For the love of a brother

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It was one of those Saturdays. I had to rush about all day. Morning saw me making breakfast, waking the two teenagers who seem to be sleeping more than ever and left with no time to make lunch. I ran off to various errands and meetings after telling S and the kids to have fun. They went out to eat and shop and chill. By the time I got back at night I was bone weary.

Too hot to sit on my recliner, I plopped myself on the floor and closed my eyes. I was tired. I had my period so there was no one position that I found comfortable. I had a ton of work yet to be done and most importantly I had to teach Appu because no matter whom I leave him with at home, no one will take the trouble to teach or read or just play with him differently so that he can learn something new.

I wanted to curl into a ball and  lie on the floor but I bit my lip and decided to get on with it. Mahi asked me if I was ok. I said yeah just a bit tired as moms generally are. She got me a glass of water. I was telling my husband that I would try and make Appu read at least a bit or I wouldn’t be able to deal with the guilt. A day lost for him is a day I cannot replace. S told me to take a break and do it the next day. I refused. By the time I gulped down the water, Mahi was back. She said, “Amma, you sit right here. I’m going to read with Appu today.”

I was touched.

“Are you sure you will have the patience baby? Its not that easy.”

“I just want to help. I can do it Amma.”

Off went my little girl. I told her which book to pick and I sat in the living room with my eyes closed listening to them read. It was all about giant octopuses. Appu seemed somewhat interested. He would read and then she would read the same thing so that he would understand how the words were pronounced. She jumped and pranced about telling him what the words meant. She would come running to ask me how to explain some word or the other and I would tell her. She would then go back and add to it memories of movies, trips, other stories so that he could compare. Appu grew more animated. He seemed at ease reading with his sister.

Forty minutes went by. I was still on the floor. My eyes filled up as the oh-so-different voices of my children filtered their way to my heart. I was lucky to have a daughter who set out to help without me asking her to. I was lucky to have a son who could still laugh his child-like belly laugh at the silliest things and who adored his kid sister. My tiredness vanished. I got up and went to Appu’s room to see two happy faces shout out “Finished Amma!”. Appu got his break for being cooperative and Mahi got the biggest hug I could give her.

For some, autism is a thing to be ashamed of and swept under the carpet. For Mahi it’s a fact to be accepted. She may never have a brother like her other friends but she is all the stronger for knowing that she has a brother who will love her like no other.

Not words

I ask myself sometimes what it would be like to live a life where autism did not play a part at all. It would be different certainly. I would not be on edge every moment as I am now. I might have had fewer grey hairs and looked less tired. I might have smiled more. My daughter might have had an elder brother who would always take care of her instead of the other way around. But then I don’t really know, do I? A life without autism may appear to be easier and it probably is but if there is one thing I have learnt over the years, it is the simple fact that everyone carries burdens and hurts that may or may not be apparent. Wishing for something different may not be a bad thing but thinking different is always easier may lead to more disappointment.

So over the years, acceptance has seeped into all of us in this family. Mahi does not ask why she has to stand up for her brother always. My husband does not speak of the moments he probably wanted with his son but instead works harder so that he leaves him with a safety net – perhaps because this is the only way he knows how to show his love. I don’t complain about the fact that a constant high alert mode is taking its toll on probably every cell in my body – instead I find moments every day where I can learn to let go. It is all a work in progress.

I have also learnt to view with gratitude the little things that make life light up when I least expect it. A hug from my son who knows exactly when I need it the most. Stumbling upon lovely bronze chrysanthemums in some shabby roadside nursery that I then lovingly plant and fuss over. Watching how my little girl moves magically about the house warming my very soul. Had things been different perhaps I might have noticed little moments less and focused on what the world in general focuses on. Now I have much less materially but a lot more in terms of experience. I have a hundred stories in me that are clamouring for release. I have a self belief that comes from trying so many things that I never thought I would ever try. I have had to be twice the person I was just to be able to cope.

In spite of how life has wended its way to a place where I can start appreciating its beauties, there is one thing that I will always regret having – it may be inconsequential in the larger scheme of things but I want it so badly I can taste the longing. I want to be able to share my words with my son. I want him to understand who his mother was. I want to be able to share with him the beauty of words and how they can capture what is hidden. I want him to lose himself in a book. I know its too much to ask so perhaps its better if I try and understand his colours and patterns instead. I have to keep at it and maybe one day I will understand the language of ‘not words’.

Of beaches and blessings...

The beach lay wide and free. It was as it always was – calm and as empty as you could possibly want. It was our little slice of paradise as I called it or as the children called it, ‘Sandwich Beach’. You got to the beach by traversing an increasingly narrow strip of land till there was barely a hundred feet from the river on one side to the beach on the other. And what a beach it is! 11 kms stretching as far as the eye can see with hardly anyone except for a handful of intrepid fishermen. The skies were a deepening grey and the wind was picking up in intensity when we reached there after a meandering drive in search of islands.

My mood was reflected in the sky and sea which were both far from their normal exuberant shades of blue. I was quiet that day. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Why would I? I felt weary of the falsity of words that are used without thought. I was oddly calm too inside as one is when the expected, however painful it may be, comes to pass. A vaccum filled me sucking away my words and thoughts. An emptiness that is hard to describe grew rooted in my mind .

I walked as is my wont for a long way on the beach. I could hear the laughter of the children as they played. I could see S if I turned back. He didn’t much like playing in the water. I liked to walk on the edge where the waves would lap my feet but I could walk comfortably nevertheless. The sun was setting and the clouds grew heavier. The air carried the scent of imminent rain. I walked back and sat on a log with S on the high sands watching the kids.

Suddenly there jumped up the most perfect gray shadowed being. Its sleek skin shone in the waning sun. Its beautiful head arrowed in and out of the waters. I jumped up and ran to the water where excited cries of “Amma, did you see the dolphins?” greeted me. For that is what they were – dolphins! A little group of three or four lovely creatures frolicking about. I had a silly grin on my face as I watched them move further away from the beach and us. I have never seen dolphins in their natural habitat before and none of the locals had ever seen them – not once! I didn't click pictures. I simply soaked in that moment.

This thoroughly unexpected sight moved me like nothing else. I felt as though I had been given a wonderful gift. It was a sign from wherever telling me – hang in there, things will turn out well. On a dark evening if dolphins come to wish you well, you are lucky indeed. We left the beach with the images of those dolphins still vivid in our minds. My normally quiet Appu was so full of excitement that he recounted it all to his grandmother back home. For me it was a moment of magical benediction that made my stay in Kerala truly memorable.

My Sundays...

Sunday mornings with the papers spread out before me and a cup of tea by my elbow are possibly my favourite time of the week. I am not yet worried about Monday and the work that is to follow. I am not feeling blue which is how I feel on a Sunday evening. I am simply feeling relaxed.

I listen to some instrumental music as I go about my day – checking on the garden, planning for lunch and in today’s case – prepping for the evening’s party for Appu (it is his nakshathram day today or pirannal as we call it). I like structure. I like to know I am on top of things. Last minute changes confound me. For my friends who know me well enough they also know why I am as I am. For the others, well, I am just hard to understand.

My son mirrors my patterns. He mirrors my need for structure. He mirrors my fear of too many changes. It took me a long time to realize that all the things that make it hard for him to deal with this world have their roots in me. Its just a lot more in his case – so exaggerated as to leave anxiety in its wake. For me, I can step back and understand that I need to let go. How am I to teach him this?

Maybe that’s why I love Sunday mornings. Appu wakes late and likes it when his day is full of surprises. I wake up late and potter about in whichever way I feel like. S simply gets in front of his laptop. Mahi is up and dancing for she is the light sprite who always makes me feel that I am too anchored. Her lightness is a gift. Who wouldn’t be inspired by a child whose feet barely touch the ground! How beautiful it would be if more of us were like that…

On a Sunday morning, the possibilities are endless. I can do anything I want. I can also do absolutely nothing. And the potential to do absolutely nothing is what makes the day so delicious. Today I write without any aim in mind – not to convey anything, not to teach anyone, not to fit into an outline that has been created by someone else. I am writing because when I am quiet, its what comes most easily to me.

There are too many moments in the week when everything seems overwhelming, when no matter what I do it appears deficient or simply useless, when there is frustration at finding that people are not who they seem to be but I can cope with all that because I have Sunday morning to fall back on. This week is hectic with work as well as Onam sadya to get done not to mention the office inauguration.  I have writing deadlines to meet. I have people to keep happy but then there is always next Sunday to rejuvenate me at the end of it all. Here’s to a happy Sunday for everyone!

Toe no lines...

It took me many years to understand the power of doing something completely different once in a while. I am a creature of habit, of patterns, of schedules. I can also be unpredictable of course but then those are moods and moments. What I am talking about here is the conscious choice to step off your beaten path for a while and simply try something you haven’t tried before.

I did that recently and I found myself enjoying the experience tremendously. I wondered why I did not do it more often. What holds us back from trying the new and different? In my case its probably my traditional upbringing and a conditioning that made me believe that I was only allowed to do  certain things. Of course no one actually put it down in black and white but when you grow up hearing ‘no’ more than ‘go for it’ you tend to learn to toe a line in the sand that never seems to shift.

As I grow older, I find myself not wanting to toe any line at all. I have tried and sometimes failed at too many things in the past year. I have surprised myself by succeeding as well. I have enjoyed pitting myself against challenges that were more than merely hard. What I liked about these challenges is that I learnt something that I could then take back to my everyday existence and make it better. I also learnt to not fear making too many mistakes. I wish I had the courage to make mistakes when I was young. It is what I teach my children – that making mistakes is alright, in fact its so much better than always being labelled ‘good’ or ‘perfect’. Such a label keeps you from doing anything out of the box. And you end up not growing just because you so badly do not want to disappoint anyone.

One thing I would do differently had I time on my side was to simply go out and do things. It didn’t matter if I sucked or if people laughed at me or I broke down. It would still be better than looking from behind glass walls afraid to make a move for fear of shattering the fragile boundaries you have set yourself.

The good thing of course is that you can change at any point of your life. It is never too late to make up your mind and follow not just one passion but any passion that you wish to pursue. Living your life to the fullest is perhaps the only way you can actually show gratitude for the wonderful gift that you have been given.

So, go on – do whatever you have always feared to attempt. Teach your children to have the spirit to try and to never care about failure. Above all, never let yourself be hemmed in by lines woven about you by the dictates of others. It is, after all, your life to live.

Hampi tales

There are some places that you can visit many times over a lifetime and never feel that you have explored them to their fullest. Hampi is one such place. She has many facets and layers that pull you in close and make you see her in a different light each time you choose to visit.

Our recent trip to Hampi was better than the first one. On the first trip ten years ago, we were struggling with two very active kids who were 5 and 2, one of whom fell so ill because of the heat that we had to cut short our trip made during the Diwali holidays. Ten years later we chose the off-peak season to make a quick trip. July is simply perfect if you want to visit this wondrous place. Sepia toned skies, brisk breezes, the total absence of crowds, the occasional drizzle – all make you feel that the magic of Hampi was created for you alone to enjoy.

The Vittala Temple where we started our exploration still possesses an awe-inspiring grandeur. Parts of the temple are supported by newer construction which makes it look rather like a patched-up structure in places. The area around the musical pillars is currently under renovation so we were able to experience music from only a few of the famed pillars. The carving on the pillars is exquisite and the sound that is produced when you tap on them takes you back in time to the days when Krishnadevaraya’s second wife would dance to the rhythm meted out by tapping these very pillars with sandalwood sticks. The famous Stone Chariot has pride of place in the entrance yard of the temple with the stone wheels firmly locked in place and the horses in front of it now replaced by stone elephants picked from elsewhere. If you look carefully however, you can still see the tails of the horses that once stood before the chariot.

The Hazararama temple, the Krishna temple, the Virupaksha (Siva) temple, the giant Lakshmi-Narasimha statue, the softly glowing Badavaling Siva, the Mustard Ganesha, the Queen’s Palace, the Lotus Mahal - all are unforgettable in their splendor. So many of the statues are monoliths and the sculptures that abound in the temples have such beautiful attention to detail that you can only stand before them in awe. Many of the carvings on the pillars are 3 in 1 and even 5 in 1 meaning that at different angles they appear to be different forms. We spent hours wandering through these temples and palaces losing sense of time and place. We clambered atop the Royal Enclosure which is so beautifully laid out that it brings tears to your eyes to imagine how grand a city Hampi must once have been. There are marketplaces close to the main temples where the traders sat displaying their gemstones. Horses too were traded here as were a variety of other items. The thoroughfares are broad and from every place of import, the views are magnificent.

What hurts your heart is the fact that these ruins are the remains of a once powerful capital destroyed by the repeated attacks of the Bahmani Sultans. How I wished I could have seen Hampi at its peak with the marketplaces abuzz with traders and buyers, with the dancers performing on the dance mantaps and regaling all with the power of their performances, with the ornamental public baths open, with the elephant stables full of the royal elephants – it would have truly been a sight to behold. Even now if you close your eyes and take a deep breath, especially when Hampi is so quiet, you can see the past come alive before you. When you touch the stones of Hampi, they thrum with memories. I only wish that Hampi was given the care and attention it needs so that it is showcased and not neglected. This beautiful city by the mighty Tunghabhadra is a place that you must visit – at least once in a lifetime.

One day at a time

There are days when you think that you will not succumb to the need to put your thoughts down in writing. You are afraid of what someone else will say. You are afraid of being judged as vulnerable or weak or opportunistic or overdramatic or anything else under the sun. It might be that no one at all reads these words but even then putting them on my blog is never an easy thing. I keep wondering if sharing my thoughts will actually benefit anyone. I usually write about the difficulties faced almost daily simply because I have gone through much alone and there have been days when dragging myself out of bed to face one more moment of doing what I do seems too much for me to handle. I keep thinking that if I can manage that, others who are struggling with similar or even different problems may find in themselves the strength from some remote place within to pull through as well. I often depend on words to inspire me, to keep me sane, to fire up memories or even to just be soothed. Perhaps my words have done something like that for one other person or persons. Perhaps they may actually pull someone away from the brink of utter hopelessness. Believe me, more people teeter on the brink than you would believe.

Today was not much of a happy day for me except for the news that my husband has managed to get a week off after a month of stay abroad. So we finally get to spend some time together as a family. Being alone for two months with a gap of three days in between isn’t very easy when you have to deal with a child with autism. His sibling is a great help. Appu is a darling but without little Mahi to shore me up, I don’t know how I could have held on so long. So today when after days of wrangling and changing minds, her sleepover plans finalized, she was thrilled. Her exams will be over tomorrow and she plans to go to her friend’s house directly from school. She is back the day after.

I see her happy face as my heart feels a bit heavier. She is growing up and going away from me so soon. And then Appu pipes up “Amma, I want to go on a sleepover too.” And my heart just breaks. My son is fifteen and he wants to do things like anyone else. But where are his friends? Whom can he hang around with? Where can he go on his own?

It is hard to explain the hurt. It is hard to control my too-swift tears. But I say cheerfully “ Appu, you are having that awesome Holi party and lunch at school day after. You don’t need a sleepover!” He grins back at me and says “yeah I’m going to have a lot of fun! Mahi, I hope you enjoy yourself and have lots of fun too!” He then proceeds to tell her what to pack and how she must not forget this and that. Mahi turns to me with a stricken expression “Amma, I feel bad now. I wish he could go on sleepovers too!” I try to smile. I tell her its okay. He has his own fun. And besides Acha will take all of us on holiday pretty soon.

And then I run upstairs, close the door of my room and cry. I know its silly but then sometimes anyone can be silly. I wish for ridiculous things. I wish for miracles. I finally wish that my tears can stop so I could go back downstairs and act normal again. They do stop. They always do. I wash my face and practice smiling one more time as I stare at my image in the mirror. And I go back down and help her pack. Its just another day after all.