Amphibian - The Frog

What the evolution of a frog from a tadpole teaches us lesser mortals are three things ,importantly

• ·         Adaptability – Ability to transform and harness the environment to its full advantage and saddle two world with great ease and enrich ones own experience. 
• ·         Priority - Shedding baggage that restricts growth and prohibits the freedom of choice . Were it not to shed its tail , perhaps the tadpole would grow never ever to be an amphibian but be a slow creature within a small water body , highly restricted and endangered . Life is precious and must be blessed with choices.
• ·         Faith – Once it has adapted and shed its excess baggage , that which it considers worthy of discard , the frog teaches us  that in its pursuit of total  freedom , it is proper for us to discard or disassociate from all that hampers our growth . A very tough and mean call , one may say , but this is not only  a survival of the fittest story  but also allows us to unleash our true potential . Remember , a frog can jump over twenty times its own size . There lies the secret of joy and happiness . Only when one is able to take that quantum leap of faith does a man discover his true potential .

You will see examples around that illustrates this phenomenon and how people have gone beyond their limitation only because they believed that it is possible . 

The discipline and rigour is what makes man scale the highest peak . Every belief system works in two ways . We can and We cannot . The one who discards the tail  like the tadpole ,is oft set out to sail and conquer the mighty waves . 

Every height offers you a view that emboldens you and urges you to look beyond . Watch the Tadpoles but grow most certainly like a Frog. Have faith and reach out for the Quantum Leap . Go kiss the Universe !

Manasi - The Albatross

Manasi - The Albatross

Manasi would be ten years old this July and look at the way time has passed by . It would appear as if it was just the other day . Time ceaselessly has tried to erase those memories away but Manasi always came back to be amongst us ,it would be proper to say , be with me.

Manasi , my child was never born . She always remained an enigma , personified in the goodness of being and forever lost in the innocence of guilt . How do you then picture such a child  or imagine her growing up years ?

It was so easy for me , cause every time someone would tell me that a new born girl child was born , my first reaction would be “ what have you decided to name her” . Yes  I must confess , every child in these following years have been baptised by me as Manasi.  The proud parents would all go out and name their child anything but  Manasi .

This could be the reason why Manasi never had friends except me . Over the past few years somewhere in my deepest recess , I have allowed the child in me to manifest from time to time. This was to ensure that my Manasi was not alone and had company . Just the other day I was playing with my friends grandchild . The boy child is named Aza Blake . I quite liked his name , it had a certain aura and appeal .

That night I sat down to write and posted my thought on the Facebook  and signed it as Aza Blake . A dear  friend  quite liked those lines and enquired if Aza Blake was related to William Blake . I simply smiled and wrote back …keep guessing !  I know Manasi would have approved of this prank , yes she is the one who keeps me occupied .

Wonder what kind of a relationship would this be . At times there is a long  silence  and we do not enquire as often as we should . But Manasi has a way  playing with time . That is her only malleable toy with which she can do what she wants to , except of course sing along with me.

Last nite I played and sang along this wonderful song called Kilkelly Ireland , a very poignant tale of an old man from Ireland whose children had migrated to the US and England way back in 1860. The letters written by this old man to his children were found later and form the backdrop to this beautiful song .

As I ended this song I realised that the old man could well have been me. For I know , Manasi would always be a part of my growing and will stay closed to me notwithstanding  that life has been forever autumn .

The seasons will change and like the Albatross, Manasi will bear the good tidings. Saw all of us grow, but my darling little one, so very silently remained just a name of a loving child that was never born! Or shall I say yet to be born !

Gas Balloons - Flight of Innocence

  Balloons …. Gas balloons!!                     

It doesn’t seem very long, or was it? Sometimes around the festive season, pandals for the Durga Puja were getting decorated. A festive air was all around and I could feel the joy and excitement. New clothes , new shoes and yes new books – so normal for all the growing up years that I was accustomed to .

This year was going to be unusual.

Pa had got transferred to Delhi and was expected to take us after my annual exams. Nothing till then had worked for Pa.  It was always a hand to mouth situation. I knew that this year too, there was to be no celebrations -have till date never ever understood this denial.  We would visit the Puja Pandals like before and come back feeling miserable.  I was not to be satisfied with any excuse this year – for I wanted 25 paise to buy Gas Balloons. After all an 11 year old deserves this much. My tears and tantrums had no effect on Amma , all I could hear was that she had no money – period!

My new Uniform and pair of shoes were already purchased – so how can anyone have any money left for balloons. You must remember, the argumentative Indian was still in the making. I put on my new uniform and shining shoes and accompanied Mrs Ekka and family, disgruntled, kicking stones and dust on that dimly lit road. I was angry and lost in my own pain. And all of a sudden, I see a shining object about to be kicked. I stop and guess what I noticed …a small purse with a clip like opening. Yes that was the shining part that drew my attention.

In it was a small paper, didn’t care what was scribbled on it, but saw a tidy sum and some change inside. This was the gift of God, I could buy all the balloons today and tomorrow and forever. But I stopped, after all I must thank the Lord for all his kindness as was taught to me in school and Moral Science was a subject I was very good at.  I turned around and started running back for I had to reach the nearby temple and decided to offer some sweets and also place a small amount at the altar. 

That day, My Lord was smiling and my faith in him truly shining.

I took the race back home to share this wonderful discovery and my leap of faith. My mother was upset, snatched the purse and took out the contents. Asked me how much I had spent  , told her that I gave a rupee and bought sweets for 25 paisa and left the balance at the alter . She was still angry and on closer examining, realised that the purse could well belonged to someone whom Mrs Ekka may know. Yes it belonged to her friend, a teacher from downtown school. My mother narrated this to her and apologised at what I had done, promised to cover up what I had spent and returned home to give me a mouthful. I was told that there were rupees 5 and nineteen paise inside the purse. Imagine one could buy all the balloons and more …..

 Not again and why me ?? Wondered why the Lord was unkind to me.

Seasons changed, and many winters later on turning 50 and grey, at the stroke of midnight, I was woken up by a group of friends. They had all come to wish me Happy Birthday with 50 Red Gas Balloons. Ginger my Pug was so excited; he had never seen anything like this before. 

I did not sleep that night and just kept watching the red balloons clinging to the ceiling with Ginger by my side.

To this day I follow the Gas balloons in gay abundance as they rise above, for I know that in their flight , I see myself reach out. The child in me still skips and yearns for more … when I see the gas balloons!

 Muthassi – A Tale of Two Souls

There is a bridge , not too far from here where on either side lives Yin and Yang. The souls of many have crisscrossed both  sides but finally at close of day all return to their respective dwellings.  On one such day two souls depart , both from  either faith . They were taken to a neutral resting place and to be cremated.

 Let us address the first as Yin who is a 90 year old grandmother. The second is Yang age not known, and all that we know, the body is that of a destitute Aids Patient . It was under the care of a charitable organization who had come forward to bear the cost of  cremation .

Yin was taken in an ambulance with her son carrying the ambers in an earthen pot to the crematorium. A small group of no more than nine members consisting of friends and families reach the crematorium. I would have thought that this was rather a small gathering.

A ninety year old very beautiful yet lonely soul could attract no more than nine members on her last journey ? It would be proper to note that actually the total number of friends and relatives who gathered on that day and paid condolence over the next three days could well have been less than ninety people.

It was a journey very  lonely indeed and in  such subdued silence ,  that it was really deafening. The only cacophony was the sound of the scriptures being recited by the Priest and the do’s and don’ts being rattled off by the chamber man.  

 The crowd all appeared as walking ghosts , void of any feelings and some even  looking into the inner chamber where the body was to be cremated . There was an old Grandpa gazing up the chimney pathway explaining to his young grandson how the journey ends here and may appear to indicate that this was truly the stairway to heaven.

  The priest asks the son to repeat the sacred lines, none understood the same and as customary the chamber man kept busy with the arrangements inside. In a remote corner the dried up coconut fibre was burning silently and set to be spread on the pyre soon.

 All this while , on a cold granite block the aged body that withstood ninety years of ravage was lying lonely,  as when it was alive . Nothing perhaps had changed for her nor will.  The son was all but lost in translation finding the meanings of the sacred lines that would ensure his mother’s soul would be at peace from now on. He was so lost and so much in pain and all alone. He had lost his alter ego!

Alongside a little later another body arrived; let us address this new person as Yang. There were two ladies and the ambulance driver who without a fuss place the body on the pyre and awaits the chamber man to do his job.

No prayers, no rituals, no families nor friends and I could sense the emptiness deep within me.

Reminded me of Jesus Christ who had two companions Dismas and Gestas on the cross, both convicts; Dismas the good thief was spared and Gestas the bad thief went punished . Understand that Dismas was promised Paradise while Gestas surely would have gone to hell.  

I am no one to judge but the image of the Yin and Yang kept playing in my mind. I knew Yin for her poise and she was grace personified. She was Dismas the good thief who took away with her all that was beautiful reminding us that nothing was everlasting ! I dare call her a thief for she had this mischievous smile when I had asked her last to sing that favourite song of yesteryears.  She simply held my hand and closed her eyes on me for good,  cause barely nineteen hours later she passed away.

Yin was someone very special and dear to me .  She enjoyed conversing in English, rare as it were for someone who came from a pastoral background. Her fine tastes and love for music is what brought us closer, and she would love to sing whenever asked . Her favourite song of course was the Travancore State song called “Vanjibhoomi ..” that she first sang as a small girl. Loved her black and white pictures  and memories of the Travancore days , specially she was lit up at the mention of her father whom she was very close to .

 They were two souls, Yin and Yang who were cremated but to me I saw on that day in all of us, a weary Jesus Christ returning to carry the cross and living the promise or guilt of another day.

When all was done, the parting lines of the Priest echoed, come tomorrow and carry the ashes and immerse it in the nearby river .

 The chamber man was ever helpful to remind that come early before the day begins, and when questioned would he be there tomorrow, comes a firm and certain reply YES.

He has conquered the fear of death for there was going to be no resurrection ever.

As is customary you do not take leave from those who have lost a dear one, but I could hear someone speak to the son , from a distance “ You have done all and she lived a full life “.

Only after I had returned home did it strike me that Gestas also must have been cremated with none to follow the sequence.

In the passing away of both Yin and Yang one thing that stared at me “   was that both the Yin and Yang are within us. We constantly keep fighting for our eternal rewards and miss this cardinal truth that both Heaven and Hell exits here amongst the living and not some dead body waiting on that cold granite block to be cremated. Heaven is not up the milky way nor hell full many a fathom deep ,  down and under .

In that stillness , I have come to terms with eternity and from this new dawn to another dusk will burn , simply burn , and rage against the wind and tide.