Better Tomorrow

As he mixed the dough, he calculated in his mind the amount he would need for paying his son’s fees. If I made, a hundred porottas today may be I will get enough money. His wife had told him as he left for work, “Why don’t you ask any of the teachers?”“No, I can’t. That won’t be fair”.

“They get a lot of money every month, chetta. All you need is just ask and you will six hundred rupees for sending him for study tour. “

“I know it’s his twelfth standard and he needs to study things. But how can I ask them? They might be getting money, a lot of it. But they also have families, children, car loans, house loans and the list is long. Unless they are like RJ who has a lot of money, no children and no sense of humanity.

You and your stories, Jaya laughed.

Now, when mixing the dough, he was counting all the time. What can a small college canteen bring in a day? Not much but he was well loved by the people as he was an honest man who did his work and never complained. Well, today was different.

“Three porottas and vegetable curry”. A little voice said. It was a girl from the first year. Not that he knew her name or class but could easily make out that she was from the first year by looking at her. First years are of three types- the glam girls making lots of noise wherever they are, the bookworms who are never out of the library and the shy ones who try to make themselves as invisible as possible.

 As he was giving her the plate, he noticed that how small she was. May be too young to be in college. She smiled and said “thank you”, which reminded him of his little girl Lakshmi. 

“Where are you from?” he dared.I’m from Kollam. I stay at the hostel here. Where are you from?”

In his twenty years at the canteen, nobody had asked him such a question. He was surprised.

“What happened? Are you not keeping well?”the little girl asked. 

“Nothing kid. I was just worried about something”.Then he thought of how he could offer a special package today and make fees for his son and for his little Lakshmi who has to go to college someday.

There has to be a better tomorrow someday, better from this mundane existence. He wrote a fresh entry on the board. “Take home packages of porotta and curries. Book yours now”.

Shiva Shakti Talks

A really interesting book that I came across recently is Shiva Shakti Talks by Dr. Pallavi Kwatra. I was just reading a random sample on kindle and I was hooked by the simplicity as well as the kind of spirit of oneness that was inherent in the work. So, the next step was downloading the book immediately. The mystery of love as well as the close bonding between Shiva and Shakti is explored in the work. When I finished reading the book, what I felt was that there should have been more of it.

The book is a series of 112 short but succint conversations between Shiva and Shakti. Based on the Vignana Bhairava, a tantric text that dates back to Kashmir of 800 AD, the book is about tantra and of the interplay of the divine masculine and the divine feminine. The text is a lovesong between Shiva and Shakti, the interplay of elements along with the degrees of bonding in the relationship.

In the work, the writer Dr. Kwatra portrays Shiva and Shakti not as two persons but as two opposite energies that are constantly at play. As she observes in the Introduction to the work, "Shakti inquires and Shiva responds and illuminates". The questions that are posed by Shakti show her thoughts about their bond and vary from love to possessiveness to separation. But Shiva promises that there is no separation between them as they are united at the bindhu. What the writer aims is to show how these conversations are "the sukhsm (subtle) murmerings that happen at the hridhayam (heart) and are only meant to nudge the reader to do his own inner work".

The experience of reading the book stays even when one finishes reading it. The intensity of the relationship between the masculine and the feminine energies remains etched in the mind even after you put the book down.

My River Pamba

 The River Green always looks like a sheet of green glass, flowing majestically and serenely. It was in a small town beside this river Pamba that we-my brother and me- grew up fighting each other and playing in the water.

My memories associated with the river are innumerable.Every evening we, along with my aunt or grandmother and cousins would walk to the river and play in the water for an hour. Every day was fun, with us staying in the water for at least an hour, though both of us never learned how to swim, splashing and shouting, while the sun set and it grew dark.

In the still waters, near the banks, people washed clothes and for bathing or swimming they walked to where the flowing water was. It was an adventure to stand in the flowing currents without falling. It requires considerable practice. Once we rescued a plaintain trunk from the currents and gave it to a neighbour, who had cows. It was a big adventure, something that brought a "we" feeling between my brother and me, who were like Tom and jerry throughout childhood.

The river was part of the life there, its dips and floods, festivals like Onam, Maramon Convention or Aranmula boat-race. Everybody went to the shops set as part of Maramon Convention, irrespective of religion. That was one time, when all sorts of things came in the shops- bangles, toys, shoes, clothes and items of food.

Then there are boat-rides across the river, holidays during floods (once we had 10 days of holidays) Onam and Aranmula boatrace, when the decorated boats travel across the river to the beat of the boatsongs. It can be heard from a distance and all children will run to the riverbank on hearing the boatsong from the distance.

On the night of Thiruvonam,belief has that Lord Mahabali comes to see his subjects on his boat called Thiruvonathoni. After midnight, people wait on the banks of the river with lighted torches and lamps for the well-lighted Thiruvonathoni. This was one adventure for we, children to boast about. The ones who had slept that night had nothing to talk about and felt ashamed the next day.

Now the river has changed. It is no longer clean. Clean water exists in the middle of the river and it's a long walk. You need to wade through muddy waters to take bath in clean water and then after bath, through muddy waters again. Yet, with all its differences, this is one of the sacred spaces, I can reach in an instant, travelling in thoughts, to where I like to stand, on that mound of rocks (called pulumuttu), with the entire river, looking like a large sheet of green glass, clean and clear.

No wonder, everytime, I stand there in real, I step into the waters and become a child, splashing and loving the water. My young cousins are like ducks, "no getting them out of water". Last time,on my visit to the river, I went till the middle of the river, to where the currents are and splashed there along with my five cousins, while my frantic mother was waving to us from the shore. Short-sightedness is at times a wonderful excuse and I pretended that i didnt see her and went back after an hour or so, drenched completely and dipping water. 

I guess as a child, I related everything to the river. Once during family dinner, when I was six or seven, I told my grandfather that the sky ended at the other side of the river. He roared with laughter and asked me:"Really?"

Evenings at the Indian Coffee House

In this middle age, I wonder how life has turned out to be, so different from the images that I had when someone asked me to imagine how life will be after ten years. I have always dreamt of you at my side as my life-partner, with two lovely children of ours to greet the days, a comfortable set of old friends to grow old together and a cosy little home that I took time to decorate with curios from the places we visited together as a couple and a huge library of all the books that we used to read. 

But when I reached this milestone all I have is a history of losses- the disappointment of a broken love that almost came to fruition, the years spent trying to pull yourself back together, the indifference of your loved ones, the absence of real friends and the lacks that are spelt so clearly and in bold letters everyday. It has been years since you called anyone a friend as you have only acquiantances and you never offer a shoulder to cry as you used to do before nor ask solace from anyone despite of being miserable and broken. You wear a brave face in the crowds and break down miserably in your solitude as you plod on with your busy everyday life. 

Then in the evenings and weekends you form a bond with your workmate and share the same sense of joy at the aroma of freshly ground coffee and piping hot Masala dosa at your favourite haunt, the old Coffee House in the city. On some busy days, you have to scream to make your companion understand what you are trying to say, all amidst the hustle and bustle of the staff in the old Coffeehouse, full of life. 

Over a period of months, we form a unique bond, minus our histories and sad luggage, looking forward to what is served on the menu only with a common love shared for solitary hangouts be it an evening by the seashore or a quiet swim in the nearby river. Gradually, your sad face attains a brightness of being loved in return without knowing any of your past  wounds and your time is spent in tasting the old brew of hot coffee and eating the same Masala dosas. We write a life of being in the moment -looking forward to our days of favourite comfort food at our favourite hangout.

The Unsent Letters

Happy Friendship Day