Why We Leave Home

Sun Streaming through a church roof: Spain 2009

Mount Rainer: Washington, 2009

Zip Line: Drakensberg, South Africa, 2012

Following is quote from my favorite shows, Northern Exposure about what happens to us when we leave home!!  Thought, it would be inspiring for the new year!!



BERNARD STEVENS 
As you may know, I spent the last three months in Africa. A wondrous, magical place. But as shadows lengthen across the KBHR window, thoughts turn to homecoming. Journey's end. Because in a sense, it's the coming back, the return which gives meaning to the going forth. We really don't know where we've been until we've come back to where we were. Only, where we were may not be as it was because of who we've become. Which is, after all, why we left.

When the World rejoices more than it mourns!!

My Family in Botswana

My Family in Botswana

Yu to aatein hai sabhi jaane ke liye

par maut uski hai jiska zamana kare afsos

Everyone in this world comes

with a knowing that leaving is

inevitable

but a life well lived is

recognized when the

world mourns its exit (death)

I heard that long time ago.  And it has stuck with me.

The sher (2-4 line couplet) came to surface again as the world mourned Nelson Mandela.

I have been too busy, too tired to think or write.  For months I have not paid attention to the world or the news. 

But this past week, just to break my own thoughts, come out of this tiredness of always working or listening to lectures (to better myself)--I thought of listening to the news.

For hours at length they talked about Nelson Mandela.

I stopped my work--stood motionless in my kitchen as I listened to the stories.

Memories buried down somewhere in the trunk of the past, started to wake up, like skeletons beginning to walk.....

I was living in Botswana when he was released.  I remember that I was having lunch with a colleague.  The radio was on.  We looked up and half nodded.  Both of us were not Mostwana or even africans, but we knew what this meant.  Although being very young, and never having lived with racism we did not realize what a stupendous feat this was. 

In addition, I was not that worldly at the time.  It was grad school and later teaching international communications, combined with breathing 'NPR' for years that made me aware of the world. One of the best things about living in the US was my connection to NPR and some of the best libraries of the world. I still feel I need to know much more, but US libraries and NPR together changed my world view.  But more importantly gave a me a clear definition of what is, what it should be, and what is a well lived life.

Doctoral years were very hard, I was dealing with all the questions that the young deal with, many of my friends were married and having children, and I was wondering how to pay my rent, while working on a degree that did not directly give me any security or enjoyment, except a name and a status. When I shared that confusion with a friend in Australia who I had met at a conference at Penn State, he responded with many an email brimming with his wisdom. He was a bit older and therefore knew about life.  

I would save his emails, print them out and reread them to motivate myself.  Two of his emails stayed with me.  One when he talked about his morning walks and how when he is paying attention, the same route reveals something new to him at every walk, no matter how long he has walked that path.  It is when he thinks that there is nothing to learn that he misses the beauty.  Second, that if were to compare my life, may be those around me were not the  best examples.   May be thinking of Gandhi, and Mandela brought us new perspectives.  They remained jailed for most of their lives, but because they had a goal, their minds were alert and they were tuned into the suffering of others, they made the most of that time and they were spiritual, moral, political giants when they came out of the darkness and bondage.  

Often historical moments are accomplished --‘on any ordinary day’ that is made extra ordinary by repeated acknowledgements in the following years by media and public. 

But when the world rejoices more than it mourns, know that it was not only a long life, it was a life well lived that nourished many others.  For it its those who recognize the benefit of the departed to their own lives, who cannot give in to mourning but must celebrate a life that enriched so many others. 

In India, when a person lives a full life, and Mandela certainly lived a thoroughly full life that was bursting at its seams, a band, similar to that of a wedding band is hired to play at the funeral--implying celebration of a long life.  'A privilege denied to many' as his Holiness Dalai Lama stated.

Jazz funeral (funeral with music) in the southern US (mainly New Orleans) has the same connotation.  It might start with somber tunes, but after the dead is buried, the procession dances, to celebrate the life of the departed and to augur good times for the living.  

Mandela lived with such fervor that his life was celebrated not only in his home country but around the world. Like Gandhi, Mandela will be remembered not as a South African but as a champion of human rights, and a strong allegiance to non-violence.  His face would become synonymous with being fearless and following justice and noble causes. I wouldn't be surprised if his birthday becomes a national holiday, like Mahatma Gandhi's in India.  

And Mandela inspired so many, that his death was rejoiced more than mourned!

For he is gone

But no tears

because he lived

Mandela is Free!!

Post Script: Looking on the net for celebrations on Mandela's birthday, I found this and wanted to share: 

Mandela Day (18th July, his birthday) is a global call to action that celebrates the idea that each individual has the power to transform the world, the ability to make an impact.

The Mandela Day campaign message is:

"Nelson Mandela has fought for social justice for 67 years. We’re asking you to start with 67 minutes."^[4]

"We would be honoured if such a day can serve to bring together people around the world to fight poverty and promote peace and reconciliation," according to a statement issued on Mandela's behalf.^[5]

To mark the first global celebration of Mandela Day on 18 July 2009, Mandela's 91st birthday, a series of educational, art exhibit, fund-raising and volunteer events leading up to a concert at Radio City Music Hall on 18 July were organized by the 46664 concerts (is a series of AIDS charity concerts played in honour of Nelson Mandela by South African musicians in the 2000s.) and the Nelson Mandela Foundation.^[4] In November 2009, the United Nations General Assembly formally declared 18 July to be "Nelson Mandela International Day".^[6]

Scandinavia: The State of Beingness

  

Hans Christian Anderson: Looking over Copenhagen, April 2013.

Hans Christian Museum: Then entrance into the museum makes you feel as if you are entering old Denmark--that of Andersen's fairy tales. 

The very first 'Philospher's Stone was written by H. C. Anderson, and not J. K. Rowling.

This was at the exit.  If you notice there is a reflection in the mirrors. These mirrors were a replica of what old time Denmark had as 'surveillance cameras' only these were 'watchful mirrors.' The idea of big brother always existed. 

Hans Christian Andersen:  Greets you at the entry of the museum created in his honor. 

Ripley's Believe it or not is housed in the same building!!

First, an apology to the readers.  Despite my best attempts, I have not been able to write. I have about two dozen blog entries at various stages of writing. Seriously---no exaggeration.  But I do not have the mental energy to sit down and write or edit. I have had about six visits to various doctors and therapist this semester.  I have been told its the long term stress that my body is reacting to.  I can type, but I can hardly write, my hands are swollen.  I often use a voice activated system to type.  My entire back is stiff and my neck has little mobility.  I have not stopped coughing since summer.  

Mentally, I am at the end of my rope. I take long periods of silence--at least try to, to recuperate.  The only sound I allow in, are positive thinking tapes, or lectures that allow me to connect my heart and mind.  Other than that, my mind is always buzzing with what I have to read for a class and what next to do at work. 

I have been stuck in life, on many levels. I complain about not being able to write, or express.  As my teaching takes so much time. I know I inspire students. I just know that. I have done that since I was a child.  There is another blog entry waiting to be written about a school we started when I was about 9 years of age.  I was the teacher and the headmistress.  And on high attendance days, we would have three students!!

But I get angry at what we have made of academia.  Knowing fully well that most of the social sciences or the humanities research is about gathering,compiling and analyzing data. It often stops short of implication and implementation.  Not much of it is directed towards policy or social change.  Understanding policy and social change-- maybe--but actual change, not really.  That is left to activists, and NGOs.  

And yet publication is important.  Everytime I am engaged in something like that, I get angry and frustrated, 'What is this for?" I ask.  It does not  help anyone except advance the career of the writer. We are not Bill Moyers who helps the public understand about complex issues that might influence their lives. Most of it is done so that we can have labels, and get better jobs and more funding to continue doing the same thing. So that we can sit in conferences and talk about the same issues only with new authors attached to them, and say, 'Ah the world is really not going in the right direction.'

I always thought academics and activists were intertwined.  

But that is not the case.  

So, its been hard.  I have been in Scandinavia almost four years.  While I came here, for a short time, I have stayed here, as a person going on a long winding road stops for a long breath. Yet in this process of stopping to take a deep breath--, I have taught eleven new courses--all except 2-3 were NOT in my area of work from before.  I have already read, learnt, taught and forgotten so much that I have had to teach here.  Shame on a system that does not recognize the industriousness of a person who can manage all that, while trying to juggle the feeling of homelessness, a lack of direction in life, and adjusting in a country where main lanauge is alien. 

I have cried and been angry and hurt, and sad, and frustrated and then I have given up in hopelessness.  While I can blame the outside, there is something that has happened due to all this movement that has deeply affected me.  I have lost my direction and my anchor. I am floating without hope, and drifting without a motive. Family and love can bring you that anchor.  I have always sought that, but at this point, not knowing who I am has affected all my faculties. I just wake up, go to work, work non stop, emails, responding to students, preparing, grading, setting up times for new classes, connecting with the library to ensure the books are in, writing reflection and evaluations for classes, making up assignments --since you are always teaching new classes, you are always writing new assignments.  Not to mention supervising C-essays (honors essay) or Master's thesis.  And some short term classes here and there. Oh and in between, some day long meetings, sometimes not in a language I understand (I love my colleagues, so this is nothing against them.  and I know this is not anything against me either. No one is singling me out. But it puts a wedge between me and my environment and I recede back into myself where things do not make sense.)

But despite all that anger, this post is not about that.  This is about what I have learnt from here. What I have gained in Sweden.  What I owe to my students, who repeatedly come and tell me that I have made a difference.

I could not pinpoint what was different, what was that, despite my wanting to run away that brought a smile from deep down in my heart every time I returned to Sweden.

In the US it was familiarity.  In Fiji, it was the sun, the green, and the glowing smiles.  The abundance of nature itself.  Fruits and flowers grew whether or not we nurtured them.

In Sweden?  What is it? I arrived in the middle of one of the coldest years in decades.  Why was I smiling?

It took me some time to realize it was the lack of commercialization and the idea of controlled development.  It was the focus on nature, and environment that allowed to preserve forests right behind the university.  So, a forty minute walk behind the university takes you through the woods and brings you to the bank of a sprawling lake.  

It was the absence of over commercialism.  There must be some rules and restrictions on where advertisements can be placed. Because you can go for hours without seeing billboards. The view of a driver here in Scandinavia--is clear....so is that for passengers in public transport.  Long trees and fields racing past you is much more pleasant than big ads for shampoos and McDonalds. Our imagination can run free without the fear of crashing into one of those huge billboards announcing a new reality show. 

It was the focus on family--often I saw just as many men with strollers as women.  But the best was when I saw men, in public places changing diapers.  

It was the idea of community and staff bonding that took shape in Fika times --coffee times--that every department holds once a week, where we gather in staff room and just chat about work or life.  I had not seen that anywhere, except lunch time in Kanye, Botswana.  

There are regular opportunities for staff bonding.  Semester kickoff dinners and lunches, Christmas dinners, celebrating birthdays and new additions to the family.  Usually there is a small collection, about five dollars or less --the department probably adds a bit and a gift is presented to the person.  There are farewell parties, which again I never saw in the US.  People came and went, without being acknowledged.  Life was just as usual, everyone in their cubical/room. Friendships are long term, and deep. Unlike the US where friends went out for a drink, or spent a vacation together, which Swedes do as well--colleagues even help each other out during summer in working on their garden, house, tiles etc.  There is a real camaraderie.  

I have already been to the house of a few of my colleagues. Where as in the US-- I was hardly invited to anyone's house.  The great thing was a 'pot latch' where everyone brought a dish, or a these huge parties where you never really got to know anyone--people were scattered all over the place and hung out in small groups.  The quality of the talk was also--sort of scattered.  Much like T.S. Eliot's wasteland. 

People tell me its hard to get into the Swedish culture.  Probably--but once you were in---you were in.  Better than in places--'where there is no in'.  Little connection and continuation.

The idea of working part time or working for a fewer hours---makes a difference.  Women get decent length  maternity leave, that does not necessarily mean a reduction in their everyday lifestyle.  Men can be with their children, as they get parental leave as well.  So children have the opportunity to know both parents. 

Most shops close after 5 pm, the rest after 8 pm.  Its hard to find many restaurants open beyond 10 pm.  Why?  You must pay people working in the evening higher than those who work during the day.  Makes sense.  Those who are taking time away from rest and being with their families must be compensated. 

In addition, Scandinavia is expensive in general. The reason?  Well, high taxes.  And therefore, the level of consumption is much lower than that in the US.  People do not eat out that often--and are therefore cooking at home and eating better.  Many people still are familiar with basic plumbing and electrical work, since the country is based on 'self sufficiency model' and hiring help is very expensive.  But if you do hire someone, there is a bit of a tax reduction. 

There are special times and days set for family time.  Since it is a part of the culture, it is not looked down upon.  

It was these simple policies that allowed you 'time' and 'quietness'.  I often wonder where would I be, if I had access to any of these security systems.  And I mean, not just now--but from the very beginning. If I knew I could enter a country where I was living without a job---and then rest and look for one---while I was working on a book academic or otherwise---would it help me health wise?  Career wise?  Because for a change, I would not worry about supporting myself?

I have several books floating in me.  But I resort to short blog entries, or haikus or some odd conference papers.  They give me a sense of accomplishment and keep me in this business. 

But in between the frustrations and anger, I do appreciate what scandinavia has done for its people.  Created a world where people can walk free and without stress. The joke is that Scandinavians easily get stressed because their life is easy and calm.  Well, its a gift right?  Shouldn't we try to create that?  

Just like living in a capitalistic society does not make everyone hardworking, living in a socialist society, does not make everyone lazy.  

What it does do is create a simple, not high on consumption (although things are changing) --way of life, that is almost crime free.  

The minimum wage in the country is nearly three times that in the US. 

But here is what happened recently that made me think of this all over again.  

I had a conference in the south of Sweden, which is only 45 min train ride from Copenhagen.  The conference ended on Saturday, but I had a meeting on monday.  I decided to go to Copenhagen for a day, and stayed at a hostel I had stayed at before.  I did not have much time this time and days were much colder and shorter.  So, all I did was walk into the national museum, entry to which was free.  They had a huge Viking exhibit, but they had closed entry to it by the time I got there, because it was already packed (there, that control sensibility again).  

I had wanted to go to Hans Christian Anderson museum again, (I was there earlier this year in April), but did not have the time.  So I thought I would browse their 'gift shop'.  As I have done in many places, in the US and more recently in the UK (Sherlock Holmes on Baker Street).

"Oh sorry, we don't have a gift shop' apologized the lovely Danish girl.  

"Oh don't be sorry, that is great' I chuckled.

No gift shop at H. C. Anderson museum?  Knowing fully well how much money it could make them?  They could sell so much 'useless stuff'--that meant nothing, except that it had the stamp of the museum on it.  They could create not so important objects like 'door stoppers' with Little Mermaid printed on them.

But 'no gift shop'??!! 

What does that do?  That takes us away from constant thinking in terms of ‘buying and selling.’  While there are few places today untouched by commercialism, these policies, thought-out ways of living allow a different world to the children who are lucky to grow up in these environments.

This is the only university –that I have been to—and I have worked at quite a few, where there is no Macdonald’s around the campus.  This does not happen by accident.  In fact, there are only two restaurants other than university café and they close after lunch.  We always complain about not having much choice.  Something that the US offers you.

But at what expense?

I do not know where I am going, where I will end up, but there are so many things that I have learnt from being in Scandinavia.  But the most important is that --for us to allow higher level of thinking, for human beings to rise above our own basic needs--we cannot simply rely on individual natures and family environment, we must provide that environment, whether by controlling the large corporations with private interests, providing down time for families, maternity leave, upholding arts and music, (In Sweden children can get free music lessons, budgets for construction of all public buildings includes a little fund for local artists, so that all buildings are decorated with local art).  Like Dewey suggested, if you provide the environment, children will grow into it. Provision of that environment, I know cannot be left to the 'market'.  It must be incorporated into the functioning of a country.  

Maybe, in that sense, life is no hurried-scurrying movements, but has the possibility of becoming a meditation---because we are allowed time for 'our beingness'.  

A Rose for no Reason

An ICA salesman hands a flower to a customer leaving with her groceries. October, 2013

ON my way home from the dentist, I stopped at ICA.  ICA, which I used to spell out, 'I-C-A" after international communication association, is based on the Walmart idea. ICA --say it like a word. Like IKEA--ICA.  

When I saw this young man hand a flower to each customer as they left with their groceries, I could not but let out a little sound of joy.  He saw me, I smiled and shrugged.  A rose!! for no reason I thought.

I was treated to a rose too, as I left the store.

‘Why?¨ I asked. 

‘Just because we have such good customers’ said the nice young man --which to me sounded like, ‘Please keep shopping here.’

I loved the rose, thanked him for it, asked him if I could get a picture of him.  But as I walked away, I thought, I can smell the slight change in Sweden and I do not like it.  This commercialization, this pandering for nothing.  The joke was, that you got nothing for free in Sweden.  

Sweden is an expensive country. 

But the reality is that it takes care of its people. The minimum wage is still much higher than most of the world, and health care, except the dental is all inclusive in your citizenship and even when you work here. 

This slight move towards commercialism and the American style shopping ---sort of upsets me.  

But since I know that the young man meant no harm, that the people here are generally good, I smiled graciously and walked away, seriously hoping that Sweden remains the way it is...Simple, sorted out, stunningly beautiful, sacredly loyal to its citizen, and well, Swedish!!

Ah Travel!!

Image is God!! Image feeds Imagination (many a times), Image and pictures, no matter what monotheistic religions tell you, are hard to remove from our culture.

Standing in a long que for check-in, I could not help but notice this metal cut out, that preps weary travelers for excitement that they are about to encounter!!  Somehow there is no image of medical tourism.....well, because they know which images to use here!!

And yet, everytime I look at it, whether in image or in reality (I have seen this in more than one airport), it brings me a smile, and lights me with the thought that at the other end of the travel, I may have some adventures, or family reunions awaiting me!!

If Vogue Knew!!

The above and below picture are not of the same person....but taken at the same time, at the same place, October, 2012

Bhutan, October 2012

I found her breaking rocks by roadside in Paro town.  Her toddler was climbing on her back.  I walked up with my camera.  And tried to talk to them.  They all spoke 'mild' hindi.

Her eyes captivated me.   She noticed me smiling straight into her eyes and she looked away, giggling like a teenager. 

Please, may I take a picture of you?

She giggled and hid her face in her right palm.  Her clothes were old, the sweater seems old enough to unravel any minute, her hands were dry and coarse, tell-talling her hard life, but those eyes could not but reveal the untouched soul.  

It took me a while to get two photographs, because she just would not look at me.  After a few minutes I settled for two shots, neither which of has her eyes towards the camera.  She was simple and straight forward in herself-consioucsness and shyness.

Neither did I ask her name, nor did I pay her for this photograph, nor try to establish any emotional contact.  I was not sure how I felt around this soul, that oozed its essence in the simplicity that it embodied.  

Her friends giggled, and laughed at the attention she was getting.  Somehow, I feel that they knew that they could not give her that royal treatment she deserved!!  Looks, handwork, kindness, simplicity, all rolled into a short Bhutanese/Nepali frame!!  

As I walked away, I kept wondering, how long before that all fizzles after she works in sun and heat, cold and winter, breaking rocks day after day, as she feeds her child by the street.  A stray thought brought me a smile, 'Only if Vogue knew about her'

As the distance between these women and me got farther --I wondered if it was a blessing that Vogue did not know about her.  In that obscurity the woman had maintained an allegiance to authenticity--not to be found in fashion magazines!!  

May be that is why my feet stopped and I knelt in front of her to request for a photograph! 

Trädgård Lakäre!! Garden Doctors!!

The Garden Doctors!!

As usual, I had about a gazillion things to think about as I was walking towards the university.  I have to update the syllabus, after groups have been marked, have to respond to about 15 emails, I also want to go for a walk during the day, how shall we schedule it? wait, did I bring my  lunch with me, or do I have to buy it? Did I forget it on the table?

And in the middle of this check list, I stopped.  And truly paid attention to what was going on around me.

Two men, appropriately attired, had cut out large pieces of grass, and were fixing something around an electric pole.  And then just as quickly they were putting it back, knowing fully well that nature will claim its own, in a few days grass, urged by benign sun will grow back and there will be no signs left of the surgery they had just performed.

'Aha moment!!

I know--these men are the Trädgård Lakäre!!  the Garden Doctors!! 

I turned around and said it aloud.  The older one who was the first one to get the message said, 'Precis!!" and nodded heavily.

Precis, is the Swedish word for Precisely!!  I love the expression!! 

The younger one without a hat, chuckled.

May I please take a picture of you both and may I put it up on my blog!!

Absolut!! said the older one.

They both posed.  And here is the picture.

The Garden Doctors.  We are all doctors, teachers are soul doctors, politicians are nation doctors, doctors are doctors, and then those who make our garden look their healthiest, well,

Trädgård Lakäre!!  Garden Doctors!! 

Abhay

NATIONAL PHYSICAL LABORATORY :-The main aim of the laboratory is to strengthen and advance physics-based research and development for the overall development of science and technology in the country. In particular its objectives are: To establish, maintain and improve continuously by research, for the benefit of the nation

, National Standards of Measurements and to realize the Units based on International System (Under the subordinate Legislations of Weights and Measures Act 1956,reissued in 1988 under the 1976 Act).

 To identify and conduct after due consideration, research in areas of physics which are most appropriate to the needsof the nation and for advancement of field To assist industries, national and other agencies in their developmental tasks by precision measurements, calibration, development of devices, processes, and other allied problems related to physics. To keep itself informed of and study critically the status of physics.

Pictures courtesy Google.

If I remember correctly I have known him since KG—Kindergarten.  We were in the same class, from KG till grade 12.  He was a quiet boy.  I have memories of him running around in the playground.  There are not many memories.  We did not talk much.  He was a shy boy and being a dreamy head, I lived in my own world.  There are very few boys from school I was ever close to.  But I remember Abhay because he seemed synonymous with sincerity.

In India names are given great importance.  Everything from people to houses are given a name, in special naming ceremony.  The energy of the name is supposed to bestow the person, place or a thing with respective energy. Therefore a house named ‘Anand Vihar’ can literally become a reflection of  ts meaning--‘an abode of joy’. 

Abhay means fearless.  And yet, I do not remember him ever being in an argument, let alone a fist-fight.  He was always a good student with high and steady performance on his report card.  If I remember correctly he lived near, around or in the NPL campus.  National Physical Laboratory, which was right behind our house.  We used to set our clocks by its 9 am siren.  NPL requires another blog-post.

Our school uniform was green and white for summer time, and steel grey-wool, white and green in winter.  So primary school memories are of girls in green tunics and white shirts, boys in white shirts and green shorts.  From my eyes today, we all seemed so clueless, without any understanding of life.  I, myself, had many visions, hopes and goals.  Most of them colored by the images I saw on TV or the big screen.

Somewhere in there is the image of Abhay as a skinny boy in white and green school uniform running around recess time in school grounds.  An interesting thing about our school was that, though it is a big name today, it was a new school, set up in residential area, had quite humble beginnings, but worked with high level of teaching.   Starting from grade three students had to read newspaper and sometimes come to the school assembly and read headlines.  For English, Hindi and math, we had three exams.  For both the languages we had three exams each, about three times a year, on literature, grammar and recitation, and a dictation once a week to help us learn spellings and punctuation.   Recitation or elocution was real fun, we had to memorize poems and passages and then recite in front of the class. This helped us combat our stage fears and perfected our pronunciation.  Abhay, had a mild stutter, but even as children, we never thought it awkward.  May be because of Abhay’s sincerity.  He delivered all his poems very well, with appropriate stops, some deliberate others involuntary, but with confidence.   For math, we had alzebra, geometry and the math quiz.  The two former ones are obvious, but the last one was something unique.  We would have to 30 solve short problems in 30 minutes.  It helped us build speed of doing calculations in our minds, without using any calculator.  For all other subjects, especially social sciences we had something called the ‘open book’ exam.  We were allowed to refer to our books during the exam.  It was not as easy as it seems, if you had never opened your books before, there was no way you could answer them.  Often these questions involved comparing chapters and concepts.

Another interesting thing about our school was that most of the students came from the surrounding areas, and so we all not only knew each other but also each other’s siblings, and parents, for we were very familiar with ‘who’s who’.  I do remember seeing Abhay’s mom a few times. 

One distinct and probably the last memory I have of Abhay is when we graduated from high school.  I used to go for coaching to DPCC, Delhi Public College of Competitions.  DPCC is a special coaching school to train students for entrance exams to professional colleges and universities, namely, engineering and medicine.  I met him outside the college, while he was riding his bike home.  A true gentleman that he was, Abhay got off from his bike and walked his bike all the way till we got near to where we lived.

 We were only sixteen at the time.  Today when I look back, it seems like such a nice, simple, wise and honorable thing to do.  Especially since our grown selves know that we have little time for others.  If we meet people today we are most likely to bid good bye before we even hug each other, and promise to meet sometime in the future, which may never happen.  Because while we plan, and promise, we never truly intend to sit down and talk, because nothing is truly invested in the person.  In that innocence, and age of ‘free time’ we knew that that is how memories are created. 

By stopping, sharing and slowing life down.

Or we did it, just because that was the only thing to do.  But it was a different time. 

I have barely had any contact with Abhay since that day except when about 13 years ago, I got an email from him. Which is when I got to read his last name for the first time. I think it sounded Marathi (Those from the state of Maharashtra, of which Bombay/Mumbai is the capital).  But for me Abhay was a classmate, a Delhite, and a good dedicated student.   And then we exchanged a few emails.  He told me that he had moved to Bombay for a while, where he thought people were more honest than capital city we both called home.  He also told me that he had two daughters (if I remember correctly). I always felt bad that I never had the time to write back long emails but mainly, with years, there is nothing much to say.

Recently I saw him on linked-in and this time it was I who sent him an invitation to connect. 

I still do not have much to share or say.  But I want to stay connected, to see where a man named ‘fearless’ goes.  To occasionally hear the stories of his way of life.  To people, he might seem an average guy leading a family life.  Regular, and far from extraordinary.  But I know that Abhay’s sincerity in his work and life is nothing short of a feat in a world where we focus on benefiting the self at every turn.  Some even might say that its an act of fearlessness!!