The quarantine weeks

When these weeks are over, we may think we did not do much. But we did. We did things that we do not do otherwise. Things we do not get time for even with best intentions. Journaling has always helped keep memories intact.

We are at two months of being in lockdown. Phew ! 

Schools are online, work is online and remote. We meet people on zoom, face time and whatsapp video calls. Grocery is mostly delivered home and requires to be sanitized before it can be brought in. We have not eaten out or ordered in. Hair cut has been added to list of chores done at home. Homeschooling is manageable but not the best. Learning empathy is more important than mathematics. The four of us have never co-existed in the same space before 24/7. 

So what did we do in the last two months ? 

Planted some sun flowers, petunias and dahlias. The dahlias are dying. The squirrels ate them. Planted a few onion bulbs, a new tomato plant, a bed of fenugreek leaves and few jalapeños. Patience is the key with kitchen gardening. Unless you are growing mint that grows like wild grass. It is spring and the roses are finally blooming. We literally wake up and smell the roses. There were three tulips to be exact but then they stopped blooming. 

Learnt Zentangle from the daughter. The patterns developed to be not too bad. She painted three small canvases, sketched a few here and there. The boy doodled to his heart's content. 

We cooked and baked and cooked and baked and cleaned in repeated cycles. But all in good fun (not always). Veggie chili is a new favorite at home. Quesadillas and breakfast burritos became acceptable for dinner. There was Malpua and Gajar Halwa too. Banana cake, cobbler and waffles with ice cream. Avocado toast and chia pudding for breakfast some days. Instant coffee with palm sugar taste like real gold. In it all veggie burger meal got pretty boring, with any and all amounts of dressing it up. 

Commute time has been consumed by morning meetings, late wake up routines and longer working hours. Yet there have been enough time for a walk, binge watch, watching the kids dip in the pool, watch the new leaves come of plants that died in the winter, play a board game or do a family exercise time. Yet, what we see on social media is nearly not close to where we are. 

There are days the kitchen sink is overflowing with dirty dishes, the beds are all unmade and endless washed but unfolded laundry  sits neglected. It seems as if there was a hurricane that hit our home. Meals and conversations both are hurried and haphazard. Device time is unlimited. There is total mayhem. On those days my instagram feeds seem dreamy and unrealistic (surprisingly instead of providing any motivation). 

Each day it is important to remind ourselves what we have is a privilege. A job that allows us to work from the comfort of our homes while caring for the kids. Enough food for the three meals a day. Lots of sunshine to soak in the yard everyday, to hear the birds chirp and the cool evening breeze refreshing our souls. 

To be continued.... .

Day #15 - I miss you San Francisco

It is two weeks since I have been working from home now. There is no morning rush, madness or a scramble for anything. I do not have to cringe every time I take a seat on the BART. I can no longer complain of a 3hr daily commute and the ache of it in every bone of my body. Instead, I now sip my morning coffee in leisure amidst chirping of birds. I take the morning calls while soaking in some of the early morning sun or dampness. I can do all of the things I have not been able to do for a long time - spend more time with the kids, discover my own home in new ways, check on the plants in the yard more often. When I wrap up work in the evening, I do not have to run a mile back to the station, while wondering if I would get back on time to pick the kids. When the kids want to play in the yard, I don’t refuse anymore, telling them I am tired. I play with them abiding with all their nonsensical made up rules. Sometimes I think I am making up on lost time with them. The gratitude is immense. 

But strangely in between all of this at home, I miss you San Francisco. I miss the 70 flight of stairs at Montgomery that you trained me to sprint in a minute, mostly because I was always ate to meetings. The sound of the violin at the train station from that elderly man who always sits there with a smile on his face. I miss walking the streets with the daily commuters while watching the smitten tourists. The smell of the bay and the crisp wind on my face, the occasional rain in winter soaking my jacket (I still refuse to carry an umbrella!). 

I stand marveling the architecture while waiting for the walk sign, as the morning sun peeks onto market street thru the tall buildings. The occasional wandering off in pursuit of a good chai or a Americano that always was an excuse to venture out on a new street and breathe in more of San Francisco. 

There is something so beautiful about you. Like everything, this too shall pass. And when it does, I hope to come and see you again. 

To 2019 with love

For bringing us to Calle Alegre
The sun peeking in through the tall red woods
The roses, oleanders, poppies and the many flowers we do not know names of
For letting us see a dream, for giving us a home.

For those who travelled distances, near and far
Those who gathered around around our kitchen to break a bread with us
Those who came in to fill the little corners with more love
For the pool parties, barbecues, laughters and many a toasts raised

For the revelations and rejections
The rejections that were quite a revelation.
The rejections that broke the heart just enough for it to be glued back again
For the things we put our soul into but failed, still not doubting our self-worth

For the newness in our old relationships
The adults who are now child like, the children who desire to be adults
The sanity bestowed on us to maintain the balance between both
For coming back home every night and never giving up on any of them

Solutions

“Where are the clean towels ?” 

“ Where are the burger buns ?” 

“ You shrunk my blue shirt again ! “ 

“ I do not have a lunch box that fits in my lunch bag. “ 

I chose to ignore the questions and jumped in the car to pick up my carpool partner. The people with the questions stayed home with an extra hour on hand  to get ready for school  and work. I hope they found what they were looking for. This to some extent summarizes my year. If you want to dip your feet into many things, you have to learn to ignore the noise and sometimes walk away. Because no one has the solution for everything. I don’t either. Solutions find their way. 

Cross Road

At a crossroad in life where everything is right. But something seems not right. I look around at everything that’s not quite right, everything that saddens the soul, every time  I shed a tear in the privacy of the loo - I ask my self the same question. Is this the worst that could have happened? The answer is most always no and I console myself that every thing is alright. I wipe the tear off, flush away and walk out telling myself - this is trivial, I can deal with it.

But the stack of trivial keeps growing. It’s easy to ignore the stack in the cacophony of life. But it stays stuck somewhere in a corner of your heart.

Life’s Like That

Most days the husband and I do not converse. We are exhausted to the extent where words cannot exist. I assume it is the maturity of the relationship where silence is meaningful. When words coexist between us, we talk of mundane things - unpaid bills, upkeep of the home and determine who is dropping the kids to school in the morning.

Almost everyday, I watch my father struggle with his words. He has so much to say. Either his desire to say or his words have dried up, I cannot tell for sure. I search for answers in his eyes. The only clear subject I find is his lack of comprehension of the pace of my life and the chaos in it.

I am baffled by the chaos myself and by the noise that the preteen creates. I want her to have a voice, most often girls are sush-ed up. But teaching the concept of consideration to a grown child is equivalent to hiking the Everest. Still, I tell her things I hope she will remember when she is off on her own.

I have lost interest in family gossip much to the distaste of my mother. She loves to talk but she has no one to talk to. She does not hear that well anymore . Most times our conversations are disconnected. Her answers have no correlation to my questions. I listen nevertheless while watching the ever growing grey in her hair and the lines on her face. There is a hint of discontent and loneliness is her words.

And when my patience has ran out from the arguments, disconnected conversations and deepened silences, I run to the little boy. He talks meaningless stuff and laughs endlessly. I laugh along. Somewhere in those mindless banters, he asks quite seriously “Mama, are you ok? Did you have a good day” . My heart fills to the brim. No one asks about those little things anymore.

Life’s a war zone

The internal war with the person within me. The person that craves for a bit more, perhaps the next step on the ladder. And the person that desires to step off the ladder for the fear that it might be steadily losing its balance.

The war of expectations, tantrums, desires and happiness of others. I lose myself in the war zone often, sometimes fighting it with the strength of steel and at other times watching helplessly as things go beyond my control.

I want to set everything right but that’s nothing short of impossible. I cannot run away either, they are all mine - the people in it.

43747 Paso Nuez

To The New Homeowners With Love, 

As you walk in through the doors into the long hallway, you may admire the white of the wall and the new art hung on it. There was once a beautiful monochrome picture there of a little girl picking leaves from a tree. That girl grew up from a preschooler to a middle schooler in this house. The stains on the front porch are from the dozens of canvases she has painted. If you noticed the rocks by the front steps, they were also hand painted by her when she was only 7 years old. This house has seen more color than the white of the walls you see now. 

The walls up to the stairs had little fingerprints smeared on them, sometime colored. You will take a moment at the stairs to admire the picture of the Brooklyn bridge . Everyone always has. That picture led to a love for lenses, pictures and capturing the world and its people for the man of this house. This house has nurtured many a creative souls - origami lovers, crochet and lego makers, photographers and storytellers. There was once art work, crayon, sketch book, pencils in every nook of the house, pictures on most walls and always a few dried brushes in the patio. Most of it is packed in boxes now, awaiting to find a new space. You will still find bits and pieces of it around the house. That’s us, that’s who we are. 

We have lounged in the living room on every Friday night to watch a movie together as a family. Most nights it took us more than an hour to argue and agree on a movie to watch. When nothing was agreeable, we have watched Just Add Magic, Chopped, Sugar Rush, Guy Fiery and all kinds of cooking shows over and over again. If you are like us, you love to bake and you are not fearful of experimenting, that Kitchenaid oven in the kitchen will be your best friend. It churns out the best lemon pound cake and banana muffins you have ever had in your life. 

The kitchen is practically where we lived, the part of the house that brought everyone together, that has heard every conversation we have ever had, the laughters, the arguments, the numerous spills (we are infamous for that), the one pot meals and the elaborate ones. You can stand in the kitchen and watch all the hustle in this home. It is like a watch-tower. If you are here, you never miss out on anything. 

For our kindergartner, this is the home he was born in and took his first steps in. In that open space, right there by the piano, he would take a few steps, plop back on the floor and then rise up and walk again. His laughter is infectious. You may still hear the remains of it while touring the home. This is where that baby of ours, grew up into a little boy who is now insanely in love with his legos and cars. We cleared all of that from his room so that you don’t accidentally step on a lego like we have a thousand times. If the stripes on the wall behind the bunkbed catches your attention, we painted it all by ourselves. Neat isn’t it ? 

This home was an amalgamation of dreams, hard work and desires of a young couple 8 years back. Our first home bought out of our penny and sweat. Friends came in to raise a toast, showering us with love while we silently pat our backs. We had come a long way from when he had begun. 

Like every home, this one has seen good times and bad times. Celebrations for a new family member, career moves, promotions, good grades, Kung Fu belts and lot more. It has held us through difficult times of passing away of near ones and life threatening medical conditions. Since it would be less than ideal if everything was always fine, this home has absorbed a lot of door banging, screaming matches, tears and sobs. You will not notice any of this as you walk from one room to another. We are taking those memories away with us so that you can create new ones of your own. 

A home shelters you from everything, it’s a fortress that you hide in when the world is caving in on you. The mirrors here hide all your blemishes, the walls hold on to your mad secrets, sun shines through the windows and makes every dull thing bright. Paso Nuez is all that and more. Paso Nuez has been special for us in many different ways.It gave us more than we could have asked for. We loved it, it loved us right back. 

When we bid good bye to this home, it will become yours. Bring in lots of love and sunshine into it. Fill it up with your pictures, conversation and laughters. We wish you happy memories, good health and joy at 43747 Paso Nuez. 

A truck load of gratitude

I am on a long 13 hour flight overwhelmed with homesickness. I am choking on my own tears as a strong sense of sadness creeps in. There is no specific reason for the sadness. I am missing everything - home, kids, the husband and strangely my side of the bed. By sheer good luck, I have no one sitting next to me. So I let a tear or two roll by. It isn’t a pretty sight. By my own assessment,  a 41 year adult woman is in a pretty messed up state. 

The week that went by has been long and demanding and sometimes lonely.  

I have entertained a family member at home. I have cheered at the daughter’s basket ball game and the winter concert. I have helped with algebra and filled up white spaces with crayons.  I have made lunches and meals, loaded dishes and folded laundry.  I have driven around to ensure everyone got everywhere on time. I have been at work, at the yoga class and out on the streets to get 10000 steps in the day. I have worried about the aging parents back home and their failing healths, monitoring them through an overnight hospital stay. I have read ‘Becoming’ By Michelle Obama till late in the night, mostly to wait up for the husband, on some nights turning the lights off even before he returned. 

I somewhat blame the sadness to the extreme fatigue and the absence of the husband through the week.  I have also spent excruciating hours talking and listening about relationships and families. That undoubtedly has been taxing. 

But sometimes life has a way of making you feel grateful in unexpected ways. You listen to someone regale a love story that never took off, perhaps it was never meant to be. A marriage which is a living arrangements for co-existing under one roof. Broken hearts, un-mended relationships, misplaced trusts and most importantly a never ending instability. It makes you trivialize the moments in a marriage that you have stood alone and done all the heavy lifting yourself. You are instead grateful to have a partner, grateful to  have found the love that was meant to be and the love that has stayed loyal and evolved even through a roller coaster ride. 

What would life be if you could not come back home a single day of your adult life and say things to someone knowing that they would listen without judging and you could talk without pretense. No one to comprehend your silence either. Imagine the suffocation, if you had to pretend to be someone  else in your marriage and not hold your own.  It made me realize that somewhere down the years, that makes one a different person, a person they were never meant to be. It takes a toll unknowingly on their relationships with friend and families. It is all a big web of unsolvable complexities. 

And just like that, in between my tears, I am grateful for what I have. It may not be perfect but it is mine, it has room for everything, even if it is a bit chaotic at times. 

BART Life

29 October

I tried to write today ( something more meaningful ) but instead stared out of the window thinking about the weekend, wondering when and how the romanticism of life got lost in the usual machinery of existence. I looked out of the window and saw a few children on the soccer field. They reminded me of my own, would they remember to eat their lunch today ? Would they be happy with their friends all day and not once think about me ? Or will they await me with tired eyes and vent it all out as soon as we got home. Am I being a good parent by letting them fight their battles mostly on their own or should I do more ! I am left undecided.

I think about coffee. I can almost smell it. I dream of it everyday. And then I end up brewing myself a cup of peppermint tea. There are just too many rules in life. Should I feel so guilty about something as simple as coffee or the sugar that goes in? I should not but I successfully fall in the trap of guilt laid out there of the good vs bad.

I do not know if the person next to me is reading my random coffee notes. I think he is. May be he is craving some coffee too.

I think of the heist and what would happen next in the Netflix show I am bingeing with the man. I see it mostly to take my mind off things just like staring out of the window. I do it to spend time with the man but every other night I fall asleep few minutes into the binge hour but the next day continue from a different place. It is exactly like skipping pages on a book, does not feel that alien. The only difference would be that if this was a real book and I was reading it alone, I would have read the climax by now. 

2 November

Its Friday. Everything always seems right on a Friday or we make it right however bad it may be otherwise. 

I feel a little lightheaded as I look out of the window thinking about random things. I remind myself to eat a hearty breakfast. It is not good to skip breakfast everyday. I reprimand myself silently for always neglecting myself. And then I remember I have a bag of halloween candies in my bag. The kids have willingly and gladly sacrificed these for my team. 

I unzip the bag, open the ziplock and take a small Hershey’s Krackel out. It melts into my mouth, my head feels better and I feel a rush of happiness within me. I am not a candy person but the happiness from this one is a pleasant surprise. 

5 mins later. 

I unzip the bag and take a KitKat out of the ziplock. I notice the eyes around me. I put a big chunk in my mouth and ignore the looks. The happiness has doubled. Without any exaggeration, I know I am smiling a bit. I am no longer mad at people who were creating menace in my commute schedule with the numerous slack pings. I forgive them. May be I will offer them Skittles or M&M once I get to work. 

Now it is a quest to resist more. Has a bit of chocolate ever killed anyone ? I eat an almond joy. Those were my favorite when I was in my early twenties. I suddenly feel a lot younger after the almond joy. 

I promise myself not to indulge anymore. 

Just last night, I was chasing the kids to stop eating from their halloween candy stash. And here I am just doing exactly that. Little do they know, mom cheats at times too. 

Did I resist or did I indulge in more. That will remain a dark secret in a bulging corner of my belly. 

Reflection

At 12 I did not know how to tie my shoe laces and at 16 I was a high school graduate. In the years in between, I taught myself to live by myself, face failures and tie my shoelaces. I was that average kid on the block who worked hard and got through life and school. There was nothing extra ordinary about me, no talent that could distinguish me from others and even if I had any I hardly cared to share with the world. I sang in the bathroom and wrote in my closet. 

I was always the youngest in the class (cause I started school early), naive but someone with the utmost desire to explore everything that was out there - good or bad. In the process, I stumbled, fell hard on my face and rose up from every fall. A world away from home without parents, teaches you a lot that you can never learn at home. You learn to survive and face the world everyday, knowing no one has really got your back. 

At 16, while I thought I was doing well for myself, the world felt otherwise. I could not get myself to an Ivy League or even where I did, I was not exactly on the “list” that I should have been on. I noticed I had disappointed people. I had not worked hard enough. Fair enough! 

I went to college that year with a great promise to myself that I will work harder. (Chuckles) I tried but I dwindled quite a bit. The idea of whiling away times gives an adrenaline high to a teenager like it does to no one else. When I had digressed quite a bit or gotten over all the nonsensical fun that college years can provide, I did what I needed to do. Made it through with flying colors. 

At 21, I had my first job. I was in a committed relationship (so I thought). Life was sorted. Well, not so much ! I fell flat on my face on both accounts. None of it stayed with me. 

The years that followed were brutal but fun. Finding a job that could stay with me (or I stayed with it) and falling in love again was both tough on accounts that I did not budget for. After leaving two jobs abruptly and living through one for a year miserably, I finally found what I was looking for. The miserable job was such a misery that I used to check my bank account online everyday and calculate how many months I could survive if I did not work. Not many was the answer, so I suck up to it. 

Falling in love was done more audaciously. It was not to rebel neither on a rebound. It was what the heart was set on. Most everyone thought I had lost my mind. There were nights when I questioned myself. Wasn’t love supposed to be that rosy, romantic thing like you saw in the chick flick. Instead it was like holding onto the edge of the boat when you are river rafting wondering when the next tide will throw you off. 

At 31, the best thing ever happened. Motherhood without any hit of exaggeration and with all its challenges, ushered in happiness that never existed before. It did not come easy. But nothing ever has so it wasn't a surprise that this too included some uphill walk. I was so much in love with the parenting experience, it felt just right do it all over again.  I do not fail to remind the offsprings every so often the fact that they are here is no short of miracle and the fact that I am around them is even more of a miracle. 

As I turn 41, I wonder now when does the making rebellious choices, unlearning and learning all over again, signing up for unknown adventures, failing and hurting stop. 

Does it truly ever stop ? But if it did, I would not have a story to tell. Nah! I would rather have a life to live where there are things to tell. 

Lovenox Baby

Every year on my children’s birthdays, I do a few routine things. I go mad over baking and icing cakes for them. I make them payeesh(rice pudding), just like my mom still makes for me every year (even though we are on either side of the globe). I ask them if they want luchis(puffed flatbread) too and watch them do a mad happy dance. I say a little prayer and thank everyone who made me see the light amidst two very high risk pregnancies.  I count my blessings as I take a trip down the memory lane. Fragments of memories, scattered here and there. Some clear, some blurry. I leave them a letter with those fragmented memories so that they know the journey of their own life. 

When expecting my first child, I started with the book “What to expect….”. It lasted only till 20 weeks through the pregnancy. A diagnosis of complete placenta previa made me turn to blogs for real stories and experiences, but I intentionally stayed away from advice columns and "10 things to do when expecting" sort of posts. Somewhere down the line I started to blog too, but I was a bit overwhelmed with the joys of being a first time parent by then. All my stories revolved around the daily works and joys of parenting. I almost forgot the 4 month ordeal of living one week at a time, the limited mobility  and overall the anxiety or the fear of unknown. 

By the time I was expecting my second child, I thought nothing of that book anymore. I felt I knew it all. Till that day when a doctor persuaded me to use a wheelchair at 9 weeks of pregnancy. 

“I walked here from the parking lot,” I protested. In all honesty, I had limped my way through, holding on to my husband, taking pauses every 30 seconds. My left leg was swollen like a red hot balloon, stiff and tight. 

The doctor did not argue. He politely signaled me to sit on the wheelchair. He would later (after detailed tests) explain a few complex words very patiently like Deep Vein Thrombosis, blood clot, lodge in the lungs and pulmonary embolism. I felt nauseated and numb almost not registering the proceedings. The stiffness on my leg was not a muscle cramp. It was due to several clots spread my calf to the pelvic area. That night I did not know what hurt more – the sight of the walking cane or the sting from the shot of Lovenox that would need to be injected for the next ten months. I could not even walk to the bathroom on my own that night. 

I remember waking up the next day and extensively googling everything while my husband did the more pragmatic thing. He faxed papers over to Stanford Hospital, got an appointment and an on-phone consult that validated both the diagnosis and treatment. The in person consult was scheduled for two weeks later. Most of my Google results said it could take months to get a full mobility back. But the one story though that stayed in my mind was of someone sharing that they had walked up to the kitchen, stood there and brewed a cup of coffee on their own. Sounds trivial ? I cannot tell you how many things we take for granted in life. 

On the fifth day, I used the cane to walk out from the bedroom to the living room on my own (a distance of 25 steps) a friend had come to visit me. After a week, I was walking around the house to do my basic chores. It took too much will to do that. I would not say it needed strength. It just needed will to bear the excruciating pain and be determined to still move on. It took will not to give up, collapse on the floor and end up in a pool of tears. That will came from solely from the knowledge of one thing – there was another little life within me. 

I walked to my doctor’s appointment at Palo Alto two weeks later, a visible limp, a cane for support but I was on my own. The doctor surprised at the change in state of my mobility in just two weeks from when the incident occurred. In a month’s time, the cane was gone. In six week’s time, I was back behind the wheels. Except for the two shots of Lovenox every single day, DVT had no trace in my life. At 36th week, my son was born, who I still lovingly call “Lovenox Baby” at times.