A Dhoko lesson

For the past week or so Ive been sorting out the numerous photos and mementoes I have of my time at Vassar in the attempt to compile an album (and also save some space!) by the time I marry so my mom doesnt have piles of papers to threaten to throw away! And today, just before I started sticking my photos, I checked in a last plastic bag just in case so I could stick everything in order. And I came across a treasure trove of farewell cards and cards from my first birthday away from home (my 18th) from friends Im in touch with by the breadth of a thread, besides lots from my mother and sister (the irritating thing is that you cannot see the dates on Indian Postal Service stamps but you can on American ones. Also irritating is when people dont date their cards! Now how to preserve in order?)

This find warmed my heart. I realised how much I was cared for by an assortment of people. And how, to some degree, I had lost them through my own negligence. DRifting apart one cannot help, but staying in touch, one can, even though its a two way street. And I realise that daily now - love isnt easy. Its not automatic. Its hard work and consistent, persistent effort, and a great deal of counting of blessings. I miss school and the life lessons it daily reminded us of. But its gone now and I have a smattering of friends and well-wishers I will lose if I dont pull my socks up and stop being lazy about calling and too tired to talk. And I need them to link me to my past, to happiness, to togetherness, to sanity. I discover how much I say thank you and sorry but somehow dont end up making the requisite effort to even try and improve. How long will I expect everyone to understand? Everyone has his/her own life and commitments and pains and decisions.

So, on the eve of Bestu Varash, Im going to make a resolution to make the most of my time in Bombay, to appreciate people, to have those who know me remember me with fondness. Hollow words they seem already. Lets see.