Category: non-fiction

Categories
inspiring non-fiction

The Distance Between Us – My Interview With Dr. Nijher

We all have our days of reckoning: the day we are born, the day we realize who we are. For Dr. Navinder Nijher, it took two days for the latter. Unlike me and my friends, who remember 9/11 through the TV images, through our interactions with our distant locales, Dr. Nijher was on ground zero. Securing in body bags, his team collected torsos, arms of people who had jumped off the skyscrapers. To save a life from debris, they made life and death decisions like whether to chop a limb or wait for equipment. Stationed in the American Express Center with oxygen tanks and other supplies, they watched and worried about additional structures collapsing. Dr. Nijher had seen trauma before, such as gunshots. “But those victims still had their skin tone. Here, everyone was the same color.” Ashy. A weeping firefighter handed them his friend’s body in a bag and lunged back into the smoke. He refused their care, focused on helping others. Dr. Nijher never saw him again.

Dr. Nijher

That day, he was a doctor, a hero in scrubs, a colorless physician volunteer, who hitched a midnight ride via a boat to his hospital in Brooklyn, not home. Another on-call day later, he reached home past one in the night. In the morning, his roommate refused to let him leave without accompanying him. Strange, he thought. A day ago, he had cleaned open wounds at ground zero in what resembled a nuclear war zone. Why would he need protection from his roommate? Dr. Nijher hadn’t absorbed the news cycle that had fastened to the TVs across the globe.

He didn’t realize not only did he carry the weight of sights and sounds, the bloody flesh’s nauseous smell, but also the turban over his head. Undeterred and unable to let go, he snapped the aftermath pictures. Today, not in his scrubs, an average American wounded by the 9/11 trauma, he grasped the change when he stood across the attendant inside a gift shop.

When he asked the price to develop his camera roll in one hour, the shopkeeper retorted. “For you people, five hundred dollars.”

People filled the streets. They yelled Osama at Dr. Nijher. Two days. They differed as night and day, reckoning Dr. Nijher about who he was and who he wanted to be, the boy who grew up in the mountains of New York tucked far away from the Sikh community but protected inside his home’s bubble. He gave interviews, appeared in Newsweek, and crossed the country, speaking. Because that is who Dr. Nijher is: a hero.

I asked him today, twenty years later, have we healed as a nation? Do we know one another better? His calm and pragmatic response stunned me. Not quite. Dr. Nijher blames the lack of information for it. After 9/11, the Sikh community has outreached across the aisle better, but not enough, limiting it to the population centers. But where he lives, in Florida’s red rural county, north of Orlando—deep Trump country—there’s more work left, which doesn’t involve going from his gated community to the hospital or attending the Gurudwara every Sunday. Instead, we must better integrate with those who don’t know us or fear us. That doesn’t involve educating people or holding seminars for like-minded individuals, rather penetrating the very fabric of America through institutions like schools, sports, charities, local boards. Don’t live a disconnected life. Dr. Nijher coaches a sports team, which avails him with opportunities to do just that, break the stereotype, break the victim mentality, and assume responsibility for our American lives.

I thank Dr. Nijher for being willing to talk to me as I collected real-life stories on what it’s like to be a Sikh in post 9/11 America. While he hasn’t read my book, and this is not an endorsement, Land of Dreams, my upcoming fiction book, has provided an outlet for me as I delved into our divides. To diminish our distances is to reach across the aisle and learn about one another.

Releasing this June, my book House of Milk and Cheese (originally Land of Dreams) is an #ownvoices narration about growing up in an immigrant Sikh family in post 9/11 America. Subscribe at www.bookofdreams.us to win a FREE copy.

Image by Marisa04 from Pixabay 
image source – Ivanovgood from pixabay

Categories
Childrens non-fiction

The Truth About Santa Claus

Moist tremors awoke me a few moons ago. An abrupt awakening removed from our awareness of our own body, from the life we have built at a time when only the soul stridulates in the arms of an imagined dream or a nightmare, is alarming. At that hour when your mind hasn’t bound to your human body, and you jump back into it, a question percolates: for how long? How long do you have in your body, which enables you to kiss those you so love for so short? A rude reminder echoes that one day our life will end without knowing how deep the separation or the memory. You coax yourself that it was just a nightmare, only a night, and after you lull yourself to sleep, a new day will begin. It does.

And then I tell my children what I tell myself: I don’t know if they exist: Santa Claus or tooth fairies or any magical creatures they believe. But it isn’t until the darkness of the inky blind night you force yourself to ponder on life on the other side, the unseen world. Our life is a speck in the spectrum of the unknown. The unseen is more than us. So, maybe Santa Claus is real. Maybe fairies fill the eternal world. Life on Earth is attached to our bodies for a limited time. We live at different times, but memories carry, or so we hope. There has got to be magic if there is God. So why not Santa Claus?

I don’t lie to my children anymore that unseen is unreal. It is more permanent than real. Dreams are true.

My forthcoming book, House of Milk and Cheese (originally Land of Dreams), is about such dreams, unseen but unrealized, that need a fight, first to believe, then to realize. Stay tuned at www.bookofdreams.us for more on its release. If you subscribe , you enter a raffle for a chance of a free copy during the book launch.

Previous blogs on the Book Launch Series: The World Behind Words

The Boy With a Strange Hat

Myriams-Fotos image from Pixabay 

Categories
non-fiction

Forty!

I turned forty today. Significance of forty? My cousin grounded me humorously about new aches and pains of the forties. Same reminder I inferred when the sale pitches for anti-aging products poured in—I was aging, only young in my heart and imagination. But perhaps “wiser” will be an accurate assessment of forty. One lesson I learned the past weekend is the expression of love is probably as important if not more than love itself.

And my lesson at forty is: never assume people you care about know how much you love them, how you love them just because you put food on the table or married someone or have play dates together or you call them mamma or papa. Love needs to be put into words, beaded into actions, harnessed into a force for it to exert its influence. Unless you do, in dullness, love hides, overwritten by busy routines, shrouded by misunderstandings and external circumstances.

When my mum asked me last week how I planned to spend my fortieth, I casually responded to her: I will pass my day with no mention. Why? I’d been too busy in my life to reflect. So was my husband. I was a person who had lived long enough to rationalize I’d back to back meetings the entire day—in other words, I was too busy to celebrate.

But last Sunday, when I talked on the phone, I saw my husband rolling dough in the kitchen. I panicked because he never did that. That was my job. All he said was change; we have company soon. I didn’t have time to question him, knowing I didn’t want to look like a freight train had rolled over me in front of people. I changed bedsheets when one of our friends joined us in the backyard, then our relatives trickled in, shouting surprise! And I shed COVID rules and hugged them. I needed one after months of zoom and social distancing.

Under the breezy, pleasant umbrella of trees, we sat and chatted. My aunt had baked a cake; my husband had cooked, and then he outdid himself: he surprised me with a compilation of messages, messages that had me, an author, speechless. Special occasions have a strange way of showing who your true friends are. So, I want to take a moment and thank: Mamma, Papa, Jasmine – my best friend, Taya, Tayi, Big Taya, Big Tayi, Ma, Rumana aunty, Mukhtar uncle, my cousins Niti, Raman, Ayesha, Roopa, Manu and Aman, and my sister, Gultaj, my nephews, Harpreet and Sartaj, my brothers, my children, and last but not least, my husband, who pulled this together. You took the time out of your day for me, and because of you, I now have words of love and care I hadn’t before, because of you, my day didn’t pass without a mention; it became the world’s best canopy of love, the kind that protects you from all that is bad with this world.

Thank you!

Categories
non-fiction

This Will End

Spring is a happy time of the year. For me, the happiest. The birds’ orchestra. The rustling of Willow trees. The fragrance of wildflowers. And the moist, free-flowing breeze. It symbolizes life, springing abloom with a bang.
However, this year, our lives have been crippled by an organism barely alive. A virus. And I sit here watching snow tumbling from the skies, not the waft of White Ash. It’s not just attacking our health, its also crippling our expression of love.

For me, the isolation cost me only a birthday party or two. For some others, it’s their wedding. Imagine that. Advised to remain away from one another, the disease hasn’t just taken from us our lives, but also our celebrations. That’s cruel. That’s worse than a fever. It has taken from us our reliance on stability. We don’t know what tomorrow will look like. We never did, but now we know we have zero control, and that’s scary. Making me suddenly a fan of yesterday when all was normal—I was planning our next trip and my son’s birthday party, and our options were limitless. Oh, yesterday!
But this will end.
What must not finish is our ability to learn from our disasters. If we continue to put business over common sense—our thriving cruise ship industry–the oversized, mobile Petri dish of diseases, that have repeatedly made us vulnerable and sick, then we deserve all this. If we continue to not inspect how these viruses originated and refuse to mend our ways, if we refuse to invest in our healthcare, then there’s no point to the misery. We are once again being shortsighted, believing that nothing can go wrong when we live on a serial killer named the Earth studded with super volcanos, overheated with pollution, drowning under rising oceans, and overwhelmed by depleting natural resources.
And I humbly note the isolation has brought down pollution numbers by over twenty percent. Nature is forcing its kind will upon mankind. And as I sign off, I am counting my blessings. I’m not alone, surrounded by the world’s absolute best people, the hearts I love and cherish. No virus can take that away from us.

Categories
non-fiction Travel

Must Get Lost to Find Meaning

We had been here before. The rocky cliffs and the overlooks were over-brimming with fond memories making us feel a little old remembering the number of visits. But then came a lady pointing her hands. The parking lot was full. That had never happened before. So, up we went in Starved Rock atop the meandering hill, past the visitor center, and the lodge, worried about the length of the walk from overflow parking lot.

Overflow parking took us through new trails and despite having been to Starved Rock many times, we were now new visitors asking for directions, seeing new sights. It felt better than our familiar plan. And nonetheless the memorable spots appeared. We walked past the picnic benches where we had sat in 2007 eating home-cooked food courtesy the big heart of my sister-like/mother-like friend. That was before we had children. It was a time we treated one another like children. We ambled across people with fishing poles and the green grass where we had come with my cousins years later.

See, when we follow plans, we gain the illusion of control. We may be lost, just don’t know about it. Control-the single most desired entity over our days, our life, our loved ones etc. And when you are lost and not know where you are going and things you wanted simply show up, a sense of shocking control of nature for the support of your plans transcends. How would life be if we simply went with the flow, glided from day to day, care-free like an un-tethered leaf, oblivious like a baby, free like a bird? Isn’t that how life ought to be lived? Don’t resist getting lost. Embrace it.

Categories
non-fiction Travel

Iceland Chronicles #2 – Sleeping in Wilderness – Final Chapter

Day 3 of Iceland

Today was the last day of Northern Iceland. We bid goodbye to Akyrurei and Dettifoss Waterfall, the most powerful waterfall in Europe, accessible by the two-mile walk in the barren, rocky surroundings of the canyon, was our first stop of many. For lunch, we took a detour to the only cafe in a hundred miles of drive west, delivering to us a rustic, photogenic recluse from the maddening crowd. Light lunch and coffee became secondary to imbibing the region’s remoteness.
Midway, the children slept, and the mountains adorned cascading steps, tumbling into lakes and oceans. The camera failed to capture the enigma. At 6 p.m., dinner again proved to be too expensive at Hofn. After the last meal of the day, we stopped at the Hoffesjokul glacier. God blessed us with solitude and the ability to lose the overflowing tourists of Iceland. Only two other couples accompanied our sunset stop.
We scheduled our night at the Brunnsholl Guesthouse, right at the foothill of the glacier. Our entry into the hotel was blocked by cows being ushered into the adjoining field as though foreshadowing our slow descent into a deeper solitude. There’s something about time spent with animals, glaciers, mountains, and the ocean—an unspoken, wordless enigma. Tonight, we left the drapes open. We were tourists, doing things we normally didn’t. Removing the night patches and the darkness of our rooms, we welcomed the sunshine of an Arctic nation with time on vacation slipping from beneath our fingers. It wasn’t so much the destination, we were sad to leave, but each other’s company, a joy of being with people we loved, lacking the stress and strife of a corporate world we worked at.

Day 4 of Iceland

On the second to last day in Iceland, we drove southeast from Hofn that was studded by one glacier after another. After Jokulsaren, the hike to the Skaftafell glacier was little over a mile. Our hard work was rewared by the meeting of a lagoon, river, and a glacier.
We posed under rainbows under the Skogafoss waterfall before hitting the Black Beach for whale watching and dinner. This night was a first. The cows at Hofn had forewarned us that deeper rural experience was coming up. Tonight, we slept in the open country in a tent with heated blankets. Meays of sheep were audible through out the night, and the pitter-patter of rain over our tent sang a sweet lullaby. I woke up early to rush my littlest across the tents to the bathroom, worried not having a bathroom would regress his potty training. It all worked out. We checked camping off our list. Furnished camping but camping, nonetheless.


Day 5 of Iceland

Although I was tired having to sleep in one position to stay warm, it was a new day, and novel experiences awaited us. First stop was Seljalandsfoss Waterfall where all went behind the waterfall (except me). After Kerid Crater we ate at another farm and returned to the secret Iceland hot springs hot bath. For dinner we ate at an Indian restaurant in Reykjavik–but coming from India, food wasn’t authentic Indian. Their photos were nice, but they too had been purchased, showing strangers.

Day 6 – Fly Back Day

Last day was upon us, and we were hungry for home. We drove out west today to kill a few hours. Looking homeward, it’s impossible to wander forever. At some point, the lost find meaning and return. So, here we were richer in experience, meaning, and bringing home gifts no one could see but our hearts.

Categories
non-fiction Travel

Iceland Chronicles #1 – The Limit of Remoteness

From the plane

On the way back from UK, we made a pit stop at Iceland. Okay, it wasn’t a pit stop, more like six days.

Day 1

The first full day in Iceland, we set off toward Akuryeri. Gulfoss Falls was the highlight today, its thunder only stolen by packed crowd and the shocking chilliness of Iceland summer. We had to stock up on winter gear for an eye-popping amount. Iceland was a wallet-emptying at a super-sonic rate type of a vacation, not something I can afford again. So, everything I saw, I took it in like it was last time I was seeing it. Here are the photos from the first day in remote Iceland.

  • From the plane
  • A brief history (airport)
  • Geyser
  • Gullfoss
  • Akyureri

Day 2

Second day delivered diversity. We started with Godafoss Falls – Waterfall of God where we spent a half hour. To learn about viking history, we visited the Laufas Museum where we saw an ancient Viking home featuring a bride’s room, a weaving room, and a study room where they met with the priest. With a dose of nature and ancient civilization, we ate a nice lunch at the Vogafjos Farm to prep for the upcoming hike. Sitting next to pregnant cows in cells eating was not refreshing, but children were entertained and questioned their love of beef burger over a lunch of beef burgers. Next, we were off trekking atop a crater in drizzle. Undeterred, Mir and I counted to keep walking and not give up. Atop, under my umbrella, we sat overlooking the crater. This followed by Dimmuborgir where we saw troll caves and lava formations, followed by Lake Viti in Krafla, my favorite stop. It was raining now, and Mir was sleeping, so we took turns here and at the Hot Sulpher pool and Namajfell which is volcanic hot pools and geysir. At 4:30 p.m., no longer able to kill time, we made it early for our most important appointment of the day – Myvatn (pronounced MeeVath) Nature Baths. Rain fell on the hot pool, turning into steam. The floor of the pool was slippery with Silica. After splurging beyond toleration, unsure if we were any younger looking, for sure I was totally dehydrated. Scrumptous Pizza at Daddi’s pizza wrapped our day. Both nights we stayed at Rjupa’s (pronounced Ryupa’s) guest house where Agnes Thorun (pronounced Ukhnes) took care of my children and gave me tips to stay safe and away from the F roads.

  • No better way to end a day
  • Laufas Museum
  • Godafoss
  • Lake Viti

Stay tuned for more Iceland adventures

Categories
non-fiction Travel

UK Chronicles – Scotland

Day 6 – Scotland Highlands

Day 6 of being away from home with just the five of us was in full swing which meant that we were getting a lot of time together–children had fights, resolved fights, had new ones, and above everything else invented new games to play together. A vacation is the ultimate bonding experience. And no bonding is complete without colliding first. Getting to know one another again breathing the moist Scottish air was recharging.

This morning, my three-year-old wanted to climb another mountain. I delivered. Conic Hill in the Loch Lomond and the Trossachs national park. Besides the vertical nature of the climb we were accompanied by the Meays of cows and on occasion, its cousin–smell of animal poop. In Scotland if you smell it, know you are in good company of lots and lots of sheep, cows, and horses. Atop our viewpoint, we had to tread carefully too. Oh the joys of traveling.
Lunch and icecream were at a riverside town called Callander. We undertook the journey to Loch Veil’s mirror sculpture with one aim – to skip the touristy lochs for quieter retreat. It was a quiet retreat.
The drive to our hotel (separated from us by a ferry) was spectacular featuring viaducts, the Ranooch Moor (Harry Potter movie location)…We wanted to be where we were longer instead of some place else so we skipped Hagrids hut altogether. Here are photo memories of Scottish Highlands on day 6.

  • Loch Lomond atop Conic Hill
  • By the Mirror Sculpture
  • What a view from the room!
  • Our landing place, accessible only through Ferry
  • Oh, the Scottish Lochs!

Day 7 – The Yellow Warning Day

Rain drenched Scotland was as riveting as the sunny one. Today we chose a back country road to the Glenfinnian Viaduct lookout and the monument (Harry Potter stops continue). Rain ceased during our hike. On yet another ferry we made it to the Isle of Skye in pouring rain. It took us entire day to take it all in–wet while going, sunnier and drier on the way back.

Day 8 – Through Urqhuart and Cairngorms back to the lowlands

Again, we woke before the town, spent time in their library/recreation room, ate breakfast, and headed out the door taking ferry away from the Inn at Ardgour for the last time, leaving sweet memories behind.
Today, we drove north to Loch Ness where my children disbelieved the Nessie monster legend. I couldn’t use it as a discipline stick. Too bad. But the presentation and the castle itself was awesome. I was saddened by its brutal history, the sheer number of attacks and the change of inhabitants. Truth is stranger than fiction. Later, we drove through Inverness, the capital of the highlands, and the Cairngorms National Park.

Before Glasgow we made a pit stop at Falkirk Park with sculptures and playgrounds for children, thanks to the expert tip from Ilene, my writer friend.

Day 9 and 10 – The City Life

Glasgow – the party town.
We rented a three bedroom unit in the heart of Glasgow. Being mentally ready and being thoroughly exhausted combined with drinking a glass of pink wine helped me sleep through the night in Glasgow where people screamed, cheered, and laughed into the night. Hey, call me boring–I need my good night sleep. I’m not a good person at 3 a.m. And we are early risers.
At 8 am, next morning, Glasgow was unrecognizable. It was a ghost town. We couldn’t find one open restaurant that could fill our empty bellies and settled for Costa coffee and buns.
An hour’s drive away, Edinburgh was truly and madly washed out. Pics here are of the castle, the royal mile (some of it), the garden clock and the restaurant we ate at with soaking wet feet and shoes.
We called it a night and next morning enjoyed the Buchanan street and Enoch Square before flying out to Iceland. We did miss the traditional dance and dresses of Scotland but took what ever it gave to us.

Pictures below are in random order from Falkirk, Edinburgh, and Glasgow.

One thing the trip gave my children was a sense of responsibility. Dua lined our shoes along the wall; she helped clean the apartment and Sahir the rental car before returning. And for that intrinsic motivation, I am thankful for this experience. Goodbye Scotland. Goodbye UK. So long.

Categories
non-fiction Travel

UK Chronicles – Wales, Peak District, Manchester, and Kendal

WALES – Day 4

Nature has a way to force you into doing what you really ought to be doing. It came to us in the form of “Yellow Warning.” We had no idea what yellow Warning meant as we drove out of England into Wales’ Snowdonia National Park. The pristine untouched villages and hills of Wales were fascinating and annoyingly beautiful. Only if driving was enjoyable on one-lane roads.

I knew I had overplanned. But the thing about planning is that when plans don’t materialize you can make fast and good pivots. So, rain and wind canceled our train up to Snowdonia Mountain. As sad as my son was, I was happy to get my money back. I also got time back. We made Barmouth, and Harlech our main destinations. In between the gusts of wind, we managed a few moments on their beaches. We roamed its streets, ate their food, and climbed a narrow road for a quick hike to the Panoramic Viewpoint. Now Yellow Rain warning was our blessing. It changed plans, made them slower, and at this beautiful panoramic vista, the five of us sat alone with the wind – so happy we were not battling crowds, not one person. We sat there by ourselves till our hearts’ content. Sunny. Breezy. When we returned to the parking lot, a tour bus was parking and so were other cars. So, God – you speak to us through the “yellow UK warnings”. Only other stop we made today was atop the Harlech Castle which required driving atop the steepest road in Europe. We didn’t enter the castle, but kids got to play in their playground, and we took in the views and take-out Indian food. It was raining cats and dogs when we reached Y Pengwren, our launch pad for the night.

  • Snowdonia Ntnl Park
  • Barmouth
  • Wales towns
  • Panoramic View, Barmouth…easy hike
  • Harlech Castle

Peak District, Manchester, Kendal – DAY 5

We rose when the entire B&B and town was asleep. Not a bird chirped. We quietly slipped into our cars and into Wales oblivion. At 9, rain was replaced by sun. Drive ended at Susan’s coffee shop that served warm breakfast and fresh groceries on a farm, the last Wales stop for us. It was raining on the way to Peaks District, but we considered ourselves damn lucky because inside the park, Sun came out, views revealed, and we got to touch horses, and found ourselves only with sheep, horses, old building ruins, and mountains interrupted by quaint little villages.

If I had to change one thing about today, it would be Manchester. After seeing London, the poured-down Manchester just didn’t cut it even though it was lovely. Fittingly to my disposition, the only place I took my children here was to the John Ryland’s library. I learned that I enjoy libraries when I get to sit down and read. So, while the architecture was fascinating and the tales of their book collection mouth-watering, I wished I had more time or that I was a member who could sit and read. Manchester meant we couldn’t go to Bolton Priory. Driving to our hotel in Kendal with a cup of coffee in my hand, Kendal castle was the next destination. We absolutely savored Kendal and the castle where my children got to play and learn at our own pace for free. Best things in vacation are free indeed.

Next morning, we would leave Cumbria for the Scotland Highlands and check off some more of Harry Potter attractions. Stay tuned.

Categories
non-fiction Travel

UK Chronicles – Leaving London – Windsor, Stonehenge, and BATH

Exiting London was confusing. Should we have lamented leaving the city we had just warmed up to or anticipated all else that was left to see?

We stocked up on groceries first. Completing the distance from our hotel in rain to the rental car was excruciating in a taxi, unwillingly witnessing the morning rush hour of London. We tasted what it felt like to be stuck in the influx of work into the financial capital. People held umbrellas, and walked fast. Green lights turned red, and we simply gawked, imprisoned in a timeless limbo.

Our first stop was near London, Windsor, UK, and although, we enjoyed the castle, our favorite part was the town center itself; Beautiful and charming. The only place that had a living and functioning monarch was unbeatable. Children kept asking if they would get to see the Queen or Prince Harry who lives in the Windsor Castle. I had to level set their expectations. We were commoners from America.

Our second attraction (but only from the freeway) was Stonehenge – the old, giant stones, standing tall that attract millions every year. And my favorite stop of all was the last one, a town called Bath along the English hillside with yellow buildings, numerous churches, stone streets, narrow alleys, gardens, a quaint little river cutting through it all, and enriched by live music. Walking around the Roman Baths that brought us here, surrounded by souvenir shops, all five of us sat down on the stone floor and simply listened to the violin and the singer’s tapping of shoes to the Scottish music with his eyes shut in bliss. This moment, this one moment, it was the highlight of my UK trip; the joy of free music.

Yes, we enjoyed Roman Baths, learnt a lot, but it was the music that brought this city to life. Here are the photos from our day that erased our sorrow of leaving London with more rewarding memories.

  • Bath
  • St James Cathedral, Windsor Castle

Adios England for about a day. Wales was the next sought out destination.

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