One Encounter

Some say I am witty; Some say I am dull,

Some find me weird; Some find me fun,

I don't deny, nor justify;

Let's say it depends on,

The part of me you've gotten to see,
At that time, place and company
Triumphant, loved,
depressed or sleepy.
Few get to see the real you or me!

Weird, dull and dumb to some;
Witty, droll and fun to one;
Calm, poised, untamed or wild;
That's me, different points of time.

Just a frail human,
as fallible as any other;
appreciating a second chance;
Maybe another;
Not to be defined by one encounter.

All that matters in the end,
Is not who I really was;
But the feelings stirred in your heart
From the me you'd gotten to see.

Maybe Yes, Maybe Not!

Would you watch on,
or walk away,
If crystal balls existed?

Don't we all crave,
if only a little;
for the Midas touch?

What if shooting stars, 
and magic wands
were for real?

Wouldn't we all,
given the choice,
Do just what we like?

Swap wisdom for wealth;
Trade beauty for health;
or extend our days on Earth!

If the curtain of tomorrow,
Could be pushed aside;
Would we pull our hands away?

To watch and to know it;
One's last view of the sun set;
Witness that final break of dawn.

If one could
Refine the future, 
or blur the past,

Would you?
Would I?

The Unsaid Goodbye

"Will you be here when I get back?" Appa asked, during my visit that Tuesday.

"No, I'll be off to pick up Ryan from School and go straight home," I said.

"Okay, then we'll meet later," he said and I heard him roar away on his Thunderbird.

But Appa passed away on Thursday.

-------------------

Everything happened so fast - faster than I could breathe. 

Disbelief and a general numbness helped us through the initial hours. Andrew and his parents went into full swing, taking care of everything. The children were taken care of, the house cleaned and made ready, the funeral arrangements made and a thousand other things amma and I did not know about. I stayed completely by my mother's side. 

Trust me, it's a blessing to be able to grieve; to be able to sit down and cry your heart out; to come to terms with your loss, and not having to take care of anything at such times. 

My brother arrived the day after, on the day of the Funeral. 

On a piece of paper, I wrote words I couldn't speak. I signed as Darling, because my father always called and referred to me as 'Da'ling' or 'kutty'. Liana had become his "sel kutty" meaning 'little darling.'  

I wanted everyone to get a glimpse of the appa we knew and loved. So at Appa's Funeral I gave an eulogy. 

I started with how I had marked that day in the calendar a month ago, it being Liana's 6th birthday. 

6 years ago on the same date my father had become a grandfather. Exactly 5 years ago, Liana had been baptized. We had made festive plans for that day as well. But unfortunately...

Behind my father's rough and tough exterior was a soft and caring human being who:

a. took life as it came - it's good and bad.

b. was brutally honest; clear to his conscience.

c. dependable

d. preferred working behind the scenes without publicity. 

My father might not have sat through a Church sermon every week. But he didn't fake it, if he didn't believe in it. He went to any extent to help. He was gentle with animals. He might not be very social and jovial with guests at home, but he didn't talk behind their backs either. 

That way, my father was better, more genuine than most people I know. 

Appa petted amma. He was her confidante. They used to talk all the time. 

He pampered me; He loved his son; He loved his son-in-law like a son. 

I am grateful; I am proud to call him my father. 

----------           

After the memorial service, was the heart wrenching process of cleaning and sorting up appa's things. It was a slow process, with us pausing to smell every shirt, stowing away trinkets and keepsakes. Suddenly every piece of clutter was a treasure. Everything stirred a memory, now made painful by his absence. 

One of my earliest memories is tripping outside the school over a telephone pole stay. The hurt was more to my pride than to my knees. Appa quickly got out of the car, dusted my knees, and stamped the protruding stump flat to the ground. I had felt empowered. 

With a father, brother and a husband to hold my back, mine had indeed been a mighty fortress! And now it was shaken. 

Now on his desk I found an envelope, with "Dear, Darling appa" sprawled in my handwriting. I had given it to appa on his last birthday. Appa had kept it safely in his desk. My appa had always seemed so unsentimental, and I broke down afresh.  

 

We have all been there, where we have held someone's hands, and said, "I understand." But No. We cannot even come close to understanding, until we have actually been through it. 

How can someone so full of life, so strong suddenly stop existing? 

I asked God for a sign that appa was safely with Him in Heaven. 

One day, when I was crying uncontrollably over some memory, Liana came to  me and (seemingly insensitive) asked me to read a story. She refused to leave after I told her off repeatedly. So I gave in and started to read to her. She was showing me a page from her Tamil short story collection. "My Father who is now in Paradise" was the title and I raced through. 

It was about an 8 yr old girl whose father had died from Cancer. She used to cry everyday, and ask God why He had taken her father away. Then one day, she had a dream. She saw her father looking very happy and he was with God, in Paradise. The father told his daughter not to cry, as he was with God in Heaven. And the girl stopped crying and questioning God after that.

I cried again. 

You have to see Liana's massive, almost-always-impossibly-messy bookshelf to realize what a miracle it was for Liana to pick up that book, that story at that time for me to read. 

This was the sign I had been waiting for. 

Appa had lived life, his way. I have never seen my father lie sick in bed. Age had not slowed him. He didn't look his 65 years. He was younger and stronger than almost all his contemporaries. He rode his Thunderbird until the last day. Only the previous week he had carried both the kids on his arms, down the stairs. Appa will forever remain strong, and manly in my memory. 

The next best thing to not letting go, was to let him go this way. 

A tombstone now reads, 

Doting husband; devoted father; adoring grandfather...     

Rest until we meet again,

 - Beloved wife, children and Grandchildren.      

  

Here is what I had written down that day:

Dearest Darling Appa,

 Have I ever told you?

I am who I am, because of you!

You taught me to fly, to love and to hope,

I am still learning, and I still need you...

 

As a Christian, I pleaded for your soul,

As a daughter, I begged for your life.

But perhaps God wanted you more than I!

How could I hope to win that fight?

 

We know you best, we who love you true,

Thank God for memories until paradise...

Where I'll hug you to my heart's desire,

And hold your strong hands once again,

 

Until then, appa...

 

Yours ever,

Darling.

---------

Wake me up now, and tell me it was a bad dream. I'll believe you. 

Even after 11 months, it still feels like appa is just a phone call away; that I could ring the door bell and he'd open the door. 

He never was one to linger over adieus. And he left without one... 

Expanding Boundaries

[This post has been in my draft for 2 years now. I wrote it when Ryan was 2. He's 4 now. I am no longer a SAHM, and we have relocated back to our hometown in India. Although, much has changed from 2018, a lot of these still holds true! I am posting it now for nostalgia sake.]

     Now that Liana has her own little brother to play with, I spend more of my time just watching and listening to them. Even when they are playing together, surprisingly, they always play around me. Their games and activities move about the house with me, and I am able to observe and partake in their games. I am able to put in a word when limits are crossed, or chip in when help is needed. I am the center of their universe, and our family revolves around me. As a SAHM, I have the luxury of time. And I take great delight in watching them run around, creating havoc on the way. Liana is an avid reader, and it is a pretty picture to see Liana intently bent over a book, and Ryan sitting close to her with a picture book feigning his sister's serious look.

     Not a day passes by without my realizing how blessed the kids are to have each other. Liana opens his chocolate for him before opening hers. Ryan has his biggest smile for his sister. If I am impatient with Ryan, Liana talks kindly to him. Ryan asks for a snack for his sister when I give him one. She watches over him when we are outside, and he trusts her.  To his 2 year old self, his 5 year old sister is bigger, stronger and all capable. We watch with amused fondness, this bond between our two precious children.

     Ryan awaits Liana's coming home from school. We have started skipping the afternoon nap hoping they'll hit the bed earlier at night. But they manage to get double the fun of extra play time at noon, and some more fun time squeezed in before bed time.

     The kids have recently started playing together with their friends from our 14th floor. They are always waiting for the afternoon to come and listen for doors opening - to start the fun. While it gives me time to sit down with a book, or catch up on some adult time with my friendly neighbors, I do miss being the center of my kids world. At times, I feel a tinge of jealousy as  my son skips, hops and runs into my neighbor's open arms. I miss their constant presence and they prefer being around with friends of their own size. While the kids learn sharing, caring, patience, tolerance, taking turns... I learn about stepping back and letting go - even if it is easier said.

     I remember how difficult it was to send Liana to school - to not being able to see her, or give her a hurried kiss; to not hear her voice echoing around the house - even if for only 4 hours in a day. When I got used to it, the kids have grown one step ahead. It is as if the heart always longs for what was, and is in a perpetual state of fondness for what is gone.

     I am adult enough to know this is how it should be, and I go about my work. I hear the kids move into the corridor to play, and I can hear them talk. I can make out Liana's voice saying, "My mummy can... I know, let's ask my mom... My mummy knows everything..."

I smile to myself.

I am still the center of their universe, at least for a little while longer.

A third slice of life

Close Shave:

At a Christian Youth camp, my group was led by a young lady who was friendly, pious and prayerful.

On day 2, she was just finishing up some inspirational story from the Bible, (I don't have the vaguest idea what it was about, all I remember is what followed. Wicked me!). She paused, gazed at each one of us to see how much of her teachings had been sown in our hearts.

"Now, if you have any questions, you can ask me." She said earnestly.

"Neenga shave pannuvingalo? (Which translates to "Do you shave?") asked one girl from my group.

Stunned silence ensued.

"I wax".

(Then in an undertone: "Ennatha kaeka sonna ennatha kaekura paaru." (the closest translation comes to : What I expected them to ask, and look at what she asks)

That she had uttered anything out of the ordinary didn't occur to the questioner. She seemed satisfied with the answer given.

Predictably, I was beyond hope of recovery. I was thankful for the long prayer that followed.

The fight for Liana's tooth:

Liana's baby teeth seem to be in a hurry to give way to new ones. When the first one came off, she asked if tooth fairy was real. She was hanging on my word. Even after more than 6 years, we are still undecided whether to encourage the kids with ideas of Santa, magic and the like. So I said, "I am not sure. Why don't you get it nice and ready and keep your teeth under your pillow tonight?"

At night we took away the tooth and placed a baby fork and spoon instead.

(Tooth Fairy drawn by Liana)

Liana woke up early next morning and sat up. She kept looking straight ahead for sometime, as if trying to decide something. Then she took courage and cautiously peeped under her pillow. Then she grinned wide. "So the tooth fairy is for real..." she exclaimed excitedly. "I am going to keep this safe forever."

Two more teeth went to the tooth fairy.

I was running out of trinkets. But with the 4th Liana started crying and saying she didn't want to part with her tooth. She cried defiantly, "I don't want to give this tooth to the tooth fairy. It's mine." I tried convincing her that the poor tooth fairy wasn't a thief who stole teeth by night.

When the 5th tooth fell, Liana was toying with it, with a shrewd expression on her 6 year old face. When I asked her, she said sounding preteeny, "Why should I give this to the tooth fairy? I'll get only one present anyway... I get lots more for my birthdays and Christmas. Hmph!"

I was glad Tooth fairy wasn't real. She was saved much embarrassment.

Face Saver:

I was wondering why we were being directed to the men's section for Liana's haircut. Apparently, only the men were trained in hairstyling little girls. 

The staff assured me there was only one gentleman in the gents section. And he also had his daughter with him. So I agreed. The 'gentleman' turned out to be a man, 'temporarily blinded' with some Green paste. It was applied with finesse, covering even to his eyelids. He seemed content, and blissfully ignorant of my presence. 

A small voice broke the silence. "Poo" it said, and Pandemonium struck.

The father sat up, as if lightning had struck him. But he couldn't open his eyes for all the money in the world. 

The staff started running around with no clue as to why. Instinct told them they 'had' to run.

(Our expression candidly captured)

"Papa is here, papa is here" said the poor father with a deep chord of panic in his voice. The little one was running around holding her bottom.

One lady staff was noosed and brought to help clean up the child. She clearly resented her gender at that moment. But the child refused to go to her and she was saved.

To escape from everyone, the child sprang on to her father's lap - to her safe haven. A minute later, there was silence. She had fallen fast asleep.

No one dared to break the silence.

Ruled by a Ruler

      At the Annual Kindergarten School day program at Liana's school, we found ourselves part of a very enthusiastic crowd. The school has a rule that every child should participate. So parents, grandparents and everyone who was anyone to every pupil was present.

      There were a few unexpected, but adorable interruptions.

      A small boy dressed as a parrot, took off his parrot head mask on stage. While his friends danced, he ran around the stage, mask in hand, giving teachers the slip.

      A couple of kids ran for their lives during the stage smoke effect. Although the teachers managed to coax them back on stage, they were till the end, with terror stricken faces, looking all around ready to fly again at the first sign of danger.

      And one little child decided to remain in the safe arms of her teacher. No, she was not going on the big scary stage.

     All through, the teachers were very understanding, allowing them to be the little children they were. How different from my own school days.

      I remember practicing for my UKG school day program. I was then 5, the same age as Liana is now. I still recall the teachers walking around the little dancers with rulers and hitting little legs for missteps. Back then, it was an accepted part of the school life system. Oh, the atrocity.

      When Liana and her friends came up on stage they were a confident bunch. They were not afraid of making mistakes. There were no teachers walking around waiting to glare, punish or correct.

      Liana and her generation is definitely luckier than mine, if only in that one aspect.

      Teacher's today talk about how impossible it is to control students. Now that students can no longer be corrected with a rod, they reminisce about the good old days - days when parents questioned their wards what they had done wrong to be punished. And maybe punish them again for having been naughty in the first place.

      In a rare twist of fate, classrooms now put up 'Help line' phone numbers for students. They can reach out, in case a teacher violates the code. Inevitably, certain students take a teacher for a ride. Personal vendetta, sadism and powerplay at times end a good teachers career.

      From personal experience, I can only sympathize slightly with today's teachers.

      Most working women back then were teachers. A teacher's job is still believed to be best for a woman of family. She gets to go to school with her children, and get back home with them. She gets the same holidays, the long summer vacations. No late hours. Sounds wonderful.

      Except, teaching involves more than just teaching from text books. It involves children - their tender feelings; their overall development. And children need to be handled with a lot of tenderness, understanding and affection.

      But lady teachers carried rulers. The docile ones hit with the flat side. The more willful ones used it vertically.

      The male staff carried bamboo sticks. The docile ones hit on the palms. The vicious ones hit on the back of the palm.

The flesh used to turn a rebellious Green, and hurt to touch - for days.

      And each gender used their weapons with no thoughts as to its necessity or seriousness of offence. There was little opportunity for discussion or questioning to see if there was any need for any caning.

      Even a humble, invisible teacher riding a bicycle to school became a mighty tyrant on campus, rocking a bamboo stick in his hand.

      Why did even a Crafts teacher carry one? Can creativity be brought out by a cane?

      The Math's teacher hit children on the head with a wooden compass for being slow to work out a problem. My! Did that help!

      The P.T teacher stood at the foot of the stairs as the bell rang after lunch, hitting kids left and right for not being in the class when the bell rang.

      The Science teacher pinched the forearm as the students writhed in pain. She never raised her voice, but continued the vicious pinch until a good minute had passed.

      They did it, because they could. Because no one questioned the teacher. The teacher -  the guru, could do no wrong.

      "Make a cut with a blade and apply onion juice, you'll fall sick immediately," spread like wildfire before his class. Some attempted even this, hoping to escape foreseen caning.

       A bit of correction, for something serious is part of a teacher's job. But only if they had the best interest of their students at heart. Young children yearn for a role model, someone to recognize their talents and to encourage them with words of praise and positive criticism.

            He already had a troubled childhood, and had no one to turn up to fight for him. And so the teachers whacked him on passing by to keep their rod in shape. Even if they hadn't helped him, they could have spared him.

      Others of course might have different memories of the same period, depending on their own experiences.    

      I had a huge fear of speaking up. I grew up comfortable in my inconspicuousness. So during school no one knew I had any talents that could be nurtured and brought to light. And so year after year I remained invisible. One shouldn't have to be academically brilliant, socially affluent, or exceptionally talented to be known to one's own teachers.

      Teachers can be the real person in an unreal world, a safe haven for students who come from various situations at home. Teachers, if they wished, can make a difference with the huge responsibility they willing took upon themselves in the name of career. They can mold lives, they can help change the future.  It all begins with being approachable, being unjudgmental, and having a genuine concern for the welfare of their students.

Watering my Eden

There are a few mandatory questions every child gets asked...

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" to which most kids answer, "Doctor" without batting an eyelid.

"Whom do you like better - Daddy or mummy?" Most girls choose "Daddy" and boys choose their "Mummy".

"Do you and your brother fight?" (Is that even a question? Eyes rolled for added effect)

And the infamous "Do you study well?"

       Girls in my generation start working soon after their degree, and continue to work after marriage and kids. It is difficult to accept the earlier generations way of father being the breadwinner and mother being the home maker. I would probably have been just like most of the other girls of my generation.

      But then, I quit my job and moved to Dubai soon after our wedding. As a newly wedded couple, we decided that we'd enjoy life a bit before I looked for a job in the new country. The kids quickly arrived, and I had my hands and hearts full without needing to work out of home. Daycare, or grandparents were the only options if I wanted to start working again. Andrew and I decided to raise our kids at home, by ourselves. We decided to wait a few more years until the kids were a little bigger before I started working again. Andrew - never questioning, never demanding is hugely supportive in running the household and in bringing up the kids . He appreciates that after a tiring day of work, I am still in fresh spirits to welcome him home with a smile.

   
       The 'universal lie', "Study well now, after that you can enjoy the rest of your life and relax..." came true, at least for me. I am generally quite laid back, taking life as it comes. And this way of life fits me like a glove. With only one of us working, we have more freedom with our time, to plan our vacation, to spend with the kids. We find that we need to make less compromises.

       Andrew has never made me feel inept for not contributing to the family income. I have more freedom to spend the money he earns than what most Indian woman have, to spend their own.  I am grateful to be able to be a stay at home mom. Not everyone has that luxury.

      I am blessed to be loved not because I am the kindest, serenest or the most beautiful of mothers. I am loved because they are my very own. I am rewarded with their arms around my neck, with random kisses, their confidence and a house filled with laughter.

      Into my garden of Eden, the serpent sometimes enters. Rarely, I see a Proverbs 31 woman who seems to have it all - a woman who has all the threads held tightly and rightly in her efficient hands. And then I become discontent over the choices I have made. When I hear someone say how a career is important for a woman's identity, I wonder about mine.

      It takes prayer, patience and a shift in perspective to come back to my senses.

      I remember how as a child, I felt very secure knowing I could go home anytime to my mother. Sick kids with working parents used to lie down in the classroom until evening, because there was no one at home.

      I recollect the many people who complain about never spending quality time with their parents.

      I cherish how Liana's eyes light up when I go to pick her up from school. She waves to me with both her hands, and she sends me flying kisses from afar. Ryan does a victory dance when we get home. I would not have had all this leisure and pleasure if I was working full time.

      Their childhood is over, oh, so swiftly. Liana at 5 has her first shaky tooth, and I am afraid she'll grow up and get married if I take so much as a nap.   

      And every time I hear about abusive maids, my resolution gets reaffirmed.

      My education and services are no great loss to society, but are of utmost importance to my family. My career can wait a little longer.  I haven't given up anything worthwhile, I have only gained. I hold the threads as best as I can! If I had to choose once more, I would do it all over again.

      So, when I see a Proverbs 31 woman, I compliment her for being the wonder woman that she is. I realize I might probably never be her, so I don't envy her either. We all make compromises, one way or the other. Where would we be as a society, if all mothers opted to stay out of the workforce? Working mother or not, we all have our children's best interests at heart. And that is the only thing that matters.
      
      I water my own garden, and the grass is no longer greener on the other side. And the serpent takes his leave, locking the gates behind him.

A Second Slice of Life

Scars:

      Completely oblivious of all the pairs of eyes on him, the 2 year old ran around in circles, and laughed aloud during the solemn sermon.  Predictably, he hit his head on a bench and hurt his head. Not too much, just a little, but enough to make him run to mommy for soothing kisses. Or so we all thought, including his mother who put out her arms.

      But the boy ran into his nanny's arms instead, who kissed him and made much of him. Satisfied he happily went back to his play, completely oblivious of the pain he had caused in his mother's heart.

Chef's Special:

      My mother was making biryani and the tempting aroma was drifting in the air. "Amma… pasikuthu(Mother, I am hungry)" cried a beggar at the gate. "In a minute, son" responded my mom, thinking it was my brother. In her defense, let us assume the cooker had decided to whistle at that moment.

      My dad's tough exterior hides a gentle soul. Seeing it was a old man, appa asked, "If you can wait for a few minutes, biriyani will be ready."

      "What time is it?" asked the old man. "If it is after 12 O' Clock, I eat rice. Otherwise, I eat only tiffin!

Stare me not!

      Timeliness not being my forte, I had to choose between shopping and applying make up. Neither one could be compromised, as both shopping and make up was for a social event in the next hour. In an Eureka moment, I dumped all my make up stuff in my bag and did a hurried shopping at a mall in Nagercoil.

      With 5 mins in hand, I entered the ladies room, to put on a few essentials. Two women who worked at the mall entered as I was applying my mascara. I tried to ignore their unwavering stare even as they, without any prelude, untied their saris, and coolly started draping it. They exchanged knowing glances, and silently communicated their disapproval of a lady applying make up through head and mouth movements.

      That two women who were dressing/undressing in public had to judge another of their own gender for applying her own make up on her own face. But then, they were draping their 'own' sari.

The Substitute teacher:

      He was closer to 50 than 40. He was a good man, who believed we were using the calculator on our phones, when we had in fact been checking our messages. He spoke on every subject, but the actual subject. One day, with minutes to go before the bell, there was an SMS on all our phones - 'Watch his reaction and also xxx's'. One mischievous young adult had messaged the substitute teacher, from xxx's phone - 'Sir, you look handsome in this shirt'. Xxx was the subject coordinator, and the teacher had her number saved on his phone.

      The Sub checked his phone midway of a story, and paused. His eyes widened and remained wide as the clock ticked. We were bursting at the seams with suppressed giggles watching both the teacher and xxx(who had no idea that it was her mobile phone that had caused the mischief).

      Then the teacher coughed twice, and beamed a big smile and said, "I have crossed your age, and we have also tricked our teachers like this. When we were in college, a boy..."And he moved on to another story.

Secret Keeper:

      We were in Bangalore for a ten day leadership training program, and a talent show was scheduled that evening. Casually over lunch, I asked a friend who was representing from another college, if he was participating. He looked seriously at me for a few seconds. I could almost hear the thoughts running through his head. Then he nodded sagely, as one who had finally made up his mind and asked,

      "Well, can you keep a secret?"

I have always been very proud of my secret keeping skills. So I nodded religiously.

      "The boys will kill me if they know I have told you. It's going to be a stunning performance, a surprise which no one can guess. It's a masala of songs and actions. Make sure you don't miss it. And keep this to yourself."

      Later in the evening, they came on stage with guitars and dressed in Gold and Silver colored attires. Girls buzzed around and I caught the words, "big surprise...secret..." all around. "Hello, how did they know?" They plugged in their electric guitars and sang, "Twinkle, twinkle little star".

The pranksters had been showcasing their talent from the morning. 

How Do We Go On?

In the midst of trials and tribulations;

As we grope in the dark for strength;
When questions remain unanswered;
And great faith gets challenged;
Tell me Lord, how do we go on?

When courage fails when needed;
In the midst of every storm;
When people in power take the box seat;
To watch mankind get self destroyed;
Tell me Lord, how do we go on?

We await your coming, to escape;
From a world where guile is the norm;
Where passions rule & innocence is corrupted;
And the lone, bold voice gets forsaken;
Tell me Lord, how do we go on?

Hold on to us, Father;
Even as we sin, repent and sin again;
Forsake us not; Lord, by your grace;
Forgive us; safe guard our ways;
Gracious Lord, lead us on.

Expectation Vs Experience 2 : Toddler Rules the Roost

(Ryan, Ryan, Where art thou, Ryan!)

                                                     (When the guests rang the door bell!)

(I ended up napping trying to get Ryan to nap. He preferred a box of Ferrero Rocher instead!)

      (Let's go pick up your sister from School)

                                          (Being the life of his friend's birthday party)

           (You know how they are always cranky during the shopping, and napping after the billing?)

Well, well, well. This toddler rules our roost.

Happy 2018, everyone. Cheers! :)