The price of a watermelon

This was during the time when Amma was bedridden. She was in uncle's house and although close to a window, the summer heat was getting on her nerves. Back when she was very well, we had an almost perfect formula to beat the heat. Watermelon.
Much to the respite of people, nature brought delicious fruits along with summer. Mangoes are at the forefront and much anticipated by all. Then there's also sugar cane. Although popular but much less valued is the watermelon. This heavy of a fruit has got the right amount of nutrients to combat heat. Being high in water content, it is also quite filling. And being less sweet, it meant that my diabetic grandma and mother can enjoy it.
Maa would daily get a watermelon from the local hawker. Then slice it and refrigerate so that it could be relished chilled. Just before afternoon tea time, Amma, Maa and I used to enjoy the chilled, juicy fruit in its glory. Some prefer adding chat masala over it while many threw away the seeds. I am a purist so I enjoy it without the salt and with the seeds.
Almost a week after her fracture, Amma mentioned on the call that she missed watermelon. She had the luxurious mango but not the watermelon. The thing about mobile hawkers is that they are not guaranteed to visit your neighbourhood. So one day after I wrapped up my work-from-home, I walked a couple of kilometers to fetch the fruit, and delivered it to Amma. She didn't have it then but she was delighted. Don't know if it was the fruit or me. 
Here in Singapore, I am sure Amma would have been delighted at the multiple choices of varied fruits. And I'd have loved to have her here. But it's the watermelon that bears the sweetest fruit of her memories. Mango, you are close second.

The day my world stood still

I failed. Exactly one year ago, this was the day when I failed. And I failed hard, miserably and one from which I can never come back. 2nd June 2015 is the date when Amma died. No euphemisms here. And I wasn't even beside her. 

Rewind to 1st June 2015. Thanks to my friend Pratik, I had got a job in Singapore. This meant leaving my then employer TCS. And it is with this purpose of serving a month's notice period that I went to Mumbai after a long period of working from home. I was staying with my friend Ishan and had reached there on the first itself. That day was any other day apart from the fact that I had officially resigned. I talked to my manager Sachin and he was supportive of it. He also casually inquired about the well-being of my family members. I did inform him of Amma's fracture albeit with a smile knowing that she'd bounce back as she always had no matter what the situation. I asked Sachin to keep it a little secret as I believe that the more people know my plans the more it is doomed to fail. Later in the evening I told this to Srilekha who I consider in high regards and to be my mentor. I also called up Farhan for the sake of old times' friendship. Both were my colleagues. No one knew apart from them. So much so that none from my family (barring Maa) was aware of my Singapore plans, not even Amma. 

The next day as I was getting ready for the office, I got a call from Maa around 7:30 in the morning. She mentioned that Amma is really sick and her health is dwindling. She asked me to call her and have a talk. I was in a haste. Tuesday mornings meant a call with the client in America and I had to reach there by 9. I thought that this was just a normal case and Amma wouldn't got anywhere easily. She was bedridden and at my uncle's place not far from my parental home. I am family man in the end. Not even the most urgent of work takes preference over the tiniest concern of my family. I gave a call to Amma's mobile. No answer. I tried again. Still no answer. I passed with the idea of calling her after the client call ends at 10 am. And moved on. 

The bus ride wasn't comforting though. I had thoughts over Amma's health. And mine as well thanks to the numerous jolts in the Mumbai buses. Finally I got a seat and took to reading as is my usual hobby. The book that I had was won in a Goodreads giveaway and a romantic one. I am not against romance but the cancerous plot and mushy acts in the book left a bad taste in mouth. So I rushed to my desk reaching there at sharp 9 am. My screen showed the shared presentation over an extremely slow internet connection. Just as I was connecting the phone, my mobile rang. Maa. Family man in me picked it up. Sobbing. "Amma nahi rahi, Pintoo!" (Amma is no more, Pintoo!) More sobbing.  

I was shocked. It was a strangely familiar feeling. When everything goes numb around you. When your mind loses control of your body. Leave alone words, you can't even think. When business calls have the least precedence over anything. I knew this feeling as I had gone through the experience then two and half years ago when my grandfather passed away. That time too, I was in Mumbai and not at home near him. 

"Main aa raha hu Maa" (I am coming Maa) was the only thing I could speak and disconnected the call. Learning from my past experience, the first thing I did was to book flight tickets for two. My cousin Pooja also lived there and she had accompanied me then and would accompany me now. In fact, she was the one who had called me up to inform me about my grandfather's demise. This time I'd inform her. 

Sometimes, you curse slow internet connection. Other times you are just helpless. That time, I couldn't get my senses to spend energy in cursing. I was fixed to the screen and in 30 minutes or so booked two tickets that would get me to Ahmedabad at the earliest. During that time, I also got calls from others including Pooja. Between her sobbing, I told that the tickets have been booked and she had under half-hour to get going. My office is on the way from her home to airport, so she'd pick me up. 

Others were fixated on the computers and phones. I managed to search Sachin and inform him about the events. He was understanding and granted me the leave. I dropped a mail to withhold my notice period as one can't take leaves during it. I also informed Ishan, picked up my stuff and left the office. I met Pooja at the designated place and we continued our commute to the airport. All in sobbing and consoling each other ignoring the otherwise irritating Mumbai traffic. Managed to reach airport in time and boarded the flight. 

Strange thing that both the times, I was far from my grandparents. I had last met them just two-three days ago and I had to take a flight. Both knew that I love airplanes. When at home, I often run to catch a glimpse of the airplane. But never had travelled in one. My grandfather gave me the first reason to. Maybe, it was his parting gift. This time, Amma knew it well that I had enjoyed the commute of a flight a couple of times. Still she preferred this mode. When I reached home, her eyes were open over her lifeless body. Folks there said that all attempts to close them had failed. I saw the last glimpse in her eyes. Pooja closed them personally and Amma's body allowed to. 

They say that she wanted to see me. That her eyes were waiting for her dearest grandson. But he had failed her. I didn't talk to her in the morning when I had the time. I could have called my uncle or cousin but didn't. I didn't inform her of my Singapore plans. She didn't want me to go Mumbai and I mentioned that it was just a regular weekly trip. I lied and I failed. I was not able to get her a proper fan when she lay uncomfortably in summer heat. And I enjoy the air conditioning here. I failed. I couldn't help her build the home of her dreams; I was too attached to the current home. I failed. She loved cars very much but we didn't have one and would often ask the relatives whenever possible for a trip in car. I didn't know how to drive (nor do I know it at this moment) so I didn't get one. I failed. Numerous times she had asked me to marry so she could see her 'bahu' (daughter-in-law). I was not ready for the marriage. I failed. We promised her a gala bash on her 90th birthday. She was 86. Failed. She had great plans to visit Barcelona. I promised her and I failed. 

Not a single day has passed since then when I don't think of her. Remembering her brings me strength but weakens me to the core. It's an emotional burden that I have to carry lifelong. Nothing I do will ever rectify or justify the failures. Nothing. It's now a universal postulate and all my career performance (since grandpa and alleviated after Amma) have steadily dwindled. I know I can never succeed. Because I am a big failure. 

The Fall

19 May 2015: Exactly a year ago, she had it. My grandmother (Amma as she was known) had a fall that fractured her leg. It wasn’t only a fall for her health but also the one that would become an indirect cause of her demise. It was also my fall to the depths of no return.

I was working from home as had been for more than 16 months. The summers of Ahmedabad are dry and daunting, so the king sized bed in the only air-conditioned room not only called for an afternoon siesta for the working ladies of the house but also featured as my work desk. My mother always takes a nap after lunch whereas Amma was always up to something, be it sewing, reading spiritual books or taking a nap sometimes. Summer afternoons always beckoned for rest. So after the lunch (possibly featuring her favourite Tota aam and some chhaas), it was time for me to look over the two lovely ladies of my life grab some rest.

Amma was healthy and despite her age of 86, very, very active. Her iron-will is what will motivate me for years and is the one that I will fail to have, ever. She went to fetch her pillow while Maa had already hit the bed. And then we heard it. A thud followed by a loud shriek. Amma had slipped on the unusually wet floor (possibly after the mopping). I quickly ran towards her. She couldn’t stand.With the help of our neighbours, we managed to get her up to the bed. Quickly I dialed the nearest local doctor. Since it was afternoon, most doctors too, it seems, like to take have some siesta. I knew it was a case for an orthopaedic, so I contacted the one we know. He’d return at 5 in the evening unless there was an emergency translating into double the fees. I contacted my father. Money was not an issue but somehow we decided to wait for the evening. The worst decision of my life. Not that the delay led to her passing away; she was well operated that evening and resumed to normalcy. But the moments leading up to the time, she was writhing in agony.

I tried to resume my work but couldn’t give it the attention. Soon at the time, we got to the hospital thanks to the Dial 108 emergency vehicle. Just when we were getting her on stretcher, she mentioned that this is the last time she sees the home. I was with her in the EMV. And consoled her that we would soon make an abroad trip. Dubai wasn’t expensive (and she really wanted to go there) and she has her daughter staying there. Her other grandson stays in Jamaica and I mentioned it to her that Indians don’t need a visa there. But most excited she was for Barcelona. Yes, we had plans for that too. Her daughter number 4 resides there.

I held her hand in the EMV through the entire journey of 10 minutes. I talked to her, consoled her, kissed her that she would bounce back. After all, she had done it a few years ago for the same kind of fracture in a different leg. But this time, it seemed that she lacked her motivation. Her iron-will had melted. She will never make a trip Dubai, Jamaica, Barcelona, or even her own home. I was never able to tell her that I will make a move to Singapore and she has no need to rely on anyone else for the abroad trip.Her fall took me deeper into the abyss of worthlessness and lower self-confidence. I became more depressed, had more regrets, dwindling concentration and poor work-performance. Till this day, I wage a battle with myself every day wondering what if. I crave for that one chance with her. But I know I can’t. And that leads to further despair affecting the quality of things that I do. Every day I think of her. Every day I remember her. But this day will be marked as the one when we fell, one physically and the other mentally.  

Acceptance

Well, I am here again with yet another rant. I simply cannot get on with people. And years of observation have helped me conclude that it's due to my complete inability to talk. Put me in a party, throw me in a group of people or even in the midst of family/friends, I will sit still without speaking much. I am the kind of person who will return from a party being friends with the dog! And even if you get me speaking, it'd be extremely difficult to get a subjective viewpoint from me. For facts and all, I'm bang on - capital of a place, approximate currency exchange, cosmic stuff, mathematical formula, films (I so love them!). But ask me to take stand on a political party and you'd be disappointed.
At first, it doesn't seem so bad. But I've to face it every single moment. Yes, my writing somewhat compensates for the lack. But I got no ears to listen to my loathing, no voice to assure me when I'm sad. I know it works both ways. And yes, I have supported my friends and family in their time of distress. Being an INTP(yes I strongly believe that shit theory or whatever you may call) doesn't help either. I become too much of a self-critic to live up to my own expectations. So here I am pondering over what keeps on people conversing day and night. Maybe, I should take up the challenge and face my biggest nightmare: a date.

The Goddess of Ashtami

Today is Maha Ashtami, the eighth day of the nine nights festival, the later of which is worshiped as Durga Puja.
This day carries a very special memory in itself; not just that I hail from Gujarat, the land of Garba and Dandiya but because of the visits to multiple temples in our vicinity. I am not much of a religious person but gladly accompanied my grandmother(amma) and mother(maa) to wherever they would take me. The chief motive, of course, being delicious food. Maha Ashtami is one such occasion wherein we three would book an auto, visit three temples and be back having enjoyed the food.

Our first halt would be the home of an old, devoted and graceful lady who is popular by the name of Mataji. They have a beautiful temple set up inside their home and many devotees come to visit it. Mataji and her family maintain the temple and observe festivities every year. The most popular being Durga Ashtami where a havan is organised with free food served to anyone who visits their place. Our family has closer ties with theirs and so it became a norm to visit them on Maha Ashtami.

The second stop would be Bhaiyaji's (looks like our God lies in familial ties). I don't know much about the history of this place but recall visiting this since I was a little child. The caretaker of this temple was referred to as Bhaiyaji meaning 'elder brother'. My grandma knew him very well and so I'd get extra sweets from him every time. He passed away a long time ago. I was(and still am) always captivated by the idols of the three goddess (Durga, Saraswati and Lakshmi) there. They also had a havan every year.

The last point would be the pandal set up by the Bengali Association of our area. Every year we used to visit the pandal and check if it has anything new added, pray and then enjoy the food from local stalls there. This was my favourite part undeniably.

As I look back this year, there is no Bhaiyaji, Mataji is ill,  my grandmother has left us for the heavenly abode and I am in Singapore. Tonight on call, maa felt a little disappointed and a lot lonely. The neighbours helped her out though. They had a havan at home followed by dinner. Maa did attend it but couldn't help reflecting back, I just wish to be there. And more importantly, Amma to be there for she was the one with the greatest enthusiasm and energy.

For me, these two ladies are my goddesses of Ashtami and I just pray that just like Goddess Durga is immersed in water only to return next year, Amma returns the next year. But it won't be possible. So I am all devoted to Maa for now I want every day spent with her to be nothing less than an Ashtami.

A little place off the Edgware Road

Many years ago I came across this fantastic short story by Graham Greene. I took an immediate liking to this story. Here I attempt to present this in a rhyming poem:

A Little Place off the Edgware Road

To be or not to be?

That’s not the question;

For when goes all your courage flee

You don’t remember to have fun.

I know of an incident that makes me scream

It’s by the ultimate chronicler Graham Greene.

There was going a man, Craven by name

Tight in his mackintosh in thin summer rain.

All the way up the park, he was reminded of love & passion.

But for love, you needed money, suit car & a mansion.

It seemed as if he had a heavy mental load.

He came to A LITTLE PLACE OFF THE EDGWARE ROAD.

There he hated his hatred of hating the Guardsmen.

A better body than his was with each of them.

As he walked on the side streets round the Edgware road,

He noticed the posters outside the disused theatre in Culpar road.

No film had ever succeeded there;

Rat holes and spider webs were scattered everywhere.

Worth a shilling to Craven, the seats were cheap.

Protected from the rain, at least he could sleep.

The film was of ‘The Home of the Silent film’ race;

There were not mere twenty people in the place.

A middle aged actor lay on an elbow with his arm round a woman.

The song tinkled and the screen flickered like indigestion.

Somebody felt his way through the darkness past Craven’s knees;

Craven felt a large beard brushing his mouth and it didn’t make him please.

By the time, the actress had stabbed herself

The new man asked why she did so to herself.

None was interested and the film was not over yet.

But the small bearded man was absorbed only in the actor’s death.

Craven was a bit allergic to blood

But the man wanted it to flow like flood.

“What are you talking about?” asked Craven.

When the man spoke, he sprayed a breath albeit a damp one.

There was also a little bubble in his speech

As if he wanted blood like a leech.

Soon they got caught in a small wrangle;

The man made Craven to come in a tangle.

Craved turned and tried to see him

But he couldn’t as the light was dim.

The man talked to himself as if he was sane

Spraying the same breath to Craven, again.

Suddenly and confidingly, he laid on Craven his hand;

It was so damp and sticky that Craven was about to stand.

Craven replied with horror “What are you talking?”

“A man in my position gets to know almost everything.”

Knowingly, the little man began to titter;

Unless for those hands, Craven would have ignored him altogether.

The man’s head had a habit of lolling sideways

He mentioned ‘Bayswater Tragedy’ anyways.

Craven had seen those words on a poster at the park.

When asked about it, the little man began to bark.

He began to cough right at the face of Craven;

‘Twas like vindictiveness, more than that of a raven.

“Let me see. My umbrella”, the voice said

Losing the word, past Craven’s knees he got laid.

Craven was to see him but the screen went blank and bright;

Somebody had turned up the dirt-choked chandeliers’ light.

Craven then saw on his hands a smear;

At the sight of blood, he began to fear.

He went to look out for the madman, but in vain.

So he dialled 999 with a sense of sane.

There he got a horrible news-

A man’s neck was cut from ear to ear in Cullen Mews.

He told that he had sat next to the murderer, as to him it had appeared.

A voice from next end said, “We have the murderer. It’s the body that has disappeared.”

Transferring contacts from Nokia 108 to Android

My father uses a basic Symbian feature phone - Nokia 108. It is a decent and robust phone, good for the rough n tough life he leads. Unfortunately, this little wonder is not smart enough for the modern world. So when the time came to transition from Symbian to Android, the one (and important) thing we dreaded was transfer of contacts.

Nokia 108 is a peculiar model. It supports various media formats but doesn't have a file explorer (or Gallery as it's called on Symbian), has Bluetooth but no marking for contacts, saves all contacts to an SD card but only from device memory and supports external memory card but has no micro USB slot. Duh! So my journey began to transfer all the contacts to a smarer LG-L3 II (Android 4.1.2) with a caveat of finding a better way and not doing so one-by-one.

I am a bit reluctant to use third-party apps. So didn't want to install any of the applications either on my PC or on my Android. And here are the things that won't work:

• Mark all contacts -- no marking support
• Rename .nbf (Nokia backup file) to .zip -- 108 won't make .nbf
• Rename BACKUP.DAT (yes, that's what the contact backup in Nokia 108 is and no, I am not screaming) to Backup.zip -- creates an invalid archive
• Rename BACKUP.DAT to Backup.vcf -- shows only the first contact

There just has to be some way to get that BACKUP.DAT file working. Now, in case you haven't figured how to do that, follow these steps:

1. Copy all the contacts from SIM to device. Menu -> Contacts -> Move (or Copy as you like) -> From <SIM name> to phone -> Move all (or One by one as you please)
2. Create a backup of the contacts. Menu -> Contacts -> Back up contacts -> Continue  (note: in order to see the back up menu, you must have a memory card inserted)
3. Tada! The file BACKUP.DAT is created (although you cannot see it using the existing phone)

Now transfer that file to your computer. Use a card reader or insert the card in a different phone and connect it, whatever suits your appetite. I inserted the card in my Nokia X2-02 and connected it via USB to my ThinkPad PC. 

This DAT file cannot be directly used to transfer contacts, neither does converting it to .nbf, .vcf or .zip helps. I struggled a but and recalled from the old times of DAT to CSV conversion. So just rename the BACKUP.DAT to Backup.csv

Try to open the Backup.csv file using MS Excel or Notepad. Make sure it doesn't have any special characters. Once all right, we are good to go.

Google supports importing and exports contacts via a CSV file. 

1. So just log in to your GMail account using PC. Use the same one as the one on the Android device you want your contacts on.
2. At the top-left corner, click Gmail -> Contacts.
3. On the left hand side bar, click Import.
4. If you are using the newer version (and if it doesn't support import yet), select Go to old contacts.
5. From the left hand side bar, click Import Contacts...
6. Choose the Backup.csv file that we had created earlier and click Import.
7. Voila! All the contacts should be imported to the Google contacts.

For more help on importing contacts, visit https://support.google.com/mail/answer/14024?hl=en

Now we have all our contacts on Google cloud servers. We just need to sync them with our Android phone. Make sure the phone is connected to internet and follow these steps:

1. Go to Settings on the Android device. 
2. Select Accounts & sync (or just Accounts in some devices)
3. If you have auto-sync checked (ON), just give it some time. The contacts will be synced automatically. If not, proceed as:
4. Select Google from the account list.
5. Tap your email id (it should be same as the one we used on PC to import contacts from CSV).
6. Tap Contacts. And wait till all contacts are synced.
7. Congratulations!!

This took me some time but it ensured I wasn't using any third-party apps that bloat my system. Also, keeping contacts on Google servers would help ease the switching process the next time.

Hope this helped you.