tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35823796845001617252024-03-13T14:11:38.513+05:30Beyond WordsAll about lifeShweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-80527958405071096602023-08-26T01:59:00.001+05:302023-08-26T01:59:18.556+05:30Let them fly and see them soar<div class="separator"><p style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> <br /><br /><br /></p></div><div class="separator"><div class="separator"><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: justify;">In your vacant
room, the lights are always on </div></div><span><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: justify;">But there is no one calling for food</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And as the door is always ajar</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I miss screaming, ‘open’ after knocking a couple of times </div></div></span></div></div><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />The kitchen is boring</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Food just fills the tummy</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And as the refrigerator door waits forever to be opened</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Everything inside is frozen, just like this lonely heart</div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: justify;">Days are so dull
without those pick and drop duties</div><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Nights were always long, but this silence is unbearably eerie</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And while the nest, as they say, is empty now</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The heart is full of gratitude and fulfilment</div><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I read somewhere
that empty nest syndrome has three stages, grief, relief, and joy. A phase of
grief is understandable, with the feeling of sadness or loneliness. I guess
relief hits when we move on to develop a new pattern in life or start doing new
things. And once the roller-coaster of gloom is over, there is joy. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">I guess I am lucky
to have moved into the third phase in no time, or so I feel. And that came from
a strong realization that every relationship need not be a grip or a possession.
Letting go and still feeling that magnetic pull is a surreal emotion to
experience. Sitting miles apart and yet knowing when he smiles or when he is
low, is an incredible skill I am growing.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Now I am no
stone. There are moments when even I feel I may go down, but then a lazy weekend
smiles and says, ‘sleep as much, for no one needs you to be up’, and I cannot
deny. Plus, if I use this newfound time for self-care well, I may just become the
next Miss Universe. But I guess the most satisfying part is just sitting still and
letting memories scroll in slow motion and you pause and smile when the best of
your moments together are playing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Let them fly and
see them soar. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-58739464757656064992023-04-20T02:38:00.018+05:302023-04-20T17:57:50.807+05:30And just like that, he is 18<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOuGzdCQiwMICGl90V5TWr2Wr6T-9zWHiz-YlpSQHSOe8ft5hoXEgYJhjSiM8aPJ5KCK77KZZKibBu3itax_OvDjaV0njb-bCenZ4xjCyyc6yMk3H2UrQTY96LONbQra-IWvyhLo8FydYxrPNMBLnvD_cmAeCyxWrtgPm6nLfsOuAf4sy7_ZbBB4OHw/s2048/Papa's%20Retirement%20Party3626762785331088786.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOuGzdCQiwMICGl90V5TWr2Wr6T-9zWHiz-YlpSQHSOe8ft5hoXEgYJhjSiM8aPJ5KCK77KZZKibBu3itax_OvDjaV0njb-bCenZ4xjCyyc6yMk3H2UrQTY96LONbQra-IWvyhLo8FydYxrPNMBLnvD_cmAeCyxWrtgPm6nLfsOuAf4sy7_ZbBB4OHw/w320-h240/Papa's%20Retirement%20Party3626762785331088786.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A week after Maulik was born, I realised postpartum
depression was a reality. 'No one prepared me for this', I remember telling the
doctor once. In the middle of those sleepless nights, I would look at him and ask
myself, ‘Was this the right decision? Was I even ready for a baby?’. The next
morning, I would feel guilty of my thoughts. ‘How can a mom not be excited about
her baby? Is it normal? Am I normal?’ These thoughts would constantly trouble
me as I was going through the motion – homecoming, rituals, guests, ceremonies –
with itching stiches and an exhausted body.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I still remember that stormy night. It was his 40<sup>th</sup>
day in our world, and we were tired and sleepy after a long day of rituals and
chaos. But poor Maulik could not sleep. Every time there would be a roar in the
sky, his tiny body would shiver, and he would wake up crying. I stuffed cotton
buds in his ears, kept my hands on him, and held him close so that he does
not feel scared. Suddenly, one more loud rumbling and he held my finger in his
little hand. I didnt realise this tiny little thing had such strong grip. He kept clutching my finger, and my other hand was covering him, trying to keep
him comfortable. The touch of his hand, that grip, the faint sound of his breath...suddenly I experienced such intense love oozing in me. My heart
churned inside, and for the first time, I felt ecstatic. 'Oh wow, what a beautiful thing have I created', I proudly exclaimed. And from that moment on, I
knew that this tiny creature is mine, and I must keep him safe, and give him
everything I can. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As he turns 18 today, I wish that he makes his life a beautiful journey, touches amazing milestones and creates loving memories. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">M, mom loves you. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br />Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-66574721988358809552023-04-04T17:48:00.013+05:302023-04-05T11:45:21.447+05:30Status Change: Single Parent <p><span style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We
all want to live a healthy, long life. Hence, the discomfort around death is normal. </span>However,
somewhere I always feel that single parents are more worried about their death,
with concerns related to their kid's well-being and future if they were to pass
away. This surely leads to anxiety about the subject of death.</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
feel that for most parents, when a partner dies or separates, the foremost
thought is about bringing up the child alone. After I lost my partner 10 years
ago on this date to an accident, I struggled with lack of confidence to parent a child
alone. Also, the thought of making Maulik realise that our world was just me
and him was so earth shattering. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Through
the years, as I battled some health challenges, my obvious thought was, ‘can I afford
to die’. I mean I want to watch him graduate, get married, and have babies. I</span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> want to be around
to answer his questions about love, life, relationships, society and if he were
to ask me, even boring things like banking, investments, taxes.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; font-family: georgia; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWRo_WnNK4mkbinEX3yIcHm2aSJmdTp0W28LqpBeRJ1mZfd27YQY17-uI9iSMl0kUimWp33sPGualej6qTD7zsEsvGSnFHCXmuA6hFhET0THkD37ZzilPVfIELFXKKwmCfXGb1PCfmI2H1RqIz33jd6GJH6mSAm4lVYxxu6OXxrDgsiNV2ZYSACtxz7Q" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: georgia;"><img alt="" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="902" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWRo_WnNK4mkbinEX3yIcHm2aSJmdTp0W28LqpBeRJ1mZfd27YQY17-uI9iSMl0kUimWp33sPGualej6qTD7zsEsvGSnFHCXmuA6hFhET0THkD37ZzilPVfIELFXKKwmCfXGb1PCfmI2H1RqIz33jd6GJH6mSAm4lVYxxu6OXxrDgsiNV2ZYSACtxz7Q" width="320" /></span></a></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
stumbled, for a while, but eventually regained my footing. </span>Part of
the solo parenting journey was to learn to dismiss what everyone says, get out of self pity, and friendzone the kid. Along
the way, I laid down my guard and learned to ask for help. And when I
did that, I realised that the world was a much bigger place. My immediate
family, for example, has been a finger distance away, always ready to guide,
support and offer love and care. My brother, who has always been a father
figure to M, my sis in law who has been M’s bestest buddy. Not to mention my
mom who is always there like an umbrella. There are many friends who've been there to make me feel stronger and taller. Can't thank them enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">With this realisation that I am not alone, it became okay to believe that I can be
hit by a shooting meteor and die any moment. Death will not announce. And while
everything around started looking safe, and </span><span style="line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was secure in my knowledge that I was doing everything in my
power not to die, I realised it was time to get my affairs in order...just in
case. Create financial cushion, do well with savings and investments, choose a
legal guardian, have all the important documents well sorted, prepare a will,
are things that can bring a measure of comfort. I am on top of this list
already. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I
also realised that once you've established a guardian, it is important to inform
him or her of your expectations for your kids, including the hopes you have for
them and the values you hold dear. I remember mumbling on the hospital bed
once, ‘If I die, don’t send M to a hostel, he has always hated that idea.’ I
have also made plans for his wedding and spoken about them. (okay that is
silly, I admit).</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So my advice to all single parents would be to take the time to document your wishes along with a fool proof will. And hey, did I forget mentioning life insurance policies so that when you die, you make the child rich at least. But on a serious note, what is most important is to keep faith. The universe has a way of leading us to do the right things for our kids. The path of faith may seem steep, but it always leads us to something good and secure.</span></div><p></p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-33983862420069120302023-03-31T16:36:00.000+05:302023-04-04T16:38:42.410+05:30How soon can we forget?<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> We recently marked the anniversary of thaali banging, aka Covid in full swing. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">For most people around me, the pandemic is a long-forgotten phase. They are back in swing, in full revenge mode. Revenge shopping, travel, marriages and what not. But somewhere, I feel that </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">in so many ways, </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">my life can never be normal after corona. There is not a day, a memory from those days does not hit me. I stumble upon random numbers of oxygen suppliers, hospitals etc. Those nights we had spent arranging hospital beds and medical supplies for patients can never be forgotten. And the memories of those calls saying it was too late to help will always hurt. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Most of these incidents felt very personal, but two of them I cannot forget, ever. </span></p><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">V's father was breathing from an Oxygen cylinder. That evening, his supply was running out. V went to nearby hospitals,but could not find help. V's father was gasping for breath, he could not even find oxygen cylinder anywhere. He called my co-volunteer, Pranjal, who swung into action and convinced a Sardarji to open his store <a style="color: #385898; cursor: pointer;" tabindex="-1"></a>and provide Oxygen cans. </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We were all under severe stress, V was in panic. When I asked Sardarji about money, he said, 'take the oxygen cans right now, save the man first'. I quickly booked an Uber, and requested the driver to rush to V's house with the cans. Pranjal was on call with V, trying to calm down V...his dad's breath was getting heavier.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: georgia; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1197" data-original-width="1037" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgujcKgG4vLZboaPHCGdzfkmNkOZQbe0FGw6Itp4aLkYphIL7_V2e1S4JNrVFod6XHsAwrkpoC5E20SqkPu6_xcDWX7yi5tx0ZPbKQ_nKbfPaVQqhDIiHXv6Xz5WPlI3BATGBMg8KPvp1jxA5jVwowoDaIicmtHuik7amWe13P89xb6653JXk-SciIj4A" width="208" /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">V's dad stopped breathing. He was dead. Pranjal alerted the local cops so that someone could be there to take care of the body and be there for young V. He has seen his dad dying infront of him, wanting to breathe...terrible shock for a young boy.</span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">That night, I froze, almost went into shock. The pain that V must have gone through & my guilt for not being able to help him on time comes back every night. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And there's another story of a 16 year old Misbah. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Masbah's parents were in the hospital and he was struggling for oxygen cylinders and funds to manage the hospital expenses. The little boy was going through the worst struggle. Every time he would call me, he would be anxious, almost crying, and begging me for help. The fact that he could not move out of the hospital to pick up supplies was also a problem. Finding someone to arrange and deliver oxygen cylinder was a luxury in that time. But the universe around us helped. Somone from north Delhi agreed to book an uber and deliver oxygen which we arranged from the other side of the city. But help reched his parents on time. In the following days, many people came forward to help him. Both his parents recovered, and he was very happy the last time we spoke. </span></span></span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">There are many untold stories of grief and of human beings standing for each other. Of politicians being politicians, but people becoming angels. </span></span></span><span style="color: #050505; font-family: georgia; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">If not anything, I hope the memories of the period keep us kinder, more empathetic and less greedy. If the pandemic did not teach us that, nothing would. </span></div></div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-87090811956949709002022-01-22T22:13:00.003+05:302022-01-22T22:34:53.184+05:30That Girl by The Cafe<p>She was sitting under a big orange umbrella, matching the colour of her pullover. I could see her face clearly through the lights.</p><p>There was something special about her. I think it was her smile. The moment she took off her mask, there was a spark no one could miss. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh34tYLJFbdJFPBCm6wC1EpXY2UjcORcbpZaciT1HGYe9H14-rUO7pWmRgYArKSVyGQb3jio-UrZZB4sXQx-eIKCsZ0nC64DdPZYvzH--ShckHJO3ep3IuwJt3uvdXiQO8hTqfwYTQfGwMX1P_qkBHhipouQ30nKAMr6-jw2-ba49Az7DNelUZo61TWfw=s1926" rel="nofollow" style="clear: right; display: inline; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1926" data-original-width="1715" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh34tYLJFbdJFPBCm6wC1EpXY2UjcORcbpZaciT1HGYe9H14-rUO7pWmRgYArKSVyGQb3jio-UrZZB4sXQx-eIKCsZ0nC64DdPZYvzH--ShckHJO3ep3IuwJt3uvdXiQO8hTqfwYTQfGwMX1P_qkBHhipouQ30nKAMr6-jw2-ba49Az7DNelUZo61TWfw=w310-h348" width="310" /></a>She had a strange calm on her face...something you hardly see in the middle of the hustle bustle of this city. She chose a seat right next to the entrance of the cafe, on the outside. Perfect choice for a day which is not very hot, and not so cold either. She was quick to order. She knew exactly what she wanted.</p><p>I was bored with the gentleman I was meeting and her presence instantly engaged me. Thankfully, we were at a table right next to her.</p><p></p><p>I had barely finished half my cup, when the waiter arrived with her order. A bowl of Maggie and a plate of French Fries with a unusually big serving of ketchup. I smiled. It was my kind of order. It was the perfect place and the perfect time to enjoy Maggie. I was sure someone would soon join her.</p><p>I was wrong. </p><p>She started eating. The pattern very cyclical. A spoon of Maggie, followed by French Fries dipped in ketchup. Repeat. In no time, tea arrived. </p><p>Her mobile phone was placed on the table, clipped on a stand, erect enough for her to look into it while she was eating. I could see her smiling occasionally. 'What is she watching', I was thinking.</p><p>I saw her giggle a couple of times. I had never seen someone enjoying a meal so much. Alone, yet so entertained. She continued to look at the mobile screen as she munched a couple of more fries, while the Maggie was over. I was so badly wanting for my meeting to get over. </p><p>In a couple of minutes, the waiter arrived. 'Will she walk away after paying the bill?' I was wrong. I was hoping for her to stay around. </p><p>I saw her checking the menu and I assumed that she might get something packed to carry home. Maybe she lives alone. Or maybe she's carrying food for someone else who stays with her. My mind was wrapped around her.</p><p>I started looking inside the cafe, trying to second-guess what the waiter would arrive with. And there came a fancy brownie, loaded with a big scoop of ice cream, placed carefully between a hot plate. Little drops of ice cream were falling on the hot plate, and I could hear them sizzle. </p><p>Her face lit up. She switched off her phone, dipped her spoon in the heart of the oozing chocolate, and was enjoying her treat while looking around.</p><p>For a moment, I started wondering how long I have been thinking about celebrating myself alone. <br />Going out alone. Doing crazy things alone. Watch a movie alone. Traveling alone. But I'm not sure how much I would enjoy my own company. </p><p>In that hour, she taught me how to be with oneself, stay calm and composed, and have fun. I decided to start from here, and do exactly the same. Order a weird combo in this cozy cafe someday, and entertain myself. </p><p>I just hope to keep smiling like she did. That girl by the cafe. </p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-76990700119029269422022-01-07T00:26:00.001+05:302022-01-07T01:29:03.331+05:30The School Bus<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLx2o_5R7d1V9VuPUZ_McnUPuTfP8okb3NhqEw22-EiLmR8w2ZEVv_Wy9rR0yt0TQTUx_DaRMw28wouvbC75L6GFDIxdelrHmP-y4EshbKflqWlIgVBKXQZOc6DMh06sFOrPMORJWZOAeaI-h76HDuJ8ifGPgOAeCGl__ROr-J4BxWLxhG-UCumFmC2g=s1559" style="clear: right; display: inline; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1559" data-original-width="971" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLx2o_5R7d1V9VuPUZ_McnUPuTfP8okb3NhqEw22-EiLmR8w2ZEVv_Wy9rR0yt0TQTUx_DaRMw28wouvbC75L6GFDIxdelrHmP-y4EshbKflqWlIgVBKXQZOc6DMh06sFOrPMORJWZOAeaI-h76HDuJ8ifGPgOAeCGl__ROr-J4BxWLxhG-UCumFmC2g=w198-h320" width="198" /></a>I thought I heard the school bus<br />Accompanied by cheering from parents, ‘run fast, you can still catch it’<br />Did I also hear some cars honk, getting impatient as the bus waits?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was making my morning tea. <br />
I did not hear anything; my imagination just played. <br />
Two years, no screeching brake sounds from school buses <br />
None have gone to school<br />
They have been waiting. Just like the kids.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Little Neph is waiting to play with friends,<br />Son keeps dribbling his football looking over the turf from our balcony <br />None can leave the house, let alone be in the playground.</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">
‘God, please cure the world of Corona so that I can go out and play with
friends’, prays the little one. I look up in hope. <br />
Hope someone up there listens. Hope the kids get to play soon. Hope the buses start plying. <br />
Hold on to what we have. Hope. <o:p></o:p></p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-77131390721416012782021-12-29T02:42:00.008+05:302021-12-29T21:10:36.401+05:30My boys and some random feels! <div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzuL3aGWJGsTZWRz_kDOJR60QwlhhL4BvPsA5AhuYjl63l9sGjxkq2lS7ap9a8rxfwVFaFtpmtK5jxJgcD0c5xgGYH7_yECbUzvemB4PhjI8HrRrGMDqC3ZAXrqOeAQ6BhZL3RKk_zc_gieznmABfA4xA21-KltcNW9IU8b1Kq-0frt0JxOvmmxxnUnA=s1338" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1338" data-original-width="753" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzuL3aGWJGsTZWRz_kDOJR60QwlhhL4BvPsA5AhuYjl63l9sGjxkq2lS7ap9a8rxfwVFaFtpmtK5jxJgcD0c5xgGYH7_yECbUzvemB4PhjI8HrRrGMDqC3ZAXrqOeAQ6BhZL3RKk_zc_gieznmABfA4xA21-KltcNW9IU8b1Kq-0frt0JxOvmmxxnUnA=w155-h236" width="155" /></a></div>Holding my finger, he sleeps in comfort<br />A warm hug, a cuddle, and his fragrance is real<br />The day was busy, the clutter in my room could tell <br />His excitement is unmatchable, almost a ride to the moon. </div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">I check on his elder one in the next room<br />Tired after enjoying a zestful day with his little bro<br />He was smiling in his sleep, I stood there and noticed <br />The boys took away the grey from this long gloomy day!</p><p style="text-align: left;">I watch them both in their beds, and say my prayers<br />Gratitude overwhelms me, joy fills my heart<br />Blessed are we, the beds are warm<br />The kids are dreaming, and there is hope.</p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-72993782709117165332021-12-14T01:22:00.013+05:302023-04-20T22:30:12.300+05:30 My Moon<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-e9VN8r9IXo0/YbedhHlel8I/AAAAAAAAdy0/parOrEU2EhESnoDitZQN9vdPebWkHoRnQCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1338" data-original-width="853" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-e9VN8r9IXo0/YbedhHlel8I/AAAAAAAAdy0/parOrEU2EhESnoDitZQN9vdPebWkHoRnQCNcBGAsYHQ/w229-h320/image.png" width="229" /></a></div>I wait for him by my window,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sometimes he doesn't come, plays elusive</div><div style="text-align: left;">And when I am not looking, he smiles</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: left;">In the silence of those long, lonely nights,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I tell him all my stories</div><div style="text-align: left;">He listens, casting amorous glances</div><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: left;">He likes to pose for me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Stands tall right in my balcony,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Insists on a ‘close up’</div><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: left;">He moves when he sees me crying</div><div style="text-align: left;">Draws closer, peeps in through the window too</div><div style="text-align: left;">I feel his warmth, sleep in solace </div><o:p></o:p><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Is it love, or mere
fascination</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Cordia New"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-language: TH; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: DengXian; mso-fareast-language: ZH-CN; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I never ask myself<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">He shines for me, I smile, we exist!</span></div></span><p></p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-38798806598525524962021-11-15T01:22:00.019+05:302021-11-20T01:10:33.998+05:30Stories of Death <p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Segoe UI, Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #0f1419;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Few days ago, a friend mentioned that she was upset with my over involvement (!!!) in Covid19 relief and complained that those days, I would go on and on about how cases are growing, how are people coming together to help, how are we trying to arrange resources for patients who reach out to us for help etc. etc. "You were so absorbed, because you make it about yourself", she said. She seemed upset, her tone was accusatory and she even hinted that I may be someone who tries to associate myself with death. I'm not sure what that meant, thought I've</span></span></span><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;"> spend nights thinking about it. I don't know yet.</span></span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fovyf8zcaVo/YZFpSFyb0oI/AAAAAAAAcoI/tk6U09zxULY0MLTnPSlGr6GA8_Igw8B4gCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img data-original-height="549" data-original-width="732" height="277" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fovyf8zcaVo/YZFpSFyb0oI/AAAAAAAAcoI/tk6U09zxULY0MLTnPSlGr6GA8_Igw8B4gCLcBGAsYHQ/w369-h277/image.png" width="369" /></a></span></div><p></p></blockquote><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stories of death have a strange way of reaching me. Many times, it is the death of people who I do not know personally, or may have briefly interacted with. But the news stays with me. The pain stays with me. I keep going back to think about their family. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last evening, my insurance agent came visiting and his assistant was on call with someone. The name was very unique, so it took me no time to figure out that she was talking to </span><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;">the wife of someone I know.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">She disconnected the call, looked at the agent and said, "Let's go meet <name withheld> madam after this and close the paper work. I feel so bad for her". "Bad", I exclaimed? "What...has something happened in the family", I asked. "Yes, she lost her husband to Corona in May", the girl replied.
I could feel the rush of blood in my heart and I excused myself, took a minute to breathe and then returned back to my discussion with the agent. The man who died was my husband's friend. Ever since my husband passed away, I'd not seen him, but I knew his family and hence kept thinking about them. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today, while returning my car after the regular service, the Harpreet Ford executive told me about how they were all busy because of the death of their General Manager. "Do you mean Mr. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><name withheld></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;">", I asked. He said yes, his eyes turned wet, and here's what he told me:
After </span><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;">shopping with his family near Sohna Road in Gurgaon, the </span><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space: pre-wrap;">young GM was walking towards his car. A vehicle tossed him up in the air, and sped away, leaving him injured on the road. His wife and little kids kept shouting for help. People slowed down to look at them, but no one stopped to help. Finally, just as they managed to convince an auto driver to take them to the nearest hospital, local family members arrived to help. By the time they got him to the hospital, it was late.
My interaction with the GM was related to some issues in my new Ford car (back in 2018), and I think he was very professional and polite. I feel sorry about his family, especially his kids. They saw their dad dying on the road, surrounded by a pathetic, insensitive, hollow society. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial;"><span face="TwitterChirp, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Segoe UI, Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #0f1419;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So this weekend brought me two sad news in the most unexpected ways. I will get over them, but not before thinking about the two families a couple of times. Blame me, call me a sadist...I just know I get moved by instances of death because I have lost too many people too soon. I am not ashamed that I have a heart that can grow to accommodate other's sorrows. </span></span></span></p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-28155248393862760352021-10-13T20:44:00.013+05:302021-11-20T03:01:42.966+05:30I am with SRK, dil se<p><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-apciXUQakrI/YWb2_pDdNBI/AAAAAAAAbE0/aDVdaHZwGeooa80K-U6qz68a77wnrw-3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20170711_132959.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="201" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-apciXUQakrI/YWb2_pDdNBI/AAAAAAAAbE0/aDVdaHZwGeooa80K-U6qz68a77wnrw-3gCLcBGAsYHQ/w268-h201/IMG_20170711_132959.jpg" width="268" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">On my first visit to the Red Chillies Entertainment's office, I was overwhelmed. For once, I was happy about myself and I was so so proud. It was a dream come true for me. My team couldn't get enough of those unending shelves with SRK's trophies. One of us almost broke down & kissed SRK's picture. It was a pilgrimage, which I am sure none of us will ever forget. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">SRK taught generations of Indians what it feels like to love and to be loved. But today, as he is being targeted for not siding with the establishment, there is fear in Bollywood. If they can target SRK, and trap his son, the others would definitely be scared. Makes you wonder what is BJP punishing SRK for? Refusing to post from a playbook? Or be a brand ambassador?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">In all of this, it is painful how Aryan is being victimised, and I hope and pray he is able to emerge stronger from this crisis. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stand with Shah Rukh Khan, dl se. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AMtrBLModpY/YWb2_mjcCsI/AAAAAAAAbEw/YroqUvStersD9u8P8yd9zpxuhiaFiorQgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_20170711_132829.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="208" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AMtrBLModpY/YWb2_mjcCsI/AAAAAAAAbEw/YroqUvStersD9u8P8yd9zpxuhiaFiorQgCLcBGAsYHQ/w225-h208/IMG_20170711_132829.jpg" width="225" /></b></a><b></b></span></div><blockquote><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b></span></div><blockquote><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>“Bandhan Hai Rishton Mein</b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Kaaton Ki Taarein Hain</b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Patthar Ke Darwaaze Deewaarein</b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Belein Phir Bhi Ugti Hain</b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Aur Guchchhe Bhi Khilte Hain</b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Aur Chalte Hain Afsaane</b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Kirdaar Bhi Milte Hain</b></span></div><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Vo Rishtey Dil Dil Dil Thay”</b></span></div></blockquote><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b></span></div></blockquote><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b></b></span></div></div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-87975020498893942552021-10-07T11:28:00.035+05:302021-10-07T12:11:54.950+05:30Change the dialogue, have a clean conscience <div class="separator"></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today, MoS Home Ajay Kumar Mishra is the chief guest at a conference organised by Bureau of Police Research and Development. His son, Ashish Kumar, mowed down four farmers under his car on October 3, and since then, state govt under Yogi has deployed the entire UP Police force to restrict & detain opposition leaders unlawfully, even as Ashish remains a free man and his father is enjoying his privileges. The video of Ashish is available on many sources online, and I find it too painful to watch and share. </span></span> </p><table> <tbody><tr> </tr> </tbody></table> <span style="font-family: helvetica;"></span><div><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GAYUg3Tu-es/YV6UDIgLuDI/AAAAAAAAa4M/8h5kgkFimk4DDlVZFOCNup0stm9ZdHSJACLcBGAsYHQ/w221-h180/download.png" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;" width="221" /></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span data-offset-key="ap726-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true">I heard a lot of 'farmers are causing inconvenience' stories recently during a visit to my hometown. While I empathise with all those who face traffic snarls, I am not sure why not even one person has blamed the govt for not intervening. Have we become too self absorbed? More than 500 farmers have died and we must expect the govt to hold a dialogue and mitigate the situation. </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span data-offset-key="ap726-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span data-offset-key="ap726-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true">The least we can do is modify the whatsapp-inspired message of 'farmers ne dukhi kiya hai' to a truth </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ap726-1-0">seeking</span></span><span data-offset-key="ap726-2-0" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-text="true"> 'sarkaar kuch karti kyon nahi'?</span></span></span><p></p></div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-15348483693107944982021-09-11T01:30:00.005+05:302021-11-20T03:02:07.142+05:30Grow your heart <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">The corona crisis will leave behind a lot of learnings for us. Here's my list:<br /></span></span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><ol style="color: #050505; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><li style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-GIipG1t1oHw/YTu3hWJHH_I/AAAAAAAAW4A/fcqwe3MklCQB3bPHzCT41sQRHyIGP6QaACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1222" height="234" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-GIipG1t1oHw/YTu3hWJHH_I/AAAAAAAAW4A/fcqwe3MklCQB3bPHzCT41sQRHyIGP6QaACLcBGAsYHQ/w335-h234/image.png" width="335" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div style="text-align: left;">Life is short. Do not carry the baggage of negative thoughts, feelings and people. Drop the bag. </div></span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Fill your heart with gratitude. If you have food in the fridge, roof on your head and oxygen in your lungs, thank the universe for it everyday. </span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Forgive and forget. I am struggling with this, but I will get there someday.</span></li></ol><span style="color: #050505; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Michachhāmi Dukkaḍaṃ (meaning, let the evil that has been done, be forgiven) is observed today to seek forgiveness from all, for mistakes committed knowingly or unknowingly. A good day to initiate a course correction in life, stay humble and stay in peace. </span></span></div></div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-88133647526541233162021-08-16T00:10:00.100+05:302021-09-11T01:02:04.870+05:30Strength to my sisters in Afghanistan <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Can't take this out of my mind. What is happening in Afghanistan right now is so gut wrenching. The locals almost mobbed the city’s airport trying to flee...some managed to escape, many could not, and these three men met their death in the most horrific way.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">During their earlier rule, Taliban forbade the right to education and right to work for women and refused them to step outside their homes without a male relative. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><strike style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="330" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OX3sPECFDek/YTupNwk6qgI/AAAAAAAAW3o/gQ6Mkk3MO1MTxADZ3dZWUA7MyqBTfEYYgCLcBGAsYHQ/w495-h330/image.jpg" width="495" /></strike></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since they've gained control, the burqa shops in Kabul are seeing increase in sales and there is looming fear. But the younger women in universities and women journalists are determined to not give in and stand up for their rights. Many reports emerging from </span><span style="background-color: white;">Afghanistan show fearless women standing firm against the Taliban, some actually standing in front of a gun pointing at them, to uphold their personal rights and liberties. They are giving tough resistance to the Taliban in several cities. </span></span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; text-align: justify; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My heart goes out to all the women in Afghanistan. I fear for them, I pray, and I wish them well. Godspeed!</span></span></div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-49967673056567260472021-06-30T00:56:00.004+05:302022-07-08T11:06:06.048+05:30The dark days<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">V's father was breathing from an Oxygen cylinder. That night, his supply was running out. V went to nearby hospitals, but could not find a bed to admit his dad. His father was not looking good, and V was doing everything in his capacity to find oxygen cylinders. With limited means and no family in proximity, he kept struggling till 1am. At last, he called my co-volunteer, Pranjal, who swung into action and convinced a Sardarji to open his store and provide Oxygen cans. </span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We were all under severe stress, V was in panic. When I asked Sardarji about money, he said, 'take the oxygen cans right now, save the man first'. I quickly booked an Uber, and requested the driver to rush to V's house with the cans. Pranjal was on call with V, trying to calm him down ...his dad's breath was getting heavier. 'Papa ke nails blue ho rahe hain', V said.
</span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--89mhtMWJdE/YTuw_QO8SCI/AAAAAAAAW3w/DZfXwINZTxwy6ppcBsbUj-7MRAZRf0zxACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="178" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--89mhtMWJdE/YTuw_QO8SCI/AAAAAAAAW3w/DZfXwINZTxwy6ppcBsbUj-7MRAZRf0zxACLcBGAsYHQ/w216-h178/image.png" width="216" /></a></div></span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">V's dad stopped breathing. He was dead. Pranjal alerted the local cops so that someone could be there to take care of the body and be there for young V. He had seen his dad dying infront of him, wanting to breathe...terrible shock for a young boy.
</span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">That night, I froze, almost went into shock. The pain that V must have gone through & my guilt for not being able to help him on time comes back every night. Between me, Pranjal & all volunteers who were associated with us, we have many such stories. Stories of pain, misery, helplessness and loss. </span></div></div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-18187825111534123662021-06-01T01:04:00.005+05:302021-09-11T16:19:17.128+05:30It's okay to be strong, it's okay to be weak <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">We knew it was a pandemic. Yet, we didn't want our lives to be affected. Some took vacations, many could not stop partying and get togethers, many married and some even planned babies (!!!). The govt did nothing to save us, but let's not forget that most of us ignored all warnings. We were in some false belief that it cannot hit us, or may just touch and go like a normal seasonal virus. 'Sab ko hona hai' was the narrative. 'We can't just sit at home'. A dear friend recently told me not to be a paranoid, else I may land up in an asylum.</span></span></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img alt="" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="474" height="242" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TL_L9JCxRS8/YTu1SKG7Y0I/AAAAAAAAW34/JPRe4cv0lY0UKUjf_AC25JqgT3cggT97gCLcBGAsYHQ/w247-h242/image.png" style="color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;" width="247" /></span></div></div></div><span style="color: #050505; font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="text-align: justify;">If only people had shown some restrain, many homes may not have lost their near and dear ones. If only we'd not used our contacts to call 1000 people at our parties/ weddings, or gotten passes to travel through the lockdown, or used our connections to illegally run our businesses. The entitlement didn't save anyone. Nor the eagerness to 'look at the positive side'. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Having said that, I feel for all those who were at work because they had no choice, and got infected. Also, all those who were at home, but still got it...all the frontline workers...who put their lives in danger to save many through diminishing oxygen, medicine supplies and common sense.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In these difficult times, let us also pay attention when you feel someone is in trouble but avoids conversation. STOP saying, 'start again', 'sab theek hoga', 'you have everything', 'don't be depressed'. Make yourself available to listen and neither judge, nor shoot advice. <span color="var(--primary-text)">I am here to listen, not judge. I am here to help, not advice. </span>It is okay to appear weak, break down, admit failures. Reach out to your friends. Seek help. Don't give up you lovely people. And please, call me if anything is bothering you. </div></span></div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="background-color: white; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto"><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span></div><div dir="auto"><div class="l9j0dhe7" id="jsc_c_3m5" style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; position: relative; white-space: normal;"><div class="l9j0dhe7" style="font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="rq0escxv a8c37x1j rz4wbd8a a8nywdso" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px;"><div class="gzo72d92 bzfalb6c stjgntxs ni8dbmo4 l82x9zwi uo3d90p7 pw54ja7n ue3kfks5 aypy0576 s1tcr66n maa8sdkg l6v480f0" style="border-bottom: 1px solid var(--divider); border-left: 1px solid var(--divider); border-radius: 8px; border-right: 1px solid var(--divider); border-top: 1px solid var(--divider); font-family: inherit; margin-left: 13px; margin-right: 13px; overflow: hidden;"><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-54631540083553428902021-03-08T22:40:00.013+05:302021-09-11T02:00:03.393+05:30No, do not celebrate us on Women's Day!<div class="separator"></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Most women in India are struggling for their basic rights - right to food, hygiene, education, marriage and reproduction at will. We are a country where women are dropping out of schools after puberty because there are no toilets. There are women who are forced to undergo abortions till they produce a male child. Some of them, under-age and under-nourished, lose the battle and pass away.</span></p><p><span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img data-original-height="686" data-original-width="862" height="262" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_Nh9V3f9Eyk/YEZO-CNh3qI/AAAAAAAAUjA/J8M7qHSbM-UeTLd4FUBiwjWk1_gxczoggCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h262/image.png" width="300" /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">In the posh lanes of our metros, domestic crimes against women are on a rise. The risk to mental health of women is at an all time high. Marital rape is common, and the screams of women who are abused, tortured are conveniently are even today, ignored by the neighbours.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It pains to see how the burning issues and requirements of women are trivialized. Media is neither reporting number of unsolved cases of crime against women, nor reporting stories of women who are struggling in the rural bylanes of the country, seeking help in breastfeeding, in bringing up their children, in supporting them if something happens to their husbands. Nobody is talking about the undernourished girls who do not get a fair share from the menu, because the stock is limited, and the best is reserved for their brothers. </span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Urban India can be blind to the horrid condition of women in the deeper regions of the country. But even in the cities, why can't we focus on financial independence and career avenues, rather than painting a picture of the career women with a baby by her side and looking like a sacrificed goat. We need to think harder about what women want. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">'Treat her like a princess' is passé. Giving her special treatment in the corridors of patriarchy will not help. Let her free, educate and empower her, make her financially independent - now that is a message that we need. Not to be special, but to be equal. Not to be kind, loving, caring, amazing, super woman, but to be who we are.</span></p>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-2143318738606299622019-12-18T23:11:00.006+05:302021-09-11T02:04:46.580+05:30That night in the ICU<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="line-height: 107%;">That night in
the ICU was very long. I opened my eyes to that familiar beep sound of the
vitals monitoring system. That beep scares me. So does the ICU. In flashes I
could remember mom and Abby asking the doctor how my surgery went.
I also remember trying to speak in between, but all I remember saying was, ‘pain,
pain’. </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">
</span>
</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hxBhUOfLK6I/XfpnbSXeMsI/AAAAAAAAO_0/NSYe-wUouT8mxGo8YQ8s5c4V7oUFwvf1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/recovery.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="295" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hxBhUOfLK6I/XfpnbSXeMsI/AAAAAAAAO_0/NSYe-wUouT8mxGo8YQ8s5c4V7oUFwvf1wCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h295/recovery.png" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 107%; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I rang the
call bell on my bed, to be greeted by a sleepy nurse. She looked tired, but
very eager to help. ‘How are you feeling’, she whispered politely. My instant reaction
must have been, ‘it is hurting’, but I did not want to sound like a ninny. ‘Can
you give me a glass of water, I’ve not had anything for over 24 hours now’, I
requested. ‘Sorry mam, only after the doctor sees you tomorrow morning’, she
responded. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial; line-height: 107%;">She told me
it was 2 am, and the doctor will see me at 8 am. It was a long wait. After she
left, I started feeling my stomach which was hurting as if someone was rubbing
a blade on it. With one arm holding the vital monitoring system clip and the
other wearing the canula, my hand movement was restricted. With the little
movement, I could feel some dressing on my stomach, a tube originating from
somewhere and extending towards the right corner of my bed. On the left, there
was another tube with blood looking fresh in it. It was a drain-pipe
originating from inside me and pumping residual blood out, I was told later. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><span style="font-family: arial;">The pain was
unbearable, but I suddenly realized that I was smiling. I was so happy to have
made it alive. I was so excited to get rid of that malignancy inside. The malignancy,
I carried for four years, along with excessive discomfort, embarrassment and agonizing
pain. All of it is gone, I thought. ‘I will now spend more time with Maulik,
take him for a vacation, sort out my career and make life more worthwhile. Next
year will be rocking’, I was telling myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">I moved a
bit in excitement, and I felt tearing pain in my belly. But I smiled again, nonchalant
of the distress. I was thinking about all the people who mattered in
life – Maulik, my family, my friends – and everyone who has ever been there to comfort
me. For the next few hours, I was just making random plans – picnics,
vacations, food trips, events – and getting excited. In the morning, the doctor
told me I looked tired. I knew why. I had a hectic night </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">😊</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
</div>
Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-37195446467907808542019-11-28T04:34:00.002+05:302021-09-11T02:05:42.051+05:30No, mental health is neither a joke, nor an excuse. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">It is a relief that ‘<a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=5&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiGlvvGxIvmAhU-4XMBHdBbBJIQFjAEegQIDhAK&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mayoclinic.org%2Fdiseases-conditions%2Fmental-illness%2Fsymptoms-causes%2Fsyc-20374968&usg=AOvVaw02D4krbd7LPCH0uy2QK8Ef" target="_blank">mental illness</a>’ is no longer a taboo, and in the past couple of years, words like
‘depression’, ‘anxiety’, ‘eating disorders’ and ‘stress’ have been used with
more confidence and conviction to express inability to deal with…well, say
life. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nimnMpu_0Y0/Xd8ArX7D_CI/AAAAAAAAOy4/PAjokca54JY7cYqY-S_qKO1PqFCK3dXzgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/blog3.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="800" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nimnMpu_0Y0/Xd8ArX7D_CI/AAAAAAAAOy4/PAjokca54JY7cYqY-S_qKO1PqFCK3dXzgCLcBGAsYHQ/w296-h360/blog3.jpg" width="296" /></a></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black;">Let us start with
understanding <a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=30&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiSi57dxIvmAhWj6nMBHbRzBckQmhMwHXoECA0QAg&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FMental_health&usg=AOvVaw2N58VJBVg_7AtDlrTIQyrZ" target="_blank">mental health</a>. Mental health is the psychological well-being
defined by appropriate balance in love, work and everything else about life. So,
when we say that one is mentally ill, we want to imply that the person is
dealing with any of these mental health conditions – depression, anxiety, stress,
bi-polar disorder etc. </span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;">Interestingly, my memories
of growing up also have some words which I would have heard being hurled at
people who were not very bright or accomplished, slovenly or undeserving</span>.
‘Mental’, ‘retard’, ‘dimwit’, and ‘psycho’ are some of those words. Years later,
when I started coming across people who struggled with mental issues, I realized
how ill-informed we were. I felt sorry.</span></span><br />
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: black;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: black;">While celeb revelations (<a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjw-t_uxIvmAhXq6XMBHV3_COsQwqsBMAB6BAgMEAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DaGum9MZOCD4&usg=AOvVaw0tBf6xeo-l6K2KGHQIaBu-" target="_blank">Deepika</a>,
<a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwi__baCxYvmAhW6_3MBHUDOD70QwqsBMAF6BAgNEAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DNuHXKrXiwfY&usg=AOvVaw0PDR2q1cSZ7nW-CxwDh2A1" target="_blank">Mariah Carey</a>, <a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=4&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwi5s9XBxovmAhXIH7cAHX7JAsEQFjADegQIAxAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.healthline.com%2Fhealth-news%2Fjanet-jacksons-honesty-depression&usg=AOvVaw2H1c-fe1-7Bv_KezHmgAWz" target="_blank">Janet Jackson</a>) about their issues and their journey towards recovery
have given not just hope to those in the same boat, but also the strength to
accept, disclose and seek help, depiction of people with mental issues in mainstream
cinema (<a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwitrK_Kx4vmAhUzjuYKHdByD1kQFjAAegQIAxAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FBradley_Cooper&usg=AOvVaw1iBP9AbbkYn3DncsjF8KSP" target="_blank">Bradley Cooper</a> in <span id="goog_906336632"></span><a href="http:///" target="_blank">Silver Linings Playbook<span id="goog_906336633"></span></a>, <a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=11&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwiir_O6x4vmAhUgH7cAHQs-BwQQFjAKegQIARAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FAlia_Bhatt&usg=AOvVaw0zSXgHNhPeqfyhKIG_z_hf" target="_blank">Alia Bhatt</a> in <a href="https://www.google.co.in/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjq7t2nx4vmAhXEILcAHWGzA7MQFjACegQIARAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FDear_Zindagi&usg=AOvVaw0bW6-OhZW6CUhVAJIB0TSj" target="_blank">Dear Zindagi</a>) has played a crucial role in informing and educating the community to
identify those suffering and empathise with them. I know people – friends and family
– who are open about their mental condition and have not hesitated to seek
medical help. Many of them have been able to cope up very well and shown
positive results.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: black;">But hey, has that changed
everything? Is mental health now a very mature subject and are people educated
and informed enough to identify issues and handle them. Sadly, the answer is
no. </span></span><br />
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">
</span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;">I have heard, ‘I think I am suffering
from depression. I do not feel like dressing up for parties.’ ‘It must be work stress,
otherwise I will never miss my game’. Mental health is not sadness, it is not
failure, it is definitely not the lack of interest to engage in leisure. While
disorders like depression and anxiety are becoming more easily understood, schizophrenia,
personality disorders and psychosis are still poorly understood.</span> Thankfully,
the treatment is now more accepted and less marginalised. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black;"></span></span><br />
</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">While I have seen bold
survivors of this deep, dark condition, I have seen many people who hide behind
the possibility of having a mental condition when faced with failures and disappointment
of any kind. I have heard about people with low ambition, people who have made mistakes
and failed, people who are in terrible social situations often hiding behind
stress and depression. I have also read about people faking medical illness to escape
circumstances arising out of their misdeeds, or merely exaggerating symptoms for
attention sake.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: black;"></span></span><br />
</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">Even on Twitter, you see people
announcing their mental illnesses; some to seek support, but many to seek attention.
It is very difficult tell them apart, and therefore, it is very important that
we reserve our opinion, judgement and definitely our reactions. It is also
important for us to know that sadness, physical exhaustion, failure and similar
negative experiences cannot be loosely termed as ‘mental illness’ unless examined
and verified by qualified professionals. So instead of being carelessly
prescriptive, and confidently judgemental, we need to be simply empathetic.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: black;"><br /></span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;">And just like my previous
blog, I will leave this with a list of don’t-say things:</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<ul><div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<li><div style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"> <span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;">You don’t have to be depressed</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</li>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<li><div style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;">You seem to have OCD</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</li>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<li><div style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;">That person is a real psycho </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</li>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<li><div style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><span style="color: black; font-family: arial;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wv9r8I24A6Y" target="_blank">Samosa khaale sab theek ho jayega</a>! </span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
</li>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</ul>
</div>
Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-72851229246225722792019-11-22T03:11:00.000+05:302019-11-28T04:44:28.941+05:30How we Indians mess up at 'Empathising'?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"></span><span style="background-color: white;"></span><br /></span>
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I spent the
evening today, trying to find out why most of us suck at empathising. I
read many articles, most of which were about the need for empathetic approach at workplace ad why should leaders learn the skill. I could not, however, find anything that
talks about empathy towards someone suffering physical and mental illness. </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2NxUQscd2I0/Xd8DPKcgUoI/AAAAAAAAOzE/vq7Bwrc1hNkgVbrzhutJ-jvZxqCrIRZVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/blog1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2NxUQscd2I0/Xd8DPKcgUoI/AAAAAAAAOzE/vq7Bwrc1hNkgVbrzhutJ-jvZxqCrIRZVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/blog1.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I decided to analyse the most common empathetic reactions of people around me,
and I realized that we just do not know how to empathise. We are
well-meaning and therefore try to overcompensate for our lack of understanding.
In the process, we end up scrubbing few wounds rather than even healing one.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As the sufferer starts responding to, ‘I heard you
are not feeling well today’, he notices that the person who
posed the question is busy messaging on the phone, while trying to fake interest in the response. He
stops and the conversation abruptly ends. DO
NOT ASK IF YOU DO NOT MEAN TO ASK.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People think
humour is a great way to pull someone out of miseries. ‘Is the shit hitting the
fan today also’? ‘Are you going to be sulking the whole day today’? ‘You seem
to be failing all the doctors’. DO NOT CRACK JOKES. THEY PINCH LIKE NEEDLES.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Often, we
are so cautious in the presence of the sufferer, that we avoid any conversation.
Not knowing what to say can also be a reason for our silence. Trust me, even holding
hands, giving a hug, rubbing the shoulders can do magic. Silence hurts, but a
physical touch can do wonders. DO NOT BE A MUTE SPECTATOR. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We Indians
are very obsessed with physical appearance. ‘Oh, you look awful’. ‘Look at you,
what have you done to yourself’. By saying all of this, you give another worry
to the sufferer and leave him sulking. Even a compliment does not work here. 'You look fab’ or ‘wow, you look so better’ will not work. Untrue statements will create mistrust.
DO NOT MAKE IT ABOUT PHYSICAL APPEARANCE. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Many many
times, I have seen people trying really hard to get into your skin. In the process,
they make it more about their sufferings, and end up adding more load on the
sufferer. ‘Yeah, when I was in this condition, I could not sleep through the
night’. ‘Oh, Chintu almost died of this condition.’ EXPERIENCE SHARING IS NOT REQUIRED. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In my
pursuit, I also read about some elements required for empathetic behaviour, and
I realised what is most important is emotional intelligence (EI). EI lets you get
into the skin of the sufferer to understand his or her mental conditioning and
react with utmost care. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I thought
long and hard and was trying to imagine what is it that someone who is mentally or physically
hurt, would like to hear. Here’s what I could come up with: </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">‘I can see you are in pain, but you are strong’. <br />
‘You are holding up very well. You are amazing’.<br />
‘I feel your pain, and I know this will not last long’.<br />
‘Once this is over, we will spend a day in the salon’.<br />
‘I may not be in your situation, but I am with you in coming out of it’</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I think we really need to calm down when we are with friends and family who need our support, and try to weigh in on everything we do and say. Nothing can go wrong when we are with our best intention. </span></span></div>
Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3582379684500161725.post-41392857745155433562009-12-30T01:02:00.000+05:302021-12-30T01:05:47.550+05:30We lost her<div align="left"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DoOgLcohouQ/SV-ph3WBH8I/AAAAAAAAAd4/Kbzy0IPiD5I/s1600-h/Mummy.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287130886813327298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_DoOgLcohouQ/SV-ph3WBH8I/AAAAAAAAAd4/Kbzy0IPiD5I/s200/Mummy.JPG" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 190px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a>
Nani passed away in her sleep on the cold night of 30th December following a cardiac attack. Finally her medical condition took over her willingness and enthusiasm to live more. </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">While the cancer hospital had been her second home all these months, this time her lonely stay in the ICU lasted 40 days before she finally lost the battle. She was alone when she breathed her last in the respiratory ICU at Metro Hospital in Noida. She was alone in the mortuary the entire night. She was alone when she was being cremated at the Nigambodh Ghaat. </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">A true fighter, she fought the deadly cancer bravely for a little more than three years. The last time we met, she requested me to get an effective shampoo to control her hair fall. Her face had an angelic glow, the heavens it seems were already smiling at her. While the doctors at the Dharamshila cancer hospital had already bid her a farewell, she was refusing to accept that she had to go. The doctors always said that she was the most inquisitive and alert patient who exactly knew what treatment and therapies were being given to her. </div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"> After a terrible night of waiting to see her body, we finally met her in the morning. Life seemed so frail thing suddenly. Covered in a pretty red shawl, she was lying peacefully. Atleast, there was no pain. When the pyre was to be lit, her face was uncovered...a moment that is etched in my memory. Her face lacked all the lustre and beauty. What had death done to her.</div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left">Finally there were flames and we saw that heap of logs shrinking. A shivering realization that the lady who did amazing things for her 6 children and 10 grandchildren and never expected anything ever was gone. An angelic heart, a beautiful face, a warrior in character - we lost her. The memories of her sweating in the sun to make us tandoori onion paranthas on the terrace, her making those doli ki rotis for us, applying coconut oil to my hair, saving me from mom's scolding, giving me her favourite saree to wear for my school farewell, kissing my forehead, always appreciating the gajar ka halwa that I would make for her, standing by me during my wedding......countless memories remain.
Badi mummy, we shall miss you.</div>Shweta Baxi Tyagihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569323698301824699noreply@blogger.com3