Sunset days....someone to care.

In the last one week I spend some memorable time with 4 Octogenarians. They are a stark reminder of what's in store beyond the busy schedules, the glitzy night life, the voyeuristic shopping and the ensemble of relationships that define each day. 

Some are lucky to spend the sunset days with a dear one. Among these 4, just one of them is blessed to live with her daughter. The rest of them where even more blessed to have found caretakers who are taking care of them than their children would have.  In HIS big plans no one goes unnoticed. There seem to have someone somewhere to be with us during our final days.

A big salute to that particular child or care taker who takes care of them as its not an easy task. There's one thing in common in all of these aging grandparents. They are child like. Childlike laughter, sleeping more during the day and less during night and childlike selfishness out of helplessness. Dementia and early signs of Alzheimer's makes the going even tougher for both. One fights with an aging memory that struggles to hold together the pieces of their being while the other garnering strength and patience to love them. 

Seems this is the first generation of Octogenarians since the global migration started. The population of parents whose children and grandchildren have been living in various parts of the world are increasing every day. The generations behind mine are fortunate to have larger families and to have a family house that is not always emptied by the last child packing his/her bag to move across the seas or in a bustling city in India that they choose to build a life and career. 

An occasional get together at the family home on a christmas day or a birthday marking a milestone happens as long as the parents are alive. Thereafter…. there is no reason to visit the family home which may have been passed on to one of the sibling. The framed memories on the stained walls remain endlessly waiting for a footstep on the dusty floors.

Its common these days for people to console their inner worry for the unknown sunset days with the thought of having enough money to find shelter in a old age home that provides all the comforts that may be required to have a peaceful exit. 

A prayer that someone somewhere cares everyone while the sun sets.

'CRY' to Kilimanjaro

Why do people trek to mountain peaks or to frozen poles for charity sake? Is it the call of the adrenalin or the affinity to a cause thats instrumental to do the unusual one fine day. Am not too sure what was the real reason for of a group of NRI bankers from across the middle east to group under the banner of 'CRY' to trek to Kilimanjaro. 

Its not something you would decide on a weekend friday morning out of the blue. My friend Vems who is part of this group, who has christened themselves as GMI - Group of Middle East Indians, has given up elevator months back. He climbs full six floors... a small change in routine as a first time trekker. I was a bit apprehensive that his veggie fed body pampered in the arabian sedentary life would commit to this 'call'. But then he seems to have taken it as a challenge.  

At the office, we had a laugh on dragging 'CRY' to this event. The general mood was, you publicity mongers! But seems like its been a tried and tested combo. It adds a purpose to the trek eventhough it may not have been an important thought at the planning stage. But eventually the purpose intertwines with the trek like two river-lets converging and flowing inseparable touching a lot of lives.

Wish all of them a once in a life time experience that they will cherish for a long long time. For some this may be a start for more trekking. For some this may unleash a blast of high altitude cold fresh air giving a whole new outlook to life. Among other things the experience may also prompt one of them to document the life changing moments and hit the print soon.

But then a lot of young lives will be touched by this experience. A 'CRY' from the peak.

How are you?

'How are you? ' comes so naturally to us to greet a stranger or to start a conversation. It must be the most abused 3 word phrase, only second to 'OMG' in the history of human speech.

On an average an office goer would utter the supposedly caring question with stoic siberian frostiness to a co passenger on the metro or while bumping on to colleagues in the elevator or as an opening line while placing an order at a cafe.

Each time one thing is common. Nobody expects an honest answer for the simple reason that people do not expect to hear anything other than 'FINE'. Or may be nobody expects one to confide in the environs of a metro, elevator or a cafe.

Just imagine the plight of a cafe steward. Hundreds of coffee freaks throw this line at him. He thinks: Damn, I have a low paid job which requires me to take orders for more than 10 different drink variants with 15 different flavours, where the milk could be skimmed, low fat or soya with the option to be served with or without froth or cream in different sizes further confused as Tall, Picolo, Primo & Masimo in take away cups or china. WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Next time wish him a good day and save your 'how are you's' for a meaningful moment to express your love and concern for the special someones in your life.

Lost in thirties

A feeling usually referred to as midlife crisis. Its been starring at me from a few early mornings when one such morning I woke up from a dream with the urge to quit my job, count the things I want to do, the places I want to be and the people for whom I want to spend more time with.

Its not easy if you have a mortgage, dependents and not so an account brimming with liquidity. But that's not an excuse to stop living the life you want to. There are no easy answers, else it would not have been termed as a 'crisis'.

My colleague was at a saloon for a haricut and wanted a different look. The stylist ran his fingers though his thin short unruly hair, half of which have switched their loyalties to the silver shade. The stylist figured it all; 'oh midlife crisis sir'. Its so easily defined these days and people spot it with a glee.

Life is precious and you dont want to wait to recover from an illness or tragedy to wake up and take notice of life. I still stare at the walls with lazy eyes these winter mornings...whats next? I think I know.

Falling clouds, exotic food and chic shopping in Hong Kong

Eid break in Hong Kong was a brief tryst with exotic food, therapeutic spa moments and lots of street walking, jostling through a sea of brand conscious Chinese flaunting Louis Vuitton and Dior bags – suddenly these brands looked affordable.


After a brief “Q&A” interruption at the immigration that ended in flashing my credit cards, cash and business card proving that I may not end up an illegal immigrant, I left behind a happy Chinese official and boarded the metro to the hotel.

The City is very modern with huge imposing glass buildings … a bit oversized for the average Chinese frame. But inside most of these buildings… everything comes in size ‘Zero’. Small beds ..still smaller chairs and claustrophobic-aesthetically designed bathrooms. Red taxies ply round the clock and while considering to use them remember that other than cash you need to have the street names and building names translated in Chinese. Music from FM channel seems to be unheard of. Almost all of the taxis we used were blaring Chinese news or could it be the communist manifesto? – who knows.

Public transport is efficient and heavily used – elegant double-decker buses, metro and trams. Trams looked like 3 dimensional hoardings on the move - dangerously delicate. The streets constantly smelled of Szechuan and other thousand sauces that left not a single Chinese with sparkling teeth – they looked as if pickled in oyster sauce!

We didn’t really go sightseeing…rather walked a lot in the city. But the ride up to the ‘Peak’ (that includes a mall perched on the mountain top) and the breakfast at Cafe Deco was an unforgettable experience…not just for the view of Hong Kong city from the peak…but for the first time I saw clouds losing their shapes and rapidly falling down in a trance…and then rained down on the city. It rained all the five days…in a way it was a relief from the humid weather. One night while waiting at a hotel reception for the rain to calm down, a lady who rushed in from the rain offered us her umberalla. Incidently it was offered to her by another stranger. For us … that was the soul of the city.

I found shopping cheaper than in Dubai. The iPhone was cheaper by AED 1,300. Spa is big business. We went in for a fish pedicure at the ‘Peak’ – hundreds of small fishes ate away our dead skin….a ticklish weird experience.

Hollywood road (‘load ‘thats how they pronounce) is lined with a lot of café’s, restaurants and pubs. We spend a few late nights in a few of them.

My friend a foodie and with a nose to smell the best kitchen that may not feature in recommended travel guides or in your hotel concierge listings found 3 fabulous places.

Press Room: Located on Hollywood road next to ‘Classifieds’ – a cheese and wine joint. Nothing journalistic about it….yes the collective vocal chord orchestration of the packed place sounded like a press room. Entry is strictly by reservation. Tastefully done interiors and dimly lit. We ordered Marion blanc 1988 craffe of wine; grilled sardines and Salmon ceviche in avocado, chili and coriander sauce for starters. Sardine was no longer a cheap fishe- it belonged to fine dining.

Rabbit rolled in ham bacon with ravioli in white cream sauce and Slow roasted sea bass in lemon and white wine sauce served with spinach and baby potatoes arrived under the main dish category. Not a morsel was left. We ended that day’s late night edition with a fruit gratin (stay away from this one) and Cho Marquise – chocolate fudge with ice cream. May be wrong choice of desserts – we felt like reading ’Page 3′ that’s cluttered with political analysis.


Gourmet Burger Union: You can either make your own burger – choosing the bread, spreads, filling etc or order from the menu painted on the wall. We went for the wall. The best burgers I ever had – unforgettable and didn’t feel guilty eating fast food for the first time. We came back again the next day.

Yung Kee Restaurant: on Wellington road was listed in the top 15 restaurants in the world by Fortune magazine and awarded a star by Michelin guide. It was our last day in Hong Kong and we relished on spicy crabs, minced pork rolled in omlets, steamed vegetables and Vietnamese style fried rice. My credit card company loved the transaction.

But no regrets…we ended Hong Kong on a high note with a heavy tummy and packed bags to the airport.

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The elusive parking space…

Finding a match in your 30s is like looking for a parking space on a weekend. Good spots are all taken..! I was at lunch with this Arab American friend of mine. It was an unassuming Friday afternoon with a blazing sun outside and a growling appetite spread on the table.

She is in her 30’s and single. It’s been a few arabian summers since she last dated. Finding a date in this seemingly but not really conservative city has not been very lucky for her. She is not alone though. Her friends, all of them in the right and wrong side of 30 are single with no stable dates.

Torn between 2 cultures she feels that she is neither the quintessential western beauty nor a typical arab lass that would make bride material to a middle eastern groom. She silently joins the growing populace of single woman crossing the marriageable age trimming down the reproductive ambitions of this tiny state.

We finished our lunch and walked to the parking lot. She spotted her car. Getting a parking is all about timing. Being at the right spot at the right time. Sometimes it takes a bit too long. Eventually everybody looking for one gets a parking spot. Call it cosmic law.

Sex and the political class....

‘Rajneethi’ evoked a lot of political unrest within congress. Be it the female lead's (or her wardrobe) resemblance to the congress supremo or the plot itself. Censor board prescribed certain cuts on a love making scene that involves a politician. According to the director half of the scenes were chopped and he remarked on NDTV... ‘in India politicians are allowed only 50% of sex’.

Indian politicians are viewed in black or white. The black has only shades of corruption and inefficiency (sex not included). The media and public wish to believe that the largest democracy is run by sterile or sexually loyal representatives – any allegations of sexual misconduct is swiftly hushed. Clinton loves this collective consciousness and badly missed it in his country.

Kamala Das’s embrace of Islam was widely covered in the media. Most of them (media and the literary circle) knew the reasons for her conversion even though she did feign an attempt to explain that she felt protection in a ‘purdha’, liked the discipline of the religion and wanted a Master to guide her. For someone who had romanticised her love for Lord Krishna through numerous writings and a literary icon who embodifies Hindu cultural symbols, her sudden metamorphosis to a burqa clad ‘Suraiya’ was like the Pope swapping his costume with Sri Sri Ravi Shankar.

The truth was that she once again found love in her late years in a politician who was 20 years younger to her. She believed in total surrender in love (as true to her writings) and declared to the whole world her plans to convert. The politician who was madly in love with her chickened out in the last minute. He was worried about his career; may be his worry had more to do with the public perception of him making love to a 60 plus year old literary icon.

He withdrew and she never revealed his identity. She wrote about their love …at times describing it as a love that was secretly unveiled in moonlight. A few poems later she left the world.

Love, Union Aur Conversion

They started their romance with a promise that they would keep it as casual as a passing breeze. Belonging to conservative families – one Hindu and another Muslim, they simply didn’t see a future for their office romance.

Over time they realized that the time they spend busy punching away SMSs and in the late hours secretly whispering into the handset of the season gave them enough reasons to break the promise they made at the start. Finally they are getting married after a 5 year long courtship. Both the parents have agreed to the union. It must be a tremendous relief for the two as well as their parents.

But in all this she will undergo a transformation. A possible name change, start wearing a burqa, will no longer seek darshan before a ‘sreekovil’ to receive prasada which was so much part of her 20 plus years as a Hindu. Why confuse religion with love or relationships. Union of two souls doesn’t mean a union of religious beliefs. How does this conversion for love differ from the missionary conversions (allegedly lured with imported milk powder and bread) or other such conversions of the weaker population?

Hope ultimately the sanctity of love would triumph. It may one day help us to accept relationships above gothras, diktats of khaps (a new term into the vocabulary of the Indian urban populace) and religion among other boundaries we have collectively raised over the centuries…

Ms. Meritta - hereafter a beautiful memory.....

It was the early 80's and the debut of a 20 something anglo indian teacher with a charming disposition gifted with musical talent into the classrooms of a boys school was the harbinger of many a beautiful days to come. 

She taught history, english and also lead the school choir. She was soft spoken, beautiful with short curls and never considered a cane as an accessory. I was part of the choir and also took private guitar lessons on weekends. She was dating her fiancee those days whom we all thought was a terrible mistake. 

A year or two later in one of the catechisim class, Ms Zeta (her mom and our teacher too - credited to be the first in tangasseri to ride a bike) asked us to pray for her and her family to get rid of a devil thats entered her house.  The previous night i heard the commotion in her house as i was a house boarder in the neighbouring house. The Devil left their home and the mom and daughter lead a lonely life.

I rarely heard about her in the last 2 decades..during which she lost her marriage, mom and a glimmer of hope to live. Cancer was at her doorstep with only an empathetic neighbour for support. I share my grief of a lovely teacher who passed away  - overwhelmed to know that she was composed in her last days to have had the courage to make advance arrangements for her funeral (including stitching her burial gown) knowing fully well she was alone in a world while waiting for her last day...! 

Acknowledgement for pics: Balu and Noushad