Rainbows are rare

A few days ago, I happened upon a tweet from an online friend.  I could tell that his cup of contentment was brimming, and unexpectedly so.  Did he win a cash prize?  Did an underdog team that he rooted for, win a game?  Did he bump into a celebrity?  No, no, no.  Someone close to him had shared something deeply personal and sensitive with him and he felt honored as a result.  His tweet made me smile.  Sometimes that is all it takes to make us feel good about this world, right?  That we matter to someone in a way that they matter to us.  As I reflected more on his tweet, I realized that the feeling that he described was an important one.  That the sentiment he expressed was something I felt the urge to dwell on.  Why was that so?

Be it technological innovations or tools that enable increased connectivity, they are only what we make of them.  They ‘enable’ connectivity, they don’t make the connections.  I could have access to a friend at the touch of a button on my phone.  But it is up to me to make time to chat or talk, to send a message or place a call.  Bleedingly obvious?  Yes.  Do we think about it enough?  I don’t know, you tell me.  This is a fast-paced world, no doubt.  As director Cheran beautifully expressed in a scene with Sneha in Autograph, we spend an overwhelming majority of our waking hours to earn for our sustenance.  As work hours expand, as commitments increase, as distances grow, it becomes triply difficult to truly make the time to talk with and listen to people that had once been a much more integral part of our lives.  When we shared a school, college, workplace or at least a reasonably proximal place of existence, the amount of time spent was something that we didn’t have to work towards with much difficulty.  Circumstances favored us. 

As distances grow, the heart is supposed to grow fonder.  In reality, the mind becomes busier.  Noble intentions notwithstanding, our actions seem to focus on the present, our roles and responsibilities personally and professionally.  The people that once formed a part of our core might still feel very important to us but the reality is, they are in a concentric, outer circle.  Even if for simple reasons such as logistics and distance, they are in an outer circle even if we convince ourselves otherwise.  But here is the silver lining.  At the center of these concentric circles is our core, our character and the values that we stand for.  For those people physically distanced from us, if we truly care for them and genuinely want them to feel a sense of belonging, we can indeed do it.  It requires time and commitment but it is not impossible. 

What I am about to say now is not meant to be a one-size-fits-all pronouncement.  It is what I believe in.  For me, to not have a shared present is a gaping lacuna that cannot be filled by once-in-a-blue moon meetings.  I know of a lot of people that say that even if they meet someone after five years, they can pick up from where they left off.  I don’t think I have ever been able to develop that mindset.  I agree that chemistry of a strong relationship can be rekindled in one special moment – a laugh, an anecdote, a hug.  But when the transience of that colorful rainbow is preceded and succeeded by periods of darkness, it is hard for me to just bask in the fleeting beauty of the moment.  I prefer the constancy of a sky- as nondescript as it may be, it has more permanence. 

So, how do we evoke the feeling of being there for a person when we are not there, physically?  The answer is in my question.  It is by being there.  It is by sharing meaningful moments – thank you, technology; you have a role here – inclusive of some highs, some lows, some laughs, some memories.  Just something that is beyond a mere show reel of highlights of our lives, the kind of which floods social media platforms.  By sharing meaningful moments from our lives, we do two things – we give the other person a sense of importance.  And by sharing, we might, in fact, spur the other person to open up about something, whatever that may be, that they might not have otherwise shared.  For someone to speak up, they must have the unconscious assurance that the other person is listening with their ears and their heart.  I will hasten to add that I do believe in the saying that “there are certain chapters in our life that we don’t want to read aloud.”  There will be “chapters” that we hold private for a variety of reasons.  That goes without saying and that is why I said, "some" highs and lows, not 'all'.  But if the other person has no access to any meaningful chapters in our ‘book’, then I wonder whether what is shared is a book or merely a cover.

As I reflect on my dear friend who passed away unexpectedly three weeks ago, I am grateful that in his short life, he gave me the strong sense that I mattered.  It is the same feeling that made my online friend tweet about someone who had just shared something personal with him.  These are the relationships to cherish, to savor, to salute.  Because, at times, life feels short.  Literally so.  In the case of my friend, he was never the rarity in my life that was a rainbow.  He was the sky that watched over me during times of sunshine and gloom.  Now that he has left the earth, I can continue to look up at the sky, knowing that he is continuing to watch me from up above. 

Big Shoes to Fill - A tribute to my dear friend Dhyans

When some people pass on, I get the strong, unshakeable feeling that the ideal person that could nurture me through the grieving process is that person itself. The magnitude of the loss and enormity of the vacuum created by them are so large that only that person – in their absence, their memories – will help gradually fill the void over time. That is exactly how I feel now that my friend since second grade has left me prematurely, irreversibly. While people’s views on death might be variable, could we agree at the outset that 40 is no age to go?

Ramadhyani Narayanan – Dhyans, to me - was an incredibly important person in my life. We were classmates in Chennai from 2^nd grade till the 11^th. After we finished school (1998), we had never lived in the same city. Our respective journeys took us to places such as Memphis, Irvine, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Hyderabad, Dubai, Mumbai and so on. Never were we in any of those cities together except for when we visited each other in a couple of these places. I don’t know if the lack of proximity in fact made us more ‘responsible’ as friends. We never, ever lost touch with one another. Through our respective life experiences - joys, lows, unfettered elation, unbearable despair – I just knew that there was this fellow that I could always count on. And let me hasten to add, this was a comfort that he gave me even before technological conveniences such as Whatsapp existed.

The Dhyans that I befriended in 2^nd grade was not the Dhyans that I interacted with recently. Of course not, you might think. He was 7 then. He turned 40 this year. What I meant was that I have had the sheer luxury of seeing different faces of this marvelous person over the different phases of our lives. He has, at different times, been an impish guy, a happy-go-lucky chap, a daredevil, a risk taker, an insouciant fellow and, in recent times, an incredibly mature, thoughtful person whom I could turn to for measured, personalized advice on any topic. The golden thread that tied the different knots in the story of our life had been his understated affection and immense kindness. He was incapable of meanness. Read that line again. The guy did not have an unkind bone in his body. And if you knew that, his ‘what you see is what you get’ approach to relationships was impossibly endearing, never infuriating.

Two stories that I shall share will hopefully reveal both the lighter side and the more thoughtful side of Dhyans.

The first one happened in November 2005 when we had gone to a mutual friend’s wedding reception in Bangalore. We had traveled as a big gang by train to Bangalore. And while returning, only the two of us were traveling. We had never traveled by air together and we decided to indulge ourselves. The morning of the return flight, instead of preparing to go to the airport, we went to the open ground in our friend’s apartment complex to play cricket! We knew that we were cutting it close but how could we possibly miss a game of cricket? We didn’t.

I am happy to report that I was the first to signal that we were behind the eight ball - not in terms of run rate in the game that we lost - in terms of preparing for our air travel. Dhyans could care less. Not only did he want us to finish the game but also insisted that we eat the piping hot breakfast that our friend’s Mom had lovingly prepared for us. Bangalore road traffic and two hours later, “Boarding closed, gentlemen” was the unambiguous verdict from the airline official. Did that faze Dhyans? Nope. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Vidra, train pidichikalaam!” And off we went to the train station and hopped onto a train whose every junk food item we tasted by the time we reached Chennai hours later. In hindsight, I am just glad that I got to spend six hours with him on the train rather than one on the flight. Life is too short to not be shared enough, you know.

The second story that I would like to share is from 2018. My grandma was in a bedridden state following a massive heart attack. I was seeing Dhyans after a few years. He mentioned to me that he would come to my place at a certain time. I had stepped out only to return a little late. Dhyans was already at my place. I saw his big boots outside the house but couldn’t spot him in our living room. A few seconds later, I saw him by my grandma’s side, gently giving her palms a massage because she had been experiencing excruciating pain. It is not just the gesture that touched me but the casual, unfussy style in which he said, “Dey, Thathama thinks that your massage is no good!” And he turned towards my grandma asking for her confirmation, which she happily gave him. And for the rest of that trip of mine, whenever Dhyans was in the house, he was my grandma’s unofficial physical therapist, exhorting her to do stretching exercises in his absence and assuring her that she would convalesce. She didn’t recover, passing away two months later. But the fact is that Dhyans had alleviated her pain in a manner only he could. Did I say he wore big shoes? Yes, not shoes that can be filled easily.

I constantly complain how the saturation of social media makes us want to just shed spotlight on the peaks of our lives. Dhyans never had time for that kind of superficial brandishing. He was much too deep for that. He wanted to share with and partake in the heights and depths of people whom he trusted. And what more, he extended that kindness to my entire family as well, not just my grandma.

I am grateful you existed, Dhyans. You were one of a kind. Thank you for being there with me and for me till your last day. You know, I could get through this phase better only if you were here.

Rest in peace, my friend, my well-wisher, my brother.

Tamil (Film) Matrimony: A light read on wedding scenes in Tamil Cinema

Courtrooms.  Train Stations.  Wedding Halls.  These three are arguably the oft-visited locations for climactic sequences in Tamil movies since its inception.  I suppose that in their own way, they give writers and directors a setting to heighten the dramatic tension.  A while ago, I had written about the different ways in which trains had been utilized in the movies.  It’s time to show wedding sequences the same love.  As I began to reflect on wedding scenes in Tamil movies, I realized that they spanned the gamut from sublime to hilarious to downright ridiculous.  Hop on.  Let’s take a fun ride to a wild variety of settings – caves, churches, temples and more!

The hilarious:

Sundar C has had a checkered career, headlined by some undisputed comedy classics like Ullathai Allitha but also marred by clunkers like Action and Ambala.  Janakiraman is a rather hilarious but sadly forgotten comedy film of his.  The wedding sequence is an extremely well-choreographed farce, with some rib-tickling lines, my favorite being Manivannan’s exasperated comments to the priest.

The ridiculous:

If you were an ardent Tamil movie fan, you would have seen this coming.  Chinna Thambi would sing in a dulcet voice for every occasion from a baby’s birth to an oil bath. (I am being factual, not facetious.  The situation for the “Uchanthala” song was three muscular men taking an oil bath!)  Yet the guy ties the sacred thread around the heroine’s neck but doesn’t realize that he is marrying her.  If you find this sequence unintentionally funny, for a real skewering, you must check out S Ve Sekar’s spoof, Periathambi.)

The dramatic:

From Vidinja Kalyanam to Thaali Pudhusu, there are films that extend the wedding connection right up to the title.  Scores of films over the decades have utilized the wedding hall setting for dramatic impact.  The dialogue-less climax of AvaL oru Thodarkathai is a masterful piece of direction by K Balachander.  But to me the ‘dramatic’ wedding scene that I find to be the best staged and the most touching is the one directed by his disciple Suresh Krissna, in Aahaa.  The wedding takes place in a house, not a wedding hall.  Every character, big or small, gets an opportunity to shine.  Sometimes, true, enduring beauty lies in minutiae.  Among all the beautifully written vignettes, the Thatha’s inquiry to the hero is a luminous gem of a moment that is as unexpected as it is poignant. 

The coolest:

Strains of Mangalyam Thandhuna… has accompanied many a wedding but when it’s set to tune by AR Rahman, directed by Mani Ratnam and captured by PC Sreeram, it is hard to find something cooler.  A surreptitious wedding has never made one grin harder than the one in Alaipayuthey. 

The romantic:

When the wedding guest Kamal Hassan hollers, “NANCY!” at a church in the middle of Nancy's wedding, you know that her bridegroom doesn’t stand a chance.  He didn’t!  Of course, the girl eloped in full view of her family and the guests! 

I know that this scene is a straight lift from The Graduate.   Nevertheless, the charming screen presence of Kamal Haasan, ably supported by LV Prasad and Y Gee Mahendra, makes this a truly special finish to a delightfully sweet romance.  Raja Paarvai didn’t get the love that it deserved at the time of its release.  But 39 years later, the film has aged as gracefully as its lead actor.

The registrar office:

I think people that get married at the registrar office owe a debt of gratitude to Tamil Cinema for showcasing it, normalizing it, even romanticizing it!  There are far too many registrar office sequences like the ones in Aboorva Sahodarargal, Aasai, Vaali and Kaadhal that have carried incredible emotional and dramatic heft.  But to my knowledge, the first ever Tamil movie scene at a registrar office was in Nenjathai Killathey.  Suhasini plays the reluctant bride-to-be.   Her brother Sarat Babu is accompanied not only by his wife but also a woman with whom he shares a platonic but misunderstood relationship.  Ashok Kumar’s framing is exquisite – the grilled window separating Sarat and the lady symbolizes an almost invisible barrier separating them.

The sublime:

Didn’t I mention a wedding in a cave?  As surreal as it may sound, it is one of the most magnificent emotional highs that I have experienced in a Kamal Haasan film.  Everything about the scene coheres.  Right from Balakumaran’s poetic explanation of “pournami” (“Manasu neranja naaL”) to Roshini’s response to Kamal’s inquiry about the rituals, everything fits into what is a perfect culmination of Guna’s inchoate yet taintless love for his ‘Abirami.’  It would have been a shame had their union been showcased in any conventional manner.  Because it is not a “manidha kaadhal” after all.

And that’s it for the year, folks.  Happy New Year!

Guest post, by Aleida Rosete: Escape from Cuba

In these times when we have all been exposed to family separation due to COVID, I want to share a true life experience. This is my experience and am sure that there are thousands like it that took place in the 1960s. My parents did the most unselfish thing that they could ever have done to ensure that their two precious daughters were not indoctrinated into the Communist thoughts. For, you see, my family lived in Cuba in the 1960s when Castro came to power. My parents immediately recognized that the regime was not one under which they wanted to live and not a system to bring up their daughter. They decided to process the papers to get our visas to come legally into the United States – the land where opportunity and freedom existed. 

My sister and myself were given the ability to leave Cuba; however, my parents were not granted this permission – they were to come sometime later at an unknown date. Concurrently, my godmother and her son (my cousin) had presented their papers and were granted the ability to leave the country. My sister (6 at the time) and myself (9 at the time), along with my godmother and cousin, were able to proceed with getting the departure dates ready. My parents were strong, staunch individuals (I am not sure that I would have been that strong) who took us to the airport and had to leave us to go into the “pecera” (the fish bowl) by ourselves with my godmother and cousin. They had spoken to my sister and I the night before and told us that they were not coming with us and that my sister had to listen to what I was telling her to do.  This was the day I became an adult and knew I had a real responsibility for my sister’s well-being. 

The Pan Am plane came and was being prepared for our flight to Miami. Mom and Dad would come by the “pecera” and blow kisses and hugs through the glass which, of course, we returned. We had a short flight to Miami. My godmother and cousin deserted us by the luggage carousel – can you imagine discarding two helpless little angels, not looking back to see what would happen to us. My father had a good friend in Miami who went to the airport to meet us and wondered where my godmother and cousin had gone. He and his wife were in charge of the teenage housing for one of the Catholic refuge camp that had been opened for children being sent to the US from Cuba by themselves. Thank God for their being at the airport. They were granted approval to bring us to the refuge camp and keep us under their care. This was during the celebration of Christmas (Little Kings Day), so they ensured that we celebrated as if nothing had changed. But, it had – my parents weren’t there and we had no household to claim. 

Within a week, my sister and I were given a ‘scholarship’ to a Catholic Orphanage in Ohio. Within a matter of two weeks, we had become individuals in a foreign country not knowing the customs or the language and living in an orphanage even though we were not orphans. 

We reunited with our parents much later. But that topic is for another write-up!

***

Ram's note - Aleida, thank you so much for sharing your deeply moving, immensely inspirational story of humanity amid adversity.  Your amazingly positive spirit is something that I shall continue to be in awe of.  Thank you for giving me the honor of posting your story for the blog.  

With much affection and admiration,

Ram

Missed Spotlights #6 - Savitha Reddy's voice work in Parthen Rasithen

More so than has been the case with other dubbing artistes, Savitha Reddy has been one whose work has received a fair share of recognition in the past 20 years.  She shot into prominence with her astounding work behind the mic for Simran in Vaali.  Simran had essayed an incredibly complex role, that of a woman caught between an extremely good man and his twin-brother, a lustful beast.  The character’s heart was filled with love for the former and (rightful) contempt for the latter.  And Savitha’s voice had played no small role in helping bolster the impact of Simran’s performance.  But to me, the film that stands out as the best testimony of the quality and power of her work is Saran’s Parthen Rasithen. 

Parthen Rasithen is the story of two vastly different characters in love with the same man (Prashanth).  The Simran character is a feisty, fiery one, in sharp contrast to the timid Laila – Savitha dubbed for both of them!  When Simran realizes that her love is going to go unrequited, she goes about chalking out a devious plan and finally, reveals her cards at the most inopportune moment for Prashanth. 

The scene where she reveals her plan and her love for Prashanth is a memorable one.  Savitha’s voice is in lockstep with Simran’s terrific performance.  Simran’s character is not evil, just an obsessive one who has as much pain in her heart as steely determination.  This is revealed beautifully by both the actress and the voice behind screen.  Observe the way Simran places a stethoscope on her chest and says, “Shankar…Shankar…”  The shriek right afterwards where she barks, “Unaku puriyadhu…” is superbly delivered.  As the sequence progresses, the juxtaposition of pain and mad fury escalates.  Especially poignant is the way Simran grabs Prashanth’s shirt and says, “Naasama poga…una thedo thedu-nu theditaaLe…”  Savitha’s voice cracks just a little to reveal the pain but the clear enunciation and the changes in tone are beautifully done. 

Equally effective is the scene where Simran taunts Laila.  By now the Simran character has switched the gears of obsession and desperation up many notches.  And she decides to threaten Laila with dire consequences.  This is a rather scary sequence where she orders Lawrence to disrobe Laila.  Simran is in dazzling form in this scene; so is Savitha.  There are several standout lines written by Saran, none more powerful than, “Ena mela paakare…Krishna Paramaathma vandhu pudava kudupaar na…”  Also, the manner in which Savitha delivers the, “Unai pudavaiyil paarka aasai” line reveals the full magnitude of Simran’s scorn. (It was a line uttered by Prashanth earlier.)  The way Simran pinches Laila’s cheek while uttering the line is a non-violent but an intense moment nevertheless.  This is another instance of the acting on screen and the acting behind the mic being in perfect sync.  That Savitha dubbed for Laila too and the voice sounds vastly different from the voice for Simran speaks volumes (pun intended!) of her talent.

That sync between the voice artiste and the actor is achieved only when there is complete dedication on both fronts.  There have been many instances where an actress’ lip sync goes awry and it is left to the voice artiste to repair the damage done on screen! (Check out pretty much any of Shriya’s movies for a demonstration!)  But as Baradwaj Rangan mentioned in his recent interview with Simran, the latter has been one that takes great pains to ensure that the lip sync, or lack thereof, never serves as a distraction.  When the actress inhabits the character she is playing with the kind of conviction that Simran does, I am sure that it is a pleasure for the dubbing artiste to complement the efforts with their voice.  I was equally chuffed that Simran graciously acknowledged the contribution of voice artistes like Savitha and Deepa Venkat.  To me, Parthen Rasithen and Savitha’s voice work will be a crown jewel for both Savitha and Simran.  In short, Parthen Rasithen… Kaetten Rasithen!

Louder than words

The more I reflect on people that inspire me, the stronger my conviction that I am but an amalgam of all the perspectives that I have gained.  Perspectives shape choices that we make which, in turn, are a large part of who we are.  But there is a difference between inspiration and parroting.  Given the richness and diversity of perspective that I have access to – thanks to people, books and yes, even films - my job is akin to that of a film director who is given a script by a scriptwriter.  My job is to be alert, capture the essence of what I receive and distill it through my own sensibilities.  

As I think deeper about the people that I look up to, a trifecta of traits come to mind – quiet assurance, decisive action and understated focus on people around them.  I probably listed that in reverse.  Because they never lose focus on their near and dear, they spring into action at the right times and do so with an understatement that merits much spotlight but invariably evades it.  Let me now ensure that at least a few spotlights don’t miss their target!  Without further ado, as directors holler at the beginning of a shot, “action!”

Episode #1 - My Chinna Paati (whom I affectionately call, CP; I have written about her husband in this blog) recently turned 80.  As I was reminiscing about her and my childhood days, one memory stood out.  I was in 8^th grade when my grandpa passed away unexpectedly at the relatively young age of 61.  The entire family was in a state of shock, a state from which recovery was not going to happen within a week.  But within a week was when my final exams were going to begin.  In order to earn a certificate called the Merit Card, we had to score at or above 60% in every test and exam and appear for every exam at the scheduled date and time.  Up until then, I had had a decent academic year.  And as my immediate family was reeling under the effects of the tragedy, my CP took it upon herself to coach me for the week leading up to and during the week of the exams.  Amidst the wailing and the priests who were working with my family on the rituals, she would gently usher me into my study room and “revise” every subject.  And when I did indeed get the certificate months later, I knew that I had no reason to gloat over it.  Because the person that truly made it happen never made a fuss about it.

Episode #2 - 2006 is not a year of which I have many fond memories.  The year ended quite well but I did experience considerable pain in the first half of it.  I was in a rather depressed state following a setback.  My paternal Aunt, who lived in the same area, unhesitatingly asked me to move in with them until I resolved my situation.  I have always been very close to her and so, in a way, I should not be surprised at her generosity.  But the fact that my Uncle too extended the same warmth, affection and courtesy without batting an eyelid, is something for which I am truly grateful.  The fact that they had an infant to take care of, makes it even more remarkable.  For the next three months, not only did they give me a secure roof to stay under but also nurtured me through my highs and lows.  If not for them, there is a strong chance that I might have sunk into a depressive phase.  Despite the timeliness of their gesture, in these fourteen years, I have not heard my Aunt or Uncle mention this period even once.  And when I do, they just smile and dismiss it off as “not a big deal at all.”  And on that rare occasion, I vehemently disagree with them!

Episode #3 - Another Aunt of mine did something for me back in 2018 that was seemingly intangible but priceless as far as I was concerned.  My maternal grandma had suffered a major heart attack on New Year’s.  She had been in a critical condition for weeks and returned home in a much-compromised state and remained bed-ridden for the next few months.  My parents had been in India for the first few weeks following the hospitalization.  And it was in March that I had planned a weeklong trip to India.  During my trip to India, my Aunt told me that she had prayed everyday for my grandma’s health.  No surprises there, knowing my Aunt.  But what truly warmed my heart was her following line – “I would pray everyday that she should definitely survive until you come because I know you would have never gotten closure if something untoward had happened prior to your arrival.”  The specificity and thoughtfulness of my Aunt’s prayer taught me that piety is enormously touching when it is personalized.  I may not be a believer but I certainly believe in the divinity of genuine human emotion.

I can write about many more people whose actions have spoken volumes of their character and the abiding impact they have made on me as a person.  For now, on the eve of Thanksgiving, I shall give my thanks to these people specifically.  I do so with the knowledge that they represent the values for which many other inspirations of mine stand.  On that note, as Directors like to say, “that’s a wrap!” 

Happy Thanksgiving!

95 years young: A tribute to my grandaunt

When I learned that my grandaunt passed away today, the first question I posed was whether she died peacefully, painlessly.  She did.  I was glad.  Padma Mami breathed her last, aged 95, in her home in Chennai.  I have, of course, known her all my life.  You know how certain memories, when revisited through the mind’s eye, appear fresh and different from what we may have actually experienced when the events happened.  One of my early memories of Mami that left a lasting impression was a phase in 1992.  I was 11.  She had lost her husband to cancer.  I remember visiting her place with my grandma.  As the two were commiserating with one another, I don’t think I did much other than silently observe the two of them taking turns consoling one another.  One had lost her husband, the other her brother.  What I remember of that phase was how she gradually rebuilt herself, after a loss that was irreversible.  Her steely spirit wrapped the bandage of determination that gradually obscured the wounds of her broken heart.  The impish smile and the twinkle in the eye returned, slowly but surely.

I had always addressed her, “Mami” (aunt).  That was just because I had observed my parents, my Aunt and their cousins address her that way.  I just followed suit.  She never bothered to correct me or tell me that I must call her, “Paati” (grandma).  I suppose I should have only been surprised had she objected!  She was far too casual for that.  She possessed an innate knack of breaking down the barriers- some real, others imagined – that can separate people of different generations.  I think I know why.  It is because she listened as attentively as she spoke engagingly.  She was interested in things that meant something to me, be it marketing, cricket or the movies!  She kept abreast of changing tastes and trends without feeling compelled to shake up the elements of her core.  She was too sagacious to make that kind of a false choice.  And I admired her for that. 

In the past few years, when my grandma and two of her sisters all went through the unspeakable tragedy of losing a child each, Padma Mami stood by them like a rock.  She knew that being by their side was more important than saying anything profound, to nurse them through their grieving.  Looking back at the interactions that they had with one another, I see that their wisdom routinely manifested itself in action, not words.  And that is something that people in my generation can truly learn from.  In our eagerness to advertise our lives on the plethora of available social media, we sometimes forget to pause.  To think more deeply of the actions and gestures that could matter more than images or words that we dish out like candy.  Whenever I feel tempted to say, “they don’t make them like them anymore” I stop myself.  That is because I feel it behooves me to internalize and pass on what I have learned and observed of these wise young souls.

Every time I have gone to India in the past two decades (since I moved to the US), I have made it a point to visit and spend quality time with Padma Mami.  Not every meeting might have been filled with nuggets of wisdom or advice.  But through observation of her freeness of spirit, warmth of emotion and quiet self-assurance despite the inevitability of infirmity, I have invariably walked away from those meetups with a smile, a sense that all is well with the world.  Now that Mami has left us to reunite her husband after 28 years, it is time for me to celebrate her life and the values I remember her by.  As my idol Randy Pausch once said, “We don’t beat the Grim Reaper by living longer; we beat the reaper by living well and living fully.”  Padma Mami – you did a damn fine job of giving the Grim Reaper a one-two punch.  May your soul rest in peace and bless all of us.