The unspoken Slack

NOTE: Written almost 4 years ago. Never published it then.
I had a severe bout of imposter-syndrome, not-doing-enough and waking up everyday with the “i-missed-the-train” feeling for over a month. Somehow this post i never published helped me recoup. And i felt it is something i should share, since it is one of those thing that is not mentioned enough times!!
To All you slacking young-parents

My husband was laid off today. It was a surprise when only recently his annual review had gone well and he was entitled to a lump sum bonus, which he will still receive, along with a nearly comfortable period of compensation. My husband was always on the call of duty and gave 100% to his work. Even with fatherhood throwing some stressful challenges during the third month of my son’s nursing strike, when getting a few ounces of milk into him just to make sure he survives was a battle. He juggled work, part time MBA and fatherhood at that time. And not to forget be supportive to his wife who was undergoing severe breakdowns from mothering-nursing challenges and encouraging her to keep her job and look for new opportunities, instead of buckling down under pressure.

What was in fact not the surprise was my husband was ONLY giving 100% to his work during this period. the remaining 100% that is expected out of you was given to his family. So when he must have been weighed against a highly performing group which was giving 200% to their work compared to him, he was a logical choice.

In my 7 years of employment in 3 different companies so far, I have watched and learned this trend especially in this competitive economy. The first company my husband and I worked for 4 and 5 years respectively was a medium sized startup. The 2008-2009 time when many were losing jobs and the NYC stock exchange was slumping like never before, our company was in a sweet spot since we were making technology that was in line with the emerging market of data phone usage.

My husband and I had only a mortgage we were committed to. And we were working nearly 70 hour weeks and giving the 200% that is expected. You are always expected to over-perform to keep your job. We also over-performed, because we loved our job and there was nothing else that was pressing for our attention in those years. It helped us keep focus. We rose ladders pretty fast we well!

By the time we inched to 2010, the company’s visions were shifting or lacking and what could have been was starting to look bleak. During these years, we made many good friends and worked with many different colleagues. There were mothers who were spending more time pumping than in front of their PCs. There were pregnant women who were giving 100% but rushing back home in evenings to pick up their older kids from day care. There were dads who had to WFH because their kids were sick and werent available to answer questions I had for them immediately.

I should have made a mental note of these things back then, as a phase of young parenting, but it all comes back to me only now. When the first round of layoffs were announced, the ones giving 100% and a few under-performers were on the list. Back then to me, as the one slogging hours in the lab and continuing to work from home, the mother who completed her tasks on time, but rushed out at 3 pm to pick her son, came across as a slacker to me.

Things began to change soon after. The company was treading towards maintenance mode and work was starting to enter lackadaisical mode. And my husband and I feared the all eggs in one basket situation for us with regards to immigration and I made a jump to a big corporate, while my husband began his part-time MBA.

When I announced that I was resigning, lots of efforts were made to make me stay. There was a minimal financial compensation that was promised and given. There was a different array of projects that I was told I could head or work closely on. It actually felt great that my work was valued, but the decision was made to not wait till the company closed its doors and threw us all out and we are hanging in limbo without a stable work visa.

It was probably the last time I was ever valued so much for my work.

The first few months in the corporate went well, I was learning new things. The 40 mile drive was brutal. But i managed. And very soon, as this particular corporate is notorious for, a strange bureaucracy set in. There was restructuring, projects came and went. Projects worked on were randomly shelved. It was any employee’s nightmare. There was a general lack of morale. It didnt matter if you worked 200% or 100%. Many times it was even tough to find the opportunity to work 200%. There was work, there was angst that deliveries were not going to meet the date, but there was no proper delegation. there was Chaos and no visibility.

I started to reconsider making a move from this pet-peeve of “not enough work” but ironic chaos of “lots needs to be done”. Only to soon find out that I was pregnant. And like that I made my foray into the ‘supposedly-slacker’ work-life of young parent.

I eased into the feeling. Even till 8th month i drove in because staying home drove me mad. I worked on a project which I had to wrap since it was shelved multiple times in various stages. I bore through it with constant reminders from myself and extended family that all I needed to stress about was my child right now.

By the time my maternity leave began, I was far far away from associating myself as the 70 hour work machine. I wished like so many other mothers that maternity leave was atleast a year long and not the unfair 6 weeks. I remember hearing the story of a distant cousin whose child is a teenager now and she is a vice president of a company; she had skipped hopped and returned to work in 4 weeks after birthing. I couldnt associate myself with that at all, although her story had inspired me before and few months into pregnancy.

I am not saying every mother drops her dreams or will to work as soon she enters motherhood. I am simply stating, young parenting is a really tough phase and it requires 100% of your time. So when you are juggling multiple things, something is sure going to slack or come across as slacking. Like Indra nooyi mentions, there is the guilt and then there is priorities. The balance may take months or years to reach.

I once reveled to a friend on how magnanimous Google is even to new mothers. They offer 6 months of maternity, which is a far off dream for many working mothers in the US. She told me that mothers don’t take more than 4 months, which is like the unwritten accepted time. Mothers who have returned to work even after 6 to 8 weeks of break will tell you, how tough it is to find your bearing. I am not talking about the leaving-your-baby-in-someone-elses-care trouble here. I am talking about finding your worth in your job.

The world works on competitive opportunities and unique skill sets. 6 weeks is more than enough time for someone else to take your spot and limelight. The dependency they once had on your work would have shifted hands very easily in 6 weeks. And many of us go for the 12 weeks maternity leave and I will leave it to you to figure what becomes of her real “requirement” when she returns to work.

I have often noticed mothers change jobs or change teams soon after maternity leave. I did too. In my case, I was long overdue for a change and it was also my attempt to escape a sinking ship. But it mainly stems from the apathy that sets in which seems to say “you are not missed here anymore”, which can very well translate to “you are not needed here anymore”

Unlike what many internet memes and posts will tell you, fathers undergo a slump as young parents too. It is not like for a man, work will always be his first priority. A child burning with fever will always come before his important meeting. even if he manages to make it to the meeting, he may be thinking about how his child is doing

It is amazing we grow our children and our parents grew us fearless to remember that anything is possible and to never set limits to our dreams. It is also easy to state as a non-parent that especially women must not be told that career goals take a backstage when planning a family. I am a mother to a almost 2 year old and believe my dreams are very much intact and achievable.

Although if you had asked me just a year ago, I would have told you that it is impossible to shoot for the stars as a mother. Early parenting (young parenting as i like to term it) will take you on a low if not many, a few times at least. But it gets immensely better after you have found a rhythm to handle the happenings.

Whether it is pumping every 2.5 hours, or staying home too often to care for a sick child, or handling a baby’s transgressions in day care or worrying sick about feeding a picky eater, somewhere in the 0-5 years curve balls will keep coming your way. Most of us manage by hanging there during the lull and looking for a window of opportunity to make the leap.

At different stages parents are always hanging in there by giving their 100% at work and exhausting the remaining 100% reserve to their family. The mothers I knew who ran to pick their kids early, are now back in the groove working long hours in startups, while their now grown up kids dont demand as much time like few years back. Or the mother who decided to pursue her MBA with three to care for. And also the one who quit her job to complete her family with 2 kids and then went back to work.

Their stories tell me that it is okay that I am not exactly pursuing to be the next marissa meyers right now. Even if I am, i will get there in time, when I have found that space and balance with my family. It is an important parenting lesson that is rarely told to us. It is the phase that is very often panned as the bane of choosing motherhood over career. Or allow me to be bold to say parenthood, since it is no longer only about the mother anymore.

My husband was in the aggressively looking to make his leap after a period of lull, which stemmed from immigration and parenthood, when the lay offs caught him. Unfortunately that is how the system works.

Even if so much noise is made about leaning-in and making work places conducive for new mothers, it may take away a few discomforts, but doesnt exactly save one from losing or missing opportunities the economy and competition creates. But that is only the immediate effect. If you havent lost focus of your goals lulling in the lull, you will always find a time later on to make the leap.

And probably that is the message we have to impart to young parents. That a setback may happen. That it may be imminent for the situation. It may look like the world is racing ahead of us. But it is always possible to rebuild. There will be a time the chaos will settle. You will find your opportunity and at that time my friend, is when you make your leap without a doubt!


To my unbeknownst childhood hero

The year short of the 90s, appa was transferred to Patna. We left the comfort of my paternal home in Trivandrum, leaving behind thatha, thathi and periappa, on a glorious monsoon day. It was not their first time; my parents had spent a good many years before I arrived, in the foothills of Janjira-murud and later Pune. So going to unknown lands with unfamiliar tongues wasn’t new to them.

Like all of appa’s transfers, I went from “shattered and heartbroken, I hate this place” to “this is my (2nd) home” in the 3 years i spent there. We lived in a typical middle class apartment complex, all families like ours, most of the dads in government jobs. The kids did the whole “games at twilight” scenes in the evenings, went to same schools, the women had each others backs when the men traveled for work. It was a close knit group. Everyone knew everyone.

It was a time when telephone and television weren’t necessities and nevertheless to say we didn’t own either. One of the families with two daughters had a TV and VCR. And it was at their place we kids gathered to watch a movie every weekend. Sometimes we would love a movie so much (like Mr. India) that we would forgo the evening playtime to catch few snippets, if the video cassette wasn’t due to be returned, that is!

The kids who hosted the movie time were from Madras. And unlike in my case, their parents had not learnt hindi at all; so the kids were on their own to figure out the second language which was compulsory in our school. The older daughter almost in her pre-teens once quipped that, if Sridevi could rule Bollywood without any formal training in hindi, it can’t be that hard, could it?

That was the first time i learnt that Sridevi was a already a superstar in the south, I had not known about, but those details didnt matter to me much back then. I simply looked forward to the movie nights on weekends. And probably because the hosts were fans of Sridevi, it was mostly her movies that we watched most of the time.

And just like that through her acting prowess, flamboyance and seamless panache with wit, she had won the hearts of us kids. I clearly remember laughing till my tummy ached, watching her in chalbaaz! We also did a terribly co-ordinated dance routine with “hawa-hawai” ; And so when recently vidya Balan had revived that magical number for us, I played it to my kids over and over till they asked me to stop!

And just like that, without even realising or declaring, Sridevi had become a huge part of those years for me. In the years that followed and during the time I lived in Chennai, I caught on a lot of her yesteryear tamil hits too and remember weeping like a child after moondram-pirai ( sadma ). Gravitating to her movies had seemed so natural that I hadnt put a tag to it all these years. It is just that easy to love talent like hers, i suppose!

But when the news floated in and the judgments followed since last saturday, these memories had come flooding back. I didnt expect it to impact me as much as it did. May be because I wasn’t ready to feel like I lost a part of my childhood so soon. And may be with her comeback since English-Vinglish, I was looking forward to many more years of awesomeness to come. And for many like me, we may never get to find out!

Venus and Mars

Couple of weeks back, N and I celebrated the year of tin/aluminum. For the uninitiated it is another way of saying, its been 10 years since we were wedded in the presence of our parents and 2000 other people. Yes that number was not an exaggeration. I digress.

If you have been married for a while and meet other married couples in a group, I am sure you must have been privy to a jocular almost bordering on hidden-angst of rants, that can be rightly termed a gender-war. It is usually a tirade that raises from chores and routines and women taking the heavier load. But expressed all in jest; we all get a few laughs at the expense of the men who play along being the country-bumpkin when it comes to matters of domestic everyday chores that keeps a family afloat.

The truth is far from that and we all know it; we do, right?? It is no secret that if the skirmish of right-way-to-toothpaste was infact shaking the foundation of our relationships, this is not the forum we would be discussing it on. Since the matter is much more fun to create the laughs, that is exactly what is told.

On one such recent evening, amidst the peals of laughter that kept coming without a break, I felt obligated to contribute and drew a blank! No, it wasnt always like that and no I am in no means saying we have found the solution to that equal marriage, whatever that means!

We have our everyday battles. Well who doesnt. Because thats when I was reminded of the game we played on our 10th anniversary party. We were each asked some controversial questions and we sat facing away from each other and our answers were suppose to be gesticulated. ( example: who wakes up first in the morning . I pointed to me and N pointed to me ). we had a hiccup at “who calls the shots?”. Probably the only question we didnt seemingly agree on. ( 10 points for those who guess what each answered )

But when i thought more about it, it seemed like the best response i could hope for!

A friend recently shared an post on how women aren’t nags, but they are just fed up. It was a highly popular one which has been doing the rounds for a few months now. It said exactly what many women have been through and may be going through often; And what exactly was told in jest (few paragraphs above). To me honestly the article was a huge eye-opener. It made me look back on this parley from when i have been old enough to notice it.

My parents have a lot of friends and as a pre-teen and teen i often got dragged to lots of dinners, where the women helped the hostess in the kitchen and men discussed politics in the living room. When the mood would lighten, I often noticed ( while pretending to play) how the conversations shifted too. The women also joined after desserts and there is one joke that stands out for me. One man would say ” i have BP ” which meant “bharyiye pedi” he would explain ( means — Afraid of my wife ) and another husband would quip ” I have BJP ” which is ” bharyiye janmana pedi” ( Afraid of my wife since birth ). And it is a joke i have seen repeated so many times, makes the women folk cringe and men guffaw.

Now the reason it was so ha-ha funny, aside from the popular acronyms as pun was because it was not true. If a man was truly deeply afraid of his wife and considering how sensitive testosterone bearers were in the generation before ours, this joke wouldn’t have seen the light of day.

Things are not astronomically different or better now, unfortunately. Men are okay to entertain criticism for their lack of panache when it comes to leaving a kitchen sink clean, because they deeply believe that is not their department of expertise nor do they want it to be. Because it magically gets done right? When they are settling with the remote or wee hours of the morning when the wife is fuming/nearly in tears at the extra work; but doesnt pick a fight because thats the last thing one needs to get everyone out the door in the morning!

And this is exactly what all the women folk who were belting disapproval one after another sugar coated with laughs were actually trying to express. and here is where the line from the article stands out for me —

“Walking that fine line to keep the peace and not upset your partner is something women are taught to accept as their duty from an early age”

 That line is exactly what the evenings spent in the company of my parents’ friends taught me. We have a running joke about “docile-wife” in our circle, but knowingly or unknowingly through bring up and observations we all fall under that time and again.

While the article resonates with most of us and we all agree upon it, It forced me to look at a side I hadnt gone into. It forced me to a reflect upon a huge list of things that magically get done without my knowledge as well. Please tell me, you have that list; because honestly that his and her list is what is keeping you together, like yin and yan?

The generation before ours ( the one with the BP and BJP jokes ),  knew that list really well. Thats how most of them built that mutual respect, stuck to their side of the duties and moved on without letting the jokes take the better of them. The only time i saw that dynamics shift with my parents was when my father retired. It was rarely put on the table for debate.

Marrying those lists as far as they can get is probably one way to approach this. And accepting chores are well chores.. not a entity to load with peeves is probably another addendum to the approach. But hey! if it was as easy as I just typed and if we had a manual that was a one-size-fits-all we wouldn’t we having this conversation would we?

But, a third piece to it that even I have been guilty of, is an important one, I wouldn’t shun away from anymore. So it bothered me that the his-list is something the partners did without making a raucous, while the her-list was the butt of all jokes all the time. Either the his-list is too easy/too small or it is some kind of man-den-secret-sauce. It drove me to create a Loooooong list of “who Does it?” and probably i never got to completing it either.

That list helped me and eventually us in two ways – To take more active interest and participation, not just as a silent partner in matters that were handled for me! And churning that list to eliminate peeves from routines and setting priority. Well! how does this help to relieve the emotional burden women carry you may ask? I can’t give any guarantees that it will. But it is a darn good way to know where a couple stands with the equilibrium in the relationship. And very likely that is a good start!

So today morning, we skimmed the to-doist together. We decided who would handle which errand and to sync back in the evening. And before i made that beeline to the garage, I quipped with a tinge of exasperation for the 400th time (not an exaggeration) ” You know that the strainer in the sink doesn’t doesn’t clean itself, right?” And then i was gone!


morning musings

6 am is a wonderful time to be awake, especially on a friday morning. I stood by the kitchen sink, taking in the peach hues of a sunrise. The only sound in that quietude was the coffee filter going “PliP”. I paused some more. And before I knew I was cutting, grating, kneading and rolling the dough to make ‘ parathas with jam’ for the lunch boxes. The thoughts that consume me during these moments are usually the same — A mental run through of today’s todoist, a quick recap of where i left off at work and a brief rush of the runner’s high at finishing my workout before sunrise!

But today was different. I suddenly recalled a dream I had right before my alarm had gone off. It was about getting back in touch with an old friend. And funnily enough my brain had dug to the depths of remembering her mobile number which i knew byheart many moons ago. It didnt hurt, but it was a dull regret that the years of distance had reduced staying-in-touch to “likes” and exchanges of “what else?”. It was a natural run down that comes from not knowing what to say or share; and the moment it comes to a discussion of the weather, you know where its headed.

By the time the parathas were sizzling on the tava, I fondly remembered the long list of friendships that have stood the test of time and distance in my near-nomadic life; and there is that list of gently-letting-go and abruptly-ended, as well. And the third kind that emerged from blogging and twitter, which is a sort of a sisterhood of having each others back, that is so hard to explain to someone else!

“the camaraderie in female friendships are like that” I smiled, as I smothered the butter and jam, before wrapping the parathas. It was almost 6:30 and sunlight was seeping through my window. I quickly made a cup of coffee before the bustle of my morning would take over. I sulked at the first sip. It tasted nothing like what amma got me used to every morning when she was here for the summer. I made a mental note to ask her how she brewed it.

Like an afterthought, it hit me, that not all relationships suffer with distance. The every morning call to my mother is a testament to that statement. Infact, we have settled into this comfortable acceptance that we get along best when not under the same roof. I nodded a little thankyou to no one in particular for that early morning revelation. It was a near zen-like-moment; before I caught the shuffle of footsteps upstairs. My family was waking up and it was time to let the morning cave in!

Rewriting Mary Poppins

Many moons ago, I watched the broadway rendition of Mary Poppins in NYC. It was splendid to say the least. And i was glad to have the character introduced to me in the best way possible, with all the hullabaloo, if i may (Wink); umbrella flying in the middle of the theater and tap dancers performing next to you, it was indeed wonderful.

So when I watched the movie with my children recently, happily learning to sing “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” with them, little did I realise that I would be intrigued very differently this time around.

Poppins is the hero of the movie, no doubt. She is perfectly played by Julie andrews (from the sound of music fame). She is kind, yet strict; not rude, yet stern; not submissive, yet polite. And unlike most of disney’s female characters, I love that she is unpredictable; she is a mystery that doesn’t beg to be solved. It was heartening to see a woman on screen knowing perfectly well what she likes and doing what she wants! “Let me make one thing perfectly clear! I dont explain anything” — and thats that 🙂

It was all great until i decided to read parts of T.L Travis’s original, to understand the character of mrs. Banks, better. Her satirical treatment in the movie had me in wraps with wikipedia and other articles; digging deep into the suffragette movement. I learnt about Sophia Duleep Singh, who was a suffragist; her father was the one who let the British empire have India’s Kohinoor. ( that was a lot of trivia for a single night for me ! )

The book, I realised, makes no mention of suffragette at all. ( All i had to do was read more on wikipedia, instead of reading 200+ pages; oh well! I had to be sure ). And I was mildly surprised how unpleasant Poppins came across to me in the book. She was borderline contemptuous, especially towards Mrs. Banks. And Mrs. Banks was more meek and characterless in the novel. For once, I was at awe with Disney’s adaptation.

So here is where I draw the parallels and give my interpretation — To me Mrs Banks cohesively represents women who are always at odds with their personal ambitions and maternal duties. When I drew it into the present age, the suffragette movement could easily replace “equal pay”  or “#metoo” — silent battles we are waging through twitter or blogposts, not knowing exactly how to involve our spouses or families in it. And we can’t do it without the Mary Poppins, the care-givers and teachers who do the part for us to keep our children safe and happy, when we are away figuring it all out!

The ending of the movie is often quoted as the “domestication” of Mrs. Banks. But I honestly saw it as the opposite. To me it was her moment of proudly owning up to be a suffragist, to stop living in the closet, to be able to bring her voice and beliefs to her family. Of letting her voice fly high for the world to see!


navaratri musings

The labyrinths of Trivandrum’s east fort colonies, adjacent to padmanabha swami temple, with barely enough space for a cycle and pedestrian, would come agog during the navaratri days. It was probably the only time of the year, you could see so many women and girls on the streets; dressed in their best pavadais and sarees, carnatic music wafting in the air, faint sounds of kolattam and announcements of tyagaraja music festival coupled with inundated tunings of shruti-pettis and mridangams.

We attempt to recreate that world, so many oceans away, every year. What started with 3 makeshift padis in 2013 has finally reached 7. This year the dasavatharams we found at the antique markets of karaikudi have adorned the topmost padi. Like i attempted explaining to the carpenter who built the padis for us “we are recreating little pieces of our upbringing and nostalgia, one step at a time”. Nevertheless to say, I had to explain myself following his quizzical expression.

This year we had the pleasure of having so many little girls visit our golu, who are fast growing up; And before i finish typing this post, i am sure their parents must have already dropped them at college (thats how fast kids seem to be growing.. saved for another post). They came dressed in lovely pavadais and tassel earrings; that they carried with utmost confidence. They didnt flinch when asked to say a prayer or sing. They tuned the shruti-pettis, assumed cross-legged seat like they have been doing it forever and sang lovely krithis they recently learnt in music classes. Their otherwise american accents, had vanished as they pronounced sanskrit and telugu verses with such ease. It was a pleasure; it was surreal!

When the hum mellowed, followed by applause, then taken over by the cacophony of various conversations; they had slowly made their way to play soccer in our backyard. I must mention that the long skirts weren’t a bother to them and they rocked it!

I had thought so hard about a gender neutral item for their tamboolam bag. I am often chided by my family for overbearing the need to keep gender roles/gifts neutral especially for little girls. I had however not done a great job in that regard, this year i must admit. It was decided in a single visit to pier-one. But that evening it didn’t matter.

What mattered was how we helped them carry forward the confidence that had come so naturally so young. The ease to not hesitate to have fun; to let go without thought and press forward without being bogged down by gender stereotypes. Yesterday I met a doctor-in-the-making, who is also a bharatnatyam dancer. I don’t have to detail how hard every phase of a medical degree can be. She was keeping it together in a lovely bright pink kurta and quipped with easy smiles.

As I handed the little works of beads, glitter and everything shiny, things popularly termed “feminine”; this time I didn’t wince. A little femininity everyday to help us plow thru can’t be a bad thing; but knowing that we are capable of so much more is what truly empowers us.

For my little boy who loves the color pink!

And a younger me, who played kho-kho for six hours straight in a pattu-pavadai!


a short story written on 11-5-2014 for a writers club.



“Checkmate” written by Divya Durgadas

“What is that awful smell?” Grandma said, crinkling up her nose “I bet it is the mongoose again peeing on the attic!” she sighed! Grandpa’s earpiece had slid down yet again and he was oblivious to Grandma’s concerns. He sat across the table from me eyeing the soup cauldron. He hated pumpkin soup; he made a god awful face!


I laughed and stuck my tongue out, let my head fall on my left shoulder and I cocked each eyeball in the opposite direction. A trick I had learnt from the man sitting across me. “Stop goofing around and finish your dinner!” said Grandma looking in our direction.


I licked my bowl clean and reached for more. Go on, grandpa gestured, getting up from the table. Grandma was running up the crooked wooden stairs to the attic with the old wick lamp and a broom.


I gestured him to wear his earpiece. He was now sitting on the kitchen counter reading the newspaper. It was a while since he tried this trick! He loved to make Grandma mad by rubbing his bum in Elvis Presley’s moves on the clean scrubbed kitchen counter. I stifled a giggle imagining Grandma’s response when she would catch him. He winked, as if reading my mind.


Suddenly we heard a crash, and before I knew all the brass utensils tucked away in the attic were rolling down the stairs. I ran up working my way through the utensil maze calling “Grandma! Grandma!” in panic. There she was on the attic floor lying stiff and passed out. I was crying by now; I shook her vigorously. She moved ever so lightly and finally opened her eyes. I helped her sit up. She was exhausted “It is the stupid cat” she finally said “She has been storing them, the rats in that corner” she pointed to a space cluttered with things from an entire generation ago, which now reeked of something retching.

“I will help you clear it up tomorrow when the sun comes” I told her, helping her to her feet. “I will get grandpa to help. It must be his earpiece again. He may not have heard us!” I ran down, before grandma replied.


The kitten was licking of the remains of my bowl of soup. “Shoo.. Bad kitty” I chided. Grandpa was missing. His hat was gone too. Ah! his usual night time walk, I remembered. Grandma had made her way downstairs by now “Go on. Go to sleep.” she said gesturing me to take a wicker lamp “Don’t stay up reading tonight!” she called out after me.


I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay there listening to the clangs of grandma putting away the brass vessels. I heard the bell from the town’s center. I even heard the distant whistle of the midnight goods train that passed our town. I had hated my boarding school when Grandpa first dropped me that wretched summer. But now I missed my bed there and my friends. It had been two days since I was home and I felt amiss. Grandma was cantankerous than usual and grandpa was well himself but not quite. It seemed they were avoiding each other.


I tossed and turned and finally decided to light the wicker lamp and read my new stack of Enid Blyton books. I felt cold and caught something looming in the corner. I lit the lamp shaking with fear and nearly screamed. It was grandpa setting up the chess table. “You gave me a fright! You have to tell me! Why have you been so mysterious lately? Did you fight with grandma?” “Bullocks!” he mumbled and pointed to the chessboard. “Heh! Sure! I can’t catch sleep anyway” I beamed. Grandpa usually told me stories of the kingdoms while we played chess, of ghouls, goblins and flying elephants. I looked forward to that more than the game itself.


The next morning when grandma woke me up I was sprawled on the chess board with a pawn stuck up my nose. We have to go someplace she said and had laid out my new clothes and socks on the bed. “Where is grandpa? He was up playing chess with me. Yesterday’s stories had the dwarfs too” I said. She stared at me for a moment “He left a while back” she muttered. It felt like the longest journey of my life, on that bumpy old fiat herald. We listened to Sound of music soundtrack on the radio. It was all the rage now. I sang along for “My favorite things”. Grandma just smiled, I wished she had sung along too like before.


And finally we reached. I was back at the doorstep of the ominous hospital wing, where I had watched mama and papa sleeping a sleep from which they would never wake.


I started trembling inside as I caught pieces of the conversation.

“Oh! Mrs…., there you are! we have been trying to reach you for two days”

“it’s the storm. We are out of power and phone lines are down”

“Why… why have to taken him off the support systems?”

“the coma..”

“I am sorry. I believe it has been 48 hours ago.”

“His body …”

I didn’t understand any of it. No one had told me he was here.

He was right there, I said. He even made a face at the soup! And what seemed like for many many hours, my Grandma hugged me and sobbed.