If only they were here

I can't sleep. I can't sleep because there is a fog that settles over me often. It is not a cold, dense uncomfortable fog. It is more a longing, a pain in my heart for what or should i rather say who is there no more. It is a fog that envelopes me and transports me back in time, to a time when my father and Foi stilled walked this Earthly plane. And it is through this remembrance, this longing, that i wonder how different life would have been if Shabd and Simran would have met them. How blessed they would have been to have met my father and Foi.

I don't even need to close my eyes to see the twinkly in my father's eyes and the special way he would have smiled at his grandchildren. My father had a very special way of saying your name; his voice echoed your truth, as if his spirit danced a celestial dance with yours. Hearing him say your name was the most ambrosial melody you could ever imagine hearing him say to you.

My father was what one might call a "Baby Whisperer" - he had a way with children. Children were drawn to him, like the Pied Piper of Hamlet, his melodious voice, always a brim with love, moved children to aim higher, achieve more, keep reaching for the stars. Children gathered at his feet, sat on his lap and took comfort from his...his...his - oh what's the word - his himness! None embodied the words "I am that i am" more graciously then my father. I think it was because he understood children; their pure love, their sacredness, their frailty.

I am often saddened that my child will not meet my father. That he won't know of my father's magical love, of his generosity of spirit and of his immense strength. My child won't learn to draw cars from my father, neither will he learn to give change from the till from him. They will not go for long hikes in the mountains together, or munch on oven-baked samoosa's in the kitchen. They will not go for long drives together, and my father won't teach Shabd how to swim like a fish.

Yet, in many ways, i see my father in Shabd. It's in his smile and cleft chin! It's in the way Shabd wraps his arms around my neck to hug me. It's in his drawings and paintings and love for cars and speed. It's in his generosity of spirit.

I see it when Shabd consciously chooses not to hurt someone else's feelings. And in his love for music. In his curiosity that has no bounds. In his intelligence and love for the written word. I see it in those quiet moments, when Shabd is lost in thought. Mostly, i see it in how Shabd talks of Naru dada as if he were still alive.

In the perfect world, Foi would have been alive and proudly showing off to Jasu foi that her great grandchildren names, Shabd and Simran represent two fundamental elements of her spiritual path. She would also have shopped up a storm ensuring they both her great grandchildren had the very best clothing India and South Africa could offer. And my sister and i would regularly be receiving courier parcels full of Gujerati books, to teach to the children of course!

Like my father, her holidays would have been divided equally between Simran and Shabd - the two representing holidays in either Palma or Pretoria. And while in our homes, she would have daily cooked up a veritable storm of gathia, sakar para, puri, thepla, dokra and a whole assortment of Gujerati delicacies!

My father would have in all likelihood taken the kids swimming and hiking. The rest of their time together would have been divided between reading, story-telling (he was a great story teller) and an assortment of artistic adventures!

Like my father, Foi's presence in my sister and my homes would have brought to our hearts peace and a certainty that there is goodness and wholeness and pureness of love in this world.

Bang, Bang, Strum!

Our home is alive to the sound of music day and night. Shabd and Akash are always tapping or humming or singing or playing some instrument, where the instrument is sometimes the counter top! I can imagine that to the uninitiated, our home must be a very noisy place to be.

Akash and I have infinite patience when it comes to creative expression, evidenced I might add, by the crayoned walls! So if you want to bang out a tune on the djembe, or try out a little ditty on the guitar or sing out a song at the top of your voice, our home is where you have all the freedom to do it!

You can sing the same line or song over and over and over and over again, and be guaranteed no-one will yell at you to stop. You can add sound effects to just about ANY activity and no-one will yell at you to stop. As long as you're exploring your creative repertoire, it's all good! I'm not sure that patience is extended to other areas of parenting but with music and art, we've gotten that right (or so believe).

Shabd is blessed to have been born into a musical family. At the age of 2 and a half, he already has his own "Shabd sized" djembe, guitar, keyboard and harmonica. We encourage him to experiment through play and positive reinforcement. We support with plenty of "Bravo Shabby!" and lots of applauding! And we hope to send him for music classes when he's old enough to be accepted.

It should be noted however that while I have great hopes, dreams and aspirations for his musical career, I've been informed that I'm unfortunately no good at music.



I often sing along to the radio while driving and just as I'm hitting those crucial high notes, "And Iii- eee - iiii....will always love you, ooohhh oohhh, will always..." a little voice pipes up from the backseat, "What are you doing Mummy?" "I'm singing Shabby" say I ever so sweetly. "No. Don't. Pappa is better." he says in his most sternest voice and face. "Yeah I know," say I, "but I like singing too." To which I get a very curt reply, "No Mummy, Pappa is the strongest. Okay." And just so I clarify for you here, by "okay" what Shabd really means is - end of discussion okay.

Obviously I'm crestfallen at having been told that I don't stand a chance next to Pappa. But I know I'm a good dancer, so as soon as we return home I switch on the radio and invite Shabd to dance along with me. I'm unfortunately met with an incredulous "What are you doing Mummy?" to which I reply "I'm dancing Shabby. Come join me. Come on." "No," he firmly replies, "I don't like dancing." and saunters off to play with his cars leaving me alone on the dance floor!

If I cast my mind back, in the 2 and half years Shabd has walked this Earth, he has never enjoyed dancing. So in all fairness, after having dismally failed as being a credible singer, maybe proving my prowess as a dancer was doomed to be met with disapproval, right?

Surely he's too young to be embarrassed by me I think to myself as Shabd hums a U2 song while playing with his cars. Righ?!

On Loss

We recently lost a dear friend. He was kind and gently and loving. He spoke with care and had an uncanny way of looking straight into your heart before giving you a quick reassuring hug. He kept a clan of University friends connected to each other - he was the golden thread in the fabric of their friendship. He was level-headed, an adventurer, a conversationalist and in my humble opinion, a family man. It is a shock to wake up and realise he is no more. That all we have left are memories.

Shabd met him once. He invited us over to his place for a braai and we had a wonderful evening. Shabd played soccer with him. He followed him around the house and snuggled up to him later in the evening. Shabd will grow up to be a man one day, and i'm sure the memory of that day with Chacha Vinesh will fade into the mist of life experiences.

And i find myself once again wishing my son could meet those that have passed on. Those beautiful souls who illuminated the world while they walked it, like gentle giants caring for humanity. I know not the tortures of their souls, only the joys of their existence in my world and the gaping hole they left behind. And my heart aches.

I wonder what i as a mother can do to ensure my son grows up to be that kind of light. The kind of man that is a "maha atma" - a great soul. The kind of man that leaves a legacy behind. The kind of man that can look into your heart, feel your pain and sorrows and joys and let you know it's going to be all right, just with the squeeze of their hand on your shoulder or in the way they say "how are you?".

I would love for my son to learn these things from seeing it being lived, but i cannot bring back those that have departed this earthly plane hence i will grudgingly settle with telling him stories of great men I've known and their great deeds.

Their light remains in our words and deed and memories and stories...Akash will keep the memory of his friend alive by telling Shabd stories of chacha Vinesh.

Storms are Stormy!

Oh My Golly Gosh! Time has just flown by! I meant to write...but it got so busy...How many times have you heard that line before! And the award for the category "Originality in making excuses" does not go to this blogger!

So i'm going to take a very humble very low, forehead to the ground bow and apologise; I'm sorry.

Shabd has grown in leaps and bounds these past few months. When we went to South Africa in August 2014, he was stringing some words together and we guessed what he was saying like "Mummy hungry" which meant "mummy, I'm hungry".

He returned from SA early November, after weeks of being asked to "please use your words Shabd", being very articulate in both stringing words together into a coherent sentence and articulating his words wonderfully. He also returned with quite a heavy South African accent i'm told!

Our time in South Africa was a stormy time and we were blessed to have Dips and Desh and Mummy and Kamal and Trishul and Uresh and Tascia to help us brave the storms. There were many tantrums, by us both, and many hugs and "I'm sorry's", by us both and we both learnt an important lesson - sometimes you have to ride the storm even if your head gets pushed under the water, keep riding the storm"

I'm often haunted by self-reproach where i wish i had behaved differently; been calmer, been more patient, more understanding, more more more. But I've come to accept that I'm human and like my sister said to me during a very stormy day, "You're a wonderful mother Varsh! Who else would do what you've done with the same success. Just look at Shabd, he's an absolute joy! That's because of you!" - sisters are the flowers of life aren't they! And to this blogger, my rainbow in the storm!

Two going on Twelve

Nounou Lysie mentioned something to me earlier this week. She said that since Shabd came back from South Africa, he has come back a little boy and was not a baby anymore.

He says "Please" and "Thank You". He expresses himself using full sentences. He shares his opinion; "Hmm, I think ..." And is quite fond of the word "No!". "No! I'm still busy. No! I don't want to bath. No! I don't want to sleep."

Just a few minutes ago, i said to Papa that when he takes Shabd to bed, he should switch off the lights so that Shabd would go to sleep. Shabd at that time was in another room, busy drawing on his iPad. Not missing a beat, he piped up, "Don't switch off the light. Leave it on Papa."

How does he do that? His little-little hands are busy, his little-little mind is busy, his little-little eyes are focused on the screen, how does he still follow a conversation being held in another room?! This child just boggles me!

Any-who...i digress. I imagine, following cues from Shabd, that he probably feels like an awkward teenager. Not quite adult and yet not quite child. Only, at two and a half, it's more not quite big boy and yet not quite baby either.

Barely 6 days old and basking in the love.

2 and a half years old and trying to get the tractor to "Move!"

Our behaviour towards Shabd probably doesn't help the situation either as Papa and I constantly fluctuate between cooing over our "little baby" and proudly proclaiming how proud we are of our "big boy".

Nounou and the grandparents are even worse! I often see a look of puzzlement which slowly turns into a smile of wonder when they interact with Shabd.

I can just imagine the internal dialogue going on in their minds. "I must ensure i peel and chop each grape for him. He's a baby and could easily choke. Did he just read out the number plate on that car? Waow!" they whisper, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear!

I think that in the first year of a child's development, there is great amazement as physical milestones are reached. Babies master holding their heads up, rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking, running and jumping!

But in the second year, the child's development seems to be more mentally and emotionally focused. Words are strung together more and more coherently, opinions are expressed and feelings are declared.

I've found more and more this year that I've encouraged Shabd to "USE YOUR WORDS!" Of late, we've been exploring feeling frustrated.

Shabd often feels frustrated as he tries to independently navigate our adult world, with high counter tops and even harder to reach places. When he cannot get what he wants independently, no matter how much effort and imagination he puts into reaching his goal, his frustration levels peak and like a volcano he explodes in a spectacular scene of brimstone and fire. As you can imagine, the pitch of the screaming is ear-splitting and will have you running for the hills.

But not this Super Mum! I'm made of tougher stuff!

Super Mum: Shabd, you're a big boy now. You need to USE YOUR WORDS. If you've tried and it isn't working, it's okay. It's okay to feel frustrated and it's okay to ask for help. Okay?

Shabd: Nods slightly and mutters an indiscriminate Hmm.

Super Mum: The next time you're feeling frustrated, i want you to try one more time. If it still doesn't work you must say, "Mummy/Papa can you help me please. I'm feeling frustrated!" (accompanying hand action also shown). Do you understand mummy?

Shabd: Nods slightly and mutters an indiscriminate Hmm. A small smile can be seen lurking around the corners of his mouth. 

Thus greatly enthused by this, Super Mum continues.

Super Mum: Shabd, my big boy, can you please tell me what you're going to say the next time you're feeling frustrated?

Shabd: Mummy/Papa can you help me please. I'm feeling fruss-tray-tid! (accompanying hand action proudly done).

Three days after our little talk, Shabd carried a small stool from the bathroom to his bedroom and tried to reach a box of sweets lying on his dresser. Alas, try as he might, the stool was too small and/or he is too short to reach the sweets. I observe this from the peace and tranquility of the TV room and prepare myself mentally for an ear splitting scream.

Instead, i hear the pitter patter of his little feet as he runs to me saying, "Mummy can you help me please. I'm feeling  fruss-tray-tid!!"

"With the greatest of pleasure I can my big boy. With the greatest of pleasure!" I say.

Our first few days in South Africa, the blu52 way!

Well, as most of you know, I went to South Africa to receive Radiation. Looking back at my blogs, I realized that the blog posts have slowly been dwindling in numbers these past few months, I do apologise for that and for spamming you with information about me. After all, Mom Inc. was created to capture the experience of being a mom to Shabd - the joys, the sorrows, the laughter and the tears.

So...let me tell you a little about going home. I left Mauritius with a heavy heart and yet a spring in my steps. I was leaving my rock behind and going towards the open arms of my family. Talk about mixed feelings! Shabd, being intuitive as always, picked up on this inner confusion and acted up appropriately. There were many a fine screaming contest between the two, both trying desperately to gain control of the other, both testing boundaries, both sure and yet unsure about what to make of our new circumstances.

Dipika and Desh could not have created a more stable home environment for Shabd and I. Living with them forced me to look at how I was living my life, it opened up new frames of reference for me and allowed me to learn many valuable lessons. I'd like to save those for another post.

Did you know that when a pool is green and murky, but you really want it to be clear and blue, there is something called a "Shock treatment" that's given to it, so that it becomes sparkling and blue. Shabd got one of those, the blu52 way!

On our first weekend in SA, Dipika and Desh arranged a huge family get-together and thus the Hansjee's descended on Waterkloof armed with tons of food! Oh the pure JOY! Laughter and smiles and the wonderful aroma's of dokra and bhajia's and masala tea wafted to my nose, making me smile from ear to ear! How I wished my father could have been part of that homecoming party!

The Hansjee's - this Shabd is part of your family. A small shock treatment!

The girls (his cousins) were on hand to welcome him, and Shabd on his part seemed to enjoy meeting so many new people. He especially enjoyed reconnecting with Ashna masi and Sheetal masi, oh how beautiful these South African women are!

 

How I wish we could have met each family again. How I wish Shabd could have met and played with Raviva, Ela & Sejal again. Some other time perhaps.

 

Shabd joined a lovely school called "Kids on the Go" - oh boy! Here came another shock treatment!

 

Bonne Voyage Shabby...we'll miss Petrus & you!

Shabd absolutely adored Miss Sherry and even tried to convince her that the two of them could drive to Mauritius together. She really was an angel sent to keep Shabd safe and secure tightly enveloped in her wings.

 

"Let's go Miss Sherry." "Where to Shabby?" "On your car to Mau-reee-shis."

 

Maybe it's children's little bodies, their sweet hummingbird voices or having brought them into this world and nurtured them from when they weighed nothing more than a fledgling that we as parents feel that a child is fragile. Yes, by all means, "Handle with care" - they are after all a gift from God. But we too often don't realize that children are tough little cookies. Shabd especially so.

 

We had our moments, and for most of our time there, I felt like the worst mum alive, but that was my demon in my closet that I had to deal with (more about that in yet another post)!

 

Shabd astounded me. He adapted to living with Dipika masi and Desh masa, excitedly running to the door as soon as he heard the garage door opening screaming "Desh masa is home! Dipika masi is home! Yay!"

 

Heritage Day celebrations by the pool side

And even though he didn't like being separated from me for half a day when he went to school. Shabd put on a brave face and went to school like a big boy, informing me daily, as he danced a little jig, that he had cried for me none-the-less.

 

Shabd learnt to speak in full sentences and his repository of words doubled and quadrupled with each passing week. He learnt to jump on the big trampoline and clamber up the big jungle gym without a hint of fear or hesitation.

 

Shabd leaped forward towards the unknown, he embraced each day not knowing what new adventure awaited him. This little boy showed me day in and day out how I should live my life. If only I had recognized his lesson as he gave them to me, instead of now, in quiet retrospection.

 

 

It is said that children are magical, they know how to live life fully. As we grow older,  we lose this ability to see the magic and spend the rest of our lives trying to capture that magic again by reminding ourselves to be more child-like!

 

Ah! to live with a Master and not learn the daily lessons fast enough, this is a lesson in itself don't you think?

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grandchild Experience, Check! by Guest Blogger Kusum Ba

Sometimes someone comes into your life and just ..... Shabd came to South Africa. I was glad but not expecting much as he would not be spending all his time at my home. I had been warned by my fellow "recent grannies" that you have a strong bond with your grandchild. Being me, i was a bit sceptical. I thought I will have the experience of being with him and in a few weeks time I wil tick off my list,"grandchild experience." I should have paid more attention to my fellow grannies; they are my friends after all- sharing our happy experiences is part of our conversations.

All i could think about is Shabd and his welfare. Is he healthy and when he's sick then it's like why so much medication Varsha? Is it necessary medication? And when he joined the creche I wanted to know how he's coping and he's so young to go to school. Where do all these feelings come from?

Once you reared your children, its suppose to be over with children!! That was Kusum's thinking!! Again God you baffle me. I churned so much water thinking will my children be able to cope through this big bad wolf of a world? Did i raise them well enough to cope, especially after the demise of their dad? During those jungle moments I kept asking God why did he put all these "Mother Instincts" in me?

Dear God, this time I'm not going to ask you "why are you creating those "Grandmother Instincts"? I have grown wiser now.

It takes time to know the nature and personality of a child.The more time I spent with him the more I wanted to be with him. No amount of pain in my joints or tiredness of my feet could stop me from staying away from him. My wise granny friends had advised me to just enjoy the experience, "no comments no criticisms no words, just concentrate on the experience."

My favourite favourite favourite time was story time. He always brought the same two books to be read to him.Through the side of my eyes I would watch his reactions to the story, the pictures, to my tone, inflection, speed and expression. His intense concentration actually made me jealous. I wish i could have at least 10% of that concentration during my mediatition!! Well with that concentration you would surely hear him repeating the story often during the following few days, and you guessed it, with the same speed intonation and expression!!

And now I'm back to my favourite past time - daydreaming of Shabd, his next visit, him as a teenager asking his Trishul mama and Kamal mama to book his ticket toSouth Africa and to come and fetch him at the airport and to take him to his Ba and him surprising me by coming and hugging me unexpectedly as he told his mamas not to tell me of his arrival and him insisting to visit Dipika masi and Desh masa IMMEDIATELY ... and... and...