Show Mercy, O Showers!

Didn’t you convey the message of your arrival
through the harbinger of all seasons?
Now I see not a trace of you around!
Aren’t you testing my patience?

You may be seasonal yet sensational;
You may be inconsistent yet steady;
You may be garish yet simple;
May I implore for a quick downpour?

Waiting restlessly for you with parched lips
on the crest of a lonely rock of a desert,
in the brink of despair
with no layer to shield me.

Waiting for the strands of mercy
to touch every cell of my body,
that would relieve me of this desperation
and rejuvenate my soul and spirit.

I will squirm not with displeasure
on your gentle touch,
for, I have fully attuned myself to
merrily dance to your cadence.

May it be beating showers,
or even gentle tapping all over,
I am ready to welcome you in any form -
all because of my fretfulness.

Come on, pour down! Tap me, and pat me,
touch me, and feel me
encompass me, encircle me
engulf in me and just dissolve in me!

My eye lids are wide open
waiting for a brisk sprinkle to close it.
My face has withered down
waiting for you to come and moisturize it.

My lips are bruised
devoid of your tender kiss.
My body is burning with heat
waiting for you to come and cool it down

You are nature’s bounty bestowed on me.
Drown me with your compassion.
Don’t you know that I have a syndrome
for which you are the only medication ?

The Metamorphosis - from hatred to love

Sitting in the foyer of isolation, crooning elegies over my lost autonomy, I spent my first few days in the new country. Shifting from Bahrain to Abu Dhabi was undoubtedly a cumbersome task (more precisely, an unwilling task). Having been used to lesser traffic, meeting people quite often, walking out on a weekend without planning for dinner, it seemed tougher to get adjusted to this new environment. To lead a life here, one needs immense patience, lots of money, loads of luck (to get a car park) and hell a lot of planning.

It has been more than a month since I landed here in this capital city but you have to believe me when I say that I haven’t made frequent visits out of the house. It was due to manifold reasons like car-lessness (I have not wrongly spelt carelessness. I wanted to tell that we spent nearly a month without a car), husband’s busy schedule, kids’ exams and other stuff that made me confine within the walls of the house. For the first time in our life, we have been living a life for ourselves – just ‘we’ all days through. That was indeed a torture to me. Unpacking cartons, buying groceries and other kitchen-related stuff kept me occupied for a while. I kept cursing about every single thing that I could see or hear about in this place. Cribbing over those unfound things, whimpering heavily over my dis-connection with the outside world, I somehow managed to pass through the frontier of distress and hatred and entered the precincts of acceptance. That was when the thought of going out for weekends arose. After a couple of hours of browsing, I identified the right places to visit. To begin with, I discovered places of interest for kids. We began moving out every Thursdays. With some money to spare, some luck in hand (for parking), instilling patience on my husband’s mind (for driving in the madding traffic of Abu Dhabi on a weekend) and with proper snacks to feed children when we get stuck in traffic, we thus began our journey out on weekends.

Everywhere I went, I looked around helplessly to locate a known face but in vain. It is not that we do not know anybody here in this place. I simply could not get the key to enter into their minds. Neither did I want anybody to consider me an object of disturbance. I developed my own saying, “Strangers can be better friends than acquaintances”. Thus I began the project of spotting new friends. With just one day to spare in a week, how successful can I be in making friends when the rest of the family’s concentration is purely vested on entertainment? So keeping that thought in the backyard of my mind, I managed to participate in the rest of the weekend activities.

For a change, this weekend we decided to go to the corniche instead of malls since the weather was pleasant and favourable. Abu Dhabi corniche was a lovely place to visit. The serene beauty of nature was unperturbed by the hustle and bustle of the people occupying it. It was a feast to see such a beauty properly organized and effectively used by the public. Corniche, park and beach were spread over kilometers in a single long stretch. This is an ideal place to relax after days of busy work schedule. Kids were left loose in the open area. I could see them stretch themselves to this ocean of paradise encompassing them into the beauty of nature and jumping in the new found joy. Since they were not properly equipped to jump into the water, they simply let their feet touch the gentle and kind waves that kissed the shore with grace. After a while they played with glee in the park and built castles in the sand. The happiness was found not only in kids’ face but also in ours. I too assisted them in building their castles. I began understanding that since there were lots of friends in Bahrain, we hardly spent time understanding our family’s tastes and interests. This is what the new life has made me understand. That moment I realised that in this city, we don’t have people to visit us home or call us or invite us or even to enquire about us. But still there can be seen traces of joy and happiness. It is not the people or place that gives us happiness. It is the settings of our mind that enable us to unveil the curtains of happiness hiding behind every single thing in life.

Everything in this world is in the eyes with which we project it. If we are able to lead a life without bias imbibing the innocence of kids, there is no missing or craving for anything around. With time, I have got used to this new surrounding. But I believe that I should not have taken 30 days to begin liking a place. We should be able to change gears based on the circumstance we step in. There is always a scope for enjoyment wherever we go.

A Tribute to my Revered Teacher

“She is a terror”; “She is patently despotic”; “She doesn’t love anybody” – these were some of the words my seniors used to describe about Sister Jacob at school. My sister gave me a different testimonial though (My sister loved Sr. Jacob and she too loved my sister a lot). I felt it difficult to believe my sister in this aspect. I too, just like my seniors developed fear for her. Sr. Jacob was short, dark, and stout. She wore glasses that gave her the look of an authentic school teacher.

While at assembly her mere presence brought complete silence. During lunch breaks too, she used to move around to find traces of indiscipline among students. We always made an orderly entrance into the Hindi class since her room was immediately next to the Hindi class.

I had been part of the school choir. While singing, she would make a sudden appearance to hear all of us sing. The moment somebody giggles or talks, she would yell at them and throw them out of the group however well they might be singing. None of us dared to open our mouth except for singing when we realise that she is there to inspect.

The subject that she handled was English for Class 9 and 10. She was too good at it. During school assembly, if she noticed children using bad English, she would stop them immediately by saying, “stop using your pocket English”. Most of us preferred to shut our mouth the moment we notice her in our vicinity. When I was promoted to Class 9, I was too unhappy because I knew that she would be handling English class. In the normal course, English classes were fun period for us. We always had wonderful teachers for English who would not insist much on homework or ‘reading aloud’ stuff. But we knew that Sr. Jacob would be demanding too much from us. We were praying that she should somehow refrain from taking classes for us. And the miracle happened. It so happened fortunately for us that our Principal was transferred to another school and Sr. Jacob became the Principal. As a Principal her responsibilities increased and as a result she could manage to handle only Class 10. We rejoiced over this.

But the time came when we were promoted to 10th grade. No miracle happened this time. She became our English teacher. No escape!

The first annoying thing she did was a separation between Anu (one of my best friends) and me. She changed our sections. The entire school knew that Anu and I were best friends. We were always seen together. She shifted Anu to ‘A’ section and me to ‘B’ section. We both cursed her enough for this. English class thus began with such distress in my mind.

But the fear and dislike I had for Sr. Jacob did not continue for long. I began to agree with my sister. I really started admiring the way she handled the class. The class always maintained pin drop silence whenever she took class. That made me highly attentive in the class. I marveled at her approach towards the subject. I had never required a teacher’s assistance to write an English examination until that point. But she made me depend on her for ideas as to how to effectively prepare for an English exam. She discouraged reproducing words from the text. She encouraged building our vocabulary. She made us innovate with every lesson. She made us work out every illustration in the text book. She made us divide ourselves into groups and discuss about what we understood. She would ask us to write what we understood involving the inputs of our group members. She would then give us role-play. Most of the students who were weak in English and who disliked discussions continued hating her. But I simply fell in love with her. There was one another classmate of mine by name Jayadevi who too loved her incessantly.

Poems were taught beautifully by Sr. Jacob. I just couldn’t stop wondering why she should confine her to the rooms of a school when she had the ability to handle English literature for college students. Once she taught us “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. What a wonderful poem! And what wonderful explanation to it! I still remember the last few lines –

“The woods are lovely dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep..”

The last 2 lines (the repetition) in poetic terms is called a refrain. The core of the poem is the last 4 lines. It was a definite ERC (Explain with Reference to the Context) question whenever she set the question paper.

Her method of conveying was commendable. I simply felt like attending her class alone for the rest of my life. She also taught us “Daffodils” by William Wordsworth. More than Wordsworth’s poem, I appreciated how well Sr. Jacob had managed to set it into our minds. I simply loved her and she knew that I loved her. She also made a mention in my autograph book that I was a super star in her class. I still cannot forget those lines in my autograph book. They are priceless words transferred by a person of high intellect to a simple person like me.

She also encouraged me to write poems. Being inspired by Wordsworth’s ‘Daffodils’, Jayadevi and I made an attempt to write a poem sitting in the small garden of our school. We employed rich words and compiled a poem and showed it to her and won her credit. I feel that I should have preserved that piece of paper today. She pinned up high hopes on me. She wanted me to get educated in Cambridge University.

She taught us Grammar too. She used to explain them very well to us. Once she taught figure of speech - simile and metaphor and the difference between the two. She told us that we should never forget this at all and that she would come and ask us the difference between a simile and a metaphor on the day of our marriage. The example she gave was “He fought like a lion in the battle” – this was an example for simile and “He was a lion in the battle” – this was for metaphor. It has been 8 years since I am married now. I am still ready to answer her and so is my sister. Now where is Sr. Jacob to ask us this question?

Sr. Jacob was a pioneer in various fields. She used to handle office administration effectively as a responsible principal. She handled English classes for us. She used to organize various events and activities at school. She used to collect donations from wealthy people for the upbringing of our school. She used to monitor the other teachers of our school and had handled complaints from parents. She was too nice and sweet with all the parents. She was a simple person wearing a white robe on all days. Her life revolved around the convent and the chapel there. She hardly saw the world outside her. Once when I told her that I don’t want to get married, she asked me if I am also going to be a nun like her. At that point I did not give it a big thought and said that I would become a nun. But today, if I sit and note the sacrifices that one has to make to become a nun, I realize that it is never a joke to be a nun and I would never be able to do it either.

There was not a single person who would have escaped from writing the imposition that she often asked us to write – “I am an irresponsible idiot”. Yes, even I have written it too (A hundred times). Once she asked the entire class to write it when we could not maintain silence during the absence of a teacher. But my sister has escaped from it (didn’t I tell you that they both like each other so much?). She knew that most of the children were scared of her and never had good remarks about her. There were only few like my sister and some others like me who understood her true worth.

I had wondered what happiness would mean to her when I once saw her removing her spectacles and wiping tears away. I prayed to God for her that day. It was disturbing to see her like that. I knew that she prayed for our welfare everyday. Our batch created record of bringing the highest marks in the history of the school. She was too excited. All of her favourite students decided to make a visit to the school every year. But unfortunately, it never happened. All of us moved to different places in pursuit of establishing a career. We eventually lost touch with her. Anu gave me the sad news of her death some years back. I shed some tears for her. But I regret not having met her after my school life. I wish I had.

In this world where people pursue career as a part of making money, there existed my one and only Sr. Jacob who was so dedicated to what she was doing without being paid. Isn’t this called true service?

In a small town like Salem in Tamil Nadu where only Tamil is widely spoken, nobody would have imagined that there once lived a lady who imparted a foreign language so vividly to various children to that extent that they could manage a life abroad easily. Many thanks to you Sister; I loved you for what you were. But for you, I wouldn’t have developed a flair for English language.

How happy she would be if she comes to know that I have dedicated a blog exclusively for her! Who knows, maybe she is reading my blogs from the balconies of heaven!

The 'Devotee-friendly' God

“Invoke His presence and your deal is done”- He is none other than our dear Lord Ganesha whose birthday is being celebrated all over India today. He stands first in the list of favourite Gods for almost all. He is being worshipped on all occasions. He is served first before offering the other Gods. Why is that? I honestly do not know but all I infer is that He is so cool and easy unlike the Others.

To me, His eyes look so compassionate. I feel He cries with me when I am in sorrow. I assume that he carries my burden sometimes and relieves me off pressure secretly. He appears so loving and kind that I can confess freely to Him. He lays no rules to me. He is not strict with me. He pardons me easily. But at the same time, He makes sure that I do not repeat it. He loves junkies just like me. He doesn’t advice me. What a pleasure to have such a lovely companion with me all the time!

It is not only to me. Most of the people in India take Him for granted. He is the only God who poses in different styles matching the latest trend. I was not surprised to see Him posing with a cricket bat and ball, sometimes with musical instruments, sometimes posing like sumo wrestlers, sometimes munching in front of the TV, sometimes listening to music from internet. He is such a adorable character whom everybody would love to meet.

I offered Lord Ganesha some prayers today. Kids enjoyed His procession in our compound this evening. Arrays of petitions would have reached his large ears today. Wondering how He captured the hearts of infinite number of devotees effortlessly!!

Random Musings

Heart Vs. Mind

Lured was I to taste those juicy fruits in the vineyard

Touch did I with the genuine appetite to devour them

Prevent did my mind that demanded a justification for my hunger

Struggle did I to distinguish between temptation and necessities

My mind repudiated my inclination to savour the alluring fruits

Isn’t life always like this?

Heart and mind can never get united. Mind always wins.

I still didn’t taste the tormenting fruit.


Eyes Vs. Words

Your eyes have never hurt me like what your words did.

Do you wonder why I still care for you even after those harsh words?

Keep assuming until I work out an answer for it.

But the truth is that I am not able to forget those moments I had with your eyes.

Powerful were your eyes. Haven’t I spoken enough about it?

The ruthless words turned insignificant when compared to the strength of your eyes.


Thought Transference

While together, I can easily pass my heart’s messages to you through my eyes.

I am wedged with only one option now - The fastest and the most inexpensive form of communicating - ‘telepathy’

But you don’t seem to reciprocate even after the volumes of messages that I sent to you!

Any technical problem? Or were you not in a position to acknowledge?


Mr. Unique?

Did you want to establish that you are different from the others?

How could you manage to escape with that mesmerizing smile and seducing glances?

Why didn’t you try to express and win?

Could you manage to touch only the heart?


The ‘J’ Factor

Can the river rejoice merrily that the sun is shining on it?

The flowers, oceans, fields, snow and butterflies are equally happy.

Doesn’t the river have the right to grow jealous over the others?

Do you still want to know who is the Sun and who is the river?


Who are you?

You are in every question that I ask myself

You are the answer to every question I think of.

You are the reason for my grief

And you are the remedy for my sorrows

You have a role every time I dream.

Though you are an integral part of my ideal life

It is sad to learn that you cannot be a part of my absolute life.


Hiatus

Did the period of lull speak anything at all to you?

Well, it conveyed lots to me.

It asked me “when is the revival?”

The Drama

She did not know how it commenced
But as it began, it ignited a steady flame of obsession within her.

She did not know how it sustained
But as it continued, it splashed a gush of cool waves all over her.

She did not know how it got severed
But as it got disconnected, it tossed her into an ocean of misery.

She did not know how it convalesced
But as it recovered, it made her descend into a bundle of philosophies.

She has no idea as to where it stands now.
She has no clue as to how she would react to it again.
But she seems to have enjoyed that little segment of play in her life.

What am I Crying About?

This trip to India has really been memorable so far. I call it ‘memorable’ for plenty of reasons. But the primary reason is that I began to realize that I have no problems as such and if I want I can make my life happier. I am blessed that way. This time, I met many people who instilled some strong thoughts in my mind that may not fade away at all. There were some incidents that imbibed some feelings onto me. I have penned down some of the incidents that shook me.



As I was walking out of the restaurant one evening, I saw a young boy approaching me with plenty of agarbathis (incense sticks) in his hands. He looked smart, bright and energetic, tidy and much presentable. I presume he must be around 13 years of age. He marketed pretty well to sell at least one of those packets to me. I was simply stunned at his selling abilities. I felt sorry for the kind of situation he was in, where he had to sell and make money at an age when most of the other boys of the same age would be enjoying their school days with their friends. Boys of this age in the west would have initiated their dating deals with young girls. What kind of pressure is this boy in! How will I feel if my daughter is in such a position? I just couldn't imagine such a scenario. I immediately opened my purse, pulled out a note and gave it to the boy. He was very happy. He asked me which one I wanted. I did not have an answer. After a moment of silence, I told him, “Give me the one that gives the best fragrance”. He picked up one and handed it over to me and searched for change. Unwilling to get the balance, I asked him to keep the change with him. Probably that would help him take care of a meal.



In my neighbourhood, there is a family who has an 18 year old mentally challenged daughter. I get to see her almost everyday at the park when I take my daughters there. She merrily plays in the swing along with my daughters. I often fancied the happiness in her smile when she swings. She derives some unique joy perhaps, when she swings like a small child. I was troubled to learn that she is not like any of the others. She talks to herself sometimes and also laughs heartily for no reason. I was simply wondering what would be going through her mind. In one way, I feel they are free from the hardships that a common man goes through. But the other aspect is the difficulty for the people taking care of such a child. Her parents are very loving to her and they treat her like a 5 year old child. To me she looked very beautiful. One day in the park, as I saw her swinging merrily, I just thought for a moment, “How nice it would be if she had been a normal kid. She would have been one of the most beautiful girls in the college that every guy would love to date with!” As I thought about her, she beckoned to me and said, “Aunty! You look too beautiful.” I was shocked for a moment. I softly said, “Thank you. You too look very beautiful.” She smiled and walked away. What does beauty mean to her? What did she find in me? I feel I am in no way close to the beautiful features that she had. Did she find out that I was thinking about her or was it purely co-incidental that she too opened the same subject that I thought about? I don’t know.



One evening, I had been to shopping with my daughters when I met one of my old bus friends. We traveled by the same bus everyday. The last time I met her was probably 13 years back. She was the first to recognize me. There were lots of changes in our appearances. She remarked that I had accumulated enough weight. She too had put on weight, but the most significant change in her was her hair cut. She had a boy cut. She had lovely hair. I was curious to know the reason for this kind of a hair cut. She said that once when her daughter suffered from accidental burns, she was in a critical condition and was admitted in a hospital. She had, at that time prayed to God that she would sacrifice her hair if her daughter recovers. Fortunately, her daughter recovered completely from the burns. As promised, she sacrificed her hair to the Lord. Her hair had just begun to grow and that is why it looked like she had a boy cut. I am of the belief that God, the Giver, doesnt' expect or require anything from us. Sacrificing animals, hair and jewellery are part of the culture that I am in. I personally do not beleive in bribing God that way but her audacity to compromise with her looks for the sake of her daughter was amazing to me. Will I be willing to shave my head off like her at any point of time for anybody in my life? I had felt that my love towards people had been silent and deep but now I see people revealing profound love and not at all making big fuss about it. I began to wonder if there is any meaning at all for the love I claim to carry for the people around me. What will I be willing to do for them if they end up in a crisis?



I had been on a short trip to Bangalore along with my husband. As we were driving into the outskirts of the IT hub of south India, I noticed many people leading their families on one corner of the road. They had constructed a small tent to protect them from rain and heat. That is all. There were no bedrooms or drawings rooms or kitchen. In a world where technology is highly advanced and in a place that is getting highly sophisticated, these people are living in ignorance. What a contrast! They do menial jobs and earn their living. They let their children to work too. Some beg and earn money. They are not aware of the IT boom or about computers or about the latest inventions or about the corruption going around or about the sale going on or about the beautiful landscapes around their city. They are probably happy in their own world. Is ignorance bliss?