Month: September 2012

A post from my private blog published four years ago around this time (on Monday, September 8, 2008), published here today to reflect and rejoice in the gift of life and love.  The picture is one that Johnny sent to me just the other day– of himself and his lovely daughter, Jyotsana.

 

Monday, September 08, 2008

 

Johnny Be Good!

I found out many years ago that heartache has many faces– some as cute as a four-year old boy from a small village in the deep heart of the high mountains of Himachal Pradesh, one of the northernmost states in India.

Johnny came to us one summer, holding on to his maternal grandfather’s pinky finger, wide-eyed and cute as a button.  We lived in a small town, Saharanpur, in the hot and dusty plains of Uttar Pradesh, at the foothills of the Himalayas.  They both looked hot and flustered, the summer temperatures doing a number on them, sweat dripping from their faces, already red and flushed with the heat.  The reason they came to “us” is because my parents had just opened a Home for children like him– children from very poor economic and social backgrounds, who didn’t have much of a chance for a good life, and whose lot in life was usually further compounded by the fact that there was only a single parent in the picture if lucky, and if not, well, then, like Johnny, they were raised by poor grandparents.  

My parents would accept children from anywhere in the country and from any religious background.  It seems that Johnny’s name was John Singh and his mother was all of twenty-two years old.  Six months ago, Johnny’s father had left his mother and him to fend for themselves, and had moved away two villages across the mountain.  Johnny’s mother came back to her father’s house and had become a “burden” to her family.  In an attempt to have his daughter re-married, Johnny’s grandfather (who had recently adopted the Christian faith and was therefore facing discrimination and persecution from his Hindu neighbors) wanted to leave Johnny with us so that his daughter might find another husband. (Turns out she did just that, and had a few more children from her second marriage.  She never did want Johnny back, though– perhaps she couldn’t– and so Johnny just stayed with us.)

Well, that was then.  And this is now.  Here’s Johnny from earlier this summer:  enjoying a quick bite with me at the McDonald’s on Commercial Street in Bengaluru.  Turns out that over the years, Johnny received a lot of love and attention from my parents (and me!), and was raised in a safe and secure environment with a number of other children just like him.  He finished high school, and since he wasn’t inclined to pursue a higher education, he took on odd jobs around town– working at the local bakery and such in Saharanpur.  Some years later, when my parents moved down south to Bengaluru, he decided to follow them there, learnt the local language (Kannada), and found himself a job at one of the garment factories nearby.  

And so, time has passed, with Johnny becoming a permanent fixture in my parents’ home and lives (they built him a small setup next to their house), and last year, they also found him a bride from Sholapur, a small town about a day’s journey by train.  Today, Johnny is happily married, happy to be close by, and is like a surrogate son to my folks.  What’s more, he and his new wife are expecting their first baby soon! 

And so, here’s the takeaway:  heartache may come in different shapes and forms, but then, so does love!  On my recent visit back home, there wasn’t a single moment that Johnny wasn’t around– to do whatever it is I wanted to do, or to take me anywhere I needed to go!  I am his Didi, you see, and he was thrilled to have me home!  It was love in action:  every ride on the scooter with him, every laugh we shared, every meal we had together, every memory we’d bring alive of our time growing up in Saharanpur– it was the pure face of love, smiling all the way!

There is an equilibrium in the universe, you see:  for every heartache and loss, there comes a time when it is balanced out with love and happiness.

The picture of me– what’s it doing here?  Well, you see that smashing kurta that I have on– well, Johnny gave that to me– apologizing all along for it not being so good and what not!  Silly boy that he is, I’ll have to call and tell him that I thought it so exquisite and so special to me, that I actually saved it for a special occasion:  my birthday yesterday!

A post from my private blog published exactly four years ago on this day (on Tuesday, September 09, 2008), published here today to reflect and rejoice in the gift of life and love.

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

Meenu or Minharest Minz came to us when he was about ten years old, all the way from the great state of West Bengal.  His father was a very tall and lanky man and appeared to be from tribal stock of the 24 Parganas area.  Semi-literate, he was a farmer, he said, and Meenu was the older of his two children.  The basic facts were:  they were very poor; the mother had recently passed away; the father had remarried; the father had heard about our Children’s Home and wanted to give Meenu a better future (and presumably keep him at arm’s length from the new wife).  And so, Meenu said goodbye to his father, and stayed with us.  I was Didi, of course, to all the kids, and that’s what Meenu called me too.

His Bengali was soon replaced with our local UP Hindi, and like his father, he soon began to grow into a real tall boy.  He was always a very good boy (never getting into trouble like the other kids!), and since he was somewhat older than most of the kids, they all called him Meenu Bhaiyya.  He would take on leadership tasks, and was one of the dependable kids giving a second pair of eyes to my folks!  When he got older, he had the privilege of riding my father’s bicycle into town to run small errands.  (My father, BTW, took great pride in his ever-shiny Hercules bicycle, in addition to his Lambretta scooter and Fiat Padmini Premier motor car!)  After Meenu finished high school, he went on to a Vocational/Technical school and got himself a decent job in town.  Some years later, he married a girl from our Home (and no, there was no hanky-panky going on while they were both kids growing up together!), and today, he appears to be happily married and living in Saharanpur, and has two little boys:  Aviral and Vishesh.

Meenu is a sweetheart, and over the years, has sent me numerous presents (it has come to a point where my parents don’t like to tell him that they’re coming to see me because he presses upon them some very large-sized item that they then find difficult to pack into their suitcases!), usually some exquisitely hand-carved thing like a candlestick stand or a picture frame or such.  He remembers my every birthday, and I can always rest assured that there’ll be a card in the mail for me.  He even calls me every now and then– just to say hello!  

So, when he learnt that I was coming to India this summer, he obviously wanted me to come to Saharanpur.  And I sure did want to go too, but turned out that the time was too short and I was already trying to squeeze in so much.  So sweetheart that he is, Meenu offered to come down to Delhi to see me!

Here he is with his older son, Aviral who, BTW, was seeing the big city (and the nation’s capital, at that!) for the very first time.  The three-hour train ride was a treat for him, as were the sights and sounds of Dilli, but (and I’m hoping this was the case!) so was meeting Simmi Didi for the first time!

And so here we are:  catching up at the McDonald’s in Connaught Place.   Didn’t feel like we hadn’t seen each other in ten years (which is how long it had really been since we last met b/c I couldn’t meet him on my last visit prior to this one); we laughed and talked and lived in the moment for those few hours.  He brought gifts as always for everyone, and we exchanged these with glee!

Amazing– this thing called love.  When it grabs you, it doesn’t let go.  And it transcends time and space and generations, even.

Like James Taylor says:  how sweet it is to be loved by you!