Never alone again

I could not take my eyes of him, all my senses could register was the compassion in his eyes. My eyes gazed at the love in those beautiful eyes,enraptured like a little kid. His eyes twinkled and I could see his smile behind them, they seemed to probe right into me and read my thoughts. Where had I seen him before? Who was he? Why did I feel like I know him?

He reached out his large hands and slowly clasped my tiny ones in his. It felt like home-coming, like a embrace of peace. My soul smiled as I struggled to place him. 'You should have known that some-day your prayers would be answered' he said and began walking down the road. Hand in hand we walked, flowers bloomed all around us, the sun hid behind a silver cloud, there were birds singing and brooks flowing as I realized that all this beauty came from the happiness singing inside me.

I kept glancing at his face,  serene and endearing. Was this my dad? but then I'd stop calling out to dad for some time now. Ever since I realized I would be holding him back and he needed to go.
He squeezed my hand lightly and smiled at me, his eyes reading me again..and then  slowly it wafted to me like a fragrance that takes your breath away !

I  turned to him and touched his face with my other hand and this time our smiles were in total sync, in total understanding. My search for me was over, from now I would never be alone. We walked into the setting sun, me blending into his warmth his firm arms around me.

Long ago afternoons.

Janu ammooma lived in a tiny thatched house, across the boundary of our premises at my amma's house. There was a long stretch of kaitha (screw pine) shrubs growing high, leading straight to Janu ammooma's house. On the left adjacent to it was my granma's vegetable patch, flourishing in gourds of atleast four types ( bitter, ash, bottle, snake) pumpkins, lady fingers and yam. Every day in the afternoon, after everyone had had their lunch and cleared the utensils and cleaned the kitchen, a blanket of silence would settle over our house. The elders of the house would go for a siesta. This was when I would sneak out and run to Janu ammooma's house.

It had all of one room, a tiny kitchen and a sit out. Janu amooma would be in the sit-out, hunched over making mats out of kaitha leaves, the sound of her knife shearing through the leaves at intervals. I would quietly sit on the tiny steps and watch her weave the long strips of leaves in and out, making a pattern of it. Once she noticed my presence, she would flash her betel chewing red smile at me and barrage me with questions. Enthralled by her weaving I would answer in hmm's and ha's. She didnt seem to mind as long as she talked.

She would tell me stories of earlier times, when the skies had rained fire-balls and scorched all the coconut trees in the land, when the winds had lashed storms destroying every crop, when famine had struck and there was never enough food for anyone. She and her children survived on one meal a day. Her eyes would go moist when she spoke about my grandmother who loaned her a part of the vegetable patch so that she could grow her own vegetables and for the mug of rice gruel every morning.

Her eyes would dance when she talked about her daughters in Madirashi and her chubby grandson. Every time she would color my world with new stories.

After about an hour or so my apetite for stories somehow satiated for the time-being, I would run back the long stretch of kaitha bushes, sometimes jump through them to make up for lost time and rush to my room and pretend to sleep, smiling inwardly, happy with what I had gathered for the day. Somewhere along the way I'd learnt to weave too , couldnt hold on to the talent though.

Amma called to say vadakele Janu ammooma passed away two days back.

Journey to me..2

The train chugged on into the setting sun. I sat drinking in the scenery, lost to the rest of the world, cut off from the turmoil of my thoughts and the hustle bustle of my co-travellers. Long train journeys always had a calming effect on me. Once it was post dinner , people huddled into their berths. The blue overhead light spread a serene blanket over the coupe. My thoughts went back to my journeys in my childhood and teenage days.

I wasnt a teenager any more, I am a woman pushing through my middle age, only that I think I was more sure of what I wanted from life then, than I am now. Now, there are times I feel a total stranger to myself. My heart tugs at me to break away from age old and self imposed restrictions and go explore the world, whilst my always 'do the right thing' mind wont let me even dwell on the thought. I ask myself, what is it you lack in life? Nothing ! Nothing, except that I have this insistently nagging feeling that I missed out on something big. I am ignorant about what is it that I missed out , all am sure is I surely have missed out. My journey would hopefully help me discover that what eludes me.

To get away from the alone-ness of the overcrowded, bursting city. To be one with the quiet unspoilt mountain terrain , to lie on the ground and feel its beating heart, touch the soil where-to I shall end up one day , breathe into my lungs life, instead of toxic smoke. I wait to look up into blue skies and marvel at the stars. I thirst to drink in the clear crystal waters of the Gangotri flowing down the mountain heights, rejuvenating my body and soul. I have wanted this from a long time back. What lessons await me there? Will they take me to myself? What surprises lie in stock for me? Or will it all be a venture in vain ?!!

Last I remember is the horn hooting in the distance...sleep thou is a divine gift from the gods.

You will always live in my thoughts.

My grandmother and dads little brother shifted from Kerala, left the only home they had known, their relatives and friends to come and live with us here in Bombay. It was way back in the seventies, after the sudden demise of dad which had all our lives come crashing down.

Uncle was just getting out of school, being way younger than dad. He had lost his father and brother in a span of three years. First few years, here, he must have spent training himself for a job, because I recollect he used to be home a lot. After amma left for work, grandma and uncle would take turns doing my hair to school ( I had just begun schooling). The day uncle did it, I had a bad time in school, trying to pull out strands of hair which were tied in too tight and were hurting me. Most of the evenings he would come to collect me back too, singing malayalam songs loud loudly all the way back home, embarrassing the hell out of me. I would poke and pinch and get him to stop somehow. But there was never a guarantee, he would suddenly start off again..crooning to the open skies.

As days passed and he got working, I remember I would sit up late into the night waiting for him. I wouldnt eat till he was back and when he'd see me waiting in the balcony, eyes on the road... he would haul me up and call me paaru and tell everyone proudly that I was his daughter, though he himself was almost only a boy then. It wasnt always smooth-sailing in our family but we were all bound together very strongly in our pain, anxieties and our small small joys. When there were family tiffs I would take uncle's and grandma's side, angering poor amma.

Time passed and life moved on. Uncle married, had kids and they were all doing well in life when he began showing signs of dementia. A couple of years ago, my uncle passed away at the young age of fifty-six. The few times I met him, he being back in kerala by then, his deteriorating state of memory and ultimately his ailing body was, way beyond I could bear ( dont even want to go into what his family must have gone through). I went to pay my respects while he was breathing his last. Helpless and torn inside by the love I felt, I simply sat besides him and watched him lying in a state of coma, struggling with his breath. Maybe because I left before he passed away, even though it will be 5 years this september, I still feel he is back in kerala, in our old, warm house, singing out loud, calling out to me the way he always did..Paaruuu..

A journey to me...I

I was finally taking off ! The train had begun rolling off the crowded station, I turned to look at my loved ones standing there and all my excitement died down in an instant. Oh god, what am I doing on this train, my mind scrambled in a hundred directions. Should I run to the door and make a hasty retreat? Should I pull the chain?? Darkness crept into my eyes. Too late, the train had picked speed, whistling away, reminding me of the toy stories I was fascinated with as a child. Isn't this what I'd wanted for a long, long time? How much of convincing I had to do and now that it was happening, why did my feet grow cold? It was the faces of them there...

My cell, yes! I was thanking technology as I pulled it out of my bag and punched in my daughter's number - no no, I wouldnt be able to take it if her tone showed any signs of sadness. This time I dialled Mohan, 'yes honey'?........ .'.ponnu, the kids..are they ok? I asked. 'Oh yes, we are on our way to KFC, wanna talk to them'? As he handed the phone to my younger one, I heard his voice in the background, 'mamma is worried about you two'.
'Mamma, we are fine, you have a great time and please don't worry over us' . Both of them had taken after him, strong and sensitive.

Next I called amma, she would be worrying herself sick. When I first mentioned my intention of taking off to the mountains by myself, she laughed out loud. Once she realized that I was serious and that I may actually take off, she tried talking me out of it. 'Wont Mon ( Mohan) take you any place you wish to..why this need for travelling alone, that too so far away? Eventually she relented. Condition was I travel in a group along with those tour makers which also put Mohan's mind at ease a bit. He wouldnt complain- I knew that, but he would worry inside and still do everything to make my trip easy and he would be the proudest when I would get back after this adventure of mine.

It was nothing short of an adventure. Me- who was chauffered to the super-market, Me- who even after two decades of marriage clung to Mohans little finger in a gathering. I was making this trip by myself and I was feeling pretty good about 'me', that was till the train commenced its journey. A loud laughter snapped me out of my thoughts , the compartment was crowded, there were 45 of us on this trip, two tour organisers, a couple of old folks and the rest -middle aged people like me. Some alone and some with their spouses or friends. We had all gathered at the railway station earlier and were introduced to each other. I quickly scanned the coupe for a likely face that I could possibly be at ease with. The lady besides me looked at me and smiled, I smiled back , not ready for a conversation yet, I turned back to my window, my left cheek plastered to the glass, eyes on the moving landscape, thoughts far far away.......where would this journey take me?

Mother Goddess

We were sailing over the Atlantic ocean, going towards Nova scotia (Canada) from Norway when two days into the voyage, our brand new ship encountered some heavy engine problems. Water leaked into the shaft which heated the engine way beyond normal standards forcing the engineers to shut down the engine and allow it to cool.

It was extremely bad weather in that part of the world , one storm after another competing in strength and ferocity. Every time our engines were shut down, the huge super tanker would begin pitching and rolling making every thing in our cabins, including the curtains on the port- holes go swishing from one end to another. Heavy rains lashed at the windows making visibility scarce, skies were heavily downcast, not a star in sight, not another ship in view. Same gloomy scenario day after day.

Some time amidst all this we sailed through the Bermuda triangle. In a day or two we were sailing close to where the Titanic sunk. Everyone onboard were working day and night to find a way to fix the problem. Luckily our ship was one tough lady and did not once go off course, which could have led us to the ice-bergs. The heavy pitching and rolling was taking a toll on many of our stomachs leaving the officers and crew mentally and physically exhausted.

I had with me my girls that year, two tiny tots who were freaking out with joy to see the sofas and chairs doing see-saw in the cabin. Whilst they laughed in joy I nearly fainted in fear. A couple of times I tried influencing the captain to ask for help. He gave me his usual warm hug and reassured me things would be just fine.

I began my bargain with the almighty, bribed him with a lot of goodies which he probably wouldn't find in heaven. Finally after a long twelve day harrowing experience, God could resist my pleas no more. We made it to Nova-scotia. The capt and the entire crew were given a heroes welcome for making it thus far safely without outside help. We were the biggest ship to have made it to that port till then. Since the repairs would take time, my girls and me got a fortnight in beautiful Halifax.

The sea has always been a force to reckon with for me, was always in awe of her power. After this incident I have felt a new emotion for her..love...for having spared my little girls and taken us to safe shores...she is mother to me.

വീണ്ടും മഴ

ആകാശം നിറയെ മേഘങ്ങള്‍ , കൃഷ്ണ വര്‍ണത്തിനു ഇടയിലൂടെ

എത്തിച്ചു നോക്കുന്ന ഇളം നീലിമ, ഓടി കള്ളികുന്ന കാറ്റ്, കൂടെ കള്ളികാന്‍ ഇലകളും, അപ്പൂപന്‍ താടികളും. അത് നോകി നിന്ന ഞാന്‍ ഓര്‍മ്മയുടെ ഇടനാഴിയിലൂടെ ഓടി പാഞ്ഞു വീണ്ടും ഒരു പാവാട കാരി ആയി. കാറ്റത്തു പാറി പറക്കുന്ന മുടി ഇഴകളും , ഉലയുന്ന പാവാട തുമ്പും, അങ്ങ അകലെ കണ്ണ് ത്താദൂരം വേറെ പച്ച വയലും !

തഴുകി മാറി പോകുന്ന കാറ്റിനു ചെമ്പക പൂവിന്റെ ഗന്ധം , ഇറ്റ് ഇറ്റ് വീഴുന മഴ തുള്ളികള്‍ മുഖം നന്നയ്കുമ്പോള്‍ ഒരു പള്ളുന്ക് മണി അധരത്തില്‍ വീണു, അറിയാതെ ഞാന്‍ പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചു, നിന്ടെ അതെ സ്പര്‍ശനം ...

വരമ്പിലൂടെ ഓടി നടന്ന എനിക്ക് , അന്നു , പൊട്ടിച്ചിരിക്കുന്ന കാറ്റിന്ടെ കുസൃതിയും, തുള്ളി ചാടി ഒഴുകുന്ന അരുവിയുടെ ഉന്മേഷവും, ആദ്യത്തെ മഴ തുള്ളിയുടെ നൈര്‍മല്യവും ആയിരന്നു ..അന്ന് ഞാന്‍ ആ പച്ച വരുമ്പും, കറുത്ത ആകാശവും, നീല പുഴയെകാളും, സുന്ദരി ആയിര്നു..നിന്ടെ കണ്ണിലൂടെ എന്നെ ഞാന്‍ അറിയുമ്പോള്‍ ..

ഇന്ന് വീണ്ടും ഞാന്‍ സുന്ദരി ആയി, നിന്‍ ഓര്മ മഴ ആയി എന്നെ തഴുകുമ്പോള്‍ ..!

Wait

My words are as empty as my brain. Thoughts make no sense, they move around in random circles. What is it I want from life? what more...?

Do I want money, so much - that I could have a private jet, go sailing on my yatch..clothes to bury myself in, shoes to match.

Do I want fame, power and fan following.

Do I want to be the most beautiful ? to be ogled at by guys galore ?

What is it I want?

Do I want a friend? someone I can spend my evenings with, a hot cup of coffee and some chatpata pakodas , non-stop chatter, dreams of our youth; some forgotten, some long cherished, songs of love and a world full of laughter. Some one to know my heart beats, some one I could know. We would read to each other, watch movies together, go window shopping and laugh at the silliest things. Some one I could reach out and touch and feel my insides warm up to behold the beautiful smile that comes my way.

Do you hear me call out , my dearest friend.

Waiting in anticipation.

Marathi aunty.

There was a Marathi thalla in my neighbourhood. All the malayalee aunties and uncles would address her thus and this was picked by us children too. She wore a navvari saree (9 yard) and spotted a huge red bindi on her forehead. Her hair was matted thick and brown, like the bark of a tree. She used to be possessed by devi, she said, thats what gave her hair this texture. When she spoke her voice boomeranged into the oribit. As children we used to hide when we saw her. The mothers used this to their advantage, instead of 'so ja gabbar aayega' they would say ' marathi thalla varum'.

She lived with her mellow husband who wouldn't utter a word till the few days after his pay. Then he would roar like a lion, the toddy in his stomach giving him the guts to challenge his wife. The two of them with their gusti and broom hitting would keep the entire locality awake late into the night. I would shiver in my bed waiting for him to fall into the well. There was a well in our compound which had an opening in the cement covering. After a couple of hours into all the drama, marathi uncle, most of the times, managed to fall into this well with a huge thud. Thalla would start screaming for help, people waiting for the cue would rush out and drag this huge hippopotamus out. I wonder now, how did they ever manage it !

Inspite of all this, Marathi thalla was held with great respect in my household. Amma would tell me of the time when dad had passed away and amma had decided to begin work at dads work place. She was scared and confused. We had the moral support of all our relatives and friends, yet amma says, one of the loudest and strongest voices was of this rustic, country woman. She took amma by the shoulders and boomed " You go to work bindaas, I will take care of your children and dont you worry for a second how you will manage. You will manage fine". My granma came down to take care of us and was with us till her last days and Marathi thalla in the neighbourhood was a great solace to my mother while she was far away at work.

A true neighbour and a true human.

It was my earliest lesson of not judging a person by their appearance.

P.S ..My calling her 'thalla' doesnt mean any disrespect, it was just the way she was referred to.

A memory or a dream ?

To walk besides you

through the rain washed lane

of a tiny village

tucked deep in my brain

the earth would smell

of the fragrance of your skin

your breath upon my cheeks

as you turn towards the wind

the heady scent of champak flowers

the distant singing bird

the lonely rain drop on your nose

I soak them all in greed

hearts would beat in tandem

our bodies close and warm

and then you touch me

a finger down my arm

would the clouds burst again

the river swell in me

and will the river find its way

to sumberge with the sea

Of thinner days

I was a tall, lean teenager tortured by uncles , aunts and all my relatives. Every time they saw me they would exclaim in horror 'oh Smee, you've grown so tall, how are we going to find you a boy' !

Like I had a hidden switch somewhere I could turn off and shut down my height !! And then, "God Smee you cant be so thin, you got to gain some weight" !, that would set me wild on an eating spree, peanuts, ghee on rice, butter, whatever I could lay my hands on and not half a kilo gained. To top it all, like cherry on the icing, my hair was long, almost close to my knees, adding to the effect. My friend would say 'you have such great hair, somebody's going to marry you for your hair'. Eeeeeks, that was the wierdest thing ever! especially when I so desperately wanted to chop it off and try looking a bit less 'chechi type'. I did try hinting once to amma, she was like I'd committed blasphemy, 'cut your hair'???? So there I was, tall, with bones peeking out from everywhere, hair falling to the floor, a walking talking coconut tree.

My best friend in college was a chubby rotund thing, we were the perfect foil for each other. She was dieting all the time and me eating. Quite often we've been called laurel and hardy by unruly boys who would stand by the station picking on girls. Five years in college passed away discreetly, all the love-letters and sagas of young, passionate love were not meant for me. My friend in the mean-time succeeded to manage a few epic-creating sagas for herself. Thats another story. Its always preferable to be meatier than lean I guess.

It was during my post-graduation days that I managed to land myself a job and then it happened !! Someone fell in love with me... and I was in seventh heaven. Just to put things in the right perspective, I'd gone through infatuations and attractions, some of them entirely in my head . My love story in school ( bah!) ending when I threw his rose into the bin, till date I have no clue as to why I did that ? But this time, the feeling was mutual, he was in love with scrawny long haired me, and I liked all the 52 moles on his face. Hope he doesnt read this :D. We are still friends, sans the romance. Amongst all other things, he will specially be special for being the first person to make me feel special.

Fifty Five faces of joy

There is not much light streaming in through the dilapidated window as it has been stacked high with cartons on the outside. I am afraid if I touch it the panes may drop. The walls have not seen paint in a long time , the black-board is a poor excuse and the solitary duster is extremely popular as it does the rounds of all the class rooms.

The entrance to the school is low and narrow, the whole place resembling a cow-shed built of cement. The floor is uneven, classrooms cluttered around each other, doors opening in various directions. Drawings of children have been hung high up on the dirty walls haphazardly - someone must have climbed up a ladder with a hammer and nail, the trouble ensuring the picture remains there for some time.

All my thoughts go for a toss as I meet the 55 faces looking at me, anticipation, excitement gleaming in their eyes, I cannot take my eyes off them. They wear no shoes and carry no fancy bags, many of them have little stumps for pencils and their uniforms are soiled. The girls have their hair oiled and tucked up tightly in plaits adorned with white ribbons . They were all looking at me , expectantly. I smiled and the cat jumped out of the box ! what a melodious din it was, all of them talking at the same time. What incessant flow of energy, charging up my slumbering, rusting being. I was running back into my childhood at full pace. Their joy and their excitement spreading through my veins making me come alive once again. I came home feeling like a celebrity, they wanted to touch me, shake hands with me and even share their tiffin with me. My dear ones wont be hearing the end of this for a long long time.

Who needs to be a star to get adulation, not me !

Whether I make a difference or not in their lives, they have already begun to make in mine.

God bless my little angels.

I fear you no more, fear.

Today is a wonderful day for me, a landmark in my life. I eventually got a breakthrough in my fears and anxieties . I want to record my feelings so that everytime I need to re-assert I can get back here and charge my batteries.

I realize how all my life or over the years of my life I have been prioritizing my fears and breeding on them, allowing them to fester in my system. So much to the extent that the fear takes precedence over the issue. It has been more about ME than the actual reason . Instead of capitalizing on my strengths I have been making mine and my dear ones lives miserable brooding on my fears. I have allowed my negative thinking to eat into my brain, my soul and my life. It has stopped me from being the person I am or could be.

I let go off my negativity from today, I dont need them. I welcome positive thoughts into my life. My fears I side line them, push them into the corner, eventually but definitely to get rid of them one day. I dont care about them anymore, they can lie there unwanted, uncared.

I take inspiration from the good mother I am, from the immense source of love that pours from me. I take pride in my life, my intentions and the being I am. I love you my dear husband for your extreme patience and undying love for me. I have throughout our 21 years of togetherness bombarded you with my anxieties and negativities, yet you have always taken me to your bosom and tried to drive sense into me. Never once have you shown me disdain. I am thankful to my children who inspite of growing up with a mom who has not been a very good example of strength and optimisim, have turned out strong and independent and extremely caring girls. I love you amma for being what you are, strong and resilient and for relentlessy trying to

help me out. Same goes to my brother and sister in law for being there for me always and a big hug to all my friends who have shared my life and loved me for all that I am and I am not.

It is your persistent well wishes and love that has turned my way of thinking around.

Towards a brighter tommorrow

If I were to look back now I would be caught in the lure of the comfort I live in. The warmth and the easy life, the innumerable excuses to do nothing. I've been evading my calling in life, smothering it with cushions of love, duty and helplessness. Not realizing I was creating a crater within myself. A void which needs to be filled if I have to know what satisfaction is.

Now that I see myself in a better light, I can also see the immense possibilities that lie hidden within me. I see the smiles I can spread around and the glow it brings to me. I am ready to step out into the world and make a difference. For every heart I warm I get a friend for life. Every child I hug is a love for life. What a lovely barter ! As I step into this new uncharted territory of my life I carry your love deep within me, a flame that will light my path and a firm hand to hold when my steps falter.

There is beauty in everything I behold and the beauty comes from within me.

I still think of you.

How could I forget his name? How many times in life's quiet evenings of solitude and sometimes in my noisy clatter of thoughts his memory has come floating to me ! Age is catching up with me.

That summer holidays we were in Kerala as usual. I was all of eight and he was the tailor who worked in the tiny tailoring shop close to my house. He must have been eighteen give and take a year or two. A thin dark boy in a green shirt.

Every morning in between his work, he would rush to me with a small pouch of savouries from Kumarettans tea stall. Bondas and dal-vadas, banana fritters and chocolates. I still see him laughing at my happiness on seeing the pouch. He would place it in my tiny hands and repeat the same words day after day, molu please call me 'nice uncle' like you call that other uncle of yours. I would promptly oblige and he would pick me in his arms and kiss my cheeks.

Days sped by and it was soon time for us to get back. He came that morning too, with a packet of warm goodies, hugged me and told me, "I will be in Bombay for this onam, you better practise calling me 'nice uncle' "...I remember climbing on the table and counting the days to onam once I got back home. Every day I would count the days. Months passed by, onam was around the corner when one evening I heard amma reading a letter out aloud to my grandma. It was from my aunt in Kerala. After she finished the letter she paused a minute at the N.B. and read ' that tailor boy Sudhan, he passed away last night, was found hanging in his room...

Now I remember his name . My nice Sudhan uncle.

Every night in my dreams.......

I must have dropped off to sleep somewhere between the pages of the new novel I was reading . From the mundane life story of a young American girl to the world of some voodoo land in the depths of Africa. Why else was I walking around with a needle pierced through my tongue !!

My night life has been very adventurous and spine-chillingly exciting so far. Before your imagination runs wild :D - sometimes, its wild animals chasing me through the city roads, other times its people falling down from high hanging bridges. Some of them are too discomfitting to be mentioned here. They have become so much of a regular feature of my sleep that I have lost my fear of them. Most of them I laugh it off, some of them make me uneasy. Sometimes my dreams are wierdly funny, like the snow leopards, with blue polka dots on them, kissing each other. Gawwddd...am I finally losing it?

On a few occasions I have managed to give goose-bumps to my hubby . I've dreamt of long lost folks who decide to spook us out by calling that very afternoon . Hubby dear almost dropped the phone. He has always been patient to my morning ritual of dream recitals , though I spare him the details of the gory ones. Once I was describing this slimy beauty that visited me last night when his mom calls up to say they had a snake scare in the house yesterday.

There have been other cases too. I have no explanations for these things. In all probabilities they are simple coincidences. I did read somewhere people with such experiences are acutely sensitive and tuned in to their senses.

I dont appreciate this sensitivity and I dont need it. I really wouldnt want one of my tiger chasing me dreams coming true. That is to put it lightly.

Maybe putting it down on paper will drive my demons away.

Happy dreams to you friends !