It was almost an inoccuous bit,in one of the long and drawn-out conversations with my Mother over the telephone,the ones she used to refer to as her weekly checks on her son in a distant land.She mentioned in passing about how the big old jackfruit tree in the front courtyard has become a living threat to our compound wall,with its sinewy roots striking terror at its very foundations( for a moment it sounded hysterically funny),and she wanted my consent to cut it down,and I remember as usual searching for an appropriate response, while she had moved on to other filial emergencies in her agenda worth discussing.
It was only later that the full import of that part hit me,dragging me out of my part languid stupor approach to most conversations with Ma,of families I never know(which am supposed to),and events I should bloody well be informed about,to which I never seem to rise to the bait.
I could remember that venerable old sentinel in our courtyard,standing there as long as I can remember,without impatience and perchance a smile,at this brat of a toddler raising hell,playing hide and seek with a tired and visibly furious mother with her son’s untouched meal in her hands.
They say every tree has a million shades of green,a shade on each leaf and together they give your eyes,another resplendent shade of the velvet verdant.It had stood there as witness to all our family’s events.the joys,the sorrows,the passing aways and the coming of age of its adopted family.Maybe it knew what exactly the toddler brigadehad in their little hearts,and grew an extended branch right into the courtyard,low,long and strong for our special swing that went up during our Harvest Festival every year..It was as if its endless reservoir of unconditional love never changes as the seasons passed by in its natural progression.
Monsoons was lying indoors,mostly in the nights,with an ear to the window,listening to the virtual cacophony of the Nature’s Overture # 7 in Staccato major,with the leaves holding endless conversations with the raindrops that passed by,before they continued their onward journey to a different place called the Parched Earth.Maybe the leaves,in their natural curiosity had a million questions about the skies they came from and the lands they have seen,and them raindrops were trying to answer all their questions at the same time,with the limited time they had in hand and the schedules they had to keep.
And the gentle truthts they taught you about life,though you didnt realise it then.About how high you climb in your life, in your driving ambition to touch the sky,every leaf fall down to its roots,and how regardless of whoever comes to its shade,the relif and succour are in equl measure,without malice for anyone.
And without a murmur of dissent,it still protects the woodcutter from the blazing sun,while he cuts it,one determined,sharp and lethal blow at a time.
My compound wall wasnt made to keep the invading Huns or the Marauding Barbarians at bay,as far I can remember and to me that made all the difference.
The friendly neighborhood butchers from the local Wood Mill had still not paid a visit home till the time i called next morning.
As Joseph Campbell said,” God is the experience of looking up at a grand old tree and saying “Ah!!”.
Raised by the song of a murmuring ,rustling melody..
May 11th, 2007 No comments »
The Disappearing Species called the Family Guest
April 25th, 2007 No comments »Summer evenings at times brings in summer thoughts,surprisingly welcome guests,through the half open living room door.The sesame seeds on the odd chip cookies,frothy coffee that refuses to contain her scalding temper,window curtains that show off their waltzing skills to the passing breeze,all reminds you of slivers of time,that you have filed away in dusty long shelves of your memory with an unexpected pleasantness and warmth.
Sometimes they subtly remind you of places where you have kept your secret bell jars with your favourite memories,those cosy nooks you created and go a-visiting when you are in desperate need of a smile.
More often,they remind you of the ways life has changed you and living has changed,around you.
So,I couldnt help but open and look inside, and listen to the faint chimes of the doorbell that echoed from the summer vacations of yore,and the thrill of finding your favourite family elders ,standing there,hands laden heavy with my favourite savouries and smiles that lifted you way above the scanty summer clouds.
They came unnanounced,Uncles,Aunts,with your cousins in tow,some bossy and mean,some mellow and meek,peers who had excitement wrapped inside their tiny fists for equal exchange..For elders,it was catching upon family gossip,exchanging recipes and generally shooting the breeze with conversation that sometimes went way past bedtime hours.
For the lil ones,it was learning new tricks,skills,hatching conspiracies-meticulously drawn out plans to plunder the choicest mango tree in the village,heavily fortified and guarded by the singular meaness of its foul mouthed owner and the delicious thrills of learning backflips in the village pond.
I dont ever remember a darkened face or a stifled mutter at home,no visible discomforts of tending to the growing numbers that stayed for a day or two and left with hearts weighed down with happiness,and hands with delicacies and speciality cooking numbers from home.
And years went rolling by,rakin in the leaves,and technology slowly decided to take decisions on our behalf,with the promise of making our lives easier and getting us closer together.
And the Family Guest got himself a cell phone,started calling up his loved ones for their availability on weekends,gave additional duties to his Organiser functions and made sure everything was clinically assessd before honking at the gate on Saturday afternoon.
And the Host spoke warmly of Tax Planning,Gas Prices,compared notes on ESOP’s,while the lil ones oohed and aahed at the latest X-box in the cousin’s room,and dared not touch it because cousin said it was a very expensive affair.
And I open my eyes and see the living room door cast its shadow,long and unaccusing,at me,and its joined by another which steps into the room.
My childhood buddy,has somehow traced my address and found me after 17 years and I am beside myself with excitement.
And somehere in between the backslaps,hugs,screams,shouts nad tears,there is a tinny shrill shriek from the sofa.
A reminder buzzer had gone off on my cell phone.
Technical Refresher Training Module starts the next day at 9.a.m.sharp.There is an additional note to collect the airtickets from the office.
And Life smiled one of its intensely perverse smile.
On Death,Life and Living..on a Muggy Friday Afternoon
April 15th, 2007 No comments »Good Friday came as usual, quietly, and brought with it the usual heaviness of facing a horde of self-styled family “well”wishers,whose responsibilities towards my life exponentially increases during these get-togethers.
So,it was a pleasant surprise,sitting along with one of my favourite Patriarchs,from our extended family,in the Church courtyard,under the gnarled mango tree,sharing the same ancient stone bench and a little of his worldly wisdom.
The humour of the moment had,I strongly suspect,given Grandpa’s eyes a shade of genial wickedness,or maybe,it was my fertile imagination.
The Specially Invited Preacher promised brimstone,hell,fire and eternal damnation to the non-believers in the crowded congregation,and deftly switched to the crucifixion and resurrection with the ease of a carnival juggler.
Grandpa kept smiling at the remnants of the sermon that drifted down towards us in the hot, heavy ,humid summer afternoon of God’s own Country.
I was at Church to please Ma. He was there to”be’ for another Resurrection Experience ,in his own way.
The conversation was mostly one sided,for starters,with him doing the talking and me doing the listening. Grandpa was matter-of-factly giving me a curt,precise and impersonal checklist of his present ailments and their degrees of malevolence.
“Here I am,my child,98 years old, seen and done what the Good Lord set me here for to the best of my abilities,and every evening,and through the day,I ask Him,Lord ,havent this gnarled hands and legs seen their prime ?What good am I for?But He just dont seem to listen…”he continued with a chuckle,and turns to me in a conspiratorial whisper,”maybe its those ex-babus from our municipal offices who are managing His paperwork,they must have screwed up as usual,just like on Earth”..and I joined his laughter.
And he went on,about the fulfillment of seeing his children and his grand children,and the happiness of holding his first great grandchild for her baptism,and the way his life was more blessed than he could ever expect it to be.
And I sat there and listened and thought about the way I had steered my life,and would I get a chance to share a stone bench and a conversation with someone from my younger generation?
Or,would we sit there as bookends,he immersed in his PDA and me in my thoughts,hold an ocean in my head with no sympathetic heart to share it with?
Sometime later,we hugged,me making a futile promise of meeting him before I left home ,and walked together to partake in the final ceremonies of the day.
And I realised,that all along,we were sitting at the grassy knoll overlooking the final resting place of the Parish bretheren.
Him, speaking with effortless ease of waiting in breatless anticipation of another journey,and me,looking back on the roads I have taken..
The End had finally seem to be the Beginning then.
And here was the Middle Ground.
THE HEART MAKES A STATEMENT..
April 15th, 2007 5 comments »What is it about that bonds that honesty spins from the heart that makes it all the more hungrier to forge more?
And make them stronger?
And maybe make the tangled webs we weave more so?
Though the absence here was not intentional, the souls that walked in to my living room to check on the lunatic inside made him visibly moved.
All for a collection of souls who come alive in words in electronic ether, occasionally, most of whom who would never recognize each other, lest they pass you by down the road.
Well, the ravings are back.
With a smattering of rantings thrown in.
For good measure.
TI takes a bow.
Life..in a Hundred shades of Green!!
March 27th, 2007 No comments »Eight vessels of hope came my way a few days back.
The colours ranged from an excruciating parched ochre to a deep,resonating,fertile brown.
Each had its lonely occupant,in varying stages of death,gasping in its every moment of existence,solely dependent on another soul for its very existence,yet unable to even communicate with a whimper,of its life being bled away for reasons beyond its understanding..
It was from a buddy who got inspired from too much of National Geographic TV that accompanied his Pizza dinners,and a genuine sense to start something “organically fulfilling”.
What good is a pocketful of good intentions if it cant help you make your soul dance?
And so it came to pass that he bought eight flowerpots with eight healthy plants in them, and forgot all about them after two days.
They would have screamed, wailed plaintively, through the dark nights, progressively "growing" closer to deaths, and scared of the closing darkness that swirled around with the color of the inky death. Maybe.
And it changed residence and hands,that grew out of a feeling which I still cant put my finger on.
Based on this somehow firm belief that took root in my heart, that , all a dying sapling need to grow is the will in its caretaker's heart to make it grow, I started watering it every day..
As days passed and I steadfastly kept at it,more out as an activity to keep me occupied in the muggy mornings,I realized I was actually looking forward to that simple chore of visiting every pot with a small vessel of water.
I began to notice the way they changed their demeanour,from a sickly yellow,there was the first hints of healthy green.I caught myself smiling when a ordinary morning presented the most fulfilling sight my eyes had set in along time..here were three buds,clenching in their hands,three delightful secrets.
I saw it as the hope the parent plant had in its existence,and the gift for the care it received,and the reminder of an unspoken promise that I made to myself.
With the sudden bloom in the corner of the otherwise dry and dreary porch,came interesting visitors.Curious sparrows, bored dragonflies and of course a brood of Plundering Visigoths that laid siege to all the pots in the cover of the night( I counted six of them furry fellows in the morning)..And it took a whole lot of stern warnings, and physical methods to make them caterpillars atlast see reason.
There is a deep sense of contentment and a warm glow inside these days whenever I look at the corner of the sunporch, and realize the simple acts through which Mother Nature makes us learn.. on the fulfillment of giving, and the happiness in caring.
The pots have grown two fold now.
I have only myself to blame.
And I don't repent it for a moment.
Not one bit.
PS:When was the last time you planted a seedling and watched it grow?
WOULD WE STILL HAVE THE HEART?
March 19th, 2007 No comments »Maybe its the times that I’m living in,or maybe its just that theis urban conditioning is slowly trying to gain ground in the Citadel that I call my Heart…
Would it be that the only sky that our children see would be from their aircraft windows,and through the eyes of their parents?
Would it be that the only gurgling that they listen to and make their ears smile wud be from the thick ,fetid and turgid waters of our city sewers?
Would it be that the the only rolling meadows they see would be on their desktops,available as payable downloads?
Would it be that a breath of fresh air is an experience in an Oxygen Bar,after a cold swipe of your plastic money,something that you reward yourself on a weeknight out?
Would it be that the concept of tolerance and empathy that they learn wud be from the old reference points of ancient national leaders,so far removed and disconnected from their lives,and not from their own homes?
Would it be that the only domestic avian friends they get to meet would be at their friendly neighborhood museums,staring at them with beady eyes,soulless and vacant,with a touchscreen that doubles up as their footnote,even to History?
Would it be that Love and Compassion would be emotions,that would spark interest in the Multiplex screen around the corner,and would be conveniently discarded with the Popcorn bucket on the way out?
Would it be that the feel and touch of Mother Nature,a barefoot walk in the grass,the feel of wind in your hair,the sun on your back,would be activities relegated as tasks to be performed in ur annual vacation in a foreign exotic land?
Would it be that the only thirst they identify and make it heir own be the insatiable ambition to get above his fellow being,even if it means stepping on his shoulders,and never helping him up?
Maybe its my over fertile imagination,or maybe its just that The Cynic Fairy has made my head her Vacation residence,
Stil I wonder..
Would we hve the heart to even think of a world as cold and clinical as that,as a legacy to our children?
Would we?
This Dreary Job of casually Assisting and Abetting a Murder
March 12th, 2007 No comments »Its something that comes almost naturally, without any real effort on my part at some part of the week or when this urge comes a-calling, even without any prior information.
And then the legs do their number without even asking the Command Center for directions, it just knows what to do.
A few crisp words,a satisfied grunt ,a careful eye later,there is a screech,a mute look of agony and the insane will to drink all of the world in the next few seconds in the suspecting victim's eyes.
The soft snap as the main cartilages are twisted and some are broken..
The swish of the rubber apron,the whirring of machinery,the dank smell of perspiration,moldy and sticky and the overbearing smell of death..
The clammy,metallic odour that hangs like a miasma around the killing floor,and the occasional thump and whimper of the few struggling to keep themselves a step away from the Final Release.
I chose ,or rather pretend not to hear the thud, and the wheezy start of the machinery..
Instead,with the careful deliberation that comes hand in hand with urban living,I painfully concentrate on the days newspaper headlines,lying face up on the floor,half torn from the callous indifference of a former partner in this business of Murder.
And the rest of them wait their turn,listening to the wails and screeches and mute pleas of agony,in the stifling meshes,smelling their kind tossed around in the steamy machinery,and the dark foreboding that comes with a slowly dawning realization.
The familiar black package is on the counter,warm and soft, a reminder of another life, brought into this world for death.
I have decided.
This just doesn't bode right with me.
I felt the time had come to give my indecisiveness a final push,into the Big Yonder.
Now,it just feels right.
And my friendly neighborhood chicken and meat seller just lost another customer.
Wearing your Life like a Necklace of Tears …..and your Love like a Thorny Crown
March 8th, 2007 No comments »One of my dear colleagues,since the past three months had become progressively subdued and quiet,which is more like the welcome evening breeze who forgot its melody somewhere on its way home..Absolutely brilliant,technically sound and focussed on her job priorities,it was as though she was putting in her hours with a vengeance to turn her heart away from a thousand wild horses that were dragging her down the opposite cruddy road..
And it was the simple act of asking whether she needed an extra helping of sugar,during the morning coffee break,that tore her edifices down,and laid bare a pair of eyes,minus the carefully worn masks of indifference and bittersweet calm..
It wasnt much..The first seeds of her supposed infidelity were sown in her husband’s heart by Momma dearest,who couldnt accept a daughter-in-law who earned on par with sonny dearest and wore trousers to office..The alleged paramour was her young brother-in-law,who stayed with them,and attended college due to her insistence..They have two adorable kids,and hubby dearest had started using fists and shoes as essential articles of a productive marital conversation of late.
And it went downhill from there on a daily basis.
She didnt want her Mother to know all this,being the bundle of diseases,held together by resolve and pure love,and knew the frail heart wouldnt live through it.
She said she never wanted herself searching for probable lies and possible explanations when her children questioned her about giving it a second chance,she was sure they would,at a certain point of time in the future..
She never wanted to explore the messy realms of a mutual divorce,because that would mean she had miserably failed to hold her life together.
And she couldnt take another day with a life partner who alternated between cussing and loving in the blink of an eye.
The brother has since moved out,unable to bear the hurt,and dissociated himself from his mother and brother..
She said her husband never even took the effort to atleast check with his younger bother on the veracity of their Mother’s accusations.
Because no Mother would do anything to harm their children.
All I could do was sit there under the Jacaranda,in dank stupor,of the enormity of our social and personal strains of thought,that weighed us down,at times dragging us around with malicious glee,more so with the willful consent of our resigned hearts.
All I could do was give her my undivided attention and an offered hand of understanding..and something that I thought was practical under the circumstances..
I asked her to explore the possibility of moving out,with her children to another part in the same city,and take it from there.
It was the most longest and harrowing coffe break I ever had in my entire professional life.
And why she made me her sounding board is beyond my levels of understanding..
Here were two professionals,brought together in marriage,for a life to be nurtured with love and seasoned by challenges,finding themselves in a frightening new game where there was no rules,and worse still,resigned to play it with a fierceness and conviction only they understood.
On my way back,I happened to glance at a new Hallmark Mushy that got nailed on its forehead on the Lounge Notice board.
“Saluting all the Women in Our Lives”..it began..
So,it was International Women’s Day,after all..
Hmmmm..
Passing away,Passing thoughts…
February 22nd, 2007 No comments »One of my dear friends’ Mother passed away two days ago..it reached me as a cold and forlorn text message,limp,brief and nothing more.I realized I had not even remembered to call her up and speak to her,leave alone enquire about her Mother,in a long time.There is this deep sense of heaviness and foreboding,that weighs down your heart,already racked with guilt and an unfamiliar sense of helplessness,that leaves you looking for answer to that oft repeated question,” What am I going to do now?”
The fact that I was 2200 km and 2 days away from the event made it more painful..
Life,has this uncanny ability of giving you the rudest awakening call to a relationship taken for granted which gives you no room to turn your back again..It made me reach for the phone and dial her number without even having an inkling of what to do when she receives the call,if she was in a position to take it,that is..
She said what broke her heart was the very fact that it had to be this reason,this event that made me call her up and speak to her in such a long time.
I touched the center of my own sorrow at that moment,and i realised
i was deciding whether to shrivel myself up in fear of further pain and hurt or take it with the stoicity that naturally comes to all of us in moments of indecision..
Passing away of a loved one ,I have come to know,is a reminder to me,of simple facts that humble you with their profoundness..The very fact that as a human being,the only mark we leave on this planet is the lives we touch,in our limited circle of existence.The smiles that we leave after a visit,the hugs that envelope their eventides,and the tears that we share in understanding.
Every single moment,is defined by that act,and then it passes away to the memories of those who lived that instant,never to be repeated again.
I wished I could,for a moment,have this super human ability to bottle all this treasures up,a million emotions that invade my senses,elevating me,and at times have me in a whirl.
It makes me see the futility of where I live,the car I drive or how much money I have.
In the end,all it matters is the way our lives touched others that we cared for,when all else falls and withers away..
And my moment of indecisiveness passed ..
And I kept the promise I made to myself in that very moment,2200 km away.
And it was worth keeping it,when I saw that shiny sparkle in her eyes,wet with tears and a deep sense of understanding and rationale that keeps our crumbling hearts together in moments of personal loss.
And she said” How I wish Ma was here “.
And I was happy beyond my wildest imagination to be living in that moment…
I believe,that was all that mattered in the end.
A reaffirmation of the simple things that makes this life a lil worthy..
At least to ourselves.
Burning Bridges
February 13th, 2007 No comments »The Old Telephone Diary looks at me with a grimace,disdain and tired resignation..Each page, stark reminders,dogeared reckoners ,filled with friends and loved ones it has held close to its breast,while I drifted away,ignoring some,forgetting a few and a handful thrust into the warm toned land of Sepiaville with my chosen indifference.Bridges that connected me to souls,trains of thought,shelters in my storms and favours that came without riders.When and where did I start drifting away from these paths and chose to explore new ones?What made me leave them,some well worn,with a familiarity and comfort, that led me often to peace,sane advice and mischievous laughter..now that I look through the names,and the numbers that signified their reassurance ,and flip through pages that now feel heavy with guilt and foreboding,I realise something.
I dont want to feel the same way,the next time I open my Current Diary.To have my eyes scan,with painful recollection,of places where I burnt my bridges,with flaming,at times sputtering, flares of selfishness and heart wrenching pain,sometimes for a reason,some times without.
Because through the flames, I see possible friendships that withered away, of hands and hearts that were offered in faith and
turned away in cold apathy.
Maybe it is not possible to be in touch with everyone that matters,but its always worth a try.Or maybe every time a chance comes up,another one would go down.But,this time it wouldnt be deliberate..I want to cherish every soul that hangs on to common thoughts and things seen through common eyes with a tenacity that will never wither away..
Because its just one shot I get at this.
Because well thumbed memories are meant for smiles.Not grimaces.
Beacuse thats all that matters.
Smiles.
