EpiphanyMoments

T here’s power in being alone. Not the dramatic, stormy, brooding-in-a-dark-corner kind of alone, but the serene, chai-sipping, thoughts-meandering alone. Ever since Alka fell ill, I’ve discovered a new superpower: loving solitude. It's not that I didn’t enjoy alone time before, but this newfound relationship with myself has turned into something of a rom-com montage—me, a quiet room, and a growing sense of clarity. For starters, spending time alone has helped me  understand the world . Did you know that a dog barks exactly at 8:30 pm every day? Neither did I. Alone time has turned me into a Sherlock of suburban mysteries. From deciphering the cryptic language of pigeons on my freshly painted A4 501 Nandan Prospera  balcony to analysing why people insist on using  cha-maila  to express surprise, anger, self- flagellation or as a mild expletive solitude is a classroom where the syllabus is endless. As Alka’s illness kept me grounded, I noticed something peculiar: peop...

If 2024 were a movie, it would be titled   "The Great Anticipation" , a Pune-based drama where the credits roll before the story begins. We began the year with grand plans and lofty ambitions. Spoiler alert: none of them happened. First, the Royal Carribean cruise. Oh, the cruise! An 8-night Mediterranean escape that turned into an 8-month-long lament over $92 loss on refund per ticket. Somewhere, Poseidon is laughing at us while sipping a mocktail and eating hummus. The Mediterranean called, but we ghosted. Next up, the Nandan Prospera stair climb. A two-story ascent, unassisted, was to be Alka's Everest. Alas, Everest remained unscaled, and the stairs remained... stairs. They looked daunting every day, like the Sphinx daring us to answer its riddle. The culinary dream of chicken curry and rice cooked entirely by Alka? The chicken stayed in the freezer, the rice stayed in the jar, and we stayed hungry for that unrealised milestone. I swear the chicken chuckled each time ...

 It's the early 1940s, and life is throwing curveballs faster than you can say "textbook." My mom, bless her heart, finds herself smack dab in the middle of this whirlwind, with circumstances dictating that her education wraps up at the seventh-grade mark. Yep, you heard that right – seventh grade was where the  school journey ended for her. Now, fast forward a few decades, and here I am, strutting my stuff in the bustling world of journalism. And wouldn't you know it, my byline finds its way onto the pages of none other than India's premier tabloid, MidDay!  You see, despite her own educational journey hitting a speed bump back in the day, becoming a widow at 35, poverty hovering around our door and having three children on tow my mom's pride knew no bounds when she saw her kid's name in lights, or in this case, in print. It was like winning the lottery of parental validation!  But here's the kicker: that moment of pride wasn't a one-time deal. No...

Belief in the interconnectedness of the universe and its responsiveness to genuine desires transcends cultures and belief systems. It's a belief rooted in the idea that there is a higher power, whether it's called God, the universe, or something else, that listens to our earnest requests and manifests them in mysterious ways. Two incidents from yesterday exemplify this profound connection. In the first instance, when we faced a sudden absence of our cook/maid, the power of intention was demonstrated vividly. With a pure heart and a clear intent, the request for assistance was sent out into the universe, and remarkably, within a mere ten minutes, a new cook/maid appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to fill the void. The second occurrence revolves around pain in thr arm experienced by Alka. Despite not directly seeking help, her silent plea was heard by dear friend Bandana who practices Reiki. Through the invisible web of the universe, the friend sensed the distress and orchestrat...

Ah, the blackboard duster – that innocent-looking piece of classroom equipment with a not-so-innocent purpose. It was the teacher's weapon of mass destruction, capable of causing chaos, instilling fear, and occasionally improving the reflexes of unsuspecting students. Picture this: a quiet classroom, students diligently taking notes as the teacher writes on the blackboard. Suddenly, like a ninja in the night, the wood-and-fibre scrub would zoom past the studious kids in the front rows and land with a satisfying thud on the intended targets – the backbenchers. It was like watching a scene from an action movie, with the duster as the star performer. Now, you might think getting hit by a flying duster would be a nightmare, but for these backbenchers, it was oddly exhilarating. Dodging the duster became a sport, a test of agility and quick reflexes. Who needs PE class when you have a teacher armed with a duster? And here's the twist – these supposedly legal missiles actually improv...

 I'm husband, caregiver, pujari, priest, and chief cook (not baker, that's still a work in progress!) to my wonderful beautiful wife Alka. Life took a dramatic turn four years ago when Alka suffered a brain stroke. Our globe-trotting adventures, lavish dinners, and stylish outings came to an abrupt halt. Now, my days are filled with managing Alka's medication, helping her with daily tasks, and being her rock and the one she gets angry to rid herself of angst.  It's a challenging yet rewarding role. I've learned to juggle multiple responsibilities, from doctor's appointments, to being handyman and physio, to meal prep (my culinary skills have improved, but don't ask Alka: she'll tell you different!). Of course, there are tough moments. I feel scared about the future, worried about Alka's progress, and anxious about my own well-being. Exhaustion creeps in, and some days, I wonder how I'll keep going. But here's the thing: my love for Alka keeps...

 Dear Mr. S. Claus, For four Pune winters, your magic wand has been as absent as road-discipline near Balewadi stadium during peak hours.  The stardust that once painted our lives with joy, laughter, and raucous music parties has been shelved like an unshared CKP dessert ninav. Good friends have become as rare as snowflakes in Baner, and the soul-warming elixirs of good whiskey, Bailey's-laced coffee, and Alka’s chicken biryani remain an unfulfilled dream. This festive famine must end, samjhey?  Let your sleigh be fueled not by reindeer but by Peshwa resolve. Let fish cutlets sizzle, laughter echo, and sound of guitar ignite every Nandan Prospera's A4 501 room. Your four-year hiatus has turned our mirth into myth, and patience, my dear Claus, is melting faster than an ice cube in that 18 year old Mr. Walker that's been sitting behind a string of Christmas lights that seldom work.  Fail me again, and I shall lodge a formal complaint with Mr. JC himself, whose birthday...

Oh the Covid days in India—when life felt like a reality show with bizarre tasks, except no one signed up for it! Who can forget the iconic "mask hai toh task hai" mantra? We went from casually breathing free air to becoming human ninjas, armed with masks and hand sanitisers like it was a Bollywood heist movie.   And the "no-touch, stand 5 feet away" protocol? Ah, the golden era of dodging aunties at weddings who still insisted, “Beta, ek plate mithai toh le lo!” Suddenly, everyone was a germophobe. Elevator buttons in our Nandan Prospera society were pressed with car keys, and namaste replaced handshakes faster than you could say "social distancing."   Remember the infamous thali bajao evenings? What a concert! India united in a symphony of steel plates and wooden spoons, as if scaring off the virus required an orchestra. And the diya jalao nights? Our balconies lit up like Diwali, but the virus stubbornly stayed. Such vibes, much disappoint!  Then came t...

Every morning, as the early light spills through the curtains, I lean close to Alka. A single tress falls across her closed eyes, and with a tenderness that time cannot dull, I move it away. My fingers brush her cheeks, her forehead, tracing the contours I’ve memorised by heart. Her lips, soft and warm, meet my kiss, though she remains asleep. For four years, this has been my ritual—a quiet devotion in the hope of a miracle.   I call out to You, God, with a faith that refuses to waver. Do not let my Babu and me down. I beg for strength, for hope, for one more chance at life.  Until then, I will keep waiting. Loving. Believing.

It’s been 1460 days since life as we knew it came to a screeching halt on Nov 21. Four years of stillness, and yet, immense strength. Four years since my wife Alka – my best friend– suffered a brain stroke that turned our vibrant, spirited lives upside down.   You wouldn’t think it could happen to someone like her. One minute she was discussing the next day's activities while at the dinner table and the next, she's crumbled.  She was the picture of health and happiness. A woman full of life, brimming with energy, always ready to help, laugh, pray, or pull someone out of their gloom. She wasn’t just my wife; she was my anchor, the glue that held us all together. A God-fearing soul who believed in the power of kindness and prayer, Alka lit up every room she walked into.   And then came that night.   It was midnight – the hour when the world is at its quietest and fears seem the loudest. She complained of a sudden dizziness, her words slurring just a litt...

The visionary behind Dubai Duty Free and one of the prime movers of Dubai’s rise as the sporting hub of the Middle East, has left us. I first met him in 1989, when I had the good fortune of sitting down to interview him over lunch at rhe Dubai Aviation Club about his ambitious plans. Flanking him were his Marketing and Comms teammates Sinead O'Connor and Anita Mehra. Colm had this spark in his eye, this infectious Irish enthusiasm that turned what seemed like lofty dreams into things you could almost reach out and touch. Back in those days, imagining Dubai as a sports capital was bold—many thought it was a fantasy. But Colm wasn’t just a dreamer; he was a doer. His knack for blending sports with business was something to behold. Through his efforts, Dubai Duty Free not only became an international retail giant but also a sponsor of events that put Dubai on the map. From snooker, squash tennis and golf to powerboat and horseracing, if there was a sport in Dubai, you could bet Colm a...

It stopped raining Chlorofil and stem Watched with bated breath As an orphaned leaf Browned and weary Broke rank and With a resigned sigh Shrugged off its last Porvorim drop; catching the final pink of the setting sun Which slipped below the horizon Orphan slalomed downwards Past petal and stamen Trembling in disbelief Gracefully swaying Towards my sandalled feet Next to a smouldering butt Across a scurrying fire ant And into deep tyre tracks To leave neither Matter or Memory Yet as rubber and slush Turned the orphaned leaf over It wondered if the sun Had found it's final resting place

I came to hide in this crowd But my loneliness didnt let me It dragged me back into the corner Tying me down with caresses Wearing me out with lust Pulling me apart with sweet poems I reach for the light Yet this enveloping darkness Is comforting David DSouza

  An analogy Many many years ago, someone asked why was 11C classroom separate from the main School (Dr Antonio DaSilva) building. The main school building boasted wide stairs, fresh paint Desks were cleaner Windows had grills Wide open corridors across all floors Boys even combed their hair Was disciplined and unchaotic Many even liked music Many many years later someone says Why Not?  Main building gave you education. 11C gave you intelligence to make use of the education Main building forced you to toil for good grades. 11c let you run wild with your imagination overcome scorn and laugh in the face of ridicule.  Main building had classrooms. 11C had a class that is remembered even to this day.  Main building was where you studied. 11C was where you learned. Main building had teachers in front of students. 11C had mentors and guardians next to them.

I met this young man only two times in my life.  The first was at Naren's fantastically organised MidDay bash at Melwyn's old place in Mumbai Four years ago.  The second was against the setting sun on the kerb of Westside store, Baner, Pune 24 hours ago.  On the pretext of a meeting with the Pune bureau, this young man hung around with me, let a scared fat ugly old man weep and sniffle like child, and made me feel immensely proud of humankind!  There were insights shared. Fears discussed. Happy tomorrows decided.  And what did I give return?  Nothing but a trite Thank You and hurried wave before my i20 and his Honda sped away in different directions.  This episode, Sachin, will be remembered. Forever.  (Written pn Dec 5, 2020) 

 I see Helplessness on social media Weeping and gnashing of teeth as beds oxygen medicine disappear Bodies piled up outside crematoriums, cemeteries and morgues People I know losing their loved ones People I know falling seriously ill Government appears to have dumped us God, more so No one to lead, to provide succour No one to hold hands We are left to ourselves.  Houston, we have a problem!  (Written on April. 2021) 

 D ear Alhad and Bhu Two vattanas in a pod Admins allegedly true Old couple so odd The stumble, they shuffle Send lamba ones and fakes, Yet collective grumble When panga someone takes Chutya are the voices Of knowledge and fact Damned are the choices With poor wit and puerile tact The katta group really knows It's futile to oppose So DSB group just flows With purana repeats 'n prose Then comes some achcha relief Thru' big tits and small politics And sets up a naya belief That we groupies are not sick All's fair in a WhatsApp game Never mind forwards so crude All's fair in shame and defame Never mind shabdh so rude I now stop this silly verse Else Alhad and dear Bhu For better or for much worse Will my phatti chaddi sue.

No festival gives so much joy to believers and unbelievers alike as does this beautiful tribute to our Vignaharta, the Dispeller of Darkness and Hurt, Our Ganapati Bappa.  May He continue to bless us, whoever and whatever we are.  Someone long time ago in a foreign land asked Alka if I celebrated Ganapati She said yes. Because he is Hindu by traditions, Catholic by faith and Indian by birth.  My husband celebrates the goodness of Jesus, Buddha and all prophets who teach love and goodness.  True What she did not add is that I enjoy festivals because there's lots of food! 

  No bells pealed, nor flowers bloomed when  a miracle this day 365 days ago Broke our reverie; our complacency,  And bonded once again what was enjoined 40 years ago.  Our sails are unfurled, billowing with joy Sailing troubled waters Gliding peaks and troughs We have become stronger Smiles stay longer Thank you friends, neighbors, doctors The strength you gave us Continue to endure.  (Written.on 20 Nov 2021) 

 Mary's Boy Child lay in swaddling clothes amidst lamb and oxen. More than 2000 years later, my girl-child lies under cozy blankets amid modern bedroom luxuries.  One New Born. One Born Again I see the Boy child's soft gaze in her eyes; of hope and good tidings. Happy Birthday, Jesus.

Rage Rage against the dying light is a line from a poem by Dylan Thomas called "Do not go gentle into that good night". The poem is about the struggle to stay alive and to resist death, even when it seems inevitable. The phrase "rage, rage against the dying of the light" is a call to action, urging the reader to fight against the approach of death and to continue living with all their strength. It is a reminder that we should never give up or surrender to the inevitability of death, but instead, we should fight to live every moment of our lives with passion and intensity. Overall, the poem is a powerful expression of the human desire to live and to resist death, and it serves as a reminder to us all to embrace life and to never give up on

 "I won’t give up. Especially today, as I step into another year of my life, I reflect on the journey so far. It hasn't been easy—nothing worthwhile ever is. Yet, every challenge has taught me resilience and strength. I’ve come this far, and I’m determined to keep moving forward. But I know I can’t do it alone. Friends, I ask for your support, for it’s your presence that lightens the burden. Together, we can make it through life’s ups and downs. Thank you for standing by me as I continue this journey of growth and self-discovery."

Life can change in an instant F or Alka and me, an unexpected stroke shook me not once, but twice. These life-altering events left them grappling with uncertainty, but they also discovered the true power of love, resilience, and unwavering support. The first stroke was a shock, but the second, although minor, was no less terrifying. I saw her eyes glaze over during breakfast, a sudden shift in her demeanor that set off alarm bells. Immediate action was needed, and I rushed to the hospital nearby. The speed at which they mobilized their support network, including friends and medical professionals, highlights the importance of a strong community. Alka's journey through hospitals, tests, and confusion was not easy. My emotions mirrored the rollercoaster they were on - from shaken disbelief to questioning the unfairness of it all. In times like these, it's natural to search for answers, even from a higher power. As the months turned into years, the challenges persisted. Alka, once ...

Life throws curveballs. Sometimes, we find ourselves stuck in situations that feel overwhelming or just plain sad, and no matter how hard we try, things seem to take forever to improve. It’s frustrating, and often, it’s exhausting. But in these moments, when we accept the situation as it is, some might wonder: does acceptance mean we’re giving up? Does it mean we’ve lost hope? Let’s start by clearing up one major misconception: acceptance is not the same as defeat. It’s not about waving the white flag and resigning yourself to a lifetime of misery. Acceptance is more about acknowledging reality, the "this is how it is right now" mindset. It’s an important step that helps you avoid getting stuck in denial, frustration, or even bitterness. Think of acceptance as standing still for a moment to assess the terrain. You’re not quitting the hike up the mountain; you’re simply recognizing that the climb might be steeper than you thought. You may need to change your pace, find a new p...