A fulfilled life in spite of unfulfilled dreams

I am glad I am living in the new millennium. The world is a much better place for a widow now than it was some half a century back. That was the time when a widow had to shave her head, wear white and live the life of a social recluse. It’s a different scenario now, thanks to the enlightened individuals who made progress possible. A thousand thanks to such who made this world so much better for people like me. If I don’t have to fight a series of battles for identity, if I don’t have to sacrifice my wishes and aspirations on the altar of convention and dogma, it is because the majority of the world is made up of humane human beings.

Seven years have passed since I lost my husband. It was hard to reconcile to the fact that the sturdy anchor of my life was no more there to lead me along life’s path. I was a pampered wife and had no clues about picking up threads which had broken alarmingly. My two sons were on the brink of tumultuous adolescence. As a yawning chasm opened up before us, I found myself thrust into the role of Father and Mother rolled into one.

There were days of blank depression and utter helplessness. Cocooned in misery, I was oblivious even to the pain I gave my children. The Army world in which I lived was forged together by bonds of love and brotherhood. They put me back on my feet. Like a true Army Officer’s wife, I took the vow to stand up and fight when the going got tough.

I was teaching in Kendriya Vidyalaya, Ambala Cantonment at the time. My colleagues at school helped me along as I made fumbling forays into the strange new world. A month after my husband’s demise, I rejoined duty. My naughty set of students, always bubbling with energy and cheer, stood before me in awestruck silence. As I set the tune that day, I had taken the first tentative step towards recuperation.

Destiny brought me to St. Thomas residential school, five months after my husband’s demise. I had toyed with the idea of settling in Hyderabad, but the fine moral support from my family lured me to Kerala. Perhaps, God had destined me to teach English to the students of STRS. The warm and affectionate students here have given me a new lease of life. As a new academic year unfolds, I feel the thrill and anticipation for another fruitful year. The flurry of activities as we move from Santhome fest to Annual Day, and finally the unshed tears as we bid Good bye to yet another batch with the blessings, ‘God will take care of you’, are indelibly imprinted in my life. Life has picked up a rhythm and a new meaning. Yet it is not all smooth sailing. Nobody can escape from turmoils and clashes when people of different temperaments work together. In life’s battles, you win some and lose some. I have learnt to pick up the pieces and move on.

As we prioritise work, there is no time to look back and ponder. Yet there are times when I yearn for the fun filled days of yore .The mind then speeds down memory lane, past the rose filled valleys of Kashmir, past the well laid streets of Chandigarh, then to Shimla and Dinjan and Hyderabad. The glittering Raising day, the cheerful Tambola sessions, the bonfire of Lodhi and the colours of Holi have become mere photographs in the album and a few cherished memories in a corner of my mind.

In the mean time , marvellous things have happened. My Mother, old and frail when we came here, has picked up the fire of the old Matriarch. She is my conscience- keeper. My children have overtaken me in height, weight and smartness. They too have their fits of animosity and rebelliousness. At times, I feel I am bringing up strangers. Life has taught us some strange lessons and after much turbulence, we have achieved a harmony of sorts. Last November, my elder one joined Infosys. My steps have become firmer now. I can stand up with pride and say that I have kept my word.

There are a thousand small things from which I derive my daily dose of delight. And now, as I draw my students into the enchanting world of Shakespeare, I count myself lucky in more ways than one. For I am living a fulfilled life in spite of unfulfilled dreams. Notwithstanding the rivalry, the broken dreams, the wickedness and the disillusionment, it is a beautiful world.

Shailaja Chandran

(This write-up appeared in the School Magazine, ‘The Threshold’ 2003-04. I was the Chief editor for the same.)