Christmas in Chicago

Every year in the month of December, I start to get nostalgic about the years I spent celebrating Christmas in Chicago. The memory of my first Christmas party in the city always brings a smile to my face for so many reasons. Hosted by the company I worked for, it was a fairly intimate evening since at the time we probably had approximately 50 employees. Most people brought their spouse or a date so while it wasn’t small, it was the smallest office party that I ended up attending. 

Fresh off the boat and living in the city, I was nervous about driving to a Western suburb that I was completely foreign to. With the days being short in December, no GPS, nobody I could ask for a ride and with snow flurries that I was experiencing for the first time in my life, I plucked up every ounce of courage in my body and made my way to a beautiful party hall in a poorly lit suburb.

The dress code was black tie and having only the one suit that I had brought from India, which had been worn for every interview and to every meeting that required me to wear a suit, there was no way in the world that I was about to also wear it to our Christmas party. Our office was located across the very upscale Oakbrook Mall and having only been in the US for about 4 months, I didn’t know much about where to shop etc. A colleague who had become a friend, walked across to the mall with me but all the stores there were way out of my league as a fresh migrant who had only recently started working. 

Eventually I went to the party in a black and red sweater that I picked up from The Gap with black dress pants and shoes that I wore to work everyday. It was probably the last time I was underdressed for any occasion. I remember walking in awkwardly and while everyone looked incredibly sharp in their suits and cocktail dresses, they never once made me feel like a freak in a sweater! The word of the evening at our table, after a couple of drinks, was ‘marvellous’ and every once in a while one of the ladies would come up to me and say ‘you look marvellous darling’, until we all started saying it to each other. The phrase ending up being stuck with us for a fairly long while. One of those things that I’ll never forget and still makes me grin. 

As the years went by, December was all about attending Christmas parties, exchanging gifts, eating way, way, wayyy too much sugar, fighting traffic and crowds to buy gifts, parking much too far from the mall entrance on snowy days, the family dinner on Christmas day and of course the annual office Christmas party. 

I don’t have much recollection of most of the holiday parties that the company threw, but I do remember the last one, eleven years later. This one was a daytime affair at a large, beautiful home, that looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale. By this time I had a closet full of sharp suits but ironically, the dress code was ‘smart casual’. Maybe I should have worn a suit to make up for my first year there!

The dress code may have been casual but the food and liquor were of the highest class, with the serving staff passing around oysters, jumbo shrimp and caviar amongst other decadent h’ordeuvres, the buffet table laid out with a huge main course and of course more desserts than we could ever eat. My ‘farewell’ Christmas party was truly one that I would never forget.

The food however, was not what made that party especially memorable. With all the liquor flowing, many of us were ridiculously drunk in a couple of hours (there’s just no polite way to say it). And since I was leaving the country shortly after, I was as obnoxiously drunk as I could possibly be. To the point where, when Terry, our COO came out to give a speech, I would keep interrupting him, until he invited me to the podium and probably asked me to shut up in the nicest way he could. I don’t remember what he said to me but as a much loved employee, I’m sure there were no swear words. It’s one of the most embarrassing afternoons of my life but if you had been there, you would know that its a story that deserves to be shared!

Every year, as Christmas gets close, I bring out my fake Christmas tree, add some red to the apartment, put up string lights and make it as festive as I can. This year my man Friday and I made some fudge, reminding me of my colleague and friend, Evelyn, who I used to call ‘the fudge lady’. When I moved back to India, she wanted to send me a box for Christmas but I refused to give her my address as it would cost way too much. A few years later when I was having my New York adventure, she made me happy with a big batch of her famous fudge. 

I could go on and on with all the memories I have of Christmas in Chicago and the friends who made the holiday season so special for me during those eleven years that I lived there. It warms my heart each time I think of the laughs, the love and even the turkey.  I was also always extremely pampered with gifts and one year when boxes of presents were literally spilling out of my office, my friend Elsa stopped by, rolled her eyes and said, “I don’t understand why so many people love you.” Which of course was a complete lie since she was the one who referred to me as her ‘beloved’.

To all my friends and family, who have given me more than my share of love, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Silly Things That Make Me Happy

Since over a decade my birthday has become an event of sorts. It all started with a dear childhood friend who flew down to spend a few days and celebrate my birthday with me. My sisters and family would also be around. And on the actual day a few local friends would drop by and we’d end up being a group of highly inebriated people, eating, drinking, senseless talking, dancing, singing etc. 

One of the years we did multiple shots along with our regular drinks, which of course had us so high that after a point everything was hazy. Including the pictures that were taken. We named it the 'epic year' and since then we’ve been slightly more mature but not considerably. 

As time went by the group of people that would come down and spend near a week with me for my birthday grew, with friends and family flying in from across the country and in 2019, my niece from the US also joined us. It had now became an international affair. What used to be an unplanned week became much more, with my Man Friday and I making the menu and sourcing the ingredients for every meal ahead of time, meals being sponsored from restaurants we love, additional household help being hired, a WhatsApp group that would plan flights so multiple people would land in Bangalore around the same time, logistics, sleeping arrangements at my sisters place, since my 3 bedrooms were no longer enough etc. We joked about hiring a ‘Birthday Planner’ maybe the next year.

This however, is not the silly thing that makes me happy. This is a huge thing that makes me extremely joyous. It’s probably my favourite week of the year and I feel truly blessed for having all these people in my life. 

Sadly the next year was the year of the pandemic that continues to screw up our lives and our minds. Thanks to which the birthday event could not happen last year. Instead everyone was masked up or cooped up in their homes. A multi hour virtual call where a cake was cut and drinks were drunk was the best we could do. And while it wasn’t close to the experience of all of us being together, thank goodness for technology. My sister and nephew drove down from Chennai, my sister and family in Bangalore organised a little party and we made the best of what we had. 

On the morning of my birthday last year, I was sitting in my living room, answering the many calls and texts that I was getting when all of a sudden two sunbirds came into my balcony. 

I should probably talk about my balcony a little bit here. Unlike most balconies that have plants and flowers, my balcony has trees. I have two large frangipani trees and a lime tree with a mango tree thats grown to about 3 feet or so now. There are also smaller to mid-size plants all over, which makes the entire space very lush green. 

Unfortunately until that day, as far as I was aware, the only birds (pests) that would visit my balcony were pigeons, who we were always trying to get rid of. Occasionally there would be butterflies but never any other birds. And then on the morning of my birthday, these two sunbirds hopped from branch to branch, having conversations with each other (and I like to think) attempting to communicate with me. As sneakily as I could, I got up from the couch and brought my camera from the other room, worrying the entire time that I would scare them off. 

And while I couldn’t get the greatest shots since I had to observe them from a distance and with them constantly moving, they stayed on and kept playing. The mini forest in my balcony has been around for a few years now but I’d never had these visitors earlier. Were they trying to fill in for the folks that didn’t have the freedom to fly in that these beautiful creatures had? Were they the carrier of wishes from the group that couldn’t make it to our annual event? I like to romanticise things so thats what I believed and its what I continue to believe. 

It may sound silly but for me it was a big deal. Silly things make me happy and thats what matters eventually. There are always degrees of joy that we feel. While it may not have made me as happy as travel does, it certainly made me happier than material acquisitions. 

I don’t need the big home, the swanky automobile or an expensive phone. Just give me more of the silly joys that I can treasure, store in my memory and smile about forever! Meanwhile, I have my fingers crossed that we can at least have a portion of the group back in my home this year, bringing back a sense of normalcy and loads of laughter. 

The Meeting

This story is a sequel to the previous post 'The Stranger'. In case you haven't already, do read it first. 

It was a little after 4 am when Dinesh decided to get out of bed. Sleep had evaded him all night. He had tried to meditate but there was no rest for either mind or body. 

Sitting by the window, a large cup of tea in his hand, Dinesh knew that today was going to be a very difficult day. He hadn’t seen his son in about 26 years, had no idea what he looked like. The image he had in his mind was still of a 3 month old boy who he had left without saying goodbye to. That and the voice he had heard over the phone yesterday.

Dinesh was a year younger than his son was today when he got married to Naina. ‘Naina’ which literally means ‘eyes’. Would she be the one who would, along with him, see life in a way that nobody else around him did? Dinesh and Naina had just had a few formal meetings after the families had arranged their marriage. He wondered how he was letting himself commit to someone he barely knew anything about. Yes, she was pretty, educated, well mannered and belonged to a cultured family. Was that enough to get into a relationship that was meant to last a lifetime?

One time when they were out for lunch, he wanted to probe into her mind and ask her all these questions. 

‘If you could live your life without worrying about society or family, what would you be doing?’  ‘What is true freedom?’ 

‘What actions in our lives have the longest reaching consequences?’

‘What single event has had the biggest impact in your life?’ 

‘Have you ever thought about the meaning of life and how we can find it?’

’Do you ever stay up at night worrying about where humanity is headed?’

‘Why is there so much suffering in the world?’

There were so many questions he wanted to ask but didn’t. Instead they talked about movies, friends, college etc. Conversations that most people in their mid 20’s usually had. Superficial chit chat that did not delve into either mind. 

Turned out that while Naina checked all the boxes that an Indian man would look for in a wife, her way of looking at life was completely different than his. She was just like the other people he knew, wanting the same things, happy to be the stereotypical wife, daughter, daughter-in-law. He wished that he too was like them. It would make his life so much easier. 

Three months into the marriage when they found out that she was pregnant, all he felt was distress. He hadn’t been ready to be a husband and he was by no means ready to be a father. Everyone was celebrating the arrival of the new baby, but that strange feeling in his stomach would not leave him. His friends, who were still all single, joked about him being a father before his 26th birthday. 

His heart pounded every time someone said it. A father? How could he be responsible for another human being when he was still struggling for answers about his own life?

Nothing changed with the birth of Shiv. He thought that seeing the little one would bring in all these paternal feelings and he would become ‘normal’. As normal as wanting to go to work everyday, being a great dad, wanting nothing but the best for his son, being a good husband and genuinely loving his wife, being the son his parents expected him to be etc etc. Without pretending and without having to make an effort. But none of that happened. All he wanted was to run away from it all.

Which is exactly what he did. 

Tossing and turning, he got out of bed in the middle of one night, feeling like he was about to suffocate. Was he about to have a heart attack because it certainly felt like his heart would explode at any moment? Pouring himself some water, he was barely able to drink any. He began pacing up and down the bedroom, Naina and Shiv at her parents home, oblivious to what was going on. Dinesh waited for his heart to give way but instead tears began flowing down his eyes. Loudly sobbing, he continued to pace, feeling claustrophobic in a way that he had never thought was possible. 

Once the tears stopped, he sat down and just let himself breathe for a while. It felt like he hadn’t inhaled any oxygen in a really long time. It took about an hour for him to calm himself down. An hour when he did a lot of thinking. An hour after which he packed a small bag, took all the cash he had and left his home. He knew that financially his wife and son would be taken care of by both families and that was all that his young mind was ready to be concerned about.

Twenty six years had passed and today he was about to meet a young man who shared his genes. The restaurant they were to meet at, opened at 11 am and he was waiting outside when they did. After consuming endless cups of tea, at 12:50 pm he left and stood out on the street, turning himself invisible in the crowd. Exactly at 1 pm he saw Shiv enter the restaurant, looking nervous. He observed him for a few minutes and suddenly realized that the anxiety he had been experiencing all this time, was no longer there. 

Taking a deep breath, Dinesh walked into the restaurant. 

Paranormal in the Family

Based on true incidents, with minor dramatization

In the heart of the city, on a street most people would be envious to live on, was this majestic five storied apartment building. I was maybe six years old when my uncle moved in there with his family. The building had no elevator and they lived on the highest floor with (what felt like) innumerable steep stairs that would eventually take you to the top. In spite of so many years having gone by, I clearly remember the first time I was in that enormous apartment with incredibly high ceilings, extra large bedrooms and a living-dining area that could, in most cities, comfortably house a small family. The best part however, was the terrace that one could access from the living room and get a view of the bustling, populous city.

That was then. The years had not been kind - the stagnating economy had given the city a tired look and the once-envied building was now frayed, neglected, badly in need of a paint job. The chandeliers, that once adorned the stairwell, had now been replaced with dimly lit light bulbs. As opposed to running up the steep stairs when I was six, I was now climbing them, one step at a time. Once inside, the place looked exactly the way I remembered it. The furniture, the artifacts, the rugs, light-fittings, once shiny new, now badly in need of being updated, polished or replaced. In spite of everything being clean, it felt that there was a layer of dust that could never be wiped away. 

It had been a few years since my uncle had passed away and my aunt, after a prolonged illness, had also died recently. I was sitting across from my two cousins, both of who were still living in the apartment. While they are both quite a bit older than I am, our conversations would not give away the difference in our ages. We talked about happy times, the lavish parties that were once a part of that household, the festivals we would celebrate together and the warmth shared by the families. We remembered the past, my dad and their parents who were no more, recalling incidents about them that would make us smile and get teary-eyed at the same time. 

“Much after she passed away, her spirit continued to stay with us,” said the younger of my two cousins abruptly, referring to her mother. 

For a minute there was complete silence. I didn’t know how to respond to what she had just said. Instead I just looked toward them questioningly, waiting for more, but choosing not to ask in words. 

The older one broke the silence. Facing her sister she said, “She took care of our mother night and day, relentlessly, without complaining for a moment. It was very hard for her when she passed away.”

“But what did you mean by her spirit still being with you after she died?” I asked, not wanting to let this go. 

“Initially I thought it was my imagination that I could see an apparition of her and could feel her presence in the house. But it wasn’t. She really was here.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?” 

“Her hand-prints would be around the house. We’d wipe them off and they would come back.”

“I can vouch for that. It wasn’t her imagination,” said the older sister. 

“And so many times,” continued the younger one,”I would see her walking across the hallway, catching the end of her saree as she would vanish.”

“Were you spooked?” I had to ask. 

She laughed. “Not at all. Why would I be spooked with my mother’s presence?”

I was a little spooked and intrigued. I’ve always wanted to see the dead. 

“Do you still see her?” I asked, hoping that I too would get lucky. 

“She was basically here because she was worried about me,” said the younger sister. “We spoke to a priest and he suggested that we have a special prayer service and more importantly, I had to stop grieving for her. It was my grief that was holding her back.”

“I didn’t want her to have to go through any more pain on my account,” she continued. “It was hard but I had to let her go.”

“And you haven’t felt her presence since?” I asked once again, almost as if I needed to confirm. 

“Her last set of hand-prints faded away on their own. That’s when I knew that she had left and was at peace.”

We didn’t speak for a while, each of us lost in our thoughts and probably in the past. One of the sisters decided to make tea, the other one brought out my favorite treats and we moved to the dining table, catching up on each others lives. 

As I got up to leave with promises that I would come see them again before I left the city, I looked at both sisters and found my aunt looking back at me through their eyes. It was then I realized that I didn’t need to see her apparition or hand-prints - she would always be around as a part of her daughters.