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.

Across the Valley

Narrow the path

Hard the stones

Sharp the thorns

Difficult the way

The Christ my shepherd

His cross my succour

His peace my salvation

His father’s house my eternal home.

(My father passed away peacefully in his sleep last Thursday. His concern for all and his cheerfulness will continue to guide me everyday.This poem is a simple expression of the deep and abiding faith with which he travelled the rocky road these last few months.)

Strength

Your bedside is now the only place I want to be.

I feel the paper thin skin of your palms, see the hollows between the metacarpals and my heart aches at how fragile your hands have become.  Then, as I get up to leave, you surprise me with the strength of your grasp. 

I wish I didn't have to leave today.

I wish, oh how I wish I could find the strength to say goodbye.

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

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.

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.

The Burma Teak Sideboard

Here's a poem I wrote early this year.
We have these family get-togethers for New Year. This year we couldn't because my Dad was away. Wrote it for him and he loved it :-)

the burma teak sideboard holds
our lives against the dining room wall
its cabinets closed not locked
drawers shut holding candles
matches and trays
papers which we've put there
over the years
photographs too
but they're on top
displayed for love
clicked at the year's end
the conventional family
snapped together at home
identical faces in two pictures
the year my sister returned
with her family
from a sabbatical in detroit
we look younger all of us
we should it's been seven years
the second taken a year ago
faces so similar
a daughter
a niece
mother and aunt by
the same grace
the same tilt to the head
an older twinkle
mirrored in a son's laughing face
all happiness everyone
grandparents surrounded
sugared sparkle in the air
celebrations do that to one
and the smiles remain
on paper
forever.