other is overwhelming. However, for someone like me who has never travelled abroad being overwhelmed is an understatement. There is not one thing that I am not overwhelmed about. Leaving behind the place you called home, planning to set up a new base, saying a teary good bye to your family, and telling your little niece that now she will have to make a long journey if she decides to spend her vacations with you. The last part is the toughest. But what bothered me the most was the thought which revolved around me accepting this new place as my new home and people in this new place accepting me as one of their own.

R is well-read and well-travelled. I am just decently read. Obviously, I was scared. What if the new place doesn’t like me? What if we are not accepted? No amount of pacifying by R helped. I was excited to immigrate but I was scared too. But then the last 3 weeks have changed my opinion quite a lot. I am so glad to have done what we did.

We were immigrating to a country which did not have any of our relatives. So R and I decided to look for a B&B (Bed & Breakfast) arrangement till we find a decent accommodation for ourselves. This would work for us, R explained. The logic was that we get access to kitchen where we could cook our meals and not spend too much money eating outside. B&B works out to be reasonable on your pocket and meets all your requirements of a safe temporary accommodation. Little did I know that B&B also provides you with some fringe benefits. It puts you in touch with some of the most amazing and kind people. People who make you feel so warm inside that no amount of temperature outside can rob you off that warmth.

Before I tell you about my experience let me give you a glimpse in to this B&B business. B&B if seen from the surface is actually a commercial thing to do. Your host is not required to cater to your whims and fancies. You pay them for the room and both of you could go about minding your own business. Once the tenure is over you pack your bags and leave. Matter over. Most of the times guest and hosts don’t see each other for days. Even if they do they hardly talk. They know so little about each other. They just share a roof in most cases and it ends there.

But I guess with nice people it doesn’t work that way. They walk that extra mile, break all the barriers of a host-guest relationship and set a benchmark. They share gentle smiles and warm hugs. They share delicious meals and the rarest of the rare wines. They share stories of their woods and towns. They share experiences and ambitions. They share trust and affection. Most of all they share a piece of their heart with each other. A piece that would just stay as a cherished memory with us for ever. From complete strangers they become these treasured friends who you would love to cherish for a lifetime.

So it all began when we met this gorgeous couple – M&T. We met them when we moved in to their B&B as guests for few days. Before I tell you further about my experience with them let me introduce these beautiful people to you. M has the most beautiful smile and an equally beautiful heart. (You will drool over the food she makes). T is a gentleman - gentle with his words and even gentler at his heart. We had never met both these lovely people ever. A quick interaction on a website and boom we landed luggage and bags at their door. Skeptical in our heads about whether this would work out or not we made our quick journey to their beautiful abode. And before we could even blink our eyes M was already helping us with the luggage and making sure that we settle down in this new place. And then M welcomed us to a tasty supper. Who doesn’t like tasty warm food served on a cold day especially when you are tired and worn out?

It may sound silly. I mean what is so big about sharing a supper, isn’t it? But sometimes small things have a profound influence. It does for us. M&T had a long day at work. Both of them were as tried as I was. Yet, R&I were treated to a sumptuous meal and conversation that will stay with me for a lifetime. We (all four of us) spent about 2 hours on the dinner table talking about random things. Things about this and that part of the world. Things about food and wine. Things about kids and adults. Things about our cultures and how different yet similar they are. Things about inventions and discoveries. Of course I did most of the blabbering and the others put up with it with bravery and courage. All this while both M&T had a long tiring day at work yet they wanted to spend some time with us.

In a new place with no known face around one looks out for a smile to latch on to. Immigrating isn’t easy. In such a situation when you meet someone who makes you feel welcome it makes a difference. It does. M&T accepted us in to their house with open arms. We were treated like family and we truly felt like one. R&I are genuinely touched by this gesture.

We belong to different countries and cultures. We have different skin and texture. We speak different languages. We may also have different opinions on many things. But beneath this skin we are all the same. The smile and the hug are the same. The heart and the emotions it feels are just the same as well.

The supper last night was such a beautiful gesture that even in this unkind chilly weather R&I felt warm inside.

Let's get drenched!

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 55; the fifty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Rashmi Kumar, the author of Hooked, Lined and Single and Jyoti Arora, the author of Lemon Girl. .

1993:

“What are you looking at K?”, Papa asked me as I stared at the rains with tear-filled eyes.

“I want to go play in the rain.”

“Then go play, beta. Who is stopping you?”

“But Maa will scold me.” I pointed at Maa who was angrily looking at me from the other end of the dining table.

“But she can’t scold me. Come, let’s get drenched.” I squealed with delight, while Papa and I ran downstairs and played in the rain like crazy. 

After this episode, Life intervened. Papa continued working too hard to provide for us and we got busy growing up. We got so busy with Life that we never got a chance to play in the rain again.

2013:

“K, Papa has been talking endlessly and randomly.” Mom worriedly informed me one morning on the phone.

“Randomly?” I asked

“Yes. He has been like this for the past few days. He has been telling me things that are about 3 decades old. Last night he was talking about A's childhood suddenly. Before that he had abruptly gone quiet for about a week talking only a few sentences in between.” Mom informed.

I think when you are away from your parents, you become closer to them. I sensed the panic in Mom's voice and left for Mumbai immediately. For the first time in 5 years (after my marriage) I wasn’t welcomed home with open arms and smiling faces. Instead, an indescribable situation unfolded itself brutally. When Maa opened the door, I was welcomed by a frail man with a sunken face. I looked at him, hoping for a smile. Instead, my father kept staring at me with an uncomprehending gaze. With a sharp pang, I realized that he did not even recognize me and moreover, he looked visibly upset that someone strange was in his house.

“Papa? How are you?” I asked as tears rolled down my cheeks.

The frame of my father simply walked away and sat on the bed quietly. I followed him and grabbed his hand. He lifted his head and looked at me, trying hard to recognize me. It strained his mind. But soon a pale smile spread across his face.

“K, is that you?” He whispered.

“Yes, Papa, it is me. What took you so long?” I asked with a lump in my throat.

“I don’t know. Something is happening to me. I am unable to tell you.” Helplessness choked my father's tongue.

“Don’t worry. I am here now. You will be fine.”

Deep within my heart I knew that something was wrong, terribly wrong. I called up my siblings and spoke to them. Both of them were away and all we could do was to try our best to do what we can in our individual capacities. We arrived at a conclusion that may be meeting a neurologist could help Papa. I felt a throbbing pain in my chest. The man I had always seen strong and healthy had suddenly reduced to a piece of bone with little understanding of what was happening to him. His appetite had reduced, which was quite visible in his health. His memory had turned dizzy to such an extent that he had forgotten that a tablet is swallowed and not chewed.

The appointment with the neurologist was just another blow to our deteriorating situation. Never in my wildest dream did I ever think that I will be told something so horrible, so bluntly. The neurologist – Dr. Bharucha - was a well-known doctor in his late 70s. He had a reputation of being grounded and empathetic. He studied Papa’s case for a few minutes. Soon after, he wanted to have a conversation with me, alone. You know that something is not right when the doctor says, "Aapse akele mein baat karni hai". After Maa and Papa left the room, Dr. Bharucha's face turned pensive. He leaned forward from his chair and looked straight at me. I can still recall his gaze, his eyes, and his husky voice. 

“You must see a psychiatrist.” He said. All hell broke loose. The world around me came shattering down to pieces.

“Psychiatrist? What do you mean?” I revolted as I tried to gather myself.

“It is a case of depression, K.”

“Depression? Do you even know who he is?  He is a retired scientist with patents to his name. Do you even know what you are talking about?”

“Yes. I know. And now as you tell me that he is a retired scientist, I can connect the dots. You must see a psychiatrist as early as possible. People with analytical bent of mind often encounter this.”
"No. That cannot be true".
"K, as a daughter I understand that it is difficult for you to see your father like this. But denial will lead you nowhere. He needs help and you must do as I say".

I was annoyed and abruptly walked out of Dr. Bharucha’s plush cabin, my head doing all kinds of hoops. There are a few occasions in life that makes you pity doctors. It must be so difficult for them to deal with people and situations like me. I am sure that a part of Dr. Bharucha ached when he disclosed Papa’s condition to me. As I reached home, I could not contain it any longer. I broke down in front of my mother. I cried, like I had never cried before. My mother hugged me tight and tried comforting me.

“We will see a psychiatrist, K. What is wrong in it? Why do you have that inhibition?” Mom told me while wiping my tears. “If that is what it is going to take to bring back your father to us, we must do it.”

I wondered if Maa had some super powers. How could she not break down? We siblings were broken and frightened. I am sure that deep inside, she felt shaken too. Yet, as always, there she was, standing strong in the face of this adversity that stormed into our lives without any warning. She was our strength, she had always been, I realized. 

Finding a psychiatrist in no joke in India. With so much taboo surrounding mental illness, finding a psychiatrist is like finding God. Nonetheless, a psychiatrist was referred by a close relative in Mumbai. Though I was unsure of him, I had very little choice. We had been told that he will be able to help us and that he has cured several patients in the past.

We arrived on time for our appointment. Papa sat next to me, frightened. It reminded me of my childhood. As a kid, I hated going to the doctor and whenever I was taken, I would sit quietly like a timid child. How time had changed and turned upon us!

The clinic was filled with gloomy faces eagerly waiting to break free from the illness that caged them. If I had seen those people in a crowd, I wouldn't have ever known that each one of them was fighting a battle within themselves, I reflected. On the outside, you are a healthy person, and given a chance, the world will try to hurt you. I could relate to each one of them sitting there. They say difficulties make you compassionate.  I realized it to be true.

The doctor finally arrived. I must take time to describe this doctor. Not much about his physique or his suffocating clinic room, but more about the cloud of arrogance that surrounded him. We had waited patiently for about an hour for him. Then the receptionist gestured to us that we could go see him.

We entered his cabin, took our seat, and I explained everything to him. He did not even bother to ask any questions. After listening to my description about the change in Papa, he announced that my Papa’s case was a lost one, that there was no hope for him, that such patients lead a very miserable life and that very little could be done for them. He wrote about 4 tablets and suggested that we start him on them immediately. He didn’t bother to explain anything. Seeing the long queue of patients impatiently waiting for him, I took my dad and walked out of the room. Unsure if I was doing the right thing, I started dad’s medicine. Of course, I did not trust this doctor much and decided against following him blindly. To no surprise, after just two doses of his medicines, dad started sleeping continuously for hours together. He lost his ability to speak clearly and blabbered in sleep. Instead of improving his condition, it had worsened due to the tablets.

Losing all hope, I called up my husband who was anchoring me emotionally through all this. R calmed me down and suggested that we speak to our family doctor in Bangalore. Sometimes God speaks through your loved ones. R's advice worked. To my disbelief, I was informed that the long list of medicines that were prescribed for Papa were nothing but sedatives, rather, different forms of sleeping pills.

“Sleeping pills? What?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes, these are sleeping pills to sedate him and make him lethargic and sleepy. Many doctors do this and the patient’s family thinks that the patient is feeling relaxed, hence the sleep” Said my doctor from the other end of the line.

I was furious. My blood boiled. I felt cheated. But in a situation where my father on one end was sedated and my mother was putting up a brave front, I had no choice but to attend to them. I immediately informed R about the cruelty that was served to my father. R suggested that I get my father to Bangalore so that we could consult a better doctor. I knew he was right and that my father also needed a change of place. We left for Bangalore in two days. Every minute of those 2 days of my life were spent praying. I prayed while I slept, while I ate, and while I did all I could to keep Papa happy.

As soon as I reached Bangalore, I booked an appointment with Dr. Srinivas – a well known psychiatrist. The way things had shaped up, I wasn’t hopeful. But Maa kept on telling me that it was just a phase. That God was just testing us, our patience, and our love for each other. Maa was perhaps right. Meeting Dr. Srinivas turned out to be the best decision of our lives.

Dr. Srinivas is a compassionate doctor and is sensitive towards his patients. He doesn't quite believe in medicines as much as he does in care and affection. He spoke to papa and made an effort to understand his history with me. He was both patient and considerate.

“Hmmmm!!! Nothing to worry. This is a borderline case of depression. I am glad you discovered it soon. He will be fine. All he needs is a loving environment, and some work to keep him occupied.”

“Was I hearing things? Isn’t dad the classic lost and hopeless case?” my head scramed.

“Are you sure, doctor?” I blurted.

“Of course!” He insisted.” Just take this one tablet I have prescribed and see me after two weeks. I am certain by then he will be fine. Be around him. He is feeling lost without his kids.”

“Kids?”

“Yes. You siblings have all settled in your lives and your father now finds himself lost, away from you all. That’s all. My father had a similar case, K. He just needs at least one of you around. He needs to do something to be busy.”

I nodded and walked out of the room. Dad held my hand and I held his hand tighter because, I, his child, was scared too. We walked towards our car and as we walked Dr. Srinivas’s words echoed in my ears - Papa was missing us, his kids!

For the next two weeks Papa improved significantly. In fact, within a week the change was visible. Slowly yet steadily he started talking like he did before his illness. His diet improved and so did his health. He started reading again. And we started our debates on environment, politics, war, religion etc, again. Our consultation with Dr.Srinivas also continued albeit less frequently because Dr.Srinivas insisted that my father didn’t need a doctor anymore. 

During our last visit he congratulated my father on his fitness and amazing will power. Papa actually didn’t need any medicine or any doctor anymore. He was fine.

"Mr. Singh, I like saying this to my patients. Please don't see me again." Dr. Srinivas laughed.
Papa beamed and wished the doctor well. As papa left the room after the consultation, Dr. Srinivas gestured me to stay back.

“Your father is fine, fit, and super fine. He just needs loads of love and care. Give him that. Your father once told me that you look like his mother.” Dr. Srinivas giggled.

I laughed through my tears. “Yes, he often tells me the same.”

“Then it’s time to be just that, strict and gentle like his mother. Let him do all that he likes doing. Get him more books. Keep his mind occupied and spend time with him” Dr. Reddy smiled.

“Thank you, doctor. I will forever be indebted to you.” The lump in my throat appeared again but my emotions were conveyed through my eyes.

I walked out of the room beaming with joy and saw my papa smiling at me. He looked so lovely, so handsome. His dimpled cheek shone with all its might. He was standing right in front of my eyes, hale and hearty and not to forget, happy too. This time, I held his hand and he held it tighter, aware of my emotions.

That evening it poured in Bangalore. The aroma of pakoras filled the room as mom served them hot. Everything was finally getting normal. A battle was won. My hero had come out victorious.  I stood gazing outside the balcony, overwhelmed with the series of events that had unfolded in the past few months. The daughter in me felt like her world had finally come together, again.

“What are you looking at K?” Papa asked me as I stared at the rain with tear filled eyes.

“I want to go play in the rain, today.”

“Then go play beta. Who is stopping you?”

“But Maa?” I pointed at Maa who was watching me with tear-filled eyes from the other end of the dining table.

“I told you she can never scold me.”

“Papa!”

“Come, LET”S GET..... DRENCHED!!”

It rained heavily that evening and a father and his darling daughter let all their pain wash away through their eyes.

Happy Father’s Day to all of you! Go splash some water and play in the rain with your Papa, Appa, Paa, Daddy, Abbu, or whatever you call him. That is all he wants. :D

Love,

Strong Daddy’s strong girl,

K

We celebrated Dad's recovery in Coorg and he was his usual naughty self

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 05. Image Credits: Monsoon by Yann (Wikimedia Commons). Shared with GNU Free Documentation License CC Attribution-Share Alike.