My roots strangely

I belong only to you, my dream.

I dont belong to my place that left as a child.

I do not belong to my father's family since its all dead and gone, with a few bones scattered in a churchyard long and far away,

I do not belong to the place where I grew up,

Beside the River Green, my mother's family

Where it was always fun to be playing in water,

Yet too scary to belong,

For there were rightful inheritors,

More rightful than us.

Nor do I belong to a family which calls me my own,

Though the blood that runs through my veins is hardly theirs,

Nor do I belong to them who call me by a sweet name,

They do not know me at all, am a familiar stranger,

That nods and smiles and passes them by.

Its only you who know me, my love

My feminine spirit and tenderness,

My occasional clownishness in trying to belong,

To some name, some family, some tribe,

Where I do not belong.

You are where I belong, in the melting down of the barriers between you and me, 

and the all engulfing tenderness that follows,

That is the space where I see myself,

As yours having a name and being other than all these illusions.

A Process for creating my own reality

I connect with the Creative Source of the Universe-while I maintain this connection every word that speak becomes a creative truth. 

My intention with this process is for me to bring into my current reality the abilities, the ideas and guidance to bring me into alignment with my best possible outcome. 

I go back into the past, my soul knows exactly when, to just before the very first time that I believed that I was limited in the scope of my life experiences, and I make a different choice. I will not allow the limitations to hinder me, instead I choose and accept my unlimited potential in creating my own reality. This releases me to become the best possible version of myself. I am filled with gratitude and anticipation for all the opportunities now available to me. 

Source: Unknown

Yellow song bird

She was born on a rainy afternoon. People came to see her cursing their bad luck. Rain brought good yield and was a blessing for the soil, but wasn't it unlucky for a child to be born during day? The Little yellow bird smiled never guessing how the bird clan welcomed her. Even her mother thought she was unlucky for the very knowledge of her being was a pain to her mother. One day the baby would grow up and ask her mother, "If I were a pain to you, why didn't you kill me?"

But she knew her father would never kill her. He loved her fondly and named her a lucky name selected with care. Her mother believed that the name was unlucky too and screamed at her father. She was proved right when within an year he died. He came home one day complaining of body ache and died within a few days. May be he died on a rainy day too, the baby thought. She never heard of him except on rare occasions and that made her cry.

The bird clan always treated her as different. She was unlucky, they said. "Killed her father", they would whisper to their children. So one day she was taken home by her grandparents who belonged to another clan. Her roots remained there but she had to go. So she took with her the only heirloom, a feather belonging to her father.

The new life in the new clan wasn't very exciting. Everyday people would pass by and remark, "oh, this is the little unlucky bird" and she would stare at them with her big eyes. But as she grew up she learnt how to be happy but no one liked her being happy. "She's so happy; let's take away from her happiness". So her precious toys were given to poor children, her beautiful clothes to those who had none, her books to those who could not afford books. For a while she cried and protested but then giving became her nature. She held on to nothing- the past she frittered away, her books she gave away, her jewels and gifts she shared.

The bird clan expected only giving from her because one day like her father she would die too. They expected her to exist for them and then die. Whatever she did was treated with contempt and disdain. Others praised their children before her. Fathers sang praises of their children's small achievements and she had none to say anything good about her. Everyone talked about how ugly she looked and how she would sit still without saying anything.

Then one day a traveller came who heard her singing to herself and wondered at the softness of her voice and her flair for music. He took her with him and taught her music. The others in the clan stood and said " Now what bad luck will she bring him?". After a month he went away but the fire he had stirred in her heart remained. So she learnt how to fly just to be alone and practise her music. Never did she sang before those in her clan. Yet the trees, the night and the stars became her friends, who listened and praised her songs.

Soon other birds listened too and praised her flair for music but her own clan would say with certainty that it was all nonsense. So one day when a great musician praised her, the clan leader put her in a cage and kept two birds to guard her. She asked herself, "what have I done in my life to deserve so much of torment , contempt from other people and sadness?" She sat and cried. Why didn't my mother kill me? why? why? She sat in the cold rain, who tried to soothe her with its icy fingers. She would sit and shudder as the warmth in her decreased day by day.

One day the traveller saw her in his dreams and thought "Let me go and see what she do with the music that I taught her". When he reached the cage, he saw her sitting still with her eyes closed. When he called her by her name, there was no response. By the time he had opened the cage and touched her wings, her wings were frozen and dead. It was still raining as if she was in the realm of clouds singing along with them another melody.

The Rhythm of Rain

It was a rainy day. I was standing there near the entrance of the college, completely drenched and shivering with cold, waiting for the rain to stop so that I could go home and rest idly on my warm and cozy bed listening to the soft and enchanting music that the pelting raindrops made outside. But the rain showed no signs of stopping. THe whole verdant canopy was adorned with jewels like a modest bride. 

I was awakened from my rambling thoughts by a young girl with an umbrella. She understood from my face that I hadn't her question. She invited me to join her till the bus-stop. Though, I hesitated her friendly smile reassured dared my mind and I joined her in her little world. 

The moment she began to speak I labelled her as a "qualified chatterbox". The distance we had to cover stretched before us...farther had we had realised then. She was short and petite with the look of an innocent child. But what struck me most was the trace of wildness flickering in her eyes whenever she spoke enthusiastically of something. The rain had stopped but we seemed to be in no mood to depart. But we had to. She went away smiling while I stood thanking her kindness. I reached home in a trance. 

I began weaving dreams around her. Her piercing eyes with a wild look...they haunted me...throughout my sleep and my waking hours. I decided in my mind to see her every day. But then what? Will she refuse me? I tried in vain to discourage my eager heart by making her only an acquaintance met by chance, who may become a friend later, but not my love. Still I found consolation in despair. 

By some kind of an intuition I knew she would be there next day at the same spot. As I thought, she was there. As there was no rain I got no chance for accidental jostlings but still I was happy. I wondered how beautiful it would be if we shared an umbrella of life, a life of laughter and tears? Then with an ache I thought how a jobless youth like me unable to support himself would think of marriage?

Our walk became a habit for us. Talking trivia and enjoying life. I found myself borrowing her ideas and catchwords, her enthusiasm and even her philosophy of life. I read with ardour not my books but her. Every feature on her face I studied with close attention. Especially her eyes which had a keen gaze and her smiles for different occasions. Though she was not stunningly gorgeous, her enthusiasm and cheerfulness added bounce to her features and mobilised her face into a beautiful sight. To me, the most cherishable part in her was her sympathetic self that went out in pity foreveryone and everything in distress. A day for me ended at the bus-stop with her departure,

One day she remained agitated and remained silent and unresponsive. As we walked together that her parents wanted to marry her off to someone working abroad and had settled the union without even asking her approval. Her dreams of an academic career and economic as well as individual freedom were strangled in silence. 

Though her heart was breaking, her voice choked with tears and eyes brimming, she controlled her tears. As we parted, I thought her eyes had a lost "look". What had she lost? Was it really her dreams? Or...was it me? What prevented her from saying that she loved me?

That night I kept thinking of that tear that did not fall. It was for me...it was for me...my heart kept telling me. But alas? She had not said a word. 

Two days later she came to our favourite spot walking in the rain. Raindrops were trickling all over her.She tried to smile  and gave an enthusiastic talk on her love for rain. The raindrops racing down her cheeks made me think that there may be tears in them too. 

We rambled through our familiar path. I found her shivering with cold. My wild heart wanted to put my arms round her protecting her from the cold and the rain, to hold her close to my heart, to kiss her and to make her mine. With much exertion, I reminded myself that she was betrothed to another and I controlled myself. 

As if she was reading my thoughts she turned and fixed her enquiring glance upon me. We stood there face to face. She moving my heart with her pleading eyes..to change her life. To my surprise, she caught my arm and placed it against her cheek. I felt a tear on my hand. I turned her towards me and gently kissed her on the forehead.She smiled through her tears and rested her head against my chest. I ran my fingers all over her face and kissed it myriad times. We departed in silent jubilation. I was ecstatic with the thought that I was worth her love. 

For some days she didn't come to college. Then a friend informed that she is in the hospital with high fever. But the tidings that came next shattered me completely. She, whom I loved more than myself, the throb of my heart was dead. After suffering for a week she quietly slipped away in her sleep. My qualified chatterbox. 

I couldn't bear the thought of seeing her lifeless...without that wildness flickering in her eyes...I denied myself that torture. But just as in the fairy tales I thought won't I be able to rouse her from the sleep of death by planting a kiss of true love upon on her cold lips?

Now, it's raining outside. Nature dressed  up like a bride is waiting for her beloved, and I think somewhere in time she may be waiting for me too, with a pleading look in her eyes. Though she is gone from the world, I feel her living in me as my life-throb. Whatever I may do, I won't sleep this night, for a pair of eyes with a wild glitter in them will sing to me, new joys of love, till I wake for her from the dream of life. 

suffering

earth

love

life

death

Alphabet Soup for Lovers

I guess it is quite natural for a foodie to indulge in a novel that features food in it though I cannot quite decide whether to call Anita Nair’s Alphabet Soup for Lovers (2015), a lovestory couched within a book on comfort foods or a book on comfort foods with a love story. She intertwines love, zest for life and memories in a novel set in a tea plantation in Anamalai Hills. 

The novel is narrated by Komathi, a maid who has been Lena’s family from the time she was a girl. Though she was a fiery brat in childhood, Lena  settles down into a quiet life with KK, her civil lawyer husband. However, Komathi is unhappy with the placid kind of relationship that Lena shares with KK. 

Lena chooses to marry KK precisely for the reason that she is not in love with him. They are childless as Lena lost a baby in an ectopic pregnancy. To while away her time, she teaches the children in the tea plantation creche. The entry on inji shows her attitude to the young couple, which she says is too placid for a couple in their late thirties.

The turning point in their lives is the arrival of Shoola Pani, a celebrated South Indian filmstar into their lives. He comes to stay in one of the vacation homes owned by the couple. Shoola Pani is a superstar and wants a break from his busy schedule. He shaves off his well groomed hair so that he will not be recognised during his holiday. 

During their first meeting, both Lena and Shoola Pani are completely repulsed by each other. Shoola Pani is shocked to realise that Lena is not bothered by his celebrity status and Shoola Pani dislikes the fact that she has recognised him. However, within a week he starts walking with her to the church cemetery in the hills.  The place becomes Arcadia and they become Lee and Ship to each other, whom she names after the proverbial phrase for strangers in love- “ships that pass in the night”. 

Komathi looks at Lena and recognises what she is up to and she remembers her own youth when she was in love with Rayar, a Marathi worker in the tea plantation. It was Lena who had caused him to go away much to Komathi’s heartbreak. 

She remembers the comfort food of thayir with rice she used to have when he went away or the wendiyum rice that Lena’s mother fed her when she lost her baby. Lena can stand the indifference that is part of her marriage but not her vulnerability when in love. 

In this well written and ingeniously woven novel, Anita Nair celebrates food and life and  the many interconnections between them. The book definitely made me crave for it to last a little longer. 


Pics: From the novel