Winter Wonderland

This is a charmed town.
Fairy lights blink from trees, garden gates, windows and rooftops.
Snowflakes dangle from awnings and some trees have a dusting of cottony snow. The only thing missing is a sleigh and a snowman.
We turn around and spot them both framed by a backdrop of coconut trees gently swaying in the cool breeze.

We grew up in this coastal Indian town of Vasai but somehow at this time of the year, it seems like a winter wonderland.
We turn around a street corner to be greeted by an arch that leads us to a stable. We come face to face with life-size images of the Holy Family in traditional Indian attire. The father feeds a quiet cow while the mother gently rocks the baby to sleep.
It is an amazing work of art. The enthusiasm and enterprise of the villagers is evident in the realistic depiction of the humble birth of the divine baby.
We walk along a lake to find it guarded by angels who smile down at a giant poster of the Holy Family in the middle of the lake.
At the crossroads, we meet a group of children in Santa hats who are singing carols.
The next day, we find ourselves waving at three kings riding on camels. they are followed by men and women in traditional clothes. It is the Christmas Carnival.

In the churchyard, there is a display of stars made by several villages for the Star Competition. The theme is 'Best out of Waste' so we find stars made of sackcloth, coconut fronds, newspapers, plastic bottles and used CDs. The stars spread the dual message of spiritual light and the unity of the people in the villages who came together to design them.
There is also a Song and Dance Competition one evening where tradition rules over modernity. It was heartening to see so many young people in saris and dhotis singing and dancing to the old folksongs.
Dazed by the sights of day we retire behind curtains which wink with the light of the silver and blue fairy lights and the Christmas star that shines all night long.

The real star of the season is the little Baby Jesus whose birth brought light into the lives of so many people around the world.
Tender voices join in the singing, "Long time ago in Bethlehem" and our little town echoes with the story that unfolded long ago.

 

A Sentimental Fool

People do rude things sometimes and I don't get angry.
My friends point it out that if people do rude things to me, I must do something about it.
I choose to ignore their advice most of the time.
Some people step on my toes. When I let them be, they climb all over me.
"This is called bullying," says my best friend, "You must learn to stand up for yourself."
So one day, I tell a bully to step off my toes in front of everybody else.
She is encouraged by a bigger bully to hit me. I fall down flat on my face and lie down there till my friends raise me up.
Yet, I am not angry.
"Do you think I did the right thing?" I ask my best friend as she wipes my face.
She tells me to step aside. Her face is red.
"I wonder what makes you so angry" I  tell her.
"YOU make me angry" she says.
"Me?" I ask.
"Yes, you just let people step all over you. You let them judge you but you never tell them when they are wrong. It makes me sick."
"Why should I?" I ask.
"Why should I what?" she questions back.
"Why should I judge them?"
"Because if you don't, they think that they are right all the time, that's why."
"Then let them."
"Then let them what?"
"Let them think they are right"
"But they are not"
"Of course, not."
"Then why do you let them?"
"Why do I let them what?"
"Think that they are right?"
"Because they are not."
"Of course, not"
We carried on like this till our conversation ceased making any sense and we ended up laughing.
...

I may be a sentimental fool but there is one thing I know for sure - there is someone else who knows the truth all the time. We do not have to drum it around. He knows the truth because He put it there.
He is the best judge and leads us to where He wants to take us.
The people we meet, the decisions we make, and the events that unfold, good and not-so-good, shape our journey and navigate our way.
The most intriguing thing about this journey is that we don't know how far or where we are going.
It helps to know that someone is guiding us like a Shepherd.

(Picture courtesy: Anna Lemos)

About Bragbook

Not long ago, a baby was born in the Far East.
The publicity-shy, well-heeled, highly-educated parents had decided to keep the baby out of the digital limelight and did not post pictures of their baby on Bragbook.
The baby's enthusiastic aunt, however, did.
The issue somehow got dragged into the media and was blown out of proportion.
Last heard, the aunt and the parents were not on talking terms.

***

The bride's dress was one of the loveliest ever seen.
Her mother's best friend, Auntie Isla, had made it with much care and had meticulously sewn each bead in place. It was a wedding gift.
After the wedding, Auntie Isla requested for pictures of the dress. The bride's mother gave her all the pictures of the wedding.
Auntie Isla posted a picture of the bride in the dress the next day on Bragbook with the comment:
'Gwen Parker on her wedding day!'
When Gwen saw it, she was furious. She did not want her wedding picture paraded on Bragbook. What's more, she did not even want some people to know that she had got married!

***

When Mariam and her family first arrived in U.A.E., they had no friends. Slowly they got to know an elderly couple from their hometown who helped them greatly and guided them. Soon, their friends became Mariam's friends too. They enjoyed dinners and days out together. Social life seemed unbelievably good till Mariam was invited to join their various groups on Bragbook.
She found out that the people who seemed to be friends said mean things about each other in different groups.
"There was so much negativity every time I logged onto Bragbook. I started being sucked into this negativity. So one day, I closed my Bragbook account" Mariam said with determination.

***

Recently, I happened to meet a group of friends who intentionally kept away from Bragbook. Some had never opened Bragbook accounts, some had closed theirs, and others hardly logged into theirs.

"Who needs Bragbook when I have so many people in my real life at present who know what I like and what I don't. I don't need any virtual friends to complicate my life" said Nandan.

Carla cuddled her baby tightly and said, "One day I was so engrossed online that I forgot to feed my little darling. So I decided to stay away."

"None of my immediate family members are on Bragbook. If I fall sick tomorrow, is my friend from Timbuctoo going to feed me soup? No. My sister will feed me and my brother will take me to the clinic. I found out that I wasted too much precious time on Bragbook so I rarely log into my account. I am there for my family when they need me" said Annika.

"My friend died," said Marianne, her eyes welling up with tears, "Her husband found out about her affair on Bragbook so she killed herself."

"My goodness, I just found my ex-boyfriend online. I log on occasionally and find a message from him waiting. Perhaps its best to stay away. He has his family and I have mine" said Robyn.

"I think it is the need to feel appreciated and liked that draws people to Bragbook" I reasoned.

Our old and wise friend, Shakti, was silent all along. At last she said,

"I had heard young people say that Bragbook brought people around the world closer. But from what I have heard today, it seems to have split families apart.
From my experience, I know that Real people don't need Bragbook 'likes' to make them realise their own value. They just know. Also, they do not feel the need to advertise the good times they have had because life is balanced by good and bad times. And it is the bad times that make the good times special."

(Picture courtesy: Google images)

 

A Headache

Much has been made of women's headaches in the media through history.
"That is a proof" the men say, "that you have a head."

So it's a bit embarrassing, you see, to admit that I had bad headaches all of last week.

Yes, I have had headaches before... the one that comes on the night before incomplete homework, the one that comes on when you are out in the mid-day sun for too long, the one that comes on after dehydration, the one that comes on after a heavy dose of anaesthesia during surgery, the one that is triggered by a powerful ray of light or loud music, and so on.

This headache was unlike any other. It came on like a tsunami wave. One moment all was calm and peaceful, and the next thing you know is that you are engulfed by super-high terrifying waves. The pain concentrated on one point in my brain and I felt like my head was going to explode.

No, I did not take any pills. I don't like chemical painkillers.
I tied my head up tightly with a scarf, rolled myself up into a ball, and prayed that it would go away. But it didn't.

The next night, the headache came again. When I refused painkilling pills, my husband offered me a glass of wine. It went straight to my head and I sang old Hindi film songs late into the night in a particularly pathetic voice. Our daughter thought that I had totally lost my marbles.

Well, Amitabh Bachchan singing "Khaike paan Benaraswala, khul jaye band akal ka tala..." is one thing, and someone like me singing it late at night is quite another!

The night after that, the headache came again. I refused painkilling pills and the glass of wine, applied some Tiger Balm on my forehead and fluffed up a soft pillow. I nursed my headache alone.

Last night, I quietly took the pills and slept soundly.

I do have a head, after all!

(Picture courtesy: Clipart)

Testing the Tooth Fairy

(Picture courtesy: Google images)

When Elena's first milk tooth fell out, her parents were proud of their 'big' girl.
Elena hid the pearl-like precious tooth under her pillow at night and waited for the tooth fairy.
The next morning she found some money under her pillow. The tooth fairy must have visited late at night because Elena did not see or hear her.

A month later, one of Elena's tooth became so wobbly that she couldn't eat properly. At school, Miss Hanneke yanked it out and gave it to Elena in a tissue paper. Elena placed it under her pillow and found some money the next morning. 
She felt very rich.

The third wobbly tooth didn't fall out or got yanked out.
Elena swallowed it!
Oh dear! Although she had lost her tooth, Elena couldn't keep it under the pillow for the tooth fairy. Oh, what was she to do!
Elena's mum came up with an idea that she had read about in a 'Charlie and Lola' book. She told Elena to go to sleep with a wide smile. Then, when the tooth fairy hovered above Elena at night, she would notice her 'gappy' smile. This idea did work. The tooth fairy left some money under her pillow that night.

Well, and the same story continued till Elena turned ten.

Just before Elena turned ten, she heard someone on the playground say that tooth fairies are not real. She found this hard to believe so she decided to test the tooth fairy.

On her tenth birthday, one of Elena's tooth fell out. This time she did not announce it to anyone. She quietly hid it under her pillow at night and tried not to go to sleep.
The tooth fairy did not visit that night.
No fairy, no money.
Elena was disappointed.

"Did you know that Elena's tooth fell out yesterday?" blurted out Elena's best friend, Daisy, as she entered Elena's house the next day for a play date.
"Really?" said Elena's parents.
"Yes, and she didn't tell anybody. She wanted to see whether the tooth fairy is real" said Daisy while Elena tried to 'shush' her.

That night, Elena asked her parents, "Do you think tooth fairies are real?"
Dad said, "If you believe in them, they are real."
"Then why didn't the tooth fairy visit me yesterday?"
Mum said, "That is because you tried to test her."
Dad said, "And I doubt if she will come to visit you anymore."

Christmas was around the corner.
Elena wrote a letter to Santa and gave it to her Mum.
"Mum, do you think Santa will visit me?"
"Yes, my love, if you believe in him, surely he will" answered Mum as she cuddled her little girl who was soon growing up.



 

Golo's Library Books

Every Monday, the children from Miss Nadia's class brought their blue library bags to school.
All except Golo.
 
The librarian had warned Golo that he could not borrow books till he had returned the ones he had borrowed last year. She had already sent two notes to his parents - one was a notice about the late books and the other was a refund note. But neither the books nor the money was sent to the library.
On Mondays, the children looked forward excitedly to borrowing books with lots of colourful pictures and nice stories.
All except Golo.

While his friends pointed at Elmer - the patchwork elephant, the very hungry caterpillar, and the fairies in the books, Golo simply looked on.

After they had chosen their books, the children made a neat line at the librarian's desk to have their books 'beeped' into the computer. The librarian let them cuddle the soft toys that dangled from her table.
"Can I take him home with me for one day?" asked Shanti as she held Elmer - the patchwork toy elephant.
The librarian smiled.
"Elmer goes home with me everyday" she said. "He has a little bed in my house where he likes to sleep" she added with a wink.
Golo sat on the cushions in the library and listened. How he wished he could take an Elmer book home!
He had nothing to do so he just hung his head low and waited to leave the library.

When the librarian had 'beeped' all their books, the children lined up at the door to go to their classroom. Each of them had a library bag in their hands. They were happy to take the books home to read with their parents and brothers and sisters.
All except poor Golo. He was very sad.
"I'm sorry, Golo. You cannot borrow any books this week" said the librarian as she waved goodbye to all the children.
Miss Nadia requested the librarian to send a 'strong' letter to Golo's parents.  The librarian wrote a letter and put it in an important-looking envelope and gave it to Miss Nadia who put it in Golo's school bag.

The next day, Miss Nadia danced into the library and deposited some money on the librarian's desk.
"Oh, what a day! Golo brought the money to pay for his lost books!" she said breathlessly.
The librarian's eyes sparkled behind her spectacles.
"Wow... that is great news!" she exclaimed.
The next Monday, Golo proudly marched into the library with his blue library bag. He knew exactly where the Elmer books were kept. He smiled to himself as he chose two of them. Then, along with his friends, he stood in the line at the librarian's desk.

When his turn came, he put his books on the librarian's desk and waited.
The librarian smiled and said, "Golo, I am going to give you a little gift today."
She reached into one of the drawers of her table and found a bookmark.
It had the picture of Elmer - the patchwork elephant.

It said:
Return your books on time
Don't pay any fine.

The librarian gave the bookmark to Golo and reminded him to keep his library books in the blue bag after he had read them.
"Yes, I will do that" said Golo "Only thing is I have to find a way to keep them away from my Dad!"

The Food Review

Being a celebrity, the lady in white is regularly invited on TV shows, book launches, openings of supermarkets, and other such grand events around town.

On one such occasion, she was invited to a popular TV show to review the creative culinary art of a famous international chef.

She arrived in her elegant white linen trousers teamed with a lacy shirt. The click of her stilettoes announced her entrance in the kitchen studio.

As he shook hands with her, the chef noticed her expensive white clothes and made a mental note to offer her an apron when she watched him cook.
"Today I am going to make a special dish for you" he said to the lady in white as he smiled at the camera.
"Oooo...I am so flattered" cooed the lady.
He offered her the red apron while saying to the camera that he did not want to ruin her wonderful whites. The lady found the red apron disgusting as it smelled of garlic and onions and vinegar, etc. She made a face (off camera) but said nothing.
"I call this dish 'White Delight' as it is inspired by you" said the chef as he looked at her adoringly.
He then assembled a dish made up of dried ginger, baked beetroots, raw cabbage and topped it with fried vanilla ice-cream.
He delicately arranged this creative masterpiece on a heart-shaped white dish with a dash of honey on the side and a generous sprinkle of sun-dried tomato sauce.
Then he proudly presented it to the lady in white.
She sniffed it reluctantly and said, "It smells as wonderful as it looks."
He urged her to taste it and handed her a spoon.
She hesitated at first and then picked up a squidgy-bit in the spoon and put it in her mouth.
Immediately, she made a face like a baby does when she tastes an orange for the first time.
Luckily for her, the camera was focussed on the chef who was explaining how this recipe was influenced by a variety of culinary traditions around the world.
"And, my dear," he said turning to her, "how do you like it?"
In the meanwhile, noticing that nobody was looking at her, the lady had surreptitiously chucked her mouthful of whatever-it-was into the bin strategically placed under the table.
Noticing the camera focussed on her, she clapped her hands and said,
"I have never tasted anything quite like this before. The subtle influence of the different flavours put together created a spectacular effect. You are a true genius!"

(Picture courtesy: Google images)

(The Lady in White is Anna's creation. If you are in the mood for humour, do look up the label on top for more such stories.)

An 'Indian' Indian

Suzie is stunningly beautiful.
With luscious black locks which fall down to her waist in waves, a golden face with sharp features, a brilliant smile and a gait that gives away her wealthy upbringing, she is a head-turner among all my friends here in Muscat.
When I met her for the first time, I asked her, "So which part of India are you from?"
"I don't know" she said impishly and waited for me to say something.
I, in turn,  waited for her to provide an explanation.
From her appearance, I had taken it for granted that she was from India. Anybody would.
Then she laughed and said, "Well, to be honest, I was not born in India. I am from South Africa. My ancestors from India had settled in South Africa years ago. So long ago that I do not know where they were from. In my bones I feel more South African than Indian."
"Have you ever been to India?"
"No, but I plan to do so soon. I just might bump into a rich great grand-uncle who has hidden away all his gold under a temple" she winked.
We were soon joined by Suzie's friends. It was her birthday.
After the customary hugs and kisses, she introduced me to them.
"Hi, meet my new friend - she is an Indian Indian."
...
Since that episode,  I have met many Malaysian Indians, Australian Indians, and even Indians from Trinidad and Tobago.
When they ask me where I am from, I join my hands in the 'Namaste' gesture and say,
"I am an Indian Indian".

(Picture courtesy: Google images featuring the Bollywood star Aishwarya Rai)

 

Remembering Radja

Our expat life is such that introductions and farewells happen regularly.

We celebrate these occasions with coffee mornings and promises to meet again. At school, the leaving children are given t-shirts on which their classmates have sketched hearts and written forget-me-not messages.

Many farewells happen during end of the school year. This year, too, the leaving children wore their t-shirts at the school assembly and we bid them goodbye as they went to other countries to begin their new adventures.

Radja, however, left us without saying a proper goodbye.

...

We first saw Radja when he was at pre-nursery with our daughter. His chubby round moon-like face and almond eyes were unlike any other.

“Hey, you are named after a King” we told him.

He rewarded us with a grin which showed his bunny teeth.

As the years passed, we saw him grow into a tall, handsome boy with a toothy smile. He was so much a part of our daughter’s childhood that he was like one of our own children. His coy mother always brought traditional Indonesian pandan cakes at our class coffee mornings and was an active volunteer at any activity at school. She had three sons at the school and she cared for them with selfless love that only a mother can give.

...

In the last week of July, Radja came to the class end-of-the-term beach class party with his mother. He had fun with the other children, and as the darkness gathered in the sky, we wished each other happy and safe holidays.

In his Indonesian hometown, Radja was admitted to the hospital for a serious illness. Although he had two surgeries, the doctors could not save him. He passed away in mid-September.

The sad news was broken to his classmates by the head teacher as gently as possible but their little hearts sagged with grief. For parents, it was even more difficult. We could not fathom the depth of the feelings of Radja’s parents and brothers. We consoled each other and wept in each other’s arms.

We hugged our own children tightly and chose to believe that Radja had gone to a beautiful place from where he did not want to return because it was paradise.

...

I met Radja’s mother the day after she arrived from Indonesia.

I realised how thin she had become as we embraced each other.

“His voice” she sobbed “is still in the house”. He used to pop into the kitchen and declare “Mummy, I love you!”

She remembers everything. She is surrounded by friends who constantly console her.

She manages to send me a smiley whenever I text her.

She is a brave girl.

May God give their family the strength to bear this loss.  Amen.

(In this casual class picture provided by the school last year, Radja is the boy in the blue t-shirt giving a confident pose for the camera. Front row, third from right.)

Express Shopping

The rhythmic click of her stilettos made people look up as the lady in white entered the supermarket.
Weekends are not good times for shopping in the fruits and vegetable section. There were harried housewives with babies, matronly mothers of large families, single men and women, all choosing the choicest and the freshest produce.
Abandoned trolleys laden with groceries lay here and there while their owners rushed around to gather more goodies.
There was a long queue at the weighing counter.
The lady in white had only five items on her beautifully hand-written  alphabetical list - bananas, beans, cucumbers, oranges, and watermelon.
She quickly looked around and spotted these items in the abandoned trolleys near her. Picking up the things that she wanted from these trolleys, she checked them for weight and price stickers, and with a click of her stilettos, marched up to the billing counter near the exit.

(This is another one of Anna's comical stories. This lady in white is also featured in  http://freshmintandlemon.blogspot.com/2014/09/a-piece-of-cake.html )

An Old Dream

Whew!
Now that we look back, it seems like a well-crafted script.

It begins more than a decade ago and goes like this -
Enter: Two protagonists - My husband and I.
We have a dream that we dreamt together - to buy some land for farming in Vasai.
It is a pleasant dream and gives us a creative way of fantasizing about our future.
There is a certain complication: We don't have the money.
So we wait till we have some money.

Six years later...
Enter: Mr D, a young, budding developer. He leads us to a nice plot in a neat bungalow scheme that he was planning. We love it but there was a complication - we didn't have the kind of money he was asking. Yet.
We would have to take a heavy loan if we wanted to buy it at that time. It was against our principles to live beyond our means. Our parents had brought us up that way.
So we just keep on dreaming.

Five years later...
Enter: Mr C, a middle-aged developer. He presented before us the proposal of a little farm that was a part of a large rice field near the famous Vasai fort.
This time round, we had the money. We promptly gave him the token amount that he asked for. No papers were signed.
A year later we found out from other sources that this piece of land was already sold to someone else. Fortunately, we got our money back.
We continued to dream.

Three years later...
Enter: Mr F, a well-known developer, who arrived in Muscat and smartly presented us with a property proposal directly in our living room.
This was it! - we thought.
We gasped at the prospect of owning such a beautiful green farm as we viewed it with the help of Google Earth.
We immediately wrote off a chunk of our savings on the cheques that we handed over to him.
"Give me six months," he said as he rolled up his papers and left.

A year passed.
On our visit home, we soaked coconuts in water so that we could plant them when our farm was ready.
We went to meet Mr F in his fancy air-conditioned office.
"These things are not so easy. Give me some more time. There are several families who own this land and I have to get signatures of all of the members, you see. Don't worry, it will be soon" he smiles. He looks down at our little daughter and asks her if she likes Vasai. She, too, has dreams of a flower garden in the farm that we plan to buy and has already made a list of flowers.

Another year passed.
The coconut saplings are now ready to be planted.
No updates from Mr F.
Our dream begins to wilt.

Yet one more year passed.
So, last month, we went to see Mr F in his office again. Our daughter did not come with us.
He spread out a chart in front of us. It had a big family tree with several branches. We did not recognise any names.
Mr F circled each name as he explained to us who has signed and who has not and for what reason. He talked for an hour. We simply nodded.
Using a red marker, Mr F circled two names.
"Now these two here" he said pointing to the names, " absolutely refuse to sell."
"What are their demands?" asked my husband.
"They have not made any demands" Mr F replied, hopelessly.
We felt hopeless, check-mated, stale-mated, dead-ended, ...or whatever else you would call people in such a situation.
"Can we have our money back, please?" we told Mr F.
"Please don't lose hope. I am building a state-of- the- art building in the heart of the town. Are you interested in buying an apartment instead of land?" he said excitedly.  
"Our dream, if you remember, was to buy a farm" we remind him.
He simply smiled.
We have given him a December deadline to return our hard-earned money. We have no choice but to sit back with fingers crossed.


Enter: Mr G, a landowner who wanted to sell his farm so that he could buy another plot near his house.
He called us in response to a notice that my husband had put on OLX.com a couple of months ago, which said "Looking for an agricultural plot in Vasai from landowners only. Brokers, agents, developers: please excuse."
There was an enthusiastic response from brokers, agents and developers which we ignored.
It rained heavily this monsoon. The rain drummed on our rooftop and we barely heard the phone ring when Mr G called.
The next day we went to see him and his farm. He turned out to be the brother of my classmate. Their family lived simply and had high moral values. It was a privilege to be associated with this humble family. Within a months time, most formalities were completed.

Enter: Our dream. Its an old one now, with burnt fingers and lots of patience.
It finally opened its eyes last month to see a lovely piece of farmland.
Thank god!

 

 

(This is a true story. Names have been disguised to protect identity. Any resemblance to persons with similar initials is purely coincidental. )

 

Hot New Accessories

Featured above are my latest hot new accessories - reading glasses.
I got two pairs because I didn't want to be stuck if I lost one.
It was time to get them when I confidently stamped a library book upside down and didn't realise it!(I publicly apologise to any of my friends from the library who are reading this.)
Well, the reactions from most of my friends and family were positive.
My fiercest critics, my daughter and husband, however, said that the brown one makes me look like a premature grandmother whereas the white one bestows on me the scholarliness of a computer geek.
So you see, I get to choose my look every day.

A Piece of Cake

There is a special birthday in the family today. We spent last evening baking cakes. Here is a cake story for you... and a little piece of cake too!


A lady came to tea. She was the guest of honour.
Dressed elegantly in an immaculately white satin blouse and skirt that fitted her svelte figure perfectly, she sat gently on the couch with one leg nicely crossed over the other. Her tan leather peep-toe shoes were the trendiest thing in the room.
With pursed lips which were painted a rosy pink, she made pleasant comments in the conversation.
The hostess brought out her new bone-china tea set with the pattern of delicate flowers and poured hot tea in the teapot. The living room filled with a toasty warmth.
The lady in white watched in appreciation as the hostess balanced the big cake on a filigreed silver tray. Being the guest of honour, the hostess urged the lady in white to help herself to the cake.
The lady took the knife, cut out a neat little triangular piece of the cake and set it on a plate. Then, thoughtfully, she placed a fork next to it.
After that she picked up the rest of the cake from the silver tray with both hands like a squirrel and ate it.


(This is one of Anna's comical stories. Recently she has been coming up with a lot of similar ideas. If you like this whimsical lady, let me inform you that she is also featured in other posts under the label 'The Lady in White'.)

“Your will be done...”

“Does she know?” I asked my aunt before entering Grandma’s room today.

“No. We haven’t told her yet” she answered.

Grandma was sitting upright in her bed in a pale blue nightgown. She was her usual peaceful self and prayed to the Virgin Mary for our happiness.

She enquired, "In which class are you studying?"

I guessed that she meant to ask about my daughter and I replied accordingly.  

Grandma will be 101 next month. Apart from loss of vision, she doesn’t suffer from any illnesses.

Her eldest son, whom we fondly called Jambulya Kaka, however, passed away recently after a cardiac attack.

Nobody expected that he would die so soon. After his retirement from service, he healed people with ayurvedic medicine and did not charge any fees. We had heard reports in Muscat about Jambulya Kaka’s miraculous medicine.

At his funeral and at condolence gatherings last week, people murmured.

“So sad. His mother is still good at 101 and he had to go before her.”

“What a shame! Auntie Stella is not in her senses anymore after the brain stroke. Yet, she has survived for months.”

“Why him? Catherine Maushi is bedridden at 90. She is ready to go.”

During the prayer meeting at Jambulya Kaka’s house, a passage from the Bible was read. Then his daughter read out a brief note about the chronological milestones in her father’s life.

Lastly, we all said the Lord’s prayer.

A few words in this powerful prayer answered some questions.

“Our father, who are in heaven,...Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven...”

 

 

 

Another Hopeful

Last Friday, at the local bank, the lady at the counter looked up at us but not through the reading glasses resting on her nose.

We were there to withdraw some money and the lady was processing our cheque. In the meanwhile, I asked my daughter if she would like to work in a bank.

The lady said, “I had told my children to choose any profession related to food, shelter or clothing”.

“What do they do now?” I asked.

“My daughter is still in college. My son has graduated from a Hotel Management Institute” she stated proudly.

She looked at the computer screen again and checked our details through her reading glasses.

“I see that you are NRIs. In which country do you stay?” she asked.

“We are presently based in Oman” I answered.

She smiled.

“My son has got a job offer from Crowne Plaza Hotel in Muscat. He cannot make up his mind. Is it a good country?” she asked.

“Congratulations to your son!” we said.

“It is one of the best places in the Middle East. Muscat has got all the facilities of a big city and yet has the feel of a small town. The locals are respectful of the expats. It is just about 2 hours away from Mumbai” we told her.

The lady smiled again. She fished for her mobile phone in her bag and showed us a picture of her son.

He was a handsome lad with a SRK haircut and had a face full of hope and optimism.

“He will do well in life” we said.

“Do you think he should take up this job?” she asked.

“It is a nice hotel and we can see it from our house. If it is a good package, why not? Some overseas experience will be good in his field, don’t you think?” we told her.

She called her son and told him about us. Then she took our contact details.

“The only drawback is that the public transport system is still developing” I said, “it would be great if your son gets his Omani driving licence soon after he arrives.”

“Oh, the hotel will be providing transport service. Let’s hope he takes up the offer.” she said.

“Inshallah!” we replied.

 

 

 

Postcards from Vasai

Rain has been drumming continuously on our rooftop since we arrived home.

Our town is decked in monsoon glory.  

Here are some pictures for you.

 

(Photos courtesy: Anna Lemos)

What drives us?

 

There were thousands of them – all driven by an insane force which urged them on, against all odds, to move from one place to another.

 

(Photo courtesy: Google Images)

The National Geographic channel was showing the Great Wildebeest Migration in Africa on TV. It informed that more than a million East African blue Wildebeest, also called the Gnu, migrate from the Serengeti plains to the hills of Kenya’s Masai Mara in search of rain-ripened grass. Many such documentaries show wildebeest being eaten by crocodiles while crossing rivers or drowning in the attempt. They move forward in a frenzied herd racing and crossing all barriers. Their determination is awe-inspiring.

...

“Do you know that the Artic Tern migrates from the North Pole to the South Pole?” a child from primary school asked me.

Children have strange ideas sometimes so I googled for the facts.

Yes, it was true.

Artic Terns do migrate from Pole to Pole!

...

In the hills of northern India, there are several temples which are most holy places for pilgrimage. Many people take the difficult route every year and join crowds which climb steep hills chanting the name of god. We hear reports of landslides and stampedes at these holy places. These reports, however, do not deter the faithful who are set on reaching up to the divine to express their strong faith.

...

“It is good that you are not in this train” said my husband this morning.

He was calling from a tightly-packed local train bound for Mumbai city.

Our friends and relatives make this journey daily. While we studied and worked in Mumbai, we too, waited at the Vasai station for the train, got ready to jump in as we spotted the train arrive from a distance, tried to get a foothold into the moving train before it halted, then checked whether we have landed in one piece along with our belongings. It was quite a feat at that time and we had become used to it. My friends and I complained about the mad rush hours at the station but we all took the same train again the next day.

We struggled and survived.

...

There seems to be an invisible force that drives us, living things, to take risks and perform dangerous acts.

Dylan Thomas, a poet, wrote:

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees

Is my destroyer.

And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose

My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

...