ONE FOR SORROW,TWO FOR JOY

The August rain had created a thrill and early morning visits to our terrace garden had become very ritualistic. Often we would sweep the terrace with the mopper while it drizzled to remove the grime that the pots created.

A pair of yellow beaked common mynas fluttered their wings on the iron rails that supported the solar panels basking in the comfort of shade it provided during a heavy rain. I wondered if they too felt the desire for a cup of coffee and pakoras, but I had nothing to offer. They were gone before I could think of their invincible spirit to soar in all weathers.

The next day too it rained heavily; the solitary visitor today that took shelter was a drenched, sick looking flutterer that hid underneath the outdoor unit of air conditioner. My husband changed its position twice to provide it protection. Yet it had no energy left to move and within minutes it passed away leaving us behind to dispose of its corpse.

'One for sorrow, two for joy' crept into my mind. This was what we had always done with a flying kiss on sighting common mynas as school going teenagers. When we missed our homework and felt scared to face the teacher, two for joy was indeed an omen we could swear by. And yet the sighting of the mate the next day looking for its partner was one of sorrow as it flew away never to return.

Though we welcome our migratory guests in the city every year and celebrate the 'Bird Festival' in their honor. These feathered guests engage us with their cool demeanor and keep us spellbound with their activities. Their lesser known fraternities that have chirped in our gardens and had woken us up every morning with their flutter are seemingly becoming extinct. Perhaps, we may have tripped the delicate balance of interdependency: closed all our ventilators, planted trees that provide shade but do not attract birds.

Comments

The Night of the Rain

It was one of those nights when the rain seemed determined to wash the whole town away. Sheets of water hammered against the windows, the roads were nearly deserted, and most people were asleep behind locked doors. My husband was resting lightly, as doctors often do when they know the doorbell might ring at any moment. Sometime past midnight, the bell rang. The emergency night staff called him downstairs. “Doctor, there’s a patient.” When he reached the entrance, he saw two young boys standing at the gate of the clinic porch. The smell of alcohol hung thick in the air. One of them was struggling to keep the other upright. The injured boy was slumped against him, barely conscious, his weight hanging heavily on his friend’s shoulder. “What happened?” my husband asked. The friend spoke with urgency. They had slipped from the motorbike. Even in that brief moment, my husband could tell the injury was serious. Head injury. Possible internal bleeding. It was the kind of case that needed...

I was a dentist for 30 years. At 57, I started over, and my biggest asset wasn't experience

I made a decision that didn't sound ambitious on paper: I chose to stay home and care for my mother. It was also the moment my professional identity began to unravel with no obvious next step. In my family, a postgraduate degree was less a distinction than a baseline expectation. So, I did what I was supposed to do. I had practiced and built a career. For nearly three decades, I remained a dentist doing routine work. What I had, at that point, was a blog. A small one. Hosted on Blogger. Read generously by friends and family and diplomatically described by others as "promising," which, in adult language, means not quite there yet. I decided to bet on it anyway. The Pivot The job market was not kind and certainly not to late beginners. AI had just begun, and then there was me. A dentist. With a blog. And an unreasonable amount of determination to prove. I enrolled in a digital marketing course, less a course and more a controlled demolition of my comfort zone. I was into a...

Yoga se hoga… pr yoga kaise hoga? (It will happen by yoga- but how will yoga happen?)

If you have ever tried starting yoga, you know the struggle: motivation fades, and mats gather dust. For me, yoga was always on my bucket list, but what I needed was the intent to start. Then something unexpected happened. My yoga group formed an unusual trio: my 80-year-old mother, my niece visiting from the USA, and me. Every morning at 6:30 am, we gathered not in the garden but in front of our TV to tune into live yoga sessions by Saurabh Bothra. And guess what? Yoga did happen. It wasn’t perfect, but it was consistent. We stretched, laughed, and even dozed off in shavaasan, but slowly, breath by breath, a habit was born. Because sometimes all it takes is showing up together.

Newerways

Search This Blog