Out of sight but she never been out of mind

Mother the nurturer, protector and creator. She is the reason for our existence on the earth. She the protector as in her presence we built the strength to stand on our own. She was the first experience of our strength.

The first teacher of life the philosopher and friend or our full persona is she. But now it seems difficult to comprehend and chronicle her in tags when she is not around to make things easy for me.

 But her walking synonyms- still seek by me. I look around and when I get any parallel of her, I get my fill or feel of her.

She was the first denial of my teenager revolts. Bound by my hormonal confusion my tantrums had learned the first lesson of patience in her firm expression.  With clear message that bearing one’s tantrums didn’t mean succumb to it. She was the first clarity of my myopic learning.

As a mentor she would rule my world not in her corporal presence but in her absence too. She was a deft accomplisher of mean business of motherhood. Even now in bleak moment of my motherhood I rely on those skills for rescue.

Perhaps mother hood is all about knowing the patient business of taming the formative mind and mutate the genes of offspring on the will. When I regret to my children being so nutty, I get reassured by them. “Don’t feel bad mom, next time we will listen you. And in a year we will automatically follow you. Recalling, oh mom said so! As your suggestions have already mutated our genes to obey them as unfailing commands. Have patience it is only matter of time and mothers’ are known never to give up.”

 And then it amazes me how mother rules the frame of mind always, in my smile, in my talk. She is just out of sight she has never been out of mind. That is why we unconsciously obey her, more we recall her more we become her. That is why she is mother!

 But still motherhood is the most revered one as it gives an opportunity to be a creator. Happy mother’s day!

Now and then

On the desk I felt a pull to ring her. “Hello- what are you doing? In the traffic! What a snarl all along you!”
“Hello- yes I am in traffic, going to have some outdoor snapshots.”
“Hello-Drive safely and be back in time.”

At 5-00 p.m. the setting dusk that day was rather warmer than previous day. Stacking the files in the studies I felt again the same hold. She didn’t ring me back till now.
I dialed her again. “Hello- Where are you?”
“ Hello- Mom do you want some bags or souvenirs. I am here in a fair.”
“No- don't really need anything but how long it will take, be back soon. Your work is really arduous.”

At 6-30 bustling between the kitchen and in the studies I mumbled-" she must return now. She is workaholic like her father. " Now the thoughts kept wandering at intermittent interval. At every five minutes my gaze would glue on clock. The cellphone flashed and I picked up before it rang .

“Mom I am heading back. Don’t get hyper, it is weekend, I will manage my studies. I will be back in half an hour.” She hanged up.

In fifteen minutes the dinner will be ready I thought. Regaining the self I felt now I will be able to deliver some job getting back on the work. A guilt surged inside me, on my stupid behavior. Am I not getting paranoid like helicopter parent, keeping tab on every move of the child?

On the screen her childhood snap flashed that slid me decades down in the memory lane. Under the spell of northern chill for winter sun I would stay with her on the terrace. The babbling hollers of hers in the cradle had soon attracted attention of neighboring terrace belonged to a family friend. The advancing chill added more charm to it sapping the last trace of melancholy out of the air.

After her growing allure even her gleaming emergence from bath tub would bring more applauds and cheers from folks of neighboring terrace than me. Her one distressed bawl would get prompter attention reminding me of her meal time. The fleeting glances and chuckles were exchanged with such regularities between two patios that I had to dress her on the demand of her neighboring aficionados.

Then a time came when I had to bow on her growing fame. Her reveled circle of buffs now placed demand that they would keep her at their home for some hours. And the floated bid came into quick action as the entire horde was near me with a grown up carter (maid) to take her.

Within minutes the entire gang vanished from the place with their celebrity leaving me all alone. I glanced on the empty cradle, her stuffs, and then a void I felt. I tried to sniff back her sweet smell but--.
Minutes had passed I glanced on neighboring patio to get her glimpse. No one was there. I stepped down the stair to catch her glimpse hearing the revelry of her group. She was not visible there either. The void took the form of desperation.

Down stairs in the room I peeped out through the window parallel to neighbor's house but in vain. Now my desperation in full galore invited comments from the family members. “Look she is the only make in that particular model and a coveted possession which got on the fancy of others. Now it is difficult to get back the original model. But wait patiently the neighbor would certainly arrange a suitable replacement.” Under the seizing desperation the joke failed to trickle me.

Till then tired I had been feeling sleepy I watched the clock. Twenty minutes had passed. I conjured the velvety touch and sheen of her skin trying to capture her whole in my imagination. I sat on the bed. A chill quivered me. Amazed I looked on my suitable woolen outfits. Forty minutes had passed and after that more than an hour, I felt my throat parched. Sitting vainly I had been staring the indoors as a stranger in my own bed room. The moment went on--.

The clank of metallic gate stirred my attention then the bustling footsteps and reveled chuckles became rapid. She was back from her expedition. I glanced to her half closed eyes , in a new fancy attire and brand new hair style like a doll she passed in my arm.

She squirmed in my warmth. My eyes got glued to her dry lips bringing close I covered her in my woolen shawl, feeling her throbbing tiny beat and then it was time for her feed. Slowly slipping on her the inner wears and woolen I put her to sleep. She was contently sleeping in my arm. Placing her on the bed I maneuvered the next move to be accomplished.

Out of mundane

Few icons stay in the memory due to their undeniable mark so even the mentioning of their names bring enthusiasm in the tone. Still there are some ordinary that knock the hankering consciousness when the slightest semblance floats in air, smell and sight.

The wet humid air is the trademark of our place, we the favorites of the rain god most of the months bask or rather bath in rain. Reasons are myriad left on reader discretion- when there is coastal storm in Bay of Bengal, or monsoon or just to be with us or surprise us , annoy us or amuse us whatever be the reason rain is here for longest.

Life is a window of experience, when we open it for some fresh air it amazes us with its ever changing frame of memories long happened, long buried. It refuses to go seeking its outlet like a wayward child always loves to have its own way that comes, knocks and gushes out unchecked. Last week the uncalled drizzling again opened the ---.

The day was usual sunny. In the second half the gale started its tantrums trumpeting its might with thunder and lightning and soon the scudding black clouds followed them.

In normal days as a young mother the dramatic exaggeration of weather would impress me with its artistic appeal .I would get instantly in love with everything- the black clouds,the peculiar intense light at the back drop giving impressive hues to vegetations. But that day the tempestuous air fanned my anxiety with a feverish child as her lips were turned pink and swollen due to fever. There was precautionary power cut in the colony and lone land line phone was dead.

A bit tired with long howler of tempestuous weather I had been anticipating a quick relief. Holding my little one to my heart the lashing and wiping of rain seemed hard to me. The surging fever was defying to yield even in that created nip of coastal depression. Her orange lips turned puffy and parched. She mumbled something in half slept state. Standing near the window with racking nerve I had been waiting for my husband's return seeking an instant remedy for the crisis.

A homeopath doctor,famed for the best cure of children at the place was available, we decided to visit him.

The long spells of coastal depression had bathed the plateau region and now in setting dusk the flora was donning the lustrous green hues. My racking nerve had been spent entire evening watching anxiously for some respite for my little one. Soon the hues outside got darkened that matched the gloominess of my inner self.

On that bathed outdoor the rolling wheels stopped infront of the thatched roof clinic. At that time the clinic appeared depressingly dull to my anxiety ridden mind.
In long waiting verandah many people were sitting on the benches kept over there and more were standing for their turns. Waiting for my turn with feverish child in my lap mentally I was discarding everything ordinary over there. A gloom casted out of my ego on the mediocrity of the place but the selfish human instinct forced me to appreciate the therapeutic benefit that was being offered there.

The musty evening was rather cold that day after the long spell of lashing rain. Waiting endlessly with a feverish child in the are made me impatient.I saw out of turn few people were entering the doctor's cabin pretending to check the list of waiting patients. In the queue in front of me an old lady had been waiting with her sick grand child.The boy was squirming in fever and was crying feebly. Her soiled disposition was narrating the worn out hardship of her life.

After viewing the disruption in queue and long wait tempted me I got up from my place with my uneased baby. I was aware it was the turn of that old lady’s grandson. But my motherly instinct went unruly, unable to bear child's suffering for long I decided to enter in the cabin overlooking the frail lady with her ailing grandchild.

Both of us were at the door step of the cabin the old lady and I with our purposes but a strange sight awaited me over there. The doctor in his early thirties was as simple as his clinic, he gestured to me politely but in authoritative tone to sit and wait for my turn. He ushered the old lady to bring the child for checkup.He checked the child earnestly and patiently listened the symptoms then he signaled me to avail my turn.

That day this encounter of me with humanely faces touched my heart. Suddenly the ordinary place seemed unique as a uniqueness of humility was flowing in the air. It was the place where dedication was working ignoring all the trivialities of the material world where most of the time money, status and disposition rule.

My globe of books and words

Reading is my passion since my childhood. It is my way to learn and explore the world around me, and to respite my list of “whys?” Books have alwayy been my faithful companion and closest ally as my inquisitiveness gets satiated through the ideas of prudent brains belonged to kingdom of book. They are the  means to stretch my horizon of learning and give me  expeditions of different minds.

In shaping my childhood the persistent exposure of words played major role  as it  gave me the power of expression.

Supported by apt words, during my childhood ,i won  many of  arguments with siblings and friends.It  always gave me edge over many fights with them. Words  always supported me. During siblings tiffs,it was  my better presentation of words and convincing power which always tilted father' s support to me. Where as my loving and innocent brother would accept his defeat or would force to  comply with father commands," Don' t fight with your little sister, she is so cute." Chuckingly father instruct him.Whereas faltering for words my brighter brother would repeatedly fail to garner his support.

 Sometimed to add   his woes he would challenge me openly infront of father. “You come outside, and then I will show you.” To counter his open threat i used to take refuge in my tears. They would act as wonder and a loving hug to father would take care of rest. 

And one stern look on father's face would close the case permanently in my favor. “Who can dare to touch me after that?” In father' s strong presence i would gleefully walk around humming a tune.

In formative years I got hooked by fascinating events of nature.I had to know the apt reasons and answers about the mysterious happenings of the universe,like blue colors of sky, the cause of rainbow and many more. Naturally i got more inclined to  books. They  became my favorite refuge.

My adolescent years spent mostly quenching the logic and truth of the happenings around me  whenever my ignorance raised another “why?” Although with academics I had already stepped into the dazzling worlds of the colors and monochrome as a painter,still books were my constant companions.

However after a point I  allured more to silence than words. But still in the charmed silence of self ,the words had been  taking shape inside me. During my busiest moments i would obscurely scribble words  at the front of note books or on the last  pages or at any vacant space on books. 

During my leisure affrctionately i used to write and greet my friends with my words. My conveyed words to them always won applaud to me by them. The lingering affection and gleams on my teachers’ and friends’ face were most enduring moments for me which they would flash after receiving my hand written appreciation letters. They  acted as a catalyst to me to work on next stuff. The mystic world of  words shaped my attitude and personality.

Books and words were parallel to me like parents, family and home. The touch of books, the shuffling of pages always appeared gentle to me . Walking in the long corridors of premises with load of book seemed soothing to me as if i am walking with most dependable friend.

Even in  the turmoiled hours of before exams i got succor  in the crispy touch of books and their words. They were the savior  of my tumultuous moments.

During the grueling hours in the exam hall when the lustrous words would make their appearance on the answer sheets,through my annulled mind. I would get my lost breath and reason for the survival on the planet earth.

Even  the bleak moments of failed words never failed me. The close one always rewarded my tears with compound interest as it magically heaped more guilt on them. With others those moment of failed words and hurt equipped me with survival strategies and provided me new direction of life.

Then at a point faltering for words I felt a need to work upon them.As my story spinning self had been demanding  apt words to explain the charming  world around me. Till then i acquired status of motherhood. And now I had to find words and expression –for those tiny, pink palms who were throwing a soft throb on my face whenever I would come close to kiss the velvety tiny tot.

Now finding myself at little ease whenever I sit with my   lap top .I ask myself, “Are the hours of straining the cerebra worth spent?” But my  world is   ruled by heart .Thus  the emotional  quest pests me “what I am going to do with these stuffs? Are they worth leaving as legacy or memoirs?” I have  no plausible explanation.

But words are my succor- my passion – my companion. They pour out of me- through my expression , my stories.

Then my loving and  chirpy companion- my reflection of childhood ,my daughter now she acquainted with speedy gadgets and life. She—gifted me a window of expression, my blog. It is a world of intellectual, a limitless world of friends.

The vibrant platform and connectivity of blog  widened my world and reasons. Through my blog  I started a different era of life. I ,a person of logical and analytical background now i entered in exciting world of literature.

Being with my buddy, the words I penned different invocation of memories.

These days while explaining analysis and logic of science as a teacher I do find a fellow within me who has been fighting for better grip on words and expression. In those moments I recall stern looks of  my blue eyed Anglo- Indian teacher of elementary school on my slip- up of the adjective in place of adverb.

But on the whole in the company of my earnest friend,words life seems refurbishing—after all who won’t feel elated with a true supportive friend of all seasons, the words.

A stroll on the river bank

The day was silently yielding to the darkness. The mustard hue of the moisten sand beneath the sole was taking the soiled disposition in setting dusk. It was time to retreat to the home and to bid adieu to raged sunset. It seemed to reacting at the fun filled twilight at the river bank.

Holding the palm of my little one in one hand and my slippers in another I got a tingling sensation at my sole, as if sand was fleeting beneath. Taken aback I moved my feet to find a steering mollusk in the soil. Feeling relieved of the exertion it moved to the sandy sore towards the river.

An evening stroll on the sandy bank always seemed a good preposition for a relaxed weekend. However unlike sea-beaches it missed the permanent stalls of souvenirs or tender coconut, still the vibrant crowds of people on stroll were enough to attract hawkers. And there too up above on the embankment few of them were cashing their business of puffed rice and roasted channa.

The darkness was wafting through the riverside and was engulfing the crimson aura of the sun. I looked for my little one who was playing nearby with group of her friends. I got up to pick her. Catching my glance, she requested to stay there a little further. And I relented to her request feeling the soothe of breezy dusk.

At a distance a crackle of laughter broke behind me. It was a mix of arguments and hidden jibes. The spill of laughter spread in the air once again which followed the open taunts and laud bursting of giggles.

Every time the carefree airing of views followed the laud burst of giggles over there. The youngsters were making their presence through open voice and concern. Their well toned voice and bubbling confidence were telling enough about them. The carefree attitude always symbolized the youth of our society. Ironically the time and commitment, consciously fed that carefree attitude subsequently most of them got transformed into a withdrawn, introvert self .

Now the darkness seemed to spread fastly, painting everything in darker hue. Holding my little ones palm I started ascending the stairs of the embankment to reach the parking area. Trotting reluctantly with me but still engrossed in play and playmates, she was busy waving her friends.

Take care honey, I cautiously held her in front of me that shifted her attention to me. With chuckle she innocently put her query with her own readymade answer- “next weak again we will come here mama- with papa, won’t we? I nodded in affirmation. The mentioning of papa had drawn her attention to another favorite of hers that was balloons- “mama balloon”-she pointed to a big one. The crimson hue of evening was gleaming on her face.

The darkness was setting fastly as the desertion of the place was visible with receding sounds of moving engines. Putting her in my arms I contemplated quick exit from there. “Mama I want that” –she pointed to next enticed thing which was there on gorgeous display. My concealed engrossment she read and then she answered herself-“my stomach will pain mama when I would have that” Her childish inquisitiveness simply wanted to break the monotony of setting silence of me.

I thought about the three stages of life childhood, youthfulness and family life; in those receding hues of sunset all three appeared to me in different shades.

My canine ally

My first trysts with those wobbly legged creatures were rather apprehensive. I would reciprocate the friendly holler of canine with retreating self or by vanishing from the place. The city dwell upbringing of mine had nurtured an aloofness in me to natural world and that was enough to restrict my carefree mingling with man’s best friend.

I had just returned from my native place after a vacation and I was paying my news paper vendor at the exit then I first met them. Sniffing my presence outside at the dusk their mother mistakenly took it as a call for food disposable time. She hurried from backyard, and four wobbly legged tiny ones were following her. She stood beside me wagging her tail in friendly way as if she was trying to revive my promise of food which I had kept throughout her gestation period.

Halting the conversation mid way I stepped further to have a closer look to those white patched and ginger hued ones. They seemed a bundle of joy in their puffy body with soft fur. Perhaps the alien proximity of mine scared them to the core, fearing for their lives they ran hither and dither as if sighted a blood sucking vampire.

In following few days the pups were reasonably closer to my family members especially to my daughter, a great canine admirer and animal activist of her own sort. Till then I was the only object in their sphere of life to be frightened. My friendship with them got further hiccupped during morning hours when I would open the garage to take out my vehicle. Then there they filled with last night showered emotions of mine would start their reciprocation in front of the wheels. Risking the already shaken friendship of ours I would haul them in backyards.

In the evening at my return to show their displeasure and humiliation of morning hours' they would scurry to backyards with their backs on me.
That year the winter had been proving harsh to those furry bundles, then one night her mother and siblings had paid to their lives to a wild brawl among strays. The sudden departure of their siblings and the mishap involved in their sudden disappearance brought some obvious changes in the demeanor of lone survivor. Even the nearness of human and animals were enough to alert her and she would maintain a safe distance from them.

Her aloofness to human started costing her health as she was turning into ribbed cased cage with pickled sort of four reedy arms.

She was always a frightening self. She was only one in the herds of strays of our colony who would contently move behind after having a small portion of food. We never witnessed any doggy and witchy sort of things in her way.

With time she struck the right note with all of us and our nearness relaxed her further.Now she would reciprocate lovingly however she was still ribbed and leaned.There was an unusual compassion on her face. She had beautiful long eyes filled with serenity.

Next winter she gave birth to four puppies, and the sight was all soothing with her naughty ones sleepy over and tumbling down on sleepy mother. The softness and humbleness was innate to her, but the most startling sight of hers at our place became when an orphaned kitten joined her puppies’ clan to suckle her. And ungrudgingly against the nature she had been suckling her too along with her puppies.

Then nature stuck her again and like her troubled past she lost her pups one by one.
We were thinking how she would cope with her lose. But she was more enlightened on that aspect than us, as we human tend to stick to bad incidents. But she had the strength to change the way of life with her thin long bony frame. So what if it was against the nature’s way. Now the kitten all grown on her feed became permanent companion following her everywhere.

Till then, she became loving companions of ours; she was with us during our evening walks. With seasons she became accustomed to our respective vehicles at retreating hours. At the start of the engine she would run to us keeping her at safe distance greeting us. My daughter,s arrival from her hostel would seem to her perfect time to rejoice. She would show her happiness jumping around her and bellowing something undecipherable putting her forearms at her front. That open display of love would last for long and then contently she would retire to any space on the verandah.

After our return from our annual vacation that year we found that winter was unusually cold at our place. To our dismay the harshness of winter got visible to us in her slow and jerky limps during the walk.

After that most of the time we would find her lazing around on the grass bathing the sun rays. One day my husband remarked might be she wouldn’t survive the winter. I shrugged the unpleasantness- “no she is not feeling well, that is why, in few days when the chill will retreat she would regain her agility.” but I had also witnessed that her agility had been yielding to chronic lethargy.

Then that day when after the walk of ten minutes we didn’t sight her, I felt a creeping void; I looked around why she didn’t come. Although we were quiet but we had been feeling her vicinity. “You know she is somewhere in the vicinity, perhaps now she is unable to move.” my husband remarked.

And then we spotted her at the distance amidst the bushes at one corner of the grass. That evening in her ailment somehow she managed to stand at her place and wagged her tail. She flagged us –“I am here.” She stood there for sometime then she sat at the same place that was her last expression of love to us. Even during her last moments she chose a quiet distant place not to create any inconvenience to others.

The place still exists in our yard more importantly in our hearts as a mark of love. Like an angel of love a gingerly hued had created a place in the heart of withdrawn, apprehensive one - “telling me open up, love is limitless, a perennial flow, embrace it and flow with it. That is only the way to live truly.”

A Communion With The Nature

Previous night I had caught up the sleep early and fortunately the next day the early hours felt so refreshing. To catch the glimpses of early morning and feeling the breeze I came out. The tender shoots of emerald greens were swaying in the monsoon breeze. Feeling beckoned by their magnetic effect I moved to that part of the earth. Their velvety texture held my attention; I found something different over there.
I decided for a walk on the grass, of already advanced season of monsoon, just a walk without any invested wisdom of benefits, simply to admire the honey bathed sun rays of early hours, without the intention of lowering blood pressure,or to ease arteries and heart functions or to lower LDL level or to soothe and tone muscles.
I wanted to have a calmest communion with nature. Not at the exotic place, but there in my own yard or in front of the exit.
The lush green arrows of the nature, were bathing in golden hued sun of morning hour they looked extraordinarily fresh. The same popped up grasses of monsoon clogged water in that particular corner near the gate were smiling cheerfully. It amazed me, how soon they regained their old lush green hues. Few days back the persistent spell of rain had almost choked the grass on that corner near the gate paling it completely. And now rejuvenating itself once again in the following few days of dry spell, it had been completely livened up itself.
Entire monsoon the oblivion grass near the exit would get flooded with spell of rain but it was there again full of life forgetting all its bearing or affliction of water logging .In a short respite of dry spell,showing its indomitable spirit it retreated back to its original self.
It amazed me how these blades of grasses sway and bend merrily in the harmony with the cool breeze when at any moment the same furious wind could beat them mercilessly. How did these soft fragile harmonious grasses restore the intrinsic built serenity? Didn’t they remember the afflictions of few days back by the same wind?
I put my bare feet on the grass, the dew bathed coolness trickled me in the sole soothing me all over from eyes to nails. The tiny droplets of last night dews still clinging on the blades as half asleep child, were sparkling their diamond hues in the morning rays.
How could a cool dew bathed grass give impetus to health? Could it tone and soothe the stressed conscious? Could the tingling coolness under the sole clear different points of the meridian? There was no need to know all that as nature knew everything .It had been taking care of everyone that day I just enjoyed the harmonious bliss of the nature.
When I put my feet upon the grass I felt I was meeting someone long lost. Though they were always there right at my place yet I missed the presence of indomitable spirit of theirs near me. It was their intrinsic strength to forgive the afflictions and to build harmony, that is why they survived the ages. The preserver of earth (soil) ,the provider ,the home of millions of tiny creature- they were so full- a benefactor.We always viewed them from the height that blurred the vision of ours. I too didn't notice them as I had been living in vanity of height. As I had forgotten the bliss of their presence and that is why the best missed by me for so long.

The celebrated beauty of ages

It amazes me, the enigma associated with every encounter which I experience. What magic does it hold? From where does it accumulate such a magnitude of unfailing appeal? Yes, I am talking about that walking and talking tribe that is present everywhere among us. Their presence often goes unnoticed, not due to the lack of love, but usually she is taken by most of us for granted.

Walking on the crossroads, whenever her shadow comes, I hungrily try to get my fill. Her demeanor charms me as real magical stuff. That slow pace of walking filled with a tinge of fatigue feels so soothing and revitalizing. Why does that ordinariness seem so extraordinary?

That incessant supply of nourishment which was granted by her would always boost and enhance my ego. In her soothing presence, I never hesitated in about boasting my presence in her life. As a finance adviser and self-commissioned commander of hers, it was an unwritten memorandum between us which I would often flash to her. “You cannot do without me” and “it is I who keeps vigil on your transactions and saves you”, as it was my nodding which would confirm the completion of any transaction done by the otherwise multi-tasking mastermind of her own saga. Oblivious of the strength of the aura with which she would command and hold her position, I never failed to comment, “It was I who safely brought all your shopping home”.

The advancing grey of her locks and the fine crinkles of her face still hold a special appeal to me. They were the parallel companions to my childhood and adolescence. My presence had witnessed all those changes of her face.
Why do the familiar rustling crispness of cotton saris and the fragrance of jasmine alert all my senses to feel her? Her perennial confusion while choosing the mundane, what quantity of spices should be put in pickles, which sari would be best suited for a particular occasion. Never mentioning the right shade of color as she was always absorbed in self selective color blindness, still appeals best.

Her wrongly framed-up queries and absent-mindedness had encouraged my confidence to cross and correct her, which sometimes touched the wall of rudeness. From where do long-left habits or the same longings come through?

Remembering all those proud moments of your proximity- now at your side of the table, I have started receiving your feel, whenever I come in proximity of your tribe. The moment I get it from any quarter, I seize it immediately before its evaporation and experience the same jubilation. These encounters help me to fill the void created by your absence. Might be, like the other decisions you have taken for me, this time too you chose your time of departure when I was old enough to be a mother myself.
But still the child within me craves for you, as though I feel you in chunks and pieces, and it overwhelms me. Most often, any semblance to you in any such encounters assures me of your presence and the liveliness of the pristine emotion that is called mother’s love.

The co-passengers

A long distance journey often entails a lot of acceptance with the unfamiliarity. The list of acceptance with the unfamiliarity lasts till the destination.

Encountering the long wait and initial melee at the platform, we finally boarded the train. The next inevitable was to check the luggage and the berth number. Finding everything at the place, we let ourselves stretch at our allotted space. Still in an emergency mode after battling the platform crowds, the bewildered conscious churned the next question- who were our co passengers? And my mind with aeronautical speed, started sorting out agreeable looking co-passengers amidst the chaotic crowd.

Then a queue of red shirted accomplished weight lifters of the Indian railway made their way through the crowd. They were stooping here and there to stuff heavy luggage beneath the berths. A big family, I speculated. I had least expected a group of slant eyed neighbors. The compartment then resounded with loud, oriental cacophony. My god, I thought, entire tangra (china town) in the compartment.

That initial hustle-bustle lasted for some time and then a few of them moved ahead to the next bogey. When the train jolted and slithered out of the platform, I found myself sharing the unclaimed lower side berth with two slant-eyed girls in their twenties. Hand bags, fat books, polythene bags stuffed with usables were all piled up on the seat behind their backs. A slant-eyed couple in their thirties was sharing the lower berth with my husband. We had confirmed tickets of a lower berth and an upper side berth in the bogey. Viewing the length of the journey, I contemplated an exchange of the berths to enjoy more flexibility in the allotted space. But that too seemed far from reality as conversation seemed to be a futile attempt over there. Only gestures had been ruling the place as viable options. To respite my fatigued self after a while, I decided to take the matter straight to the lady. To explain the option for berth exchange I pointed to the lower berth to her-“this berth is ours, which ones were you allotted?”

My proposal was reciprocated by her with an alarmed disposition. Her crimson cheeky face first fell a bit, then turned pale, probably being on an alien land. In anxious tones, she started explaining something undecipherable. My blank look first made her serious, then tense. Her growing anxiety was the only thing I was able to comprehend out of her soft, musical, oriental tone. We were timely rescued by her husband who came out of next bogey. It saved me too from the surging guilt I was accumulating by initiating something unsavory with someone. Her husband, a replica of equanimity, in his broken English smilingly explained that they had two confirmed tickets of the upper and lower berth. But the accompanying girls had unconfirmed tickets. With apprehensive foreigners I decided to drop the idea of berth exchange and be content with whatever we were allotted.

Their two unconfirmed tickets got assurance of confirmation by the T.T.E after a little past twelve. When I woke up in the morning, the two girls were sleeping peacefully on the lower and middle berth opposite to my husband’s berth.

During the journey, the gentle man would often shot a Buddha-sort of a smile to the co passengers, while the lady preferred to sleep almost the entire time. The bubbly girls either conversed euphorically or read English-learning books. Soon their peaceful auras were reigning the place. Everyone was reciprocating to their peaceful presence congenially. During the interaction, it transpired that the gentleman with his wife was an IT professional, and the two girls were university students. To break the monotony of the journey, several futile attempts at conversation had been undertaken. But the gasping constraints of language limited it all the while. Baffled with their limitations on the Queen’s language during the conversations, he found my English impressive. Chuckling with a monk-like innocence, he complimented me that with such a grasp on the language, I could teach even my husband. I nodded mischievously, glancing at my better accomplished hubby.

Their crimson, cheeks, puffy faces with narrow eyes, their unique way of eating food, even rice with chop sticks, amused us all the while. To carry on the conversation, I mentioned to them about my husband’s recent tour to China. I wanted to mention Shanghai, and about how he had been fascinated by the place. To this, he promptly mentioned that they were from South Korea. Their broken English and gentle demeanor won the heart of co passengers. It seemed hard, the way they were coping in India and that too in the South with just that scrap of English. But I felt that the most prominent and accepted global language is that of humility, in which they were masters. Even the constraints of language and the hindrance of expressions had been so obscured as peace and harmony made their way. They had no qualms in stacking or lifting the eaten trays of people sitting beside them. To create space, they put the shoes of their neighbors by their hands in a safe corner . Everything seemed united in that positive air. Most of the time during the conversation, the gestures and the aura of humility ruled the place. When we alighted at our respective destinations, our heart were filled with the full meaning of all those unexpressed words.

That afternoon

On a sultry afternoon, my nap got disrupted by the cracking sound of wood. It did not take me long to chalk out the exact location of the mischief. The source of the noise was at the fence of our yard. Irritated with the disruption in my sleep, I got up and opened the door.


I found my speculations correct. A few children of the near-by basti were busily taking out the erected wooden poles out of the shrubby boundary of the yard, creating gaps to let in grazing animals inside the campus. The sight as well as the looming problems on my plantations filled me with instant rage. Furiously I shouted at them from the veranda. In seconds they vanished in air after sighting my frame.


Hearing the commotion, my daughter who was reclining with a book in next room, came out with an exasperated expression. Her expression mellowed me a bit. Composing myself further, I tried to reason with her- see, that day you had allowed them to pick up wood. Today they are daring to destroy the fence. Look at what they did to the fence. They are simply wild, I murmured.


The trouble involved in mending the fence and the sight of destroyed plantation irritated me further. With a painful look in her eyes, she told me, Mom, even they do not know the basics of good or bad and that is why they are wild. That is why they need our patient behavior and love. They need it most as there is no one to guide them. In that case they need a more sympathetic way to explain things in the right perspective.

Her peaceful and relaxed attitude did something to me. Something really sank inside my heart, paving the way to restructure my response while dealing with unsavory situations. There are always better ways to deal with life. And it always better to do it with a calm attitude. I decided to mend my ways to grow; after all learning comes from every side of life. Sometimes through the unexpected innocent velvety face who’s crowing I had once enjoyed and with time it had grasped the rules of good and bad with a strong platform of reasoning. So, I affirmed in agreement with my facilitator.

Ice-cream

The screeching halt of our vehicle on the road to the dam caught the attention of a ice-cream vendor standing over the embankment. As we stepped out with our teenager, the vendor, without failing to grab the prospective business moment, came forward to register his presence. A sweet sheepish smile broadened my girl’s lips. She walked past him with her dad ignoring the silent plea of ice-cream wala.


The times of yore flashed in front of me, when in her ritualistic annual affair of her report card collection day, she would accompany her dad. A natural champ of her age, she would hardly bother about the outcome of her academic commitments. But the day would always mean a great deal to her. Receiving the report card by the Principal’s hands with a few words of appreciation in front of school assembly were the most valued and cherished moments for her. It always acted as a catalyst to boost her self confidence for whole academic year. Sparkling pride of her eyes, I was able to catch as a mother even being at home.

But like most things life too tests us. One year, due to a health problem in the family, she was forced to skip an entire unit test leaving decimal scope of her ranking in the annual report card. She complied bravely to the necessaries and partook some added responsibility at home front. My little doll didn’t fail to oblige us.

On the D-day first time she did not seem to be her usual confident self. Though the crisis was receding steadily, the effect was yet to go. Starting the vehicle, her father signaled at her to come. With a bit of uncertainty she staggered towards me throwing a glance; I questioned her- what?

She hesitated for a moment and then with wide opened eyes she innocently asked- mama, if I won’t get the first rank in the class, will I not get an ice-cream today. Something inside me shook to the core. At any other time, I could have a good laugh on her silly question but now I felt responsible for her present plight. That moment I felt probably she was asked too much, much beyond her capacity, where she found herself unable to cope up with two things at a time: Her studies as well as providing a helping hand to parents’ problems. That time I was too not keeping in good health. Somehow I composed myself and in shaken voice, I mumbled- today also you will get your ice-cream.


My words worked as blessing for her that day, she alighted out of the vehicle with same spirit and sparkle in her eyes, flagging the report card in one hand and an ice-cream cup in the other.

With God’s grace, she completed her school days proudly walking out as a school topper. Still she has to plan, manage, and work on her hectic study schedule. Probably the hardship of achieving goals and a little mature outlook towards life has somewhere lightened her craving and temptation for her childhood favorite ice-cream or whether she really has grown out this silly temptation, I still have to find out.

Being beautiful

What does it mean to be beautiful? Women usually answer this question with an instantaneous demure gleam in their eyes. But in this bipolar world, polarity does exist. I am one of the rare tribe of woman who has never bothered to look beautiful. The made up look, for inexplicable reasons failed to appeal me. I believe that most of the things in life arise out of a necessity, but I never in my life felt the necessity to look beautiful. Maybe it was because I was too busy playing a dutiful daughter to my parents, and then being an indispensable part of my conjugal life.

But it is rightly said that life is unpredictable. The opportunity of being crowned the most beautiful woman in the world fell so unexpectedly in my lap that I didn’t even react, rather preferred to enjoy it. After all, what is the point in counting mangoes on the tree, when a bucket-full was lying in front of me? This highest order of award was conferred upon me by the prettiest doll, i.e. my daughter. Since her birth, she would stare at me with the most charming and appealing of smiles, as if nothing in the world mattered, except her and me. She would prove it further by chuckling and throwing about her little, glowing hands and legs, as if she didn’t bother about anything around us.
Then she learned to speak, and one day described me to a visitor- “my mama is very beautiful and dark”. (My husband and in-laws are a marble-skinned lot, till then she had only learned to see things as black and white; if anything was not completely white, then she would figure out that it was black.) To reconcile with it, I too put my condition before her: if she described me as beautiful and dark, from then on she would have to add the adjective ‘tall’ to the description. She easily accepted the deal, placing her little palms on my lap (it’s an altogether different story that I’m only 5’2”, but it is always wise to take advantage of the circumstances).

But this glory of mine existed only for a few years. As a teenager, 5’5” tall herself, adoringly putting her arm around me, one day she said, “oh mama, you’re really beautiful…”(I can’t really say when she dropped the adjective ‘dark’ from my description after encountering different shades and hues of life), “…but how can you be…” and the rest of her words vanished in a good belly chuckle.

With time, the horizon of her learning increased, and with this came the delimiting of my glory. Now she watches Hollywood movies and to compound my woes, has silently included two more women in her list of the most beautiful : Angelina Jolie and Aishwarya Rai. Now I sensed mortal fear looming large over my position, but I was in no mood to budge from my place. After all, in all these years I too had got used to being beautiful, and now I couldn’t do without it. So I decided to take action before it was too late. No way, I told her, I don’t care about these two, but tell them to choose any position after me. After all, in India, will our politicians leave their chairs so easily? If not they, then why should I?