Poornima Manco

Author

ambition

Wrung out

by

“I don’t know how you do it!” is a refrain I hear often. The ‘it’ being – working which involves a lot of travel, taking care of home which involves cleaning, cooking, doing the chores while also parenting and trying to be a supportive partner, while keeping up with my exercise and friends, TV shows, movies, reading and writing. All of this is in no particular order as depending on the day and the need, the hierarchy gets moved around a fair bit.

Now, if I were to be honest, while I may look swan-like getting it all done, there is some furious paddling going on beneath the water, and often times tasks are either hurriedly done or left completely by the wayside. Neither of which are desirable outcomes. My story is no different to any other working mother, some of whom don’t even have the kind of super supportive husband that I do.

The month of June was meant to be the month I took off social media to focus on work and writing. I have done both, but life does have a funny old way of throwing a spanner in the works.

My daughter’s A levels are going on, and rather than being that nagging mother who is on her back 24/7 haranguing her to study, I thought, this would be the perfect month to work to my max, and stay out of her hair. After all, at this late stage, it’s better for her to have a relaxed state of mind to sit her exams. What I couldn’t possibly have foreseen is the ill health of my second daughter. An ear infection that has her screaming in agony, sleepless nights, an allergic reaction to the antibiotics, another rushed visit to the doctor’s, being given an unsigned prescription on a Friday evening making it near impossible to procure the medication, husband running from pillar to post and finally, miraculously, through some fortuitous messaging, getting a hold of the meds.

While the medicines do their work, I am at work again. This time, however, I find I have a short fuse, am completely exhausted and totally unable to string a coherent sentence together. Writing? Once again on the back burner.

Sometimes I despair that I’ll never become the sort of serious writer I aspire to be. The one who gets up each morning and in a very disciplined manner, trots out a couple of thousand words before serenely taking out the garbage and getting the rest of her chores done.

Me – I write when I can, where I can. Sometimes, not for weeks. And when I do, it’s not always the best quality. What hope is there for me?

My mother always said that I could be a bulldog about the things that I wanted. I really want… no, I really need to write. I guess its sheer tenacity that keeps me going. That, and a sense of catharsis and peace. Each time I sit down to write, I feel like I’m coming home. This is where I’m meant to be, this is what I’m meant to do.

So, in answer to the oft repeated question, how do I do it? I do it. Badly, haphazardly, intermittently. Still, I keep going. Tired and wrung out as I am, it’s the only way I know how to live. All those multiple balls in the air… some will fall, some will roll away, but I’ll keep juggling them till I have breath left in me.

Now, I’ll go take a nap.

 

My Cup Runneth Over…

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I started my Guest Blog month in the hope that at least 50% of the people I had contacted for articles (people whose thoughts, lives and words I admired) would get back to me with some material. In actual fact, nearly 80% did! Yes I did pester and harangue them quite a bit (SORRY!) but my goodness, the response! I am humbled, grateful and overwhelmed beyond description.

My month overran, once again, like last time. But I didn’t mind and nor did my readers. It’s refreshing to come to a blog and read something new and unexpected. And boy, were the articles different and the topics varied!

André chronicled his unusual life and path in My unlikely journey to fatherhood. It was honest, heartfelt and emotionally uplifting. The response to his article was phenomenal. People reached out to tell him (and me) how much they admired him for his choices. His love for his children and their mothers shone like a beacon, and I hope it allowed other seemingly unlikely candidates to believe that they too can be mothers and fathers. After all, families come in all shapes and guises. It is love that holds them together.

The ghost in the office was Shantanu’s retelling of a mysterious series of events that occurred in one of his early offices. Does the supernatural exist? For a practical and rational person like Shantanu, nothing can explain away the incident he mentions. Spooky and eerie, sometimes there are things that are beyond the realm of our understanding, and maybe it’s best to leave them as is. What did you make of it?

Diya had a cushy existence till she decided to take the plunge and start teaching a group of underprivileged children in My rendezvous with God’s angels. What she found there was more rewarding than she could have ever expected. Their innocence, their eagerness to learn, their love for their teacher transformed her life. She learned to let go of the petty annoyances that plagued her, and immerse herself in giving back. To this day, it enriches her life in ways big and small.

Making mosaics became more than a hobby for Jyoti. It was an unconventional choice of craft and she encountered more than her fair share of problems, from the paucity of tools to the reluctance of other practitioners to share their skills. As a result, she started her own blog with the aim of helping other beginners and amateurs to source materials, tools and provide guidance in the process as well. Not only does she create the most beautiful mosaics, but also believes in the adage – ‘Gaining knowledge, is the first step to wisdom. Sharing it, is the first step to humanity.’ In Why do I make mosaics? Jyoti’s passion, humanity and humility shine through. She is an incredibly inspirational lady.

The Call of a Siren was an article sent to me by someone who wished to remain anonymous. If you’ve read the article, you will know why. The beauty of it is that this man has turned his life around from that lapse of judgement he details, and today he is an incredibly successful entrepreneur. He is also an avid reader and dabbles in the occasional bit of writing. It was my exhorting him to put pen to paper that created this thrilling recounting of an incident from his 20’s. I’m sure you’d agree that it reads like an episode from an exciting television series. My own heart was thumping as I read it for the first time! My friend, if you’re reading this, write more. You do have a gift.

HeartonWheels is Jeanne’s raison d’etre. She spends half her life in these refugee camps in Greece helping children overcome the trauma of escaping from war torn countries and being separated from their families. In extremely difficult conditions, she tries to fill their lives with laughter and with joy. This is not just a part time job for her, it is a calling. She is invested physically, mentally and emotionally in the well being of her charges. Her dream is to provide free education to all children in such conditions and through her mobile bus, which she is raising funds for, she hopes to realise this dream. Do have a read and contribute to her justgiving page if you can.

To say that Mohana has had an interesting life would be an understatement. A straight A student, who, for many years let her academic qualifications dictate the course of her life, then suddenly, on what seemed like a whim, let her art and talent take her on an entirely different journey. Yet, in her article, Life’s Nudges to Eke an Untrodden Path, Mohana explains how the seeds of this journey had been planted many years ago. The daughter of a renowned dancer, Mohana herself was an exceptionally talented danseuse. But it took many years, and many tiny hints from the Universe for her to realise where her true path lay. Unapologetically spiritual, she incorporates elements of her faith in her dance. There is an unalloyed joy that she transmits to her students through her teaching, that elevates her dance from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

Bharat is a writer I admire immensely. His grasp on the English language is breathtaking. He can bend, twist, transmogrify and transmute words into astonishing combinations of sentences, transporting the reader into worlds where these words dance and twirl around one like whirling dervishes. A man whose imagination is so fertile, so fecund that he can trot out poem after poem without breaking a sweat. Yet, a self confessed procrastinator, it took me close to a year to get him to write about his Vipassana experience. For a man of words, how strange it must have been to have none for ten days. A retreat that is a true test of one’s mettle, but also a retreat that helps one to delve deeper into the self. Bharat’s take on it is part humorous, but there is an underlying awe and a deep love and respect for humanity that comes through. A tale of two beards is more than just about beards, it is about man’s search for meaning and silence in a world that grows louder and more chaotic each day.

Finally, the poignant and heart wrenching The Bus Stop was Joan’s tribute to her mother who suffered from Alzheimers for several years before succumbing to it. Disease of any kind strips the body of its well being and dignity, but Alzheimers strips the mind of everything. To not know oneself, one’s own life forgotten, one’s family becoming strangers, must be a horribly scary and isolating experience. Joan’s poem gives words to the wordless. It is an insight into a lost and wandering mind, trying to find its bearings, trying to grasp fruitlessly at memories that are slipping away. ‘Am I a lost article?’ is what her mother asked her once. Maybe we all are, lost in one way or another. But to be lost to oneself… what could be worse than that?

My Guest Blog month hasn’t quite ended. A colleague, the extremely intelligent, erudite, politically astute, deep thinking Joke Brunt is working on a series of articles on Brexit for me. The month of May will be devoted to her take on what Brexit stands for, and what the ramifications will be, to those of us on both sides of the fence. Do keep reading, keep commenting and stay engaged!

A very BIG thank you to all of my contributors once again.

The Call of a Siren

by

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…

XX

 

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.