Wave after wave
We’re at Chera Rocks in Kannur
Tag: love
Eleven plus an Englishman and a dog go mad in Kerala
On MAnjula’s death anniversary, we came up with a great idea to celebrate her— even more — by going on holiday to one of her favourite places.
Kannur is where Manjula and I first went on holiday together after our engagement in 2015.
It’ll be a great adventure with MAnjula giggling from the antics of the loosely formed team.
It’s a challenge, anywhere, to bring together fragments of four families with two additions of an Englishman and his dog but this is India. It’ll be OK.
It’s a great way to thank Sowbaghya, Tanuja and Satish for the help they’ve been in so many ways, including setting up the new business.
It’s also an opportunity to spend fun time with Kaveri and her young auntie Rhadika.
We’ve got the go ahead from Kaveri’s mum, Satish has worked it out with the school and Jo will definitely have completed her term.
So we’re good to go…
Wonderful
So which amazing place is going to host this motley crew?
The days after, three years ago
Doing my duty…
When one suffers such loss that forms a trauma and it’s aftermath, it’s an extra challenge to focus on the positive.
It’s especially difficult at anniversary time. There’s a preoccupation with the loss, the guilt, a blaming.
In this month there’s also helpful reminders of good, our wedding ceremonies.
Some might wonder why I follow so ‘religiously’ the traditions. It’s simply my love and devotion for MAnjula.
The day afterwards brings out memories of when she was laid to rest on her bed, outside our house with the tell tale symbols of the smouldering wood informing the neighbourhood what was happening. Next we’d go to the industrial shed-oven aka crematorium and before that a puja by the side led by Manjula’s brother.
A kindly neighbour brought Bhagavad Gita to help emphasise our duty not to become too attached to our loved ones and to help their soul spirit move onto another body.
Here’s me doing precisely that…..
Do follow the link and check the video at the end where I’m at one of the most significant places on Srirangaptnam; visited on every cycle tour over the past ten years.
This week
March is a month of significant memories.
It began with our wedding at the city corporation, followed a few days later with a celebration on Srirangaptnam.
Two years running she was admitted to intensive care and sadly and devastatingly died three years ago on the 23rd.
We do Pooja on that anniversary, help her on her way and remember fantastic times with a wonderful woman.
Here’s a video memory created by our good friend Tom, Manjula showing one of her many skills and most importantly her kindness of giving.
Imperfection
After I’d asked for a sign a messenger came to visit. Thank you Manjula.
Within a day or so the bullock’s head holding Manjula’s pennant fell off the wall and broke.
It probably wasn’t a sign just a clumsy Yindian, yes it was the idiot from Yorkshire that probably dislodged it.
Some time later I was introduced to Wabi Sabi by my friend Kamakshi
and my daughter-in-law Alice, son Ben and granddaughter Poppy gave me a present to fix things the Japanese way
I seem to be being pushed and prodded so I gave it a try,
ta ra ta ra
I can do imperfection (we’re good at that in Yorkshire too)
and now it’s fixed imperfectly
Christmas
In Hebden Bridge, Yorkshire.
Travelling around 1
Catching up with friends
My first trip back to the U.K. in over two years.
The journey through the airports and flight went smoothly as fast as pre-pandemic. I had test results and certificate proving I’d had my vaccinations. No one checked anything.
Being entertained by and entertaining my granddaughter Poppy. She’s eight and I’ve missed seeing her for two years! All of us share that pandemic experience.
Exploring Hebden Bridge with Liz, the mum of my boys, big ex or as Manjula would say: wife number one. We remain close and dear friends of over thirty years.
Cherishable
Today’s cherishable sad and sweet memories are the times Manjula and I spent together.
Here
The writer Didion coined the term ‘vortex’ in her book ‘a year of magical thinking’ about the year after her husband died.
It helpfully describes when one is ambushed by trigger memories of good times spent together.
But I wasn’t ambushed, as I fully expected it.
These are sad and tearful yet happy treasured moments in central London. I know it so well yet it now has an other dimension.
grief gravy
I have swam in it, swallowed it, fought it, opened my arms to it, shrivelled from it, tolerated it, hated it,.. It’s hit me like a personal tsunami, been wishy washy, sticky beyond treacle, invaded my brain to make it fuzzy and cracked open my tentative comfort zones. I know it’s a lifelong friend I have to accept it. It’s equal with and probably surpasses the combined effect of all the worse times in my life and for the first time uncovered real solid regrets.
It’s a gravy train that doesn’t bring benefits or maybe it does.
My heart was broken by losing Manjula, I covered it up and held it close but now I’m beginning to feel able to open my heart again. So there are positives to discover and learning to reveal.
I now love Manjula even more and in ways that I couldn’t imagine. I’m tentatively beginning to be kind to myself.
Part two of this series of postings is the heart
Thank you for your support during this horrendous journey.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA 
I love you Manjula
Little rituals
For almost 2 1/2 years I’ve received daily iPhone notifications —like the one below —reminding me to switch the water on and off. This is to pump water from the sump to the header tank and for the house to not run dry (a common system where we live). The messages were set up by Tom after we realised I needed a reminder. Without Manjula’s physical presence in the house it wouldn’t get done.
MAnjula collected coins in a make up bag. Each morning I take out ten rupees for my morning tea break while walking with Lucie. Thanks Manj.
Lucie waits patiently at the top of the stairs for me to go backwards and forwards getting ready to walk. At the last moment she peers in manjulas library as a reminder to check that I’ve bolted the balcony door.
I look in and smile at two of the many portraits of Manjula that fill the house.
Occasionally placing a T light in this wonderful engagement present brought all the way from Australia
All pieces of the jigsaw of our life. The missing pieces’ essence is present in every one of them.
I’ve chosen to deal with my grief companion head-on. Others will do it differently. Who knows what’s the best way, our experiences are completely individual. The pain is there, whatever but I try to minimise the suffering.
I share Manjula’s story wherever and whenever I can. In the dentists waiting room, even the treatment chair, during the morning tea break, handing out cards inviting people to appreciate our garden.
It’s important to me.
She probably thinks I’m ridiculous. 🤭
Last night was my second appearance at an open mic. MAnjula did get a mention (that’s the point) it was three intertwined love stories. But I ran out of time. The story of my life. If reincarnation and reconnecting souls is true, maybe I’ll have more time with Manjula’s sweet kind soul.
Me and MYCycle 