A love like no other.. (Blogathon Post Seventeen)

She was a hard core feminist,a non-committal homosexual and undisputably,one of the greatest writers that ever lived.
He was a writer too,who also dabbled with philosophy to such penetrating depths that it left his readers gasping.. and a self-claimed womaniser.
But then,they met.
And recognised in each other a little of their own selves.And an extreme compatibility in thought.A journey through the clouds,an intellectual union,sparks flew-that was how it was when they spoke to each other.
But the intellect is never satisfied.
Being the womaniser that he was,he could never commit himself.And she didn’t mind.It is not everyday that you find a companion who can match your intellectual frequencies and push you to greater heights.
He moved around with the pretty ladies in France,while she continued to stack skeletons in her closet.
All through this,they remained scrupulously honest with each other,telling each other every minute detail of their unglamorous affairs and dirty scandals,in letters that only two writers would appreciate.
And yet,they were in love with each other.
Totally.
All the while making more mistakes than the rest of the population put together.Atleast that’s what it seems.

And this love story appeals to me.It represents an ideal that I might never find.There are no standards here,whatsoever.They were probably people with double standards,for all you know.
Because they frequently lied to each other under the masquerade of honesty.He was a chauvinist,she was a feminist wimp.
But it clicked.
Because their minds met.

That was the story of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean Paul Sartre,two of the greatest writers in France.

The joys of list making! (Blogathon Post Sixteen)

Sometime ago,I received a different kind of journal as a gift. I love it, because it is called ‘LISTOGRAPHY’- Your life in lists. I like making lists, whether I strike off things after doing them or not.  One of the lists in the journal asks you to list your closest friends. That is the page I am sharing with you today. Enjoy! You might want to make your own list! 🙂
People included here are Agni, Lali, Prayathna, Nithya, Pooja, Divya, Vamsi, Aravind and Shankar. There are many others like Supriya and Pradnya that I am close to, but the journal had only two pages dedicated to this! 

I just want to say, each friend of mine is cherished. I love you, everyone of you. 🙂

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…

How the butterfly got his colours. (Blogathon Post Fourteen)

Long ago, when the world was new, and Nature played with colours and fragrances,and music and life, trying to create beauty from a clod of earth, and harmony from a discordant note, butterflies had no colours. They were the plainest of creatures, appearing in a deep shade of black.

Each morning, the butterflies set out to find the brightest of flowers, for their food of sweet nectar.And each evening, they returned, content and full. Nature provided them with the best of her lot- bright, vibrant, colourful flowers.In that garden of beauty, the butterflies ruled.

In a corner of the enchanting garden blossomed a tiny flower of the most exquisite shade of orange, with a touch of creamy white around her lovely lips.She swayed with the gentle breeze, her smile lit up the blue skies.With the break of a new day, the flower was witness to the coming of the butterflies. As she saw them come, her heart felt light as a kite. She felt extraordinarily happy, ready to forge a bond, ready to experience a little magic. 

A young butterfly gently alighted on her, drawn to her strange and arresting beauty. She welcomed him like a long-lost friend. Messages were exchanged, yet words were unnecessary. Tales were told, songs were sung. The butterfly lingered on, not wanting to go back home. The flower wanted him to stay.And so he stayed.As the afternoon wore on, the flower felt the depth of his soul, but she knew she had to make the most of her time.

The evening sun went down behind the hills. The little flower knew it was time.
Time to bid adieu.
Time to let him go.
How do you let go of a loved one just like that?
Without giving him something to remember you by, something to say, ‘I’ll always think of you’ ?

The butterfly said his teary goodbye and rose up in the air.His tiny wings now had a smear of orange.

For the hues of loved ones linger on..deep in our souls..sometimes on our wings. Just so, that when we want to fly free and reach for the stars, we may be assured of a little colour, a little life, and a little joy.

And that’s how the butterfly got its colours.

A prince for her princess..(Blogathon Post Thirteen)

Ambika hoisted herself high up on the tree,trying to reach for the ripest of mangoes.It was summer,her favourite time of the year-no school,no drill,no homework!She deftly plucked the fruits one by one,throwing them into the basket her brother held,who was standing on the ground below the tree.

“Akka,finish it fast,Amma will find out!”

“Such a coward you are!” Ambika teased,though she was secretly scared of what her mother would say.She kept a wary eye all around and expertly continued with her job.

“Look at this! A weaver bird’s nest da Aravind!”,she squealed,almost breaking the branch she was sitting on.Aravind started to jump and down in excitement as well,”Where,where?”

Ambika held out a hand for her brother to climb on.He got onto the lowest branch and slowly maneouvred his way up the tree,from where he could have a clear view of the nest.Ambika was smiling in glee and brother and sister exchanged looks of amazement and pride.

“Is it a large family,akka?”
“Yes…Or maybe no…” Ambika wavered,wondering what the right answer would be.She liked to be always right.In this case,there were so many facts missing,like who was the head of the weaver family,how many times a day they went out looking for food,how comfortable the tree at Ambika’s house was to build a home like this one..Phew!Sometimes she wished her brother wouldn’t ask so many silly questions.

AMBIKA…

Uh-oh.It was their mother calling from the kitchen.In a rush of fear,Ambika scrambled down the tree,like a tiny squirrel.Only when she touched terra firma did she realise that she’d left Aravind behind on the tree.

Frantically,she cried out,”Jump Aravind,jump..”

Aravind,not used to such sudden interruptions of joy and wonder started to wail.Just as Ambika was trying to shush him and get him down,she saw her mother.And by the look on her mother’s face,she knew it was going to be serious.

————————————————————

Her mother’s voice was harsh and stern.

“Do you know how old you are,Ambika?”
Ambika wouldn’t look at her mother in the eye.Yet,she wanted to seem defiant.She looked at her marapachi bommai on the floor lying near her feet and answered nonchalantly,

“Twelve”.

“You are not a little girl anymore..to be romping about like this..Play with your dolls,do some sketching,some reading,work on your skills..instead of running about in the hot sun and getting your brother also in trouble..do you understand?”

Ambika picked up the marapachi in a fit of rage and threw it furiously onto the floor.Her mother slammed the door on her face.Ambika examined her doll closely for cracks and saw an area where the wood had chipped off,because of her angry fit.Her heart sank.Who will marry her cute doll now?And she’d already promised her a nice groom.She rummaged through her things for a little fevicol,found the broken chip of wood and neatly stuck it onto her doll.There,she was all pretty and nice as before.That night she hushed her little one to sleep,promising her a nice bride groom as she’d always done,every night of her twelve year old life.

As she lay in bed clutching her doll tightly in her hands,Ambika wondered about who would make a nice husband for her.Not somebody too soft and tender,for her doll was a strong woman.And not somebody too fair, for her sweetie was a dusky beauty.And definitely someone caring,for she deserved only the best.Yes,Ambika sometimes ill-treated her doll,but she had not yet learned to deal with her sporadic bouts of anger,and if her doll didn’t understand,who would?

Slowly,her eyes closed and she fell asleep.If angels were true,then they were surely watching over her and they knew her desire to get her doll married was true..

————————————————————–

Ambika sat down under her tree,in no mood to jump about, after yesterday’s rebuke. She saw the outline of the beautiful weaver’s nest and wistfully wondered about how many eggs it held within.She had more time to think about the weaver-bird family today, without Aravind nagging her and asking silly questions.The more she thought, the clearer it seemed to her.Everything was just right.Not too fair,not too soft,and who could be more caring and responsible and beauty-loving?
She smiled a lovely smile, which seemed all the more beautiful, because of the thought in her mind.Her princess had a prince! And a handsome one at that!

Ambika rushed into the house,got out the beautiful piece of Zari from an old saree of her mother’s,that she’d been saving for this occasion and draped it neatly around her cute doll.She then sneaked a little kumkum,and haldi and a little string from the kitchen,made a yellow thread and put it around the doll’s neck.Wow,she looks beautiful,she thought.

Wrapping her decked-up bride in the folds of her frock,she tiptoed into the dining hall.There was no one there.She hurriedly grabbed a few bananas,two eclairs and four cream biscuits from the refridgerator and then slipped out slowly into the garden.

She fumbled with the things she was carrying and dropped a few.She gathered them neatly, and looked up at the weaver’s nest.She needed help now.She ran back into the house,found Aravind playing with his new gun and called him to play.Always ready to please his boisterous sister,Aravind complied.

As they neared the tree,she told Aravind in hushed tones,”My doll is getting married today!”. Aravind only looked at her sister in awe.God,she is so smart,why does amma always yell at her then?,he wondered..

Ambika gave all the things she’d collected to Aravind,asking him to hold them carefully.She tied the doll to one end of the sash on her frock and climbed the tree deftly.She peeped into the nest.Mr.Weaver bird was not there yet.Carefully placing the bride at the top of the nest, and wishing the couple good luck,she uttered a little prayer.

She got down and distributed the chocolate and biscuits between them.She placed the bananas on the compound wall for the cows to eat…
She’d found a bridegroom for her doll! Her sweetie was married now!

She took Aravind’s hands in hers.She looked at him and wondered,’Sweet brother of mine…what would I do without him?’.In a spontaneous burst of emotion she spat out,”I love you,Aravind!”
Aravind could only manage a sheepish smile.

[Ambika would be happy to know that she was right with her decision.They make one happy couple :)]

*marapachi bommai:South Indian doll made from wood.

 

The reluctant mother.. (Blogathon Post Twelve)

For Mother’s day!

A young woman
fresh like a new bloom
With the dreams of a thousand lifetimes
Dancing quietly in her eyes..
A visit by a sage
And a boon thus granted;
She held the boon
in her heart
Till it grew heavy and
began to pull her soul down,
Like a secret not to be told.
She yearned to see,
If the boon would work,
If the sage was right,
If dreams could come true.
A slight nonchalance
A sceptic denial
In all folly of youth..
And lo!
Bear she would,
The glory of the Sun.
Even if it burned.
And so she lived-
To see her baby
A hero obscure,
unsung and lowly..
Unable to call him her own-
Her heart was now heavier.

A Poem.. (Blogathon Post Eleven)

On the shores of the endless ocean, 

I wait. 

Love and faith and hope and joy;

They touch my feet, but wash me not. 

The mild breeze sings to me

the waters play- my eyes look

for you; it is you I want

On that endless ocean shore. 

Reason eludes me; I know I am wrong;

To ask for love is to kill it

and to beg for time, a sin;

Will you still come?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                 I stand in eternal hope

 I wish on invisible stars;

 With all my foibles, therefore

On that shore, I wait. 

 

Gifted! (Blogathon Post Ten)

Each time I sit down for dinner, I think of a certain group of students. Their gifts adorn my table. Come to think of it, I think of each group of students I have worked with, at least once everyday. That is because tokens of their appreciation are strewn all around my home, which makes me feel so good, every moment of my life. 

One of the earliest gifts that I received when I started teaching was this one,  a painting of a Dancing Ganesha. Symbolic, don’t you think? A gift that heralded an auspicious beginning. 

I was so thrilled with the gift and it is the centre of attraction in my living room, three years later. I have never been able to hang it on the wall, but will definitely do it when we get a home of our own. (You know how it is in a rented place!) Soon after that, on my birthday, students from EFL-U gave me the best birthday ever.. with a surprise cake and a gift. It was too special for words. This is what they gave :

Just a couple of days ago, when the power was out, we lit the candles on this one and had an impromptu candle-light dinner. I cannot describe how much I like it. When I moved , they gave me this Feng Shui elephant, guaranteed to bring wealth and prosperity. Indeed, it did. Not because it was Feng Shui, but because it was given with so much positive thought and goodwill. 

 Many times, I have been surprised as to how students gauge what I like, even when I do not say it explicitly. Like one of my corporate groups. They sent a lovely card and a book store voucher in my name to the Alliance Française! It came as a surprise and I was simply overwhelmed. This is what I bought from that voucher, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. 

There were two other groups that gave me vouchers, unfortunately, I do not have the pictures. I will always remember it, although , have it written in my journal. I have received pens and clothes too! Sometimes, I get shocked too , like when I am gifted kitchen items, see the set of the small pickle holders below! The shock is short-lived, however and when I look back at the thought behind the gift, I am rendered speechless. 

The vase was a gift too, from the same group. Once, I was gifted a photo of the whole group with me, nicely framed. It hangs just outside my study now. What a lovely way to make sure everyone is remembered! 

I received this one recently, the pen with the gold trimmings. Is it not lovely?

All this , without counting gifts I have received from family and friends over time. And the countless cards and notes and e-mails.  So from me to you, 

I cherish every little thing that you send my way. I really do.  🙂 

A song… (Blogathon Post Nine)

This song is one of Sriram’s latest favourites.. So I tried singing it. Pardon the pronunciation( I cannot speak Malayalam) and the raw singing.

You can listen to the original here. Do listen, it is a beautiful song and lovely visuals too.

This is my version…(Please save and click on slide show)

Mazaneer Thulligal

My best friends…(Blogathon Post Eight)

Just a few years ago, I knew nothing about four-legged furry creatures. I did love animals and enjoyed watching documentaries on National Geographic but my first-hand experience of living creatures was limited to plants and flowers. I loved stories by Gerald Durell and always dreamed of having a dog at home, but my mother would not hear of it. I loved visiting my aunt in Chennai, whose home was full of animals, chaos and love. ( Read this post to get an idea. )I even think my home today resembles hers, which is a good thing. A very good thing. So the first thing I did after I got married was to get home two naughty puppies.

I learnt to feed them, clean up after them and worry when they were sick. My life changed, almost overnight. I now had two friends who were always there for me wagging their tails each time I came home. I have told them everything.. my joys, my failures, my darkest secrets. I have sung lullabies for them and have dressed them up in bows.  I usually value my personal space, but with my dogs, they are free to use my bed and sometimes my lipstick. (Okay, the last thing is a joke, don’t freak out!)

As if all the chaos was not enough,  a year ago, a tiny little one wrapped herself around my legs and did not want to let go. Yes, she came home too.  People ask me, why three dogs? Frankly, I do not know. It is like asking a mother, why do you have two kids, when one is enough? They just happened and I do not regret it. In fact, my life is so much happier with these three around. To prove it, here are some valuable things I learned from my dogs.

LOVE : Well, they do anything for food, but I would do anything for their love. Each time I come back home, I receive the same warmth, the same affection, the same “where-were-you-i-missed-you-so-much” look.

LAUGHTER : Each day,  our dogs do a new funny thing. We talk about it, we laugh. Like how our labrador waits at the door once he has made up his mind to go on a walk. Or my german shepherd that used to stand on two feet in the balcony and ogle at girls ( No, that is NOT a joke! ). Or how Lulu snuggles under my husband’s arm in exactly the same way that I do. I think she gets jealous of me. (If you knew my husband, I think you would, too!) Life is all about these lighter moments, isn’t it? Thanks to our dogs, our days are full of them.

LETTING GO and LIVING IN THE PRESENT : Dogs do not hold grudges. They do not remember how you treated them yesterday; they only care about today. Right here, right now, I lick you, you hug me and all is fine. Seems like the perfect theory of happiness to me.

So that is why I have three of them.

Because you can never have too many friends.