What are best memories really made of?

Today, I spent some time looking at some old photographs. 

Correction,  they were not really 'old 'photographs, but they date back to just about four or five years ago.

And what I saw saddened me a great deal. Because many of the people, including both my parents, in those photographs were no more. In particular, those who were in their seventies then (I counted at least six of them) weren't alive any more.

My late parents, Sardar Harnam Singh and Sardarni Satinder Kaur Serna

I spent some time thinking about it, then realised that there was really nothing that anyone could have done about it. All of them had died of old age or incurable illnesses and despite the best possible medication and hospitalisation, they eventually passed away.

The ultimate reality- no one lives for ever. Its their memories that will linger, like the fragrance of a beautiful and proud flower that once bloomed but eventually fades away..

Best memories are made of this

As the old adage goes, 'time and tide really wait for no one' . All we can do is to keep the happiest memories of  those who are now gone, close to our hearts and every now and then take a break, pause  and reflect on the best they had to offer us.

So one of the best things one can do is to look at a flower, a garden, a sunset and think of them. The associated pain may be more bitter, than sweet, but there is really no answer. One just has to live with and deal with it. 

Will time ever really heal that pain? 

That too is something that no one can really tell...maybe yes, maybe never..

But best memories are truly made of images and thoughts like these and by associating the things we love with all the things they loved, we are definitely doing the right thing.

That of keeping them alive ...forever...

Thoughts on Friends

Like many of us I love the thought of having friends-Truly something warm and comforting.

And have thanked God and my good fortune for the many good friends I've had as I've gone along life's journey.

The fact of the matter is that we can only really grow and flourish when we have the love and support of our friends who truly care. Care enough to tell us straight up when we happen to be going off track.

Or if we have really done so, helping us get back there.

Again and again.

Then again, if need be...

Friends Forever

So pause for a moment and reflect-How many real friends do you think you can actually count?

Even more importantly- How many people are you a real friend to?

Remembering my father- Sardar Harnam Singh Serna

My father-April 2018

My father Sardar Harnam Singh Serna left us on 14th of July 2018. It had been raining heavily almost all of the previous day, Friday, the 13th  of July and with a distinct sense of foreboding, I just didn't want to go back home- all I wanted to do was stay at the hospital where he had been admitted for the last 4 days. As it happened that night passed and we came back, driving  through pouring rain to meet him on the 14th morning and were with him as he left this world at about 1030 am.  

At  my father's Antim Ardas held on the 18th of July, in my Shraddhanjali to Pop, as we called my father, I was able to put together some top of mind thoughts which I'm sharing in this piece. 

'It was almost exactly 9 months ago that many of you joined us at this venue, Gurudwara Shri Vasant Vihar, to honour the memory of our late mother Sardarni Satinder Kaur Serna but in this very fact lies the irony as well as its beauty. You see, its really hard for anyone who knew both my parents, to separate one from the other-the old saying, “two peas in a pod” is probably the most apt one here.

Pop as we always called him, lost his zest for life after Mummy passed and as many people told me thereafter, he was never really the same.

 My father Sardar Harnam Singh Serna was born into a wealthy business  family in Rawalpindi, now in Pakistan. His father Sardar Balwant Singh was a devout Radhaswami and his mother Sardarni Mainawati was a gentle and loving homemaker who passed away shortly after the birth of my younger Bhuaji, Devinder Luthra. Despite growing up in a loving family where every wish and desire was fulfilled, my father grew up as a highly disciplined boy.Punctual to a fault, highly disciplined, deeply religious, usually top of his class, his zest for outdoor activities was no less evident and he grew up to be the proverbial all rounder.

Sadly, all that was to change during the Partition in Aug 1947 when as a young teenager, he had to flee his home and the only way of life and living that he had known till then. Pop often talked of Kushwant Singh’s famous book Train To Pakistan, which closely mirrored his own life story .Moving from one refugee camp to another, his family (in which his mother’s sister ‘Masiji’) played a key role,  finally reached Bhogal in Delhi where they set up a small home. Some time later, they moved to Jangpura, which became ‘home’  in a very real sense for a few years. Winning scholarships came easily to him and he completed his matriculation, finished school and joined Delhi College (now called Zakir Hussain College)  where he topped his BA Class. Soon after completing his MA in English Literature he was invited to teach at the very same college, and then later moved to Khalsa College. An interesting insight of that era and one that he always spoke of with a twinkle in his eye was the red coloured bike that he bought at this time- one which became a source of immense pride and joy for him.

Lasting friendships and strong bonds were forged by him during this time and there are many interesting stories that his friends have shared viz.Mr Amarjeet Singh as well as Mr Krishan Mohan, followed by Mr SR Wadhwa who worked with him closely in the Income Tax Office in Meerut.

Pop joined the Indian Revenue Service  opting for the Income Tax in 1957 and life took a different direction. From teaching young men and women in the University he moved into another zone and during his training at the Income Tax College in Nagpur, many more lifelong friendships and associations were formed. Meeting and marrying our mother Sardarni Satinder Kaur  in 1959 was one of the defining moments of his life.

My parents, soon after their marriage

Born with a golden spoon in her mouth, Mummy, fondly called Biba, was the eldest child of Sodhi Mahinder Singh and  Mrs Rajinder Kaur. From landed gentry, based in Ferozepur, Punjab, and direct descendants of Guru Gobind Singh Ji from my grandfather's side, they were an extremely progressive couple who firmly believed that education was the best gift they could give their children. Accordingly, my mother was sent to Tara Hall in Shimla while her brothers went to other reputed schools in India.

Mummy and Pop-14th July 2016 

Married for 58 years, till my mother’s passing, their relationship was unique- love, admiration, friendship and over and above all this, a huge amount of respect for each other  was what made this relationship so special. We saw it in all their intearctions and I’m confident, all of you saw it too.

Following are some personal insights about Pop via extracts from an article I had written on Father’s Day three years back.

‘Memories’

Waking up in agony and crying with an acute stomach pain at night. I must have been about 7 years old and we lived in Calcutta at the time.

Pop  came rushing in from his bedroom and asked me what the problem was. All I could manage to say  was, " My stomach is paining Pop. Very badly."

As it happened that day, our car was at the garage for some major repair and we had no means of transport. It must have been 2 am but my father didn't hesitate. He just picked me up and ran. 

Ran in the middle of the night for almost 1 km, till he reached the home of our family doctor, Dr. Mrs. Pai. Ringing the bell with quiet determination, yet ensuring that I was doing OK, my dad became a real hero in my eyes that day.

What followed was not quite as exciting. As it turned out, I had a case of severe indigestion 
( not appendicitis as my parents had thought initially) and after a dose of medication and a quiet lie in, Dr Pai drove us back home.

It was about 6 am by then after which my dad proceeded with his normal day's routine- got ready for the office,and worked a whole busy day while I rested at home waiting for him to return.

A bond was forged that day and one that continued for life. 

Of course Pop  did all the normal things that dads do for their children.He held my hand as I learnt to walk. He picked me up when I was low. He cared for me when I was sick. He gave me a warm and loving hug whenever I needed it. 

Over and above, he also did some interesting things such as accompany me for my night shift at the General Overseas Service  (GOS) at All India Radio, New Delhi where he would sit in the newsroom watching, listening to and making interesting conversation with all the famous newsreaders of the time-Lotika Ratnam, Vijay Daniels and so many more.

With my father-Dec 2016

Incidentally, I must point out here that my father was the only parent ever permitted to enter the "secure zone" of All India Radio . The reason- he didn't want to deprive me of a wonderful opportunity to experience the life of an English Announcer. Yet he wanted to ensure that I was safe and that all was well.

Makes me wonder how many other dads would have done this for their daughter?

I could go on and on- my dad told me and my brother interesting stories inculcated a love for the fine things in life- coffee, chocolates, eating out and enjoying being 'foodies' wherever we traveled and so much more.

Many years later, in Sep 2013, and then again in November of that same year, my mother had to undergo a major surgery. We were based in Muscat, Oman at the time and while we were fully abreast with all that was happening on a daily basis, we had planned to come to Delhi closer to the surgery. Goes without saying, my dad had to bear the brunt of the pre op tests, finalising the admission procedures, along with everything else.

Finally all that was done, the date for the first surgery was set in September and we reached well in time for the operation. My husband Avi and I spent time with Pop during the procedure and realised that he was in acute mental stress. Giving him a tight hug, both of us told him that all would be well, it was a mere matter of time.

We saw his eyes well up with tears and while he quickly brushed them away, he hugged us back and said, "I really couldn't have done this without  you,  my bacchas."

An unimaginably poignant  moment and I don't mind admitting that a few tears escaped my eyes too. Here was this strong man, my dad telling us that he couldn't have done it without us.

Pop with my husband Avi-2016

With my parents and daughter- March 2016

Some extracts from 'Tell me a story' that I wrote for my column My Take in the Muscat Daily.

Ever since people began to communicate with each other, "Tell me a story" has been requested by both children as well as adults.  There is something  fascinating about sitting around and listening to words which come out of someone else’s mouth and trying to put picture associations to those same words.

My brother Navtej with Mummy

As children, almost every night for many, many years, whenever we could manage, my brother Navtej
and myself would wait for him to tell us one of his enthralling tales. I don't know how he did it, but all his stories, whether based on real life incidents or a creation of his imagination, were very exciting, taking us into a whole new world,where we could actually almost see and experience all that he used to talk about. Which is exactly where I started from, that great pleasure that a child gets when ‘visualising’ what is being told. It is also a matter of great credit to the storyteller for being able to generate such a response in a young and impressionable mind and this is something for which I’m able to give credit to my father only in retrospect.

Particularly memorable were his stories about Air Marshal Arjun Singh and some of his daredevil missions in the skies.Then there were the stories which taught us all about our history, culture, tradition, valour along with great things that people had done and achieved in this world. These were the stories about people like Guru Gobind Singh, Shivaji Maratha, Rani Laxmibai and Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and Helen Keller.

Then of course, there were the funny stories, which consisted of make believe characters and an extended storyline where the four of us as a family would get involved in their lives and adventures. The real beauty of these tales were that these were a never ending saga and could go on and on endlessly, taking right up from where it had been left off the last time around as there was no defined beginning or an end to these.

Keeping both of us enthralled for hours and hours on end, then after one got over, repeatedly begging him, "Pop, one more, just one more"

And  he would always, always, always oblige.

Time passed and I became a mother.

Of a very bright child with an equally hungry mind.

One who demanded “Tell me a story” whenever she wanted to hear one. So that I learnt to delve into the inner recesses of my mind and pull out some of those I remembered my father telling me and when I ran out of those I learnt to improvise, just as I remembered him doing. Creating some characters with whom the family travelled together, went on adventurous trips with and did a whole lot of fun stuff. One of the characters who became an all time favourite with my daughter Neha was a little monkey who I called ‘Pikoo’ and one who went wherever my mind decided to take him. Alternately, wherever my daughter wanted him to go and so began the next generation saga along with a new series of never ending tales.

Today, as I'm reminded of those days, I'd like to take this opportunity to say “Thank You Pop, for that's where I really learnt my love of storytelling and now that of writing stories. I loved your stories then and love them even more now.”

At Mashobra- April 2018

Finally, I want to share some of the best times of our lives with Pop. As recently as April 2018, my husband Avi and myself  prevailed upon and succeeded in taking Pop to spend some time with us at our home in Mashobra. That fortnight will forever serve as the best memory  as we walked, talked, went out on day trips, met up with friends, sat and enjoyed a drink on most evenings, watched movies  and then  talked some more. He shared so many thoughts, experiences and stories from his life and all we could do was marvel and thank God that he was peaceful and relaxed.

Pop -Mashobra,April 2018 

I close with a beautiful line by Melody Beattie, one which is extremely apt for my father.

“Live from your heart, and share from your heart. And your story will touch and heal people’s souls.”

-

Remembering Mummy on Mothers Day

"A mother is she who can take the place of all others but whose place no one else can take." 
( Cardinal Meymillod)

For those of you who have been following my blog, you know that I lost my beautiful mother Satinder on 17th October 2017 and life has never been the same since.

Every day, I realise, more and more, how much she shaped so many different aspects of my life and along with that so many, many others, including my father and brother's.

Just 21 years older to me, my mother was a pillar of strength for all of us at different stages of our life. Most importantly, her strength  and fortitude in dealing with her own ailments, particularly through 2017, will serve to remind us forever that true courage has many forms, but for for us, it was in the form of Mummy.

Mummy saying a prayer of gratitude before her meal

I received this beautiful piece  from my brother Navtej yesterday it touched a deep chord in me. 

It was Mummy's birthday yesterday and  Mothers day tomorrow and I'm convinced, its a must share.

For those lucky to still be blessed with your Mom, this is a great reminder.

For those of us who aren't, this is even more beautiful. For those who are moms, you'll love this.

"The young Mother set her foot on the path of life. "Is this the long way?" she asked. 

And the Guide said:  "Yes, and the way is hard. And you will be old before you reach the end of it

But the end will be better than the beginning."

 The young Mother was happy, and she would not believe that anything could be better than these years. 

So she played with her children, and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams; and the sun shone on them, and the young Mother remarked,

"Nothing will ever be lovelier than this." 

Then the night came, and the storm, and the path was dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said, 

"Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and nothing can harm us."

And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and the children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary. 

But at all times she said to the children,
" A little patience and we are there."

So the children climbed, and when they reached the top they said,

"Mother, we would not have made it without you." 

And the Mother, when she lay down at night looked up at the stars and said,"This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. 

Yesterday I gave them courage. Today, I've given them strength." 

And the next day came strange clouds, which darkened the earth, clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped and stumbled, and the mother said: "Look up. Lift your eyes to the light."

And the children looked and saw above the clouds an everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the darkness.

And that night the Mother said,

"This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God."

And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and the years, and the mother grew old and she was little and bent. 

But her children were tall and strong, and walked with courage. And when the way was rough, they lifted her, for she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill, and beyond they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide. 

And Mother said,"I have reached the end of my journey.

And now I know the end is better than the beginning, for my children can walk alone, and their children after them."

 And the children said, 

"You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates." 

And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates closed after her.  And they said: 

"We cannot see her but she is with us still.

A Mother like ours is more than a memory.  She is a living presence "

Your Mother is always with you. 

She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street; she's the smell of bleach in your freshly laundered socks; she's the cool hand on your brow when you're not well. 

Your Mother lives inside your laughter. And she's crystallised in every teardrop.

She's the place you came from, your first home; and she's the map you follow with every step you take. 

She's your first love and your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can separate you'll. Not time, not space.. 

Not even death."

With my mother Satinder and my grandmother Rajinder Kaur

And so, I will strive to go through 2018 with my mother as my guiding star and my angel who watches above us from somewhere up above.

And if I fail, I will try, then try again and finally, try some more.

For that is exactly what Mummy would have wanted me to.

'Today' - the best day of your life

How many times have you found yourself thinking, "Oh, its all right, I'll do it tomorrow."

And I'm positive that its many, many, many  times in one day.

But here's the thought that  popped into my head and one that refuses to go away.

'Today' is the best day of the rest of your life, so if you can do that one thing thing today, make sure you do it.

And do it well!

As Sant Kabeer said, many, many years ago, "Kaal kare so aaj kar,aaj kare so ab."

Wise words indeed and one that I intend to make into my 'mantra', as far as I can help.