The Original Blue Print – Part III

Continuing from The Original Blue Print Part I The Original Blueprint – Part -1 – It’s In The Tale (wordpress.com) and Part II The Original Blueprint – Part 11 – It’s In The Tale (wordpress.com)

Our drive from Santiago to Viña del Mar was beautiful. Stunning would be the apt word to describe its scenic splendor. And en route when we stopped at a vineyard named House of Morande, now just known as House, I got my first experience of visiting a vineyard cum restaurant. I tasted wines. Had a sumptuous Chilean meal.

It was heady. Just off a long flight, the tiredness of the journey hadn’t worn out yet. The first experience of being in a country that sits on a “ring of fire” and is no stranger to earthquakes and temblors! The contrast between the previous day’s and night experience to this serene and spectacular scenery that unfolded before me as we drove down the highway, and finally at House, was what the doctor ordered.

As I strolled through rows of white roses and walked in the shade of the trees and over the green grass, I forgot the anxiety and fear of earthquakes. They didn’t exist in this serenity and peace and calm.

I breathed deep and for the first time saw Chile through eyes that only saw it as it was sans the quakes – beautiful! The food helped to buffer that thought. Delicious cuisine was served and I enjoyed whatever I had ordered. They made it to my specifications without compromising the basic recipe and flavors too much.

I left House in a different frame of mind. One that was willing to stay and face the challenges if only to get to know this beautiful place a little more.

My eyes were pinned to the spectacular landscapes that whizzed past us. At times so splendid that caused a sharp intake of breath. Maybe, I was reacting more strongly appreciative because I had not envisioned so much of scenic splendor. I had allowed my mind to focus on one thing and the fear it brought thus tagging the country as awful, scary, not where I want to visit.

And then my son said, “That’s nothing. You’re going to see something even better. Your first glimpse of Viña del Mar and the majestic Pacific.”

I was quiet. My eyes staring straight ahead as we crested an incline… my jaw dropped at the sight.

The photos I’ve clicked were in a hurry as we were moving fast, and my phone wasn’t a very sophisticated one. They are not doing a mite of justice to the scene that unfolded before me.

My jaw dropped, my eyes opened wide, and all I could say was, “OMGod!”

“The city is a bit further ahead, you’ll glimpse it soon.”

So here I was in the city I would be living in for an unknown period of time, and with the information that Chile sits on a thousand volcanos! Exaggeration? Perhaps.

That’s how I entered a place where I was destined to experience the scariest and most fascinating experiences. Where I would meet some of the most lovely people I’ve had the good fortune to meet. From where I would eventually take off to India in three months only to return three years later. I lived there for four years and have indelible memories. Most of which are among the best ones of my life.

But my world was going to rumble and shake in a few days! Seven days into my ‘discovery’ of Viña del Mar, I had the horrific experience of getting to know the real deal – the TERREMOTO! The big one, a terribly strong quake was waiting to happen. Read about it here: Chile Diary – 5 – It’s In The Tale (wordpress.com)

The 2010 Chile earthquake (SpanishTerremoto del 27F[5]) occurred off the coast of central Chile on Saturday, 27 February at 03:34 local time (06:34 UTC), having a magnitude of 8.8 on the moment magnitude scale, with intense shaking lasting for about three minutes.

The fallout of this acquaintance with el gran terremoto was that my condition deteriorated with all the anxiety and tension I carried with me 24×7. My pain increased. I couldn’t walk even the short distances that I could earlier. And worse, I felt I was an added burden on my son at this time because of the increased difficulty in walking, sitting, standing for long or bending. I couldn’t stay in the apartment as it was on the sixth floor and running down six flights of stairs during a strong aftershock or worse another quake was not recommended in my condition. Besides, there were small cracks in my bathroom walls and the door frame of my bedroom door had been damaged and was lopsided, the door wouldn’t close. Just looking at it and the cracks in the wall set my mind racing and conjuring up images of it collapsing with me stuck inside.

So it was a gypsy life for me. I was shifting from place to place. First to a hotel room on the ground floor, then to the Company Guesthouse, then a house in another town. You can read the interesting details in my Chile Diaries.

Long story short, When things quietened down, I asked to return to home country. And soon I was back in India vowing never to return to this country. And since Canada was never on my radar even then that’s how I saw my future. This was 2010. I accepted that I would live alone, safe or unsafe, in this booming, modern city that was growing and developing fast in the NCR – a place not so far from Delhi.

Once again I settled into my former life, but this time I took up a job as a checker for exam papers for ESL exams. Life took shape with routine. My treatment, a new one, was beginning to show results slowly. I thought I had done right in coming back and now the kids would realize why it was better for me to stay put.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” -Jeremiah 29: 11-12 (NIV)

And once again, I was wrong! Three years later, I was on a plane to Chile!

My DIL’s brother who lived in Canada was getting married. Their parents lived in the same city I lived in, so the wedding would be held there. She was coming to India. The plan was that they’d kill two birds with one stone. I had to dispose of things that could be sold or then given away. She would help me with the last bit of packing and accompany me back to Chile. It wasn’t the long circuitous route, this time, and with a companion the journey would be more comfortable for me. Which it was.

I lived in Viña for four years. I wouldn’t say I got “used to the EQs”, but I could handle myself better than before. I lived a good life – made friends, learned a smattering of Spanish so I could go out on my own, and I made some lovely memories which I still cherish. At one point, I expected to be here longer or even permanently. My son and DIL were planning to buy a house there. That would mean ‘settling’ in Chile.

But the original plan was already in motion. My DIL’s only brother was settled in Canada. And my son’s only sibling was settled in Canada too! I guess you’ve got the drift of this information.

There were many pros and cons discussed about settling in Chile. And there was one con that dwarfed all the rest. DISTANCE. This country was so far away from India where our families lived. It would be difficult for either side to visit, add to that the financial considerations of the journey. It was expensive.

The two of them decided to move to Canada. By default, I would be a part of this shift to Canada if at all it happened. Things were still not decided. In the meantime, I wanted to visit my son in Canada and meet my three grandkids, especially the new baby and the second one who I hadn’t seen. My ticket was booked for the summer that was some months away.

Then my son filled in the forms for their move and submitted them. It would take time for all the processes etc., and even then one couldn’t be sure of the outcome, so I was to return to Chile in six months.

When I flew out and landed in Toronto, little did I know that my fate was sealed… the original plan of my life had come full circle decades later. I never got to go back. They were to come here early the next year.

I have many questions in my mind. I often wonder:

-if I had changed my decision on that day and said “yes” to my adoption would it have changed the entire course of my life? Or would my life been ditto with just a change in my nationality, and the addition of foster parents?

-Would I have three college/university degrees? Two Bachelor degrees (one in Education), and a Master’s degree? Considering the high cost of a college/university education abroad, I doubt it.

-Would I have opted for a teaching profession? Most certainly not.

-Would I have become a widow so young? I will never know. It could have been in the original blueprint or it could have been the result of my own choice.

Here’s where the possible scenarios end.

The only thing that made my life so difficult with challenges and obstacles, popping up every now and then, was the tragedy of losing my husband so early.

If I dare to draw parallels with the assumption that I would be widowed early no matter who I married, even if I had come to Canada earlier, there’s one thing I’m certain about… my financial difficulties wouldn’t be as humongous as they were in India. The system here is so good with allowances the government gives for children, free school education etc.

As for family support, I am a hundred percent positive Lily and John would have been there all the way. They had loved me even before I or my parents had been aware of it. They had already envisioned me as a part of their family. Their love and parental support, although that of foster parents, would not have failed me. If anything, it would have grown.

So in truth, though I do not know how my life would have turned out as a “Walker,” I know this, it would have been a better journey. Especially my schooling years. Read about these terribly difficult years here: And I Call Them My Angels in Disguise-Part I – It’s In The Tale (wordpress.com)

I also know whether I got three degrees or not, I would have qualified in some professional field. Who knows, I might have even taken up one of the top three options I had presented to my parents who were horrified and promptly shot them down. So what were those choices?

In chronological order of preference:

  1. Air Hostess
  2. International Tourism – Organizer cum Guide
  3. Theatre Artiste

I don’t think the Walkers would have objected to all of these for the reasons my father did! There was a world of difference at that time between Indian parents and western ones.

However, I do feel if I had to land up here eventually, it would have certainly been much better earlier than it is for me now as a senior citizen. A new place, new experiences are best experienced when one is a bit younger than I am and in better health. Without a social circle life becomes monotonous. Time hangs heavy. Making new connections socially isn’t so easy in a new country. Not working in a place doesn’t help either. One doesn’t meet many people and getting to meet like-minded people is left to chance. That I am an introverted extrovert doesn’t help. The introvert has strong likes and dislikes and the extrovert doesn’t get the better of a clash sometimes.

To sum up, the original blueprint gave me a taste of foreign travel that I wanted to experience as a tourist guide and organizer of trips. And also the first-hand experience of the flipside of international travel, especially long flights with more than two layovers. It also gave me a closer look at an air hostess’s job on long International flights. Different people with different cultures and mindsets, with various needs… all have to be served with patience and a pleasant disposition if not a smile!

It made me realize that I wasn’t cut out for these professions. The third option was third for a reason. I liked drama only as a hobby… something on the side that I could dabble in on and off.

So somewhere, the life map I created by my choices and the original plan for my life gave me, in the right proportions, what I desired as an experience, as an adventure, but not as a mainstay; as a profession or career. And it led me to be a teacher. A profession I never ever WANTED to enter. But it was exactly what I NEEDED.

This was the profession that helped me and my sons. I worked in private schools that were among the best in whichever city we lived in. I had no problems with admission for my sons nor difficulty in paying the fees. In retrospect, I can say that my life went off course from the original plan in many ways, and it brought hardships in its wake until I, without knowing it, veered back to the original blueprint.

What lies ahead I do not know. I pray for guidance and wisdom in making the right choices. But this I know, He keeps me in the palm of his hand. He’ll bring me on course if I veer off.

A Better Morning. A Proverb. And A Mare’s Snort!

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A street in Viña.

It’s a cold day… it snowed in the night and was snowing when I awoke. But now it’s stopped and I’m feeling the cold. My thoughts, as they tend to, travel back and forth to better memories of places or incidents; times that could take my mind off the cold by warming my heart. So, I read through my journal.

This entry brought a smile as it ended. I do recall that day.

 

A Better Morning

Well, it’s usually a good morning every day for me. So, I thought I should qualify that by a degree and add “Better” instead to the morning. Chilean mornings are different. The house is quiet, in fact, the whole world around our block and a couple of blocks away too are blissfully silent. Not even a squawk from the gulls. Probably, there are no gulls anyway.

How different from the mornings I experienced in a bustling city in India! The world there woke up before daybreak! At least the moms or women did, I presume, as I didn’t see many men hitting the kitchen to rustle up breakfast for the school-going kids or themselves at that hour.

I mean no offense nor a barb intended for the husbands. It’s just how it usually is in India. And with the waking would come the sound of a grand welcome ushering in a new day; the kitchen band struck discordant notes: clangs, bangs, whirs of a mixie and whistles of a pressure cooker.

What a contrast!

Here, in my room where I’m all by myself, it is certainly a quiet morning. I’m as quiet as a mouse. The only sound that you can hear is me shuffling about, the wooden floor squeaks under my weight (which is great!), and there’s the click of the bathroom door shutting; running water and the occasional thud/clang of me or a pan falling! Otherwise, as I said, I’m as quiet as a mouse. Is my tongue in my cheek?

In truth, I haven’t fallen down and I hope I’m not speaking too soon. But in my haste to get my hot cup of ginger tea… well, accidents do happen! You can’t hold me for that, can you? I don’t expect an answer. It’s plain rhetoric.

A Proverb

At my Prayer Breakfast, I got a verse from Proverbs for meditation. I was listening to the lesson: A Teachable Spirit. The verse says: “Rebuke is more effective for a wise man than a hundred blows on a fool.”~Proverbs 17:10 (NKJV)

Think about it. I had a lot on my plate as I mulled over the verse and attempted to plumb the depths of its meaning and the application in life.

Do I have a teachable spirit?

Do I walk in humility?

In all honesty, I’m not there yet, but I’m on the way. This tells me I’m not a lost cause. For today, that gives me hope and as I said, it’s a better morning… however, my tea got cold!

A Mare’s Snort!

I went to buy some vegetables yesterday. I walked down to the store not far from our place. I was halfway there when I saw a group of young women coming my way. One, in particular, caught my attention as she stared at me and tried to hide a snicker. I’m not very observant but since I was getting a snicker, I gave her a look-over too and passed by.

Nothing about her drew any thought; good or bad, funny or ugly in my mind. As we passed each other, I heard a loud snort of laughter… the kind that goes haw-haw-snort, haw-haw-snort! It reminded me of a horse… or a mare in this case… of Sandra Bullock in one of her movies where she plays this character who snorted when she was actually laughing!

I smiled and that led to silent tummy-shaking laughter. I’m glad she gave me a funny moment rather than a nasty one.

I knew what she was laughing at. First, I had on very loose trousers and a very loose sweater! And I walked awkwardly. Loose clothes so I could accommodate double layers to keep me warm. Also, so I could conceal the bulky waist support with rods in it and the knee support around my right knee. Add to that the collar I had for my neck. I am obese and I walk awkwardly with pain.

Although not justified, I can understand how some young people are insensitive to alien sights. And I must have qualified as one; a foreign face, ill-fitting clothes, and an awkward gait. But, a spoonful of humor helps the untasteful go down, if I may misquote a line from Julie Andrews song in The Sound Of Music.

Since I started writing, the weather has changed. The sun has put his hat on, hip-hip-hip-hooray! The sun has put his hat on and is coming out today. On that kiddish note, I sign out. It’s a Better Morning already!

Five years later, as I read this account on a cold day, my spirits are uplifted. I recall how it was for me then. Today, I’m not obese. I don’t have to wear my waist support with its rods, or my knee support and the collar daily. I’m not in constant pain. And though I know I’ll never be free of osteoarthritis; it’ll worsen with age, I’m filled with gratitude, praise, and worship for my present state of good health and mobility.

The sun hasn’t “put his hat on” and it’s still cold… but it is already a Better Morning!

“Every time you find humor in a difficult situation, you WIN!”

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Chile Diary – 14

12657214_10153872634519929_9079214030669544339_o Quintay

Quintay is a little village in Central Chile. Easily reached for a day trip from Santiago or Valparaiso.

As I draw closer to the last chapters of my Chile Diary, I feel a kind of sadness. I enjoyed going down memory lane, remembering and reliving the events as they unfolded with each letter I typed.

I recall with clarity how anxious I was with the developments and crisis that caught us unawares when I had to return to India. So come with me as I carry on the story.

 

26th March 2010

Boarding Pass to the Rescue.

 Yesterday was a cold, foggy day. Back in the guesthouse, I curled up on my bed. I was hungry and cold and waiting eagerly for dinner. But home-cooked dinner wasn’t on the menu.

We went out for Chinese.

Awful!

So we decided to move from our barely eaten Chinese meal and go for an Italian one. We went to Fellini.

Yummilicious! I had a dish called Camarones al pil-pil which I washed down with sips of Pisco-sour. Pisco, I’m told, is a Chilean drink which the Peruvians claim as theirs. A highly disputable claim according to the Chileans.

It tasted like a wine but isn’t a wine. I like it. The drink, however, is strong; a bit too strong for a teetotaller like me. It’s made from grapes which I suppose accounts for the wine-like flavor. I thoroughly enjoyed the meal which I couldn’t finish, Pisco included! So the shrimp was packed as a takeaway. The Pisco was wasted.

I must tell you how the Camarones al Pil-Pil is made… or how I think it’s made. A lot of olive oil is heated up. A lot of garlic is chopped. The garlic along with a big red chili (whole) is tossed into the hot oil which is on simmer. Immediately after this, the shelled and washed shrimps follow. The oil is taken off the fire/stove.

The shrimp is allowed to sit in the oil for a while so they get cooked. The shrimp used in this preparation are a size smaller than medium. It is served in a bowl with oil et al. That’s what I deducted from what was served and eaten. Ranjit endorsed it. I plan to make different kinds of ‘al pil-pil’… chicken, fish, cauliflower etc.

Hitches & Glitches

A new development in my ticket bookings highlighted what I already firmly believe; God is watching out for me. The travel agent called very early in the morning to say that there was a hitch as the records in Brazil showed that I hadn’t boarded the LAN flight to Santiago. The implication being that I stayed in Brazil illegally and when and how did I go to Chile!

This is where God showed His hand.

It was providence that my intuition (read God’s prompting) prompted me to keep my boarding passes. I can recall how I pondered over throwing away the boarding passes. Something strange, considering such things are discarded as soon as one has reached one’s destination. But this time, I gave in to my inner voice and kept the boarding passes, though, I admit, I felt stupid retaining them.

However, after I heard from the travel agent about this new development, I don’t feel silly at all! We sent a scanned copy of the pass to the travel agent. I pray things are smoothened out and I have no trouble getting a return ticket.

As of now, I have no idea when I’ll be leaving. They’re trying for the 9th of April. Let’s see.

No, 9th April isn’t my day either. After a lot of running around, LAN finally accepted the fault was at their office in Brazil, as their office at destination Chile had indeed registered me on the particular plane, and they agreed to issue my ticket. You’d think that was the end of the matter. You’d be wrong.

I had hardly heaved a sigh of relief when the next news arrived deflating me. The SA airlines declined to issue a ticket from Sao Paulo onwards quoting the same reason – I hadn’t left Sao Paulo! I believe, the GRS is a system of booking tickets common to all airlines worldwide, and the failure of the machine to register my boarding became an issue again.

For some reason, my trip to Chile has become a test of faith for me. It’s the first time I’m traveling abroad alone, and so much is happening.

I quote Psalm 91 and Psalm 121 with trust and faith that my Lord never sleeps and He’ll keep me safe and secure through the entire journey back to New Delhi. I’m physically worn out. Tired, I hum an old melodious but lonesome song…

Koi humdum na raha, Koi sahara na raha,

Hum kisike na rahe, koi humara na raha.

(I have no soulmate, nor do I have any support.

I belong to no one and no one belongs to me.)

Kya bataoon main kahan, yuhi chala jaata hun,

Jo mujhe raah dikhaye wohi taara na raha.

(How do I tell where I wander aimlessly,

the guiding star that showed me the way is no more.)

 

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Chile Diary- 12

“I go to sleep alone and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I’m tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that’s been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by absence?”-Audrey Niffenegger

Volcan Mocho-Choshuenco and Lake Panguipulli, on the way to Huilo-Huilo National reserve.

Volcan Mocho-Choshuenco and Lake Panguipulli, on the way to Huilo-Huilo National reserve. The visible volcano is Mocho, the second one Choshuenco isn’t in the frame.

I’m back from my ‘workation’. I was away in my home country visiting friends and family. I did a bit of blogging on the side, whenever I found some spare time. But this story was on hold! I’m back now and trying to catch up with my blogs.

This chapter carries on from the previous one and surprises me. Click the link to read an introduction to the mom’s guests in Chile Diary-11.

The Mom’s Guests

I set up my computer on the dining table and began to write. If I was looking for common sense to guide the mom and her guests, I was disappointed. Common sense was conspicuous by its absence.

They continued to sit around the table and chat in the high-pitched, sing-song tone most Chilean women use. My head was beginning to ache. Just as I thought I should pack shop, the whole jingbang got up and left; mom included.

Hallelujah! I broke into a happy song. It was a premature celebration!

About half an hour later, they trooped in and the women began setting the table for tea. It was past 7.00 p.m. OMGosh! I moaned, not again.

The gossiping, laughing, and chomping went on and on. I glared at them from time to time but it was useless. Their total concentration was in the cake, bread, ham; the paltas (avocado), crackers, butter, and the tea and cold drinks they were walloping as they kept up the steady high-pitched conversation.

By then, my head was throbbing. I held my temples and looked directly at each one. I saw their mouths open and close but I couldn’t hear them talk! It was that bad. It was time for me to get up and leave. I wasn’t in good shape and if I stayed longer, I knew I’d say something and it wouldn’t be anything very nice.

I’m over that rant. It’s over. The day’s ended and with it the mood.

Or is it? The next day didn’t help. Looks like I’m in a mood these past two days! I discovered today that Indian beauticians are way ahead of their Chilean counterparts. Besides, they charge so little for the amount of work they do. I needed to give some attention to my feet so Manu took me to a salon nearby. I got a less than satisfactory pedicure. I’d have paid this amount for more and better quality of work back home.

If it weren’t for my back and knees that prevent me from cleaning my feet thoroughly and cutting my toenails, I’d skip a pedicure in Chile. Thank God, Roxanna colored my hair at her place! I’m glad Manu warned me not to even try the manicure. After the pedicure, I wouldn’t have anyway!

So, thus went my day into the dumps.

No more to write so I’ll wind up. Then what? As usual, I’ll stare at the walls and then lie on my bed and try not to think sad thoughts. For some reason, these words of an old Hindi song pop up in my mind. I’ve written it in the Roman script and I’ve tried to give you the best translation of the song. The lyrics are beautiful though melancholy!

 

“Aye mere dil-e-nadaan,

tu gham se na ghabrana.

Ek din toh samajh legi, duniya tera afsana.

(Oh, my naive heart,

don’t let sorrow worry you,

one day this world will understand your story.)

Armaan bhare dil mein,

zakhmon ko jagah dede,

Bhadke huye sholon ko,

kuch aur hawaa dede.

Banti hai toh ban jaye, yeh zindagi afsana.

(In a heart full of dreams and expectations,

allow a bit of space for hurt and pain.

The embers have burst into flame,

fan them a bit more.

If your life has become a story; let it be so.)

Faryad se kya hasil,

rone se natija kya?

Bekaar hain yeh baatein,

in baaton se hoga kya?

Apna bhi ghari bhar mein,

ban jaata hai begaana.

(Nothing comes from complaining,

and tears bring no results.

These are useless things

and nothing is achieved by it.

In a split second,

even our own become strangers.)

Aye mere dil-e-nadaan, tu gham se na ghabrana.

Ek din toh samajh legi, duniya tera afsana.

(Oh, my naive heart, don’t let sorrow worry you.

One day this world will understand your story.)

 

“I began to understand that suffering and disappointments and melancholy are there not to vex us or cheapen us or deprive us of our dignity but to mature and transfigure us.” -Hermann Hesse

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Chile Diary- 11

“Patience is power. Patience is not an absence of action; rather it is “timing,” it waits on the right time to act; for the right principles and in the right way.”-Fulton J. Sheen

Chapter 11 brought back the mixed feelings of that time when all plans began to fall apart. Hopelessness enshrouded me and I was at an all-time low. It also brings home the truth that although the plans were right, the timing was not! That’s why I had been not just nervous but “scared” too about moving.

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The building in the background is where the Company Guesthouse was.

 

The Chile Diary Chapter 11

Hitches and Glitches

I had many apprehensions about coming to live in Chile. I even recall repeating that I was scared. Unfortunately, the people I spoke to think in narrow grooves or are eager for fresh gossip. So everyone, without exception, wanted to know why I was “scared” to live with my son. I had not mentioned my son! The inference was wrong and born of deliberate misinterpretations.

I shook my head and smiled wondering how could they dig for gossip and create mountains out of non-existent mole-hills endlessly; year after year. But many people thrive on malicious, irresponsible natter.

I wanted to answer their queries but I could not understand why I was using such a strong term for my apprehensions. I wasn’t able to put my finger on the reason for my fear.

Why was I scared?

It isn’t in my nature to be scared of traveling to a new, unknown territory. Nervous, perhaps, but frightened? No! It was definitely too strong a word to describe what I was feeling about my pending travel.

I made sure to shoot down the insinuations and gave all the practical reasons I had to feel nervous about.

I was closing home in India. Everything I had worked for and built laboriously and lovingly through the years was gone. I would have no home to return to. No place to call my own. I had left myself bereft of all options. Wasn’t that a scary situation? It certainly did sound like one to some who agreed while others directed their minds elsewhere. But here’s the thing… I still wasn’t sure if this was the reason why I was scared!

One month later, with the benefit of hindsight, I realized it must have been intuition. (You can read about it here.) I had been begging Ranjit to let me stay in India for three or four months more. I wasn’t comfortable with the haste. There were many questions that were either not being answered to my satisfaction or answered too soon.

Four weeks later, of which three I’ve spent being in a refugee status, stressed and in nervous tension, I know why I was positively scared to come here. I’m isolated; physically, emotionally, spiritually… I cannot get through to my own.

But, surprisingly, the Chileans can feel my anxiety. They have been warm and supportive. Friends and strangers alike have extended encouraging moral support. Yet, Chile has been scary and terrifying in spite of the warmth and help extended by the hospitable people in Viña del Mar.

I want to fly out to Canada where my other son lives! That had been a part of my travel plans. In fact, I wanted to stay back longer in India to apply for my visa.

The latest information that was conveyed to me yesterday was that I wouldn’t be able to go to Canada from here. My return ticket had been booked by the company. So if I did not use it, my son would have to bear the cost of the same! He asked if the destination could be changed to Canada. They said it couldn’t.

Both my boys were okay with that thinking they would get my visa and I could meet my first and only grandchild in Canada. So bearing the cost of the cancellation didn’t seem to matter.

Before they conveyed their decision to the company, we found out that a particular document, necessary for my Canadian visa, was in the vernacular. We had to translate it in English and get it notarized by a government-certified notary. As luck would have it, I hadn’t submitted my visa application, yet. Thank God for that!

Getting a document translated from Hindi to English in Chile would have been impossible. At least now, I can think of returning to India! I’ll present my documents to the embassy there.

Many important details were not checked earlier making things difficult not only for me but the others too! I was to come here to settle for good as a dependent. Now, my son finds out that will not be possible as birth certificates of both mother and child must prove the biological relationship. This means that both the certificates must have the child’s name too.

Well, at the time of my birth and that of my sons, birth certificates did not carry the name of the child. Children, in India, were named formally only after a month or two. So it would mention a girl child or boy child born to so-and-so at such-and-such place, on such-and-such date and time. And this is how ours were too!

I’m sure I’ve made my point clear about my intuition of “scary” situations turning up with all the haste. I remember telling my son that they were “jumping to X, Y, Z before going through A, B, C.” Well, short-sightedness has taken its toll.

Granted the earthquake of this magnitude could not have been anticipated, but the quakes and tremors situation is constant. Problems coming up concerning me being left alone almost all the time should have been anticipated. The problem of language and communication should have been considered. My need for entertainment and company is real and should have been thought about. That I’d be a part of their outings, if not all the time, then quite often until I settled in properly was also an obvious given; a situation that should have been anticipated. These are predictable situations. Previous knowledge grants that this isn’t the best place to leave me alone at this time.

That’s the mood Saturday sees me in; despondent and disappointed. But one must go with the flow… always. I’m in God’s hands and though I might feel let down at times, that’s not the permanent attitude. My sons are trying to do the best they can and I appreciate all that they are doing. It’s just that they are too headstrong to listen to reason at times. I still have hope. God will show us the way where there seems to be no way… it’s only ten past one in the afternoon. I have a long day ahead of me!

That’s me venting and I’m done.

Early morning, Ranjit and I went to see the house on 15 Norte. It is beautiful. The houses here are on a rocky hill and made in the terraced style where the houses are built along the slope of the hill and do not rise up in one perpendicular block. So it seems to be a hill of jutting terraces and the terrace gardens add to the beauty.

Although it is smaller than the present apartment, it is well-planned to provide sufficient space for a neat living-dining room, a small but adequately-planned kitchen, two bedrooms, bathrooms, and a good-sized walk-in wardrobe. They have selected the furniture with taste keeping the limited space in mind. The best part of the house is the terrace in front. Location is also great; sea-facing, the view is simply amazing. But there are some hitches.

Like most rented apartments in this area, the apartment is on rent for only ten months; from March to December. This means another change of house at the end of the year. That’s the minor snag.

The major issue is, it’s on the 4th level. Being built on an incline, each level has more steps and more flights of stairs than the previous one, according to the floor they’re on; less on level one and more added as you progress to the higher levels. So this one is ruled out.

Back in the guesthouse, the other mom staying here was trying to ask me something. The only word I could comprehend was “problema.” 

What now, I thought while I threw up my hands and shook my head and smiled a helpless smile, hoping she’d understand that the only problem was that I couldn’t get a word of what she was saying.

She caught on and indicated that I should wait until she got her son, Mauricio, on the phone. Now I was sure she had a major problem and was keen to know if it involved me.

As it turned out, she was getting her friends over for lunch and wanted to know if that would be a problem for me. And, if necessary, she would call off the lunch. How considerate and kind of her to make that offer!

I told her son that since I was, at the time of speaking, a permanent fixture at the dining table, I’d be the problem to his mother and her friends. And since I was in the mood to write, I had no time limits. I could close shop in ten minutes or continue till the evening. So, if the group could carry on around me, it was fine with me. This brought an overly demonstrative response of gratitude from the mom who hugged and kissed me profusely!

Anyway, neither of us had to bother about it. The Indian group, comprising us, had a lunch of rajma-chawal and after a short nap left to pick up my track pants and buy some stuff for the house. The other mom’s guests hadn’t arrived until then! That’s when I learned that lunch ‘parties’ in Chile started very late… late afternoon; actually early evening! By the time I returned to the guesthouse at six in the evening the guests were leaving. What a relief!

I thought it had worked out fine for all concerned. But that was the forethought. Once again I have to remind you that ‘relief’ isn’t a long-term companion in Chile. I walked into the apartment to find there were still more people in the house and although I hoped against hope they would leave, they didn’t. 🙂 

But I didn’t mind that… much! (Read more about that here Chile Diary-12)

 

Glossary

Rajma…………… Rajma is red kidney beans. It’s cooked with spices and tomatoes to make a thick gravy dish which is usually eaten with rice.

Chawal………… rice.

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Glossary 

Rajma-chawal………….Rajma is red kidney beans cooked with spices and tomatoes to make a thick gravy which is usually eaten with rice (Chawal)

Chile Diary – 5

Continuing with my Chile Diary, here’s the account of the big one that brought so many experiences into my life. I learned a lot about myself as I was learning about the Chileans and their resilience; the way they take things in their stride… and get on with life.

Monday, 15th March 2010

I didn’t get to write over the weekend. My back and knees weren’t doing so well, so I was not up to it. On Saturday, we went out for lunch at the food court in Marina Arauca. After sampling a few Chilean preparations, I decided I’d had enough. The roast pork was fine, teamed with the browned onions. Nothing else was so amazing as to get a mention; average, fair, and that goes for the desserts too.

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Valpo street in Vina

I’ve been rambling on or meandering I should say. I still have to tell you about the big earthquake and the different places I’ve stayed at till now. Well, this isn’t an official record so I’ll proceed according to the thoughts and fancy that capture me. Let’s start with the abodes that have provided me shelter till date. But to get the importance of the roles these places have played, I will have to recount the big #terremoto.

The Big One In Feb.

It was a Friday, and a week since I had arrived in Chile. Ranjit and Manu had dinner with me and left for a party at their friend’s place. I was uneasy and couldn’t sleep, so I sat like a zombie in front of the TV, staring at the screen but registering nothing!

One thought kept running through my head – what if there is an earthquake?

Whenever there is something I’m nervous about or can’t handle, I “cast my cares” on the Lord. I told him I was scared to be alone during an earthquake and if one should happen then the kids should be back.

At 3.00 a.m, both returned. At about 3.34 a.m, the big #quake rumbled in rattling the house like a giant shaking a matchbox. We had only made it out of our beds and to the front door by then.

Ranjit opened the door and held on to the doorknob with his right hand so we wouldn’t be locked in should the door get stuck while he steadied himself under a beam in the doorway leading to the living cum dining room.

I held on to him and the wall, and Manu clung onto both of us. The quake increased in intensity, and I looked around terrified at the way the walls and the floor were jumping and shaking like a person in an epileptic fit. It went on for 90 seconds; a short period in terms of measurable time but for me, it seemed to go on interminably.

As soon as we felt a slack, Manu and I ran for our passports while Tintin continued to hold the door open. It was a wise thing to do as many doors got jammed and the residents were locked-in as the tremors picked up and continued coming in at intervals of 1-2 minutes. These unfortunate ones walked out only when the concierge and his help broke open the locks. I believe one resident suffered a mild heart attack because of the scary locked-in situation.

I say we were frightened and, certainly, we were, but I speak for myself when I say that on #hindsight, I cannot say that the predominant feeling was one of fear. I was so focused on reaching God with my plea for help, I was not consciously afraid. I also recall praising God when I heard Ranjit calling out to Him by name; he doesn’t acknowledge Him openly.

I also know I was quite in my senses because I made a note about where I had kept my passport when I rearranged my closet the day before. This made it easy for me to grab it from where I had hidden it, wasting no time, the moment the quake calmed down for a couple of minutes. Usually, when I keep something in a safe place, it’s so “safe,” I forget where it is! So I realized, though I was terrified, my mind was calm and clear.

Before the next tremor rolled in, we made a dash down the staircase. That’s when I felt the fear. My osteoarthritic knees were trembling. But fear acted like adrenaline and lent wings to my feet. My back and my knees held up.

Although Manu and I were not properly clad for the cold outside, we were better off than Ranjit who hadn’t even put on his slippers; he was barefoot, and he was in his boxers and a T-shirt. It was dark outside, and people were running helter-skelter. Ranjit shepherded us to Manchester, a pub, close to our place.

Here we met Reggie and his pals who made us as comfortable as was possible under the circumstances. The pub was in shambles, but they could give us water to drink and even a cup of tea for me. We huddled in chairs in the garden. They kept reassuring us that the worst was over even as the ground beneath our feet heaved in sort of rolling waves that made me feel dizzy.

I was shivering with the cold and fear and smiled wanly without a mite of conviction. But, I was doubly grateful for a relatively clean bathroom though; I had to be careful walking over the shattered glass to get in.

Realizing we needed a few essentials as well as clothes, to protect us against the cold, Ranjit braved it up to the apartment. He got dressed in warm clothes and also brought a few essentials like his laptop, money, wallet, my handbag, and some pillows and jackets, shawls for us. He also drove the car down and parked it outside the pub. We moved into the relatively warmer car. That’s when the pillows came in handy!

I lay down on the back seat. The pillows; under my head and behind my back, provided comfort and helped ease the pain. I said a prayer of gratitude.

The next thing on our minds was our families. With no phone connection or means to contact them and let them know we’re safe, they’d panic as soon as they heard the news. And panicked they were! Anyway, we managed to inform them a little later.

Reggie left to see to his parents and a few of his pals kept vigil while he was away. One of them came to the car and assured us of protection and that we should not be worried or scared about that. That’s when I got to know about the dark side of the situation. Vandalism and looting were real threats. I was relieved to be under their wing until daybreak. It was very kind and thoughtful of them. So we spent the rest of the night in the car parked at the entrance to the pub while the men kept watch.

The morning found us searching for something to eat. No place was open except a small bakery nearby. However, by the time we reached there, there wasn’t much to buy. The next challenge was getting drinking water. The only kind available was ‘agua con gas’ (water with soda), and we were looking for ‘agua sin gas’ (water without soda). Finally, we found a place that had a few bottles of plain drinking water.

Late in the afternoon, when hunger pangs hit, we bought empanadas from Mama Rosa’s Takeaway. She had opened shop and was doing brisk business doling out fresh empanadas; wrapped in newspaper and piping hot straight out of the frying pan. 

All this while we were ‘living’ in the car. 

By evening, I had to go to the bathroom. The pub was closed and I was loath to climb up and down six flights of stairs to go to the bathroom in our apartment. Besides, the doorway leading into my bedroom was damaged and slanted at one end. If the door had been shut, it would have jammed.

Fortunately, neither was I in the room nor was the door closed when it happened. But, I wasn’t inclined to get in there. That’s when Ranjit rang up an Indian colleague, and we found our way to Sumeet’s house.

This was a small one-bedroom apartment, but it was in a stronger building. While all construction in Chile has to comply with quake-resistant building rules, some buildings are perceived as stronger and better than others. For me, however, it was good as the apartment was on the second level and I wouldn’t have many flights of stairs to run down if another quake hit us.

It was already packed with other Indian employees. This was another lesson in #gratefulness. The crowd and the non-functioning WC was no longer a put off for me. I was grateful for the bathroom, running water in the taps and a bed to rest my aching back. We spent the night there and left Sunday morning.

We returned to our building, but I didn’t go up to the apartment. I knew I couldn’t climb up the stairs to the 6th level and down again whenever the tremors rolled in. So, I commandeered one of the sofas in the lounge and lay down. To be honest, I shocked myself. I would never do such a thing in a public place of my own free will! But I was beyond such things as decorum and etiquette. No one objected, and the concierge even supported my action. In times like these, people understand and are compassionate. 

Lounging on a sofa was okay. The problem was that I wasn’t prepared to go up to the apartment at all. While I could sleep on the couch, I needed to bathe and change my clothes and do all the routine stuff which I couldn’t do ‘living’ on a couch in the lounge!

Ranjit couldn’t convince me because the tremors kept rattling us at short intervals, and not such small ones either. They were in the range of 5+ and 6+ and quite intense. This became a dilemma for me and for my son. Both of us were tired, exasperated and frustrated.

“Why can’t we get a house on the ground floor?” I lay on the couch praying fervently!

At the back of my mind was the story my mother had told me of how her father, a medical doctor, had died in an earthquake in Quetta. It was a long time ago but she had said that he had fallen into a crack as the earth opened up beneath his feet. There was so much going on in my mind and too much for me to deal with physically and emotionally.

Later, when things had settled, I walked out to get some fresh air. I saw cracks in some sidewalks. And some were pushed to form little mounds… uneven sidewalks. A few roads had shallow cracks running across. A few highrise buildings were damaged severely but not so bad as to cause the loss of life. I saw some old casas which fared worse. But, in Viña there was no loss of life. 

 

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Forgotten pages; revived memories

An almost abandoned blog on another site. Yes, that’s where I landed up today. I say “almost” because I remember I have this blog which I visit, once in a blue moon, to read through my thoughts and experiences over the past years.

 

Life; my life, has taken an undulating, circuitous route in the past two decades and it’s interesting to go back to these pages and read some of my feelings at a point in time in my life. Or laugh at some amusing anecdotes. Sniffle as a memory evokes emotions and longings for a moment of joy, the togetherness not found in the present.

 

And today, I clicked on a draft which turned out to be a draft about a draft… uncompleted posts that found no closure. Perhaps the pain was too hard to bear. Maybe, I was too tired to write about it beyond letting out some of it; enough to get back up and get along with my life.

 

So, without bothering to complete it, I’m giving it closure by posting it here. It is complete as it is and needs nothing more added.

 

The initial post, I wrote in 2013 before I set out to a land and culture totally unknown. It was the first time I was moving without the material belongings that had made a house a home for us. Some things were invaluable for me in their sentimental worth. I was leaving them behind, in safe-keeping with someone, but it tore me inside; I might never retrieve them again!
Five years down the road, that fear is a reality. I don’t know where these precious memories, stored in albums and loose photographs are!

 

So reading that unfinished article convinced me that I had to put it up and out where it was meant to be… and in doing so let it go. I have to let it go so I can think about it without the gnawing pain and regret. Just a memory; no regret, no anger, no bitterness, no wrenching pain. Just the joy of having had such a great experience. I’ve lived, loved, learned, grown and enjoyed the journey. Let that be all that remains in my life. So here goes… 

 

I have no plausible reasons why I have written nothing here for so long. There are reasons, but they sound so lame, almost like a shirker’s justifications for not doing what she has to do! I wasn’t disciplined and gave in to momentary lows and highs that kept me yo-yoing from Cloud 9 into an abyss, leaving me exhausted.
Today, I firmly decided to visit…which is what I’m doing here…and since I was here I thought I’d run through the post list. I found many drafts half-written, or not written at all with just a header indicating what I had wanted to write about but never got down to doing it. I’ve cleared out most of them but decided to keep this. It records my feelings of the moment, at a time of a big change in my life. A change I had opened myself to decisively, but not very confidently. My mind was set, but my heart fluttered   

The countdown is on. I have barely two days in this house. On the 28th, I hand it over to its owner. Is all my work done? Is everything packed or suitably disposed of? Well, till yesterday morning I thought it was a glum situation. There were a few things that had no takers. But this afternoon saw quite a few things going out. So, to answer the question, almost all are either packed or suitably disposed of.
Memories
When we move to another place within the country, it’s all about Packers & Movers getting the job done. It’s all about cartons and trucks. We take every bit of household stuff we want to cart, from a tiny pin to a car. And if you own the house but have not given it out on rent, you just leave things behind.


I am not moving to any place within the country nor do I own a house here. So it has been tedious, and in some cases, a painful task of disposing of my not so meager belongings. I am one of those sentimental fools who attach memories, fond ones mostly, to a thing. And therein lies its value. A book, an old stuffed toy, a chair, a curio….actually I must rephrase that; it’s not about ‘a’ thing; it’s about ‘all’ that’s there. So when memories abound with all and sundry, kitchen knives and cutlery too, what can this ‘sentimental fool’ do without her photographs!


My entire life is wrapped up in these albums. As I leaf through each one it rolls out like a biopic. The yesteryears in black and white which move into a color frame. A picture speaks a thousand words they say, mine unfold like a movie, vivid memories flash in succession as a whole. But I cannot carry the albums and photographs with me. There are too many and they weigh too much. So they are placed in a carton carefully and left behind for safekeeping. 

It gives me relief to put this down here. Why didn’t I do this on the blog I had started it on? I really don’t know. Perhaps, it’s like my life… a new place, a new perspective. A stronger mind and spirit. New lessons learned and applied. 

Maybe, I haven’t let go completely, yet! But here, I will move on and leave behind the pain and retain the lesson; the wisdom… will I? I intend to.

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A Midnight Watch in Viña del Mar

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She stood there, about two feet away from the curb, right on the road. I stood a few inches away from the window, partially hidden behind the curtain, and watched.
It was past midnight; half an hour past the witching hour. I had dozed through the serial I had running on my laptop, waking up in fits and starts, to reconnect with my longtime favorite character, DCI Tom Barnaby. He’s losing his hold on me it seems! I wouldn’t have dozed on a Barnaby serial two years back. Anyway, the murderer was found and another murder case solved in Midsomer by Barnaby, and it was time I dropped off to sleep.
As usual, I switched off the lights and went to draw the curtains a wee bit apart to allow light from the street to filter in. And as usual, I peeked into the street below my window.
It was a weekday, and I expected the street to be deserted, only this time I saw this young girl standing almost in the middle of the road, in the middle of the night, trying to keep warm. It was a cold and windy night.
“Prostitute,” I pronounced.
I wondered why she was at this intersection. It wasn’t a section of the city frequented by streetwalkers. Besides, I didn’t think there would be much traffic down these roads so late into the night, in the middle of the week. But then I guess she knew better, and soon I did too, as the cars whizzed past.
On any other day, I would have forgotten about her before I reached my bed. But that night, sleepy as I was, I continued to stand and keep watch. There was something about her face and general appearance which caught my attention.
Our home stands at the corner of an intersection, so I had a good view of the four roads that diverged from there. And the streets are so brightly lit, I could see the girl clearly. She stood facing me and I noticed she did not dress the way a woman in her profession does, neither was her face done up with heavy make-up; in fact, she wore almost no make-up: a light pinkish lipstick (no dark eyeshadow) and light make-up around her eyes. Her hair wasn’t curled, permed, frizzled or done up. It fell around her face, up to her shoulders. No unusual coloring; ordinary, everyday hair.
Her jewelry comprised a pair of modest danglers. Nothing about her: clothes, footwear, or hair was loud or garish. Her clothes were those of an office executive. She looked like one of the many smart, office executives who passed beneath my window every day. Her body language and posture did not support the stereotypical street-walker.
I do not know if it is politically right to say this, but then I’m not a politically right person most times. I had felt disgusted at the first fleeting sight of her. However, the initial revulsion I had felt when I first noticed her, dissipated. There was something about her that was so vulnerable. She seemed out of place in this scenario. Even when she stood and watched the cars whizzing past, and called out and waved to some who slowed down, she didn’t sound like the person I assumed she was.
She was neither brash nor bold and didn’t look like a hooker; she didn’t sound like one either. This intrigued me because she was the antithesis of what I had read, heard, and seen of women who were streetwalkers.
Fifteen minutes passed. And then another five dragged by. I told myself I was being utterly stupid. At my age one doesn’t stand at a window, well past one’s bedtime, to surveil an unknown woman who knew what she was about. No amount of cajoling could coax my feet to walk away from my vantage point of observation to a decent night’s sleep. I had to watch, I wanted to know more.
I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders, leaned against the glass pane, still hidden behind the curtains with a clear view of the girl.
I could tell that the night was getting colder. She stamped her feet; rubbed her hands to keep warm. Then she took out a packet of cigarettes from her coat pocket and lit up. She stood in one place, almost in the pathway of oncoming traffic. If it were daytime, she’d not be able to stand on the road without being run down or hauled away by the police.
Cars whizzed by. She stood and watched, turning to see if any stopped ahead. There were the cars with youngsters who shouted derogatory remarks and guffawed as they sped past her. She didn’t react. Her expression didn’t change. She maintained her emotionless demeanor. The only time a flicker of a smile played on her lips and her face lit up was when some cars slowed down as they approached her, some out of curiosity I suppose, most to avoid hitting her.
Then a car drove up right under my window. It stopped at the pedestrian crossing and I guess the driver gestured for her to come to him. She was like a child who’d been promised an ice-cream or chocolates or a day at the beach.
She ran across and this time she had a broad smile on her face. She was pretty, and young too. I could see her better where she stood, below my window, facing me, with the streetlight on the opposite side lighting up her face. 
Ah! Finally, she gets a customer; I thought and didn’t like the way I thought that. Don’t ask me why. I felt sad and sorry for her. There were many things going through my mind and it had all to do with how young and bright she appeared, and how sad that she was on the streets like this.
Anyway, I saw her talking to the person in the driving seat. Some words floated up through the quiet night. Negotiations, I announced to no one in particular. However, something wasn’t right. Her expressions and the way she spoke didn’t look like she was talking business. If I hadn’t been observing her, I’d have thought she was talking to someone she knew and exchanging small talk.
Then she made gestures and expressions that showed contriteness, helplessness, and if I’m not mistaken, she appeared ashamed… no, regretful! I realized the man in the car was in no mood to be a customer. He seemed to be talking to her about what she was doing and why. She wrung her hands, raised her shoulders in a sign of helplessness and slumped them in resignation. And I heard a lot of, “No Señor. Si Señor.”
It was a long, slow conversation of about five minutes, and she smiled a lot and nodded in agreement to whatever was being said. Then she stretched out her hand to take something from the man, and I saw a packet. I thought, (awful of me) that’s a lot of money. “She’s a great negotiator!” I whispered with something like respect.
Then instead of getting into the vehicle, as I expected, she slipped something which looked more like money from under the packet and put it into her pocket. As she thanked the man, she took something from the packet and popped it into her mouth. She went chomp, chomp like a squirrel with a stuffed mouth.
The man drove off.
He had counseled her, in my over-positive opinion, handed her some money and a tit-bit to munch on. What! Can this be happening! I was totally awestruck. What a man! 
The girl finished what she was eating and stood for a while. Then she saw headlights approaching and sprinted right into the middle of the road, in front of the approaching car, waving both her arms wildly. What now, I thought, with bated breath.
This was so unlike her… since I had been observing her for some time, it surprised me. This was like a serial unfolding before my eyes. The car slowed, swerved but didn’t stop. She ran alongside a few paces, saying something to the driver. Then gave up as the driver sped up. She stood looking after it.
A few yards up, the car stopped. She ran down the road. I couldn’t see much of what was going on, I couldn’t make out her expressions or words. But I saw the door opening and the girl getting in. And then she was gone. “She’s taking a lift home,” I said with relief. I wanted a good ending. I wanted a hopeful ending. Whatever my mind said to the contrary, my heart said: she went home.
I like to think the sudden, wild burst of energy and emotion had something to do with her encounter with the previous gentleman. I also like to think that she hadn’t been putting on an act for the kind man. I want to believe that one act of compassion had taken a young girl off the street for one night at least. I want to believe that goodness, kindness, and compassion still roam around the streets and linger around the corner, waiting to help someone.

Whispered Psalms and Tendrils of Hope

I’m alone once again.

And once again I lose count of the days, the hours and the minutes,

They don’t matter anymore.

Time is interminable.

My futile efforts to fill the void, send me foraying into a plethora of memories,

Rummaging through school days, college years,

Adolescent joys and tears.

They flash across the mental screen, I will them to stay

Just a while, so I am not alone.

Vainly I try to hold a wave upon the sand, sadly I relinquish the moonbeam in my hand.

And it begins to rain.

The rhythm of the falling rain beats a haunting tattoo

That recalls vivid memories of other rainy days,

Evoking the sweetness followed by pain,

That slowly gives way to a numbness.

I don’t want to feel,

Happiness, sorrow, misery or pain.

I don’t want to remember

Good days or bad days, grey days or wet days.

I block out the past and stare out of the window.

Something stirs within.

I fight against myself…a losing battle this,

For the dark skies and falling rain call out to me and I cannot resist.

I must yield. I can’t be immune to it.

The memories flood back like the overflowing drains,

Gurgling, rushing, uninterrupted

Washing away the dirt, dust and debris.

Leaving in its wake quiet, calm, peacefulness.

And I lay my head down exhausted.

Too tired from the roller-coaster ride of emotions,

The upswings and downswings.

Somewhere clouds clash streaking the skies, breaking the silence with its thunder.

The flood-gates open to the release…

And I drown in a deluge of tears.

Years of conditioning in convention and orthodoxy,

Make me look for purpose and divine reason to every twist and turn in life.

The purpose is found, the reason justified

By theological philosophies, I pretend to understand.

I try to be stoical in the face of it,

Wondering what else is expected of me.

The outer walls I build around me

Of hard, cold reasoning and hollow sounding platitudes, harden and thicken while

Hidden inside the crumbling begins.

Broken and battered I cower inside the fortress,

Suspicious and scared of every shadow,

Of which there are many –

Some real, rest imagined.

And life goes on drawing hope from whispered Psalms.

Hope like a frail tendril clings to straws.

And I lift up my eyes and thank God,

For things could have been worse, but for His grace.

(First draft: 1996. Published: 2008)