I'm Sorry

It’s hard to grieve the loss of someone you’ve never met. But there are some people you know you would have loved - simply because they come from, are a part of, people you love.

My 2 month old niece (my cousin V’s daughter) died yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to reach him on the phone…well, of course, who’s going to bother with something as mundane as the phone at a horrible time like this? And even if I did get through to him, what on earth would I say? Everything is so inadequate, so inconsequential, so bloody futile… the words would just be ridiculous platitudes and would make no difference at all.

Growing up, my cousin V was an endless source of amusement and fascination for me…he’s 14 years older than I am, and, at the age of 5, when I first saw him sitting on my terrace early one morning in Madras, in all his mustachioed-dishevelled-engineering-student glory, I ran screaming back into the house with shrieks of “Mama, Dada, thief! Run!” Poor guy, I must have been the most annoying (and shrill) little tagalong cousin in history. But he gamely attempted to teach me my multiplication tables (using toothpicks, no less), and how to crack a walnut shell between a doorjamb and savour the nut (dusty though it was), and took me for my first bus ride (first memorable public transport experience, in fact), and my first time riding pillion on a bike (I’m pretty sure my eyes were squeezed shut the entire time)…and was, in general, the most patient cousin in existence. And the nicest, really.

So it sucks beyond measure that God would let such a crappy thing happen to such a great guy. No one should ever, ever have to lose a baby…and how much worse when you’ve had a chance to hold her, and love her, and name her, and change her poopy diapers.

I’m so, so sorry, Cousin V.

Here We Go Again

It’s Raksha Bandhan again, and, although we don’t celebrate it in our family, I’m back to taking stock of all my memories of my baby brother. He will, undoubtedly, roll his eyes in embarrassment at my ooey-gooeyness and tell me to get a grip. These are things I have resolved to do:

- STOP calling him ‘baby’ brother. Well, at least not in front of his friends.
- STOP crying everytime something amazing happens in his life – academic distinction,great A – Level results, being accepted to University.
- I WILL NOT cry when he goes off to college next month.
- I WILL NOT pepper him with a barrage of calls, messages and e-mails, and I will let him settle in and make friends and get a bit of distance, as every teenager should learn to do when they leave home.
- STOP lecturing him on all the possible dangers and risks of being a stranger in a strange land, and instead encourage him to look forward to everything he’s going to experience there.
- STOP looking at his old baby pictures. I have GOT to get with the program…I’m 27, he’s 18 and he’s not going to automatically revert to the adorable 2-year-old in the photo just because I miss carrying him around.
- I WILL NOT go into his room and sit glumly on his bed when he’s away, missing him awfully.
- STOP tearing up everytime I write these mushy posts (it’s the hormones or something, that’s it).
- STOP writing these mushy posts (especially in the office).
- I WILL probably end up breaking each and every one of these resolutions ages before he leaves.

Please, God, if you could reeeeeeeeaalllllyyyy slow down time for the next month, I promise to try and be a better person! Or a less weepy one, anyway. I know my brother would be eternally grateful for that.

Happy Rakhi, baby.

Enough With The Waterworks Already

The moons are perpetually aligned wrong, or something, because whenever there is an important moment in my brother’s life, I’m always PMSing – and therefore terribly prone to blubbering at the drop of a hat. At least last night I wasn’t the only one (blubbering, I mean).

My baby (he hates that) brother graduated from high school last night, and for the first time I understood how the phrase ‘bursting with pride’ came to be coined. From the moment we walked in the gates and introduced ourselves as his family, the staff and other students beamed at us and commended us on the “wonderful man that he is.” My mind boggled, and I swear, the words were on the tip of my tongue – he’s not a man, he’s a little boy! But he didn’t look it last night, in his cap and gown, with his degree in one hand and the prize for ‘Highest Academic Distinction’ in the other.

I know this is like flogging a dead horse, and just re-iterates everything I’ve said here, but I can’t help it. He’s grown up too fast, he can’t be 18 already, he was just heading off to ‘big boy school’ yesterday, just crawling backwards last week! WTF? And in September he’ll be headed off into the wilds of…well, God knows where, but still…away. He’ll be away. From me. Oh crap, let me go get the Kleenex.

Honestly, I don’t know how parents deal with their kids growing up. Kudos to my mom and dad – they’re running through less tissue than I am.

Apparently I'm A Shameless Praise-Whore...

...since all it took was a few complimentary words from Abby to get me back to my neglected blog after almost a month. Shallowness, thy name is Namrata.

This recuperation business is for the birds, I can vouch for that...sitting at home twiddling my thumbs and going "la la la la la-di-da" is most definitely not for me. And now that I'm unemployed, there's even less to do! About the unemployment - the governing bank authority here has deemed that the banks in this country have not been giving enough opportunities to the local population, so to build up the levels of local people (the ratio has to be 90% locals, 10% expats), the banks have had to cut short the contracts of expatriate employees. Guess who that means? (Here, envision me taking a bow and then shooting myself in the head). However, the monetary compensation was well worth it, the recommendation letters are superb (they should be, since I supplied all the complimentary adjectives myself...refer to title of blog-post), and I have a slew of interviews lined up for the coming week. So really, I'm complaining for the sake of complaining. Good at it, aren't I?

Honestly, though, it's REALLY boring being at home when everyone else is at work! My mom's always said I had too much energy and too little sense to enjoy a well-deserved holiday (and I would take offence to that, but sadly it's true)...so of course I've been driving her nuts everyday by waking up and saying "What are we doing today? Huh huh huh? Where do we go? What do we do? Tell me tell me tell me!" It's only a matter of time before the poor woman cracks and murders me. She staged an act of mini-vengeance today, though, by taking me to the fish market. May I just say, ugh? Smart lady, that.

Until something exciting happens, I guess I'm just going to have to be content with watching TV and hurling shoes at it when Raj Thackeray's interviews come on. More on that turd and how he's ruining my beloved Bombay in the next post.