Goodbye Appa

My father passed away at 1:35 a.m. on the 29th of October, 2007. He was only 63. The doctor's labelled the cause of death as multi-function failure.

I find it hard to believe that my father, the man who brought me to life, is now dead. I find it hard to believe that an important chapter in my life is now closed.

It saddens me that my future children will never get a chance to meet or know my father.

I feel scared when I think of my mother living on her own for the first time in her life, in a house full of memories. My mother is strong and brave and insists she will be fine on her own.

As the death ceremonies were being conducted according to Vedic rites, I kept thinking my father was going to wake up and say, "What the hell is going on?"

As I went through some of my father's closets, the day after his cremation, I found objects from my youth, preserved and taking up pride of place in my father's room. I found gifts I had given him a long time ago, still kept, unused.

I flipped through his address book and found names and numbers of everything from friends to funeral services to freezer boxes for the dead. It seems my father, a meticulous man, had planned ahead in case of his death.

Since we are Hindu Brahmin Iyers our death ceremonies will continue for 13 days. My mother leaves for Varanasi, the holiest of cities, on Sunday, to perform my father's 9th to 13th day ceremonies there.

According to Hindu philosophy the body is just the outer garment of the individual. The real self never dies, but is reborn in a different body in due course. I wish my father good health, happiness and all the love in the world, in his next birth.

Update on Dad

Its been a little more than two weeks now since my father went into a diabetic coma and had a stroke. The doctors label it a Cerebrovascular Accident (CVA) coupled with a multi function failure.

A few days ago, he was shifted from the IMCU to the ICCU. This means he is less critical then what he was before, because the Intensive Critical Care Unit is apparently a step down from the Intensive Medical Care Unit.

But he continues to be hooked up to machines and monitors and the doctors continue to tell us it could swing either way. They refuse to give us any hope.

They say every day is different and right now they are focusing on stabilizing my father. Also, they are yet to ascertain how much damage has occurred to the brain, when it was deprived of oxygen and if the damage will be temporary or permanent.

Meanwhile, my father drifted into semi-consciousness two days ago and mumbled a few words no one understood, before drifting back into unconsciousness. It looks like his speech function has been affected.

I have postponed my ticket back to the US by a few more days, on the advice of my father's primary physician, who is fast becoming a friend.

Not Dead

The doctors informed a lady sitting next to us that her husband was dead. Very soon some 300 Muslims showed up at the hospital. It seemed like the dead person was an important Islamic leader of some sort.

An ambulance was deployed to bring the dead body home. Relatives wept outside the IMCU.

Suddenly a nurse comes out of the IMCU and informs the people that the man is not dead. Apparently they managed to resuscitate the dying man.

How can any responsible hospital do this? How can they claim someone is dead and then say the opposite. It really is appalling behavior.

Shouldn't they first make sure their patient really is dead before informing his family? Its simply bizarre.

Given a choice we wouldn't have placed my father here. But this is where he insisted he wanted to go to, if there was ever a medical emergency. My father truly believed he would get cured if he came to St. Isabel's, since this is where he has always been hospitalized in the past and this is also where my grandfather came to when he was unwell.

Call it superstition, faith or just a place he was comfortable to go to, but we will respect my father's wishes to the end.

Hospital Hoarding

Durga Puja Pandal

In India, Navaratri just ended and Diwali is fast approaching*. Its one of the most festive and auspicious times of the year.

I walked out of Apollo hospital a few days ago, and saw a Durga Puja pandal erected right outside the hospital. Normally this is something you would see in the State of Bengal. Not in the South of India.*

Apparently a lot of Bengalis come to Chennai to avail of the excellent medical care available here. And since their most important festival is Durga Puja - of course there is going to be a celebration.

I found myself appreciating the artistic interpretation of Durga, the Supreme Goddess and wished I had more time to attend one of the several pujas organized for this festival.

* Navaratri literally means nine divine nights, where we worship the divine Goddess and Diwali is the festival of lights.

* While its true we South Indians have a Kolu, which is essentially a decorated, stepped platform filled with small images of Gods, animals, birds,and other beings, its nothing like the pomp and splendour of the Durga Puja pandals.

St. Isabel

Outside the IMCU is a little shrine of sorts to St. Isabel. A life-sized figure, carved out of stone, she stands on a pedestal, wearing a nun’s habit. Her arms are outstretched, her eyes compassionate.

Since this is India, where religions often merge, especially in times of desperation, people of all faiths light candles to St. Isabel, praying for their loved ones in the IMCU and the ICU.

Truth be told, the Hindus treat St. Isabel, a catholic saint, much like they would a Hindu God.

Every day they place an offering, often a saree or a garland, sometimes both, in front of her. A hospital worker then drapes the offerings on St. Isabel. Candles are lit. Prayers are said. Hopefully loved ones are cured by her Grace.

So far, I have seen St. Isabel wear as many as four new sarees in a single day. It seems she has such an extensive wardrobe; she needs a change of clothing every few hours.

Don’t ask me what happens to the old sarees. I do not know. But I’m guessing (and hoping) they are donated to the needy at the month’s end.

My mother’s cook bought two candles the other day and gave it to her. “Please light these in front of St. Isabel,” she said to my mother. “Your husband will get cured.”

And so we lit a candle each this evening to St. Isabel. We prayed silently and asked her to heal my father.

Stories from the IMCU

The doctors each have different opinions. There’s my father’s primary care physician, his diabetologist, his neurologist, and the duty doctors at the IMCU. They are yet to reach a consensus on whether he will make it.

Meanwhile we wait outside, in case my father were to wake up or we are needed to pay bills or procure a drug unavailable at the hospital pharmacy.

Waiting outside the IMCU, is exhausting on many levels.

Yesterday someone really young died inside. The relatives outside cried and one of them went into loud, screaming, hysterical fits that went on for a while, until a nurse came by and sedated her.

Someone else was rushed inside last evening after a suicide attempt. The man apparently objected to his son marrying outside his religion and in true Bollywood style, tried to kill himself, by eating the fruit of a poisonous tree. When he vomited after the first attempt, he went back to the tree and ate two more fruit.
His son’s upcoming out-of-caste marriage is now on hold. It looks like the blackmail attempt worked. The relatives outside blame the son, for making the mistake of falling in love with someone outside his religious sect. I feel sorry for the son.

A 68-year-old woman waits with us. She holds a rosary and looks as if she is near-collapse herself. Her husband has advanced COPD. Pneumonia has complicated his case and he is struggling for every breath. She has no children and no relatives or friends to support her. All she has is her husband and she is afraid she will lose him.
And so she waits endless hours outside, muttering prayers, hoping her husband will be all right. I tell her she needs to sleep some, in order to conserve her energy.

Another elderly lady sits next to us. She has four sons and two daughters. But none of them are here with her. She tells me her husband has had a massive stroke and heart failure. He is struggling for survival. He has no insurance.
Most hospitals in this country require an advance payment at the pharmacy and at the IMCU every single day. She managed to pay for his care for the first three days. After that she ran out of money.
“Every day I have to beg my children to give me some money,” she wept. “We sacrificed so much to bring them up and educate them. What is the point? They are not here in our time of need.” Her grown children are still fighting amongst themselves about who should pay and how much, apparently.

Sea baths, Pune visits and broken hands

As I sit outside the IMCU, waiting for my father to wake up, I think a lot about the past.

I think of the good times. I think of the happy times.

I think of the time when we went “seabathing” as he put it. I was about 10 years old then. My father held me on one arm and my sister on the other and sat in the waters of the Indian Ocean. He let the waves wash over us. My sister and I squealed in delight each time the waves hit us. My father laughed and held onto us tight.

He was handsome and healthy then.

I think of the time my father visited me in Pune. He came by train, just to see me, all the way from Chennai . It was a journey of nearly 28 hours. I was doing my Master’s degree then and was at my irresponsible best. I overslept that morning and awoke to the phone ringing around 10 a.m. It was my father. “You didn’t come to pick me up,” he said. He sounded so disappointed and hurt.

He was still strong and vital then.

I think of the time my father fractured his right hand, just before my wedding. His osteoporosis had made his bones so brittle; he was like the proverbial glass man. Despite the pain, he insisted on playing his role as father of the bride. He actively participated in all the numerous Hindu wedding rituals, wincing each time he had to feed the Holy fire with his broken right arm.

Appa

My father lies in the Intensive Medical Care Unit at St. Isabel’s hospital in Chennai. He’s been unconscious for four days now. Every breath is a small miracle.

My mother realized something was wrong when he didn’t wake up one morning, She called the ambulance right away. And called me a few hours later from the hospital. Less than five hours later, I found myself in a car heading to St. Louis and then on a plane later that night heading back home to India to be with my family.

Appa looks fragile and shrunken. A mass of tubes snake their way around his bed and into his body through intravenous drips and ports: A glucose drip entering his neck, an oxygen mask covering his face, a nasal feeding tube winding its way across his face, a medication drip entering his arm on either side, a urinary catheter, a pulse meter attached to his finger. Machines surround him. Quietly humming and beeping in turn.

His hands are covered in purple bruises. The blood thinner meds they gave him to remove any possible blood clots in his brain, ended up bursting the clots on his arms. His arms bled for a while and were bandaged at regular intervals.

His face is bloated. The skin is dry and scaly. His eyes are shut tight. He looks nothing like my father.

His sugar levels dipped to 15 a few days ago and he’s been in a diabetic coma ever since. The doctors now say he’s also had a stroke. His entire left side has been affected. Breathing is torturous. He is an advanced COPD patient. No one knows if he will survive.

Visitor’s keep stopping by to say their goodbyes. I’m not ready to let go as yet. I don’t want him to suffer.

I sit outside the IMCU, with a bunch of others who all have relatives who are critically ill. Visiting hours are only between 5 and 5:30 p.m. everyday. That’s a measly half an hour, to be shared with a hundred other relatives and friends who want to see my father.

So I tip the security guard and sneak into the IMCU when it’s not visiting hours.

I whisper into my father’s ear, “Appa, it’s me, your first born. You can make it if you want to. Please come back.”

At other times, I pray he dies. He's suffered enough. And I don't want him to anymore.

Saturday Project!

My first Bollywood video. Its got it all - romance, music and a high-adrenaline chase!

How tacky but fun was that? :)

Credits
Hero *Pico Iyer*
Heroine *Mina Iyer*
Music *Gori Gori*
SFX *The Lawnmower*

My Sister's Wedding

My sister’s wedding was a blast. She married Samit in an Arya Samaj ceremony on Beach number 7 in Havelock. This was in the Andaman islands, a literal slice of paradise, cut away from the rest of the world.

For a few days the tiny island buzzed with wedding guests who all flew down to Port Blair and then traveled some few more hours by boat to get to Havelock.

The island was pretty remote and far removed from the rest of the world...but oh so beautiful, lush and peaceful.

Virgin beaches. A view to die for. Glorious greenness all around. The perfect place for a wedding, a honeymoon and a vacation. Which was what it was!

Here are some pictures. Enjoy!

Our first glimpse of Havelock Island
The virgin beach at Cafe Del Mar...

The Mahua trees lead to Beach #7 - where my sis got married...

Shaking a leg before D-Day!

Just married!

Sis and mom give each other a hug a the Doli

Fishing boats at the jetty

The boat that got us to the island

The Baaraat - Samit rides an elephant through the Mahua trees!

Here comes the bride!

The Arya Samaj ceremony on the beach

The new couple greet all the islanders at the Bahu Baath

Losing our mind!

While the trip was wonderful, it also tested us like no other vacation we’ve ever taken before. For we managed to lose Nanu’s passport and a whole bunch of vital documents the moment we stepped out of Bombay airport.

If you had asked me before this vacation, “Is it possible to lose your passport?” I would have laughed and said, “Impossible! Unless you’re an utterly careless fool!”

But this trip has taught me that you can be as careful as the most tightfisted investor, but things happen and you may end up without a passport.

Is that just fate stepping in? The God’s playing with us? Or as someone said, us leaving on an inauspicious day according to the Hindu calendar. Or just plain old bad luck? Who knows?

Looking back it’s easier to forget about all the little inconveniences, the trials and crazy negative experiences we had and celebrate the positive.

Below you will find a video I took from City Center Mall to my parents home in Madras. To ease traffic woes, the city has gone and built a mini flyover smack in the middle of a two lane road!! The result is a really narrow flyover that is simply bizarre!

Back from India

I’m back!

It’s been about a week and a half since we got back from India. Everyone at work asks me how my vacation went.

After all I’ve been gone for close to two months – what a friend at work described to me as a “dream” since the longest vacation she'd ever managed to take had lasted exactly eight days.

So.......Where do I begin?

To answer everybody’s question, yes, the trip was memorable and all things wonderful! We finally got to spend loads of time with family and loved ones and caught up with long lost friends.

Nanu and I attended my little sister’s wedding in the Andaman islands and had a total blast. Since I hadn’t met Samit (her brand new husband!) before, a part of me was a little worried as to whether I would like him or not when I met him.

Luckily for all concerned I was relieved and happy to realize that I completely approved of my sister’s choice of a husband!

Since this was our first trip to India after our wedding, we experienced “married couple syndrome” for the first time – where everyone – friends and family included – suddenly viewed us as a couple and popped the inevitable, “So when are you having babies?” question.

Of course it being India, where you’re expected to start popping out babies the moment you get married, the questions ranged from the supposedly polite, “Not pregnant as yet, eh?” to the pushy, “Your biological clock is ticking, don’t you realize that?”

Taking turns staying at Nanu’s parents’ place in Ambernath, a suburb of Bombay and my parents home in Madras, we ended up flying a lot of times up and down the country.

Living in India for nearly two months, after being away for a few years, has been an interesting experience to say the least. It was nice to be home after so long, but the time spent away from home also made us realize how much we've changed as people.

Little things suddenly stood out in stark technicolor. Things we've always taken for granted having lived in India all our lives. The time away, has perhaps changed us - marked us out, stamped us forever with the "neither here, nor there stamp."

Not quite Americans. Not the typical Indians either. Suddenly a little more intolerant of the heat, the dark polluting smoke rising up from the tailpipes of every car and auto rickshaw, the long queues everywhere, the crazy-scary trafic on the roads, the sheer amount of people on every road, every corner.....a world removed from the calm and order of our "other life" in Carbondale.

Yet nowhere else could we be more at home, more self assured or happy. For this was where we grew up. Where we come from. This is where our loved ones are. This is home.

Wedding Bells in 25 Days!

My sister's wedding takes place in exactly 25 days. Thats right, my little sister is all grown up now and getting married on an island no less.

Since I'm not in India where all the wedding shopping action is currently happening, she did something wonderfully sweet.

She emailed me photographs of some of her wedding outfits today, telling me when and where she planned on wearing them.

Looking at them, I was just blown away.
It brought home the fact, like nothing else, that yes, she is actually getting married!

We leave for India in 11 days time! I cant wait!

We've been counting down for a long time now and as the days go by faster and faster, every second thought I have seems to revolve around the much-anticipated visit back home.

In addition to spending time with family and loved ones, I'm already dreaming of all the food I'm going to eat!

Cool Amul Ads spoofing Bollywood!

California Remixes Indian Culture

'California' - the alumni magazine at the University of California in Berkeley has a very insightful feature story on India this month.

Passage to India by Sandip Roy talks about the remix of Indian culture on California shores. Its a delightful and intelligent read that makes us think of the impact of multiculturism and what it means in the long run.

Here are some interesting paragraphs from the essay.

"Immigration once meant cooking with substitutes, imagining the taste of a long-lost vegetable while nibbling its nearest (but still somewhat distant) American cousin. No longer."

And a little later..."This pick-and-choose, mix-and-match chai-latte multiculturalism means Indian culture could easily become a parody of itself, says Sandeep Sood, one of the creators of the popular weekly South Asian comic strip, "Badmash."

"We could be peddling power yoga with one mehndi-filled hand while using the other to hold up our dhoti ... selling enlightenment free with a pack of $2 bindis," quips Sood. "Don't do it."

Read the feature here

India is the Cover Story of Time Magazine!

Just saw the cover of the latest issue of Time Magazine.

Now I cant wait to read the cover story!

You can access the stories on Time's website - here.

Drop it like a FOB!

Saw this hilarious Desi parody music video today and literally laughed my guts out.
Anoop Dogg parodies Snoop Dogg's 'Drop it Like Its Hot!'
For those who dont know what FOB means - it stands for Fresh Off the Boat - which is what a lot of Desis call newly arrived South Asian immigrants.
It used to be a derogatory term, but is today used by Desis very loosely and in a not-so-negative sense.





For those who cant follow the lyrics....this is just some of it...FUN!

If you have a lot of chest hair,
Show it like a FOB,
Immigration comes to get you,
Marry like a FOB

I've got the chappals on my feet,
when i'm walking down the street,
and I make the best saag,
when I want something to eat

I am a nice FOB,
I work in the IT,
When you call tech support,
You will get me.

I am a bachelor,
And I work hard,
Come and marry me
So I can get the Green-card.

White people, they can’t understand me,
Their jobs are now in New Delhi.


(Saag is a spinach based dish, and IT stands for Information Technology)

The Sitayana

This video came out some time ago, but I happened to come across it today and remembered again how much I loved it.

Its the Ramayana from Sita's point of view by this extremely talented animator called Nina Paley. Its called the Sitayana and is set to this old jazz song that just blows my mind.



Hit the play button and turn up the volume to enjoy this piece.

Growing up in India, the Ramayana is one epic that I'm pretty familiar with. Its the staple source from which the elders tell a child stories from. Later as I grew older, I read the whole thing in the form of illustrated comic books (Amar Chitra Katha); and then read the whole English translation and parts of the original epic in Sanskrit when I was older.

What I like about this animated episodic film is that it takes a refreshing look at the whole epic, from a woman's point of view and makes it so accessible to the whole world. Not to mention that its really well done and witty at the same time.

If you want to see and download more videos you can go here and here.

You could also visit Nina Paley's website where she has all her amazing work on display and talks at length about the process involved in making these films.

The Simpsons in Bollywood!

Just saw this funny video on You Tube. Its the Simpsons in Bollywood!



Hit that Play button and turn up the volume!