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.

Writing is a balm

To be able to write is an act of mercy God bestows on us. For some days now i have been able to write...grace was overflowing. And grace often took the form of special people and tiny inspirations. One day it was an SMS on my mobile early in the morning. Another day it was a good laugh with a friend over the phone. Still another day it was a sad moment. Tonight it was a late night realisation that life is a gift...that beckons me at this odd hour to write.
(I can never claim to be a good writer. For that matter not even a thinker.But i wish to believe that some good can come out of me as well. After all God did create me.And for some crazy reason i have chosen this path of writing.)
The gift of life, always leads us into varied experiences. Tonight I experience excruciating pain in my soul.But for some unknown reason, the pain is accompanied by a balm. The balm being: By making a choice, i just might have let the bird free...., I might have just saved a life...I just might have returned to someone what was never mine.
And being able to write about it is like a balm that soothes my insides. Therefore tonight i have decided to smile at my pain and accept it. There is no conflict here. Just sheer joy of writing about my excruciating pain.
While Christ experienced pain knowing he was to die this terrible death, the conviction that His death can save mankind must've floated like fragrance among the rocks of Gathesmane.

What a world!

The world we live in is construed as such a bad place so often. The times we live in even worse. Have you noticed there is hardly any cheering good news in the papers these days? I don’t know if it’s because good news doesn’t sell papers...now that’s a whole different issue....altogether. Even if it means bad news sells, it does expose the morbid psych of the society. Our children grow up to believe that optimism, good cheer and beauty are merely illusions. Fantasies we weave. They truly believe that pragmatism means to be dark, cynical and calculating. That life is really a string of deceptions and there is nothing in the world that is for real. You start with the myth of Santa Claus. Prince and Princess living happily ever after are just fairy tales. Teachers are not really interested in you just their pay cheque. The discovery does not stop there. Then they grow up to realise success is all about knowing the right people and nothing to do with your talent. And that money buys everything. Even when the best things in life come free, you would rather pay for it. Like, you would prefer to pay a fat dowry and get married than fall in love and marry soul mates.
No wonder children laugh a lot less now. No wonder they rather watch Power Rangers than listen to Snow White and the seven dwarfs. They are born prematurely wise. They already know there are no roses, just guns. They know that there are no smiles just smirks. They know that are is no childhood just hopeless adult life.
Pity, don’t you think? We adults have sketched such a sorry image.