Douze petites minutes

Quatre rues séparent ma maison de Chez Ram où trois pains maison chauds chauds m'attendent tous les matins. Cinq minutes à pieds pour remonter l'avenue des Orchidées, deux minutes à faire la queue, une minute pour saluer les connaissances du quartier et enfin quatre autres pour redescendre l'avenue. En tout et pour tout, douze minutes délicieuses de début de matinée qui donnent le ton à ma journée. Il s'agit d'une marche lente et paresseuse à observer ces rues semi-endormies, baignées dans la lumière naissante qui semblent murmurer des histoires anciennes qui font remonter des souvenirs enfouis dans les replis de ma mémoire; la maison de M. Jhugroo où, enfant,  j'avais été ébloui de voir Panna reprendre les pas de danses de Travolta au son de Saturday Night Fever, celle de Georges, le menuisier du coin, à qui j'offre une bouteille de vin tous les ans, symbole d'amitié et de lien indéfectible entre voisins, la maisonée blanche avec son vieux mini-cooper vert pomme des années 70 semblant défier le temps, la grande demeure de Bhisham où vit une mère seule depuis bientôt trente ans. C'est incroyable l'effet de  douze petites minutes d'une matinée où l'on revoit sa vie défiler devant ses yeux.

Je vis dans ce quartier et je vois tout le temps ces maisons mais il y a quelque chose de particulier lorsqu'elles sont baignées dans la lumière du matin et que l'air est encore imprégné du parfum doux et réconfortant du sommeil. Je sors de chez moi déambulant comme dans un demi-songe et je me laisse bercer par cette douce sensation de nostalgie me remémorant ce qu'a été l'essence même de ma vie: la nonchalance et cet amour indéfectible pour ce morcellement Saint-Jean.

Chez Ram, le pain maison sent exactement le même parfum  que chez n'importe quel boutiquier de l'ile. Le pain maison a ceci de particulier qu'il nous rappelle toutes les étapes de notre vie, de la petite enfance où il nous semblait énorme dans notre panier en raphia qu'on trimballait à l'école jusqu'au moment de notre croissance où il devenait soudain minuscule ou que bien plus tard, jeune adulte on rentrait de boite de nuit affamé et on en cherchait vainement un morceau, même rassis, qu'on faisait griller sur la plaque à gaz. Chaque morceau de ce pain artisinal est un bonheur gustatif, une vraie ode à notre tradition culinaire et même si certains le considèrent comme un véritable étouffe-chrétien il est une part essentielle de notre identité mauricienne.

Je quitte la boutique, le sac de pain frais entre les mains, je sais que cette rencontre avec le commis n'est pas seulement un acte banal, mais un rituel sacré. Je redescends l'avenue et je réalise que c'est beacoup plus qu'un simple trajet vers la maison; c'est en réalité un moment où je me connecte à mes souvenirs, à ma communauté et à moi-même. Et alors que je franchis à nouveau le seuil de ma porte, je suis empli d'une profonde gratitude pour ces douze petites minutes qui, chaque matin, m'enveloppent d'une étreinte bienveillante.

 

Grand Frère

Ok, for sure this is going to be a tough one. I better roll my sleeves up and do it in one go.

My father's eldest brother, known as Grand Frère or Barkapapa is currently hospitalized because of a foot infection which is taking way too much time to heal. He is to turn 89 in May and, along with my fabulous company, I bring him breakfast every morning.

Here is what I would have liked to write about this experience:

"Days went by, but the glow of affection was rare. However, in the heart of this silent storm, a ray of light emerged. The family, aware of his isolation, decided to change the game. They gathered around Barkapapa, sharing precious moments and reviving memories that seemed to fade away. Over time, the warmth of family love gradually dispelled the cold that enveloped him. Regular visits, shared smiles, and family stories helped him regain some of his lost joy." 

The bitter truth, unfortunately, lies somewhere else. It resembles more something like: “Days went by, and the glow of affection eventually faded out in the cold of a hospital ward. No one had time to visit an old man who could barely align a few comprehensible words, a smelly old man whose faltering memory seemed to confuse everyone rather than guide them.”

It is heartbreaking to hear relentless comments about this state of things: "li pena fami sa dimoune la? Zot finn abandonn li koumsa? Mett ene linze prop lor li do, baigne li, li fer so déplaisant ene nuit, li pisse lor drap, senti loderr, li fer tapaz..." This is what is thrown at me every now and then. The most painful part is that these are not cruel comments; they are mere facts.  

Barkapapa has only one daughter, Lata. She is undergoing chemo these days and is understandably not in a state of tending to her father. 

Grand children? Two, trying to navigate their way through.

Poupou Anita, my uncle's baby sister, comes every once in a while every time her health permits. As for me, I try to go everyday. 

In Poupou Anita's own words, Barkapapa had always been the cornerstone of the family, a quiet strength that watched over his own during troubled times. Shy and introverted, he preferred actions over words, demonstrating his love and protection through concrete deeds. This translated into him quitting school at 18 and working hard to buy a wooden house (with the support from an uncle) for his mother and his 6 younger siblings after my paternal grand father had deserted the household. Later, when he moved to Quatre-Bornes, he had an extension built to his very own house just so to welcome back his daughter and grand kids following a divorce which went nuclear bad. Lata was at the lowest of all lows and was psychologically affected but her father was there to provide her with shelter and safety. 

At one time, Barkapapa even opened the doors of his home to Poupou Anita & Poupa Gyan for more than a year after their wedding.The couple needed to save money to have their own place so in the meantime they stayed at his without having to worry about rental.

It saddens me to see my uncle's eyes, imbued with wisdom and melancholy, bearing the weight of the years. Fate has led him to a moment of vulnerability, where loneliness seems to have taken hold today. He is far from his home, his sanctuary and even when he will be back, there's still no guarantee that he will have the proper kind of care he requires. He fell twice at the hospital and one night his arms and leg had even been tied to the bed to prevent him from hurting himself further. Grand frère's slender frame and imposing height, once symbols of his enduring presence, now stand as silent witnesses to the toll of advanced age etched upon his face. 

This is a strange but fascinating experience for me too. In the beginning he wouldn't let me touch him or even come close to him. Now he says " to vine gett mwa demain, mo pa senti mwa bien si mo pa trouve twa." He gently taps the space next to him on his bed and asks me to sit even if he does not utter a single word. He allows me to massage his arms and legs with oil, he eats everything that I bring.

This could be a disheartening routine for me but I nevertheless choose to consider it a blessing to be in his presence and to be able to introspect about what life could have in store for us in our last strides. It is important for me to witness this now, to see clearly with my own eyes the reality that the final chapters of many stories unfold not as a tale of reunions and affection but rather as a melancholic ballad of solitude on a filthy bed, in a cold hospital ward, surrounded by complete strangers instead of family members.You hold on to that thin beam of hope that one of your relatives will eventually bring you back home and look after you while at the same time your gut feeling tells you the exact opposite.

As depressing as this depiction might be, it is an actual reality. The only motivation it brings in me is that of enhancing my practice of purification and detachment so that whatever comes my way, I am better prepared to face it. 

The small and the simple

I woke up to a very early morning today. At Buddha’s feet, a candle flickered as dawn broke and I sought for that quiet space within myself to dedicate prayers for the well-being of humanity.

I later set out to work beneath a canopy of gentle rain with a mantra echoing in my head all the way. I took the metro to reach the office earlier than usual, headed to the ground floor café and as I was waiting for my colleague to pick me up for a workshop, I gazed outside the window at the gray and its hues. How beautiful the morning looked in the rain. In that tranquil moment everything became a soothing refrain.

A message from Mike at mid-morning warmed my heart. I rejoiced at the idea that my friend from the other side of the world was thinking about me. 

Our workshop flowed seamlessly, I shared lunch with my colleague Girija who radiates positivity and always has a kind word for everyone she meets. I also spared a few minutes to inquire about my uncle’s health.

Back home I checked on mum and tended to some duties before continuing my work. Antish called to tease me and make me laugh (a cherished ritual that brightens each day), I watched an episode of Blue Bloods and I even made time to read a little after dinner.

Tonight as I sit and write these few words, I recap this ordinary day and cherish the fact that occurrences which may appear insignificant to others are actually the very things which make my existence meaningful. "It's in the small and the mundane that life’s subtle fragrance truly lies". What's there not to agree in that statement? 

The thread of simple experiences which shapes the narrative of anyone’s life and defines its richness should never be minimized. There is no such thing as a ‘boring’ routine, there is only the opportunity (should we choose to look closer) of finding joy in every hour of the day. It is up to us to either carpe diem it or not.

Today:

- I lit a candle and prayed

- I enjoyed walking in the rain 

- I took great pleasure gazing at a new dawn through a window pane

- I received a bonjour from a friend

- I took pleasure at work

- I had a happy lunch

- I cared for somebody’s health

- I helped out at home

- I laughed

- I took a moment to relax 

- I found home cooked food into my plate

Tonight, four walls and a roof shelter me, they protect from any kind of harm, like a sanctuary that wards off all worldly worries. They allow me the space to nurture a calm mind, to introspect, to reflect and write about my day. 

Tonight, like every single night, with gratitude I embrace the small and the simple that constitutes the  essence of my life and I acknowledge that the truest blessing lies in the peace that one cultivates both within the mind and within the heart 🙏🏻

Sa ki ti ene bon dimunn sa

- "Sa ki ti ene bon dimunn sa". Countless times must I  have heard this statement about my father from people of different age, color, community and social background. Yes, hundreds of times. I usually nod and politely say thank you as there is nothing much to add.

These very words somehow resonated differently in me last Sunday after lunch at the centre. Circumstances brought me to Anesh's place and I was introduced to his father-in-law who, in the early 70s, was my father's younger fellow colleague at Aryan Vedic Primary School.

- 'Sa ki ti ene bon dimunn sa. Ou konner, li ti enkuraz mwa asster ene diksyoner et mo enkorr ena li. Vini mo montrer ou diksyonner ou papa ti fer moi asster la, line bien aide mwa ameliorr mo vokabilerr.

Kuma ou papa la nepli trouver sa, sé ene lott kategori meme sa, zott aide ameliorr la vie dimunn' did he share in a very emotional tone.

Was I inclined to being particularly sensitive or did I choose to pay genuine attention to that depiction by someone who himself seemed to carry a great sense of knowledge and wisdom about him, a man who appeared to be same age my father was when he passed away? Maybe it was a bit of both.

As we drove back home, I shared thoughts with Antish about the impact my dad had left on people to the extent of still being remembered 15 years after his passing. Wherever I go, people talk about him fondly and I also observed that anytime someone, be it a relative or a complete stranger, referred to him, it was never done in a haste; people take their time, choose their words carefully and come up with a whole paragraph along with the mention of an action of his which has remained engraved in their mind. As I reflect on the years gone by, it is evident that his influence is not confined to our shared memories; it lives on in the stories people tell and the lessons they've learned from him. As an individual, my father was not specially warm or expansive, on the contrary he was actually quite reserved and shy but there are many instances where his principles guided difficult decisions leaving an enduring impression on people and earning him respect and admiration, something I find humbling, almost moving. 

And then, there was his pursuit of knowledge, through experiences and conversations but mainly through books. Until he died, he was always holding a book in his hand, even when dementia hit him in the end and he could not read anymore. A firm believer in the power of transformative knowledge all his life, I think the touch and the smell of the pages of a book reassured him in his last days; like old and loyal friends, they were precious companions who would peacefully accompany him to the other side. At the dawn of your life books are not about intellectual stimulation anymore as they are about emotional resonance, they are just memorabilia, a reminder of who you once were. 

My father will also be remembered as one of the greatest admirers ever of V.S. Naipaul. He collected all his works and would sometimes buy 2 or 3 copies of Miguel Street or The Overcrowded Barracoon which he would tirelessly and religiously read over and over again.

I, myself, have tried to read Naipaul, just to fool myself that I share something in common with my old man but the truth is, I am not a fan of this author at all and I gave up very fast. Neither do I like his stories nor the depiction of any of his characters which I consider a gallery of dark, resentful, frustrated personae. As wonderful and elegant Naipaul's prose is, the characters in his books often tend to be a bunch of tormented souls hating a life they are trying to make sense of. Not my thing, honestly. That Mr. Biswas, how he got me on my nerves at 16. Portrayed as a flawed and difficult character with imperfections, I can’t describe how irritating he was, always brooding and cultivating dark thoughts.

If I had to find common ground with my father, I would say that I have inherited his soft nature, compassionate heart and incredibly bad business acumen. He would help anyone who would come knock at his door and I have a vivid souvenir of how he supported Devi, our nanny, during a painful period of her life. 

He used to collaborate in the local newspaper L'Express where he had a column. Some of his pro-maraz articles even sparked controversies which would embarrass me as a teenager. As an adult I have a better reading of what he tried to say and has long made peace with that. Unlike him, I have no desire to be published and no wish for followers but I wouldn't mind people saying 'Sa ki ti enn bon dimunn sa' about me. Not out of ego, because I will be long gone and unable to hear these words. The reason I wish people would speak good of me is so that it can reflect on the kids and be a door opener to them at some point. When people talk good about my father or my mother, which is often the case, it naturally enhances my self-worth and eases the connection with these people. The mere fact of hearing someone say, " sa missié S. so garsson  sa, guett li bien donne li tou seki li bizin" is a powerful enhancer and I feel very grateful towards my parents for putting me in such a privileged position. So I am thinking that maybe if I can be kind and helpful to others, this could possibly have the same ripple effect on my nephews and nieces in the future. Who knows? This could help them build stronger relationships as they navigate the complex web of human connections. 

WOTY 2023

So, Ladies and Gentlemen, here we are again, gathered in the shared anticipation of uncovering what, like cold-pressed oil, came out of 2023.

Drums rolling...

And the word of the year is: "Realization"

I had a handful of them. Call it as you want; understanding a fact, recognizing a truth, gaining insight, thing is... a shift of perspective occurred in me again 

                                                                                  and again 

                                                                                                and again 

                                                                                                              and again.

Bridging Generations

Where does my role as an uncle begin? Where does it end? That's the question that has been lingering in my mind lately.

As expected, handling Jay is no easy task. He is a total maze both for himself and for us. That said, Mike is totally right: "When Jay fails in achieving an objective he has set for himself, this is where the trouble begins". It's generally hard to deal with failure or rejection but in his case, leaving Mauritius as the golden child to end up in an oppressive environment where failure to shine within set parameters automatically stigmatizes you as a nobody has damaged him beyond limits. And the struggle here is to deal both with him and his dad altogether and that also in the most cautious way possible while at the same time keeping an eye on Sujata's stability. Now, tell me about juggling...

As time progresses, so do the dynamics of family relationships and we suddenly need to engage in 'important' conversations to connect on deeper levels. Our lives have taken divergent paths over the years and it's not always easy to relate to people who are constantly exposed to foreign environments and cultures like my brother's family is and those who are starting to navigate into the complexities of adulthood like Sid and Mayuri. Each and everyone of them has to pursue personal aspirations and there is gap which naturally arises in this process. 

Yesterday I had a long conversation with Sid who recently shared with me that according to a tarot reader spirituality is what is missing in his life. He is in search of more serenity and is yet to find it. As the conversation unfolded, it was not a one-way street, I shared with him my perception of spirituality and also tried to understand why he categorizes everything into channels: body, mind and soul.
His life is like this perfectly-written script where there should be no space left for imperfections or ugliness. I know how to take care of my body and nourish my mind so now, I need to know how to deal with the soul part. Well, it's all very nice trying to control all the parameters in your life Sid but what if you simply allowed life to happen to you instead? That was the only plausible answer I could come up with. Maybe that's where spirituality will emerge and everything will start making sense to him. I personally think Sid still lacks maturity and is stuck in that phase where he feels superior to others. This feeling of superiority in him manifests in subtle condescension. He cannot be bothered exchanging with us when we gather as the level is too 'lowly' and the conversations not interesting enough. What prevents him from instigating a conversation though? He might be surprised and even learn a few things. We may not have the answer to everything but for sure we have something called experience which plays in our favor and should not be disregarded. The desire to maintain his status can drive him to undermine and belittle those he perceives as inferior perpetuating a toxic cycle of hierarchical thinking. Not everyone has the same level of intellect but that does not mean some people are inferior to others. I am afraid that if Sid does not react on that, in time this may cause an erosion in meaningful relationships in his life and he might end up very alone and lonely. For anything in the world, I pray his fate does not throw him in that same space of darkness as his dad's.

I don't why but I feel a bit outdated, obsolete these days. I feel I belong to another generation where my perspectives appear to lag behind the requirements of the current one. There are things I can do, things I cannot do and others I simply don't want to do. There's no self-doubt or insecurity inhabiting me as such, just this vague feeling of inadequacy and not being able to understand why people are so self-centered. Is selfishness a response to feelings of insecurity and fear? Instead of us trying to embrace adaptability I just wish the younger generation could be more attentive to what is happening to people in their immediate environment and understand the implications of being kinder, more caring and empathetic instead of whirl winding into their own paranoia. 

The unusual month of December

This month of December is proving to be quite unique and unusual. I had planned for it to be exciting and fun and instead here I am baby-sitting my teenage niece Sujata.

It all started when my brother got a call from France that my nephew is unwell and he had to depart unexpectedly to attend to him leaving me as the designated guardian for the duration of his trip. At first, I was a bit apprehensive given that teenagers can be quite independent and sometimes challenging but I must say that we hit it out right from Day 1. As the days have unfolded, I have discovered that spending time with Sujata is the most delightful experience ever. We have conversations about her interests, school, and she shared with me her awesome results of the semester where she performed really well. I've introduced her to her first ever Bollywood movie, we went to watch Wonka and everyday we play with Matou, her two months old kitten, I help her prepare her breakfast every morning and  more importantly I've come to realize that I've found myself embracing the role of not just a guardian but also a friend. This unexpected arrangement is fostering a special bond between us making this December a unique and memorable one.

We have to arrange for Jay's homecoming now. It's a challenging time for both him and his family and also for us at large as we navigate through this distressing situation. Jay, usually all smiling and composed has been grappling with overwhelming emotions and stressors that led to his breakdown. We should be able to provide him with the support and understanding that he needs during his recovery and in the process try not to lose our own bearings. It is going to be a sobering experience as this is a path we have never trodden on before. There are quite a few antecedents of people suffering from depression in my family; my dadi, my dad and I believe to a certain degree my aunt but never to the point of being sedated and admitted into a psychiatric ward. Too much pressure, he confessed to Mike who went to visit him. How can a 19-year old undergo that much pressure as to become broken? That's all very strange to me. Where did the pressure come from? His family? Himself? Identifying the root cause of it all could be the starting point towards a quicker recovery, a beaming light allowing him to emerge stronger from this difficult period in his life. Maybe we should all educate ourselves better about mental health to better support him.

Over the years, I have assumed the responsibility of providing as much emotional support as possible to every member of my family and strived to create a stable and nurturing environment. It has been a journey filled with challenges and while my siblings may have their own families to support them, I've found purpose and fulfillment in being there for my immediate family. Though my path has been different, the commitment to their well-being has been unwavering, even at the expense of my own relationships sometimes . Like most of my friends, I could have left to have a life of my own abroad far from inquisitive eyes and embarrassing questions but I chose to stay and be happy here and as I look back today, I am relieved to have succeeded pretty well in that aspect. I don't and will probably never have as much money or assets as the rest of the family but I've managed to secure both a joyful and peaceful life for myself whilst preserving the dignity of my parents, taking care of them, providing for them, loving them. I even found love after decades of sentimental chaos, one which has come in the form of someone who accepts, loves and understands me, someone who pacifies my heart when I am angry and  provides me with nuggets of wisdom when I am lost, someone who tells me don't worry, I've got your back when I struggle a little, someone whom I fight with only when it comes to which radio channel to swap to when we are in the car.

This December has brought an unexpected twist in our lives adding a touch of unpredictability to the month. The hustle and bustle of preparations intertwine with the peculiar events that seem to unfold with Lao Lao's deteriorating health and Wen Rong's marathon strain and fatigue. In the midst of holiday rituals, anything can happen this year as each day holds the potential for a delightful surprise as well as sad news. But then again, we’ll face anything that comes our way and get through it, just like resilient and united families usually do.