LIZARD AND LISTEN: LOVE-JIHAD TURNS 50

Her name was "Lizard" and he was "Listen". Atleast that is what I thought from ages 3 - 8. He called her "Lizy" and she addressed him as "Listen"

Both were stationed at a field posting in the upper Himalayas and it was there that they met. The brats are on full-scale giggle mode when she gives them glimpses of the 28-29 year old, besotted young one she once was. The young officer had his charm on full volume but she feigned disinterest. She is quite proud of the fact that he along with his dog would climb up the slopes to meet her, every evening - come snow or shine. And she throws me some shade when she tells her grandaughters that he could pick her up with one hand, she was that slim; unlike their mother who is fat. The last time she said it, the younger one told her,"Ammachi, it is about time you stopped body-shaming Mummy". 'Manangatta', she retorted and I ran for cover. No one else gets away with talking to the tigress like that!

Love was him writing poems and shayaris for her, sketching her portrait in pencil, singing to her...she would blush and how! The jihad was just as epic; volcanoes erupted and had me quaking under my bed like dogs on Diwali night.

Turns out her name is Lizy, short for Aleyamma, the Malayalam version of Elizabeth and his name is Devaya. It had me fretting and fuming for quite a while; "How dare he steal a part of my name?!" 27 letter long, my name befitted the royal that was me (all this raged on, only in my 8 year old brain). Ah, the bubbles that life burst and the rose tints it shattered would make a magnificent soap opera. Fun fact, he is popularly known as "Jesus" among family and friends in his hometown. His mother (my gran) was chuffed and beaming when she narrated the story. A French Bishop was visiting Mercara and happened to meet her. On seeing the baby in her arms, he remarked, "What a bonny little one. Just like baby Jesus!" The name stuck... 

Big C, crept in rather insidiously and took him away in Y2K. Tried it's stunt with her in these COVID times but she swatted it away with help in no small measure from her very patient (with her) doctors and some amazing medical technology. She attributes it to her faith, her prayers and His Grace. And brooks no argument. Today marks 50 years to the day, they put their signatures on paper and registered their union under the Special Marriage Act.

If it were not for the lockdown and our co-morbidity, we would have been on the winding roads of the upper Himalayas, trying to get as close to the place they first met. Then to the Golden Temple to listen to the "Shabd-Kirtans" and feed the fish in the pond. "No other place on earth, makes me feel as much at peace", she says. Our last stop would have been Jalandhar, her favourite city. A special celebration of their life together, some roads travelled with him and some her own...

As I passed by her room at dawn, the lamp was lit, the fragrance of the incense stick wafting through... she was as usual hunched in prayer, rosary in hand. Her love for "Jesus", immortal.

HAPPY 50th ANNIVERSARY, LIZARD AND LISTEN...

20 YEARS, 2020 AND THE 3 Cs

You never understood my fear of needles and blood tests. Scrapes, cuts, bandages, blood were the norm for me but that fine point of metal that would break through my skin and would feel "like an ant bite", struck terror and made my mind conjure up nothing short of an apocalypse.
And unlike Mummy who would have thrown me to the wolves and let them deal with me, you just gave me the, "I am disappointed in you" look and took me away from the hospital, mid-tantrum and in a state of "should I-or-should I not believe my luck"! Not a word during that ride to school. "No harm in asking", has always been a motto, so getting off the jeep, I dared to ask for money for an ice-cream. That look in your eyes had me scurrying away before I wet my pants. You have no idea how ashamed I was and how I wished I would get over the fear of that damned fine point!

Your tryst with cancer showed me the true warrior you were. Despite the visits to the hospital, the meds, the injections and the excruciating pain, you were stoic as ever. K.L Saigal, a chance to meet your Boltapode (your faourite niece, Tulsi) and a shoulder massage from me were the only things on your wish-list. I remember the needle that had injected morphine into your system and eased your pain. And your smile. I also remember the needle that put Sammy (that gorgeous Labrador Retriever, abandoned and hit by a car, left for dead, that you rescued) to sleep a week before you joined him.

Chronic Kidney Disease brought with it two years of dialysis and two needles that broke through and stayed put in the AV for four hours, three times a week. I hope you were watching over me and gave me a kinder look. I managed to get over my fear of the needle; never mind the fuss I made and the topical anaesthetic I applied! Grateful to the disease for helping me overcome this fear. Made me quite the warrior woman putting out my hand for the jabs that draw many ounces of blood, my veins for drips and injections...As a bonus I have a kidney with a PhD (My donor has a Doctorate). So there.
You would have been 80 in the time of Covid and we would have been at war, struggling to make you stay at home during this lockdown. But you would have walked the dogs and a ceasefire would have been brought about by the bratpack. Just so you know, the Rat is quite a natural in the firing range. And is quite proud to know that she gets it from you.
You are always with us, my old man, my animal whisperer... Stay safe and remain in the light always.

Hataash (Despair)

हताश हम तभी हुए 
जब गणित ने हमारे साथ 
लुक्का-चुप्पी खेली 
समाज हमें कभी हताश 
ना कर पाई
बस बर्दाश्त की सीमा 
पार करते गए  
बेशर्मी में भी है दम 
राह चलते ज़िन्दगी ने सिखाया 
दीवानगी और जुनून से 
इश्क़ कर डाला 

आपकी शायरी का क्या कहना
लव्ज़ों की बौछार  
हमें प्रेरित करने की महज़ 
एक नाकाम कोशिश 
इस कान से सुने 
और  उस कान से निकाला हमने
हताश होना हमने सीखा ही नहीं
मेरे मौला ने मेरे समय पर 
पाबंदी जो लगाई 
  
रहने दीजिये अपने सलाह मशवरे
बेड़ियों सी महसूस होती हैं 
यू मेरा हक़ छीनने न दूँगी मैं 
आप माने या ना माने 
जननी तो मैं हूँ ही 
लेकिन जनि हूँ ख़ुदा कि बंधी मैं भी 

छायाचित्र साभार : आरज़ू कावेरी सेन 

A VERY SPECIAL LETTER

My dearest Zoo-zoobi,

Hi! As I sit here waiting for the clock to strike the midnight hour and usher in the teens for you, I am in flashback mode. The moment I first set eyes on you, is still a fresh memory despite the blurry vision (minus my spectacles). Despite being a new born, you made a strong claim to your space in the world and to your independence. I was reminded of Kahlil Gibran's poem on children and of the Constitution of India, even though I was groggy from the anaesthesia. 

It has not been an easy ride for you, in many ways, more so the last couple of years. I cannot promise that it will be smooth sailing here onwards, but it will surely be as wondrous a journey as it has been heretofore. Just make sure you deal with the crests and the troughs that you will ride, without being affected by either. It's all mind over matter in the end baby. 

Happy Birthday my darling...here's to the teens and to our battles! Just know this, I have been there and done that so I possess the unfair advantage! Loving Mommy advice - Learn when to back off honey. Hahahahaahhaaa...I love you. And I have a little gift for you. When Papa was preparing to come to Nigeria for the first time, your Muthachan sent him a letter which was all about you. Papa shared it with me when he got it; he was overwhelmed and had tears in his eyes. The letter has an universal quality about it and Papa had given me permission to put it on my blog. I was waiting for you to turn thirteen to put it up. I have typed it in and have also put up a few pics of Muthachan and you. This was published in one of the Raksha Concert Souvenirs.  

Muthachan was extremely fond of you as you well know and will know more when you read the letter. I hope it will also give you an insight into the person he was and that you will get to know the true essence of him. I am sure had he been around, he would have dragged Ammooma along and landed in Lagos to usher in your teens. Just as I am sure that both your Ajja and he are sending you blessings from wherever they are. You were very precious to Muthachan and there have been instances when I have known for sure that he is watching over you. 

Never mind whatever else I may say, I am truly blessed and thankful that your soul chose me to be your Mom. Thank you for being my rock during the times of crisis. You do have those sparks of wisdom and maturity far beyond your years and the old men up there must surely be beaming with pride! If only they knew...

Love, kisses and hugs. And a big God Bless.

- "The Mother"

Here's Muthachan for you...

My dear Parag,

As the date of your leaving the shores of India draws near, I am troubled with the thought that fate may deprive me of the chance of seeing you again! Nigeria is far, faraway. It is not even Bombay or Kharaghpur, which heaven knows was far enough for someone for whom anything beyond Panampilly Nagar is far! But, who knows in a vaporized condition, I might find the entire world more accessible! But then I shall be a non-participating audience!

It is comforting to plan, meanwhile, for Muthu’s and Aarzoo’s visit; the thought of which is immensely exciting. We will make most of their time in Cochin. With Aarzoo around there won’t be any need to plan and, any case her mother will probably have to be whizzing around at great speed and we could have Aarzoo all to ourselves! When, and if I live to see Aarzoo after Nigeria, she will be a grown up girl, possibly a little shy, in Montessori or, LKG or, UKG and, of course, progressively more enchanting!

I hope you will fill her ears with the best classical music you can lay your hands on, Indian, Carnatic and Western. Let her speech aspire to music and her movements to dance. Speak sofly so that her speech will be modulated and she will know the power of the whisper. Give her children’s edition of Ramayana, Mahabharata, Iliad and Odyssey and the entire Greek classical lore to read in translation. English is a beautiful language and she has a right by inheritance to Bengali. Give her some Sanskrit too, for it is a storehouse of infinite wisdom. Not too much, for you don’t want her to be an antiquarian; just enough so she too can stand filled with wonder before the edifice of a tradition of such unmatched splendour. Malayalam is a harsh language not given to much refinement and invariably spoken in high decibels! But it would be a pity to miss it out altogether for it has much to offer but you may have to sacrifice its study for the sake of a more selective choice. If she is a “language girl” she will learn as she goes along anyway. You don’t have to thrust it on her.

Science will take an increasing role in the lives of those who belong to her generation. And, if she is to steer her course through this life she will need an ample measure of it – Mathematics, Chemistry, Biology and Physics, and all the baby sciences that these mother sciences have produced. Teach her to distinguish between religion and spirituality. Let her know what religion is all about but practice spirituality. It belongs to the realm of science and is the only opening to, of self-knowledge. It will bring grace, depth and quality to her life and it is never too early to begin the great exploration.

Let the temple of her body grow in health and strength. It does not call for more than Milk, fruit, vegetables, plenty of sunshine and exercise – swimming, cycling, tennis and gymnastic exercise, which enhance the control of the body. Let her learn to value her body for it in her care for a lifetime and, we all have an obligation to make the most of what is given to us even without our seeking.

She will need to sleep a lot so she can grow well and bed time must be considered sacred and, set aside only as a special treat, when some great artiste is coming home to sing  or play a musical instrument, or you are taking her out to listen to a concert of some truly great musician. Brook no departure and don’ let her cajole you into yielding! Your own lives will have to be seriously disciplined to ensure that she sees always before her eyes brilliant examples of the lifestyle you impose on her.

I wish I could list the books she must read but that will take all of a lifetime and in any case what can I recommend her at 75! By the time she begins serious reading everything but everything will be recast for the new generation. New stories, new poems, new myths and legends, new music, new science and even newer superstitions! All we can say teach her to distinguish the trivial from what has permanent value. There is no easy way to distinguish this wither, no magic formula to tell one from the other.

If I omitted to mention laughter and humour it was only to give them the prominence they deserve. Let your home be full of ringing laughter and bright shining eyes. Sulk is sin; fear it like the plague. Even if a sorrowing visage is in fashion, don’t keep with the trend. Teach her to value the “now” for that is all she has. The past is mere memory and the future mere imagination. Count any day as lost if you have not laughed. Don’t brook any sorrow in your life or in the lives of others; treat it as a kind of illness. Religions wear the clothes of sorrow and almost worship it as something essentially good. If you follow a faith in order to be miserable there are clear there are cheaper and easier methods to accomplish unhappiness. Take your morning papers seriously that is all that it calls for. Remember in spite of Bush and the Iraq war, in spite of Advani and Naidu, in spite of Lalu all our other calamities, in spite of the disability, illness, deaths by starvation, and thirst, ugliness and despair there are also wonderful people, and skies and flowers still smile, and there are kittens, puppies and babies – what more can you ask for.

As I sit here banging on this machine, from the ground floor of this nine-storied building, I hear the voice of children screaming with delight. This sound travels up the stairway and I keep the door ajar so that I don’t miss it. It fills me with a great surge of joy and I am reconciled to life and death. If this will carry on after I have left the world what is there to grieve about.

I started with the simple intention of saying bye bye and to say have a wonderful time and send you love. You don’t need all this but I wrote it on an impulse! God bless.

Love and many hugs from Baba.

Tell Muthu I love her and this un-revised, unedited letter is also for her together with an equal measure of hugs and kisses. Baba

Abhasa

Abhasa Jewellery is a very special range for me. Handcrafted Jewellery, created by my friend Ujju (Ujwala Adivrekar-Iyer) in Dubai. https://www.facebook.com/abhasa.jewellery

I was delighted to catch her at one of her exhibitions and see her collection in their splendid glory. To my mind, nothing can ever match the joy and love that she brings to her relationships or the power of her creative self. Standing there, looking at the pieces, holding them, trying them on and feeling them come alive in my hands in a sense, I was inspired by her creations and wrote these lines......

The Artist at the Numaish Exhibition, Dubai

Ujju this is for you.......a tribute to your creations. They did speak to me.....

ABHASA

Beads of myriad hue

Enmeshed with metals bold

The softer whispers

Powered with embellishment

Speaking in hushed tones

Urging you

To step out 

Confident

And Supreme in Shakti

A slice of life in a miniature

That hangs as a pendant

For you to make 

A statement 

Or ponder upon

If you so wish

Fear not,

For in the colours that

You lay

Upon yourself

May bring to you

The true self

                  

The hues, tempered or loud

May yet share a secret

Never heard!!

The Window

Supine,
On my bed
I gaze out the window
Square with venetian blinds,
Vertical
Giving a glimpse
Of the sky and the clouds
Playing catch
The trees swaying
Beckon as did my playmates
It feels like
Playing peek-a-boo
With the world outside

The vehicles
With their occupants
Ply by
In a hurry
Oblivious to lives
Hanging by the thread
And hooked to
Machines and tubes
Pressure and Pulse Monitors
To stay alive!

Life has its way
Of teaching
And testing
Oneself
Dare I look within
I will find
Myself reflected
On the other side
Of the window....
Plying by
Oblivious!!

Dead Sea and its Tantalizing Spell

The Dead Sea. For me, the name first cropped up either during a quiz or in Geography lessons in school. At the time, it was just another point in the map; it's location and features, something to be crammed about and memorized for tests and exams. Yet it was the first place on earth to intrigue me and have me piqued enough to scurry to the well stocked Library in KVCLRI and bury myself into the tomes of the Encyclopedia Britannica to read up about it. There have been other places since, but the Dead Sea was the first.

Growing up alone, it was easy for me to turn adventurer/explorer/discoverer in my head at any point I wanted. So I traveled, all over the word and into space even, when fancy took me. I was dragged to quite a few nooks and corners of our country thanks to my father's transfers. I took it for granted that this is what life would be in the future as well and that I would travel its length and breadth many times over. However, travelling abroad was a remote possibility to the nth degree, to my mind, impossible even given the times.  

Travel to the Land of the Dead Sea? Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be possible in the physical realm. Yet there I was, looking at it from the balcony of the hotel at first and then standing on its shores, white sand on my feet, powered sunglasses on, protecting my eyes from the reflected glare of the Jordanian sun. There were warnings all around about not ingesting the water or letting it get into your eyes. Many had trudged into the waters and were floating in it. Having your picture taken reading a book or the newspaper, is a favourite with most tourists to this destination. As is the mud bath, of course.

As the sun began to set, I took a little walk in the palladium overlooking the beach. Just across the still waters, one could see the lights of Jerusalem, glittering in the distance. The sea looked opaque, almost still.......tranquil, yet alluring. Almost as if it was speaking to me and urging me to submerge myself in its vast expanse. Looking around, I felt a sense of peace and oneness with my surroundings. I was overwhelmed with emotion. Had never felt anything like it before.

What was the point of being a tourist if I did not take pictures!! Took a few with my cellphone and each picture inspired a few lines. Have been meaning to blog it for quite some time now. Here they are.......

Nothing can quite capture the beauty of the Dead Sea.....my Geography textbooks did not do it any justice.

As the sun sets, there is a hush despite the people milling about.....an absolute stillness in the air, as though afraid to wake some special being

It drew me close as if about to share a secret.....

The canvas was spell-binding and tugged at me without any qualms

And suddenly it was like a huge cataract had settled over its gleaming eye!! It was quite clear it would not divulge any secrets.....and yet it held me, close....

And those gleaming lights....they laugh at my naivete!!

For some reason thought of Rumi and Gibran here and asked, "Shall I run into that alley and hide? Or shall I laugh right back?"

And decided that, I shall walk through the bright lights to what my destiny holds.....laughing all the way!!

The lights in the distance, they beckoned. And seduced by the starlight, I went back but it did not even whisper!! Not a whiff, just eerie stillness of the night...