Serene Sundays

Well, it’s taken us the better part of two years to finally settle into a routine for the weekend. Akash and I are rebels by nature and would rather be doused in honey and left on an ant hill then conform to a routine. Routines, bah! That’s what people do when they are old and boring!

Now, our child on the other hand, is a stickler for routine thanks to his ever efficient, meticulous, second watching Nounou. Shabd’s week Monday to Friday from 07h30 to 18h00 run as efficiently as a Swiss clock, never missing a second. His weekends diverge significantly from the well-oiled machinery known as the ‘work week’ due to his parent’s aforementioned repulsion for routines. Anything can happen during the weekend, there really is no plan, the objective being to get through it not feeling as exhausted as we do going into it and most importantly, to have some fun.

That was until one day Papa decided that it was absolutely imperative that the rock sand knoll had to be moved to a place which would not create such discomfort to the eye. Note the rock sand was conveniently located slam bang at the entrance to our house! What a mission this would turn out to be as bucketful after bucketful of rock sand was collected and moved. And so, clouded as an inconspicuous little chore, routine stepped into our weekends.

Shabd supervising the moving of potted plants

Sundays usually start of early, with a rushed simple breakfast of tea and fresh buttered bread rolls from the local bakery. We want to spend as much time outside before the sun becomes too intense and shoo’s are back indoors. We plough away at the garden, one section at a time, one weed at a time while Shabd the ever willing and obliging assistant hops skips and jumps all around, supervising the works.

 

Shabd helps shovel the rock sand into his little red bucket and dutifully empties it into his little yellow wheelbarrow. He then proceeds to walk his wheelbarrow to the dump site at far end of the property, all the while imitating Papa. If he feels that Papa is slacking, he’ll kindly lay down his tools, and take up Papa’s tools or help walk alongside the wheelbarrow, holding onto one handle for safety.



Discussing the rock sand issue with Papa

Shabd also helps us with digging up and transplanting plants as we try to tame our wild garden. Again, he comes prepared with his little yellow tiger stool and green spade, merrily loosening the tight earth that hug the palms and other assortment of plants, singing little ditties as he works at sculpting our garden.

The palm Shabd planted

 

 

 

 

 

Shabd has no qualms about lifting an errant snail off a leaf yet he dislikes his hands becoming dirty, to which he urgently calls out for a ‘wipe.’ How he manages all his tasks with his hands remaining soil free is still a mystery to me, but I guess we all have our quirks so how can I begrudge him his.

Lunch time is a family affair, sometimes had al fresco. Tummies thus full and exhausted by the mornings arduous gardening and cleaning, we all retire to bed for a story before we all fall fast asleep.

Snail removed, wipe please!

The late afternoon finds me in the kitchen baking cake for tea as sounds from outside waft in through the window. They are sounds of love as I hear Shabd saying, ‘help Papa’ and Papa automatically responds, ‘Thank you Shabd for washing the car.’ Shabd is a very helpful child and manages to thoroughly wet himself and the surrounding arbour while washing the vehicles. Oh well, wet clothes can be changed, the lessons and the memories will remain.

Help Papa!

 

This little routine has brought us comfort, predictability and surprisingly enough, fun. While our Sundays might sound terribly boring, at this point in our lives, with what feels like the whole world falling apart, it’s exactly what his mummy needs.

 

Help Papa!

I know that one day I will sit under our lapa, with a clear undisturbed view of our flourishing garden and smile at the remembrance of our serene Sundays, when my little boy planted the palm tree whose leaves now seem to almost touch the sky.

Time for a ride!

Lessons on being a dream

I often understand how Frankenstein’s monster felt about his mutilated body, so much of me has been taken, oh what a price I've paid for these lessons I’m bound to learn. Yet, my inner indefatigable fighter rallies to the rescue and demands that I wear my scars with pride. I was created from a dream my father had; of a perfect being; a fragment of the Lord. What right then do I have to harbor such dark thoughts when my coming into existence was so yearned for.

My family have been fantastic, both those in Mauritius and those in South Africa. To date, we've been blessed with three batches of visitors from the Motherland…all in support and love for us.

Mummy was the first to come visit and as always, she brought with her peace, tranquility and a quiet inner strength. She cooked and cleaned and then cooked some more (as is expected of all Indian mothers), in between finding the energy to be Shabd’s willing slave.

She listened patiently to my incessant chatter of hopes, dreams and fears. She shared freely of her experiences, she gave liberally of her wisdom and gently nudged me to be more grateful for my blessings, in all forms! She chiseled away at my biases, reminded me of our Path and the Masters lessons. She brought with her an acute awareness of the path I had travelled and told me she was proud of how I was walking this uphill part of my life journey. She has known me my whole life.

Mummy & Me

Next, my brother Uresh, Tascia and the family visited us. Oh how I looked forward to their visit. They have stood steadfast by my side through the years, especially after my father passed, Uresh has been the ever protective father figure in my life. He made quite an impression on Shabd and I often hear Shabd saying, “Come Shabd!” imitating Uresh in the most serious tone he can muster.

Tascia mami, Shabd & Uresh mama!

They reminded me that life goes on, that I should spend my time making happy moments with Shabd and Akash. They showed me that cancer is not who I am, I am more; cancer is a part of what makes me special. Spending time with them, I was happy, I was surrounded my unconditional love. Uresh has known me my whole life, he was my first friend and I have fond memories of us playing hide-and-go-seek in his house. Tascia has known me more than half my life and I have often taken refuge in her arms during trying times.

The Brothers - Yash & Shabd

Big sister Nishka, Shabd & Nounou Lysie

"I think I'm in love with Tanu Mowsi...and Nani rocks! This is the good life" Shabd

The most recent visit has been from my aunts; Damyanti masi, Daksha foi, Patta masi and Sheetal (masi)! Oh the holidays we took with them as kids were nothing short of pure adventure! With them I learnt as a child to be tenacious, fiercely independent and to have a lust for life second to none. My whole life, each in their own special way, have been role models to me. Each their own brand of Hansjee magic; Daksha foi is courage, Damyanti masi is force de vie and Patta masi is comfort.

I would love to write more, but the blog is supposed to be about Shabd, and he’s only  had but a small mention (I’m sure he won’t be too pleased about that!).

Mummy, Shabd & Ba

For Shabd, the visits have been glimpses into another culture different from his own. He’s had the opportunity to learn to automatically translate what he says in Creole to English, for the benefit of his South African family. So licking pool water becomes “Good beer!” with an emphatic nod of the head to Tanu mowsi. He’s become clearer in his demands to his willing slaves; “Come sit, Some water, Go, I want …, Sit on you, Carry you, Outside, Swing, Crayon, Paint, Sorry Shabd, I love you, Ba’s bed, Read book, How are you? Radha Soami or Macaroni (if he’s feeling the joker).”

Patta masi loves rocks and shells too!

He’s been showered with love, hugs, kisses, gifts and willing companions to ramble around with him. He’s learnt by imitating Niska and Yash. He’s shown off his musical talents with the djembe & guitar. And to those lucky many, sung a touching rendition of Roja (passionately hitting the high notes at the appropriate moments!). He’s shown the South Africans how to Sega, hands flung high in the air dancing to the beat in his head - toos saali mamma, nissa la montay!*

"Sharing a cocktail with Daksha foi! Don't tell mummy!" Shabd

Patta masi, Damyanti masi, Shabd & Daksha foi

"I lurve Sheetal masi...she showed me bunny moon & BOINK! Happy You You Damyanti masi, Daksha foi & Seetal masi!" Shabd

"I'm still counting the 7 colours!" Shabd

 

When all is said and done, family is balm to my soul. This is what Frankenstein’s monster did not have. A sister to remind him how beautiful he was despite the scars, brothers that saw past the fears and were proud of you soldering on, aunts and uncles too numerous to mention individually with their own magical love that transcands all distances and a partner with unwavering strength.

I have scars, both inside and out. I am proud of my scars. Every time I look at Shabd, I’m reminded that like him, I too am a fragment of the divine and just as I dreamt of having Shabd, my father dreamed of having me.

"I love my mummy...doesn't she look just like my Naru dada?" Shabd

Too Tired

I’m tired, physically and I suspect emotionally drained. Not a day goes by when gazillion thoughts have not raced through my mind. “Why did this happen to me? Why now? This is so inconvenient! Why is Shabd ill again? Does he eat enough? Will the garden ever get done? Does Akash know how much I appreciate him? Will I get work again? What will change when I come out of this journey, this tunnel? What lessons did I not learn the first time round? Am I blessed or cursed? Are my siblings okay? My mummy doesn’t look too well, should I take her to see my homeopath? How? What was on my list of chores for today?”

I’ve tried filling my day with activity to drown out this constant stream of thoughts. And while I’m exhausted by the end of the day, I am no closer to inner peace and tranquility. I’m beginning to think that inner peace and tranquility is a myth, intangible concepts of those not exposed to the incessant buzzing of my busy mind.   
 

I need to slow down, I tell myself, breathe. Akash suggests Surya Namaskar every morning. I suspect he’s not far from the mark. But slow down how? I don’t achieve much right now! I do chemo…that’s the sum total of my existence at present. That and constant activity that doesn’t garner much nor reaches completion. My decoupage projects lay unfinished on the table. Bare canvases sneer at me. Empty photo frames beg me to be filled with smiles. Project lists and expeditions untaken taunt me.

I’ve always prided myself on being a catalyst, my life purpose being to ignite passion in others. Little did I know that this very characteristic will come haunt me now. So many thoughts, so many just-started projects and no end in sight. Come to think of it, it's like my chemotherapy journey; I’m chugging down this dark tunnel, I know my destination and I know how to steer but knowing this offers little comfort when the light at the end of the tunnel is yet so dim.
 

If I was forced to nay impelled upon to find those moments when my mind was tranquil this week, it would be sitting at the side of the pool chatting with Uresh and Tascia, or sharing a glass of wine with Akash or looking at Shabd playing in the sand, listening to Nishka tell me about her friends at school or seeing Yash cuddle up with his Nani. I don’t realize that I’m at peace during those moments, only that I felt happy.

 

Maybe finding tranquility has more to do with “what” I do as opposed to “how much” I do. Maybe finding tranquility means I need to be more discriminate in choosing what fills my hours. I have not a clue Sherlock! It seems in many ways that the lessons imbibed from my first cancer experience bear little relevance to this leg of the journey.

For now, having emptied my mind into this pensieve, I’ll lay my weary head to rest and aided by Shabd’s rhythmic breathing, slumber soundly with my family with my mind focused on some fantastic advice MM shared with me (see below).

 

 

Great advice don't you think?

"Mummy"

Hands down, I have the most adorable boy in the whole wide world, possibly the most mischievous, but hands down the most adorable boy in the whole world. When Shabd is fast asleep and his little hands instinctively reach out to hold onto me, I know I’m loved by God.

When he wakes up from his afternoon nap and finds no one in his room, the first thing he says is, “Mummy.” While I occasionally feel that the word is a little worse from wear, and I have to admit that I do complain that it’s uttered a tad bit too often, it is when I’m not around Shabd that I miss hearing, “Mummy.”

I dread the day my little boy grows up and loses his innocence, when “MUMMY” is uttered in frustration or anger or even God forbid in annoyance. But time marches on, one can smash all the clocks in one’s home, yet tick tock tick tock, she marches relentlessly on. And in an Eeyore voice i have to admit, "that day will come."

So for now, my cup runeth over in gratitude for the time I spend with Shabd. For the morning whispers while Papa is still asleep, for the painting, baking and peek-a-boo, for the reading of much loved books while Shabd sits on my lap, for the shy smiles, I-know-I shouldn’t-be-doing-this smiles,  and for the sudden fierce hugs Shabd pounces on me every so often.

 

 

The Impromptu Pool Party

It’s been particularly balmy in Mauritius lately. The air hangs heavy, thick with the incessant buzzing of mosquitos. The sun glares down on this tiny island, daring its inhabitants to brave the bright blue ocean.

All this heat causes tempers to flare, especially pint-sized tempers that feel hot and irritable when the temperature rises above 30 degrees Celsius.

At four, o’clock in the afternoon, escape to the beach was not an option, the sun was still too high and neither Papa nor Mummy had the energy to pack for the beach. But an irritable child is a force of nature in itself and cannot be ignored. So the inflatable pool was hauled out to the shade of the backyard and an overjoyed Shabd, clapping his hands in glee, gingerly climbed into the pool.

All the commotion and excitement roused Dada out from his afternoon nap, drawing him outside to enquire as to all this hullabaloo. His smile widening as he catches a glimpse of Shabd reclining in his pool, box of juice in one hand and his penguin boat in the other – this is the sweet life!

 

“Have you’ll had tea as yet?” he enquires. Receiving a negative response, he quickly jumps into action, doing what Dada does best, organizing a fete!

We overhear him inviting his elder brother to come over and have tea by the pool with Shabd. “Tea by the pool?” the puzzled ‘other’ Dada responds, “Aller right, mo vini la” (Alright, I’ll be right there).

Dadi has been tasked with brewing tea and having retired the previous day, she graciously provides delicious chocolate cake as well. Papa is in charge of brining the table and chairs by the poolside. It would be defeating the purpose of having tea by the pool, if seats were not arranged by the pool. What a fete this is turning out to be!

 

And Shabd, oblivious to all but his rubber ducky and plastic animals, lies in his teensy pool, cooling down. He comes out occasionally; to have a sip of his freshly brewed rooibos tea, or a bite of retirement cake. Alternating between cooling off in his pool, swinging under the olive tree and watering his Dadi’s potted plants, all bare bummed of course!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ah, another pearl of happiness for my necklace of joy; sitting by the pool, enjoying a cup of hot tea, a slice of chocolate cake surrounded by family.

 

 

The air is light, a breeze cools the air and laughter rings in the yard as a content Shabd gets up to his usual and always entertaining antics.

Mummy on a Mission

When mummy returned from SA, she was on a mission. A mission for a swing, not just any ordinary swing, no, that would simply not do, she, uhm, I was on a mission to get a tyre swing hung in the backyard.

After weeks of dropping gentle hints and suggestions, leaving bookmarked pages open on the iPad on “How to make a tyre swing” and downright nagging…the evening finally arrived when Papa had just had enough of the sighing and the moaning and the “wouldn’t it be nice if Shabd had a swing!”

Out he strode, a man on a mission, straight to the garage to procure this prodigal tyre – and swing it would become, come hell or high-water!

It took 3 men (2 granddads and a Papa), 3 days, 2 jigsaws and a drill to get the swing made. And what an exciting time the men had, gathering in Chacha’s workshop in the late evenings conferring on the best way to cut the tyre, weight distribution, optimal cut length.



On the eve of the 3^rd night, Papa and Dada secured the swing onto the branch of the majestic olive tree. Shabd, not understanding what all this fuss was about, obligingly scrambled onto the swing and said “Swing-swing. Swing-swing” while mummy clapped furiously, wiping a little tear away.



The swing is beautiful. Dada, the ever cautious safety inspector has ensured that it’s been padded for extra protection - to ensure little hands are not chaffed and the backs of little knees are not hurt. Papa, a stickler for independence has ensured the swing is just the right height so that Shabd can get on and off on his own. Mummy and Dadi, are content pushing Shabd on the swing.

Shabd got onto the swing again this afternoon; he laid his head back on the swing and stared up at the green canopy, listening as the leaves gently whispered the secrets of the universe to him. There was so much peace and tranquility in that moment; it felt as if God himself was holding his breath.

It’s the little things that make a childhood what it should be, carefree. I want Shabd to think back on childhood and know that he was loved so much that Papa made him a swing which hung from an old olive tree. 

 



Lessons from Tigger

It's close to midnight on the eve of chemo round three. I'm not nervous or anxious, I know what to expect and I'm prepared, yet I'm wired. I have to keep reminding myself to pause and take a deep long breath. There is no fear. What will be, will be.

I'm scared of little things; like not spending enough time with my little boy. I feel so tired lately. I'm afraid of time passing by too quickly; of me missing out on him growing up. He says a new word every day. He grows more and more perceptive with each passing week. He grows more mature and more understanding almost too soon.

How I wish I could smash all the clocks so time would stand still, then Shabd and I could cuddle in bed and read the Tigger story over and over and over again. These are the moments when I feel most alive, the mummy moments. Each smile, each tear, each wink, each nod, each dance, each song, each new word; like precious pearls, I parsimoniously collect these memories and string them around my heart.

How will cancer change all this? In every possible way and not at all! I've become obsessed with wanting to mark the passing of each chemo. A sort of earning of a merit badge of sorts I guess. I've thought of buying a special Kroll or Pandora bead with each chemo, or scrapbooking, or mosaicing, or painting, or beading, sadly nothing quite fits my objective.

So here I sit, on the eve of chemo 3 and still no chronicling done. And as I type these words, it hits me! As Tigger said; "Maybe I've been goin' about this all the wrong way, upside down." And that's exactly it! I have been going about this the wrong way upside down!

Instead of focusing on each chemo cycle, i should be focusing on my string of pearls. I should make my memories and not sit on the sidelines waiting for someone to bounce with me. I should do what Tiggers do best, bouncin and act real tiggery! "Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"

Shabd and I can be quite good at b-b-b-b-b-bouncing. I didn’t realise that. We donned our animal ears tonight, and had a good laugh at how silly we looked. Shabd was in a fit of giggles seeing mummy with her smart black cat ears meowing quite kitten like. I even go a "encore" from him!

Sometimes we cannot see the wood from the trees. I already have a lustrous string of beautiful memories, and being in a very tiggery mood, I'll share some with you. When next you're in the Hundred Acre Wood, come bounce with Shabd and I, we'd love the company and can't wait to add another pearl to mummy's beautiful necklace.

 



Shabd and mummy enjoy a day at the beach

Papa let go! I can swim on my own, really!!

Le petite lapin!

I love sitting on mummy

Family self portrait

Nosey-nosey!