Rama, my brave friend

I wrote this for Rama's son Aakash and daughter Varshini - soon after she passed away. I wanted them to know what their mother was as a friend. Every now and then I feel a sharp pain when I remember her, and miss her terribly. Somehow her deathj has made not only made mortality  a very real aspect of life - like a brightly coloured image on an otherwise black and white canvas - but has also underlined the importance of making the most of one's life.

"Where do I begin? How does one try to tell 2 youngsters about the friend/person the mother they've just lost was to me? It's 28 days since Rama 'passed away' - I prefer that phrase to the D word, somehow it makes it feel less irrevocable, less final, less harsh.
The most prevalent emotion in me when I think of Rama is the unfairness of it all. She was young, always endeavoured to keep mind & body fit & healthy. She worked hard... she was a soft & gentle person...but one with a steely determination giving a firm shape to all these subtle strands...while I went for the emphatic NO, hers was a gentle - almost timid! - but nevertheless very firm 'no'. The message was one & the same...and so she strived to succeed, always doing whatever she did to the best of her ability. Ensuring her success didn't make her arrogant, never flaunting the wealth or status she had acquired.

One had to know her to get her humour, and she didn't 'get to know' just anybody. And this makes me feel quite privileged...while we had lost touch after she left HSBC, somehow news of her working for Covansys trickled in after almost a decade. And so I contacted her, a little diffident while doing so. And to my pleasant surprise, I heard my friend Rama on the other end of the line! Just the same friendly, gentle warmth that in one easy sweep brushed aside the past decade we had lost in between our chats.

The Rama who picked me up was different in just one visible aspect - she had a teenage daughter by her side! But besides that (and shorter hair), she hadn't changed a bit physically or otherwise since I had last seen her in 1990! There was a gentle chide about my weight gain, done with just my well being in mind. And of we went  - with her deftly driving her 4 * 4 . We (me & my son) had lunch with her, then she & Varshini took us shopping - for Aditya's leather jacket....then she drove us all back home, dropped in to say hello to my family...

The next visit - a year or so later - had a shock in store for me, for cancer had invaded her body, she was so frail that I warily hugged her. We sat chatting for nearly 3 hours or so, and I now desperately try to remember our conversation...only snatches of it come back to me...but one thing I remember for sure is that there were no complaints or resentments, no 'why me?'s. No mention of pain - something she continued to maintain right until her very end. I wonder from time to time why I didn't brush aside her constant reply of , 'I'm ok...its only the people around me who're suffering' and demand to know what she was actually going through. And smile when I realise that one could only get her to say what she wanted said! For each time I called to reassure, comfort and encourage Rama, I was the one who felt all that when I put the phone down! While I strived to have a 'normal' chat with her, the times I did not she would gently shift the focus from her illness to me and the goings on in my life!

And now she is gone. Forever. I'm yet to come to terms with the unfairness of it all. The days speed by, as if in a rush to reach her and offer her the time that was so cruelly stolen from her. Daytimes are easy, for the coward I'm I greedily latch onto the day to day normalities of life. But night time brings back the last image I've of her, and the faces of her children. Varshini crying out, 'amma...amma' in a familiarly soft voice.....and Aakash looking bereft. But then I remember the calm & peace on Rama's face - perhaps some relief too? For no matter how the living may struggle to cope without her, Rama was herself free from the torture that the disease and its so called cure had imposed on her. And one has to take consolation from that fact.

Goodbye and God bless, Rama. I hope I'll be able to stay in touch with Aakash & Varshini, and also with Nalina and Vasu. I hope you knew that you meant a lot to me and Bhanu. I also hope you know that even while leaving us, you've enriched us - for your passing away has strengthened the bond of friendship between me and Bhanu. We will however always miss our gentle, sweet, unassuming friend  - Rama.

Vasanthi

Word Warp!

I'm not one to play computer games, just don't have the patience, and normally shrug it off  with a sarcastic 'just how do adults play computer games?!' query! But in order to familiarise myself with our Ipad, I allowed Gitu (the one who leads people astray!) to teach me a few games. So I attempt to herd sheep (nope, no comments welcome!), colour blocks and...attempt Word Warp. The latter I'm afraid to say has become a slight addiction with/for me. 

Each game gives you 6 random letters, a time span within which to make as many small words from this jumble as possible...the number of possible words are listed as blanks. At the start  I would - like an innocent kid kicking a ball around aimlessly - quickly type out as many 3, 4, 5 and 6 letter words as I could think of, and the race was only against time. I took great satisfaction from all the words I could figure, even the humble 3 lettered ones. The score would add up...and at some point you lost a round and had to start from sratch, trying to break your previous record. I could understand in a way why this game suited me - I've always felt I wasn't competitive, and once sanctimoniously told a friend, 'I compete only with myself - as long as I've done my very best...blah...blah...b****y blah'! So, here I was competing with myself, doing the best I can etc.

And then one day fate struck as I let out a loud wail - as if my world had come to an untimely end. It hadn't - but my round of Ward Warp had! Aditya was around, and came rushing to see what had happened to his 'mushki' (in a strange, freaky way in my family the child has pet names for the parents!). When he realised what had upset me so, he explained - as you would to some dim witted child (phew...thank God this blog has privacy settings, that was such an un-pc thing to say), 'amma, don't you know that if you get the final 6 letter word(s), you will not get kicked out, even if you don't get most of the others?'. Aha...now I knew the trick...I knew how to hang in there...and now the problem began! 

For I began scrambling to get the 6 letter word(s) first, ignoring the teeny weeny humble 3 & 4 letter words that have been such a large part of my life so far. 'Shhh...', I would brush them aside carelessly, 'wait your turn...you aren't important'. Many a round was completed with just the 6 letter word adorning a rather empty page...one which had a lot of blanks left - well, rather blank! And the more 6 letter words I got, the higher the score I reached. And every now and then I would querulously demand of The Man and the child , 'quick....what is a 6 letter word with 'dirtpo'??'  Once when The man asked, 'doesn't asking people for help defeat the whole point of the game?', I replied, 'I've reached a score of 125000 - what, you want me to lose now? At this stage?'. Was he completely clueless??

'Not competitive, are you?' the son smirked. Is that what it is? Is that what the competitive streak does to you - makes you bend rules slightly, just so you could hang on to the high score you've achieved? Is that what makes billionaires work for more profits...sometimes even by hook or crook? Does it make you push aside all the humble but useful folks around you, as if they were nonentities, just so you can hang onto the big names in the game? Or is it just me - unable to deal with being competitve, a streak that  has entered my life for the first time - at the ripe old age of 50?! Maybe I'm floundering as this is the first time I've had to deal with it. Or perhaps I was spared this streak during my younger life by some higher force, one which knew I would lose track of rules and regulations and policies....not to start with maybe, but definitely once I'd reached a slightly better status in life! Perhaps I would have climbed the rungs of the career ladder, pushing aside humble friends along the way...hmmm...interesting thought. But in the meantime, a 6 letter word with 'jredau', anyone?

The mind and heart

The mind and heart

What the mind knows
the heart does not accept -
It forever longs to see my father
who was so special and dear to me.

What the mind knows
the heart does not comprehend -
Where did he go, how can this be?
That I'll never be able to see no more
My father so dear to me.

So today - a month later
I suddenly decided to see,
What it would be like to
let my my mind have a word with my heart
which so abandoned feels.

"And what would you like to know
Oh heart, whose grief appears to be
so inconsolable, and so bereft
to a mind as practical as me?"

"Where has my father gone,
when will I again see
the twinkle in his eye
that always lit up for me?

When will I hear again his voice beckoning to me
'Kutti...' he would say, his voice
booming, happy and free.

When will I hear him say 'hul-lo'
in that special drawl that was his,
when will I hear him ask for his 'master' -
that special name he had for my son?

When will I get another letter
written so neatly to me
always in reply to the one
sent on the date he referred to be!

When will I see his pleasure
at the beauty of a flower..a bird...a tree
when will I hear of his escapades
to a town - so far away from me?"

"My child, you've answered yourself
if you search all your words to me
For in your questions lie the answer
about your father, so special to me.

For you will see his eyes light up
along with that twinkle and smile
Whenever to your mind you bring
all those memories and wonderful times.

You will then hear his voice again
Call you 'kutti...'
You will see again his lovely hand
whenever his diary or letter you read.

You just need to close your eyes
and imagine calling him for free
irrespective of the time difference
to the place where he now seems to be.

You will hear his 'hul-lo' again
said in that special way that was his,
asking about 'baba' and your back
and about Raja whome he thought was the best.

And whenever you see a flower
a bird...a butterfly...atree
these things will always bring to your mind
a man as special as he.

A man who died as he lived
with unfailing spirit and glee
who always lived for the moment
and cared for those around him too.

A man who taught without saying
how confident and fearless to be
a man who corrected without raising
ever a finger to you.

A man who always brought a smile
to the faces of his children five
who left no cash, no will, no house
just a lot of blessings for free.

A man who was as special to me as to you,
 so dear heart please be free
as free as a bird, as your father
who was special to both you and me"

Seasons in the sun - Spring

Went for a walk after a few days....mother nature has been busy lending a helping hand to the plants, trees appear to have greedily sapped in the sunlight...the soil...and ofcourse the result is breath taking! My head turns left to  right ...taking in all the new growth, flowers and shrubs vying for attention. I feel like an avid tennis fan trying to grasp each stroke of the rivals as they play ! It's just as well the pavements in this place are smooth and clean, for that helps when people like me walk without looking at the ground! As I go downhill (literally, not figuratively!) - the slope makes me feel like I'm walking into the horizon!  I look up at the clear, bright blue sky, with fluffy white clouds casually wandering over it.  And I think to myself - is there anything as exciting and invigorating as a bright, clear day in spring?? And yes - this is something else that I'll miss about this place...the different seasons with its varying beauty. From the scorching summers (if & when we do have them!) and the fresh spring, to the glorious autumn and even bleak winters. So, this is to remind myself of spring in my later days!


Spring heralds the beginning of a new season, it not only brings the much needed break from harsh and bleak winters, but also allows nature - who has been waiting patiently or otherwise in the wings - the chance to play the lead role. For the trees and shrubs and flowers all begin to come back to life. Like life after death. There's such a clean, crisp smell in the air...and brigh sunny days like today can take your breath away. For the clear blue of the sky is almost spell binding, the white fluffy clouds seem to float around aimlessly, as if to break the rhythym of the blue. There's colour everywhere - from the glorious purple haze of the Ceonothus to the huge dinner - plate sized blooms of the clematis. It's just glorious - makes you want to sing to the tune of nature. I don't know if this is my favourite season - for despite the fact it heralds the impending chill of winter, autumn has a charm of its own. But I must confess spring does lighten the heart and makes the spirit dance, wants you to get up and go....fills you with the promise of new beginnings, dazzles you with its beauty and colour ...makes you feel young, pumps fresh blood into your weary limbs...need I go on?? You get the gist by now...so, here's three cheers to SPRING...hip, hip...

To the young lad in the tea stall

                                             

The year - 1981...place - Chromepet, a small corner of Chennai. I had completed my B.A in Economics and had begun working as a primary school teacher at a private school in Chetpet. To compensate for the pitifully low and insufficient pay, I had taken on home tuitions, both before and after school. I would leave home by 6.30am, after a cup of coffee, carrying the lunch mum would have packed. I would then pick up 2 idlis at the canteen at railway station - this would be greedily downed during the "interval" at school!

So - the daily custom was to pick up said idlis from the stall. This was manned by a young lad (perhaps my age..??). Usually I would make it just in time to order, pay & collect my parcel and hop onto the train that would pull in almost simultaneously. The lad knew what my order was (I have always been a creature of habits!), and would begin packing even as I approached his stall. But some days I would be slightly late, and the train would be entering the station just as I was reaching the spot where the ladies' compartment would stop.  And this young lad would chuck the parcel to me, and I would pay him the next day! Now, bearing in mind this was in the '80s...he probably paid for the cost of my breakfast from his pocket...to ensure I didn't go without mine! We hardly spoke - I know I would smile, thank him...but I didn't know his name...(I think of him as a 'Murugan' for some reason..), and I didn't stop by to inform him I wouldn't need the parcels anymore when I started working for a bank about 18 months later....

However, I often remember this young lad and thank him for his thoughtfulness...saying a quick prayer for his well being. Did he wonder what had happened to me? Did he know his kindness was appreciated? Did the others he served so thoughtfully know his name? Has he been commended or rewarded for his 'good customer service' and 'going beyond expectations' work attitude?  Did he ever wonder what happened to the thin, saree clad woman who bought a parcel of 2 idlis, day in and day out? Did he -  like me - manage to move on to something better? 

I will never know the answers to these questions, but would like to think he has come up in life.

So, dear Murugan, I thank you for your thoughtfulness:

I'm sure this arose from kindness

Both of which were priceless

During my moments of darkness.

Now, albeit rather late

I thank you for sparing me

Your time...your effort..and perhaps a thought??
And surely a much needed dime!

I hope life has treated you well

with the gentleness you deserve
Thank you, my friend.

The beauty of this place!

I love spring....the best time of the year here, in the United Kingdom. I've lived here since 1998, we arrived on New Year's day, from a very hot country to one at its coldest ! While the winter had its own beauty, the first ever spring is one I will remember for a long time to come...

For while most of the bare branches and stalks began sprouting  green leaves, with the merest hint of blossoms tucked in here and there, some trees put forth their blooms first! Like a dramatic opera, choosing to begin with a soparano's belting number,  the magnificent Magnolia - picture above - was different. Trees were smothered in large, beautiful, shamelessly blousy blossoms in pale pink tinged with purple, or milky white, or just in deep purple reminiscent of some dark secret hitherto held by winter......the sight  taking my breath away, pushing aside the lingering chill in the air...had there been a more breath taking sight than one of these trees in bloom?? Oh yes...proclaimed the  Japanese cherry trees...struggling to cope with its branches laden heavy with gorgeous bunches of pink flowers...giving the Magnolia a run for its money! I realise I will miss all this beauty when I go back home for good...so promise myself a journal to record my memories...

While gazing at some showy scarlet Tulips, I wonder at man's greed - these elegant flowers have 109 varieties, but that not being enough, man decided to create cultivars...mixing & matching colours and textures and shapes...who first thought, "109? That isn't quite enough...I want more...some more..."?? 

And this greed continued...he decided he would belittle the pride of majestic trees  out in the open, and  created the Bonsais...("..growth is restricted by the pot environment..." says Wikipedia....). Man crossed different varieties of all flowers, resulting in flowers showier than its mother...

But mother Nature has strides on, enabling her children cope with the harsh winters...and scorching summers...