IF

This tag is so easy and fun...I picked it up from here...

If I were a month, I’d be May
If I were a day of the week, I’d be the Thursday, waiting for the weekend...
If I were a time of day, I’d be early morning
If I were a season, I’d be spring
If I were a planet, I’d be Earth
If I were a sea animal, I’d be a whale
If I were a direction, I’d be South...where my home town is
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a lounge (charukasera, for sure) by the bookshelf
If I were a liquid, I’d be wine
If I were a tree, I’d be the banyan tree near our temple
If I were a tool, I’d be the chisel
If I were an element (of what?), I’d be water
If I were a gemstone, I’d be a diamond.
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a violin,
If I were a color, I’d be ocher.
If I were an emotion, I’d be love.
If I were a fruit, I’d be a jackfruit...
If I were a sound, I’d be the sound of rain...
If I were a car, I’d be a sports car
If I were food, I’d be a salad (healthy food, ha)
If I were a taste, I’d be spicy
If I were a scent, I’d be Poison
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be baby shoes
And if I were a bird, I’d be a lovebird...

This one's for you

What do you say to your partner after 15 years of being together?
That I appreciate you for understanding me much more than I understand myself...or thank you for the support, for being there when I am not, for trying to fill in my place at home when I am away on assignments...
Would it not be an insult to the word, Thank you, if it were to represent so many layers of gratitude?
Would it be hypocritical not to mention the fights, the arguments that helped strengthen the bond, would it be right to talk only of the few and sparing moments of love we have shared in this rush called life?
Would it be right to say that I expect this and a bit more in making this institution strong...
Or would it be just right to say, “I cannot think of a day without having you around in my life...”

Do you have a favourite?

Last Thursday, we were at a beach party. The weather was bad, too windy to have an outdoor festivity but a few of us did brave the winds to try and enjoy ourselves...
There was good music playing but no one seemed to be listening, two grownups were trying to get more people to the dance floor. And then I heard this vaguely familiar voice, screaming into the microphone, “Come on all of you, come and dance with us...”
I looked around to find my younger one, standing confidently, close to the music system with the microphone in her hands and taking on the self-imposed role of the announcer for the evening.
She wasn’t dancing much but she did get more people to join in and then encouraged them with loud, “Come on move your body” and the louder, “Yes, yes, that’s the way” and some even embarrassing outbursts of, “See all of you, look at my father dancing...he is doing a good job”!
She even pounced on her elder sister, who was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, embarrassed with her sister’s new flamboyant role.
“There is my sister, in orange T-shirt and blue earring. We always fight at home but she really dances well, K chechi come and join the dancing.”
K made a fast exit...
N also tried encouraging me to join in her new ‘role’.
She told me, “Amma, say something, no problem, you can talk what you do at office and home too.”
I was proud of course, but this set me thinking...why is my younger one confident and sure of herself while the elder, who is much more talented of the two, so shy.
Are we the reason, have I been too strict on her and a bit lenient on the younger?
Were our expectations from the elder one, much higher than for the younger? I know it was...
But it was also because we knew her potential, but did it have its negative effect?
I have read that it is perfectly natural to have favourites in the family. A psychiatrist is quoted in Gulf Times, saying, “It is perfectly normal for parents to favour one child or another at one time or another. It’s what they do with that favouritism that can create problems.”
We did not have favourites; we knew both their flaws and strengths and knew how different both were.
I know we devoted more time and attention to the elder for six years and later when the second one came into our life, the attention was divided...and it was done with conscious effort to make the elder one fit in.
Yes, there have been instances when I was strict on the elder since the younger one is so tuned to what the elder does. But have I played favourites?
There is this theory by another psychiatrist that answers most of my doubts, that says, “But even when parents vow to treat their children equally, they soon find that this is just not possible. Every child is different and parents must respond to their unique characteristics appropriately. You shouldn't react to a 3-year-old's tantrums in the same way as you would to a 13-year-old's. You can't deal with aggressive children in the same way as passive children. Even identical twins can't be treated identically. When it comes down to it, every child wants to feel like they're different, not clones of their siblings. The best parents can do is stay aware of any differential treatment they give and try to be as fair as possible.”
Do you go through these moments of soul searching? Do you have a favourite in the family? Or have you ever felt that your brother always got the best deals in the family?

Business Options?

We are all aware of Halal food products but here comes something new...Halal sex products...
Welcome to the new age of innovative businesses! Now we also have a Muslim only online sex shop, created exclusively for those who have been deprived of pornographic sites, as it is against the Islamic religion.
Read all about it here...
I am amazed...constantly at how people find soutions to satisy needs...and have a justification to match it too!
Is this hypocrisy or a smart business option?
What do you say?

Issues Galore

I have realised that I stop blogging when there is an issue that is bothering me. And last month there were umpteen issues.
There was a small niggling one at my work place, small now in retrospect but which saddened me no less. I clamped down on my emotions, and then after a few days of feeling bad, went about justifying to myself the reasons behind the troublesome incident. Now it is all behind me, but not before it taught me more on the complex human mind and the callousness of some. As I tell myself, I learn each day...from each experience.
Then there was this MF Hussain issue that was blown out of proportion by some...
I still maintain, he is an artist and has a free will to interpret what he wants in ways he wants. That he hurt the sentiment of some was unfortunate, that I think was foolish on his part too. When you live in a society you live according to some rules, even if you are a painter or his muse...
But to blow the issue out of proportion was unfortunate; it showed us in poor light, we who have always professed a religion that is based on tolerance and openness.
Like she says and like how Shobha De puts it very articulately, it is eventually our loss...
But there are still people who feel strongly about Hussain taking a Qatari citizenship. I put up this image below on Facebook and I had comments flowing in instantly ...and some mails that did affect my religious sentiments...

I believe that Hussain had the best deal of all, he is a free bird (well, almost and until he plays by the rules of the country he is the resident of now) he painted what he wanted to and when he felt restricted in his country he flew out for safety, he still dreams and professes of everlasting love for his country while he makes money from another...Attaboy!

My Sunny Days

She was the one who gave me my first whiff of freedom. Light yet nimble we manoeuvred the roads of Trivandrum. She was my silver coloured Sunny , the first major purchase I made with my own money. Cousins advised me to buy a second hand, heavier, more powerful two wheeler but I was adamant, I wanted a new vehicle and I wanted to buy it with MY money. The choice was limited with my meagre salary, only the RS10,000 Sunny could be afforded. And hence in the year 1993, a year after I graduated, I bought my first vehicle.
After days of following the huge red coloured state transport bus, stopping when it stopped and waiting patiently while passengers got down and then again following it up to the Museum, where I had to take a 100 meter detour to my office, I learnt the ropes of riding my Sunny around town. We literally flew around, she was so tiny that we would hurl down the slopes, weave through traffic and park in the tinniest of gaps. I thought of her more as an accomplice than as a vehicle, she had an identity of her own, one that was so tuned to my likes and dislikes...
But manoeuvring the heights (and Trivandrum is a city with quite a few elevations in road pattern) was where she showed her stubborn side. I started coaxing her a few 100mts before the road climbed in elevation, gathered all the momentum she offered, but as if reinforcing the fact that Bajaj had built a 50cc scooter and not a supernatural powered one, she slowed down... embarrassing the life out of me. Others in bigger vehicles would sail past me and pass jeering comments. Not that it fazed me, I would row past (I had to use my two legs to see me through such situations), without giving them a second glance proudly astride my tiny carriage.
But I have to say this, even with her stubborn streak, she did not ever let me down, she never broke down when I was in a hurry nor did she stop in mid ride. Starting her, though, was always an issue and then she was invariably helping me, getting attention from good looking blokes around, so she did serve me quite well...
When I left my job to come to Kottayam she came with me and was used by my sister and we are to date known as the sisters in Sunny.



p.s:This is just a file pic from google image, my Sunny was more beautiful in silver...

We (Sunny and me) both were at the receiving end with a few jokes made especially for us, thanks to my (then) young cousins in Trivandrum.

Some of them are here for a few laughs:
1. SINDHU didn’t need to fill petrol in the Sunny, she just took it around the petrol station and its tank would fill with the whiffs of petrol.
2. SINDHU didn’t ride she rowed her Sunny.(This was true).
3. The person who opened her petrol tank was confused...he couldn't find the engine!
4. Sunny could travel miles, if she travelled behind a car with the fumes feeding it.

A Mythological trip

This is a travel piece, a different one...
A bit long...but hopefully interesting to some...

A Mythological trip




Walking through the streets at Guruvayur is like walking through a busy market. Shops line both sides of bumpy uneven lanes and savvy marketing lads from shops overloaded with clay figurines of various Gods and Goddesses, beckon you to their wares.
If it weren't for the glaring loudspeakers playing devotional songs of Lord Krishna, (the deity at Guruvayur temple) you could even imagine that you were in one of Kerala'a shopping districts. It was for this very reason, that the name of this feisty town, some 29 km off Trichur, evoked memories of childhood pleasure trips.

Now, 20 years later, I walk through these streets, holding firmly on to my daughters' arms, and guide them through the labyrinths of mythology, but find them mesmerised not by the story of the Almighty but by the power of merchandise that pulls them away from my grasp to these shops and its wares.

"I want this," says my younger one, gesturing to the toy a gleaming shopkeeper (has chosen to entice her with.

"I will give discounts," remarks the cheeky guy.

I pull my girls away and appease them with a story instead, the story of how a poor hungry boy, while visiting the Guruvayur temple, steals the two bananas kept for the day's pooja (the daily holy ritual with offerings to the deity). The boy was so consumed by guilt that he returned one banana but could not resist eating the other. A priest nearby saw this incident and punished the boy and asked him to go around the sannidhi (the walkway for devotees around the deity) 100 times.

Though it is difficult getting the girls' full attention, the crime and the punishment involved in this simple act, soon make them all ears for the story. I pause to stoke their interest further.

We are nearing the temple now. The temple is located at the centre of the town, and the town is also called Guruvayur. The temple has four entrances on each side, called East Nada or North Nada, according to the direction the main door or the Nada faces. Running perpendicular to the walls of the temple is the main street and the shops are lined on both sides of these streets. So invariably, with the strategic location, anyone who had an intention of visiting the temple could do so only after passing through the shops.

We stand in the women’s section of a long queue that runs parallel to the walls of the temple. An old woman glances down affectionately at my younger one and pinches her cheeks and she lets out a loud wail in protest, embarrassing me in the process. The old woman hastens to make peace and massages the young one's cheeks, which is again resisted with louder wails. To quieten her, I go back to the story.

While the priest was watching, I blabber, the poor boy goes around the sanniddhi and the priest sees something that transfixed him.

Now both of them hang on my words, and implore, "Amma, go on, tell us fast."

As we inch forward in the serpentine queue towards the main Nada, I continue with the story.

Taking the first round, the priest sees the poor boy but as he starts the next round of the sannidhi he sees the Lord in the boy's place, in all his splendour. This was repeated on and on...

The priest finally asked the boy what was happening to which the Lord answered, "One of the fruit was given to me, hence half the punishment is mine."

The priest realised his folly and asked forgiveness for his inhuman deed.

We are close to the main door which is a bit small and narrow and barely just wide enough to squeeze in two people at the same time. With two parallel rows, it is probably the only uncomfortable moment in this whole process of worship .But the story had made such an impression on my young ones that both of them are eagerly waiting to have their first glimpse of Sri Guruvayurappan, all signs of discomposure notwithstanding.

I carry the younger one, tug the elder and push the person in front. That was the accepted method to get in, the deliberate push, the occasional nudge and a calculated pull to get ourselves safely ahead and off the closest body of arms and legs. Some of the men have also bared their torsos, gleaming with sweat in the humid day, but all are here with one puritan intent, to experience the slight but fulfilling glimpse of the Lord at the main entrance. A preview of sorts.

Suddenly there rises a chant which gathers fervour as the line inches close to the deity, "Krishna, Krishna, Unni Krishna (baby Krishna), Narayana, Narayana" .The sounds vary from tones of passionate devotion, intercepted by wails of desperation from some to off key vibrato. The atmosphere is charged. I can see my girls' going through the same emotions, their brows coming together in concentration as they mumble with me, the same chant that is echoing through the small passageway that leads to the deity.

At last as the chant gathers momentum, we find ourselves before the deity and I feel electrified and increasingly stupefied by the power of devotion that envelopes me. I find myself crying and look down in confusion to see my girls' praying quietly, the picture of innocence and yet with a trace of awareness, as if they finally understood what the story was all about. All this happens in a fraction of seconds, before we are pushed aside, giving way to the wave of devotees behind. The moment so brief, I am not sure it even existed, where it not for the tears that wash my face.

We move aside silently, and the moment disappears...we are brought down to earth, to material things around. All of us, devotees, seem to have an air of abundance about us, a happiness or a relief of sorts, as if relieved and pardoned of all the sins committed, having handed them over to the Gods to handle.

Legends say that the idol worshipped is more than 5000 years old through there are no historical records. The temple became popular through Melpathur Narayana Bhatathiri's Narayaneeyam, a poetic work of hymns describing the story and mischiefs of Lord Krishna.

The priests are everywhere and both the girls look at them with distaste. The temple is beautiful, with stone carvings on the sides depicting the other Gods of the Hindu mythology.

We go around the sannidhi and come out of the inner sanctorum to the outer part of the temple, where prayer groups and various men and women huddle around, chanting. The outer passage has a roof and supporting this roof are pillars, huge ones with 'apsaras' (Godesses) carved out in each of them, some holding diyas, lamps and others in various dancing poses.

Our senses have calmed and as we emerge back at the outer ring of shops, the girls seem less affected by the wares. I look at them amazed until N, the younger one, gestures to a doll, the same one that was offered to her by the shopkeeper. She looks at me enquiringly.

Relived, I buy it for her...her happy face reflecting mine, and we move away from the temple. This is comfort, this tangible emotion of desire, as opposed to the over whelming power of the unknown that we had experienced a few moments ago.