Autumn Rains

I stop a while to feel the wind
to savour the music as it sings
to dance in the falling rain
to sculpt my soul in the snow

I stop a while to hear the birds
to feel the magic of spring
to drench my soul in the glowing yellow
before the gloom autumn brings

Then comes the day of grey and gloom
When the flowers are gone and the warmth is too
The tired ageing leaves now red
Fall on the ground in the slightest breeze.

The withered trees do pain my heart
with a mundane sense of raging death
but the memories of summer makes me walk still
And with the hope of white the snowy winter brings
I tread my path and rake the leaves

I sit and watch the now bare road to my house
Hoping some warmth would find its way
In the long shadows of barren autumn
Perhaps the chirps of the last leaving flock..
would stir the silence in the air.

But the breeze turns into a raging storm
and scatters the pile of the raked dead leaves
And the cleared path which held all hopes of joy
is littered now with autumn filth

I sit and stare embittered and sullen
Not knowing if I should rake again
My duty, I say, and I make my mind
That the road be cleared for the hope to bide

Yet just before I stand up and sigh
The greying skies do stall my way
The sullen heavy clouds of autumn
now scatter their freezing loan from the ocean.

This autumn rain all dull and icy
now halts my self set call of duty
And till it stops will I vaguely know
if the road to let new hopes come by...
would flood or lay messy still.

Yet a another part of me would think
Perhaps the flood would wash away the litter
And clear the path for my hopes to come
Yet all I do is wait for the rain to stall
and hope my road isn't still scattered with death.

CLOSURE...

So came the dusk in her saffron veil

bespeaking the fall of darkness

the stalking night came winding by

and the stars filled up the empty sky

I craned to look as far I could

the deep end of the ocean lay still and calm

yet the waves broke the impeding silence

denying my need for solace

I heaved up the box of unspoken memories

Brushing off the dust to be sure

That shattered relics from the distant past

Shouldn’t be stored or held dear

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to look

a last glance perhaps, few silent tears

I sensed I had wasted enough years

Brooding over tattered books

I saw the shards of wood shatter

On the rocks beneath the rugged cliff

The waves engulfed those that remained

Leaving nothing but the essence of a new beginning

As I walked away too proud to linger

I felt a weight lift off my shoulder

All I waited for was the advent of dawn

For new beginnings with the past forgone.

OF DUST AND LIFE

It was all but an urn with dust in it, 

which I held on to and looked on for hours. 

It probably had some color on it, 

some artists impression from the far east. 

Some imprints probably, a shiny varnish maybe,

 But all I looked at, was the dust inside it. 

Grey, white or brown probably,

 Resembling so much the dirt on the streets 

or maybe the stuff masons worked with 

or perhaps the dirt kids brought home from play 

maybe the remnants from a sandbox

 or the dusting off an ash tray 

I looked on and wondered if I could tell 

Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong....

I looked on the shelf lined with urns 

Standing grim and silent with no answers to give 

All looked the same but with a label on it 

And I wondered if the dust looked the same in them 

Probably the stuff you swept off floors 

Or the dirt from a dry summer storm

The memoirs of a camping fire

 Or shavings from a sculptors desk 

I wondered if I could tell 

Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong

In my heart somehow I knew the truth

 My fingers felt the writing through 

A label with a familiar name 

They probably had told this to me and was I supposed to believe? 

This dust aint my brother I know 

This isn’t the end of life somehow 

Somehow years and years of life 

Memories, voices, deeds and might

 Laughter, people, friendship and strife.. 

Its all dust you say and I wouldn’t believe... 

So I looked on and wondered if I could tell

 Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong.

Tears probably or maybe not 

I tried harder but couldn’t fight the blur 

This ‘dust’ is the truth of human life? 

Of all the years of togetherness 

Of the sibling love, fights and friendship 

Of games we played and laughter shared

You tell me this is all I’ve left... I wouldn’t believe! 

No way .. So I looked on and wondered if I could tell 

Or place the dirt somewhere it may belong.

SEASONS OF CHANGE Part 9

How much of the past do we actually remember? How many people have been forgotten and faded?
Do we remember the happier memories? Some to be cherished and some maybe eclipsed by an event which hurt us?  Or maybe there comes a time in life when you are to busy to be dwelling in memories.

So thats how it was. I was working to fend for my family, or whatever was left of it. A mother who wouldn't remember us and a young sister who never spoke of dreams or needs, since we were so busy in keeping alive. Conversations had turned into budget maintenance, the cost of medicines, the rota of being at home, the planning of daily routine. I no longer knew what went on with Payal or Arjun or anyone for that matter. None complained..sometimes you are too busy to address emotions...or maybe you're too scared to face them!

My work involved travel, loads of it at times. It wasn't taking me any closer to my dream of being a writer some day nor did it make me a better journalist. I ran behind money, grabbed every opportunity that came my way. Payal handled evening tuitions for the neighbours kids, Arjun  would watch Maa when she was away. I would go to work early in the morning and wouldn't come home till late. I didn't get any more interviews to do, but there was lots of running around, scripts to be written, meetings to be done or even arranging snacks and lunch for superiors and getting it to them on time. Literally anything that may or may not contribute monetarily, but sometimes maybe stop me from thinking.

I remember when in college, Baba used to tell us that the body has its own stop clock, it can slow you down when you need to rest. In the frenzy of life we lived in, rest came just in the form of the few hours of sleep I grabbed everyday. Something was supposed to slow me down too...

I was on an assignment in Madurai for a week covering a conference and had just checked into the guest house. Those were the days without internet or mobile phones . A fear of losses got me into the habit of calling my sister whenever I went out of town for long. So it had been raining all afternoon but I decided to walk out anyway to the nearest STD booth.

It was almost dusk when I was walking home. I guess it was considered unnatural for a woman to be walking on her own in smaller towns as I did stir a few heads. Rain had started to fall again and I held on to my umbrella. I had been having a minor headache all day which I had promptly ignored. I was probably a bit dizzy..my steps swaying and getting slower. It was still a good ten minute walk to the guest house. I noticed an empty bench in a deserted bus stop few feet away and thought I should sit down a while. I walked towards it...I don't remember reaching it. I probably heard someone calling my name....

Musings

Because I never have been happier
Because life's finally making sense
Because things were never simpler

They say its effortless to live a perfect life. And with all fear of jinxes, we would't wanna say its perfect. I say its more about making the right choices, trusting your instincts and that pinch of faith one needs...that the everyday efforts to make things work seem invisible. Of course, its the people around you who matter most.

You push out negative energies and build in on what you believe is best. You bury the past for good and hold hands with the present to build a better future. You give your heart, mind, soul and everything you have to your belief and duty. You fuel your work with passion..not because you want it done, but because you believe in it, you're immersed in it, you are in love with it.

When efforts are to work towards a goal and not actions of envy. When you've learnt to respect and learn from your worst competitors. When you open your mind up, to learn, to bow and accept your mistakes and repair them.

When you're in love with life, with your work, with people around you, with someone special ..its human to act crazy! Normal is boring...aint it. (Note :For all my fellow scientists..we are licensed to be crazy).

Excerpts from a diary entry not so long ago

What makes it so hard to face rejection - because its a failure? because you wanted it so much? or simply because you live in denial?

How difficult is to face a ghost from the past? And maybe done over a million times in life, you still feel terrible, moments before the encounter. It shocking at times at the amount of courage you posess which lets you keep your balance- something to be really proud of if you can. I guess because you have the strength- life lets you face the dark. Embarassments, pain..one has it all. And even though you've begged a million times for it to stop..in the back of your mind you know it wouldn't - thats life, aint it?

Regardless whenever rejection is sowed in, the plant of success grows much later. And till it surfaces and you have it - its hard to face the grave of the lost.

In a lifetime, we are entitled to many such days and sometimes we do think what we did to deserve this. Acceptance yes..but a hope resides that one day things will change and that one day we face the ghosts of the past with dignity- maybe show them a finger! It has happened, isn't it? and we hope it happens again. Into that day, we know, what keeps us going is hope and a little faith in the one watching us from up above!

Rain!

I hear the bells toll far away,

lulled only by the sound of the rain.

As the breeze gives the branches a sway,

I sit drenched counting the raindrops.

Its not everyday that it rains this hard,

it feels this summer is different somehow.

Its unique and beautiful, so says the bard,
the monsoon washes your sorrow.

A Moment...

In the distance between life and death

in a moment called my life.......

I see this dusk and I see no more

Where the slanting rays of the sun sketch your portrait out for me.

I feel this wind and I feel no more

where the soothing bursts of breeze

brings your fragrance close to me
I hear your words and I hear no more

when you say love me.

I feel your warmth and I feel no more

of the time when you held me.

In this distance between life and death

in a moment called my life

I know no one just you my heart

I know no breath, no touch, no sound

I know no love than yours my soul.
And I live this moment forever.....

Immersion

And its a breezy night again..when the winds spoke to me..
told me stories of the enchanted..sang a lullaby to me..
The still waters have ripples on them today..
on them the moon light dances its way..
the leaves of fall rustle to break the silence..
and the ripples break on the shore..sharing their guilt in the offense..

I dip my feet in water...feeling the autumn grip me..
the ripples turn to waves..and judge the intruder in me..
I walk into the depths as the water welcomes me..
the breeze blows the hair off my face...reminds me this is maybe..not to be..
I defy directions..I defy words..I defy my breath..as the water touches my face...

In the distance...a lone bagpiper plays
a music just so alien..defying the rules of the night..
I open my eyes one last time...and watch the as the moon shines on me..
the words of the deep sound closer..as the wind plays the ripples..
And as I sleep the water embraces me...into the deep as I return to eternity...

Seasons of Change PART 8

Keith Hubbard, was born of English parents in suburban Miami, in the United States. He grew up as the eldest of 3 children who were educated in Florida and then Boston before moving on to attend medical school to become doctors like their parents were. To Keith, setting up his private practice in Manhattan was all he dreamt of and achieved till one Saturday night when he met his old schoolmate Stephen Roswell in a NYC pub. Stephen worked with a group called the ICare foundation which was traveling to India to extend their helping hands. Suddenly inspired Keith decided to take the trip and as he would put it ‘discovered himself’ in India. When he flew back to New York, he had donated a huge part of his savings to the orphanages he visited in India. The same year he established the ‘Edgar Hubbard Trust’ in the memory of his late father which tied up with ICare to extend financial and medical help to these institutions.

Keith managed to attract a huge number of philanthropists and other people who pooled in money to keep the trust running, which initially included his patient’s parents. Keith Hubbard MD, PhD was a pediatrician. In a few years time The Edgar Hubbard trust along with Icare extended its branches from India to other impoverished regions in the Asian Subcontinent giving life to orphaned and underprivileged children. Keith himself flew down once every year to follow up the working of the institutes. It is probably the company of children and the joy he shared by helping them, is what kept him forever young and energetic in his priming thirties, and this is what which helped him recover from losing his fiancé Marian to cancer some years ago.

Given all the qualities of the man, still, neither could I get over the ‘Mad Man’ tag I gave him from our first meeting, nor could I improve upon it in any of our subsequent meetings. Some people are remarkably molded in the first impression you have of them!

Seasons of Change PART 7

Such were the times when I met Keith Hubbard. Keith was a voluntary worker with a US based charitable group which supported various orphanages around the country. The foundation had requested our channel for coverage for a program they were sponsoring. Strangely, if I call it the ways of fate, the office suddenly wanted me to cover the story. From being a plain news reader I was now playing journalist, and that made me even more awkward and nervous. We had a staff shortage, and I was referred for the job since I had some experience close to it.

When the office manager called me to offer this job I had plainly said yes without many enquiries, just because it would mean a pay hike. But then as I waited in the lobby of the group’s office I felt my feet go numb. It was a warm afternoon in mid January and I could see Madras live the day through the glass window in the room. On the other side of the road sat a strange looking man with a parrot and some cards. Trying to read the future! I wondered with the progress in age how many people still believed the roadside astrologer. But somehow the man wasn’t without customers.

I was losing my nervousness to thoughts when a young girl entered the lobby and walked towards me. “Ms.Aruna, we are so sorry to have kept you waiting. Dr.Hubbard had hurried off for some urgent work and has just arrived. Please come along with me.” I mumbled something incomprehensible that fortunately was unheard, and I silently followed her.

I was seated in a fairly comfortable room which had few cosy chairs and a computer flashed its screensaver from across the table in a far corner. The walls were adored with crayon sketched artwork by children of the orphanages the group worked for, and an old air conditioner attempted to cool the room that afternoon. Regardless of the temperature, I could feel my palms sweating.

“Dr.Hubbard would be here any moment”, said the girl and left the room closing the door behind her. I tried to divert my mind by observing the artwork hung around, and when it didn’t seem to work I closed my eyes and tried hard to concentrate. A good job at this might be a good career move. After all I wanted to make a good mark in media and moreover I needed the money. Maa’s medicines had to be looked after and I wished to reduce the load on Payal where she shuttled between a part time job,studies and taking care of the house. I didn’t realize how long I stayed this way, but when I opened my eyes a brown haired and grey eyed white man was looking at me quite intently sitting on a chair placed in front of me. I stood up startled unsure of what to say. The man stood up and flashed a big smile, “Keith Hubbard… I think I scared you!”

For some moments I was frozen and stood still, when suddenly the man started laughing. For an instant I thought he was insane, and the puzzled expression on my face made him laugh harder. After sometime he controlled himself and beckoned me to my chair, “I am sorry young lady, let’s get the story done!” He pulled out some loose sheets from a file and handed them over to me.

“Here are the details of the program we wanted you to cover. I have made sure I included all details. I hope this helps.”

I don’t remember how the interview went or the program details now. The camera team had arrived soon after and we managed to record the interview wholly minus any other maniacal laughter outbursts from Dr.Hubbard. But when I got up to leave the room Keith had an important question for me, “Ms. Aruna when was the last time you ever laughed?”

For some reason, I found the question weird and simply said, “Our office would let you know when we air the interview” and left in a hurry. When I left his office I had puzzled thoughts troubling my mind. It sure did have a lot of effect on me as I suddenly walked up to the fortune teller on the road side to make an attempt to know my future. The parrot picked up a colored card from the set the fortune teller spread ahead of him. It was a picture card depicting a hindu god. “You have troubles in life and today is not the end of it. But you have the strength to move on. A drastic change is awaited in your life, you will meet someone very important today.”

As I walked into my team’s van to get back to office, I was thinking, “Someone important…Keith Hubbard??.....bah…the madman affected my brains! Why did I even walk to the fortune teller…and why the hell am I pondering over his predictions!”

The Walk I Remember

Pain talks to me through the night,
and keeps me awake when my body cries for rest.
Time sets me riddles while emotions test their might,
to ask my dead heart if it still beats in my chest.

Its all so strange when they say u r strong,
or mistake your strength for apathy.
I am still finding the place where I belong,
when destiny has no space for sympathy.

I walk ahead coz I know not how to stop,
I walk the road I know not where it leads.
In the journey of finding love and life,
I walk on as my body bleeds.

No memories help me heal anymore,
No happiness can make me dream like before.
Its this moment which shall linger in my mind,
I remember this walk, not the one before.
Its etched in my destiny now I know,
that immunity to pain comes when ur hurt the most.

And all the people who come and go,
are plain memories now washed ashore.
They are shells I pick up and lay to rest,
they are dead, like my heart, they said!

Seasons of Change Part 6

There comes a time when a single incident changes everything in life. Anand’s departure from our lives had shrouded my family with gloom, something which never changed ever in my living memory. The silence which had lulled over the dead remains of my dear brother had now carried on in our lives…Maa never spoke to us again. We heard her voice sometimes, in those moments in her sleep when she kept talking to the abstract son who was now no more. Her voice never spoke to us, it was lost in transition between the ladders of life and death…a place where it had lost itself searching for her first born child. Many a times I dreamt of Maa scathing an alien land calling out for her son…a nightmare which reflected my helplessness in pulling my mother out of the sea of sorrow that she had immersed herself in. When doctors, quacks, saints , advice, prayers and all that we ever tried didn’t work, we began accepting the fact that Maa’s mourning may never be over. She dwelled in an abstract world, completely ignorant of the passing time with memories of her lost son.

Baba continued working for sometime, and slowly his days were spent outside the home than with any of us. In grief of his dead son and ailing wife seemed to be taking a toll on him. Life went on for me and Payal, as we struggled to keep the house running. Her part time job at a school and my meager salary of a news reader supported our lives when Baba’s income stopped aiding us. Silence now inhabited the house which was once teaming with life and happiness. We never knew what happened to Baba when suddenly he came home and announced he quit his job. A week later someone from his college came with a cheque saying it was our fathers savings when he quit work. We tried talking to the man who was once our dear father but never received any proper answer. He would leave the house at dawn and would return late at night, sometimes gone for days together. No one knew where he went or where he returned from. In a single turn of time we had almost lost both our parents along with our brother.

In our times of grief Arjun became our biggest support. They say in life when you have lost everything there will always be a true friend to stand by you, he was that strength in my life. He lent his personal as well as financial support without asking. Many a times he stayed up nights with the police or searching the streets of Madras when Baba went missing for days. Orphaned at childhood, he seemed to understand the pain we went through now. He filled the gap which Baba’s anonymity and Anands absence made in our lives.

I never asked Payal where she was the night Anand left us. I never questioned Arjun how he found her. Somehow with the responsibilities doubling on with time, the question lost its significance. It was a relief to see everyone home somehow alive after a day back from work.

In days that progressed, pain kept dragging on and nothing in life seemed to change. Relatives and friends pleaded with Baba to return to normalcy for the sake of two young unwed daughters at home. Nevertheless, me and Payal had realized long back that it wouldn’t work. In our prayers, a complaint was silently registered wherein our parents had walked away from us, and lulled away with the memory of duties.

Then one rainy evening that year, Baba went out of the house with his umbrella, never to return. We searched for days and weeks, and then our father was found only in the police records of missing people. I still wonder where he went, a frail hope beating somewhere within that a day would come when he would return to us as our old Baba who doted on his children. However in depths of my heart, an empty feeling told me that life was to move on beyond, much beyond this pain. I had my ailing mother, little sister and a search for my father to aid. My weakness would mean the end for my family.

SEASONS OF CHANGE - 5

That moment of silence still lingers as a part of my life. That moment and beyond, everything changed. It is a nightmare still etched in the depths of my memory, for I followed every second and every step...stunned and noiseless when my mother lifted the white covers of what came in the vehicle. I was a silent spectator to my father’s wails of agony over his dead son’s body which he got home. My mother however remained silent and expressionless, staring numb at the mortal remains of her beloved son.

A variety of people gathered at the scene…faces known and unknown came to steal glances at the visions of the maimed family. Then came policemen and other people…they told us Anand fell off the train. The details didn’t matter anymore, my brother, my parents son was gone…never to return again or let the family celebrate his homecoming. I looked at the stiff and pale body which had once been my brother. He wasn’t his Maa’s beautiful boy anymore with cuts and stitches sewn across his face. He used to be scared of the hospital as a child…phobic to needles. I stared blankly at the maimed body…this had once been our Anand. Tears blurred my vision and I moved off the scene.

For what it seemed like hours I could still hear the cries of Baba as I sat numbly on the doorstep, my back turned against them, unable to face the reality. There still wasn’t the slightest noise from Maa and I feared turning back and looking at her. I wanted to hear nothing, see nothing, nothing at all…everything seemed so frightening and I doubted my strengths.

A light hand touched my shoulder, but I was stiff, unable or maybe unwilling to respond. A familiar voice spoke, “Di, are you Ok?

It was a realization that I had forgotten about Payal not being there and a sudden pang of guilt cast a knot in my stomach. She was there standing beside me looking at with eyes of concern, eyes now puffed red and tear filled. I stared back, unable to react. She knew the moment and threw her arms about me as we hugged in a silent expression of grief.

Seasons of Change 4

I peeped through the window overlooking the road… there was no sign of Payal or Dad. I broomed the pieces of shattered glass into the bin. The time was nearing 7 in the grandfather clock. I looked through the window again… still no one. Ma was still sleeping in her room. Somehow the look of blankness on the dusty road and the silence of the moment gave me an eerie feeling. Before the clock struck seven, I put on my slippers and tiptoed out of the house.

Venky uncle’s shop had a telephone booth. It was just across the road. Uncle was sitting on the steps, enjoying the little bit of relief the evening wind provided from the summer heat. He could read the look of worry on my face.

“What is it Aruna Ma, you look so tensed?”

“Nothing much Uncle, actually, Payal and Baba haven’t come home yet. I needed to make few calls .Our telephone is not working”

He understood the urgency of my voice and led me to the old black telephone without further questioning. I picked it up to dial Baba’s number. The phone rang. No reply. I tried again. Still no reply. Maybe Baba had left the office. Maybe he is on his way. But…

I took a deep breath. Everything is going to be all right…I assured myself. I turned around to have a look at the road… No signs of Baba or Payal. Old Venky Uncle stood behind me wearing a questioning look on his face. “Baba left the office...I suppose”.

He gave a difficult smile and sat down on his chair in the shop. Now it was difficult to contact Payal. Though I had the Institute’s number she worked at, the phone usually was never received or stayed out of order. I decided to give it a try. I dialed the number and the phone rang. Someone picked up the call…and click…the line went dead.

My fingers went numb. Tension gripped me. I dialed the number again, ‘the number which you have called is busy, kindly try again after sometime’..and the melancholy voice went on repeating it in three languages. I tried again…and then again..still the same answer.

The wind outside was getting cooler, but somehow it made feel worse than good. Venky Uncle rose from his chair. “Aruna, I guess they are on their way. Don’t worry so much Ma”.

I could only nod my head. It was unusual for Payal to stay out this late, she was usually punctual. I decided to call my classmate Arjun. Arjun stayed a few houses away from institution where Payal worked. I dialed Arjun’s number. When he picked up the call I went on with my story without listening or making sense:

“Hey Arjun, Payal… home...late…can u…what will ..oh god…baba also not !”

“Shhh..Aruna…relax. Breathe. Whats wrong”. I controlled my tears and took a deep breath. I narrated him my worry. “that’s all naa, don’t worry. I’ll check out and bring her along if I find her on the way. And you get back home and stay with your mother. I shall check out on Uncle too. And for God’s sake Aruna…Relax. Everything will be fine.”

I wiped my tears and placed the receiver down. Venky Uncle offered me a glass of water and escorted me home. The time was seven thirty, Ma was awake... “Arunaa, where had you been. I was so scared. Where is your Baba…where is Payal..” Her voice was subdued in the noise of a vehicle which just arrived. Everything went silent…..

Seasons of Change 3

First rains will have three of us dance on our terrace, paying no heed to Maa’s scoldings. Later on she would join us in the celebration, enjoying the rains than worrying about the repercussions. Days changed to months changed years. After school, Anand, the oldest of us three left home to study in Trichy. He was the brightest in his batch and Baba Maa were beaming with pride when he got through a top college to finish engineering. I took up English Honors in a local Madras college.

Those were amazing days, I would walk to the local train station early at six thirty and get down at the station closest to college and walk to my classes again. My friends Madhu and Arjun would give me company. Days changed to months changed to years and things were getting better. I was considering a course in Mass Communications, loved doing radio and T.V. shows for my college. Anand got a job in a top firm. Payal took up part time studies and took up a job in a school for mentally challenged kids. That was her dedication to the social work and none of us had any objections on her at times tiring herself out doing her self accepted duty.

Somehow life was about to change and none of us were aware of the fact. I would never forget that summer when everything changed...forever.

Maa wasn’t very well that evening. Both Baba and Payal hadn’t returned for work. Lot of work needed to be done. Anand was completing his degree and returning home the next morning. Maa and Baba had organized a puja on his homecoming to thank the gods for the good luck their son got home. I was home, exams done, now I was preparing for job interviews. The telephone line was dead. Maa was getting jittery and kept pacing the house. She asked

“Aruna, why isn’t your father back as yet. Payal should also have been home by now. They are delaying stuff. I need to arrange everything for the Puja tomorrow. Its dark already, can.t send you to fetch stuff and my headache wont spare me.”

I could sense worry in her tone. I looked at the grandfather clock I the drawing room. It was plain six thirty, not that late. Baba and Payal were usually back by this time but they did strech limits due to work. Somehow the issue was different.

“Maa, it isn’t that late. Why are you so worried? They would be on their way back. Why don’t you lie down, you are already unwell.”

“Its not that dear, I don’t have a good feeling about today. Anxiety is filling my mind. If they are back soon I’d be relieved. Did Anand call? Has he boarded the train or bus already?”

“No, Maa. He hasn’t , the phone is not working. He would have called Baba’s office. Don’t worry Maa, get some rest. I am sure things are fine.”

Maa kept complaining but somehow I managed to get her to bed. I walked her to her room. A light summer loo was filling the house creating a slight unrest due to the heat. Maa lied down on her bed and held my hand, “ I don’t have a very good feeling Aruna”.

“Don’t worry Maa, you are unnecessarily tensing yourself!”

It was weird to see Maa so anxious and it was beginning to race my nerves too. I checked on the grandfather clock, it was nearing seven in the evening. A gust of wind allowed my dressing mirror to fall of the table and the glass shattered. Now I wasn’t superstitious in general, but the glass shattering did somehow made me feel weird. I dint want Maa to get up and worry about this now. I ran to check her room, she was sleeping peacefully. I picked up the telephone receiver, it was still dead.

Seasons of Change 2

It was foolish of me to depend on the rain, I had to realize...nothing was to help, nothing at all. I had to move on this moment all on my own. But then suddenly, this moment was all I had. Life

seemed to begin and end here…in this one moment.

Things had been so different eight years ago. These first rains…I had been in love with them. I lived in the outskirts of Madras, not one of the places where rains were usual. The first showers of the year were welcomed with gaiety and immense celebration. I remember people coming out of their homes, on the roads on the terrace welcoming the cooling droplets of water which quenched thirsty earth and air. The monsoons came here in late October, the retreating monsoons. By that time of the year most of the other parts of the country start winters. Madras enjoyed its uniqueness in the untimely monsoons.

Ours was one of the few north Indian families inhabiting the sleepy little colony at Murali Nagar. With time and the bonding with the place, the general discrepancy of being from the north was lost. We were more used to the Rasam Satham diet than our native dal chawal. Baba along with his parents had moved in here when he was six years of age. Grandpa’s north Indian eatery, ‘Delhi Dhaba’ worked well to fuel the family to grow three well educated sons and two daughters. When he died, his sons sold the eatery and went back to serve more intellectual institutions.

Baba was the professor in an Engineering College in Madras and met my mother in one of his official visits to Lucknow. They were married after a year of courtship and set up their family in Grandpa’s old home in Murali Nagar. That is where me, my brother Anand and sister Payal were born and raised. We grew up in the blended traditions of north and the south. Payal and me would set up Golu dolls at Vijaya- dhashami and flaunt Pattu Pavadais during Pongal and other festivals. All three of us spoke fluent Tamil and found our identity more on the narrow streets of Murali nagar than visting Maa’s parents in Lucknow.

Seasons of Change 1

A gentle cold wind blew the hair off my face. The scent of wet mud in the air indicated that there had been rains somewhere close. I looked up and saw the gathering of the black clouds and filled my lungs with the rain scented air. I spread my arms wide..eyes closed I wished I could fly. I wished i could scream my heart out, I wish i could shout out what held my mind. all that escaped was a gasp...I sat down on my knees, unable to walk any further. Tears escaped my eyes blurring my vision..the thunder in the sky shrouded my gasps. As the rain fell..in drops and then in showers..I wished everything would wash away. The pain, the agony, the memories....

Timeless...

I remember this scene from Notting Hill...where Hugh Grant takes Julia to the park at night. Theres the park bench she sits on, "For Jane who loved this park..from John who always sat beside her". All she could say is,"its actually amazing that people fall in love and spend all their lives together". Am not sure of the actual dialogues or names in the movie, Notting Hill is something I watched ages ago. But yeah, these were the export of words. They keep on playing on my mind at times when I do question the continuity of relationships. Love..a major paradox. A riddle which I maybe will never be able to solve. I have known people spend all their lives together, I have known people change and grow in love. At the same time I have seen love turn into a bitter hatred, and the couple who were once inseperable, part ways and turn strangers. I have seen love make and destroy individuals.

Its divine to see that happiness on peoples faces..the happiness which comes from an age of love and togetherness, from security and stability..isnt it? Its weird..a simple emotion can mean so much in life..whats more is that it makes a lot of difference..to have someone you can spend your life with.

Survival -The Concluding Part

I felt the ground slip away from beneath my feet. Somehow I felt diminished and ashamed of myself....her courage left me feeling disgusted with my pessimism. I remembered my parents, Ma and Baba invested their lives educating me and giving me a good life. Baba wouldnt let me down, never let me feel I was any different from a son. In a village where daughters were brought up just to be married off..Baba and Ma had laboured to set me off to a posh residential school in the city for a good education. Every small success, be it good grades or a pat on the back from a teacher would set them elated. Tears filled my eyes when I remembered Baba's last words to me, "I am always so proud of you daughter, you never let us down."

Today I realized my folly, I felt I had let Baba down. I had given up on life, forgotten my parents in years after their demise, I had forgotten how much they would have wanted me to live and live happy had they been alive. My marriage was a mistake, my health was my weakness. In the courage of this old lady, I felt my mistake had been living on with the guilt of a previous mistake and my weakness was giving up on life. Tears welled up my eyes at the wake of memories.

I felt a arm on my shoulder,"Beti..you alright?". I turned around and hugged Dadi...and I couldnt stopped sobbing. I cried like a baby, may be for hours. Dadi kept asking," Kya hua beti..what happened". And I wouldnt answer, I cried and fell asleep in her lap. I had found strength in an unknown source.I had rediscoverd life in the most unexpected place on earth. This rainy night had changed the course of events.

The next morning I had made my mind. The rain had stopped...and the scent of wet mud had filled the air. I looked out of the window...I saw children playing in puddles of water. Some of them at the gate, eyeing the fruit laden trees in the farm. One of them picked up a pebble and 'Thak', aimed at a guava on a tree. I saw dadi run out, "you little rascals, keep your eyes off my farm", she held her walking stick in her hand raised in action. I saw the kids run away in fright..and I couldnt stop laughing. I laughed my heart out. i felt happiness return to me after ages.

That afternoon when i was leaving, I caught a glimpse of the neem tree which was dadis memory of Munna. I could imagine a young kid playing with his mother in the shade. The imagination was refreshing. Somehow I knew why Dadi lived on with her memories by the shade of this tree. I had made my decisions today.

I bade my farewell. I had found life again. As I sat in the car, I told my driver, "Turn the car around, we are going to the city. Doctor Sahab ke ghar chalo..lets go to my doctors home."

I wanted to get treated. I wanted to give life a chance. I looked at Dadi as my car moved on the road to life, "Life is beautiful..Thats something I realised today!"