It is yet another memory.
We had moved into a new locality. I must have been ten or eleven.
A neighbour had an heart attack and his children ran wailing out aloud to our bungalow. My mother ran out with the kids with a handful of mustard.
Of course, the man did not survive and mother was with the grieving family through out the day and for hours each day after the funeral.
I quizzed her later about the handful of mustard.
"That was for heating on a pan and throwing on the chest of the person who has suffered the heart attack!" she had explained.
No mumbo jumbo this, I now know that it was the first aid people conjured by who had no ICCUs at hand immediately.
A kind of shock therapy, I guess. We all resort to desperate measures to make a difference, to help, to see something through...some times.
What touched me is my mother's innocent belief that she must try and it was her duty to rush to the aid of the family in distress.
The effect hangs on...after all these years.
A friend called in this morning. She has had major changes in life of late. An early marriage, change of work place, stagnating career etc...
What alarmed me is that she repeated what she had said a few times before- that she has just lost the confidence, professionally and personally.
All these past few weeks I have been trying to hunt down a placement for her profile. She insisted that since I was better in terms of contacts in the industry and the courage to break ice, I must do the honours for her.
I had been trying but always noted that when I fixed up appointments, she would develop weak knees.
Her excuses were so weak, I wonder if she believed in them herself.
Some times it would be the lack of transport or the distance, at anothertime- the lack of confidence whether she could do it.
Calls to our collective mentor (a lady who dotes on us since our student days) and to her husband to push her into action have not helped.
What alarmed me, I repeat, is her breaking down while on the call.
So I asked her to see me in the evening.
I felt that I had to help her out of this. It is no favour to her. It is a duty I feel I am bound to do for a friend.
She could as well have been another woman in the street and I still would have wanted to help. I guess her call felt clear and urgent.
Unless she is fetched out of the vicious cycle of 'depression', it will do a quicksand effect on her. The more she will struggle, the deeper she will sink.
So I went to see her in the evening. It was an effort to throw her a rope. I wished to step out of my selfish existence for a while and do my duty to society.
I wanted to bail her out without her knowing that I did.
I am no saint, far from that. I am not writing this so that someone gives me accolades.
I wish this to have a cascading effect. This is an attribute I learnt from someone who acted instead of talking about it. She may be no more, but I have learnt my lessons well.
So I sat with this friend and heard her out. She felt lighter already, she said. Then I spoke to her about dilemmas everyone, even I, face in life.
Soon, she and I parted ways with promises to stay in touch and also work on a plan to get her professional career on track.
It was vital I had felt, to run and help than speak at length about how nice a person someone was.
After all Depression is just another condition and whether or not I can make my friend seek professional help, at least my presence as a friend will make her stronger.
I am the one who is enriched by this experience, by a rewarding friendship.
We all must carry this 'fistful of mustard', I feel, sometimes if not always.
We had moved into a new locality. I must have been ten or eleven.
A neighbour had an heart attack and his children ran wailing out aloud to our bungalow. My mother ran out with the kids with a handful of mustard.
Of course, the man did not survive and mother was with the grieving family through out the day and for hours each day after the funeral.
I quizzed her later about the handful of mustard.
"That was for heating on a pan and throwing on the chest of the person who has suffered the heart attack!" she had explained.
No mumbo jumbo this, I now know that it was the first aid people conjured by who had no ICCUs at hand immediately.
A kind of shock therapy, I guess. We all resort to desperate measures to make a difference, to help, to see something through...some times.
What touched me is my mother's innocent belief that she must try and it was her duty to rush to the aid of the family in distress.
The effect hangs on...after all these years.
A friend called in this morning. She has had major changes in life of late. An early marriage, change of work place, stagnating career etc...
What alarmed me is that she repeated what she had said a few times before- that she has just lost the confidence, professionally and personally.
All these past few weeks I have been trying to hunt down a placement for her profile. She insisted that since I was better in terms of contacts in the industry and the courage to break ice, I must do the honours for her.
I had been trying but always noted that when I fixed up appointments, she would develop weak knees.
Her excuses were so weak, I wonder if she believed in them herself.
Some times it would be the lack of transport or the distance, at anothertime- the lack of confidence whether she could do it.
Calls to our collective mentor (a lady who dotes on us since our student days) and to her husband to push her into action have not helped.
What alarmed me, I repeat, is her breaking down while on the call.
So I asked her to see me in the evening.
I felt that I had to help her out of this. It is no favour to her. It is a duty I feel I am bound to do for a friend.
She could as well have been another woman in the street and I still would have wanted to help. I guess her call felt clear and urgent.
Unless she is fetched out of the vicious cycle of 'depression', it will do a quicksand effect on her. The more she will struggle, the deeper she will sink.
So I went to see her in the evening. It was an effort to throw her a rope. I wished to step out of my selfish existence for a while and do my duty to society.
I wanted to bail her out without her knowing that I did.
I am no saint, far from that. I am not writing this so that someone gives me accolades.
I wish this to have a cascading effect. This is an attribute I learnt from someone who acted instead of talking about it. She may be no more, but I have learnt my lessons well.
So I sat with this friend and heard her out. She felt lighter already, she said. Then I spoke to her about dilemmas everyone, even I, face in life.
Soon, she and I parted ways with promises to stay in touch and also work on a plan to get her professional career on track.
It was vital I had felt, to run and help than speak at length about how nice a person someone was.
After all Depression is just another condition and whether or not I can make my friend seek professional help, at least my presence as a friend will make her stronger.
I am the one who is enriched by this experience, by a rewarding friendship.
We all must carry this 'fistful of mustard', I feel, sometimes if not always.
