Day 1221: The Past Few Weeks

Just as soon as my parents got their internet hooked up in Chennai, my father dialed up Ye Olde VatulBloge and now checks it each time he’s online. So, the inevitable phone call came last night in which Dad asked, “Why haven’t you posted anything since the 22nd?”

Oh, I’ve created a lot of posts, but they’re all sitting in my head, whirling and tumbling down my creek of consciousness, being sorted until the rough edges are chipped off and the pieces fall into place. Regular blogging would also happen when not in constant physical transit since the beginning of November (Las Vegas, Houston, Houston, D in Orlando, Ohio, Wisconsin, Wisconsin again …). Add to that the slow-as-molasses-in-a-tin-can-out-on-frozen-Green-Bay, ~24K internet connection up at my father-in-law’s and there you have it.

Patti (Grandma) looked the worst I’ve ever seen.  Her weight has plummeted because she doesn’t eat more than 300 calories a day.  So delicate, so fragile, so old and so heart-wrenchingly sincere in her affection even through all of her pain that it breaks my heart and those of my parents, uncles and aunts to sit there and make happy talk with her. More than my Patti waning, their mother is going away before their eyes and there’s nothing any one can do about it but make her comfortable, ensure that she eats and takes her medication and love on her. How powerful are we really when we can’t stop time and keep someone like her from wilting?  Death is not the problem, it’s the dying that’s so humiliating to self and loved ones. It doesn’t help that I’ve begun to think that things don’t happen for a reason, and that that line of reasoning is a cop-out to make ourselves feel better, to rationalize and categorize before we crash to earth like Hitchhiker’s sperm whale. We are what we are, a short-lived ball of ego and feelings in pursuit of the non-existent glove. This is what we are to come to terms with.

Not all is frightful, though. My beautiful Grandma (and she is still beautiful and regal through her illness) lit up when she saw me.  Immediately, she launched into stories from when Thatha (Grandpa) and she kept me when I was a toddler (while my parents and brother went to Disneyland and Europe and lied to me that I was there but hiding in every single picture and no, I’m not bitter!) and I’d say the darndest things.  Her favorite is mimicking my two-year-old Tamil as I described the various lights while standing at the window of our Madras home – the lighthouse, the radio towers, the streetlights and the lamp outside Dr. Parthasarathy’s office which miraculously stayed on even through the city’s frequent thunderstorms and brown-outs.  How I would fasten a long towel to my cropped hair and pretend it was my long black tresses, which I would grow on eating a lot of spinach, naturally.  And she never tires of telling everyone in earshot how I may have grown in size, but my face looks just like when I was five.  Hey, forever young is not a bad deal when considering family mortality.  What a memory the woman has!  With her head lowered in pain, she gave us story after story of her grandfather and father who owned textile warehouses in Kumbakonam, how much stock they had, what they made, who they sold things to.  The woman can talk while in the throes of distress, a trait obviously passed on to her daughter and granddaughter, and she’s a treasure trove of stories.  If we lose her, we lose our connection to that past, history and traditions, too.  We lose our roots, our context.   Maybe there’s something to older relatives asking when our generation is going to have children.  Without leaves, the whole tree dies.

Leaves, trees. D and I saw a lot of those on our trip up north and back on the amazing City Of New Orleans.  I loved it!  Everyone must ride a train at least once in their lifetime.  The interstate is sterile, tree-cleared hypnosis and airplanes are stale sardine cans compared to the lush greenery and beautiful, old small towns that envelop the train and almost reach into it on its way back and forth.  Moreover, while many were stranded in airports across the north during and after the ice and snow storms, our train made it up to Chicago, we got to our rental car (after frustration and unexpected extra travel caused by Enterprise Rental Cars – don’t rent from them!) and we drove up and past Green Bay to Christmas Eve dinner.  I took a LOT of pictures on our train journey and, just as soon as I have my camera, laptop and a few minutes all in the same place at the same time, they will be uploaded to Flickr.  My favorite picture is of Pass Manchac as we crossed it at sunset.

Tomorrow, we head back to Wisconsin for New Year’s festivities.  Don’t ask why we came back for a few days and are heading back.  Something about my friend purchasing a FIRE TRUCK and us riding on it in his hometown’s annual New Year’s Day parade, which lasts all of half a mile and 5 minutes.  Pasadena, eat your heart out!  And Madison, glorious Madison, to visit with our friends there.

Thanks for another year, y’all, although I hardly remember it for all the travel.  Stay safe and warm through the pre-2009 festivities and don’t forget to drink a little extra bubbly for me!  Happy New Year!