That fateful day. (Blogathon Post Fifteen)

There were two periods in my life that were the most difficult to sail through. One was the time when my Appa was ill and in the hospital. Frankly, I coped better with his death than his sickness. I guess that was because I knew he was there for me after death, leading me with every step and shaping my every decision. The one thing that really helped me after I lost my Appa were my French classes. I poured myself into learning the language and forgot my sorrow. That explains the very special bond that I have with French and why I chose to make a career in it. Yes, I am very attached to symbols and meanings that way. 

The other difficult period was when I had to move cities, leaving behind an almost perfect life in Hyderabad : interesting work, great friends, a best friend that stayed just ten minutes away, extremely nice neighbours/landlords, lots of children around the house, free time.. I had everything. In the new city, I was lost. I had to start from scratch. My soul was plunged into depression. The sudden change overwhelmed me. I could not get creative and was often sullen and withdrawn. 

My husband suggested a trip to celebrate our wedding anniversary that year. We went to the land of the kodavas, our two dogs in tow. Each day we visited all the must-see spots and enjoyed ourselves. The fact that my dogs were with me only added to my joy. Yet, nothing prepared me for what I was about to experience at ThalaKaveri, the birthplace of River Kaveri. All along the way, my husband fed me stories about the Kaveri, he loves the river (Actually, he loves all rivers). There was a drizzle mildly pouring in and it was cold. We saw the goddess in all her glory. I like to call water a goddess, for she brings us so much while being very powerful at the same time. I was just awed at everything I saw. The best was, although, yet to come. We climbed the hill away from the river and reached the top. Each step was full of flower-laden trees and magic. What do you think waited for us at the top? A breath-taking view of the valley and…

the gentlest, softest, most beautiful rainbow ever. 

A wandering monk standing there taught me my first real Kannada word, kaamana billu. 

Indeed, it was cupid’s arrow. Manmadha must have been roaming those hills since eternity, keeping love alive across ages. 

The sign that I was looking for had come. I knew I would be taken care of, no matter what. Everything would be okay, I was sure. They say God talks to us in strange ways. That day, the Goddess spoke to me, in her own special way. I was loved. 

It has been more than a year and a half since that fateful day, but each time I feel low, all I have to do is close my eyes and think back to that lovely sight. The experience that changed my mind, the Goddess that gave back love to me. 

Softly, I whisper unto her… thank you…

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2 thoughts on “That fateful day. (Blogathon Post Fifteen)

  1. You know I share a similar relation with French. My father had passed away when I had just started my formation to become a prof at Alliance Française de Poona. In those initial months when my wounds of his sudden death were still very raw, it was my classes and students that helped me stay sane. And thus what was just a means of going on has become my haven of peace.

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