DREAMS DO HAVE A WONDERFUL WAY OF COMING TRUE….

Maybe not exactly the way you want it sometimes, maybe not right away. But they do come true, if you believe in your dreams and hang on to them. I recently read the “Last Lecture” by Randy Pausch. A Professor at the Carnegie Mellon University, Pausch was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Knowing full well he had just a few months to live, he stood before a 400 strong audience to deliver a last lecture called “Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams.” That got me thinking… and counting. Counting the many dreams that have come true for me. Let me share some of these here.

I dreamt of doing English Literature.
In the early 80s, living in the small town of Bellary that had one Women’s College which offered one ‘Arts’ combination (History, Economics, Logic & Political Science) the dream seemed almost unachievable. No girl had left home to study. We had a strict grandmother who did not think girls needed to be educated all that much. But fortunately we had fairly liberal parents and I had sisters who supported me. So off I went to Chennai (Madras in those days) to do BA English Literature in SIET Women’s College. I was probably one of the very, very few students there who was doing the course for the love of it. I thrived in the course, loved every subject and did every assignment with such passion that the teachers loved what I did.

I dreamt of doing Journalism.
I always wanted to write. Journalism was the next logical step. So I stepped into the soaring portals of the University of Madras to do my post graduation in Mass Communications & Journalism. Sari-clad (in those first few days when I thought all PG students must wear saris), a long braid, big glasses... I was quickly branded a “paavam”. Until of course my first assignment that I had to present in class. I had chosen the topic: “Magazines in USA”. Besides a detailed background, I had taken two magazines as case studies: Time & Reader’s Digest. We had to present our assignments in class, not just hand it over. I had gone to great trouble to research my subject. Of course it helped that I was really interested in the subject. That assignment presentation changed the way my classmates and my lecturers looked at me. Again, I was among the few who were doing this out of genuine interest.

I dreamt of being a ‘working woman’.
No girl from our family had ever worked before. So this dream seemed another crazy one. By then, my grandmother had passed on. I did this written test for PTI (The Press Trust of India) and was selected. I was expected to do a stint in Delhi. But Destiny had other plans for me. My cousin never gave me the letter I got from my PTI. I answered an ad for Trainee Copywriter in a small ad agency in Bangalore without knowing what I was getting into. I was selected and found my designation was a misnomer. I was a Trainee Copywriter and there was nobody to ‘train’ me. But that I found was the best way to learn. I took to advertising like the proverbial fish to water. And it has been a wonderful journey since then.


I dreamt of marrying Sunil – my first, and only love.
I met Sunil at my first job. We probably worked for just 6 months or so. But that was more than enough time for us to fall in love. Given our disparate religious, social, cultural and economic backgrounds, our love story seemed doomed from the start. It would never work out I thought. I kept breaking up with Sunil and going back to him again. Sunil never wavered – not for a moment. Through the most tumultuous and traumatic period in our relationship, I always kept telling myself “Someday. Somewhere. Somehow”. In fact I had these words neatly written and framed. The mantra worked. Despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles, we did triumph and got married in 1989.

I dreamt of having Anu.
I somehow always felt that I would never be able to love a son as much as I would love a daughter. I always wanted a daughter. In fact, during our courtship days, we had even decided on the name for our child of love: Anandita. A name I had come across somewhere and that I loved. When we met, Sunil and I would always talk about Anu. So when I was pregnant, I so, so wanted a girl. And Anu was born – the best gift that I could have ever got from a benevolent God and a kind Universe. I remember when Zarine came to visit me at the hospital, she said “So this dream of yours has come true too!” Anu is all that I wanted my daughter to be. And I am so very proud of her.

I dreamt of having my own agency.
This was probably Sunil’s dream first. He always wanted to have his own agency. Because of our complimentary skills, we were kind of preparing ourselves for Jumde Art Copy. There were many, many times when I was working in Adwit that we would have these meetings and training sessions and were asked to list out our goals. I would always say I aspired to have my own agency. Things fell in place and Sunil and I started Jumde Art Copy in 2000. I joined him full time two years later and by God’s grace there has been no looking back since.

I dreamt of owning a beautiful home.
Sunil and I started our married life in a tiny rented home with literally nothing. We did up our home slowly – bit by precious bit. When we bought our own 2 Bedroom Apartment in Sultanpalya, almost seven and a half years later, we were thrilled, but finances were tight, so we had to do up our place on a shoe-string budget. Major furnishing stuff was done one at a time. A wardrobe one year. The kitchen the next year. A book case a year later… And then another seven years later, we bought this lovely home in Sobha Zircon. It was all that I wanted my home to be. We were in a better position financially and decided not take any piece of furniture from the old home, except for the two chairs that we have had since the first year of our marriage. We did the entire home at one shot and we love the effect.

I dreamt of having my magazine.
When I was doing my journalism I always wanted to have my own magazine. I decided I would have a magazine for the youth. While I don’t actually “have” my magazine, my name appears in the masthead of ‘Rave’ as Creative Director. Jumde Art Copy has designed the entire magazine and the credit should go to the entire team, but it’s my name that’s on the masthead!

I dreamt of writing a book.
This dream is ‘work in progress’. For as long as I remember I wanted to be an “Author”. I remember writing that as my ambition is somebody’s autograph when I was in school. Maybe the third or fourth standard. I wrote a Mills & Boons type of novel to prove a point to my friend Nimmi when I was in the 11th or 12th. It was titled Sweet Sorrow and had a French setting. But that was an amateurish attempt. On and off, I have been writing poems and thinking of getting them published but wondering if they were good enough. All along, there was part of me that yearned to write a book. Goaded by friends and well wishers and my ever-supportive husband who believes that I am destined for great things, I have embarked on that adventure too. I started my book in December last year and have done 14 typed Pages in all… Anu tells me that at the speed I am going, I will finish the book by the time I am 90! But it’s shaping well. Anu was the first one with whom I shared it and her feedback? “I never knew you could write so well!” Encouraged by that I plough one. And when I shared it with my best friend Ranjana, she said “Wow! This is professional stuff”. So I am hoping I am on the right track.

There are many more dreams awaiting fulfillment. Like owning a Greek island! And with the way the property prices are going down, who knows that dream may be realized too!

Ranjana tells me all my dreams will come true, because I have a clean heart. I think it’s not just me. I think the dreams of most people come true, but they are so focused on worrying about the future or fretting about what they don’t have, that they miss seeing all that they have. One of the Internet forwards I received had these wise words that I tell myself every other day… I plan to frame them and put them near my desk.

“God answers all prayers in three ways.
1. Yes.
2. Not now
3. I have something better planned for you”.

I have always been amazed at how people give up on their dreams so quickly and so easily. If you really, really want something, hang on to it. There was this quote I had read when I was in school: “Hold fast to your dreams, for if dreams die, life is like a broken-winged bird that cannot fly”.

BANGALORE WEATHER

The last few days we have been having some lovely weather. The famed “Bangalore Weather”. Cloudy, pleasant and some nice showers. And imagine all this in March – which is supposed to be summer. Raises doubts about Global Warming, huh? Anyways, it happened so suddenly. In the middle of a warm day, the storm clouds gathered. That evening Sunil called me to show the lightning in the sky. This time God had decided to put up a silent show. There was no sound of thunder. Just strangely coordinated streaks of lighting from left to right and back again. That night it rained and it’s been pleasant ever since.

A little while ago, I was standing outside office and enjoying this lovely weather – just one of those things that I love about Bangalore. There are hundreds of other things that I love about this city. But I won’t get into it now. Will just stick to the April Showers in March for now…

It’s perfect weather for cuddling up in a blanket with a favourite book. Maybe some hot pakodas and masala chai. Or even better – corn-on-the-cob straight from the boiling vessel on a hand-pushed bandi, with a dash of lime and masala. Aaah!

I believe Bangalore’s lovely weather spoils you for any other city. Despite being born and growing up in a ‘hot’ city like Bellary (where temperatures can touch the high 40s in summer) and then spending 5 years in hotter Chennai, I now find it difficult to ‘take the heat’. Summers I find are best spent in Bangalore.

GOING HOME

Every trip back home is nostalgic…. A thousand memories come crowding back, popping out from a corner, peeping from behind a half-opened door, looking down from a framed black-and-white photograph… Mubarak Munzil – the rambling bungalow I grew up in – was home, a long time ago, to our seven-member family – my domineering grand-mother, my aloof and strict (as I perceived him then) father, my timid mother, my three siblings and I. There were, of course, a houseful of servants. A cook who called me “gori” and who we called “nani’. A man servant who literally grew up in this house, got married and had several children, who grew up with us. A series of drivers (one who for some strange reason put it into my head that I was an adopted child. Vulnerable and hypersensitive as I was, this thought gnawed at me and troubled me for years). And an assortment of animals: buffaloes, dogs, cats, hens…

There was, I believe, something magical about my home. It was noisy – happily so. There were always people walking in and out of the large rooms. The six-seater dining table was not enough for all of us, so my sister would sit on a baby high chair, years after we had all outgrown it. Summer holidays saw our cousins coming over, spelling more fun. Summers also meant sleeping on the terrace. And there was a whole ritual to it. We would lug up buckets of water to the terrace and splash it, to cool the terrace. Once it dried up, the beds were neatly rolled out. My dad who loved to read, and passed on his passion to all of us, had even set up a reading lamp, so we could cuddle up with our favourite books and read till sleep claimed us. Many were the nights we’d lie on our backs, gazing at the stars and counting the planes that flew across the night sky. Sometimes the sky would open up and big, fat drops of rain would drench us. We would quickly throw down the pillows and sheets into the courtyard and run giggling to complete our interrupted sleep indoors. I remember once when my little nephew was sleeping on the terrace with us. “What will happen if it rains?” he asked innocently. My sister, always ready for some mischief, said “You’ll shrink”. I can never forget the expression on his terror-stricken face!

There was no TV in Bellary when we were growing up, but we were never, ever bored. We spent hours playing hop scotch, seven stones, four houses, dark room and dozens of games we invented ourselves. Friends and their cousins were always in our home or we were in theirs. We laughed. We talked. We dreamed. We planned. We went on picnics. Had moonlight dinner parties on the terrace. Went around playing pranks and scaring neighbours. We climbed the gulmohur trees that grew close to the compound wall. Then, as we grew older, we sat with our cups of steaming coffee in the verandah and gazed at the purple hills in the horizon, through the leaves of the neem tree. Today, the gulmohur trees have been uprooted. The neem trees are still there but the purple hills are no longer visible. Hidden from view, first by the other houses, and now by a raised compound wall.

Today when I walk through the silent rooms of my home, memories are all I have. The girls married and moved away. My brother made his life thousands of miles away in the USA. And after my dad’s death in July 2006, my mother lives all alone in a house that was once filled with voices, music and laughter. Trips home these days are always disturbing. Cobwebbed corners, dusty shelves where once books nudged each other, empty spaces filled with an aching loneliness… my house seems sad. Almost like an old, past-her-prime diva who knows that her ‘golden period’ is gone forever.

Like me, my house seems to know that memories are all it has.