Confessions of a Mother

I see that the children we have are miracles like any other. Like the bluish green tinge of the backwaters, like the blazing mighty sun taking its daily dip, far out in the sea, like meteors from space falling, sparing skyscrapers infested with all kinds of people, like the many acts of kindness that is bestowed upon us each day, we have nothing do with creating them: our children. Our job is to stand and wonder. Our job is to marvel and love. What has been given to us, as an ultimate act of mercy.
Today, my son walks up to me and hugs me tight, and said "Amma, I like you." His arms went around my waist and his cheeks rested on my stomach. He is all of five years. There in his eyes was a look of undivided, unadulterated, love. Just admiration and gratitude. As my eyes welled up, looking down at him, I wondered, do I deserve this. Like flashes. Quick repeated flashes, I remembered the moments I failed him. Failed him so completely. Like the time he came to me with his water colour painting of the scary deep sea monster, I looked at the pool of paint on the floor and big stain on my durrie, instead and said, can’t you be more careful. Or the time he came and said "amma, I want to take flowers for my teacher, she hugged me for naming all the animals", a pang of sheer jealousy and insecurity of the attention getting divided, I dismissed the act telling him, that she’s just doing her job. And many other thoughtless, cruel acts later, here is my son, hugging me and telling me I am the best.
My son is a good-looking child, well-behaved, courteous, loving and selfless. I look at myself everyday and wonder where he got all this from. Not from me. Not even from my husband. I look up heavenward again with tears and in silent awe, do I deserve this? I ask again. Then in an instant I get the answer. It doesn’t matter if I am worthy, it’s all love. My son loves me; it doesn’t matter if I am worthy. He loves me because the hand that made him is love itself. And today I saw the face of my God in him.

Telomeres of a different kind.

Some of the most amazing moments in life are the moments spent with friends. At least it’s been that way for me. Some say you rely on friends when you don’t have much of a family to hold on to. TRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIING, I disagree. Both are different equations. I would say you need your friends as much as your family. I think, to become a wholesome person, good friendships are essential.
All that gyan apart, I am here to talk about a person I stumbled upon virtually. Literally virtually. Through the World Wide Web. Besides from the fact that our relationship grew from being just ‘chat’ acquaintances to deeper levels of understanding, she has today become an indispensable part of my life. All this happened at frightening pace of just over three months. But as she became my shoulder to cry on, my soul/sole confidante, my reason for existence on some days...I learned over time that besides from being this generous human being, she had a side to herself which she(I quote another special person here) “ tries best to hide from the rest of the world”:her sheer brilliance! Her work in the field of science. Her road to accomplishment was a bumpy ride by any standards, both physically and emotionally, and today she has arrived. She is a scientist. We have a zillion of those in the world as she always makes it a point to remind me. Maybe there is, I don’t know and I don’t care. For I know only one. And this one surely made a difference in my life and I am glad to know she’s contributing to science as well.
‘Beautiful Mind’, worked on the enzyme Telomeres, which has gained popularity among the science illiterates as well. For which we have the media to thank for. It has been in the papers now for some time, about the noble prize in the field of medicine, going to the ‘richly deserving’ female duo Elizabeth H. Blackburn and Carol W. Grieder. Their collaborative effort has solved one of the greatest mysteries of our time-how chromosomes are protected from degeneration as they divide continuously. They discovered that telomeres, the protective caps found at both ends of the enzyme prevent it from degradation. Pretty much like how the plastic caps at the end of the shoelace protects it from spreading apart. So this is where my friend ‘beautiful mind’ comes in. She worked on this very same enzyme, during her stint in cancer research. From what I understand, as she very patiently tried to explain to me, it is this discovery which helps us comprehend the nature of malignancies(cancer) as well.
I am in awe of my friend ‘Beautiful Mind’, fiercely proud of her. And more than anything humbled by her modesty. Beautiful Mind is not just another one more of a science nerd. Besides from being brilliant and successful, she has over and over proved to be a person who is not just good to her friends but to all who come in touch with her. Through several of her mails from our daily correspondence, I can see that her young life is filled with experiences and acts of kindness bestowed on all those who have come in contact with her. Even when storms brewed within, experiences haven’t hardened her, she continued to be spontaneous, fun, chirpy, gorgeous, fashionable, and last but not the least a pilot of tour de gastronomia (fabulous cook). Can you ever imagine a scientist being all that...She has redefined my image of a science freak. I realise that they can also be engagingly charming, heart-warmingly benign and out-of-the boxly fun. But only my friend here can be all that and even a sophisticated chic with a golden heart. She breaks all proverbial stereotypes. That of a science nerd being arrogant. Of a beauty being a dunce. Of an absent minded professor being a fashion disaster.
Kudos to you my lovely lovely friend. May your kind prosper and thrive and fill the earth with the fragrance you so bring in to the room you walk into. (She literally does that. A fan of Lush products, she smells heavenly too) Thank you for your gentle kindness, thank you for understanding. And most of all thank heavens you are a scientist, you sure manage to save their faces and make them glamorous. May you inspire many to join you, whereby saving mankind from degeneration like a chromosome would without telomeres. You are my telomeres of a different kind. Hugs and Muah!

Grace Is All I Need

A friend teased me one day, how all the favours he did for me will add up in the big account book of good and bad deeds. When the list of good tides over the list of bad, St. Peter would turn the key to the doors of heaven for him. The joke was at my expense of course! Clearly, he did think that was how I determined the way I lived my life. There was an element of truth to what he thought of me too. That is probably how I tried to subsist. All my efforts focused on trying to add on to my list of good deeds, working hard at trying to do the right thing for all the right reasons. The effort was sometimes humungous and almost always ended up tired and sometimes even convinced being good is hard work indeed.

But some days ago, I realised I may have missed a basic point. Maybe I should start living life with gratitude and awe of being a part of creation. Thankful everyday to be alive. Maybe I should open my eyes and look around and drink in the beauty of the bounty. Maybe I should live my life realising I exist because of love. The kind of love that says you love the other not because you’re loved by them, but because God loves you.

And as for being good and everything...is actually all about looking at the bigger picture. The ariel view of things. Looking at things the way God sees it perhaps. The view from heaven is the best. Because from up there you see more than from what you see from the eye level of one’s perspective.
Goodness is all about loving. The way the Almighty loves. Unconditionally and without reserve. Loving when not loved back. Loving when the self protests in fatigue. Loving when there are more reasons to hate. Loving when impatience tells you to give it up and move on with ‘your’ life.

Being good just takes me one third the journey to Him. What really takes me there is His love. And the grace that comes with it. I can’t even move my finger or even think a single good thought if not for the grace that comes from Love.
Therefore I learnt today, Grace is all I need!

Through an Open Window

I sit here by the window and look outside at the world. The view may seem limited but it still is a room with a view. And an entire vision of things for someone who seldom steps outside. I see people. I see things too. But it’s people who catch my attention. It is them who interest me. Things, I notice only when the people use them. Like I notice the girl in a pink slipper. Who jumps with glee for she got herself a pink pair to match her pink top. Actually it’s the girl I noticed first. Then the slipper. Then the top.
The girl was petite and pretty. She had her hair long and straight. She had it up to her bum. But what I liked most about her was that she had pretty feet and it looked pretty in her pink slippers. She looked up at my window and smiled. It was irresistible. I just had to smile back. Or she would’ve remained there just beneath my window smiling till I smiled back at her. Satisfied with my smile she nodded and walked away. Turning to look towards me a couple of times. Then she turned the corner and disappeared. And I missed her and wondered if she would pass by my window again.
Then I saw a man. A short man. With long strides. If January was the month he took the first leg forward, it wouldn’t be until September he followed it with the other foot. That long was his stride. Though great distances were covered it seemed like a slow walk. He looked around. He was watching people from down there just like me from up here. I wanted to tell him, ‘Come up here, join me, the view is great.’ But I am sure even if I did call him, he wouldn’t agree about the view. He would say his is better than mine. He would say, I am older than you, so I know. He would say, I have seen more of the world walking on my two feet, so I would know. Therefore I did not call him up. I would not be able to give him answers to that, even if I still think I have a better view from up here.
Then I see another man. This time, a man with a hat. He’s dancing along the way singing aloud. Not bothered that all eyes on the street were on him. As he rushed down the streets his gaze catches mine. Surprising me. I looked away. But then I looked back at him. He was still looking at me. Of all the people in all this time, none has asked me step down. He asked me with his eyes. He asked me to come down. And I asked why? What for? With my eyes. He said you look lonely up there. I then told him. I am alone but not lonely. I like it up here because I see things that you cannot. He wasn’t convinced. “But you just see the street below”, he said. “Come, walk with me”. “There is so much more to see”. I say to him, “the street below, that I see, is really a wedge of every street around the world.” “Though I have not stepped out, I know how things are out there.” “How can that be?” He asks.
I say to him, “Each of the people who walk beneath my window, have roamed the world on their two feet.” “And each of their gazes upward, I capture and I see in them what they have seen on their journeys. That is my vantage of looking from up here. For you begin to really see.” I said. Puzzled, the man said, “What is true for one may not be true for another”, and walked away. Shaking his head in exasperation as if to say “Will she ever learn.”
I couldn’t help smiling at his gait. He came without a worry, singing and dancing. Now look at him walking away like a deflated balloon. The girl in the pink slippers walked by just then. Their eyes met and he said to her “Come. Walk with me.” She gladly and willingly did. She looked at me and smiled and turned back to the man with a hat. I smiled back, feeling my smile spread across my face, feeling happy that life is a gift. And choices people make may seem dissimilar, but actually is the same, in truth. They walked away and disappeared round the corner.
I wanted to say to him, “Only if you could come up here and see, how beautiful that looked to me.” Then he will understand that I see more than he sees, without stepping outside my vista, through my open window. From a room with a view.

Romancing the monsoon

When I look outside my window...I see it raining in the sea. My face brightens, just when the sky darkens. The dark clouds gather far beyond the horizon and it slowly moves forward...like an African American model sashaying across the ramp. With her long legs deliberately and sensually , one, put in front of the other. Left and right. Left and right. Pitter- patter. Pitter- patter. A slight jig. Somewhere the music dances with her movement, not the other way....From afar her blue dress caresses the floor and then bounces off and swishes when she stops and takes a swift turn and glances at you in the centre. Her body turns away from you while her eyes still holds your stare. And she turns her head away almost reluctantly...and walks away, making way for the other raven beauty...
As much as I curse the rains when it finally arrives, there is nothing more romantic than the monsoons. Inconveniencing my daily routine, the lover (the rain) has arrived, nonchalantly, arrogantly, unapologetically at my door. You smile within. Can I imagine the clouds not gathering in the sky, as it hides the sun and my entire universe takes on a pale indigo hue? I smile and wink at the gloom for it does lighten my mundane existence. The habit of routine is broken, I need to change everything. I am forgiving for the break in my practice. I Wonder how my life would’ve been, if not for this visit, how mysterious, the plain and the simple looks now, as the atmosphere so pregnant with rain in its belly, waiting to wet me with its showers. When the rain reaches my vista...I run to my window stretch out my hands to capture the first shower....like satin it caresses my skin. I step outside, like a reluctant, shy, wanting bride...the cool breeze and I gasp. Then the spray. And then the torrent. The thunder and then the lightening...what a ruckus, chaos, madness....but such beautiful method to it all....teasing you, egging you forward and you feel so dangerously alive. Livid but nevertheless alive!
Next time I see my son dancing in the rain, I will tell him, “dance, dance all you want...for when you grow up, this becomes an indulgence and you become the mad one for wanting to court the downpour of God’s apparent blessing.

Memoir Of a ‘Wannabe’

I had the audacity to call myself a writer. The other day some people asked me an innocent question... “What do you do?” They asked. “I am a writer”, cringing within, because I couldn’t remember the last honest piece of anything even closely resembling ‘ literary,’ I had written. Hopefully they would stop with this line of questioning...I prayed. Smiling bravely I remained with the company, eager that their attention would now turn to the delicious meal we were having.
“What do you write?” they probed...
“Well! I write anything and everything.” That was vague enough. They would probably stop asking now. I thought. Intrigued they might move on and talk among themselves, “what an interesting person she is” they might say...I dreamed.
“Oh interesting!” They all said. By about now, their expressions were of serious awe...Encouraged... I continued.... “I write profiles for companies, people and services”... I should’ve stopped there, but pride got the better of me. There is nothing more seductive than attention of a crowd of people with every eye focused at you...”I write content for websites”....
“Oh!”
“You’re a copy writer...is it?”
“...aha!”
“You write brochures and pamphlets isn’t it?”
“Well! That too”...I said sheepishly. Feeling rather exposed. So much for referring to myself as a writer. I was losing ground. They were losing interest. Sniggering they started dispersing. Like a defiant drowning man gasping for air..... “I am a content writer”...but by then there was hardly anybody listening to me...
The appeal had clearly vanished. All their attention was now directed at the food, where it belonged right from the start. And I for one was forgotten and pushed to the oblivion.
But I didn’t really give up. To save the honour of every copy writer on planet Earth I bidded time...for some serious damage control.
“I should’ve just said I am a blogger...damn!”

Soul Cafe

"cantare amantis est... Singing belongs to one who loves" Music brewed for the soul. All are invited to Soul Cafe. 29th Of June, 6:00pm-8:00pm Avenue Centre, Panampilly Nagar. Ernakulam.