The end of a lifetime, in the middle of one.

Thank you so much for understanding Achu. You are right when you say you're asking a lot from me when you want us to settle down in your village. And even though I would selflessly defend you and try to convince you otherwise, there is always going to be a small little yearning inside my head. Because all my life I've only lived in a city. I have always been at walk-able distance from everything: super markets, shopping malls, railway stations. And I love being in a city. I love taking the bus, I love fighting with auto walas, I love shopping and I love going to fancy restaurants. There are some big 5star hotels here and also some small eat outs. There is always something to do, someone to meet, someplace to be at or something new to try. You know how we keep complaining that we have no free time to even sleep peacefully? Secretly, everyone who lives like this must find it very pumping, it adds some sort of an action element to their lives, some purpose. That's why they never leave. They never leave the city for too long. It is like an addiction. That is also why I'm growingly unsure about how I'll deal without all this noise and crowd and happening-ness.

Well, I'm guessing its going to be really quiet over there. Even during the day. May be with some pretty birds and sweet grass and fresh air. I will find it very nice and relaxing for the first few days, may be even a month. After that? I'm definitely going to start craving some city-ness, even just the sheer feeling of it. What will I do with my free time then? I mean I've never taken a mofussil bus to go into the city for anything. I've sort of lived in the city. And I probably have never done most of the stuff you do with habitual ease. Like waking up super early and taking a bath in the river, sleeping before 10pm or even swimming for instance, it is your second nature, but people pay and take classes here, in my city. Sometimes I tell myself, I'm only a hyper youngster who wants all of this now and may be 4-5 years down the lane, I will want to settle down and do less of this and more of setting up a family for myself. By then most of my friends will be married, so I guess I'll get into the groove of it too. I won't have anyone to be wild with. We'll all have families of our own and crazy wives and husbands getting on to our nerves. So I may be okay with it. Okay with getting my own base camp.

Even otherwise, that's how a girl's life is supposed to be, no? She is supposed to leave behind everything she grew up building for herself since she was a girl and go be someone else's wife and pretend like that is what she wants. Sure, every girl wants a car, house, curtains, plants, dogs, kids and a husband. But I don't think any girl would like to leave her parents or siblings if she had a choice. Especially if she came from a family like mine where we do almost everything together. So much that sometimes we dog-pile and tickle the youngest and burst into laughter. I can't imagine a day without them. I mean I can't even write these lines without going through the agony of imagining it. I really don't have a clue as to what I'll do when I do actually get married. I'll probably sit down and cry like a baby holding onto the diwan in my hall. You may have to drag me out. But then all that is for a future day. Right now, thanks. Thanks for understanding that I have a life too, a family and a lifetime of memories too.

Thanks for not being regular and telling me that I have to leave home some day anyway and that it is my destiny. Usually that's what happens, people NEVER realize how a girl's life is practically over once she is married. It never occurs to them at all. It is a girl's obligation by default to leave her family and all that she grew up with, just to be some man's wife and many-a-times mean nothing to him and have no respect in his house. Sure, we all say that we'll continue to do the things that interest us and our men say that they'll find time to spend with us even after we're married and that nothing will change. But then how many times have you seen your mom read her favorite book in the middle of the night with a bowl of maggi? Or your dad climbing into the house through the balcony because he was drunk and scared of knocking the door? You haven't. Because she has to wake up at 5 to get you a decent breakfast and lunch. And he cannot risk falling with an important meeting scheduled this week which could bring him an increment. That's what happens. We grow up and embrace more and more responsibilities and we make space for them like how we remove the older, less used apps on our smart phones - we cut down on our hobbies and interests.

Sigh.
I know it sounds really sad and tiring. But it can't be that bad, can it? I mean so many people got out of it alive and happy. They must have found something right, something worth sticking to. I could get there too, to my happily ever after, if I search hard enough, be open about everything else that I will gain, like the first words of my child, the undivided love of a family - my family, and then if I never lose hope that I'm going to find it..find the
balance that makes every loss worth while, I just might.

--- The End ---

Jan 2014

Lights and Planes

I have been a seafarer for 9 years now which means there have been many many happy homecomings and too many sad, tearful goodbyes. So much so that I now have a goodbye routine- A well practised drill, a 'before leaving home' checklist I follow everytime I have to leave home and join a ship so that I don't let my emotions overwhelm me into missing out on the important things. My list is thorough and goes from small things like 'buy pens' to big and most necessary items like 'buy seedai, peanuts and instant pepper rasam'. My list also reminds me of all the people I want to meet and say goodbye to, personally. Most of my friends and relatives only get phone calls or text messages as I barely have time before joining. Being an A1 procrastinator I pretend that I'm not going anywhere so I won't have to spend my last few days at home weighed down with the sorrow of leaving. I inevitably scramble in the end to buy all the things I need and assemble my suitcase. In the little time I do find in this self-created mayhem, I like to stay at home as much as possible. I eat my favourite things and lounge around talking to everyone, absorbing 'home' as it is. I also lie down on my bed a lot because that's one of the things I miss the most onboard - my bed (also my sleep). Those last few days being quite precious, I meet very very few people and one top person on my list is Athai- it was actually Avva AND Athai for the longest time. I usually drive down the 2 streets from my house to talk to them and tell them when I would be leaving and how soon I'll be back and what kind of ship I was going on. Avva would always tell me- come soon and get married so that I can see the celebrations while I'm still here. She'd then tell me how smart and capable I was and how my grandfather would've been so proud if he could see me now. She'd ask me if I had money and press a few notes into my hand even when I promise her I have enough. She'd then bless me and apply some vibhuti on my forehead after saying a short prayer. After that, it would be Athai's turn. She'd also bless me and remind me to stay safe and work safely. It was always the same with them. There was a certain dependability to that routine, a certain constancy. It was the same every year and it gave me so much peace and comfort. I always left feeling grateful. We grieviously lost Avva a couple of years ago (may God bless her good soul) so it is only Athai now. 

 When I reached her house in December it was already past her bedtime but Athai was sitting there waiting patiently for me because she knew I had an early flight the next day and that was the best time I could do. I went in and we chatted for a bit, both of us quietly remembering how that moment was missing an important person, feeling the large gaping hole of her memory. We prayed to her, Athai then wished me a safe flight and a safe contract onboard. When I was about to leave, she asked me what time my flight was and I said we'd be departing at 6am. She immediately recalled how she can see planes flying in and out at really low heights from her terrace. She told me if I could spare a minute she wanted to show me where the flights came from. I have lived in West Mambalam longer than she has and I know where the planes came from, I remember watching them as a kid from our terrace and feeling so mesmerized. I was also really tired that night and I still had a long list of things to go through before I hit the sack but I went anyway because she seemed so excited. When we reached the terrace, she showed me the direction of the airport. She said if we waited a few minutes, we were sure to catch one leaving or entering. She then showed me Pothys, the Rangarajapuram flyover, the railway station and the church. Athai grew up in Madurai and I think for a few years even in Triplicane. But she lived most of her life in Dindigul and Madurai. Earlier whenever she'd come to visit us during the summers or any other holidays, she'd always be itching to go to TNagar. It's not as though she was a big shopper, she just loved the hustle bustle of the shopping area. She'd quietly sneak out when everyone took their afternoon naps and walk her way to TNagar from my house. She'd stroll around the place, take in all the colorful sights and sounds, get her heart full and come back home, only to get an ear full from Avva who would never understand why Athai wanted to go to TNagar so much, every year, even though she hardly ever bought anything. But none of that ever stopped Athai, TNagar was the New York of her world and she loved it. Only a few years ago, both Avva and Athai permanently moved to Chennai because it was easier for dad this way to take care of them and they naturally found a house closer to ours (thus closer to TNagar too). 

 Athai was so joyful that night because we could see most of the brightly lit TNagar shops from her terrace. She showed me some of her favorite buildings which had fancy LEDs making beautiful patterns in the night sky. She said she comes here ever so often just to sit around, get some air and admire the lights. I was so moved hearing this because I couldn't remember the last time I did something so simple as stand on my terrace and watch aeroplanes or lights. For a second, I forgot where I was or where I had to be and only stood there taking it all in. That night I rode back home missing Avva who would've definitely scolded us both 'ladies' for going to the terrace 'so late at night' but also felt extremely grateful that Athai took me up there and shared her happy TNagar lights with me. 

Gaythri Madhavann

18 April 2020

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck - Book Review

An insightful and interesting self-help book written by a potty-mouth author- I should've been warned about how much cussing I was to anticipate just reading the title. I listened to the audiobook version so there was no skimming of swear words for me. This may seem an overreaction considering how common it is now to throw in a few F words here and there in content, but I'm a bit old fashioned and enjoy a decent read which won't make me scrunch up my nose ever so often.

The book talks about various aspects of our personalities, how we base our choices, how we arrive at how we feel, and it allows you to sort of run little reality checks on yourself. I appreciate how honest the author is about his revelations, successes, failures and problem areas, good and bad alike. It talks about entitlement, loneliness and I like that the book explores the influence of a smartphone-and-internet-dependent lifestyle on a generation that is materially rich and emotionally drained out, making the book that much relatable. I felt enriched and enjoyed his inferences, stories and analogies; he effortlessly breaks things down to the easiest level possible.  Although I do wonder if it is accurate to assume all of us are basically similar people with similar abilities who can follow similar tactics to address similar/all sorts of problems. Does one size really fit all?

My favorite quote from the book: "Whether you're listening to Aristotle or the psychologist at Harvard or Jesus Christ or the goddamn Beatles, they all say that happiness comes from the same thing- caring about something greater than yourself. Believing that you are a contributing component in some much larger entity, that your life is but a mere side process in some great unintelligible production. This feeling is what people go to church for, it's what they fight in wars for, it's what they raise families and save pensions and build bridges and invent cellphones for. This fleeting sense of being part of something greater and more unknowable than themselves. And entitlement strips this away from us. The gravity of entitlement sucks all attention inward toward ourselves causing us to feel as though we are the centre of all the problems in the universe, that we are the one suffering all of the injustices, that we are the one who deserves greatness over all others. As alluring as it is, entitlement isolates us. Our curiosity and excitement for the world turns in upon itself and reflects our own biases and projections onto every person we meet and every event we experience...it is spiritual poison."

Man's Search For Meaning by Viktor Frankl - Book Review

The preface to this book has a wonderful first line- "Typically, if a book had one passage, one idea with the power to change a person's life, that alone justifies reading and re-reading it and finding room for it on one's shelves. This book has several such passages."

I vouch for it. I've come to believe that books like life experiences, come into our lives at certain points when we are ready to receive what the book has to offer us, or when we are about to enter a phase in our lives for which the book/experience futuristically prepares us. There is so much one learns from a good book, to quote Vivienne Westwood, "It is the most concentrated experience you can have. You know, all those incredible geniuses concentrated their lifetimes' experiences in books." How much I have learnt from this book can be guessed quite easily from the number of highlighter flags on the side (So excited about my discovery of them, they're so easy to use and bring me so much joy!). Viktor Frankl was a decorated psychotherapist so I went into this book expecting to understand the meaning of life in a scientific or a theological way. This book however is about human endurance, it teaches you of the innate ability of the human mind and body to stretch itself in order to accommodate any amount of suffering as long as you will it to. It teaches you that suffering gives life meaning and about the unique connection between your mental and physical health. If you allow yourself to be humanized by his retelling of the Holocaust- how the prisoners of the camps soldiered on through everything that was meant to puncture their bodies, break their wills and crush their souls- this book is also a bearer of courage and hope. I would be doing a lousy job if I didn't record just how brilliant his writing is. I suspect this is the kind of book one re-visits from time to time to remind oneself of what we are capable. Must must read and re-read!

Becoming - Book Review

Like every other girl around the world, I too am a fan of Michelle Obama- She is indeed an icon of our times. I admire her strength, her bawseness, her straightforward demeanor, the warmth she emanates, how approachable she always seems, her forever beautiful dresses and gowns too no doubt no doubt. I couldn't wait to read this book because I wanted to get to know the Obamas. I mean I've admired them from afar since Barack's first Presidential campaign. I still remember the day he won. Mom, dad and I were riveted in front of the TV flipping through news channels all showing the same smiling faces. History had been made and we were alive to see it- the Americans had elected their first black President. I was starry-eyed listening to his Grant Park address playing on loop in all the channels, and even though it had nothing to do with our country or our economy, I was thoroughly inspired by him. I couldn't shut up about it at school the next day, I even remember asking every single relative who lived in or visited the US to bring me back a 'Yes We Can' cap or a tshirt with Barack's picture in it. But this book, this was a chance to get to know them personally, to learn of their silly experiences growing up, funny anecdotes, to hear from Michelle what a pain it was to adult and parent, to hear of inside snippets from the White House and more importantly to get some more warm, fuzzy details of their love story than the movie 'Southside with you' let on.

'Becoming' as you know is Michelle Obama's life story- A story of growth, balance, truth, and lots n lots of hope. Her life's work has been to be inclusive; to let people know in whatever way that if they can, we can. I listened to the audiobook version narrated by the author and loved every bit of it. I love how strongly feminist she is. I love how unapologetic she is about who they are as people or what they've gone through. Her philanthropic work as FLOTUS was inspiring but I have a newfound love for her as a working woman, a homemaker, a wife and a mother. It felt like a unique privilege, to be privy to some parts of their story, to get to know their family intimately and to truly understand what it means to hold one of the most powerful offices in the world. I also have renewed respect for Barack, for his love for his kids, in fact all kids in general, his love and respect for Michelle, his blessed intentions, his flair for greatness, his clarity of thought, the audacity of his hope, and the kindness of his heart. At one point in the book, she describes Barack as 'a deadly combination of smooth and reasonable' and I think that's quite simply put the best way to describe how compelling and charming he is. Michelle also has a great sense of humour. Her language is simple, unpretentious and sets a standard (right next to Mitch Albom's) I one day aspire to reach.

A generation defining story, definitely worth a read. ❤️

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal - Book Review

I've always believed in the power of reading books because of how much I've gained from them. Books educate you, enlighten you, humble you while also entertaining you. They expose you to a world of things and ways of lives outside of your bubble. They transport you to different countries, cities, even centuries without you ever having to leave the comfort of your room. It is the cheapest way to travel the world and the only known way to time-travel. Reading widens your perceptions and shows you things you didn't know existed, it shines light on things that you knew existed but never had the chance to learn about. Reading is for the curious-minded, actually strike that, reading is for everyone. It is an escape route for some, while being a gateway to others. It can actually be anything what you want it to be.

This book was written by Jeanette Winterson who loves poetry, books and everything to do with them. She finds companionship in them, and her undying love for the language, it's power and it's beauty is the fabric on which she writes. The book is a sort of an autobiography, talking about her growing up days, her mother and what it means to be an adopted child. Now adoption of a child is a common occurrence and the problems that may stem from it are fairly predictable. Or so I thought. Nothing is simple when it comes to humans, is it? We are the oddest creatures on the planet equipped with every (metaphorical) brick needed to build a happy life, who instead prefer to wall ourselves and others with hatred, cruelty and misery.

This book was a burden (to the heart) to read because of how saddening it was, which also makes it that much important that I read it. It pushed my boundaries and made me realise how lucky I was to have had a happy childhood. It reminded me of my privileges and made me swear to never take any kind of love I have in my life, for granted. I am not a poetry lover but reading about how the author relates to poetry and finds it liberating makes me wish I was smart enough to understand it too (That and my recent watching of Dead Poets Society).

"All of us, when in deep trauma, find we hesitate, we stammer; there are long pauses in our speech. The thing is stuck. We get our language back through the language of others. We can turn to the poem. We can open the book. Somebody has been there for us and deep-dived the words."

Nacala

My annoyingly loud and repetitive phone bell rang continuously. It was only 10.45am, a full one hour ahead of when I normally get my wake up call. I had anticipated an early call when I hit the sack last night but I somehow couldn't sleep immediately. I watched my favorite videos for a while, listened to Michelle Obama's beautiful voice narrating her book 'Becoming' and finally fell asleep only around 5am (I get off duty at 4). I was still groggy when I reached the deck wearing my boiler suit which I somehow managed to have bought one size smaller (Thank God though, it still fits), I swear I even tried it on at the store before billing. I'm positive the shopkeeper mistakenly packed a smaller size without checking, when I asked him for a change in color. Now I have to spend 6 uncomfortable months in boiler suits that pull at my tummy and make it nearly impossible for me to squat? Great! Not only am I new here, I now also have to preemptively answer the question people really want to ask me but can't because they don't want to offend the fat lady officer - why is my boiler suit so tight? *eye roll*

The Captain announced on the walkie-talkie that it might take another 20 minutes for us to reach close to the berth. My chief officer (who is also a woman yaaay, #girlboss) told me I should do a quick run to the galley and find something to eat as it may be a while before I get free enough for a meal. I quickly changed into my sliders and went up to the mess hall, found a nice bowl and filled it up with cereal only to realise there was no milk for me to soak it in. The steward hadn't restocked the fridge yet, after the breakfast rush. I decided I was just going to eat the chocos dry. Without milk. Like an adult.

After the cargo loading had gone on for a few hours, I found some time to chat with one of the cargo surveyors who had come onboard. He was Mozambican and spoke very little English, but fluent Portuguese (it being their official state language here). I asked him for a currency bill, something very small in denomination, just to keep as a souvenir. I even brought along some Indian rupees in case he wanted some from me. He gave me a coin saying that's all he's got right now and I happily pocketed it. I asked him a lot of questions. Why is Portuguese your national language? Nearly 500 years worth of colonization. Don't you have any native African languages? We do. We have too many in fact, this province alone has 3 while the Central one has 2 and the South has atleast 6. And we have about 7 provinces. That's one of the reasons why we need Portuguese. It gives us all a common tongue. How many languages can you speak? English, Portuguese, little bits of 3 different native languages...so 5. Is the port city of Nacala a famous tourist spot? Yes it is, a lot of beaches here. There is even some scubadiving nowadays.

While he was talking to me, he scoured his bag to find me a bill and found a 20 folded away inside one of his pocket books. He gave it to me and said their currency was called Meticais. He took my Indian rupees and instantly recognised Gandhi and recollected how he stood for non-violence. I was delightfully surprised. I asked him about the man on their bill. He said it was an Ex-President, he was a freedom fighter too and lived to be the first president of free Mozambique. He was however assassinated shortly thereafter. I told him he looked like an intelligent and handsome man and he agreed. I asked him about the rhinoceros on the backside of his bill. He said there's plenty of them here in Mozambique and they have been attracting a lot of people, especially the Chinese. I assumed he was talking about tourists, but he told me they had a very serious poaching problem- Rhinos were getting hunted down for their horns. He was quite proud of the material his currency was printed on, shiny and plastic unlike ours. He said his currency could get washed accidentally in the laundry with his clothes and it would still come out unscathed. I told him I've seen similar looking notes in Australia, Singapore and Malaysia and he seemed a bit disappointed that they hadn't been the only smart ones with fancy plastic notes.

I met another guy who asked me how many years it had been since I came out to sea. I told him I joined my first ship in 2011, when I was 19 y.o and he was mighty impressed. He said "2nd, that's a loooooooong time now". He told me he has been a cargo surveyor for a few years yet this was the first time he saw girls working on a ship. He asked me how common this was back in India and I told him my company had quite a bunch of us and that we even had 4 lady Captains in SCI. He said sexism must be unheard of in a country where women are working on ships so commonly. I laughed and told him we're getting there and it is still a long climb uphill. He asked me if I will get to go home when I reach India (we were bringing the cargo back home to the East coast of India) and I explained to him how our country is so big that I could get to an Indian port and still be a 1000km from home. He said he vaguely remembers studying in school, how India was the 2nd most populous country in the world, he agreed it must be pretty huge if it accommodated so many of us. I also met another guy who offered to marry me but was promptly cut off by his friend who lifted his hand and showed me his wedding ring. His friend joked that the fellow already had a son in every one of Mozambique's 7 provinces.

Mozambicans, so far have turned out to be a great  people. What really made my day though, happened when we were still approaching the berth in the morning. We were passing our first set of mooring lines. The entire time, all the guys on the shore were pointing and discussing among themselves how there seemed to be a lady officer onboard running the mooring station. They were all so eager and happy. I was acutely aware of the attention I was getting. This is not the first time this has happened, but attention hardly ever gets old amirite? While the last rope was getting tightened, I noticed someone on the jetty. It looked like a lady wearing the same uniform as the men, walking and discussing the cargo plan with a fellow foreman. She had bright orange hair and was a beautiful black woman. I kept looking at her in amazement because I have rarely ever come across a lady foreman (a forewoman?). It was now our turn, all the guys on my ship were pointing and being surprised at the only girl among the 20 men on the berth. I too must have been staring, because she turned around and looked at me. I could say, she was surprised to see me too- a lady ship's officer. She instantly smiled and waved at me like we were long lost friends and I cheerfully returned the favour showing all my teeth. There was an almost electric feeling that went through me in that moment. A tiny excitement in finding another girl breaking a glass ceiling at another workplace, who was now smiling at me in a knowing-solidarity. Even though we didn't understand each other's language to continue on with a conversation, we didn't need to. That smile was everything. I was thrilled. What a day!

17 March 2019