Finding La-La Land

“And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make” - The Beatles

In my dream last night I was at the doctor’s office. I had gone there to pick up some test results and was told that I had 6 weeks to live. When the physician broke the news to me, I had around me, a few members from my family, a couple of  my co-workers from Chicago, who I am not even in touch with and Leonardo DiCaprio. 

Somewhere in my sub-conscience, I knew that this was a dream and I wanted to wake up, but wasn’t able to. When I finally did open my eyes, I didn’t necessarily feel a sense of relief about the death sentence not being real. Instead I began to think about my life, as it stands today and how I would change it if I knew that the end was near. 

Last month I discontinued my subscription to the newspaper. The reason being that I no longer wanted to begin my day reading about dirty politicians, accidents, lost planes, murders, rapes, global warming, etc. Maybe if they come up with a publication that has stories about the good instead of the bad, a ‘Good News’ paper, I would want to have it in my home.

From my Facebook newsfeed, I’ve hidden the friends that spread gloom through their postings. Or try to influence me with their political or other viewpoints. Believe it or don’t, but I do happen to have a mind of my own. As far as I’m concerned if you’re not using Facebook for entertainment purposes, then sooner or later you will go from being hidden to being unfriended. 

In the real world, I’ve distanced myself from several people that were once a part of my life. Those obsessed with money, those who have the rich as role models, those who don’t bring anything positive into my life, people who take me for granted, who have trouble laughing, who are narrow minded or close minded, who are living in a time warp, whiners, fake people, fanatics, cynics, know-it-alls, glass-is-always-half-empty types etc. Been nice for too long, I now need to be free from the likes of such. It’s a miracle that I still have friends!

I used to be but have now stopped being concerned about who likes me and who doesn’t. I try to be a good person, try not to hurt anyone, try not to get angry, not be judgmental, spiteful, but sometimes I screw up. The day I achieve Nirvana I will stop (screwing up). Until then, feel free to not like me. 

I’ve become a lot less dependent on people. If I want to watch a movie, I don’t think twice about walking over to the theater by myself. If I’m in the mood for a slice of banoffee pie at a local cafe, I have no trouble enjoying every bite of it at a table by myself. I’ve stopped consulting anyone and make my own decisions, even if they happen to be wrong. I’ve made peace with squabbles within the family and between friends. Get along, don’t get along, it’s your life and not mine. 

I spend my time doing the things I love, travel being on the top of my list. I am at my happiest when I travel to a new place or to a beautiful place or to a place that has special memories. I sleep guilt-free as much as I want. I eat the foods I love, I entertain at home, my workouts give me positive energy as well as some time to hang out with my gym buddies, I recently began meditating, I constantly meet new people and then there are times when I shut everyone out and just enjoy being by myself to read and write and sing and watch television.

So after lounging around in bed for quite a while and after much introspection, I came to the conclusion if I had 6 weeks to live I would squeeze in a couple of trips, eat all the foods I love, have a big farewell party and hang out with people that make me laugh. So pretty much continue to live the way that I do now. I’ve found my la-la land and am constantly discovering that it’s a great place to be in. 

I’m not in the least bit concerned about my morning dream coming true but I seriously wish I could figure out what the heck DiCaprio was doing in it.

The day my friend almost gave birth in my apartment

The beautiful mother-daughter pair

I remember it being an unseasonably warm Friday in November. It was the day of the week when I worked from home and didn’t have to worry about getting out of my pajamas. Quite obviously, this incident is from a few years ago when I was a corporate slave in New York City. 

My morning had just begun. I had turned on my laptop, responded to a couple of emails so it would look like I was working and was in the process of figuring out what I was going to eat for breakfast, when the phone rang. It was Aparna. 

“Hey,” she said. “Can I come over and hang out at your place for a while?”

An unusual request for a Friday morning. Fortunately, being a dear friend, I could ask her why. 

“My contractions have started,” she responded. 

So you’ve obviously figured out that Aparna was incredibly pregnant. 

And what good would I be in this situation?

“My doc wants me to come to the hospital only when the contractions are about 5 minutes apart,” she continued.

Suddenly I had lost my appetite for breakfast. 

I should probably give you a little background about why my apartment was a good place for her to hang out at, while she waited for her contractions to be more frequent. Aparna lived in Hoboken, New Jersey  while her hospital was in Manhattan, a 10 minute taxi ride from where I lived. 

A short while later I buzzed her in and she made herself comfortable on my futon.

“Carry on with whatever it is that you were doing,” she said. “Just pretend that I’m not here.”

Ha! In addition to pretending to work, I was now going to pretend that there wasn’t a woman about to give birth in my living room. Piece of cake! I sat down at the dining table, staring at my laptop, worrying about the ‘what if” scenario. 

What if she actually had the baby in my apartment? I had seen some movies and knew that I would need blankets and warm water. Except I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with them. Was I going to have to get rid of my almost new futon mattress if the baby was born here?

“How far apart are your contractions now?”, I asked.

“I’d say about 10 minutes,” she replied, seeming remarkably cool about the entire situation. 

“Don’t you think you should call Ankur?” 

The husband, who should be by your side. 

“He had a really important meeting today,” she responded dismissively, as she began leafing through the New Yorker. 

Was it stress or was it getting really warm? I cracked open a window. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked turning towards her. 

Her face was completely scrunched up and she was holding her stomach. 

“Ow” is all she said, while I looked at my watch to begin timing the contractions for myself.

The television went on. There was no sense in even trying to pretend to work. I began loudly chopping crunchy vegetables. May as well make lunch, I thought

“You’re freaking me out,” she said. “Sit down and relax.”

Words that I thought I should be saying to her.

Seven minutes later the face scrunched up again. Once the pain had passed, I decided that I now had to take matters into my own hands. 

“I’m calling Ankur even if you aren’t” I said sternly. 

She gave me an exasperated look and began dialing his number. It went to voice mail and she began leaving him a message.

“Ratan’s insisting that I let you know that the contractions are about 7 minutes apart. And that maybe you should come over. But I really don’t think there’s a need for you to rush.”

‘Maybe you should come over?’, ‘No need to rush?’. What kind of a message is that to leave for an expectant father from an expectant mother who is very close to having a baby? And what's the deal with the father who lets his wife's call go to voice mail at a time like this?

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” she said hanging up.

Except that I wasn’t so sure. It was time to change into my street clothes and prepare to take her to the hospital myself. I was pretty sure that the baby was rolling her eyes wondering when her parents would understand the urgency of the situation. 

The contractions were now 6 minutes apart. Or maybe I had mistimed them and it was really 5 minutes. 

“Okay,” I said commandingly. “Let’s go jump into a cab.”

Funny picture - a 9 month pregnant woman ‘jumping’ into a cab. 

As she began slowly lifting herself up, the phone rang.

Saved by the bell.

It was the husband. He was downstairs. 

“Grab my stuff,” she said. 

“Gladly!” I replied, ecstatic to see her leave!

So it turns out that there was no need for me to panic. Aparna went through a pretty long labor and little Mira didn't make an entrance into the world until 2 am. I dropped by the hospital to see her the next evening and Aparna, Ankur and I had a good laugh.

“I wish you could have seen your face,” Aparna said looking at me. “Can't believe I didn't think of taking a picture!”

Wasn’t funny then but yeah, it was funny now.