Words not spoken, feelings never shared

Some time back, I attended a friend’s milestone birthday party where many of her friends, including myself, spoke about her.

Basically what they said was what she meant to them, some went down nostalgia lane remembering incidents where they had done things together and so on. Then of course, there were her children and grandchildren who made it more meaningful by sharing some snippets about her , along with many aspects of her personality that many people at that lunch may not have known at all.

After all these had been said, she herself took centre stage and conveyed her thoughts . What she said was something I will always remember. The essence of it was simply 

"I'm so grateful to all of you for being here today. I’m even more grateful to have been able to hear all that you feel about me . Most people are not half as lucky because all these things are only spoken about when they are no more- at their Memorial .
Which simply means that they would never have had the opportunity of hearing what was said by people who had gathered there to say their goodbyes."

                                 ( Image sourced from the net)

That set me thinking. And I couldn’t help but remember my father’s Memorial where so many people shared so many wonderful stories and insights about him. I also thought about all the memorial meetings that I have attended recently and all that I heard about people who are no longer on this earth. Wouldn’t they have loved to hear what was said?

And so I concluded, it is so much more important to share one’s thoughts about how we feel about friends, relatives and those who matter, while they are still around. Tell them what and how much they mean to you. Tell them what you enjoyed doing together, how much a particular gesture or that lovely dish they made or sent across to you meant to you.

Along with a hundred other things…

                                  ( Image sourced from the net)

That way you will never regret what you never said. Words and thoughts that should have been spoken but never were..

Do it regularly, do it today.

Memories and how food plays a really important part in relationships

Think about it for a moment and you will understand exactly what I mean. Food plays such an important role in every aspect of our life. For instance, if there's a celebration we try to come up with the best, or as might be the case, the most appropriate menu for the occasion. Alternately, if someone dies anywhere in the world, the close family and friends organise a 'wake' where good food and drink is served while people gather around in memory of the departed soul. 

Food is also something that can really taste best when eaten in company. For me, the term 'breaking bread' with someone beautifully depicts a scenario where good food tends to taste even better with good company In fact, I'd go so far as to say that even a pastry and coffee or a croissant and a coffee shared with a friend is something that becomes really pleasurable and many a time, truly memorable. Top of my head, I can recall at least ten instances when I've enjoyed the meal or coffee so much more because of the company on a particular day. Then there are some food memories which are very dear to one's heart by virtue of the fact that they centre around the food that either someone cooked for you in a way that was really special, or then it could be about a savoury or sweet dish that you cooked for, or shared with someone and they loved it exactly the way you made it.

                                    Arabic bread basket-  Shangrila Bar Al Jissah, Muscat

Which then leads me to a chain of bitter sweet thoughts. For instance, I can never eat sweet rice, or better known in Punjabi as 'Meethe Chawal' without remembering my grand mother in law, 'Beeji'. For Beeji made the best Meethe Chawal in the world as far as I was concerned. And always, always made it for me whenever I asked for it. And we were such friends- never mind that I was just married and she was already in her seventies when we first met. 

I can also never eat 'Kadhi Pakore and Chawal' ( a yogurt and gram flour based Punjabi dish) without remembering Jairam, my parents' cook for over thirty years who made the most delicious Kadhi on earth. As also my friend Amrita in Muscat who made sure that  she personally delivered a box of her special home made Kadhi to our home whenever she made  it. I can never eat a peppermint without drinking water right after it to check if my mouth really feels cool because that is exactly what my 'long lost and never found again' friend,  Christine Bose from my school in Calcutta used to do. I can never drink 'Elaichi' ( cardamom ) tea without thinking about my beautiful mother Biba Satinder who I lost some years ago, because she always drank hers that way. Or dip a Marie biscuit in that same tea without remembering how she only wanted me and not her nurses to help her drink that cup of tea when she was critically ill in the ICU.

                             ( Image sourced from the net)

I could go on and on but I find that I actually have an ache in my chest remembering some people close to me who are no more, so I think I will stop here. But not before I say that what really brought on this chain of thought in the first instance was when I was making Rajma Chawal (a North Indian delicacy made with red kidney beans cooked in thick tomato based gravy)  this morning,  when I remembered a friend of mine, Akhila, who passed away in the prime of her life some time back.

   For whenever I made 'Rajma' or 'Maa Ki Daal', I would always send her a big bowl, or better still, drop it off to her place personally because she said that it was the best she'd ever eaten.

NB - This is a repeat post, just felt it was still so meaningful 

The Ninety Nine Club- A short story revisited

Its always great to refresh one's mind and learn something new by re reading a story or snippet that made an impact  on you the vey first time you heard it ( or as the case may be, read it.)

So here's one such gem with some real Food For Thought. Called 'The Ninety Nine Club', I'm fairly certain that it will impact you exactly the way it impacted me.

( Image Courtesy- The Ninety Club, London)

Once upon a time there was a King who ruled over a large kingdom. He had everything that he could possibly desire and then some. Anything he touched seemed to turn into gold and whatever he thought of or desired, he could buy.

But human beings are after all -just humans. Every morning he would step out and go for a brisk walk in his beautiful gardens and he would see a gardener busy at work.  Not a day passed when the King didn't see him smiling and humming a happy song and after some time, this began to bother him.

He called one of his wisest Ministers and shared his dilemma."There is a particular gardener who works for me. Every morning when I pass by, I see him smiling and humming a happy song. I have so much more than him, but somehow, I don't think I'm happy. You see, I'm never really able to hum and sing in a carefree manner I have everything I can think of so I can't help but wonder why he can behave that way and I can't ?"

The wise Minister replied, "Don't worry your Majesty, leave it all to me and you will soon see a different person." And with that, he smiled enigmatically and set off to do what he had planned.

Late that night, he went and dropped a red silk pouch with gold coins in front of the gardener's cottage and walked away. Next morning when the gardener came out, he saw the pouch and bent down to pick it up. It felt heavy and what was even more intriguing, it made a jingling sound when he shook it. Curiosity soon got the better of him and he opened it. Imagine his excitement when he saw that it was full of gold coins! 

He started counting. 'One, two, three......ninety seven, ninety eight, ninety nine....

Ninety nine?   How can that be possible? It has to be a hundred"

And so he started all over again.

"One, two, three........ninety seven, ninety eight, ninety nine.."

When the King saw him at work that morning, the gardener wasn't smiling.

Or humming...

Or working...

Instead he was frowning, squinting furiously and counting something that seemed to make a jingling sound in a red coloured silk pouch.

The wise Minister approached the King as he stood there looking at him and said,

"You see, Your Majesty, this man is now officially a member of  the Ninety Nine Club."