At the Grotto

Today, at the church, I approached the grotto to give thanks.

There were other women standing or kneeling there.

One lady was praying fervently to Mother Mary with her head devoutly covered.

The more I looked at her, the more I identified with her need and desperation.

I could hear her heart cry out.

God had once shown me what it was like to ‘feel your heart cry out’.

I forgot what I wanted to say and offered a silent prayer for this lady’s prayers to be answered.

Amen

The Essence of Oman

A warm and welcoming fragrance greeted us at the Muscat airport as we landed in this country for the first time.

The scent, unmistakably of frankincense, transported us to the religious services on festive occasions in our native country. It had a celestial quality and it made us fall in love with this Arabian country.

Later, as we explored Muscat, we found frankincense burnt in censers in hotels, mosques, offices, homes, shopping malls, and even at the local grocery counters.

Frankincense has powerful spiritual connotations. There are records of it been used for more than 5000 years. In ancient times, it was highly valued as the gift of kings and was precious than gold. The incense trade was at its height about 2000 years ago. The three Magi travelled with gold, myrrh, and frankincense to see a baby in the stable led by a star. These were sacred gifts with mystic meaning. On January 6, the Feast of Epiphany or the Day of the Three Magi, Queen Elizabeth II still offers these sacred gifts in the Chapel Royal.

The frankincense smoke that rises to heaven creates a visual image of carrying prayers to god. Research shows us that in an Egyptian pyramid text, frankincense is called the ‘stairway to heaven’. It is mentioned twenty-two times in the Bible. It is said to be the ‘veiled presence of god’. Burning frankincense is an important part of Christian, Greek and Russian Orthodox rituals.

At the height of the incense trade, frankincense was popular in Europe, and all the countries along the Silk Route. The nations which had sea links to Oman also contributed to this prosperous trade.

In some countries, such as Israel, incense replaced animal sacrifice to gods. The thurible, which is used in many churches, is a swinging censer, hung from chains – its openwork construction allowing clouds of sacred smoke to stream out. The custom of burning a candle on entering a church or during prayer relates directly to the role of incense smoke forming a pathway for prayer.

Frankincense is not only a ‘holy smoke’ but it has medicinal properties too. It is used in the treatment of psychological conditions such as stress and depression, as well as physical ones such as asthma and rheumatic pain. As a fumigant, it gets rid of mosquitoes and flies. In Ayurveda, frankincense is used as a fumigant and to deter disease. It is applied locally as an astringent and to relieve swelling. It also has antiseptic and anti- inflammatory properties.

The Middle East has a fragrance-conscious culture. Frankincense is liberally used in most Arabian nations. In Oman, people scent their clothes with frankincense by placing their clothes on a special rack which is placed above the incense burner. The men spray its perfume on the tassel of their dishdasha so that wherever they go, the scent follows them. In a region with scarce water, frankincense sweetens the smell of well-worn clothes and bedding as it is wafted through them, hung on special stands.

Frankincense is defined as the crystallised sap from resin ducts under the bark of the Boswellia tree. There are varieties of frankincense such as Boswellia sacra, Boswellia serrata, Boswellia papyrifera, among others. The purest yield of silver frankincense among all these varieties comes from the Boswellia sacra species which is native to the Dhofar region of southern Oman. 

In Dhofar, there was an ancient natural harbour called Khor Rori. The fortress town of Sumhuram, stood above this harbour. This was where the frankincense trade flourished.  UNESCO has declared Wadi Dhowkah as The Land of Frankincense and it is a World Heritage Site. It was selected because of the density of the frankincense trees and its proximity to the National Highway from Salalah to Muscat.

Frankincense has a glorified halo surrounding it but the tree that produces it is low, bushy, and rather scrubby.  These trees have firm grey-green coloured leaves, tiny flowers, and a peeling, papery bark. Folklore and stories have grown around these trees and the incense trade. One of them tells of the ‘flying snakes’ that guard these trees. These are tiny red vipers which coil and jump as high as a man’s thigh to attack. The traditional harvesters fumigate the area with frankincense to get rid of these snakes before they begin the harvest season. The harvesters use their tools to pare back the bark. The milk-like gum resin oozes out in little globules within minutes of cutting and immediately releases its fragrance. It is then dried for a few weeks and sorted before being carried to the markets.

The international aromatic trade has a grading system for frankincense depending on size, colour, degree of transparency, and fragrance. The local souqs or markets stock different varieties such as Hujari, Hasiki, Aajdi, and so on. Among these, Hujari is called the royal incense and is famed for its characteristic woody and sensual note.

The people of Oman have built a landmark near the Sultan Qaboos Port at Muttrah to commemorate the ancient incense trade. The huge incense burner that greets ships entering this port, reminds us of the days of glory when this nation was renowned for spreading fragrance around the world.

As I write this today, ethereal white ribbons of the divine smoke rise up from the incense censer in the corner of our living room. As they move heavenwards, they invoke the literary muse.

(This post was first published in Outpost Muscat Newsletter, Jan-Feb 2014.)

Mumtaaz!

Today our young Omani friend came dressed in a brilliant blue abaya.

She wears an abaya by choice. Oman is a free country, you see.

Black is boring so this young lady designs her own abayas.

Wearing these dresses motivate her to report to work every morning.

Sometimes she looks absolutely stunning –although completely covered.

Mumtaaz! – we tell her in Arabic – Beautiful!

...

Facebook/Bragbook

From Facebook I stayed away for a while

To make real people smile.

Life went on just as before

Pursuing pastimes I adore.

...

Unexpectedly I saw a friend today

Who had just arrived from Bombay.

“How did you not know?” she said

“My FB status haven't you read?”

...

Another nice young girl I had known

Had eloped and was not alone.

I found it bluntly bewildering

To imagine such a happening.

...

Some deep thought then I got

That I had lost the plot.

So now and then I sign-in again

Not knowing if it’s a boon or a bane.

...

  

Surely Surreal

What could be more surreal

For an odd ordinary girl

Than to sit in the middle of the sea

Near a great glass anemone

With two handsome gentlemen

Having a curious conversation

And casually sipping tea

From cups quite pretty

With the pattern of a butterfly

While sharks swam nearby?

(An evening in the lobby of The Atlantis, Dubai)

As if by Magic

We marvelled at the room with a view in the hotel.

Everything was in place. The towels, the bathrobes, the slippers, the hair dryer, the shoe mitts, the toothbrushes, the bath salts, soaps and lotions, a shaving kit, a sanitary kit, a sewing kit.... there was even a vanity kit to take off make-up. We regretted packing all the things we had brought along. If only we had known...

Like the little elves in the shoemaker’s story, whoever was taking care of us remained hidden from view.

On the first day, we carried an apple, a pear, and a banana to our room from the bounteous breakfast table to eat later. Our elf took the clue and kept some apples, pears and bananas for us in the room every day.

On the second day, I had left a book and some papers on the table. When we returned, our elf had kept some glossy magazines on the side table.

One morning I forgot to put in a piece of lingerie in the closet. When we returned, its silky folds were neatly hung on a satin hangar.

It was like a little game between us and our elf. Each day we left a clue about what we liked and the elf worked on it.

Twice a day our bed was made and everything tidied up. As if by magic.

We were not used to this kind of spoiling so we took care to do most tidying up ourselves.

And now, back home, we miss our elf sometimes.
We feel like Cinderella must have felt when she fell out of the pumpkin chariot in rags as soon as the fairy godmother's spell was broken.

Checking into The Atlantis

We oohed and aahed as we saw images of the hotel on Google.

The Atlantis sat gracefully on the topmost frond of The Palm in Dubai. Everything about it spelled “Posh”.

We are not posh people and by ourselves we would have never chosen to go there.  

But we had won the prize last year and our time was running out. We had to use the holiday voucher before May 2014.

What prize, you ask?
See http://freshmintandlemon.blogspot.com/2014/02/you-must-be-joking.html

...

“You must do all the water sports at the hotel” suggested Mala.

“And don’t miss the Dubai metro and the food at Appa Kadhai” said Bharati.

“We loved playing with the dolphins at the Dolphin Bay when we had been there” said Giusi.

“Good to know that you will be visiting us in Dubai” said my brother.

...

The smartly dressed bell boys rushed forward to take our bags with broad smiles and directed us to queue up at the check-in counter.

When our turn came, a handsome young man named Charles took our booking details and got busy at his computer to verify them. We left him to do the formalities and turned around to take in the beautiful displays in the lobby. We chatted in our native Marathi dialect as we kept one eye on the young man at the counter. On hearing us, he suddenly stopped his work and looked up. Then he gave a broad smile.

He asked, “Are you from...”

“Vasai” completed my husband.

The two men laughed and shook hands. It doesn’t take long for one Vasaikar to recognise another. Then we did what Vasaikars do when they meet other Vasaikars for the first time.

We shared:

Which part of Vasai we came from

Which part of Vasai our parents came from

We tried to figure out:

If we knew anybody in common

If we were distantly related

We concluded:

Charles’ aunt and I went to the same school.

Wow! We had succeeded in establishing a common link.

Charles gave us a wonderful room with a view. He also gave us his phone number just in case we needed any assistance. And he wished us a pleasant stay.

Somehow meeting Charles made our stay in the hotel a memorable one.
  

You must be joking!

“Hello?” I answer the phone half-heartedly.

 I had been dozing off nicely snuggled in bed with a high fever one afternoon.

“Congratulations, Madam! You have won a cash prize of 20,000 Rials!”

I am speechless.

“Madam, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Your phone number was entered in a draw and you have won the cash prize of 20,000 Rials. Your name has been flashing on the local Omani TV news channels for the last three days. Didn’t you know?”

“No.”

This cannot be true. I have never won a prize in my life but I have been pretty much satisfied with everything that God has bestowed upon me.

I tell myself that a fever sometimes causes hallucinatory effects. This experience was a particularly pleasant one so I decide to play along.

“So Madam” the male voice at the other end continued, “to claim your prize you have to give us your SIM number. Do you know your SIM number?”

“No.”

“Ok. I will call you after five minutes. Please check your SIM number and tell me. Only thing is don’t tell anybody about this.”

Now I am wide awake and realise that I am not hallucinating.

“Remember, Madam, I will call you in five minutes. Give us the SIM number and don’t tell anybody else.”

“Why not?” I ask as he hangs up.

He had asked me to do the impossible. A woman cannot hold such explosive information for long. So I call my husband and tell him.

“Why do you entertain such calls? Don’t tell me that you believed him.” My husband sounds annoyed. I can hear a meeting going on in the office.

“If he calls again, tell him you will report him to the police. These people are out to dupe others. And please don’t give him your SIM number in any condition.”

“Ok” I agree.

The phone rings after five minutes. I do not answer.

It rings again. I do not answer.

................................................

A few days later I am sitting in the school playground waiting for my daughter.

“Hello?”

“May I speak to Mr. Lemos? I have some good news.” says a chirpy Omani young woman.

“Mr. Lemos has gone to India. May I take a message for him?”

“Is this his phone number?” she asks.

“Yes, I am his wife. I use his phone.”

“Congratulations, Mrs. Lemos. Your husband has won a holiday voucher of 3000 Rials!” she squeals.

I am on my guard immediately.

“May I know who is calling?” I demand sternly.

“My name is Ayesha. I am calling from Nawras – your phone company” she answers puzzled by my sternness.

“You said that my husband won a prize. Please explain.”

“Madam, there was a phone call made from this phone number which was entered in a draw. Your husband has won the prize” she said patiently.

“I will call you after two days to give you more details. Congratulations!” she chirps again.

“Ok, we’ll see.” I say and hang up.

For a while I debate with myself whether to call my husband and tell him.

Then I call him.

“You must be joking!” he answered “How many times have I told you.....”

“She was a nice girl. She sounded so genuine. It might be true. Congratulations, Mr. Lemos” I start chirping too.

“Please spare me these hoax calls. I am at work. If you are so sure, why don’t you visit the Nawras office and find out for yourself?” he challenges.

So I go to the Nawras office.

They say, “Congratulations, it’s true!”

 

Let's Fall in Love

Some songs stay stuck in your head for a long time.

This is a funny song that I had to post just before Valentine's Day.

Imagining those 'educated fleas', 'lazy jelly fish', and 'electric eels' always puts us into fits of laughter.

 

 

 

Lets Do It

 

Birds do it, bees do it
Even educated fleas do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

In Spain, the best upper sets do it

Lithuanians and Letts do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

The Dutch in old Amsterdam do it
Not to mention the Finns
Folks in Siam do it - think of Siamese twins

Some Argentines, without means, do it
People say in Boston even beans do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

Romantic sponges, they say, do it
Oysters down in oyster bay do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it
Even lazy jellyfish, do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

Electric eels I might add do it
Though it shocks em I know
Why ask if shad do it - Waiter bring me
"shad roe"

In shallow shoals English soles do it
Goldfish in the privacy of bowls do it
Let's do it, let's fall in love

 

You may want to hear Ella Fitzgerald smile as she sings this song at the link below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2bvcKvMEMA

 

For Chiyutai

Dear Chiyutai,

Suddenly you are so big, my pet,

And don’t want to be kissed –

In public and in private.

Those moments are now missed –

When you plonked on my lap with your chubby bums

And ate up my face with toothless gums.

You laid my long hair on your eyelids

To shield them from the light’s glow.

I don’t want to tell you this –  

But perhaps you already know.

That I still kiss you goodnight

When you are sleeping tight.

 

 

 

Look Who's Cooking

Anita: 
He thinks I cannot make good tea. So if we are expecting guests, he brews the tea and keeps the cups ready. He tells me to bring the tea tray in when the guests have arrived to seem as if I made it.

Nupur: 
How I wish my husband could only make tea!

Suchita: 
Before my marriage, I couldn't even boil potatoes! My husband taught me how to cook step by step. Now I can cook five course dinners.

Prema: 
When I am sick, my mother-in-law calls up and asks my kids if I did the cooking, if their father cooked, or whether we ordered food from outside. My kids reply that I have cooked and gone to sleep. 
My husband is an only son and cannot cook at all.


Ananya: 
When I was sick, I was rolling out chappatis. My mother-in-law came to see me and was annoyed. She said, "Why are you making chappatis when you are ill, my dear? I have taught my son to make chappatis. You should let him do the cooking and take some rest".

 

A Favourite Poem

Kaija chose a humorous poem for the Class IV project on favourite poems.
She copied it on a sheet in her best handwriting.
It was a poem by Clive Webster and went like this:

Pretty Parents

Dad's got tattoos on his chest

But he's not as bad as mum.

She's got the most embarrassing -

She's got tattoos on her bum.

Kaija drew pictures of a dad and mum with their respective tattoos under the poem.
Then she wrote, "I like this poem because the last sentence is so funny - that the mum has tattoos on her bum. I wish my mum had them too."

 

Bead by Bead

“He’s so young and handsome,” thought the apprentice nurse as she dressed his wounds. It was a bad accident.

The doctors said they would cut off life support if he did not show the slightest physical movement in a week. She put her prayer beads around his ring-less fingers and willed him to live and love.

Every day when the doctors came, she had nothing new to report. On Thursday, she watched as a doctor felt his pulse. Then they both saw it together. A finger slowly moved a bead. And then another. She gave a deep sigh and dreamed.

 

(A story in 100 words based on the true story of a young man from Vasai who worked in the Middle East.)

 

Forever and one day more...

The first time our eyes met and melted

We knew that this was forever

Although we were strangers.

...

With golden rings on wedded fingers

We uncovered pleasures hitherto unknown

As dusk blushed into night.

...

Our arguments raged

The cause forgotten

Yet through it all we mutually belonged.

...

This morning you pushed away my curls

As I traced your stubble

And you said something that made my heart sing.

 

 

 

A Long Silence

Dear Readers, I apologise for my long silence.

Thanks to those who read this blog regularly and prodded me about this silence with gentle reminders to write. Thanks to those who waited patiently for a new post and turned away disappointed.

I lost a good friend recently and I was in mourning.

We had a lot in common – she and I.

As we progress in understanding the world around us, we develop a sense of humour that is not shared by all. We click with those people who laugh at the same jokes. There are not many friends who share this quality with us. We treasure these friendships. To lose one such friend creates a vacuum which takes time to fill.

Most of us define our existence in relation to the people around us.

When we lose someone close, it feels as if a part of ourselves has gone numb.

.....

This was the first Facebook death I have seen since I started using social networking.

My friend read this blog regularly and gave me feedback. She will not read these posts anymore. That hurts.

For a while it had put me off all kinds of interaction on the internet. I shunned looking at the computer screen. My PC gathered dust in the living room corner. However, what bothered me most is that I couldn’t write. Not that I am a celebrity writer or anything but writing makes me feel worthwhile.

You have all ‘willed’ me back to this blog.

Many thanks.