identity

HeartonWheels – Jeanne Meuwissen

April 3, 2019 by Poornima Manco

The day is Sunday, the 31st of March and I am holding my first cup of coffee of the day, on a balcony in Greece, with a beautiful view of the mountains and the sea. My name is Jeanne Meuwissen and I am a 52 year old woman from Holland. Don’t worry I am not going through a midlife crisis or trying to do a sequel to the Shirley Valentine movie or Mamma Mia! I would’t like to give people nightmares as my singing talents aren’t that great!!

This Greek story is about a journey that started two years ago and the first stop was my heart. You don’t need a ticket to get on. Just keep on reading…

Everyone at a certain point in their lives (especially around 50) starts to wonder: where is my path going in life? I guess I got a double whammy as I lost a dear friend of mine while I was pondering this question. Midlife for me was like the Universe gently placed her hands upon my shoulders, pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “Find your path… Time is growing short… There are unexplored adventures ahead… It is time to show up and be seen.”

I do have a beautiful life, surrounded by wonderful friends and family, and I am still enjoying my career as a flight attendant after 25 years. But I always felt that there was something that was missing. I do believe everyone on this Earth has been made for some particular work and the desire for that work has been put in every heart.

So, I started looking deep inside my heart and I rediscovered one of my biggest passions again – teaching children. I was a primary school teacher before my flying career, and to me there is nothing as precious as the ability to be able to make someone smile, especially a child. This world is in deep trouble, but as a teacher you do have a big part in making this earth a better place for every child, and education plays a big role.

It wasn’t a surprise to me then that I got asked by one of my flying partners to come and help her support children from Syria in a refugee camp in northern Greece, close to Thessaloniki.

The first time I drove into such a camp it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my body. Children were living in tents. It was cold in January with no heating and no appropriate clothing. And their stories! What they had been through on their dangerous journey to Greece in dinghies, being ripped away from their family, friends and familiar surroundings. I fought back my tears as I watched these children doing artwork and smiling. I was astonished by their resilience.

There in the Polikastro camp, as I stood in living conditions that were horrendous, I found that I was still able to laugh and bring joy to these children. I found the light in my heart. I just had to let it burn brightly.

This is where the idea of the HeartonWheels bus originated.

HeartonWheels will be a mobile bus that will provide mobile education for traumatised children in a safe place. As Article 26 of the UN states:
Everyone has a right to education.
Education shall be free, at least in the elementary and fundamental stages.
Elementary education shall be compulsory.

The HeartonWheels Bus will be that safe place where children can regain their childhood again through lots of play, joy and laughter. Play is a universal language that initiates the human spirit into a life of freedom, happiness, unity, balance, humanity and greatness. These children never had a childhood where they could play and be themselves, freely. Their childhoods were, and still are, tainted by war and violence.

My journey has taken me to some interesting destinations and I am still travelling through Greece. Right now, I am working in a nursery school in a refugee camp called Malakasa. The children there are mostly from Afghanistan, and although we don’t speak the same language, I do feel we are making a difference in their daily lives by providing them with education in a safe place, where they can regain some of their childhood with lots of love, learning and laughter included.

As we have had some bumps in the road like funding and getting permission to go into a camp, the HeartonWheels Bus hasn’t reached its destination yet. Its parking space is still in my heart. But in the last two years I have experienced so much love and support from my family, friends, flying colleagues and even strangers, through donations, fundraisers, beautifully written cards and comments.

It has kept the light shining bright in my heart and I know for sure, that one day in the not so distant future, I will be pushing the button of the doors on the HeartonWheels Bus to provide a path to a brighter future for all the children on this earth, no matter which religion.

In every religion, there is love. Yet love itself has no religion!

If you wish to contribute or follow the route of the HeartonWheels Bus do click on this link:
http://heartonwheels.co

My name is Jeanne Meuwissen.

I am the proud founder of the grass roots company HeartonWheels.

My educational background is in teaching primary school that I combined with my flying career of 25 years. Last year I graduated with a degree in trauma psychology for children.

Since the Syrian war the world has seen the largest humanitarian crisis since the end of World War II and we know there isn’t a short-term solution. For that reason and knowing that almost 51% percent of the 19.5 million refugees are children living in camps where only their basic needs are met, I started volunteering 2 years ago. I worked as a volunteer teacher at Armando Aid school in refugee camp Oinofyta Greece and in Calais with the Schoolbusproject. At the same time I started studying trauma psychology at the Institute Freunde Der Erziehungskunst in Karlsruhe, Germany.

After seeing children living in horrible conditions and having no access to education, I decided to fly part time and move to Greece where I founded my charity called HeartonWheels.

HeartonWheels stands for a school bus that provides First Aid for the Souls of traumatised children through Mobile Education in a Child friendly Space at various refugee camps in Greece. HeartonWheels is establishing itself since October 2018 through working with various organisations throughout Greece at several refugee camps. Right now I am working in a refugee camp called Malakasa 60 km north of Athens together with a fabulous team of Greek Nursery teachers.

But in a lot of camps there aren’t any provisions like this and children are still deprived of their right to education in a safe place. Although this crisis isn’t that present anymore in the daily media it is still an ongoing disaster for many people and won’t disappear as there isn’t a short-term solution.

Children are still living in situations of deepest despair. Let’s not forget about them so they don’t turn into a lost generation. Let’s open these doors of The HeartonWheels Bus together and give these children, no matter what religion, a chance to a brighter future by making a donation and keep on following us through this link:

http://heartonwheels.co

The Call of a Siren

March 29, 2019 by Poornima Manco

Life is full of its wonders and pitfalls. As a young adult in your mid-20’s, you commence the real journey of your life’s procession. Some are fortunate and exit this decade without anything as much as a blemish. The more fortunate ones will exit with experiences to help protect them against the inevitable misfortunes of the future. The following is one such incident. The lesson learned from this fraction of my life, has served as my moral compass to this day.

As a young adult, having already completed four years of military service and self supported myself through four years of university study, I was inclined to think I knew most everything and all else was probably fallacy. Then, after graduating, I encountered some vulnerable years. During such times you can be prone to making decisions that could unwittingly alter the course of your life. One such incident follows.

Living in a major metropolitan city that flaunts all the trappings of success can leave an ambitious, struggling new graduate feeling ‘lesser than’, thus becoming easy prey to the temptations of fast money.

I received my university degree in Mass Communication/TV production. Shortly after graduating I managed to clench a coveted position in a major television studio as a stage manager for a weekly televised show. It was beguiling, fast-paced and professionally gratifying. However, it was also a position that garnered paltry wages.

While working on the job I was befriended a lovely young co-worker named Andrea. She worked in the Sales and Marketing department for the studio. She was a fusion of style and sophistication, married to talent and ambition. We had a mutual admiration and appreciated the unique quirks in each other.

In time, Andrea and I became fast and furious friends. We shared the same sense of humour, were equally quick witted and could unleash sparkling repartee upon demand. I’d found my stride on the studio floor and Andrea was surpassing her sales goals. The future seemed favourable. Then… suddenly on a Friday afternoon, a company email was released announcing that our parent company was sold and most positions in the company would be eliminated. Andrea and I would be unemployed soon. We were summarily introduced to the cruel reality of corporate downsizing.

The few remaining weeks were were punctuated with commiseration and angst. Personally I wondered if I would find another job like this, having had such little experience and no contacts in the industry to call upon? Would I be able to maintain my apartment? And what of our fledgling friendship?

Just before our last week with the company Andrea told me she had a proposition to make some quick, easy money. She assured me there would be little or no risk as she had already accomplished the act twice before. To have any details revealed I first had to agree to become the third person in this scheme. I said Ok, count me in and the plan was revealed.

Andrea had a friend named Lynn. They had become very good friends while attending university. They shared similar social backgrounds and both had fathers who were prominent local politicians in their respective cities. Lynn had a middle management job in the wire transfer operations of a bank on the opposite coast. Andrea confided that she had made eight thousand dollars very easily with Lynn’s help. So, “Are you interested in making an extra few thousand dollars with me?” This sounded alluring and rewarding.

I was blinded to the obvious. I was a kid raised in a very traditional, moral, religious family. Never in trouble, not even a traffic ticket; served in the military, supported myself through university but I was blinded to the obvious. As Odysseus, I succumbed to the siren call of my own Calypso and said, “Yes…” and in an instant any obvious criminal implications were obliterated by the prospect of making a few thousand dollars.

The plan would be initiated by Lynn who would issue four bank money orders amounting to seven thousand dollars and then send them via the post to Andrea. Lynn was able to reconcile her sections figures to conceal any amount she decided to take (when I now consider all of the federal crime implications involved, it’s almost paralysing!). Andrea would cash the bank cheques and distribute the proceeds. I was young, vulnerable, too trusting – all for the possibility of a financial windfall. Whenever I began to waver, Andrea would reassure me that everything would proceed seamlessly. She had already accomplished the same deed two weeks prior without any snafus.

Within a few weeks the day arrived and our plan was put into action. Andrea and I were to rendezvous at a cheque cashing office she’d previously used. She had in her possession five cheques (two for 3 thousand dollars and three for 1 thousand) which she would cash-out over a one week period. I simply had to accompany her to the cheque cashing store and pose as a lookout to get paid. Seemed easy enough. In reality, I was aiding and abetting, amongst other things.

We arrived at the place, trying to look as nonchalant and inconspicuous as possible. Andrea was, as per usual, Vogue chic and even had the movie star dark glasses. I wore a crisp white shirt paired with Levi jeans and a dress jacket. Our amateur attempt to go casually unnoticed… in one of the poorest parts of city! We were certainly not seasoned grifters.

Andrea entered the store alone and I followed soon thereafter. I was situated close to the door, acting as the lookout while waiting for her to conclude the day’s transaction. When she was about sixth in line I experienced an intuition akin to a wobble or a flutter in time. Even though all was serene inside the room, I instinctively felt something was slightly amiss.

By now my senses were highly acute. I thought I could hear a faint buzz of a distant helicopter, however this was a common sound at any given time in major metropolitan areas. I could feel those tentacles of dread and remorse coiling around my limbs. “What am I doing here?” It was at this point the sensation of mild panic began to rise and every one of my senses became more attuned. Then suddenly, the level of intensity rose to alarm. Every molecule in my body was screaming, “IT’S NOW OR NEVER… GET OUT NOW!!” But what to do about Andrea? I couldn’t simply abandon her… How could I warn Andrea without incriminating myself? And, of course, we had no established signal of “abort”!

I wanted to telepathically will Andrea to simply turn and look at my panicking eyes, but with her back to me, her concentration was solely on the act at hand. By now she’d made her way to the window and was initiating the transaction. What choice could I make? How strong was my fidelity to the siren call of Andrea? Could I save the both of us or just myself? All these thoughts and more, poured through my body like molten lead from an erupting volcano, while simultaneously the hovering sound of the helicopter grew closer and closer. I quietly stood up and without any further procrastination exited through that fateful door, thus abandoning Andrea to her fate.

Once outside, as hastily as possible, I had to create as much distance between myself and Andrea and the cheque cashing place. This was when my own harrowing ordeal began to take place. Countless scenarios careened through my mind. What were my options? I dared not run, as I knew for certain this would attract attention from the, by now overhead, hovering helicopter… and I was not going to wait outside whilst the situation unfolded inside… So I steeled myself and extinguished every temptation to panic. I walked away, as calmly as possible, from the building, resisting the temptation to look up at the hovering Medusa. I continued walking calmly towards my freedom.

As I was walking, it occurred to me, that the worker in the cheque cashing place had alerted the police and provided a description of the culprit. I immediately removed my jacket and shirt as I walked. I now wore my jeans and a t-shirt. Then, to my utter horror, I noticed two people walking directly towards me. They were two uniformed policemen dispatched to arrest us. I was in their direct path. Suspecting they already had a description of me, inwardly I became petrified with fear. As they approached me, I thought my my heart was going to explode. Any attempts of evasion would be to no avail. I deliberately walked towards them, all the while imagining the pitiless grip of steel handcuffs clasping around my wrist. Inconceivably, as we brushed pass one another, I said “Hello” and they smiled and responded in kind. Then, with not so much as a second glance, they continued on their mission.

Now, I walked at a slightly more quickened pace, as I was desperate to put distance between myself and what could have been a horrendous fate. As I slipped around the corner, they entered the building and Andrea was apprehended.

I skulked into a back alley hiding amongst the rats and the rubbish of those giant green trash bins used by the shopping mall stores. All the while I was hearing the whirring of helicopter blades and the piercing blare of the police car sirens on the front side of the building. At that very moment I made a solemn oath to God and myself. I said … “GOD, IF YOU INTERVENE AND FREE ME FROM THIS MAYHEM, I PROMISE I WILL NEVER EVER SUCCUMB TO THIS SIN AGAIN…”

I remained quivering there until the evening fell and the din of police noise had long dissipated. I eventually summoned the courage to venture out to the nearest public telephone and made the most succinctly urgent call of my life to my best friend. My words were simply this, “It’s me… please come and rescue me. I’m at Grand and Lincoln Street… I’ll explain later and bring a bottle of the strongest alcohol you can find.” He immediately sensed the severity of my situation. My saviour of a best friend was there in 10 minutes and ferried me to the refuge of my home.

As he sat before me in a state of stupefied amazement, I recounted the entire saga step by step. I still don’t know what astounded him more… the astonishing details of my misadventure or the alacrity with which I was consuming straight vodka directly from the bottle… lol. I sheltered in my apartment for five days. During this self-imposed incarceration, every minute of every hour I expected a visit from the police and thanked God when it didn’t come to pass. Eventually, I returned to my daily life. However, things turned out differently for Andrea and Lynn.

Lynn was dismissed from the bank and because the bank didn’t want to court such negative publicity, all charges of local and interstate felonies were dismissed. I had heard, following Andrea’s arrest, she was jailed for a short period of time and released on bail. There followed a court trial, she was found guilty, convicted and later exonerated due to her family’s political connections, and her father’s ability to afford the best attorney in the area. I still harbour a small but nagging sense of having betrayed her. But, I never spoke with or saw Andrea again.

I wasn’t afforded such family connections or financial indulgences. If I had not listened to my instinct, and but for the grace of God, in all likelihood, I would have been jailed for a number of years and my life would have been forever adversely altered. In reality though, it is altered, as I became a finer, higher quality man.

As I reveal my secret saga, rivers of remorse, betrayal, incredulity wash over me. Why was I too afraid to call out to Andrea and offer her a last chance out? Why did I not see the obvious crimes and consequences associated with this action? Why did I chance my fate at the behest of someone I barely knew?

I am forever thankful that I survived this scandalous lapse of judgement. From that day onward, I believe, anything not generated through honesty, should be avoided at all cost.

My life now is better than I could have ever imagined. I have a wonderful occupation, possessions, homes, and the freedom to travel. All of this would have been inconceivable, had I succumbed to that one stupid and immature decision.

I urge you to Always follow that small voice inside of you that encourages you to never deviate from doing the right thing.

Live well and Love well. Thanks for reading…

Because of the subject matter L.H. has chosen to remain anonymous, however, this is him in a nutshell: in late 40’s, in a relationship, starting a property developing business, and still living in a major metropolitan area.

Why do I make Mosaics? – Jyoti Bhargava

March 23, 2019 by Poornima Manco

I’ve long wanted to jot down my thoughts on why I make mosaics or what this art means to me. This post gives me that opportunity, and I hope I can gather most of my sentiments while sharing some here.

How…

I’m over 50, and straddling multiple roles of a mother, wife, home-maker and a part-time business manager to my husband’s tech consulting work. Being an early entrant into a full-time job, I forced myself to get organised with tasks on hand but managed my academics in a rather ad hoc way. The undergrad Commerce degree came through while being in a full-time administrative job and much later, at age 40, I studied for a Master’s in Human Resources management. In all this, my love for reading continued, I got married, had a son, and found Net based research to be my regular pursuit. Being around my geeky spouse who seemed to be on a regular quest for learning, helped get familiar with a personal computer rather early for India and adopt a tablet or a Kindle or Alexa as a natural progression. My reading on the Net would be focussed on the interest or requirements of that time, but my teenage love for drawing and hand-crafting décor items became a faint childhood memory. I’d use my sense of aesthetics to choose and buy affordable art for my home or design my simple clothes but the thought of creating appealing art felt too far-fetched. I’d tell myself that I didn’t have a fine arts education so how could I make something nice enough to want to delight an onlooker!

Then about 4 years ago, the craft of making mosaics came into my purview and made me think differently. Four years prior to my initiation, I’d seen a wrought iron table in a host’s balcony in Goa and found myself attracted to it. The host had simply described it as something made by a local artisan who had been hard to locate to do more such work. I wasn’t sure of the name of this rather crudely—but also charmingly—assembled artwork. I remember it as a composition of solid colour ceramic tiles that were possibly broken by a hammer and stuck to a metal table base with white cement filling the gaps in between. Back in Gurgaon in India, where I lived, some 4 years later, I came across a sale post in a Facebook group where the creator had shared some colourful functional items like coasters and trays and called them mosaics. She had invited members to buy those items at a fare. I figured from her FB Page that she’d learned to make mosaics while in Australia. It occurred to me then that even though more mindfully composed, these were created on the lines of the mosaic table of my distant dreams. It’s a bit of a long–winded story as to how I got to finally enter the world of creating mosaics, and its details aren’t all pleasant. Suffice it to say that the last 4 years have seen me reading up on this art, pleading with friends travelling from the US to fit my tools and books in their luggage, and broadening my understanding of the art of mosaics.

What…

Mosaics are known to some as an assemblage of certain materials on a backer to create a composition or just a splash of colours. The ancient Romans used carefully cut stone squares or trapezoids to create floor mosaics to make those formations long–lasting. Particular attention was paid to the andamento or the flow of such geometric shapes. Later, this artwork reached the churches where elaborate life-like compositions were created on the Christ or Mother Mary with coloured stained or gold-leaf glass presumably to fascinate the church visitors. To this date, I’m told that amazingly ornate mosaics can be seen in European or American churches. As the art of making mosaics reached the artist studios in the west, the otherwise fixed rules on the shapes or flow of materials went through innovations, and the outcomes were varied, vibrant, experimental as also gorgeous! Artists drew inspiration from nature, folkart, quilting, embroidery and more to translate their ideas into coloured glass mosaics. Some introduced broken or carefully cut floral elements from crockery to create more unique stories with their mosaics.

My Mosaics…

I started with 20x20x4 mm vitreous glass tiles to make my first few mosaics. It helped that I could manage them with one tool alone, a pair of wheeled glass nippers. The tool wasn’t available in India so after getting 4 different brands shipped from the US, I finally had one that felt good in my hand and had stable blades. In a year’s time, I found myself welcoming challenges of cutting hard 4 mm tiles into intricate petals and small trapezoids—a shape many beginners tend to avoid. Soon, however, I noticed the predominant use of stained-glass sheets by mosaicists in the west to create bigger floral or other shapes so my interest in including them in my compositions grew. I approached a few Tiffany style stained–glass artists in my city to teach me to cut sheet glass but didn’t get their favourable response. Challenges of managing bigger and more expensive sheet glass are many as their tools are different and need a determined practice to get good with their use. It’s only in the recent times that I found a wonderfully skilled stained–glass artist who guided me through the making of a small glass carpet. I need to practice cutting sheet glass more and more to get comfortable with this material…

Meanwhile, I remind myself that my love for mosaics really got started through that table that had used ceramic tiles so I must keep getting good with this material. All my reading and research on tile cutting realised when a mosaicist from the UK was commissioned to make a wall mural in Gurgaon, my city in India. I went and volunteered for that project for a couple of days and felt confident about cutting this hard and thick material. I do love how solid colour and printed ceramic tile mosaics look once grouted but I don’t always welcome the gear I must put on while cutting tiles. The minimum being a nose mask and protective eye glasses and the ideal being a head cover in addition. Ceramic tiles emit dust that becomes bothersome to deal with but my love for the material inspires me to want to keep working with it.

As I’m seeing more work, my learning list has been expanding. Including crockery focals into my mosaics has long interested me but I haven’t cut much crockery yet. I dream about cutting out flowers and leaves from ornate cups or using the curvature of plates to my advantage to create petals or flowers. This form of mosaics is called Picassitte or ‘stolen crockery’ in French. Then, being a bird-watcher, I’ve wanted to make many bird mosaics. While mosaicking a pair of parakeets, I found their eyes to be particularly tricky as the mosaic was small. It was meant to be a wedding present so had to be mindfully made. I settled on layering glass ovals but decided that I want to be able to create more realistic bird eyes by fusing bits of glass in a glass kiln. An electric kiln imported from the US costs a huge sum so I’ve acquired a small Microwave kiln for experimenting with. Presently, I’m going through Youtube videos on this kind of glass fusing and frenetically making notes…

In my journey this far as a mosaic-maker, I’ve wanted to share my learning as I’m plodding along. I’ve found Facebook to be a helpful space to follow artist pages and to join groups where mosaicists ask or answer questions. Earlier, I would follow individual artist blogs but there weren’t many, and now I find that whoever is blogging is sharing links on their FB Page. To return the favour, I’ve opened a learners’ group oriented towards learning and practising the art in India. I found a lot of secrecy maintained by early practitioners I found in India, so I thought I would unravel this mysterious art to others. Since I can’t be sure of a platform like Facebook to maintain its current structure or rules, I’ve created a simple website where I share leads to resources. Biggest of all ‘small’ initiatives by my parameters has been to help establish a supply source for those in India for tiles and tools. A tile manufacturer I came across on Amazon responded to my queries and a year later, obliged by setting up an e-commerce website to sell glass and ceramic tiles in small quantities. Upon prodding, they included the essential tools imported from Taiwan or elsewhere so a small level studio artist in India now no longer has to search high and low for the right tools of trade.

More unusual materials and techniques have been coming into my mosaic ambit but in closing, I should simply share my heart-felt wish here…that my hands and eyes should keep working enough to enable regular mosaic-making so my connect with this art consolidates further through my remaining life.

Jyoti Bhargava is a mosaic-enthusiast, an irregular blogger, a regular Net researcher, a recluse but a committed business manager. She believes in good Karma and perpetual learning. Her mosaic-based writings can be read at mosaicindia.in.

The ghost in the office – Shantanu Saha

March 10, 2019 by Poornima Manco

It was the year 2004, and I had set up my own bootstrapped venture, an Executive Search Firm. Our first office was in a fairly old bungalow in the heart of South Delhi.

I had leased the entire ground floor of this bungalow, spread over an area of 3000 sq. ft. with an additional front lawn and a back courtyard. Outside the house was an old Banyan tree adjacent to the main gate, with aerial pop roots hanging from the branches, giving an eerie look and feel to the whole house. The first floor with terrace had the landlord’s family: a husband, wife, child and his elderly mother.

The ground floor of the house that we occupied had three fairly large rooms with an attached bath in each. There was an even larger drawing and dining area. Doors of some of the washrooms, especially the one in front of the house, tended to make a creaking sound whenever the wind blew. In this place I occupied one room at the back of the house from where I used to work and I had a team of three girls: Raj, Swati & Rupa who would sit and work in the adjacent room. There was also an old chap Kartik who was the office help. His job was to manage the pantry, lay out the lunch, supervise the cleaner who would come once a day and open & close the office.

The business was doing well and all was hunky dory till a series of strange events happened. Initially these were minor things. A couple of the girls complained that after lunch when they went back to their workstations, all the windows tabs in their computers they had kept open while searching for profiles on job sites, had been closed. Another girl complained that though she had switched off the light and fan switches in their room before coming to the dining hall for lunch, they had all been mysteriously switched on when they went back. I made light of all this and told them that they were getting absent minded. However, after a while, they got it into their heads that this was all down to a ghost. They were also convinced it was a female ghost who was not bothering me but only the girls, as everything happened to them and not to me. I refused to buy into this line of thought.

Then something even more mysterious happened. It was a bright sunny afternoon in the month of June, when one of my team members Swati was discussing something with me in my room. The doorbell rang. In those days we were recruiting for our own team and we used to call candidates over to the office for an interview. The candidate would be attended to by the office boy, given a job application form and after they filled that out, Kartik would bring the candidate’s resumé and form in to me. I would send one of the girls to do the first round of interviews and if they cleared that, I would meet the candidate.

I asked Swati if she could see who the candidate was, as although the drawing room was a little far off, there was a direct line of sight from the place where she was standing in my room. She described that the girl was looking away toward the French windows overlooking the lawn and was wearing high heels and a salwar kameez. She added that she looked smart enough, and that she would meet her once Kartik had got her to finish the formalities. We then went back to our discussion.

After 10 minutes, I suddenly reminded Swati that Kartik had not yet come in with the candidate’s form. She called out and Kartik came in from the back courtyard which had an entry from the room where the girls used to sit and work. We asked him what had happened and why he hadn’t brought in the girl’s form and resumé. He asked – which girl? Swati and I looked at each other. I asked Kartik had he not opened the door when the bell rang? He said he never heard the bell ring and that he was in the back courtyard anyway. We immediately went to the drawing room and there was no one there. I was stunned! I thought I had heard the bell ring and so had Swati. Besides, she had vividly described the girl. We did not know what to make of it.

However, when I discussed this with Raj and Rupa separately, they speculated that since Swati had recently been through a bereavement and been quite distressed, that maybe she had hallucinated the episode. Although I was not fully convinced, I thought I had what could be the best explanation under the given circumstances.

A few days later, I was talking to the girls in the room where they used to work. All the girls at that time had Personal Computers on which they worked. To ensure an uninterrupted power supply in the event of a power failure, all PC’s had a Battery Backup Device attached to them. While talking to them I walked across to the window in the room where the curtains were a little out of place. I was adjusting the curtain when all of a sudden Swati’s PCs Battery Backup Device started beeping. She looked at me in alarm. I looked at the power plug to which the battery backup device was connected on the wall which was located just below the curtain and I noticed that the switch was off. I told her that maybe the switch had shut off when I was adjusting the curtain and there was nothing to be alarmed about.

That night I was at home when at around 10 pm Swati called and her first question was – ‘Sir, what’s the backup time of the Battery Backup Device?’ At that instant, a shiver ran through me as I realised that the device had, at the very least, a 15 minute backup. It was fairly new, so its in-built alarm would not beep unless it ran out of power. If by my moving the curtain I had inadvertently switched off the main switch from which the device was drawing power, the beeping sound could not possibly have started that soon. Swati had been working on her machine all morning, and the power backup device had beeped only when I was in the room that afternoon. Both of us realised that no logical explanations were working. She insisted I speak to the landlords about any unnatural deaths in the house.

I briefed the landlord the next day and he said he had no clue why these things were happening. He said that only his father had passed away in this house but, there was no reason why he would be spooking us. It was then that Rupa in my team disclosed some more details about the area where this house was located.

Apparently, just across the road from our house was a 5 star hotel that had been built adjacent to an old graveyard that had been there for centuries. She had worked in that hotel for a short while before she joined our firm. She said that many guests and staff in that hotel had reported hearing eerie screams on the upper floors quite frequently during the night. It had come to such a stage that hotel staff had refused to go to the upper floors late in the night. She also pointed out the Banyan tree outside our office. Banyan trees in India are associated with the God Yama, or the God of Death. The tree is often planted outside villages in India near crematoriums. It is believed to be the abode of ghosts.

Upon hearing all of this, my entire team and I decided that it would be difficult to work from there any more. We frantically searched for an alternate location and within a week shifted out.

I do not know whether the house was truly haunted or not, but our experience there was spooky enough that even now, reminiscing about these incidents sends chills down my spine.

Shantanu resides in New Delhi, India and holds a bachelor’s degree in Economics as well as a Master’s degree in Business Administration.

He had a successful Corporate Stint in the Human Resources Function and became a Head of HR at the age of 25 in a Manufacturing Multinational. He worked in various sectors subsequently as a Head HR, before setting up his own Executive Search Firm in 2004 that now has a presence in multiple cities across India. He is also a guest judge and speaker in various management forums & institutes in India.

He lost his father at the age of ten to a genetic disease that later affected him and his sister as well. He had multiple surgeries and a near death experience and survived to tell the tale both literally and figuratively. He wrote a book on how he overcame the disease describing his whole experience and the same is available on Amazon globally. He unfortunately lost his sister to the disease too.

He is a workaholic, likes traveling, is an amateur photographer, likes reading & writing occasionally, is an exercise freak and also has interests in the areas of Science, Arts and Politics.

He can be reached on :-

Twitter : @ShantanuSaha1

Instagram : @shantanusaha1

Linkedin : https://www.linkedin.com/in/shantanusaha/

His book – “Fight for Life: My Journey from a Fatal Disease to Good Health” is now available for Kindle on Amazon. The Paper back is also available in some countries.

The link for India is: http://www.amazon.in/dp/B014YFEFES

The link for US is: http://amzn.com/B014YFEFES

The link for UK is: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B014YFEFES

My unlikely journey to fatherhood – André Hellström

March 4, 2019 by Poornima Manco

I started having the first stirrings of the paternal instinct when I was volunteering, taking care of a 10 year old boy with autism, through the National Autistic Society. I saw ‘Joel’ once a week for two years and although he had difficulties building relationships with others, we connected very well. Being with Joel, I realised I wanted to be a dad.

I can only compare the paternal instinct with the feelings of realising that I was gay- they are very strong and there is no going back.

I believe one of the most important things in life is to help others, so helping a loving lesbian couple wanting a family became very important to me. I was reluctant to donate to a sperm bank as donating to a sperm bank is anonymous and I’ve always been adamant that a child needs to know where he/she is coming from. I was also very close to my grandmother, she was my everything and I wanted her legacy to live through me. I found a lesbian couple from a website called Pride Angel where female couples are looking for donors. I knew straight away that they were the mums I was looking for. We bonded very quickly but it was still a long journey towards building trust. After all, we were about to create another human being.

I tried getting both mums pregnant through artificial insemination. One mum got pregnant after four tries. The following nine months waiting for the baby felt like nine years! It was endless! And full of worries! I was worried that the baby wouldn’t survive. I was worried that our child would be bullied and resent us for putting him or her into this kind of family. Now, looking back at some of those worries, I feel silly. I worried too much. We live in multi cultural London and what’s a ‘normal’ family today anyway? Our baby was planned and with so much love and trust behind it.

Nevertheless, a lot of thoughts went through my mind and I felt very lonely during the pregnancy. The mums had each other but not many of my gay friends could relate to my paternal instincts. I had no one to talk to when I was worried, or overwhelmingly excited about having a child! But I did talk to the mums a lot. In fact, we cried and laughed with happiness during the whole pregnancy. As the belly grew, the more we understood the magnitude of what we had done! Of course, ALL children are small miracles but somehow we selfishly felt that our baby was just a tad more special…

Our son Enzo was born in the year 2014. The mums sent me a photo of them holding our newborn son and I felt beyond happy! And the relief. I was relieved that Enzo was healthy, I was relieved (and proud) that I had pursued my dream of wanting to help a lesbian couple in having a child. It had taken four years from my initial feeling of wanting to be a dad until Enzo was born. I felt a sense of inner peace, like a puzzle had been finished. By helping others, we also help ourselves.

After Enzo’s birth, it was going to take about two weeks to organise the birth certificate. Our agreement was that the mothers would be on the birth certificate but during the first two weeks there was a possibility that I could change my mind… By not being on the birth certificate, I would, as a consequence, lose all legal rights to my own son… The mothers knew I could change my mind so we had initially agreed that I wouldn’t see Enzo the first two weeks. However, as we had grown so close during the pregnancy, the new mums couldn’t wait for me to see him and to be honest, it would’ve been torture not to. So the next day I went to their home.

Therese was sleeping on the bed holding Enzo, both exhausted after the birth. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I’m not religious but this was somehow a religious experience. I can’t really describe it but I’m sure I felt the presence of my grandmother there. Therese woke up and handed Enzo to me saying ‘Please hold your son’. Remember again that she knew that I could change my mind, so really, she was playing with fire. I actually didn’t want to hold him at first because I was terrified that my heart would break handing him back to Hilda and Therese.

Therese sensed my worry and she simply said ‘You will be OK André’, so I took Enzo in my arms and just like that, I felt like I had been a father all my life! Enzo grabbed my finger and although a baby can’t see, he did somehow react to my presence. It was an instant bond. After a few hours I left their house and believe me, this was the time when my human instincts played with me. It was as if my entire being knew Enzo was my son and wanted to go back to him. Even more interesting considering I’m gay, I felt very protective about Therese, the birthmother. The immense love I felt for her was so strong. I felt like a lion king! Having said that, I never want to downplay the love I have for Hilda but at that very moment, my focus was on Therese and Enzo.

Having no say in the upbringing of my own child isn’t an easy thing to live with. But when it’s hard, I just focus on why I did it; to help a couple in love to have a family. Legally Hilda and Therese are parents to Enzo. My son will, however, call me daddy and will always know I’m his dad. Nonetheless my role is more like an uncle who is there to provide the love, but has no say in the rules.

This can prove difficult as, although I am not a part of bringing Enzo up, I still have to love my son unconditionally for the rest of my life – even if he turns out to be a spoiled brat! And yes, the mothers do spoil him while I definitely would be more strict. I bite my tongue a lot. I have voiced my opinion two to three times when I just didn’t feel comfortable with the whole situation. Telling a parent how to raise their kids is not something I recommend, especially when it comes from a very direct person like me… But the mothers ‘get me’ and understand my directness and sometimes, bluntness. I don’t mean any harm, it is just how I’m wired.

Thankfully I have learned to choose my battles, both in my role as a ‘donor daddy’ and in my ‘outside life’. I think all parents learn to choose their battles, otherwise parenthood would be too exhausting. Being a dad changed my life for the better. Having said that, being a full time dad wouldn’t be for me, as selfish as that might sound. What’s important to say is, that all human beings are on a journey through life, we all have our ups and downs and although becoming a dad made me feel complete, it doesn’t mean it’s for everyone. Just as I tell other gays that want to become fathers, being a ‘donor dad’ is not for everyone. I followed my heart and what felt good to me. I will never tell anyone else what’s right for them.

The mothers, who initially just wanted a donor and not an involved donor chose a more difficult path. Let’s face it, having me in their life does make things slightly more complicated. They do have to see me and include me in big holidays etc. And for that reason alone I love the mothers so much. All three of us are in this journey together.

Enzo is a copy of me, it’s as if my DNA has gone straight down to him. But this helps the mothers, and me, to understand him more. One example, Enzo is not very good in groups. He’s very independent and sometimes even quite selfish… He hates sharing. So in the nursery when all kids sit in a circle singing songs, he’s not the slightest bit interested. I was there in the nursery once and saw this. I was a quite upset that he didn’t want to join the group and socialise. I could see the teachers trying to include him but his stubbornness wouldn’t have it. Suddenly it was like a ‘deja vu’ from my own childhood, I was exactly the same! So being a dad sure brings up memories from my own time as a kid that I had forgotten about.

In 2016 our second son Levi was born. To have TWO sons was more than I could ever have dreamt of. Enzo being Enzo wasn’t as excited as he sure didn’t like the competition. It didn’t help that Levi had colic for 3 months. The family’s life was pretty much turned upside down with a constantly screaming baby for that long.

I’m not sure I should even mention this but I will since it’s quite a ‘taboo’ subject. When Levi was born I didn’t bond with him in the same way. Yes, once again I felt like a lion king but I somehow didn’t feel the same immense connection with him. It made me feel very very guilty. I loved Enzo so much and didn’t think there was room for more love. But then my stepmom said something beautiful, ‘It’s not like you have to fit more love, it’s as if another room opens that you can fill with love’. That stayed with me, and it’s so true. I do love Levi so so much but I have to admit, even though he’s 2.5 years old now, he still doesn’t adore me in the same way as Enzo has always done. I, of course, do love them both equally, but Enzo feels very close to me.

I certainly don’t want to favour one of them over the other. That would make me a terrible dad! As time goes on, I’m learning how to handle my feelings. There’s no ‘manual’ on how to be a ‘donor dad’ and as mentioned before, I can feel quite lonely in my situation since most of my friends, and even some family members, show no interest whatsoever. That, in itself, hurts tremendously but this is ultimately MY journey and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Being a donor dad was MY choice and I love it.

Life is all about choices and whatever we choose, let us choose well…

My name is André and I was born in Sweden. When I was five years old my mum took me to the island of Crete in Greece. I remember seeing the Boeing 737 knowing from that day that I was going to work on an airplane. It was my driving force throughout my whole childhood, I couldn’t wait to get out and see the world! After college I worked as a holiday rep all over Europe and then I worked as a concierge on a top rated cruise line. On board Crystal Harmony I saw the whole world and although it was hard work, I sure lived my dream. 1997 I felt it was time to change the ocean for the air and I was hired by United Airlines. It might not have the glamour it had when I flew to Crete in 1974 but even after 22 years as a flight attendant, I still get a buzz during every take off- I truly love my job and the airline industry! I use the time off and flexibility to challenge myself outside work and I do that by travelling or doing volunteer work. I love living in London. It’s like living in the centre of the world, I love the mix of different nationalities and religions. This city surely has been very good to me.

Friendship and Politics

February 20, 2019 by Poornima Manco

I have two female friends, who will remain nameless for the purposes of this article, that hold diametrically opposite views from me, politically. They are both feisty, outspoken, bolshy and fearless. Qualities that I admire immensely. However, our politics differ and how!

How have I circumvented this divide and still stayed friends with them? And why do I bring it up here and now?

Well, firstly, I knew them much before I knew their allegiances. So, our friendship was untainted by politics. As I got to know them better, I realised that I liked them very much as people. I liked the fact that they were gutsy, I liked that they stood up for themselves and that they didn’t mince their words. I liked that they were always honest with me, even if it meant not sparing my feelings. I also realised that women like these are rare finds, and I wanted to have them in my life, regardless of how they felt about which political party governed their countries or whether Britain should stay in or out of Europe.

Now, lately, there has been much chatter here and across the pond. Politically everything is in a stage of upheaval. It is but natural that people will be vociferous about their own standpoints. Sometimes that takes the shape of defending the indefensible. Cruel laws that bypass humanity, turning a blind eye to the economics of a situation, or siding with a well known hate mongerer are all symptoms of these standpoints.

I have reasoned and combatted all of this, to the best of my ability. But the question stands, can I still call these people my friends?

I had an interesting conversation with a colleague once. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that if a friend or a partner had a different political stance to hers, there was no way she would associate with them. It meant, that at the very heart of it, they had contrary fundamental values. How could one align oneself with someone who saw the world so differently?

How can I?

Yet, political landscapes change all the time. Parties come and go, Presidents and Prime Ministers lose elections on a regular basis, and allegiances shift. Can I sacrifice two perfectly good friendships at the altar of politics? Should I?

The short answer is NO. Human connections are far more valuable than outside forces. If I, who preach tolerance and understanding through this blog, cannot practice it in my own life, what good is all the wisdom in the world? It is not by surrounding ourselves with like minded individuals that we grow. It is by opening our minds to differences, debates and discussions. It is by realising that someone else’s passionately held views have just as much validity as our own. If their politics are abhorrent then initiate a dialogue with them. Cutting them off or insulating yourself against contradictory ideas is hardly the way forward.

As for my friends and I, we talk politics in jest. They know I don’t agree with them. I know they are not going to change their minds. Nevertheless, we stay friends. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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