Everyday dreams

at five to five every morning
my alarm screams
it howls
shakes the house
frightens the dawn
wakes the watchman
who waits impatiently
ringing the doorbell
with a screaming finger
in my dreams
the alarm is turned off
the door is opened
the key given
the gate unlocked
things are as they were
I sleep through it all wonderfully
till my mother’s gentle voice wakes me
I turn off the alarm
and begin my day
with the realisation
that I cannot have my father back.

Homecoming

When my father died

Oh just a month past

No fiery comets appeared

No owls or eagles screeched

The earth didn’t shudder or quake

Nor sleepers suddenly awake

The only sound came when I cried

On that quiet and peaceful night

As he went home at last

Home to God’s bright light.

Smile

It was commonplace

To be stopped

While crossing the road

To be asked

If I was your child

Because an old friend of yours

Saw a familiar smile in a strange face.

You will always be with me

For I carry your smile forever.

I am the flesh of your flesh

You live on in me,

So too in others, born of you, to you.

Missing you

My house sighs in silence

As echoes of your laughter

Fill it still.

Your trees

Today I crossed the city

to walk beneath your trees.

The rain dropped in silence

and pooled on the pavement.

But I shed no tears

for my heart stills them

As your trees talk to me

of love and life.

When I miss you

I walk beneath your trees.

Love

Soft blankets cover

Tiny feet warm, secure

I remember

A kiss on the hair

Sometimes

Sometimes I want to go up in flames

Be angry and throw tantrums.
Sometimes I wish I could cling

Be needy and weak-minded.

Sometimes I long to cry

Be moody and teary-eyed.

Sometimes I'd like to walk away

Be carefree and irresponsible.
Sometimes I pray nobody knows

Just what I wish for sometimes.

Remembering Kochuvalliappacha

Circa 1971 or 1972. I was all of five years old. Or maybe six.

Venue : Our tharavad in Kottayam

Occasion : The funeral of my grandfather's youngest brother. We called him Kochuvalliappacha which means small or little or young grandfather.

As you can imagine, being a funeral, it was a solemn occasion. Although, to be fair to the deceased, I must say that I don't remember him being solemn in life. Not the least bit. Not ever. My father and he shared quite a few common characteristics, a love of the ridiculous and a smile that lit up the world. My world, anyway.

To give you an idea of how much they loved the ridiculous, a few weeks before he died, Kochuvalliappacha asked my father to accompany him to the cemetery. Now, when in Kottayam, the four of us followed him around like little sheep. And so, to the cemetery we went. I don't think I really knew what a cemetery was, but I went anyway. If anybody thought I was going to miss out on something exciting, well, they didn't know me one bit.

At the cemetery, he checked out the family grave, and made them remove the cover slab from the chamber his body would be placed in. Then, he climbed in and lay down in it and looked all around him. And then called out to my father, " Hmmm, it's a bit tight in here. I think you may have to chip off a bit of the concrete to get the coffin inside." My father and he laughed about it and then we all trooped off home. I don't really remember all this very clearly, most of it is hearsay, but I do remember him clearly.

And I also remember clearly that the coffin did stick while they were sliding it into the chamber. And my father had to get the concrete chipped so that Kochuvalliappacha could be laid to rest inside the family vault.

Last month, when I was at home, it suddenly occured to me just how much my father resembled his uncle. He adored my father and I think that automatically made us children adore him in return. During the last year of his life, we used to go to Kottayam regularly, simply because he wanted to see us.

I guess he loved us a great deal and that is probably why after all these years I still remember him so clearly.

Home for a Sunday

My favourite place on Sunday mornings is at the computer in my father's study. It's a small room, the eastern wall lined with windows making it bright. The light, colourful curtains make it cheerful. The well outside the windows keeps it cool. When I'm away in Bangalore, I miss this room the most. I'm home for the weekend now, and let me tell you, just one day here, and all the tension of work and the late nights and the pressure of keeping up with deadlines have disappeared. Sure, I know they're waiting there at the end of Wednesday morning's flight, but for the moment, I have my life and my self back. Yes, I do enjoy my work, but on and off, I love a day off to come home and relax, soaking in the peace, the silence of Sunday broken only by the occassional cheeping and chattering from the birds on the guava tree. And oh yes, the gurgles from the little baby boy who seems to have taken over the lives of all the adults in the house.

It's lovely to have a little one in the house and because he was such an unexpected miracle, everyone enjoys him all the more. Little as he is, he is already such an individual. At five months, my youngest nephew has established that he is expressive and that while he is happy playing by himself for a while, one of us had better pick him up or talk to him once in a way, or else spend the rest of the hour pacifying him until he stops his sad wailing.

His older brother, the suddenly grown up ten year old, has such a responsible air about him. Even when he's playing or watching TV, some part of him is alert for the sounds his little brother makes. He's made the adjustment from being the youngest grandchild in the family to being a responsible older brother so quickly and so surely. it made me proud to see my little jujube setting his feet so firmly on the road to growing up.

I wonder whether I should come home more often.

The little boy

it's his footsteps
i miss
the most
the run to the door
sandals flapping
hops
through the door
sweet smiles
bright eyes
stories
of school
and cricket
oh, it's his hugs
i miss
the most.

I love being an aunt

Yesterday, I became an aunt again. The newest member of our family seems to be in a hurry since he made his appearance one month earlier than expected. For the last 24 hours, a little baby in an incubator has occupied every thought of mine. I will have to wait until I can make a trip home to see him.

I love him already, my youngest, littlest nephew.

Life is pretty good

Spending time with my parents is my idea of heaven right now. I just walk into their room for no reason, and when they look a question at me, I make up something inconsequential to ask them. The truth is, I'm in their room because I just love being able to walk into the next room and see them. Of course, when I return to new city that is now becoming-my-home-almost-but-not-quite tomorrow morning, I will be back to missing them. But still, right now, I'm not. I have missed both of them so much. And knowing that my father's tests have cleared him for another six months is such a relief. Also touched base with my own surgeon and he has cleared me for two years. So as you can see, life on the whole is pretty good. I love my life. I love my family. I love my job. And my blog.

My mother wants to go out

My mother has been house-bound since this January. For the past couple of weeks, she has been thinking about venturing out. Somewhere. Anywhere. I'm happy. I hate it that she is confined to the house. But I'm also worried. Every place she goes, there would be steps to climb. The state I live in is extremely unfriendly to old people and to the physically disabled.

I know she would love to go to a bookshop, but all the good ones are on roads with uneven pavements. On MG Road, the pavements are a foot higher than the road and would involve strenuous effort on her part to climb them. An impossible feat, in fact. Visits to most hotels and restaurants are out of the question. Even if they are not on the first floor, at the top of a steep flight of stairs, we would still have the pavement obstacle to cross. I came across Paresh Palicha's blog on accessibility, which must have been started with the purpose of tackling this issue. It seems the author lost interest in it. I found it interesting, and the last post informative.

Paresh uses a wheel chair and it made me wonder how he negotiates this city that we both live in. It really strikes you just how unfriendly we are to the less than able when you go to the railway station. It's a nightmare, really. I worked away from home for a year, and my parents used to come visiting regularly. The railway stations at both Ernakulam and Trivandrum used to cause us nightmares. A journey used to involve climbing those overhead crossings that all railway stations in India are famous for. The steps are uneven, and worn smooth in places. You can actually lose your footing if you are not careful. The platforms are unevenly paved and if you do not watch out, you can trip and take a bad fall. The level of the platforms are so much lower than the bogey floor that you have to swing yourself upwards into the train while holding on the sidebar at the door. The toilets on the trains are so cramped and difficult.

Yes, I do want to encourage my mother to take a trip outside the house, but I just wish it was easier to deal with. I worry about it, and then i worry that if she senses my worry, it will have a detrimental effect on her confidence. As you can see, I am back to my favourite pastime - worrying.

There does not seem to be any public action in this regard. The Standard Rules on the Equalization of Opportunities for Persons with Disabilities are comprehensive, but this seems like a distant dream in India. If any of you know any organisation which is involved in canvassing for increased accessibility in public places for the physically disabled, please do let me know.

Jurassic bathroom

I just realised (mostly because a lot of people who know me and to my eternal surprise, still love me, called me up and yelled - "TEN things and you didn't mention that you almost got us arrested for child abuse?"), that I should have mentioned that I am mortally scared, terrified, petrified, horrified and frightened of all things reptilian. I can stand to be in the same room as lizards, as long as they're at the other corner of the room, where I can keep an eye on them. I shudder when garden lizards and salamanders cross my path. Snakes have me running for the trees. I'm not even getting on to the subject of crocodiles and alligators. I can't watch movies which are shot on or around rivers because I'm always dreading a huge ugly crocodile lumbering out of the water. But just like a moth is drawn to a flame, I watched all the Jurassic park movies and Godzilla. It is now part of the family&friends lore that I didn't sleep for weeks after each of these and when I did start sleeping, my dreams had me sobbing through the night. I am not proud of this. I generally tend to keep this a deep dark secret. And I will shortly close this blog and start an anonymous blog so that certain unnamed people (much as I love them and am grateful that they still love me), cannot force me by blackmail to reveal certain so-called-truths on my blog.

This phobia of mine affords great entertainment to my family. I have tried hard to gain the respect of my nieces and nephews, but dropping your parcels and running out of a store because you saw a lizard does not generally engender respect. Just the opposite. And as to what the sight of a three year old laughing at you does to you, his wise, kind and altogether wonderful aunt, I leave to your imagination. My mother, the one kind and understanding soul in my life, is the only one who at least tries not to laugh at me. I love her for this. I love her for lots of things, but for this, she will be enshrined among the angels.

She saved me once you know, from a salamander attack. Well, she and my brother (the small big brother) and the maid, and half my father's office staff, and the corporation sweeper, and arbid people who were walking by on the road, and the neighbours, and I really have lost track of how many other people were there.

It all started on one quiet Saturday morning many many many years ago at about 11 a.m., when I drifted out of sleep and into the bathroom. All I was doing was standing by the wash basin with a toothbrush in one hand, and a tube of toothpaste in the other, when I felt the weight of an evil gaze on me. I looked all around, and found nothing. So I put it down to my overactive imagination and turned my attention back to the task at hand. But the feeling just wouldn't go away. So I turned around again. And there at the trap at the head of the drain, stood the scariest salamander I have ever seen (And I have seen quite a few, believe me). For those of you who have not seen salamanders, I have downloaded a sketch.

It was large, with a deep brown black body and a deep red back. And as I stood there petrified ( yes, I did turn to stone), it slowly started to advance towards me, stepping over the grating that it had knocked down in order to get at me. And it was really large. As salamanders go, it was humongous. Do you remember that scene in Godzilla, where they're down in the tunnel with the creature and they're almost caught under it as it lumbers away down the tunnel. Well, that's the kind of stride that it had. At this point, I came to my senses, and with one bound, I had leaped on to the relative safety of the closet. I say relative, because I am sure that if it had stood upon its hind legs, it could have pulled itself on to the closet with ease. While I was getting my balance by grasping the flush tank, I was wondering what the wailing in the background was.

It was only when I heard the pounding on the bathroom door and my mother's agitated voice that I realised the wails were coming from me. And I just couldn't stop. It took about 15 seconds longer for my small big brother to come hurtling down the steps shouting agitatedly. He told me later that he thought I was being murdered. Once he realised that I was not in immediate danger, he tried to figure out how to get me to 1. stop that infernal noise 2. come out of the bathroom 3.behave like a human being. Now, we lived in the house that my grandfather built, and he built houses to last. This meant that bathrooms had doors which could easily have repulsed the barbarian horde. Breaking it down would have meant bringing a battering ram into the house. SBB realised that that only way to get me out of there was to get me to open the door. And that involved my getting down from the closet. I am not going into the details of how my small big brother talked me into quietening the wails into deep shuddering sobs. All I'm telling you is that it took him a long time. All this while our maid was standing by my mother and singing what she thought were soothing songs to quieten the wild beast - me, not the salamander. But since they sounded like funeral hymns, it just didn't help.

It took them a couple of hours, but finally they did rescue me. And as soon as I was out of the bathroom, I bolted out of the house and careened into my father, who had been recalled from one of his work sites (where concreting was in process) and since he had come rushing back because his office had informed him that his darling daughter was being attacked, his first action was to hug me, and then ask me very suspiciously what had happened. I'm not stupid; I know when I'm really in trouble, so I immediately started wailing again, and refused to get back into the house till I was sure the "arana" was dead. It definitely distracted everybody. They now had to kill, or at least catch the salamander. It wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Our maid did it with ease, actually. And that's when I went,"but this one is too small, it's not the same one....waaaaiiiiiiillll".

My father, already on a short fuse, gave me a look that would have incinerated a small animal and since even my angel mother had stopped sympathising, I decided it was better to shut up. Of course, for the next few days, until my father forbade the mention of the word 'arana' in his house, I kept muttering under my breath that it had been MUCH bigger.

AND on one Saturday morning three weeks later, the family woke up to the sounds of my screams again. And that's when we figured out why the salamander was so much smaller when the maid caught it. It was no longer pregnant. The cunning creature had laid its eggs in a crevice in the wall. And they had begun hatching. The floor of my room was covered in baby salamanders and there were millions of them. Okay, thousands. Oh okay, hundreds.

But anyway, I had been vindicated. It had been bigger. MUCH bigger. And I was insufferable for the rest of the day.

"arana" is the malayalam word for salamander.

Sometimes I love hospitals

On a day like today, I love hospitals. They seem like such friendly places. Of course, it helps when your older and only sister is with you every moment of the check up. It also helps that the surgeon is your not-so-little-anymore-cuz. Anyways, the tests are over. I have been checked. Ultrasounded. Palpated. CLEARED!!! And been told NOT to fret, fume, freak or in any way frighten myself or others!

The lump has behaved itself. Follow up check up in August. And then once a year.

:-) And it helped so much; all of you being so encouraging and supportive. Thanks!!!

A little girl

The door sways on unsteady hinges
Creaking quietly out of slumber
Brown eyes, bright with laughter
Peep into dark rooms
The red flash of a swirling skirt
A jingling of bangles, anklets tinkle
Bright chimes call out
Unruly curls tumble, trailing loose ribbons
Small footsteps trip lightly
Awakening the old house, its old people
And all their forgotten hearts.

A conversation with my mother

This happened last Sunday. My mother, as I've said in an earlier post has been going through a tough time and now manages because she is on oxygen. Not all the time, but at night, and whenever she feels the need for it. It's done her a world of good. It's done me a world of good.I sleep better because she sleeps better. I realised just how much better she was feeling after a conversation with her last Sunday.

She had been complaining the whole morning of an ache in her shoulder, and when I checked it out, realised that the side of her neck, her shoulders and her arms were all showing some signs of strain. I was puzzled, to say the least. Just couldn't figure out what had happened. While I was applying a pain reliever to the affected areas, I started to think aloud.

Me: I don't understand this. It's quite bad.
Mom: (Sighs quietly - from the pain)
Me: Did you knock it somewhere, ma? Against the door or the cupboard or something?
Mom: No.
Me: (thinks) She must be really in pain. She can't even answer in full sentences.
Me : (now very worried) Ma, did you lean on your hand, or lift something up?
Mom: No.
Me: Okay, we're not going to play around with this. I'm calling the doctor. What if it's something that really needs to be looked at? Can't neglect it.
Mom: It's probably the vegetables.
Me: ( Now totally puzzled) VEGETABLES?
Me: (thinking) Oh my god, maybe the problem isn't physical. Oh @#$% I better call up Vellore and check with sis.
Me : (repeating, even louder) VEGETABLES???
Mom: (sheepishly) Maybe I shouldn't have cut so many.....
Me: Speechless, runs to the kitchen and finds following vegetables diced, sliced, grated, cut, shelled etc. Tomatoes, carrots, cabbage, cauliflower, potatoes, onions, beans, peas and ONE HUMONGOUS PINEAPPLE!

Mystery of painful shoulder solved.

Hug someone today

Yesterday, I was cleaning out our old home. Or trying to. There are so many books and papers still left behind. My dad's cupboard is full of files. Birth certificates, School certificates, Degree certificates and so on. There were also four really old files full of what seemed to be letters. You know me, the curious one, so I sat myself on the floor and started to read. They were letters that the four of us had sent home during our years away at college. Would you believe it? There's a whole written record of my days at WCC. My dad actually thought this was worth keeping, safely in a file, in his steel cupboard!!! It touched me deeply, knowing that he cares so much about us. And grateful that he kept the letters, because, twenty years down the line, they're fun to read.

I know that somewhere packed away along with my college books in my old trunk, there will be a stack of letters that I received from my parents while I was away. It was a routine every morning - running to the letter rack to check if there was anything. The joy when one found a letter was indescribable. I used to feel that I was back at home for those few minutes, sitting at the dining table, talking to my folks.
Letters bring you closer almost a physical closeness. It's like looking at the moon when you're in love and thinking that someone you love is looking at that same moon. I remember getting a card from an old boyfriend who was travelling in Kenya, saying something about the African stars and the Kenyan moon missing me as much as he did. Sigh!!! It's nice to be young and in love and get letters. Well, it's nice to be in love any time, though now I prefer more practical demonstrations of love - no moon or stars, the nearest Chinese restaurant is always a better bet. Receiving and sending letters, now that is something I still adore. I don't write too often, the ubiquitous e-mail has taken over. But once in a way, yes, I still sit down on a quiet Sunday morning and write letters; to aunts, to friends; to people whom I love and miss.
There is something about letters, really. When I saw this ad for Australia Post, it made me feel like sitting down and writing. Maybe tomorrow morning will be another letter writing Sunday.

time passing on sunday morning

everyone is asking
what it is i am doing
always always sitting
on computer typing
so busy working?
doorbell is buzzing
and phonebell ringing
not buzzing
all sorts of sounds i am hearing
around me everything moving
but i am sitting sitting
at computer typing
so busy working.
mother is telling
servant is arriving
little late but coming
gardener is not working
everytime with driver chatting
what to do i am not knowing
still i am sitting sitting
at computer typing
so busy working.
ironing boy is also talking
into mobile he is shouting
only two more shirts i am finishing
now in two minutes i am bringing
father is laughing
tells world so modern becoming
i am also laughing
as i am sitting sitting
at computer typing
so busy working.
in kitchen fish is frying
other things cooking
soon lunch will be waiting
everyone will be asking
what it is i am doing
always always sitting
on computer typing
so busy working?

(I just love sunday mornings, don't you?)

Counting my blessings

Yesterday, I was going through some old papers and came across a book that belonged to an old friend. It was his song book. He had written out the lyrics for over a hundred songs in that book. I had forgotten it existed but the funny thing is, whenever I sang one of those songs, I used to see the written lyrics in my mind's eye and guess what, those pictures in my mind are from this book. This was before the days of browsing and finding lyrics. It was in those olden days when we in India had to wait a year or more to get the latest songs on cassettes or LPs. We used to listen to the songs and write down the words. It would take us days of listening to finally get most of the words. Maybe, that's the reason I still remember most of them. I spent most of yesterday humming out loud. It was such a happy day.

That's what I like about my life these days - there's a feeling of deep contentment inside me, and it's there because I've found joy within myself after a slightly difficult year. It was not a year that I would wish on anyone. Let's see... there was a time when I felt that getting through just one day was such a task. There's this song that I love and I had it on my screensaver the whole year :-)

One day at a time sweet Jesus

That's all I'm asking from you.

Just give me the strength

To do everyday what I have to do.

Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus

And tomorrow may never be mine.

Lord help me today, show me the way

One day at a time.

Yesterday with all the old songs humming around in my head, I sat down and took stock of the last year.

Well, my father's well on the road to recovery, thank God for that. And I had such support from so many friends and relatives. So many of them who called me or visited on a daily/weekly basis just to talk and be there. Of all the countless blessings I'm grateful for, those people rank right up there on top.

I spent a month out of action - reasons detailed in earlier posts. I feel okay now, back to normal but more important, able to face with equanimity, the possibility that there may be problems in the future.

My house has been quite some time in the building, but it is almost complete. Another two weeks and I hope to move in along with my parents. It's a pretty house and I'll talk about it in some later post.

I went out with some friends on Saturday and danced the night away. It was a glorious feeling. I love dancing, and I can't claim to know any specific dance steps but moving to the rhythm of the music and my heart is something I love. It makes me feel so alive and so full of happiness.

Ooooooh, I just can't wait to find out what next week, next month and next year hold. No matter what it is, now I know that everything that happens is a possible adventure and all I have to do is go out and live it. The anticipation of finding out whether each day holds a dragon or an angel, that's what makes my world so exciting.

So go out there and live and exciting life! Or come and be a part of my world :-)

As Daliah Lavi sang

'.... And in my world, which seems so clear

The people laugh, they have no fear

So take my hand and come along

Into my world where you belong........'