To read more about my experience at an NGO in Bangalore, India, read my article in ABCDlady magazine, an online mag that focuses on topics related to the South Asian community who grew up in America.
A little older news... For mother's day, Bibi Magazine online asked me to write an article for their readers. Check it out here! Bibi is one of the longest-running, largest-circulated South Asian fashion magazines in the USA!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Sunday, May 27, 2007
The Desi Connect!
I'm honored that The Desi Connect's Sheena Singh and Sumaya Kazi took the time to interview me for their online mag! Running under the umbrella of The Cultural Connect, these mags feature young, driven, and forward-thinking individuals, and they've chosen me as their Young Professional of the week! Read the interview here and support their wonderful endeavours!
Friday, May 4, 2007
Biji - My Shakuntla Devi
On April 19th, at 8:55 AM, my grandmother took her last breath. There's a certain emptiness that surrounds death... a sort of spatial void full of silences and shadows. I left the hospital with a grandmother, and came back to find I no longer had one. Her last hours were spent with a dead body but a beating heart. Her last message to me was this: breathe. Breathe all the breaths you can, child, because that is the only thing you have, and the last thing you will ever need.
The house, her room, her spot on the couch, her paths - all carry a space around it where she used to be. Everything in our lives revolved around her, and now we have nothing left to revolve around. The first day in the house with just us three, where we used to be four, was the most difficult. When I leave the house, I imagine saying bye to her, and her saying bye back. When I come home, I imagine saying hi to her on my way to my bedroom, and her saying "You've come, Child?" (in Punjabi, of course - Aa gaya, Puttar), and me saying "Hanji" (yes). But there is only silence.
It will take a long time to get used to not coming home for 4 o clock tea time, and not having her box of teeth next to the sink in the bathroom. It will take some time to get used to walking past her room and not seeing her in the bed, or leaving home and not hearing the too-loud tv playing the same Indian channel every day. It will take quite a while to get used to shutting the light in the hallway because she no longer needs to see the way to the bathroom. Or filling her glass of water at 6 PM every day. I will never get used to not having to move from her spot on the couch when she was coming down the stairs, or arranging it so that someone would be home at 1 PM to make her lunch. I will never forget the laughs she laughed when I squeezed my mother, or rubbed my father's head. It will take a while to get used to not closing the closet door just such, leaving only a few inches open, or taking her teacup down when she was finished drinking. I will have to adjust to not moving my things from the path she took every day with her walker to the couch, or the way she would pull the kitchen table to her, instead of moving her chair closer to the kitchen table. Refilling her bottle of oil, fixing her audio tapes when they got pulled, or figuring out the mysteries of the stereo gone awry. I will still jump at every sound, worrying that she may have fallen, or may have dropped something. I will not forget the exactness of each sound and how I knew exactly what they meant. What she was doing when each sound was made, where she was going at each timing on the schedule. Like clockwork I knew this woman. Like a melody, I knew her.
Did I tell her I loved her enough? Did I ever hug her? Did I ever sit at her feet and listen to her stories of pre-partition India and the love that permeated her life? Did I grumble too loud, or get upset at her once too many? Did she know she mattered? Did she forgive my youth? Did she remember the days when I used to make banners and strew them across the entrance when she visited? Did she remember when I would teach her the alphabet, and give her a passing grade to join the next class? Did she know I loved her laugh? Did she know I held her hand more in her last days than I did in her whole life, but that those last days meant more to me than all the days we spent together? Did she hear me whispering to her in the coma before her death? Did she feel my hand on hers after she left our world? Did she remember I told her I loved her so much? Did she realize she would take a piece of me with her when she left?
Will she remember me?
On April 19th, 2007, at 8:55 AM, my Biji took her last breath.
The house, her room, her spot on the couch, her paths - all carry a space around it where she used to be. Everything in our lives revolved around her, and now we have nothing left to revolve around. The first day in the house with just us three, where we used to be four, was the most difficult. When I leave the house, I imagine saying bye to her, and her saying bye back. When I come home, I imagine saying hi to her on my way to my bedroom, and her saying "You've come, Child?" (in Punjabi, of course - Aa gaya, Puttar), and me saying "Hanji" (yes). But there is only silence.
It will take a long time to get used to not coming home for 4 o clock tea time, and not having her box of teeth next to the sink in the bathroom. It will take some time to get used to walking past her room and not seeing her in the bed, or leaving home and not hearing the too-loud tv playing the same Indian channel every day. It will take quite a while to get used to shutting the light in the hallway because she no longer needs to see the way to the bathroom. Or filling her glass of water at 6 PM every day. I will never get used to not having to move from her spot on the couch when she was coming down the stairs, or arranging it so that someone would be home at 1 PM to make her lunch. I will never forget the laughs she laughed when I squeezed my mother, or rubbed my father's head. It will take a while to get used to not closing the closet door just such, leaving only a few inches open, or taking her teacup down when she was finished drinking. I will have to adjust to not moving my things from the path she took every day with her walker to the couch, or the way she would pull the kitchen table to her, instead of moving her chair closer to the kitchen table. Refilling her bottle of oil, fixing her audio tapes when they got pulled, or figuring out the mysteries of the stereo gone awry. I will still jump at every sound, worrying that she may have fallen, or may have dropped something. I will not forget the exactness of each sound and how I knew exactly what they meant. What she was doing when each sound was made, where she was going at each timing on the schedule. Like clockwork I knew this woman. Like a melody, I knew her.
Did I tell her I loved her enough? Did I ever hug her? Did I ever sit at her feet and listen to her stories of pre-partition India and the love that permeated her life? Did I grumble too loud, or get upset at her once too many? Did she know she mattered? Did she forgive my youth? Did she remember the days when I used to make banners and strew them across the entrance when she visited? Did she remember when I would teach her the alphabet, and give her a passing grade to join the next class? Did she know I loved her laugh? Did she know I held her hand more in her last days than I did in her whole life, but that those last days meant more to me than all the days we spent together? Did she hear me whispering to her in the coma before her death? Did she feel my hand on hers after she left our world? Did she remember I told her I loved her so much? Did she realize she would take a piece of me with her when she left?
Will she remember me?
On April 19th, 2007, at 8:55 AM, my Biji took her last breath.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
a month - my grandmother
so i know i've been missing for over a month, but i have good reason... my grandmother has been in the hospital... my month has been full of emotional ups and downs, wishes and prayers, family visits and friends... all culminating to one question: what will happen?
yesterday they gave us a private room... we know it's because it's her last days, they know too... but they don't want to say it... it's really hard to watch someone dying, and know that any moment they will take their last breath...
i've written more in the past month than i have in a very long time... it's amazing how life and death can bring out so many shades of a person... though i can't say what will happen (or when will be the next time i post something), i will be back after this hiatus - likely with a new sense of appreciation...
have a wonderful day, because today is your life...
rachna
... and if you feel like reading something delightful and touching that a wonderful designer friend of mine, oorbee roy, wrote about me in her ever-popular blog, check out OmHome. And be sure to take a look at her incredibly beautiful line of pillows, linens, and other gorgeous creations... watch out for her because she'll be on oprah's favourite things one day - i guarantee it!
yesterday they gave us a private room... we know it's because it's her last days, they know too... but they don't want to say it... it's really hard to watch someone dying, and know that any moment they will take their last breath...
i've written more in the past month than i have in a very long time... it's amazing how life and death can bring out so many shades of a person... though i can't say what will happen (or when will be the next time i post something), i will be back after this hiatus - likely with a new sense of appreciation...
have a wonderful day, because today is your life...
rachna
... and if you feel like reading something delightful and touching that a wonderful designer friend of mine, oorbee roy, wrote about me in her ever-popular blog, check out OmHome. And be sure to take a look at her incredibly beautiful line of pillows, linens, and other gorgeous creations... watch out for her because she'll be on oprah's favourite things one day - i guarantee it!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
failure: my four-letter word
over the last few months, i have watched someone succeed so unbelievably where i (in my opinion) had failed so miserably... i see that person doing the things i wish i had done, and being the person i wish i had been in the same circumstances... it's very easy, now, to look back and see how i could have changed my experience, but in the moment, i was weary and overwhelmed, unprepared and uncertain... all excuses, i tell myself, for this person must have felt the same as i did, but just acted differently towards their experience...
failure is just another lesson learned... a mistake made that we will hopefully not repeat... the only problem with failure is that we, ourselves, thrust the knife so deep into our heart that we open a wound big enough for us to pour salt in freely, every day of our life... and the skin becomes sensitive around that wound, so that when someone else comes too close to us, we yell and scream at them for hurting us... only because we need a break from the self-blame for a moment... and sometimes, seeing someone thrive where we failed smarts that old wound... for though the blood may be dry and the wound may have healed, the scar has not let us forget about the pain of failure...
forgiveness has been said to be divine, and it is... but forgiveness towards whom? for if we do not forgive ourselves first, who else, then, will we truly be able to forgive? we must first forgive ourselves for thrusting the knife in so deep - only then will we be able to see the truth... that mistakes were meant to be made, failures were meant to help us grow, wounds were meant to heal, and we were meant to move on, move forward... and the core of that truth is - there are no failures, just experiences...
so, for all the things i wanted to do but didn't, all the expectations i wanted to meet but couldn't, and all the experiences i wish i had created but hadn't... here is what i have learned:
I Forgive Myself.
failure is just another lesson learned... a mistake made that we will hopefully not repeat... the only problem with failure is that we, ourselves, thrust the knife so deep into our heart that we open a wound big enough for us to pour salt in freely, every day of our life... and the skin becomes sensitive around that wound, so that when someone else comes too close to us, we yell and scream at them for hurting us... only because we need a break from the self-blame for a moment... and sometimes, seeing someone thrive where we failed smarts that old wound... for though the blood may be dry and the wound may have healed, the scar has not let us forget about the pain of failure...
forgiveness has been said to be divine, and it is... but forgiveness towards whom? for if we do not forgive ourselves first, who else, then, will we truly be able to forgive? we must first forgive ourselves for thrusting the knife in so deep - only then will we be able to see the truth... that mistakes were meant to be made, failures were meant to help us grow, wounds were meant to heal, and we were meant to move on, move forward... and the core of that truth is - there are no failures, just experiences...
so, for all the things i wanted to do but didn't, all the expectations i wanted to meet but couldn't, and all the experiences i wish i had created but hadn't... here is what i have learned:
I Forgive Myself.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
United Divas Diva of the Month!
United Divas, a website dedicated to empowering women to be artistic leaders, professionals, innovators, and role models, has honoured me as March/April's Diva of the Month!!!
I am so excited about it - thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity, Jan and the team at United Divas! You all made my month - well, two months (March and April)!
Be sure to check me out and support their wonderful endeavours!
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
a smile found
It isn't every day that someone tells you that you were brought into their life by the grace of God. It isn't every day that someone says your presence made an indescribable impact on their life. No, it isn't every day that someone finds their smile, their hope, and a desire to pay it forward because of you.
It isn't every day that you can take a person's life and sprinkle magic into it just by granting their wish. And what is a wish, anyway? Winnie the Pooh said 'A wish is a dream your heart makes'. So can we make a heart's dream come true? And if we can, will we? And if we will, when? And why not now?
I don't remember why I joined the Make a Wish Foundation, but one day I decided to stop talking and just do it. I was assigned a family where the parents only spoke Hindi. Woohoo, I speak Hindi - let's go! I met our wish child and told her she could have any wish in the whole world - anything!
Her wish? To decorate her parents' room because they had no furniture so they slept on the floor. Wow... There are not many people who are selfless, and even fewer who would give up the pyramids in Egypt for their parents' comfort. But that was her wish. We pushed and convinced her to switch rooms with her parents and have her own new room decorated instead, and she finally agreed - though reluctantly. This was the kickoff to my first wish, and I already had tears in my eyes!
I won't go through the endless months of details, but in the end, we granted her wish, and so much more. More importantly, though, she gave me the best gift of all in return for ours - her smile... her laugh. I could see her road ahead, and it was recovery... it was life.
Today, her mother thanked me. It isn't every day that someone tells you that you brought something into their life that they wouldn't have been able to bring into their own. No, it isn't every day that someone looks into your eyes with newfound hope, and tells you that you are a gift from God.
No, it isn't every day. But it was today.
It isn't every day that you can take a person's life and sprinkle magic into it just by granting their wish. And what is a wish, anyway? Winnie the Pooh said 'A wish is a dream your heart makes'. So can we make a heart's dream come true? And if we can, will we? And if we will, when? And why not now?
I don't remember why I joined the Make a Wish Foundation, but one day I decided to stop talking and just do it. I was assigned a family where the parents only spoke Hindi. Woohoo, I speak Hindi - let's go! I met our wish child and told her she could have any wish in the whole world - anything!
Her wish? To decorate her parents' room because they had no furniture so they slept on the floor. Wow... There are not many people who are selfless, and even fewer who would give up the pyramids in Egypt for their parents' comfort. But that was her wish. We pushed and convinced her to switch rooms with her parents and have her own new room decorated instead, and she finally agreed - though reluctantly. This was the kickoff to my first wish, and I already had tears in my eyes!
I won't go through the endless months of details, but in the end, we granted her wish, and so much more. More importantly, though, she gave me the best gift of all in return for ours - her smile... her laugh. I could see her road ahead, and it was recovery... it was life.
Today, her mother thanked me. It isn't every day that someone tells you that you brought something into their life that they wouldn't have been able to bring into their own. No, it isn't every day that someone looks into your eyes with newfound hope, and tells you that you are a gift from God.
No, it isn't every day. But it was today.
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