Sunday, December 20, 2015

Welcome 2016


Jingle bells, jingle bells, all the way they – jingle, jingle, jingle
As the grand pa clock chimes - ding dong, ding dong, ding dong

The countdown begins - tick tock, tick tock, tick tock

As we bid good bye to 2015 to wake up to another new year 2016
With renewed faith, dreams and desires
As our emotion unleashes the tempest within
To the farthest horizon that cannot be fathomed

It is time to gift wrap 2015 with all the memories – good, bad and ugly
Because it doesn’t matter anymore

It is not too long for the New Year to unwrap and give us all a chance
To express - love, warmth and tenderness
Reunite - with the ones we have lost ties with
Build more memories – good, better, best

Let us feel happy and cherish the kindness of time, giving us another chance
To wake up to a whole new year 2016

Let us spread cheer and warmth and steer our lives
To embark on this new journey of a whole new year 2016

Jingle bells, jingle bells, all the way they – jingle, jingle, jingle
As the grand pa clock chimes - ding dong, ding dong, ding dong
The countdown begins - tick tock, tick tock, tick tock

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Merry Christmas and a HNY


Merry Christmas to all my readers and may the bells jingle all the way into a prosperous and happy 2016...

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Love your wrinkles {Revathi Raj Iyer}

Her wrinkles as supple and soft as shea butter, her tiny mouth as it stifled a yawn - I looked fondly at my new born as she lay in my arms, eyes closed as if never wanting to wake from slumber-land, both hands curled into a tight fist that had to be cajoled to be released only to curl back tight against my little finger, as if never wanting to let go of me. As I drew her closer to my chest I felt like a life giver. That moment also gave birth to a new emotion within me, the proverbial “maternal instinct” bundled with abundant joy and an overwhelming sense of protection laced with a huge sense of responsibility.

I sent a silent prayer to the Universe as I watched my baby girl and saved that glorious moment in my memory box never to forget!

*****
I remember lying down on my grandma’s lap as she gently stroked my hair and I kept reading a book. A love that made me take her for granted and assume that she would last forever. I was in my teens and pretty much took all nice things in life for granted.

“Grandma, your hands are so wrinkled and rough,” I observed.
“Yes they are; years of hard work and age has added up,” she answered with a smile that made her lips curve upside down to me as my head was on her lap.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“All of eighty four,” she replied.
“How ancient is that!" To me anybody beyond twenty was old. Well, that’s how we all felt when we were in our teens, right?
“Just seventy years older than you. I was your age when I married your grandfather, you see!”
“Whaaaaaat?” I asked in disbelief.
I couldn’t picture myself to be in my grandma’s position at all.
She pointed towards the wall at the black and white picture of my grandma’s wedding photo.
“You certainly look older than fourteen, maybe you were twenty,” I declared because that seemed to be a marriageable age to me.
“I cannot see much of your hands as they are hidden under that sari of yours.”
Grandma laughed.
I didn’t say anything and kept examining her hands.
“One day your hands will also look wrinkled,” she said.
“Oh Grandma, I love your wrinkles,” I said fondly and kissed her hands.
She gave me a tight hug and started stroking my hair as I resumed reading.

*****
“Ma, are you using the creams and lotions that I bought from Paris?” I asked my mom over the phone.
“Oh dear, yes and no," my mother answered with a sigh.
“Why don’t you set a reminder on your cell phone,” I nudged.
“No matter what, one cannot avoid those wrinkles; so it is better we learn to love them,” she said.

*****
One night, I examined my face intently much to the amusement of my husband.
“Oh my dear sweet God, can you see that?” I asked.
“See what?”
“The fine lines on my face? Look at my hands and my neck; there is no mistaking the fact that it has started looking tired. I dreaded to use the word wrinkles.
Few years from now my daughter would be holding her little infant and feel exactly the same way as I did when I first held her in my arms, my bundle of joy, the wrinkles on her face, hands and body, yet as supple and soft as shea butter…..
I looked at the photo of my baby girl, my mom, I and my grandmother.

Wrinkles create memories and that is all that matters.

 

 

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Maggie and the shrink

Aunt Maggie gets a jolt as she realises that she had meandered towards the thicket, the forbidden path, that too in the dead of the night.

“Sleepwalking can be dangerous. I might even kill somebody. How dreadful would that be? I must see Dr Redwood the first thing in the morning and tell him about this. He is well aware of all my problems, the inane telephone callers, the arrest of my nephew and of course my everlasting love for Merlot, which I don’t see as much of a problem except that once I did water the geraniums with it, but that was just once. I have to tell him about this new ailment; if I live through this night and escape becoming the supper for the wolves or bears or other wild boars.”
The thought of wild animals made Aunt Maggie shiver like a pale, wilted leaf. She had read so many stories to little Nancy who listened to all these horror stories with interest, in the cosy comfort of her bedroom.

Dr Redwood was a good friend of Phillip and a very kind hearted person who understood all her maladies, at least he said he did and kept making notes continuously with his head bent. She loved it when Dr Redwood made notes as this made her feel very important and she simply made up wild stories to add that spicy touch to her woes.
Aunt Maggie could never take her eyes off his head as she counted the four strands that still survived on his otherwise bald pate. Phillip was also bald but Dr Redwood was balder than most bald men whom she had come across in her life span of 80 odd years.
Aunt Maggie’s thoughts came to a halt as she heard the rustle of leaves. Was it a wolf or a grizzly bear? This was not one of those bed time stories she read out to little Nancy. This was real and she was in the woods, that too in the dead of night.
Aunt Maggie shivered in her night gown. She was barefooted and it hurt now. Her toes curled and the cramps were unbearable to the point where she could not get up.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…………….”she screamed in pain and then panicked. She could not control her vocal chords as the pain was excruciating. As if understanding the misery her toes miraculously unlocked and she managed to stand up. She looked around for a stick, just in case she had to defend herself.
She had no clue how to get back to the house. There were only 2 ways – one that would take her home and the other that would take her deeper into the woods.

She did exactly what Nancy would do when caught up in such situations – eena meena myna moe……and started to walk towards the direction that ended with moe…
She heard that rustle again. She was terrified. A bear covered in black fur was walking a few yards ahead of her.

"Did this mean that she was walking towards the thicket and not her home? How could eena meena myna moe have failed her when it never failed Nancy?"
Aunt Maggie was confused. She longed for her Merlot.

Just then the grizzly bear stopped and turned. It was looking straight in her direction.
Aunt Maggie froze. If she ran she knew what would happen. She was defenceless but for some strange reason felt brave.

"Roaaaarrrrrr.....she tried to mime the voice of a tiger to scare the bear away. She had read this trick in one of little Nancy’s books.
Alas! the sound emanated from her sounded like a sheep and the bear looked at her intensely.
She decided to talk to the bear, another trick from the book.

“I know who you are, she said as if talking to a child. You are not a wild grizzly bear. You mean no harm to an old lady who is nearing her grave and wishes to live a few more years. She is in no rush to go to Phillip. I bet he is having a good time in heaven with his lady friends."
“Maggie, what are you saying? How do you know that I am not a bear?"

Aunt Maggie was stupefied.
The bear had started talking to her. The trick of the book was indeed working!

She must tell this to Dr Redwood tomorrow. And she could spin a few yarns around this story, too.
Then the bear starts walking towards her.

Aunt Maggie freezes.

“Shhh……You will not reveal this to anybody, okay?
"The bear had a secret to hide?

"Reveal what?" she asks boldly in a loud tone.
“That I sleep walk in the woods at night and pretend to be a grizzly bear, and Mrs Redwood pretends that she is oblivious to this, as I am the only shrink in town. It would be a shame if the word spreads.
I have different set of problems and I compare notes when you talk to me."

Aunt Maggie faints.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Dear readers (Revathi Raj Iyer)

On this joyous occasion of Diwali, I wish to express my appreciation to all readers who have been curious enough to visit my blog and my face book page "Expression of Pearls". Thank You!

Thursday, November 5, 2015

Maggie and the thief {Revathi Raj Iyer}

Aunt Maggie was sipping the morning tea left by her bedside. Some kind soul in the family must have thought that a cuppa tea will augur well than a morning Merlot, if not for her health, at least for the sake of the flora and fauna in the garden.

"Ahem, ahem, aarrghhh....."Aunt Maggie cleared her throat as the insipid liquid made its way all the way down to settle in her stomach.

Aunt Maggie slid her hands under the blanket in search of the Merlot which she was sure she went to bed with, the night before. Since the death of Philip she slept with the bottle besides her and sought its comfort in the middle of the night, when the hissing sound of the gusty wind woke her up from slumber.

Aunt Maggie glanced around the room. Everything was where she had left it, a month ago. Her room was an untidy mess and whosoever walked in with that morning cup of tea was either too kind or had lost his mind.

For some reason unknown to her, she enjoyed the tea that morning, although weak and lacked flavour; just the way she always had when Philip was alive. A flash of memory and it felt that Philip was alive and back in her life.

That morning was unusual. The house was silent. The sprinklers did not start at the dot of 9 am and there was no sound of the dishes getting stacked in the kitchen or a yell if she had anything for the laundry. Even good old Ruffle was missing.

Aunt Maggie peered outside the window, the swing was empty and little Nancy was nowhere to be seen. This was the time when she would be out playing in the garden all by herself and singing her heart out.

Aunt Maggie nearly fell off the bed at the shrill sound of the telephone. She could not save the liquid nor the cup. The cup crashed into pieces on the stone tile and the tea stained the carpet, making it even harder to figure out the original colour and design of the ancient carpet which was of  Persian origin but over the years looked like a piece of trash.

"I have to get rid of this carpet," she thought to herself and dropped the saucer.

"What is a cup without a saucer?"

Aunt Maggie slipped her feet awkwardly inside the fluffy shoes half chewed by Ruffle and manages to toddle out of the room. Carefully clutching the railing, as if holding it for dear life, Aunt Maggie walks down the stairs slowly. She could clearly tell that she was all alone. The phone kept ringing and by the time she reached and picked the receiver, the caller had hung up.

"Darn, you stupid old thing," she muttered and went to the kitchen. It was neat and there were no signs of breakfast having been made that morning. No cereal remnants on the floorboard. The kettle was empty.

Aunt Maggie had absolutely no idea as to how the morning tea made its way to her room.

The phone broke her thoughts and this time she hastened a bit, to pick it up.

"Hello," she hollered.

"Madam, good morning. How was the morning tea?" the caller asked.

Aunt Maggie was confused.

"Who the heck are you and why are you enquiring about my morning tea?"

"Because I left it for you," he said.

Aunt Maggie was befuddled.

"Do you think I am a fool? Why on earth would you make me a cup of tea?"

"Madam, I am a thief and I have emptied your house of all its precious belongings. I left the tea by your bedside, just out of pity, because it seemed your family had deserted you. I have some good sense in me, you see!"

"How did you get in?" Aunt Maggie demanded.

"The door was wide open and I easily walked in," said the caller.

"How could her nephew have left without saying a word to her, although he had threatened several times that  he would do so. That spitfire of a wife he was married to, must have made him do this. They left the door wide open? How utterly ruthless. Even little Nancy had not pranced into her room? Even Ruffle had not said good bye?"

A wave of self-pity swept over her. She was abandoned in her own house.

"Now do you understand why I could not leave the house without offering you a cup of tea?" the caller said.

"To hell with you all," retorts Aunt Maggie and slams the receiver.

She opens the cabinet near the end of the stair case, where she always hid a Merlot in case of an emergency. She fondles the sleek neck of the bottle and looks ruefully at it. This was an emergency.

She slowly climbs the stairs up to her room. Huffing and coughing she pulls the edges of the disgusting stained carpet, in a fit of rage and despair.

Her eyes open wider than a saucer.

Multitudes of $$$$ bills lay there neatly stacked underneath. The tiles had been neatly removed and substituted by the $$$$.

Aunt Maggie sees the smiling face of Phil on each one of them.

The day Philip had that fatal heart attack he did mention that he had done something drastic.

"What have you done? You look as if you have robbed a bank!" she had exclaimed.

She finishes the bottle and smashes it on the stone tile and fumbles her way downstairs to the phone, with a wicked grin.

"Hello officer, my nephew has robbed a bank and is absconding. I can help you with more details."

She chuckles and chuckles .......







 

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Maggie's malady (Revathi Raj Iyer)

Aunt Maggie is lovingly watering the geraniums careful not to smother them. Her hands are tightly clenched over the sleek neck of a Merlot. She suddenly stumbles over the uneven layer of landscape and the bottle lands with a thud on the wet grass, rolls over to the corner and seeks shelter between two pebbles. The bottle is empty.

Aunt Maggie looks aghast!

"Oh! dear Lord, have I been graciously pouring wine over my geraniums? No wonder they looked a tad hung over."

Aunt Maggie groans and makes her way to the porch where she is intercepted by little Nancy who hands her the phone.

"Now, who is this at this time of the day?"

"It is 10 am Aunt Maggie," says little Nancy and runs back inside the house.

Aunt Maggie grunts and holds the phone so close to her mouth, almost biting the receiver with her knotted teeth.

"Wherefrom did you get my number?" she asks with a twinge of suspicion wondering if the caller could be one of her buddies from the support group.

"Well, I saw a video you had posted on You Tube explaining the life coach skills you have and at the end, you left this number."

"Oh! I see."

Aunt Maggie had no memory of such a thing. Was it a prankster, she wondered again now knowing what to say. She wanted more wine to be able to think straight. But for that she had to walk up to the house first and then sneak a bottle without anybody noticing her.

"Are you there Maggie?" came the voice of the caller.

"Yes of course! If you say that I am a life coach, then I am one. Tell me what your problem is, dear?"

"Your problem cannot be bigger than mine. I have been watering my geraniums with Merlot. I am raving mad and hung over," Aunt Maggie thinks to herself.

"Go ahead dear, spill out your problem," she barks into the receiver.

"Okay. I want to break up with my boy friend and I really don't know how to do it without hurting his feelings for me. He loves me a lot."

"Is that all, dear? You have come to the right person. Aunt Maggie has broken several hearts when I was the reigning queen of my times."

"I never gave a darn if it hurt them or not," she thinks to herself.

"What do you suggest Maggie?"

"My dear girl, is your boyfriend a nature lover?"

"Yes, but how does that help?"

"Wait, dear and answer me first. Does he have a garden?" persists Aunt Maggie.

"Yes he has a vegetable garden and sells his produce in the local market. This helps him to pay his tuition fees. He is studying to be an agriculturist."

"All the more better," says Aunt Maggie, not knowing what solution to offer this caller and wondering what state of mind she was in when she posted the video on You Tube.

She looks around and then sees the empty Merlot resting in between the pebbles and then at her geraniums. They are almost wilted.

"Good heavens, for how long have they been doused with Merlot?" Aunt Maggie lets out a grunt again.

"Hello, I am waiting," the caller says.

"Dear, this is what you ought to do. It may sound stupid and preposterous but your problem will be resolved."

"How?"

"Take a few bottles of Merlot with you to your boyfriend's place and empty them all on his plants. That will definitely work," says Aunt Maggie happily and stumbles again as she enters the house and places the receiver on the hook.

The next week she gets a call at the same time from the same caller.

"Aunt Maggie," it worked. We broke up and my boyfriend now hates me.

"Very well then, isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, Aunt Maggie but now I have another problem."

"So quickly, dear. Now what is your problem," asks Aunt Maggie feeling a bit tired.

"I am pregnant, Aunt Maggie and I just broke up with the father of my baby. I need to win him back. Please tell me how I can do that?"

Aunt Maggie hung up and pronto changed the telephone number.

She forgot about the You Tube Video and it went viral when the number was coincidentally allotted to a life coach who was her namesake.



 

Monday, October 12, 2015

The telephone conversation {by Revathi Raj Iyer}

I am nervous about a job interview. Please help!

Is this your first job interview?      
Yes.

Are you desperate for this job?
Yes.

What are you nervous about?
Whether I will get the job or not.

Okay. Say for instance you don't get this job?
Oh no! I cannot think of that.

Are you afraid of rejection?
Yes.

Have you ever failed in any exam or tests or anything?
No.

Then why do you think you will fail this interview?
Because it is an oral interview.

Oh! Are you afraid of facing the interviewer?
Yes.

Why?
Because I will be judged.

So?
Well, what if I do not live up to expectations?

By being nervous, you think you will?
No.

Then why be nervous and fail to live up to their expectations?
True.

Why not be 'not nervous' and rise up to their expectations?
Yes.

Makes sense?
Absolutely.

Are you still nervous about the job interview?
Not sure.

Yes or No?
I guess not.

When is the interview?
On the 26th August.

Today is 26th August.
Yes.

Is the interview over?
No. It starts at 3 p.m.

Another hour to go?
Yes.

Where are you?
At the studio.

Strange, I have an appointment at 3 p.m.
I know.

How do you know?
I am meeting you.

Me?
Yes.

Why?
You are going to interview me.

What?
I now feel much better talking to you.
Thank You:-)







 

Saturday, October 10, 2015

The charmed boy {Revathi Raj Iyer}



The little boy was playful, so happy and innocent; a gift of God, did he not deserve to be so?

The wind blew his gurgle up in the skies;
The effervescence of his giggle peeled away the miseries;
Far and wide from the hearts of millions and trillions;

With joy and hope they looked up to the skies;

The little boy was playful, so happy and innocent; a gift of God, did he not deserve to be so?

Not too long ago one fateful day;
An infant lay desolate in a litterbin;

Blissful and cherubic his face shone in the moonlight;

As he slept under the embrace of the fiery night;
Oblivious of his plight and the plunder around;

Oh why! Oh why was he left there?

The little boy was playful, so happy and innocent; a gift of God, did he not deserve to be so?

A destitute, an unwed mother bound by shame;
Torn between love, hatred and fear;

Knew not how to break the shackles;
Made the choice to end two lives;

The clot in her chest, cast fury to hell;
As she disappeared into the wilderness;

The little boy was playful, so happy and innocent; a gift of God, did he not deserve to be so?

Amidst cries of anguish, despair and carnage;
Overcast by ugly shadows, gloom befalls the city;

Mobs blind with fury trample with no mercy;
Ravage the city that once stood tall;

The wind blew his gurgle up in the skies;
Alas! Lost in the embers of malice;

The little boy was playful, so happy and innocent; a gift of God, did he not deserve to be so?

Providence struck in the form of a kind passer-by;
A pudgy woman whom he troubles to no end;
Loves her to bits and calls her ma...

Lucky to be alive safe in his abode;

He knows not of his morbid past;

Oh, this charmed child of God survived;

To awaken us to the truth:

“Adorable are children meant to be cherished; never be left unto destiny alone to be buried.”
The little boy was playful, so happy and innocent; a charmed child of God, did he not deserve to be so?

Monday, October 5, 2015

Enchanting reflections {Revathi Raj Iyer}



Frozen she stood with eyes wide open;
Eyelids stuck to her bushy brows;
Eyelashes buried under the snowflakes;
Fiery eye balls bearing a semblance;
To the clear green sea, luminosity personified;
Alas! A glum look dwelt on her bronze face beneath the snowflakes;
As she stares into space and eternity;
Who was she, a princess under a spell?
Her feelings melted within her frozen heart;
As she waited in desperation for the warmth of the sun;
To bathe and bring the sparkle to her frozen body;
The bronze beauty that she was once upon a time;
Dainty dimples that could hold two pearls;
Alas! A glum look dwelt on her bronze face beneath the snowflakes;
As she stares into space and eternity;
Who was she, a maiden waiting for her beloved?
An admirable statue, a work of art;
An object of tease to those who knew no art;
The white frill and spots on her frozen frame;
Sprayed by the feathered friends that perched to rest;
Made them see not the kindness that lay within;
Alas! A glum look dwelt on her bronze face beneath the snowflakes;
As she stares into space and eternity;
Who was she, the muse of an artist?
One sunny day her frozen frame melted away;
She glistened and basked under the steamy rays;
And walked out of the cocoon into the vast vacuum;
As the air lifted her high up in the air;
The breeze softly brushed her curly locks;
The clouds enveloped her naked frame;
As she rose higher and higher and flitted across;
In search of those who looked up to her;
Alas! A glum look still dwelt on her delicate bronze face;
As she stares into space and eternity;
Who was she, an angel within us all?
Yes! A messenger of the eternal universe;
To hold the hands of the poor and needy;
To wipe their tears and spread cheer;
An epitome of kind heartedness;
That lies embedded within each one of us;
Oh! How wonderful it would be?
If only we knew how to let her free for ever and ever.
 
 
 
 


Saturday, September 19, 2015

The mango tree {Revathi Raj Iyer}

Renuka was coming home after a very long time, indeed. Her trips to India had completely stopped in the last few years, owing to a shift in the priorities of both her husband Murthy and daughter Tarsha. She had a phobia for flights and felt very claustrophobic. This was her first trip all by herself and she was overwhelmed with joy and accomplishment, like an astronaut who was returning home from outer space. She looked out of the aircraft, took a deep breath and adjusted her Rado to the local India time. The watch was an engagement gift from Murthy. She fondled the watch as if to rekindle a sweet memory. Soon the plane would touch the grounds of her homeland.

"Madam, can you bring the seat to an upright position and fasten your seat belt please," said the stewardess in a mechanical tone and moved on repeating the same line to a few others who were in deep slumber. Renuka obediently did what she had been reminded and closed her eyes. In spite of a 10 hour flight from Auckland to Singapore and another 3 ½ hours from Singapore to Chennai, her face showed no signs of tiredness. She was as energetic as ever and in a mood to have an all-nighter with her mother, who, she was certain, would be eagerly waiting for her at the airport.

Murthy was a loving and caring husband. His parents had migrated to New Zealand in the early 40's. He moved up the corporate ladder very quickly, with the result, he became the youngest CFO in a leading bank. Anybody else in Renuka's place would have been more than happy. But here she was, restless and far from happy. Since the time Tarsha flew away from home to the States, the brilliant girl had managed a scholarship to study at Boston University; Murthy became even more preoccupied with his work. They were leading parallel lives, albeit being under the same roof. He had changed; was quieter and became a recluse at home. He escaped behind the façade of work. What made Murthy change was something Renuka was not sure about. He was a friendly type, not too reserved yet not flirtatious with women. So it could not be that he was having an affair. Even if he did, he would be honest enough to tell Renuka about it.

'Was Murthy missing Tarsha?' Renuka too missed her only daughter, more than anything else.

'Should that not have brought him even closer to me? Should we not be comforting each other and build a healthier relationship in an empty nest, just like other elderly couples, Jayanthi and Natarajan, for instance?'

Renuka's thoughts travelled in time to finally dwell on her ageing parents in India. She had not seen them in a very long time...

She was 22 and naïve when she left India on marrying Murthy. She loved the change, new friends, life style and everything else a foreign land can offer to a girl who has never seen anything beyond her own country. The 'grass is greener on the other side' syndrome had caught up with her, too. After Tarsha left, Renuka continued her humdrum job as librarian in a local library. Her job was paying well enough, but it was getting very monotonous. In fact, life itself was. She suddenly dreaded growing old in her adopted land. She knew Tarsha was not going to come back either. Tarsha was intelligent and fiercely ambitious. She was driven to make a career not just have a job. "America is the place to be," she had declared.

Murthy and she were slowly drifting apart; both did not make any effort towards their relationship. She desperately wanted to see her parents. Renuka had been avoiding this topic, but when she eventually brought it up, Murthy did not utter a word. It was as if he had nothing to say. Not even a 'why' or 'can we make it work' or anything.

"Do you want to visit your family or live there permanently?" is all he asked.

Renuka was not expecting this. She did not bother to reply and started sorting her stuff. She packed a few of her favourite things and stuffed her bag with memorabilia that she and Tarsha had lovingly compiled over time – photos, scrap book, housewarming cards, birthday cards, thank you notes, sorry notes, card album and what have you! Renuka lovingly opened the box of shells and rare stones that Tarsha had picked from those snorkelling trips and pristine beaches. She placed it, neatly, in between her clothes and closed the suitcase. The past was great but it was over now. Her present was bothering her and she could see no future together with Murthy in this country. Murthy would never return to her homeland. She was determined to leave his. For once, Renuka wanted to be just a daughter with no other role to play. She had gone a long way and now wanted to reflect on her wavering life.

The plane landed with a thud and as it taxied, Renuka jerked forward. Her eyes were a tad moist. She removed her glasses, wiped her tears, and put her glasses back on. She was in her hometown, Chennai. She suddenly got restless and squeezed herself in between the equally restless fellow passengers and managed to be the first to get off the plane.

From a distance, she could see her mother in the waiting area of the airport, trying to catch a glimpse of her amidst the passengers. Suddenly their eyes locked, a moment of recognition, a moment of pain that turned to instant joy. Her mother was waving at her with both hands. Renuka quickened her pace and pushed her trolley as fast as she could. They hugged and stood motionless.

"I thought you would never come," was the first thing she told her. "Why would I not ma?" answered Renuka releasing her grip.

It was well past midnight when they reached home. Renuka could see that her father walked feebly, with a walking stick. He had definitely aged much more than what she had imagined. It was as if he would collapse any moment. He coughed violently. Ma handed him the flask.

"He coughs a lot," her mother complained.

Renuka led her father to his room and sat next to him on the bed. She held his hand and they didn't say a word to one another. That look on his daughter's face, he knew that something was wrong. He closed his eyes and she left the room, whispering good night.

It must have been around 3 am when she fell asleep. The house was quiet and peaceful and the next morning Renuka was woken to the sound of the cuckoo.

"Ga ma pa...," she remembered her music teacher and wondered if Janaki aunty would still be alive and was teaching music. How much Renuka had hated music then, especially when Janaki aunty would insist that she practice regularly!

Renuka opened the old wooden cupboard and started rummaging. She was deeply touched that her mother had still preserved her favourite childhood stuff. She turned and looked at her suitcase with a twinge of guilt. "Was she being unfair to Tarsha?"

She opened the bedroom window and was astonished to find the mango tree, majestic and larger than life. She could see several hundreds of mangoes hanging like bells. A few cattle were resting under the tree. There was a shepherd sleeping next to them using his headgear as a pillow. In the midst of it all, her childhood was locked; she in a ponytail, frock, barefooted and Bashir her best friend, who lived in a small house in the neighbourhood. She had met him under that tree. They were both 14 years old. He had promised to marry her; Bashir, her childhood friend. Painful memories buried with time suddenly sprang to life.

***

It was the summer of Class 10. Her annual visit to her grandparents' home, where her parents were now living, would attract the attention of girls and boys in the neighbourhood. They were her playmates except this boy, Bashir, who would merely watch them. Renuka thought it quite silly, at first. Her friend said that he was shy and did not play with girls. That prodded naughty Renuka to try getting friendly with Bashir. She spoke to him and he answered. He spoke to no other girl and this flattered her.

They would sprint up to the mango tree, a self-timed race in which Bashir would invariably let Renuka win. She would continuously chatter just about anything and everything, and Bashir would quietly listen to her and not say a word. She would then ask him to pluck mangoes and he would oblige. Once he even fell off the tree and almost broke his scrawny leg. Still he never refused to climb the tree and pluck the mangoes as she kept pointing towards them. He would watch her eat a few and take some home for her grandmother.

"How on earth did you manage to pluck all these?" her grandmother demanded one day.

"Not hard at all patti, I used a long stick with a hook that I found under the tree. All this is for you to make pickles," she lied with a silent prayer to God to forgive her for this sin.

'How on earth could she tell patti about Bashir?'

That summer Bashir did not come to see her. She asked the neighbours. Nobody knew. His father owned a bicycle shop. One day without telling her grandparents, Renuka went to the shop to enquire about Bashir. She was unable to locate it. Then she noticed a shop, with shutters down and a red seal on it. She did not quite understand what it meant.

"Uncle, what happened to that shop, why is it closed?" she asked the adjacent shop owner.

"Beta, the cops have taken away Khan Sahib," he replied. Renuka was shocked. Khan Sahib was Bashir's father.

"What about Bashir?" she asked, trembling. He gave her a blank look and went back to his work.

Bashir her best friend who had promised to seek her hand in marriage had vanished in thin air. He had broken his promise.

***

Renuka was unable to tear her eyes away from the mango tree; a tree that abided by its duty entrusted by nature and stood the test of time until beheaded by the selfish human race. It had aged beautifully, large and luminous; and perhaps oblivious to the fact of having been a silent witness to little Renuka's first love. The leaves swayed rhythmically in the gentle breeze, as if trying to say something in self-defence.

In that spur of the moment a hard truth hit her. Her parents now needed the comfort and shade, like that of that dutiful mango tree more than anyone else.

'Time and space will make Murthy understand,' she assured herself and the same night informed her parents about her decision.

"Ma, I am not going back."

Her father took it all in calmly. Her mother looked worried. No questions were hurled.

"This is also your home Renuka," said her father, leaving her mother in a state of confused joy.

Published in Muse India - July/August, 2015
Thank you Atreya Sarma - Editor (fiction & reviews)
 

Monday, September 14, 2015

The divinity of light



Light is a pure energy source. It is widely believed that the divinity in light generates a sense of calm and wellbeing.  As a little girl I was fascinated and curious when my mother lit the silver lamp before she began her daily chores. I thought she was following this ritual to please God.

“Does this make God happy?” I asked her one day to which she replied,

“Yes, God will be happy, but ‘light is God and God is light’, she added.

Her reply did confuse me at that time. But now when I think about it, I feel there was much truth in those simple words said to a confused little girl.

Candle, incense, lamp, whatever it may be, this is an element that brings positivity and good energy flow. In its pristine form light signifies knowledge and wisdom; on the other hand darkness is associated with ignorance. Most religions believe in the power of light, one way or another. Light also improves our moods. People who live in cold countries often complain about the gloomy and dreary weather. Come summer and everybody is happy to step out and soak up the sun. Don’t we all ensure that our homes get plenty of sunshine? Such is the power of light!

A beautiful moment, a celebration, a romantic night, a touch of warmth, a touch of class, sheer ecstasy, a flavour to inhale, a sweet memory, a contemplative state; a ray of light can touch that chord to trigger off these positive emotions. This is the magic of light!

Yoga, wisdom and light are all interconnected. There is a cosmic energy that is already present in the Universe. Light is a mere invitation for the energy to come to you or your surroundings. Candle gazing, also known as trataka, is extremely popular whist meditating and cleansing one’s mind.

I recall having read an interesting fact in a book by John Ittner that at Sivananda ashrams, worldwide, the food served is sattvic (mild and pure). They include only those vegetables that are grown in natural sunshine and mushrooms in particular are not served, as they are grown in dark conditions.

The traits or 'gunas' of nature is well explained in Chapter 14 of the Bhagavad Gita, the Hindu Scripture. This chapter reveals the wisdom of the three characteristics of nature imparted to the great warrior Arjun by Lord Krishna:

·        sattva (light)

·         rajas (fire)

·        tamas (darkness).

A sattvic mind is calm, serene and inquisitive, a rajasic mind is fiery and craves for power and a tamasic mind is ignorant, lazy and dull.

Renowned yogis feel the sattva, the light within themselves. They were able to perceive their true inner self and the light within. The story of Buddha and the sages who have attained enlightenment have seen this eternal light that has taken them closer to God and to become one with the Almighty.

Light is all pervasive and spins the energy wheel in our daily life.

 

 

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Click of the mouse {Revathi Raj Iyer)

It was somewhere in the late nineties that internet and emails had started to excite people in India. Although a snail paced start with dial up connects to the internet, there was a childlike thrill to see a page on the web unfold and then several of them, one after the other, as we kept on clicking our mouse. This invariably caused a choke up and the connection would be disrupted leaving us to reboot all over again. There were times when the dial up will simply refuse to connect. No matter what, we had oodles of tolerance because we were too eager to adapt, hence happy to wait, click and again wait for the information to populate, for that eureka moment – the yahoo page. At that time this was the only search engine. The first ‘test check email’ that was sent to all those who had the luxury to access the net never failed to the greeting, “welcome to the wired world.”
Thus began a new era, a major breakthrough in information technology and since then there has been no looking back. Writing letters and that weekly drive to the post office started fading from most people’s agenda. All it took was a mere click of the mouse, then why go through the rigours of letter writing?
A decade thereafter the human race got even more excited with the splendour of the social media which had slowly started surfacing with Orkut, Bebo and Hi5, until Facebook outstripped all these and totally captivated us, not to mention twitter alongside, enabling those short and sweet tweets. All this further enthralled us. We got connected to our long lost friends, colleagues relatives and so on….and merrily got onto the bandwagon.
The giant leap that further changed the entire scene was the spectrum and mobile revolution. Smart phones are now our life line and our loyalty to the social network has grown rock solid. Sms is considered old fashioned and tedious, with the influx of newer applications like what's app, face time, viber etc that too free of cost. Sharing daily happenings has become the order of the day. 
The world has actually shrunk giving birth to newer friendships with our electronic way of life. We rely on emoticons to convey our momentary expressions and feelings and then move on with our lives. Unwittingly, this may have made many of us less sensitive to actual emotions.
I am one of the victims of this hijack by the social media, but occasionally do make an effort to pick up the phone and talk to a friend. But sooner or later, we fall into the same trap and go back to the app mode and once again the phone stops ringing, except for the online shopping delivery boys or couriers asking for directions to the house.
The next generation is pretty clear headed, indeed. They love the social media and have learnt to maximize it to their advantage, both professionally and personally by factoring in this distraction with their time management skills. Fair share of credit needs to be given to those parents, as well, who ensured that internet was prudently used by their children. Sure! There are aids and filters but tactful supervision without upsetting the children is an added parental responsibility. Remember they were also discovering the internet along with their children.
The older generation, our parents, uncles and aunts were very curious to know and understand all about internet and social media; however they never stopped bonding with neighbours, friends and relatives on a regular basis. They loved their old ways. By and large, they have accepted the change in so far as to keep in touch with their children and grandchildren via emails and skype chats. They want to go no further and have defined their boundaries, made their choice.
We, the sandwich generation, have been fortunate to witness the best of both worlds. We want to own and learn about every new toy that hits the market, in our eagerness to move on with the changing times. This is not about being right or wrong, it is our choice. Well! Generation gap is not something we wish to hear.
Sometimes, I do wonder if the time has come for us to re-define our boundaries, breakaway from this overwhelming social media rigmarole and get really social in the true sense of the term. Are we losing something here? I would love to hear the voice of my readers to this poser.
But there is one thing I must acknowledge; as the world waits to see what the next revolution is going to be, I have to make a hard choice-“to be part of it or not to be.”

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Serendipitous Moment {Revathi Raj Iyer}



 

Preeti is delirious. Blurry faces, fading voices, dim light, blinding flash and then a sudden calm sweeps over her. Silence! as if she is suspended in outer space.
Santhanam and Parvati are by the ICU watching helplessly, waiting for the doctors to come out and inform them that their dear girl was going to be alright. Fear and anxiety had taken hold of their senses. Nothing mattered now at this moment. Their dreams, hopes and aspirations surrounding their only child had come to a sudden standstill. They are devastated. Frightening thoughts kept reeling in their minds. They wished all this was a dream they could wake up to. Reality had dealt a wicked blow that they were struggling to come to terms with.
******
Ma, have you finished packing your bags? We have to be up early tomorrow. Why is appa still at work today?”
Preeti desperately wanted her father to be home early that night and get into the vacation mood. She did not like any last minute surprises. For a brief moment she even worried. “What if appa cancelled the trip due to some unexpected work commitment? After all, he was in a senior position with a pharmaceutical company in Chennai.”
Just like most little girls Preeti adored her father and admired him when he told her that he worked with a company which made medicines to help cure sick people. She wanted to be a doctor then.
“A little girl’s dream keeps changing all the time,” her father would remark encouragingly.
Preeti had meticulously packed her bags the night before. She reached out for Sophie’s World which she was reading for the third time and kept it besides her bag. She loved the book as it taught her a lot about ancient philosophers and made her think. Sometimes she would pretend to be Sophie Amundsen and quote funny things from the book to her mother who would be awestruck and say,
“Preeti, you are certainly getting wiser by the day, my dear girl.”
She would bask in that remark. Her mother always called her “my dear girl” when she was happy.She loved it when her mother was in a cheerful mood, as she could get away with her indulgences without much argument.
She was very excited about the road trip that her father had been planning for quite some time as a gift for her academic excellence in high school. The much coveted ‘Student of the Year’ trophy stood tall amidst the other sports trophies she had won. This month long trip was a bonus she earned from her parents for winning that prestigious award. 
She ticked off her checklist satisfied. Preeti took great pride in being organised. Her room was very neat. Her mother never had to ask her to tidy up her stuff. Sometimes she would help her mother organise her wardrobe. But after a few days, the saris would be in disarray and Preeti would whine in dismay.
“Did I ask you to tidy up my stuff?” Her mother reprimanded her one day when confronted by her daughter. Preeti huffed and walked away muttering to never interfere.
“What a waste of time, I could as well be doing something else.”
Preeti did not get carried away by peer pressure and chose to stay with her parents and continue with undergraduate studies. She was not ambitious yet and did not want to leave home unlike her class mates who had already started applying for overseas universities. Deep down she also knew that her father may not be able to afford it. She was happy with her life and everything around her. She loved this ancestral home which reminded her of the time she spent with her grandparents. It was modest but very cosy, a typical Tamilian home with no frills and fancies, just too practical. Preeti would buy charming bits and pieces and place it in corners around the house to give it a fuller feel.
“Why all this junk?” her father quipped uninterestedly.
“Adults never understand,” she retorted crossly and buried herself in little Sophie’s world.
“Are you in bed, my dear girl,” looks like your father is going to be late again; her mother’s voice wafted from the kitchen.
“Almost ma,” Preeti replied and smiled to herself. “My dear girl,” how she loved that! She noticed with satisfaction that her mother was in a permanent state of happiness ever since appa said that he was planning to take one whole month off from work and take them on a road trip.
Preeti checks to see if her father had packed his bags, by any chance. Alas! He had not even started. She places a checklist on his bedside table and leaves a good night note. She then hastens to the kitchen, hugs her mother tightly and reminds her to set the alarm.
“Goodnight ma,” she says and goes to her room. In no time she is in deep slumber blissfully unaware as to when her father got home. Parvati finishes her chores and settles down with the newspaper waiting for her husband. She is used to his late hours. But today she had been expecting him to come earlier.
At 11 pm, as Parvati was almost dozing off she hears the door latch click and her husband lets himself in.
“Is Preeti asleep?” Santhanam asks as he enters the house.
“Yes, she is,” says Parvati. Santhanam takes a quick shower and starts stuffing his bag.
“If there is something left out we can always buy it on the way,” he says. Parvati merely smiles. She is used to this “talking to self” style of her husband.
He continued without waiting for a response from his wife. “The most important thing is my wallet and the car has to be in good condition, both of which have been taken care of. Fuel tank is full, tyre pressure checked. The hotel bookings have also been sorted. The road map is in the car. Anything else, he asks?” Parvati is quiet.
As he settles down in the bed besides his wife, he looks at the note that Preeti had left for him. “She is atrociously meticulous, who has she taken after?” Now he looks at his wife for an answer.
“The milk man, paper boy and maid have been paid off,” she says and closes her eyes. Satisfied with this Santhanam falls asleep.
******
"Cockadoodle doo……," The alarm goes off at 5.30 am. Preeti springs out of her bed, quickly folds her sheets and hurries to her parents’ room. Much to her dismay they are fast asleep. She is relieved to find her father’s bags neatly packed.
“Good morning!” she chirps excitedly and hops on to the bed in between the two of them. “Hurry up you two. It is now time to wake up,” she chirps excitedly. Just then Parvati’s alarm goes off. Preeti turns it off. We have a long way to go, “Kanyakumari to Kashmir bottoms up!”
In the next one hour, the house comes to life with morning chores and merriment to mark the start of their much awaited vacation. The birds come to life and street dogs bark ferociously. Santhanam checks everything carefully and locks the door. He hands over the keys to his wife. Preeti lugs the boxes and loads them in the boot of the car, followed by Parvati who arranges them. Santhanam starts the ignition and presses the accelerator. The engine roars with a deafening sound and calms down as the car sets into motion.
******
The vehicle lazily passes through the narrow streets of their neighbourhood until they reach the main road and then picks up speed. There is hardly any traffic at this hour to the point where the familiar roads seem unfamiliar. As the car touches the highway, Santhanam accelerates and checks his speedometer. Music fills the air and Parvati is gazing at the treeline of palm and coconut trees. Preeti props up a cushion and comfortably settles in the back seat, listening to her favourite Bollywood music. Santhanam usually is quiet when he is driving, but today he is relaxed and a bit more talkative.
An hour into this; in a matter of few seconds their whole life was about to change for reasons beyond their control. Serendipity struck like a thunderbolt.
A car crash... Some irresponsible driver on the cell phone loses control. The truck twirls on the opposite lane, jumps off the divider as it screeches to a halt after crashing against the lamp post. The wind screen is blown into smithereens.
At that serendipitous moment, Parvati’s eyes open wide and she lets out a blood chilling scream. Santhanam flinches involuntarily and applies the brakes sharply in a desperate bid to avoid the collusion.
Preeti sees the accident on the opposite lane. Her father is within the speed limit of 60 km per hour. He has always been a safe and defensive driver. But there is no way he could avoid the crash. His last shot at safety fails on that fateful day. She closes her eyes and slips into her Sophie’s World.
                                              **********************************
{ Published in Woman's Era - March 2015 2nd fortnightly. Thank You! }

 
 

I was startled to see two strange men seated on the tattered sofa of my tiny home. I quickly hid behind the curtain but it was too late....