The Dark Nights

“Elsa has a fever and needs me” I muttered under a controlled but angry breath to my impatient father.

Dad had not had a good day. I didn’t understand why. He had slept all evening and all night. Selfishly, I was the 1 who needed the respite. A foolish question earlier in the day was how come I didn’t enjoy my hospital visit. Who would imagine that 5 days in the hospital, post-surgery, lying in a 1-dimensional position, staring at 4 very close walls (2 being curtains) and yo-yoing between earth shattering silence and absolute mayhem was “pleasant”. I let it go. Just like I was letting go of a deep breath, which had borne too much in the last 2 weeks. Dad had completely lost it in the lobby of the hospital, thus leaving the cash and insurance counters begging me to control him and hearing them out. I was wheelchair bound, drained and expected to solve everyone’s problems. Problems of people who had gotten my bill wrong the 4^th time and had tested the last ounce of my old dad’s patience. I did the needful. Quietly. Sorted the mess and left.

I was an emotional and psychological wreck. Actually, I controlled myself and made it somehow so ‘wreck’ doesn’t count. I did manage some composure with the help of very vocal and strong friends who didn’t give up. And even though I had the parents (all 3) it seemed like a burden to them or a liability. I was polite to the point of asking them to leave me some nights alone. Nurses would wonder why I didn’t have a relative when others had overbearing 1s around them. My parents weren’t bad. They just didn’t cope well with my injury and silence. I thrived in the chaos of the present.

Yes, I had injured myself. This wasn’t deliberate. Or like Abeer had threatened to leave if I limped. Today anything is possible so I will just keep his words at bay. I was angry with him as well. I injured myself doing something I loved. In pleasing the system and the people in my life, I had what the docs described as – burned myself out. I had it all. Capoeira. The boyfriend. The friend. The freedom blah blah. But sometimes to those who have it all, it’s a burnout to manage it all. With the job and classes and keeping pace with Abeer, I had forgotten that my supposedly tiny frame couldn’t support all the madness. I waited for the break from work to lower my pressures so I can give quality time to few things and people that mattered. Before that transition – along came the big full-stop.

At 1^st I felt comforted and sorted, thinking I have the handholding I need. I have the right people and the right support to get me through smiling like nothing really happened. It wasn’t long before the hand had left mine and I crashed into a wall. After the crash it was the “you can do it” – an effective way to say “clean up the mess you thought wasn’t coming your way.” I didn’t want to do it alone. That wasn’t my plan and not even my contingency. A fight with the boyfriend started the mayhem rollercoaster through hell. Unresolved. Unspoken. Unheard. Unsupported. The office added to my woes as if I didn’t have enough – you see as per ‘tradition’ they punish and effectively nightmarize those who resign. “Terminate her and let the insurance go to hell”. Thanks but what now…

The comfort of picking up the phone and dialling a number seemed like a tedious task with a question mark. Am I calling the love or a former some1? Is the mother gonna descend on me or comfort me? Will the father give answers or let me know for the 10000^th time how I disappointed him? In that state (now in retrospect) even I couldn’t believe how beaten I felt. Tears came naturally while a morsel of food lodged itself in the mouth and refused to go down. With this in tow n refusing to stop, I got admitted, surgery-ed and in what was supposedly recovery. The doc lived up to his promise. Pain management was a breeze what with 2 beeping machine pumps attached to me. It was the mental status that didn’t cooperate with the meds. Terminally ill patients with a plethora of diseases and mentally affected relatives thronged me. I wanted desperately to heal and get out – but their sounds and stories and anguish didn’t let me be. Needed Abeer desperately here. As inappropriate as it was, he balanced me when it came to finding humor in the madness.

But he was far. Disconnected. By choice. His instagram kept me posted of the colors that adorned him but evaded me. I wished to be there with him rather than have him here. It didn’t help soothe my anger. I had nearly given up. Until I got a Are-U-Dead-Or-Alive like message. Like a lost friend who occasionally connects with u. I didn’t know what to make of it. I needed more solutions – not more questions, doubts and fears that I had not tackled before. It had been 3yrs since my last relationship. This was different and I was glad. But not in times like these. Every bone in my body said ask him to come back and be there cuz u want him. Not need him. But want him. I managed to evade that as well. Y ask when u know it aint gonna happen.

In the interim my grief was interrupted by a fedup parent, few well-meaning friends, doctor visits, constantly interrupting aunties and nurses abruptly waking or shaking u up for meds, IV, sponge etc. I kept everything at bay by depending on my dear phone – ONLY window to the outside world. Waiting for a beep, vibrate or a flash. The food I just had to send back untouched unless the parent did the courtesy of finishing it for me. I thought lying quietly and surviving on tea for 4 days will get me through. But the resultant punishment was an extra day+night due to my vitals dipping – stupid girl. I managed to bring them up with liquid diet and begged to be discharged. The excruciating pain whilst taking my 1^st steps and doing all the exercises will be an ever-reminder of how I managed to let them know I can do this effortlessly so let me go. And go they did. The panel was young and understood my plight as well.

I packed up and washed my face and brushed – 1^st time in 4 days. The headless horseman from SleepyHollow wore a far more charming look than me. 2 wks had robbed me of any charm, glow or life. Changing into MY clothes felt a bit weird. The nurses who refused to let me go thought otherwise. They made me smile and the whole staff came up and asked a whole bunch of questions. Thought I was pretty but v quiet. Marriage, boyfriend, work, martial arts, age, etc. A pic of Abeer brought about a gang of giggles. Hugs and funny requests followed my wheelchair ride down to sunlight.

The whole ride home was a quite 1. I felt like I had lost a decade in coma. I waited to see Elsa. He saw me. Ran away and then stuck to dad. It was natural. His nurturer demanded his full attn. But then he came around and snuck up to me. Purred like there was nothing wrong. Until he sneezed and felt warm. Thereafter what I assumed would be a restful welcome home, turned into a calling frenzy, ambulance chasing and vet visiting evening. I had forgotten my pain meds and the leg reminded me of that well. I just wanted Elsa to be ok. Dad went berserk again – why the cat and my leg. Just why? I had brought the cat. I loved him. He was my responsibility. When you love someone you don’t just hold a few select fingers – you hold their hand and never let go. So leg, injury, surgery or whatever the hell… Elsa needed me. I couldn’t ignore that. It cost me deep pockets but I was ready to move anything including forgetting my crutches to have him ok. The vet saw him and gave the meds. I was relieved. I had made it through another slap from Karma. Broken leg in tow.



Now I NEEDED the healing and some love. I needed the care and holding. Right now he purrs in my lap. Occasionally suckling on my fingers and also sneezing on my napkin. Scratches and holds on to me. His way of showing me love I guess. Big eyes and an occasionally paw to me. I accept. Now I just wait with bated breath for the 1 I love and wish to show love in my way. In that corner in his shoulders where I found love 1^st. 

From Tigress to Amoeba

An amoeba is a single cell organism that has featured in the 1st chapter of nearly all life science and basic biology books since high school. I don’t feel nearly as powerful and significant as the amoeba but I do feel like its size, shape and visibility aka all 0. To the mother and father I am the single cell organism that changed their lives and appeared as the 1st chapter of their progeny life. So I’m toggling multiple identities here.

I would like to think of myself as the tigress given how moments ago, whilst checking if Abeer had made some connection on his phone, I stumbled upon his instagram comments. Well I was looking for comfort in his pics and comments, but couldn’t help noticing that while his feline love was battling emotions and upcoming significant pain, 95% of the comments, praises and batting eyelids on his instagram account were ladies (in the appropriate words of Abeer – Skanks). But even that tigress retreated into an emotional black hole when an attending came in to draw blood from her arm. I can never get used to needles and neither do I want to. The blood didn’t make me queasy as much as the size of the needle did.

Present moment: 9pm in room # 85 of the 11th floor of KDA Hospital. I checked in today as an inpatient for my knee surgery. I expected the ‘general’ ward to remind me of all Indian general wards. However, I was in for a pleasant surprise. Clean, air-conditioned, private, a cosy nook and cupboard equipped with a digitized safe and straight out of A class design. Mrs. Tina Anil Ambani sure watches Grey’s Anatomy cuz it was a replica of their rooms. I was instantly relieved as I had just spent an hour at the insurance help desk. It was all touch and go. They admit you and then work on costs. It’s like they feed you and then force you into anorexia cuz you couldn’t afford them. This was top class at a (need to add) very reasonable cost. I was quiet and didn’t wanna talk. Was a tad bit rude to mum whom I had vehemently asked not to accompany me. Truth is without her I wouldn’t have made it to my bed even after 2hrs. But the abandoned girl in me craved for her boy.

Once on my bed, the nurses and on-call staff poured in on me. Height, weight, x-ray and basic blood work were in order. But all it took was step 1 to reduce me to tears – the patient tag on my wrist. Reality and nostalgia hit so hard. Mum didn’t ask or cajole me. Just held me and asked me not to be scared. I was scared shitless. How could this happen to me? How did 2013 turn into a year of hospital visits, needles, meds and large medical bills? How did my health plunge and then come back up and then show me it could dive deeper? I needed Abeer. He has the answers in his madness. Not the real ones. Just answers I would like to hear.

The nurse kept checking my BP and insisted I eat cuz it kept dropping. The last weight recorded showed a shocking 4.5kgs lower (in a month’s time). There was a sadistic unhealthy smile in my mind – at least I wasn’t fattening up and my customized workout had done its work. An unhealthy celebration. I surveyed my room. Curious patients and their relatives all examined me from a distance or whenever the curtains parted. Mum made conversation with them – like all Indian mothers do. 5 different women in 3hrs had lectured me about Capoeira vs doing dance and yoga and what not. I desperately needed some quiet and I needed to meet my friends rather than adults. Yes, a few laughs and familiar faces would have done me good but the ‘visitor pass’ system made it not so possible for them to come. My head ached but my heart ached more. I knew Abeer couldn’t reach me but I was hoping somehow, somewhere, another stray phone on the road – another message. Love.

The doc made a round and stared at me for 5mins to gauge how much of the fear and anguish had set in before he proceeded to comfort me and go over the details and instructions. 2.5+hrs of surgery starting 8am next morning. I ordered the parents home and said I didn’t want anyone for the night. It was them or Abeer. Since Abeer wasn’t around, I was settling for no one. I imagined if he was here he could sleep on the make shift bed and we could chat all night and giggle. He would probably steal some Wi-Fi from somewhere and then show me more apps. We would kiss and be a tad bit inappropriate – without breaking any rules. Instead its sickeningly quiet with the periodic coughs and sounds from other patients in my ward. All terminal, old and very severe in their health. Heart patient with a doting and beautiful wife to a multi-organ failing stubborn fella who was earlier scolded by docs to live up to his med cycle. Collapsed lung is what I heard last. Tomorrow I would be in an intense state as them. But hopefully recovering faster.

How am I to sleep? My insurance partially cleared thus giving me some peace. But what about everything else. I missed Elsa. Imagined him trying to purr like a baby and tug at a cold quilt instead of a warm me who held him and cradled him to sleep every night.  All that I loved had left the area. It’s just me and my thoughts now. Sleep evades me. But tomorrow I will be asleep for 10+hrs before consciousness to a repaired me who will have to start putting herself back altogether – for Elsa and Abeer.

Love the Unexpected or the Unexpected love

“Baby I got you something.” “Really??” *Standing amidst greenery on a rainwashed Sunday morning*

*Frumpy look on her face* *He gives her a beautiful lil elephant keychain*

“I got this from Pune for you” *She smiles*

“You like?” “I love it baby” *They seal the moment with a kiss*

Hours later, in an unfortunate spell, that lil elephant was lost to nature at Chinchoti trail. It may sound small and insignificant but to her it meant all (I still remember losing that elephant. I had carefully clipped it to my backpack and then it was there no more).

It symbolized 1 of many unexpected moments of love shared with Abeer. We didn’t elaborate on us, not yet. I was Miss PDA and he was the actual shy 1 who only boasted of his openness and escapades from the past. When in India, I was the bold 1 and he the domesticated NRI (I’m smirking at NRI). With him I started with not wanting to feel anything, to feeling something and yet keeping my head on my shoulders, to losing my head from my shoulders but quickly screwing it back up and finally losing it all together. I guess the last stage marks the completion of the 100% absolute-in-love and this-time 4-real stage.

But through the last 7 months of togetherness there has been stark likeness and absolute opposite mayhem. The mere 3 days between our bdays would make me think we could be the twin Pisces fishes but our personalities speak otherwise. You see the love is there but the magnitude and the expression is different. It’s like we are reading the same script but in different dialects. Occasionally, the phonetics of that dialect connects us and love is requited. Other times, a simple mistranslation or miscommunication is enough to loosen both our screws. Hence, the twin fishes are upside down and opp. facing.

I think that people need the opportunity of expression too. Without a fight there is no opportunity for attention. Without a dialogue there is no openness. Without disagreement there is no chance to learn the differences. Without disengagement there is no moment for melting into each other. Without issues there is no extension of our personalities to explore the warrior and protector within us. Without sickness and bad times, there is no proof of our loyalty. Without distance there is no realization of the value. Without boredom and mundane-ness there is no creativity. Without the real deal there is nothing left fighting for; no refreshment of our expression of love. And we have done pretty much all of it.

When you look at your object of affection, you adore them. Your pride yourself in your choices; that you got lucky. In their absence there is a natural need to feel a rare sense of why can’t he/she be so or behave or have so… Then they appear in front of you and you realize, you have something that no one else has. And for some inexplicable reason you are unable to relinquish THIS one. Like the Great Gatsby. Rich, powerful, intelligent, ambitious, handsome, blessed yet haunted by a green light that ultimately destroyed him. We can have it all – or so appears to the world. But that 1 soul is all it takes to bring us to our knees. There is a sense of question as to whether we ever deserved them and all of their personality showered on us. That when they did, we partially acknowledged the love to satisfy our personal friend – Ego; but Ego was sacrificed when love turned its back on us.

There are these moments of tight knots. They squeeze and burn within. Makes you choke up and struggle to breathe. Face flushes and emotions refute control. But the moment love turns a kind eye toward us, the tremendous feeling of 360° relief and humility is like a pressurized aircraft cabin with emergency exits opened at 37000ft. I felt that recently and am going through it. The distance separating us is 1 I have miserably failed to cope with. His absence reduced me and I found myself being a teenage love-fool. An eg. would be my buying Starbucks coffee with his name on the styrofoam as a momento to the weekends he spends waiting patiently for me at the neighbouring Starbucks. That they know him there and occasionally prepare free samples and Americanos, are testament to how long I make him wait. Something I wouldn’t have done at all this weekend in order to spend every breathing second available. No, he did not go to the moon. Just Manali and Spiti and Kasol. They make me forget my leg and want to join him there.  

Then again I think of the times I said something I shouldn’t have or did something I could’ve reversed. There are moments I don’t wanna take back and stay mad at him. Exactly what good comes of it – nothing. This relationship although far more volatile with the good and bad remind me of others as well. Parents and siblings. In the ‘Pursuit of Happyness’, Chris Gardner while going through the worst moments of his life, still maintains aggression, softness, and borderline sanity. The 1^st few times I saw the movie I loved him and felt that it was about his journey to stockbroker-stardom. Truth is it was all about Chris Jr. (his son). He struggled to live, eat, breathe and survive only for his son. His pursuit for stardom was more in his son’s eyes and future than in the multimillion dollar corporation he dreamt of. His humiliation and struggles reducing him often were reversed only when he ensured the safety and sanctity of his love – his son.

Love, when given and received unexpectedly is the most cherished. Love, when asked and coerced, rarely feel authentic. When in love with love, it remains a dream. When in love with reality, it feels authentic. When in love with the idea of love, it just fails. Been there, done that. Now I just love him and wait for his return. Hoping to feel something: expectedly unexpected. <3 

Spiral Cycle

…or so I am avoiding. Poorly.

Last week was a difficult 1 for me. Maybe 1 of my worst. Nearly all of Eid was spent in hospital and doctor visits. This accounted for the commute, the wait and the final darshan of the doc almighty so to speak. The end was fruitful or so I am made to think of the visit but not of the circumstances overall.

A week ago during a rehearsal for a TV show, my left leg decided to do a horrible remake of my right leg’s episode. The remake was much like Bollywood movies, a crass copy that did not do justice to the original piece. The scene involved me tackling 4 ‘ruffians’ (read my fellow capoeirista boys) with Capoeira manoeuvres: throws and takedowns. It was conceived by my teacher in a matter of minutes as we practiced. At 1^st I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it look authentic enough. But after a bunch of takes I liked being the kick-ass gal. I enjoyed it and loved that THIS would mark my spot. Was gonna bring Abeer to the show. So I savoured the moves and practiced. It was late but we had the studio so we just jumped about and practiced set after set. The last and final take I gave it a lil more than just a practice run and there is where the dislodge and familiar sound defined the next 6 months for me.

I teared up and tried to fight the panic that caught my windpipe almost not letting me breathe. Batizado. Instructorship. Rehab. Restart. Rewind. At the time only 1 thought ran through my mind – I need Abeer. He was in Pune and potentially in a bar or a party. I too was ironically headed to F-Bar post this practice. But the ‘pop’ changed everything. I held up my signature thumbs up (a habit I am trying to break) to my teacher and assured him it was just a sprain and I would be back next day full form for the show. We all left to go home. I got off my station and as an afterthought, headed to the ER of Ambani hospital. Not the wisest thing to do alone but panic wouldn’t let me sleep. I was dismissed with a “The ortho won’t be available today” while another cited a long wait. Exactly how that ER and trauma works, I don’t know.

I didn’t sleep a wink. I was desperate to call Abeer. But I knew that I didn’t wanna trouble him mid-night. It was 1am and yet I contemplated if I should call my boyfriend. The next morning thankfully he contacted me with the best news ever – he was already home and back in town contrary to the earlier planned late evening. He came with me to the ER and the multiple visits after an X-ray and MRI scan. Who better than him to understand me – a sportsman himself and having injured himself. He pushed me around in a wheelchair and played in the hospital. Eased my nerves and was the ultimate of what I expected of him. I was safe.

Nothing prepared me for Dr. Dinshaw Pardiwala’s appointment (reknowned sports medicine and Ortho surgeon). Mum stubbornly refused any other surgeon to work on me. I say power of the mother as she managed to slide me into Dr. P’s schedule and get him to look at me. The consultancy was an eye opener. Mum went into her barrage of bad diet, stress, being a woman, age and that subtle way in which she wanted to blame Capoeira. I picked up on the cue and asked the doc when will I be back in full form. 6 months. Pat came the reply. I sunk in my chair. Same ol’ answer. Surgery was the only option for me given the extent of damage. Then he went on to bust certain practices of women athletes practicing during their menstrual cycle. The surging hormones, which wreck havoc on not just the tear-tap but the muscles making us sore and painful to touch. The muscles are vulnerable to wear and tear at a higher risk and intensity. Hence, thinking you are a tough cookie and working out against the pain is not the wisest habit to keep. Another one was about the structure of the bone base. A narrow base is usually seen in women and high impact workouts or movement cause the narrowness to wear out the ligament or a new graft. Hence, a reconstruction of the bone base was in order. Manufacturing defect is what I thought.

We left and I was tired. The leg hurt and the 4hr wait didn’t help. I wanted a hug. From Abeer. That place in his shoulder where I would bury my anger, anguish and had even celebrated some good moments. I missed meeting his mum for Eid; something I really wanted to prioritize that day and it not happening added to my list of upsets. I only called and messaged him. Updated him on every detail. Even though I was with family, I behaved like I was with guardians and was contacting my real family. He promised to return the next day and that eased me. The surgery date was fixed and costs were worked out. Mum and dad were quiet almost afraid that anything they would say wouldn’t sit well with me. I hadn’t said much all day and they wished I made some sound. I signed the OR like 1 books a hall for a wedding. The costs made a tight knot in my stomach. I had just quit and had no income. I had so many plans and surprises lined up. Now I couldn’t consider them. I had plans with Abeer too. And some would have to wait.

But above all concerns was the fear the surgery had set in my head. I remember the cold OR last time and the strangers around me and the needles and the scalpels. I remember the fear and last ounce of consciousness before they sliced into me. Fix me. Nothing could fix the fear Round II. And nothing prepares you for the post-operative pain. I can’t forget even though I try to. It was terrifying and excruciating. Abeer could get me through it. He had a knack for making a joke out of everything (some of those times were NOT funny). I knew hospitals made him queasy and brought back some haunting memories. So I figured that as I parallelly lay in the comfort of knowing he would be there, I was also contemplating sending him off for the duration of this hospital stint. I guess THIS was the way my mother would get to meet him. I just had the work week left to look forward to.

We will get through it. He said. I believed. He made me feel it. I felt it. What was constant pain suddenly turned into pulses of pain; like he had let in a saline of painkiller. Then it eased as I spent a lazy afternoon in his arms, in my favourite place.