My mom's lap

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My eye lids became heavy with sleep
And I curled up on the couch
Placed my head on my mom's lap
And shut my eyes once again.

I was revisiting this place-My mom's lap, after a very long time
And it seemed familiar like home
Like she would in my childhood
She ran her fingers through my hair

Then:
She had softly chided me
For not taking care
Of my hair
And had gently untangled
My not-so-long tresses
And when I woke up would find them neatly braided

Today:
She noticed the grey in my hair
And offered her tips
On how to avoid premature greying
'Apply oil at least twice a week' she said
Even offered to make her special
Hair oil with tulsi and hibiscus buds
I reminded her my age ..
(Amma, I am forty eight)
that it was not premature
But a bit delayed greys that were
Showing up now in haste.

Then:
She had narrated many a story
Of 'undan' and 'undi',
Of Prahlad and Narasimha,
Tales from Ramayana,
And the Mahabharata

and forced me to lie down
beside her
And have my noon siesta
I hated it then ..
No, not the stories
but having to sleep
When I would rather read
Or enact those very tales 

I had heard or
Talk to myself or
Play teacher to an imaginary student.

Today :
She narrated...oh I didn't hear what
I had already drifted into my dream world
Had been transported from her lap
To that fairy-tale world
Reliving each moment of childhood.
It was a vacation !!
..the afternoon siesta
Ah ! a redo,  a deja-vu
Yet now I realize ,
My mom's lap was
a ticket to paradise !

Achaa.. I miss you

Achan......
I always dreaded my achan in my  childhood. The fear was imbibed in me by my brothers who themselves were too scared of him. He had a cane which he never used to hit us with, but he would swish it in the air and the swishing sound would make me cry. I always thought he loved to watch me cry and then he would laugh. He seemed to enjoy the fact that his children feared him. Made him feel like the typical 'karnavar' but little did he realise that he was alienating himself from us.
His sisters feared him too during their childhood and till much later in their lives. They didn't sit alongside him or have a conversation with him. What little they spoke was very formal and limited to just answers to the questions put to them .
During my childhood , I wished I was more comfortable with him, wished I could joke and share a laugh with him,wished I could hug him and behave like other friends of mine did with their dads.
But we got used to the fear and the distance. Achan often took pride in what he mistook for awe what actually was fear filled with an iota of despise. We would make our requests and seek permissions from him indirectly  through amma. She would present it before him when she thought was the right time to do so. Amma never attempted to ease the father - children relationship either and thus we lived in a world of our own .When achan walked into the room where we were sitting, we  walked out .
After retirement , during the hours that he sat idle with nothing much to do he realised his loss. When I would talk to amma , achan would feel left out. He missed the affinity I shared with amma. He would feel offended when amma asked money for my college fees." Why can't she ask me directly ? Why should she make you ask ?"
And then it struck him that this is how it had been going on for the past many years .

Before my wedding he was diagnosed of lymphoma. And when he left for his treatment to Mumbai, leaving me in the hostel we both cried. He cried probably because he thought he wouldn't return alive. I cried because I was seeing him cry for the first time. I knew for sure he would return. His role and responsibilities were not done yet!
The doctor had said he would live for not more than six minths. But he lived for 26 years after that!
He returned after his treatment, his ferociousness all gone, his hearing partially lost.  He got me married, met with an accident, underwent a brain surgery to remove a clot, had a hernia surgery, got his own house built, became a grandfather to my children ...and this new role was played to perfection. A much mellowed down person he had become by then. I watched and heard him sing and relate tales from the mythology. He doted on the kids and many a times it felt like he was trying to do what he should have done as a father. My children loved him in return. They were the first kids who were not scared of him.
Life went smoothly for him till 2002 when he was detected of Parkinsons Disease. His hands became unsteady and he gave up his habit of  writing the diary. He now spilt his food as he fed himself . He walked slower and more cautiously , yet had a fall which broke his bone .. Another surgery and he had to depend on his walker to move about ..  In another couple of years he was completely bed ridden. I watched him wither away. For everything he depended on amma .. Amma took over the responsibility of the forerunner of the home , managing the household chores , doing all the shopping and banking ...all indoor and outdoor chores well managed  by herself and also very religiously taking care of achan, suppressing her own aches and not disclosing much of her problems .  She eventually reached an age and time when a fear set into her mind ..a fear that she may die before achan  and at this time when I suggested they move in with us she agreed without much debate.
The next couple of months were spent with me.. I got an opportunity to reach out to achan and on the afternoons that I spent my time with him I held his hands , spoke to him . And he said things to me . We connected but could not comprehend each other. His speech was not so clear for me to understand and mine was inaudible for him... yet we communicated . And thus he stayed confined to his bed for more than two years.
Why did he have to suffer so long? Why did he have to undergo all the ailments and surgeries and suffer prolonged days of helplessness and pain ? Because it was during these days that we children reached out to him ,  it brought us closer to him and he got all our attention and care which he had, probably, always  sought from us.
Amma looked after him diligently but we always thought he never acknowledged her efforts. He lost his temper now and then and all his ire was directed towards her.
Achan's demise was too sudden . The previous day he rambled non-stop. As I stood by the door of his room  I heard him ask amma " Do you love me ?"
Amma answered in the affirmative,
"How much?" He asked again
"lots" she said
"Is it ? Give me a hug" said achan , I continued to listen surprised and amused and watched amma place her hand across his chest.
"Hug tighter"he said This time amma blushed and smiled , she saw me standing by the door and as she hugged him she told me" I think he is feeling cold "

I withdrew from the room closing the door after me and permitting my parents some privacy .
About five minutes later amma came out saying he has fallen asleep and is quiet now.

That happened to be  his last conversation with amma !

He didn't speak a word after that. By next evening he was gone.While amma cried saying "He didn't say anything before leaving, didn't even look at me "
I hugged amma to console her and reminded her of achan's last words to her. Could there have been a better way of saying good bye ? He couldn't hug her so he asked her to hug him . It probably had been his way of thanking her for all she had done for him. I was made to witness it and it still amazes me to think how clearly he had spoken then.
All his callousness in the past was forgiven and he had suddenly become too dear to me.
As he lay in the mortuary till next noon I watched silently and made a wish .
'If there is another life , may you be my father again . May you be a better father to me and may I be the best daughter to you '
Rest in peace , Acha,
I will miss you ...

I love ....

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I love ..
the early sounds of the dawn
the twitter of birds  and
The sound of Silence too
as calm and blissful peace they bring

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I love....
Fresh Jasmine flowers
A walk on wet green grass
The crimson in the sky,
with birds flying high .
rain washed trees
with glistening leaves
looking fresh and clean
even under the moon beam.

I love...
To watch the pattern created
by the synchronized flying of birds
To feel the cool light breeze
​to feel the wind in my hair ​
and the touch of the waves that wash my feet 

as they ​​sink into the sand.

I love..
The smell of new books and old ones too
that of wet mud drenched by the first rains of monsoon
that of a new-born babe
all powdered and draped
the smell of burning incense sticks
that fill the evening air​

I love...
Soft slow music when all else is quiet
the coo and gurgling of an infant
The toothless smile of my ma
The innocence in the eyes of the squirrel
Staring at me from a height

I love..
Treading on fallen leaves
that rustle as I step stealthily
To watch the purple sun bird
Swinging on the hibiscus branch
With every sway trying to reach
The bright red flower nearby
To suck its glorious nectar
And then fly away
While the branch continues to sway
Like it were saying good bye

I love ...
 Lying on my back on my terrace
And watching the the million stars above
Twinkle and shine in harmony
Lighting up what first seemed
A dark and depressing sky
 
I love....
watching the gliding full moon
On sleepless nights
And then I recollect the lines of a
Sweet lullaby
And hum it to myself
Till my eyes are heavy with sleep
And dreams carry me
to another world
Of surprise

I love...
All these and much more
The list is endless and could cross a crore
But I am filled with gratitude
That each day I find something new to love
And more ,that I have the capacity to love

Nothing is wrong

A couple of months back, I had been going through a series of bad mood days, depressed and feeling low days, want-to-cry days .. need to wallow in self pity days.. I would like to believe that my age and hormones were responsible for making me feel so. Hormonal changes at this age, say experts, are responsible for the mood swings and this phase is  rightly termed Mid-life crisis. Physically too I can feel the lag . Slower reflexes, cramps and muscle pulls. The pain in my ankles is getting worse . But these, I am sure, are not the reasons I am feeling blue. I probably just need some attention and some pampering, need to hear few words of comfort . So I go looking for a good soul willing to share my woes, empathize with me and console me.

 My good friend 1 who is more of an elder sister is the easiest to approach. The most positive lady I have known. Her message beeped through my phone just then . The messages that followed in the days thereafter told me about her potential second battle with the emperor of maladies. Each line she typed was followed by a smiling emoticon. She seemed to be celebrating her pain and eagerly looking forward to meeting  the crab. I was so filled with awe that I forgot to unburden my worries to her.
Friend 2 is someone with whom I have been sharing most of my worries and problems. I call him my 3 a.m friend. Someone whom I can approach at any hour and he is all ears. What's more, he has that magic solution to any dilemma. My alter ego , who can guess something is bothering me even before I spoke about it. I could only say I was feeling depressed and didn't know why. He devoted two entire days of his chat time to me but while we tried to analyse what was wrong he ended up pouring his heart out to me. The issues he was facing , his tensions and worries that seemed to be solutionless. He was left with no choice but to face it with a smile. His profile picture displayed his smiling image that seemed to look at me . Who would have thought he was putting up with so much and  braving it all with a smile ! The tables were turned and at the end of the day it was I who was  offering him words of comfort.

Friend 3 was celebrating her birthday that day and I like always remembered to wish her . This was also my opportunity to unburden my bag of grievances. Amidst giggles she told me how life was slowly getting back to normal after a major fire tragedy in her house .No threat to life but most of the things in one of the rooms had burned down and the entire room had been covered with black soot. They had to move out and stay elsewhere for more than a week. The smell of smoke and burnt furniture lingered for a long time.. It had taken three washes and three coats of paint to brighten up the wall again . Furniture had to be replaced, undue expenses had to be met, and yet with a laugh she said 'Thank God , the fire didn't reach the kitchen where the gas cylinders were placed ! It could have been worse'  It surprised me that she still had something to be thankful for.

Friend 4 needed to be reminded of friend 3's birthday .

'Did you wish her ?' I messaged. Expecting an instant text message in reply but she preferred to call instead .

Here was another 'Smiling Budha' friend of mine ..She said she had been wanting to talk to me and consult me on how to deal with her ma in law's dementia problems . The ma in law was getting dangerously forgetful. I was accustomed to my own father's health issues by now. But my father had Parkinsons not Alzheimers . There were those hallucinations and spasms of dementia but then taking care of someone who was bed ridden seemed easier than controlling a mobile person with similar problems. Friend 4's hubby had just joined work after having lost his previous job two years ago. The two years that passed by had been difficult and frustrating. Every time a major expense came by she had to use up what the family had saved.With the draining of finances the frustration built up for the husband but they made it through . The new job offered to her hubby seemed to have eased some of the worries for the family. She was on a look out for a good care giver for the mother. I gave her links of blogs on dementia, and how to be a good care giver, assuring her it would be very helpful.

   My haversack of miseries that I had been carrying on my back all these days seemed lighter now . The bag was empty. What I had been carrying was something fictitious and my worries and despondent look had been a result of this. I just need to wear my Smile, a gear that brightened things up for me and others and feel thankful for this blessed life.
  To make my world better I had been sent a  crowd of guests to visit my home one after another in the past two months, to keep me occupied  and fill my home with warmth and love. Today with both my sons at home for the summer break , life is happier and I promise myself that the happiness will be maintained even after they have gone back . Cheers !

“If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.”

Magic seeds

The two huge Mahogany trees in front of my house has been shedding its leaves since the past couple of days . The entire pathway is strewn with red, yellow and brown leaves.The leafy carpet looks beautiful and as I tread on those it continues to rain leaves on me . I enjoy the sweeping chore these days ..I glide around with my garden broom in the mornings. My now short hair refuses to stay tied and my unkempt tresses and the broom combine to probably give me the look of some Harry Porter witch . The wind is in a mischievous mood . It blows away the leaves I have just managed to rake to a corner and the trees in a hilarious split shed some more leaves for me to gather. If I didn't clear it up the surroundings would soon make  my house  look like an uninhabited and neglected place.
As I sweep I discover a 'manjaadi kuru' beneath the pile of leaves and then find some more as I progress to the end of the plot where the huge manjadi tree stood. 'Manjadikuru' is called the circassean seed but my lexicon says it is the 'magical red seed ' from the good luck tree, and I preferred that, to its more complicated other name. These red seeds are like brownie points for me and discovering them gives me the thrill of a  toddler who he has just been gifted a new toy.

Nature has such precious moments to offer us and so often we fail to notice them. Having spend all my childhood in the concrete jungle of a metro city, I was deprived of these little joys then. So today I feel privileged walking in my own front yard and picking these little treasures. There is also behind the fence a few shrubs of crab's eye , what we call 'kunjikuru' in malayalam. I had earlier seen those only in the Guruvayur temple where it is placed in a round brass ware. Little kids are made to gather those and play with them for a while. The belief is that doing thus makes the kids more hyper and mischievous. Now which parent would not want their kids to be more active? They wouldn't mind even if it made the kids a little impish .

I wish I was a better writer or a good story teller. I could have weaved another myth related to these seeds, something for the next few generations to fancy and listen to with awe. At present the creativity in me is in want of stimulation but may be when I become a grandma I too will spin a tale of the Magic seeds.

 Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers,
 the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? 
Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic.
 It is such a simple and such an extraordinary part of the lives we live.

An enlightening afternoon

I spent this afternoon with Achan, sitting beside him, trying to smoothen his wrinkled hand, as if caressing and stretching the skin would make the wrinkles vanish altogether. I kept making vain attempts now and then to connect with Achan whose illness had made him so remote to us. He stared at the vacant wall and his expressions changed from time to time, Sometimes it seemed to me that there was a gentle smile playing on his lips, the mild reflection of the smile also seen in his eyes as if he had just seen and recognised someone familiar to him.Sometimes those very same eyes reflected fear ...fear of the unfamiliar stranger .The look of fear then changed to anger. He would start calling out to one of us and then ramble incoherently.
 Once again the same thought recurred to me. Why ? Why does all this have to happen to him ..why these hallucinations ?
Last evening two ladies from our neighbourhood had visited .Among the many things that we spoke about, we also happened to speak about their parents. The plight of their parents were more or less the same as my parents but these ladies being employed could not attend to their parents as they wished to, and had to leave them in the care of a maid or a home nurse for most of the day. Wasn't I fortunate then to be able to attend to my parents in their dotage?
The population of senior citizens is very much on the rise in our state and with the younger generation opting to move out either to pursue their education or in search of a job, the seniors are constrained to take care of
themselves. It's depressing to visit most of the homes in our vilage .Where at one time the houses used to be full of noisy kids of all ages, there are now only one or two aged members combating their ailments without complaining.
I now genuinely feel handicaps that are age related are a blessing. After a certain age your vision becomes weaker reminding you that you are no more getting young. A few more years later your joints begin to creak and ache reminding you to slow down and enjoy the remaining days of your life .Your hearing is no more sharp as it used to be so you can now be selective and strain to hear only what you want to hear. Nights get sleepless and in the dark you look back at the days gone by and feel thankful to God. Sleepless nights bring gratitude. The reflexes get slower and your movements being slow you give yourself more time to pause and appreciate things around you. All this makes easier for one to detach oneself from the world when it's time to leave for the new abode. One by one as each organ fails, the strings that hold you to the mortal world is snapped too... one by one .
Watching achan hallucinate now I think this is a blessing too. How else could he have stayed in bed if he didn't have his hallucinations to keep him occupied?  He travels to places he used to visit  and visualises people who are no more.... all from his bed where his illness has him confined. What would he have done otherwise? How would he have put up with this situation of being bed ridden for probably many more months or years ahead ?
  It is this one string that keeps him tied to us. So let me just be thankful to God that  he is in no pain or despair on this day. I now look forward to be in his company for many more days , to comunicate in silence, to hold his hand ...to just watch him breathe. 

 "One day spent with someone you love can change everything."
— Mitch Albom (For One More Day)

My not-so-empty Nest

As the kids bent down to touch our feet and seek our blessings, I tried my best to hold back my tears. I always knew this day was coming soon but wasn't ready when it actually arrived. Goodbye hugs were exchanged and as the train moved and the boys waving their hands disappeared from sight, my tears spilled...

One of the kids had always been with us till then .This was the first time we were going to a new place without either of them accompanying us. And the thought they were no more going to seek my assistance to go through their daily routine from waking up to getting dressed to eating their meals on time , that they were no more going to depend on me to select what they wore, be it clothes or shoes, suddenly made me feel deprived of my maternal rights. 

I missed my boys all through the journey and images of their childhood incidents and achievements flashed across my mind.On reaching our new destination, I missed those days when we got busy on arrival at a new place with seeking admission in schools, buying books and wrapping them in brown paper, and getting the uniforms stitched. This time there was no such running about to do.We were taken to the guest house where we were to stay put for the next four days till our goods arrived .With nothing much to do I wandered around the guest house, sighting a king fisher or a lonely drongo .Their nests were probably empty too .So was mine now ..

 During the days of unpacking and settling down  I managed to switch to my positive self and told myself  that my sons will learn to survive .. they will fight their own battles and learn from their own mistakes. I need not worry about them anymore.They will seek my help if and when they need me.I have reached a new phase of my life where I have more time for myself and time to do what I want to. During this phase every emotion and conflict is called a syndrome .. and the 'empty nest syndrome' was just one amongst them. I won't make my days ahead depressive for myself ..

Seated on the new milestone I visualized the the path ahead , An overgrown path appeared before me .. one that looked familiar but one not so often trod on. The path led to my home , at the gates stood my parents, looking frail and much older than the  last time when I had seen them. They had been guarding their own empty nests, I guess, hoping for and anticipating the return of their chicks some day .

My next mission was clear . After discussions with my brothers and much debating with amma(achan was too incapacitated to contribute his views on the subject), I managed to convince her to move in with us. The day of shifting has been fixed and all arrangements done, My nest now awaits to welcome them .. with reversed roles , the parents will now be the kids and I will hopefully do justice to them by fulfilling my filial obligations .

And thus I plan to feather my nest and fill it once again with warmth , love and care .

“A tree stands strong not by its fruits or branches, but by the depth of its roots.”