And I Prayed

It was Monday evening and Dada was getting more delirious by the minute. The doctor said that these were sure signs of him going into a coma.
My brother did all the talking with the doctor, I was not strong enough to hear it though I knew it. After doing my research on Liver Cirrhosis on the net I knew that only a Liver transplant could save my father. There was no other cure. The liver was completely damaged and there was no hope for him to survive for long. The doctor had already said that the usual dose of Albumin was not affecting him in any way.
I sat with him in the hospital while he took deep breaths. His breathing too was not great; he needed oxygen often.
At this time sitting next to him there was nothing that I could think of but pray.
Ever since I was a child I always prayed to Mother Mary. Whenever I was in small troubles a prayer was all I would need to set things right for me.
I prayed to Mother Mary that day with hands joined and eyes closed to save my father.
His condition worsened that evening. The doctor came to see him late that night and told my brother that he probably would be conscious for about twelve hours and he could give say another 48hours to my dad.
It is difficult to be strong when you have been given an ultimatum. But we had to be strong for Mama and reassure her that Dada would be alright.
All through the night and the next day I kept praying, in hope that a miracle would take place.
His condition did not improve the next day however he was still conscious.
I made calls to some of his close friends so that they could come and see him.
One of our relatives popped up then and gave us this reference of an Ayurvedic doctor who had treated a similar case.
That night his condition miraculously improved and even the day after that he seemed quite fine.
I went to see this doctor and he has agreed to examine my father knowing that he is in the worst possible stage of Liver Cirrhosis.
I have never prayed so much in my life before; somewhere deep down in my heart I feel that our prayers were heard.

Stop this Train

John Mayer's songs always have this soothing effect on me. On my way to work I was listening to his latest album, Continuum. "Stop this train" is an absolutely charming and easy flowing number, very fluid, if you may like; one of my favourites from the album.
The traffic in Bangalore gets on my nerves, even when I am not driving. But not today, with John Mayer. I wanted to keep driving and not get to work.
I did not worry about my car getting dented; did not curse the crazy lunatics who want to cross the road just when you zip past; did not honk at the driver who wanted to turn left when he was on the farthest right of the road.
I'm waiting to get back on the road again.

In God’s Own

The moment I got off the bus at Koyilandi, a small town in Kerala, the humidity usurped my body and I was dripping in my sweat. No wonder people wear mundus (lungis) in Kerala; jeans are the not the most preferred attire here and later I realised that it was not only because of the weather.

The cold water bath at the lodge did help get some heat off us but after about five minutes it really didn't matter; we were sweating just as bad.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, a kurta and sunglasses I thought that it would take some heat off me; instead I attracted it.

There were people and children pointing out at me on the road like I was some weird creature parading during the annual village festival. I was quite uncomfortable and walked close to Santhosh, my husband, who was oblivious to the surrounding environment.

We were there for a wedding, Santhosh’s cousin's actually. By habit I avoid over packing and carrying too many clothes. I landed in Koyilandi with two kurtas, a kanjeevaram sari, pyjamas, two t-shirts, underwear and a pair of high-heeled footwear to go with the sari.

Our first mission was to have some good breakfast. Outside our lodge called Rainbow Gate which was painted in rainbow colours of course, was a restaurant called Hotel Victory. It didn’t look enticing enough so we walked ahead.

On the side of the road we spotted a cart which sold soda sorbets made of lime and a particular root; the root is actually a cooler. And though it had a weird taste it did cool my body.

After the cooler we walked ahead in search of breakfast. We stopped an auto-rickshaw driver and asked him if he could tell us if there was a good restaurant around. “Hyatt!”, pat came the answer.
The Hyatt? Really? I was a little confused at first. Sandip, my brother-in-law said, “Are you actually expecting to see the Grand Hyatt in this small village? There isn’t even a Grand Hyatt in Bangalore.”
So we hired an auto-rickshaw and asked him to go to the Hyatt. It was about three kilometers ahead and the auto stopped in front of a huge sign which read “HAYATH RESTAURANT”. Our local Hayath did serve us some yummy parota and mussels’ curry; I was happy and content when I left the Hayath with a bill of only Rs.152.

The wedding is usually hosted by the bride’s family. And we had to pay a visit to the bride’s family that day. So we took a bus ride to the bride’s house.

The bride greeted us at the entrance; I had to admire her composure and calm demeanor. At what I thought was 120 degrees, she was dressed in a silk sari with heavy jewelry, greeting guests and making sure they were comfortable.

At about 11:00a.m everybody was directed towards a dining area created especially for the occasion.
Tables and chairs were laid out in the compound; the whole area was covered with sheets above and at the sides. Temporary hand-wash areas were available on either sides of the area, lined with coconut leaves. It was a simple but effective arrangement.

People only ate in the dining area, clearing the area once they were done, for the other guests who were waiting.
We were served kappa and meen curry (tapioca and fish curry). After that heavy Hayath breakfast it was impossible for us to eat but we didn’t want to offend our hosts, so we took tiny helpings of the mid-day meal. Then, I regretted having the heavy Hayath breakfast; I wanted more of the kappa and meen curry, but my stomach and jeans just did not allow me.

For the next two hours we went about exploring the place. It was absolutely lovely and so green. Houses were on top of small hills; most of them had goats and cows. We found a steep flight of stairs going downwards, with high walls at both sides, which led to a path way; in the rainy season it would be impossible to down those stairs. The water flow trail was clearly visible; it would probably look like a water fall during heavy rain.
It was suddenly cool in that small path way; it ultimately stopped at a field. There was a sudden burst of sunlight and greenery at the end of it.

Once we were back at the house it was time to eat again. There was rice, sambar, meen curry, upperi (a dry vegetable side dish), buttermilk and pickle on the menu. Food was served on a banana leaf and I wiped mine clean.

It seems that when a wedding takes place in the village, it is not a celebration confined to the household but a celebration for the whole village. The cooking was done by all the neighbours and make-shift kitchens were set-up for the purpose. The women were grinding the masalas while the men were stirring the curries. The young adults and children served the food.
In between, a group of guys came in with a banner which had photos of the bridal couple and read “Renjitha weds Sanjay”. They put this up on the roof of the house for all to see.
The whole organization was amazing. At no point in time did I see anyone shouting out orders or getting exasperated. Also, if we wanted a second helping of a dish it came to us instantly, with a smile.

At 3:00p.m high-tea was being served. It is the high-tea and dinner which is considered part of the reception. About a 1500 people were expected.
Throughout all this I saw the bride’s parents so relaxed, moving around and meeting people. I could not differentiate between who were neighbours and family. It was just amazing to see how everything was taken care of and efficiently managed.

For tea we were served unniappams, a biscuit and a banana with tea. Out of greed all of us had two more than our quota.
There was nothing much to do around there really. Santhosh’s relatives were all talking to us and I was just smiling back because I didn’t know the language. I had to rely on my translator, Santhosh, to tell me what they were saying, so after some time it was just easier to smile and nod.

We excused ourselves after a while to go back to our lodge and also do some shopping; I had to get myself bangles, because I didn’t have any and in Kerala, married women are not supposed to keep their hands bare.
So when none at the gold shop fit me, the guy at the counter said that he never had customers with hands like mine, he wanted to be tactful but just didn’t use the right words, I went to the nearby fancy store and bought shiny cheap bangles that matched with my sari for 60 bucks.

At the lodge the cold bath was again a relief for only exactly five minutes. I changed into another kurta and I regretted not having brought some “weddingy” clothes with me.

Back at the bride’s house there was a swarm of people. At 6:00p.m people were still being served high-tea.

After about an hour there was sudden crowd of children around where I was seated. One nervous one suddenly shouted out, “What is your name?” I smiled, told him my name and held out my hand, he instantly shook it. They kept talking animatedly in Malayalam amongst themselves and all of them wanted to shake hands with me.
There were some shy ones who were cajoled and pushed by the ones who had already “done it”, to shake hands with me. I don’t know now whether this was what a celebrity felt like.
One little guy perked up the courage and said, “America?” then in Malayalam to my Santhosh, “Is she from America?”
Santhosh and Sandip immediately said, “Yes! She’s from America.” I threw a few words of Malayalam at them and they seemed a little confused. Then a boy said, “Nah, she’s not a malayalee. She’s from America.” It was as if I was trying to fool them into thinking that I was a Malayalee, but clearly my accent could not fool them. It’s not that my accent was American, it was just not malayalee.
Santhosh then humoured them and said, “If you want to shake hands with her you will have to pay 10 bucks each.” Two of them who stood by my side instantly shook my hand and look at Santhosh triumphantly. They had managed to shake my hand without paying up.
Sandip was getting irritated by this whole episode and said to them, “Will you get me a stick?” When they asked why, he said, “To hit all of you with it.” They suddenly walked away in a single file and each of them returned with either a stick or long leaf. All cheeky little guys, I tell you. That was my fifteen minutes of fame and throughout I just could not stop laughing.

After dinner we headed back to the lodge and took another shower. It had rained but the room was like an oven. It was quite cool outside and I perched myself on a chair outside to read my book. At eleven in the night it was so calm and peaceful, we could only hear the insects. I eventually went to bed and tried to get some sleep in the heat, the fan was at its maximum speed but to no avail.

The next morning I was woken up by Santhosh who tricked me into thinking that everyone else was dressed and ready to go for the wedding. I reluctantly woke up, grouchy and all and headed for the bathroom.

My next task was to drape the 6 metre sari around me. After tucking in one side into the sari skirt I called for help. Radhika chechi came to my rescue and draped the sari for me. Once she was done she looked at me and said in Malayalam, “You look beautiful. This is how you should be. You look so nice. Yesterday’s dress was ok but you look more beautiful now.” I blinked trying to understand what she was saying, then she spoke slowly and added a few English words in between and I finally understood what she was trying to say.

After putting on my make-up and forcing the cheap bangles into my hands we were ready to go. The cheap bangles left that shiny thing all over my hands, my sari and Santhosh’s hands.
There was a mantap set-up in front of the house. It was adorned with flowers and banana leaves. There was a fat namboodiri sitting in the mantap; he would conduct the wedding.

While waiting for the bride and groom to arrive I was wiping away the sweat from face and along with it all my make-up. Walking with my high-heels and the long sari was not making things easier for me. My ears hurt from forcing the earrings into my ears the previous night; I needed sleep and wanted to rip off my sari.
Suddenly there was some music and I assumed the bride and groom had arrived; I couldn’t see a thing from where I was sitting. In about ten minutes the wedding was done. I think malayalee weddings are the best. Like my friend used to say, if you blink or sneeze you’ll miss the wedding.

Instantly after that we were guided to the dining area for the sadya. Served on a banana leaf, came an elaborate meal. I was eating lunch at eleven in the morning.

There was nothing more to do really. We had to pose for photographs with the bridal couple and I got introduced to some more of Santhosh’s folks. It was nice really; they were all so sweet and were very accommodating even though I didn’t know their language. They would tell Santhosh to translate it for me.

The brats who crowded me the previous day obviously didn’t recognize me with the sari or maybe they were just behaving themselves and suspecting that I was indeed a malayalee because I had worn a sari with all the right Indian accessories.

It was time to go home. A part of me was a little relived and part of me wanted to stay. It was quite an experience.
I reached the lodge and ripped off my sari, had a cold shower and changed into a pair jeans and a t-shirt.

We had to go to Calicut to catch our bus to Bangalore. All of Santhosh’s folks were sad to see us go and asked us to come to Palakkad in Kerala, where they are from.

As we left Koyilandi I felt like I was leaving behind another world, where I was an alien yet made to feel so welcome; a world in which I was not a perfect fit but accepted the way I was; a world which is truly God’s own.

In the Pursuit of Happiness

I’d say we are all in the pursuit of happiness; it’s just that happiness likes visiting us in bursts and then disappears.
There is no parameter for happiness though. It is different things for different people, a best seller for a writer, a baby for a mother, warmth for the Eskimo, first crop for the farmer.
The movie, “The Pursuit of Happyness” tells us of the struggle of a man who chose to chase his dream. I believe that in every one of us there is a dream, to achieve, to be successful, to be content and to be happy.
Can happiness ever be defined? I think not.
As a child a new book or a new toy would make me happy; as a teenager, the smile of the cute neighbourhood guy.
In college, I was so happy that I had a boyfriend; as an adult, to find my soul mate. I was overjoyed when I landed my first job but later that didn’t stop me from looking for another.
When I landed myself in a profession that I wanted to make a career of, I yearned and still do, to do something different, to try something new and getaway from my current profession.
Can happiness ever be sought? Probably.
The small accomplishments at work; the pats on your back; the acknowledgement of your experimental cooking; the fact that you are missed at a party;
I think it’s good that happiness is a visitor; it just makes me realise that if I was not in the pursuit of happiness, life wouldn’t be as good.

Switcase Fool of Purls

India never ceases to amaze when it comes to signs; all kinds of signs.

To the left is one on a shoe repair shop; not exactly a shop but more like a manned kiosk.

I hope to collect more of these beauties.

I Finally Met The “Chair”Man

The air was bustling with activity in the otherwise dull atmosphere of St.Agnes College. More a jailkhana than a college in my opinion. Amruth, the first ever intercollegiate cultural fest by the college was being hosted and they gave the forlorn, thirsty girls, access to Amruth, Nectar, Boys. The events that were being held were enough to spew our interests.
Competing with fellow college mates, diligently booing female counterparts from other colleges and shamelessly flirting with the otherwise forbidden species, who’s setting foot on our campus was as rare as the appearance of the Haley’s Comet.
The events themselves had their own scale of popularity. The Variety Entertainment being the most sought after event and the Hindi Extempore, I guess one of the least. Dumb Charades, What’s the Good Word, Tom Dick & Harry and the like always brought together the silently witty, emphatically voracious, “person”ally strong lot.
I would glue myself to the dumb lot; dumb charades was where the action was. The whole gang would always be hovering around these literary events that were the most talked about.
And in my wildest dreams I never did think that I would go and watch the Hindi Extempore; and I didn’t.
No, I don’t have any aversion towards the national language, in fact I have very fruitlessly tried to master it, but the Hindi Extempore didn’t seem one bit enticing; given the fact that a select bunch of nerds from the college’s “Hindi Class” would be representing their colleges in this event.
Oh well, I then learnt how wrong I was. After an extremely fun filled session of “What’s the Good Word” there was a sudden buzz coming from the direction where the least popular event was held.
Students were out with a smile and some with stifled giggles. I was wondering why.
The buzz was that one student got just a single word for the extempore, “Kursi”, the Hindi word for Chair.
The ridiculous topic was the exact opposite as of its speaker. It seems the guy, eloquent and unruffled spoke about the “Kursi” as if it were specially ordered for him.
The whole audience was in splits and the “Chair”man managed to keep all of the audience amused and entertained throughout his allotted minute.
Undoubtedly he went on to win the first place.
The girls seemed floored by his wit and good looks. “Damn!” was the first thing that crossed my mind.
An opportunity lost to getting a glimpse of the usually rare, witty, humorous and good-looking guy.
But life goes on, there were definitely others to woo. But the “Chair”man kind of remained at the back of my head.
St.Agnes had never been dear to me. Leaving college didn’t leave me bleary eyed. Colleges changed after that and I did too.
And yes, there were always Amruth like events being held but this time we weren’t the ones who were starved. At each of these events I wondered if the “Chair”man would sit up. But no, he didn’t.
Years later the friends circle had grown. Reminiscing the good old college days on a lazy Sunday afternoon the topic invariably turned to Amruth, and I had to mention the “Chair”man and how everyone kept speaking of him, and how we never got to know who he was. And then my good old friend sits up and nonchalantly says, “That was me”.

PS: He is now my husband.
The title should’ve been “I Finally Married the Chairman”, but when I wrote this bit I had just met him.

A Season For Love

As the first rain lashes onto the ground, memories of my first love flood me. Everything seemed so romantic at that time. The fresh smell of the earth, the grey sky, the faint sound of thunder and the slight rustle of the cool breeze.

He would always pass by on his cycle, come rain or sunshine, just to get a glimpse of me. And I, waiting in earnest, with a hot cup of my evening tea, by my window side, listening for the familiar ring of the bell until he appeared.
At that young an age, just a sight of him would make me dance with glee. The joy knew no bounds. Once in a while we would encounter each other in the park, where I would gladly go with my younger siblings, knowing he would be there.
We’d casually greet each other and sit on the park bench, while the younger ones played. Those times together were especially precious since we rarely met otherwise.
We didn’t meet or speak to each other for the fear of being found out, and then there were the neighbors’ sharp tongues. But making no arrangements at all was convenient enough.
There were no complications in this relationship, no hurt, no pain.
Like most young first loves this too ceased to exist, and the relationship came to an end. It did hurt a little, but then there was no remorse.

For years the rain would keep me a little reminder of my first love, and now through the rain I can hear the faint ring of the cycle bell, maybe there are other young ones in love, playing a little game of hide and seek with their elders.

I still mark this season the most romantic one of the year, the one that gets the first loves together.

A Touch of Magic

As I reminiscence my childhood days, a dreamy smile crosses my face. A voracious reader, I found solace in the books that I read. Not that I shunned the world around me, but basically I was a dreamer and I would love to get lost in the magical worlds woven by writers.
Enid Blyton’s books always fascinated me, and they still do.
The naughty children, the kinder ones, the elves, pixies fairies and the gnomes; all seemed so real, something that I had to find and go after.
I would sometimes wander about in my garden in the evening hoping to meet a little pixie who would take me to his magical land. At times in the night I would wonder if my toys had come alive and were perhaps having a party. I anticipated the day that a fairy would suddenly appear in my room, beautiful and bright, with lovely wings and a fine shiny blue dress, and take me away to meet the little magical folk or perhaps to the fairy ball.
I would always make a conscious effort to do at least one good deed a day, lest the Fairy Godmother was watching over me; and if she was pleased she would come and bless me with her starry wand. If I’d been particularly naughty on any day, my guilty conscience would tell me that I was the one who drove the pixies and fairies away from me.
While on a picnic or a stroll in the park, my heart hoped to find the Enchanted Woods or discover the Magic Tree that was inhabited by magic folk. If not that, the hunt for the four-leaved clover was unfruitful yet endless; I wanted those wishes to come true.
My chair in the study never grew wings and I wondered if I could get hold of a brownie to rub some magic potion on it, so that it could take me to the wonderful magical lands that I wished for; Chocolate Land or The Land of Candies; where I could pick up candy flowers on the pathway, treat myself to some yummy chocolate sauce which flowed as a little stream.
As I advanced to being a teenager these magical things were all locked up and shut, never to be opened again. But I was wrong; as I write about it now, I still do wish I could be with these magic folk.
And one day I do hope my chair grows wings so that I can be off to a wonderful land never to be back again.

True Lies

Before marriage a close friend of mine dressed as she liked; in short skirts or jeans or whatever she felt comfortable in. Her parents too were liberal and I think a dress code would be brought into picture only if her eccentric grandmother visited.

Muslims proclaim that Islam is the only true faith. Do you know Christianity also claims to be the one true faith? :)
A person quoted on a writers’ forum about his friend:
“I have a Saudi colleague who studied and worked in US. He had a gala life, with multiple sexual partners, drink, partying and the rest that the ‘decadent’ west offers. After returning to Saudi he married and now prohibits his wife to go out anywhere without a burkha and to talk to any men. He has tried often to convince me to have many wives, because women are inferior and objects. And he an MS in chemical engineering from Purdue.”
I'd say that would be typical egoistical, chauvinistic behaviour. He wants to have his way that’s all.
I don’t think it is anything to do with religion, though they do like to blame it on religion. It is just an escape route, to justify their behaviour.

This same friend of mine is now married to her boyfriend, also a Muslim. While they were dating he had no problems with the kind of clothes she wore. It was just that she was so pretty that he wanted to show her off to his friends.
Once they got married he started talking about religion and how Islam did not allow women to wear revealing clothes. Of course just before the wedding he tried to even force the Burkha on her but she threatened to call off the wedding, that's when he conceded.
I think this is just chauvinistic behaviour being blamed on religion.

Talking about fundamentalism, it probably works in strange ways and can be sparked even by someone like you and I.
Years ago there was an incident about four nuns being raped. Two of us friends were discussing the incident. My friend questioned why the Christian missionaries had to go and convert all people to Christianity. I agree, no religion should force itself on another.
Then she said something that shocked me, "Those nuns deserved what they got. What right has she to convert a Hindu to Christianity?" I lost all respect for her that minute. Maybe she was being a fundamentalist, but a crime such as rape cannot be justified there, and that too being a woman.

In many cases I think religion is taken advantage of and that is what is sad.
I used to go to Church every Sunday, for Mama's sake. Just so that she was convinced that I wasn’t an atheist. :)
I would listen to the padre's sermon with intent. No offence to other padres but this particular one who I would listen to every Sunday spoke bullshit.
One Sunday, and this was during election time, he had the gall to mention in his sermon that we should vote for Congress and not the BJP. For want of not being a public nuisance I shut my trap, I went looking for him after the mass but he seemed to have disappeared.
Another Sunday I go to church and this same chap is serving mass. This time during his sermon he talks about the Hindu faith and how Hindus worship multiple Gods. This man who cannot explain the Holy Trinity, whose faith has 15 mysteries (Wikipedia talks about an additional five called the luminous mysteries. Gosh it has been so long!) has no right whatsoever to question how another religion functions or works.

For me religion is to live a way of life that is not detrimental to anybody. Do your good deed for the day (yeah, convent education does that to you), it will make you happy.
Isn't that why the concept of religion was brought into existence? To create a fear of an unknown force, so that people lived a disciplined life and righteous life.
It is indeed sad that sometimes people take extreme actions in the name of faith and religion.

About Me

1. Unmanageable wavy hair

2. Futile attempts at the weight loss program (Refer to point 6)

3. Have the skin composition of a teenager, which is not soft and creamy but bumpy and pimply

4. Friends treat me as one of the guys; I discovered no amount of makeup or extremely feminine dressing will make them change their minds.
Ultimately I'd end up a sure product for Aahat and the extremely feminine dressing prompts people to address me as Behenji, Aunty, Mommy,...

5. I come from a family of six, four brothers and a sister. (I know this is like a 4th date revelation, but I am proud of my family)

6. I love chocolate, I am a self proclaimed chocoholic. (This puts the whole weight loss thing into perspective huh?)