A bit richer to afford a few onions
A little braver to face the unexpected hartals
A little patient while crossing roads so as to live a little longer
A little more daring so as to enjoy the bumpy drives
A little more trusting in the Divine
When this land is called God’s Own Country !
&
More than anything else
I wish you the best of everything...
That you so well deserve.
HAPPY NEW YEAR !
As the car moved through the crowded roads I realized how much the city has changed since I left it 3 years ago. All I could see were mounts and mounts of soil all around as the roads were being dug up preparing for the Commonwealth Games and/or for the ever expanding Metro network . The weather was pleasant. As we reached the gates of the colony I peeped out of the car window scanning the faces of passers by. No familiar face. Everything has changed. The daughters have been married off and the girls who have become part of the colony wouldn’t know me. I sat back feeling a bit lost.
As I climbed up the familiar steps one face that floated into my mind was that of P. It was exactly 5 years ago on this day that I saw her lying on her bed- quiet, motionless and at last peaceful . I glanced at her kitchen window. I could see her aged mother-in-law working there in the same old fashion. Memories filled me with mixed feelings of loss and relief. Loss because I shall not have her around to continue enriching my life. And relief because during her last days she had been suffering so much that seemed to be pushing her towards the end at a cruelly slow pace. But one thing I surely know that she is now resting with the angels above.
A welcomed me with a warm tight hug and it brought to my mind pictures of her coming to this house as an excited bride to start a life which she had been dreaming of for quite some time. The bright smile on her face assured me that her dreams are still not squashed.
I looked around the house. A has redesigned it so beautifully with that special touch of hers. Everything looked colourful and inviting. This house once so familiar, now appeared like a missing piece from a jig-saw puzzle! Curiously my fingers found the light switches effortlessly . Strange indeed is the way the brain takes a snapshot that never alters !
I could hardly sleep the night . I was itching for morning to come so that I could walk through the
Back home there were phone calls awaiting me from old friends , much to the ‘annoyance’ of A. “Now you are lost for us’, she said pouting. Giving her a quick peck I ran to pick up the phone and started dialing the numbers which I knew almost by-heart. We fixed up ‘dates’ to meet either over a cup of tea or for lunch, laughingly adding that it is going to be a grand-mothers’ day out …ha, ha….
But as I started dressing up I felt a bit unsure .., unsure of meeting my old friends. Will they be the same ? Will there still be the same sense of belonging ? Will we be able to pick up the threads from where we had left off … ? My thoughts were running wild. And I felt nervous.
Then came a quiet admonition from within “Isn’t it foolish to seek permanence in an impermanent world ?” And I remembered Budha’s last warning to his disciple "Impermanent, subject to change, are component things. Strive on with heedfulness!" Peace engulfed me and I walked towards the door determined to shelve my old memories and willing to form new ones…
“Ever been frustrated or angry?
No one has ever escaped that. Once you learn to look at the deeper source of anger suddenly it becomes a gift – an opportunity for greater awareness and growth.
Here’s how.
As long as something works for us, we do not feel this discomfort. As long as we feel that the person (or group or organization or system) we are engaged with gives us something valuable in exchange of the energy that we invest, it all works well. It is an even energy exchange. The problem begins when we start to feel that the exchange is not fair. Somehow we are not receiving what we deserve. We are being taken for granted. We are not being given our rightful value by someone else.
It somehow feels that the other wields the power and we have none. Hence, frustration, anger, resentment and what have you.
There is a whole different side to this story that we completely miss – the energy interpretation, the spiritual side. When this happens it is our inner spirit whispering to us “you can do better than that; you deserve better than that……..”
Click on to www.theenergythatisyou.com and see for yourself ( post dated Aug.3rd 2009) as to how a so called negative emotion like anger is transformed into a total spiritual experience. At the end of it you will bless me, I am sure.
Some virus found it interesting to invade my body and decided to stay put there for more days than necessary. By the end of the first week I started feeling jittery and started imagining the worst. My husband has also been sick for the last six months due to UTI and enlarged prostate. We had no business to fall ill like this, I thought. Certainly something is wrong somewhere. Someone told me my ‘seven and a half shani ‘ has just started and it is showing its powers. I went to the temple to do some puja to ward off the evils of shani. When I told the priest he laughed and said “ You see the shani has to be somewhere ,no ?” But he agreed to do the puja. What kind of a priest is this ? Yet another ‘well-wisher’ told me that it is all due to the Chinese flowers that are standing in a corner of my drawing room which is causing all these troubles. But she also gave me a remedy- put some tulsi leaves on them and the negative energy will go away. I did accordingly.
I stamped out of the room. I called up my elder sister who is a walking medical encyclopedia ,having gone through a lot in her life. She heard me quietly and in the end told me ever so affectionately “It is only UTI. You cannot have any serious illness. I am sure. Keep me informed.. “ I was touched. Then it was my younger sister. She showed all decent signs of shock and pain. She strongly believed that it is all due to someone’s evil eye. Asked me to chant Hanuman Chaalisa ( Which I had already started.) She was almost in tears and assured me that she will pray for me. I felt lots better. Her doctor-son called me up immediately after that. He assured me it is nothing serious. A typical medico talk, I thought. Will he ever tell me that I am slowly dying ?
My son and daughter-in-law called up from
Immediately afterwards her doctor-mother called and asked me to read out my medical reports to her. After a detailed discussion she assured me that it is nothing but UTI. I started feeling better.
“ I am being treated for UTI and if it doesn’t work out, may the doc.will….”
Before I could finish, he started laughing “ What, are you in competition with dad ? I thought he had UTI. Now don’t tell me you have enlarged prostate also…” I wanted to scream while he continued “ You never know. Women want equality in everything………..”
I gave up !
Parents came with a life time guarantee – they don’t age, or fall sick or become infirm and die. Those things happen to other mortals. Or so I used to think. Until one day my illusions broke down when during one of my annual visits I saw my father bent , shriveled and shaking with Parkinson’s. My father who was one of the smartest men I had known, with a joyful grin always on his face, who walked around in his characteristic long strides ! Death came to him as a blessing in more ways than one. Slowly I realized that my parents are also mortals and one day death will certainly take them away. All the ads purporting to show us that popping this pill will alleviate all age-related problems while this financial plan will take us into a safe and secure old age are only selling false hopes of mobility and freedom against the certainty of bodily decay. I realized there is no such thing as’ walking into our silver haired twilights’.
Armed with this new-found wisdom I came ‘home’ to live with my mother after a gap of 40 odd years. But nothing had prepared me for this total reversal of roles-that of parenting a parent who had lived almost all her life on her terms. There was this neat package of surprises waiting for me to unravel- a package which offered less comforts but more challenges.
The strength, which formed the foundation of the days to come is the unfathomable love that a child feels for the mother. No matter how much you have fought, argued ,had disagreements . This relationship defies all reason and logic.
It also gave me an opportunity to re-bond with my siblings and their families. Worried as they were about our mother’s health and other related issues they used to feel the full weight of distance, as I used to, worrying if mother will be alive on their next holiday . We cope by remote control by telephone, depend on relatives, hope the servants are honest enough. Juggling so many balls in the air-career, family, health, friends- we were all living a guilt –ridden life. But now that I have assumed the role of the front line soldier’ they heaved a sigh of relief and were too happy to extend all support in whatever form possible-physical, financial and not to speak of emotional. It became a team work, a joint effort which made things rather smooth for me. I also had to ensure the support of my own family-my husband and children. Because unless they share my enthusiasm and are able to see the shining star at the distant horizon, it would not have been easy for me. My husband was ,of course ,game for anything . My children were quite amused at this new ‘avataar’ of their mother, from a jet-setting executive to a domesticated woman. “So what did you do today, other than cooking and eating ?” A would often poke me .
I mentioned about the challenges earlier ? Having lived apart for 40 odd years both myself and my mother grew much apart . We are living in two worlds under the same roof, like an apple and orange sitting in one basket.. Talk of the generation gap (cliché,cliché ) ! Mother hates mobile phones and computers .Only time she gives a half nod of approval to the computer is when her great grand children come on the web-cam. My favourite TV programmes are anathema for her .”Oh, these North Indian women are so loud and argumentative.”. ( Burkha Dutt,please make a note !). Having lived in a city where relationships are mostly impersonal , I have become a very private person and I jealously guard my personal space . In this small town everyone wants to know everything about everyone. Added to this is my mother’s exuberance which attracts a large circle of friends . I could not relate to them. Mother cannot understand my mood swings or long spells of silence. The only place where peace prevails is the dining room. I love cooking and she loves eating.
The growing geriatric society in Kerala is facing an extreme short supply of the geriatric health-care workers . This is one thing I was not prepared for. Added to it is also our own aging and health related issues. There are times when my energy oozes out completely . At such vulnerable moments some bad childhood memories and resentments crop up in the mind . At such times it is critical how easily one can absorb things. You mellow and become more accepting . And that is how my angularities have smoothened now to a large extend. Because we have to understand that aging involves untold sadness and indignity. Old age is almost always a time of physical and mental deterioration, of pain and loss, of fear and loneliness.
When I watch mother sleep under her favourite red blanket, I recall the psalmist’s cries ,” "Do not cast me away when I am old; do not forsake me when my strength is gone." I drop a kiss on her forhead and then I am at peace with myself .
There is a list of ‘Things To Do after Retirement’ hanging somewhere in my mind . Top priority was to meet my old teachers -only a couple of them are alive now- and catch up with my classmates and friends. A way of telling them how much their love and care cemented the basics of my life’s journey. But three years have passed without me doing much about my ‘noble’ plans…..
She was in the veranda waiting for me. (An old friend had informed her about my going to meet her) We hugged each other . Tears welled up in her eyes as she sized me up and down.
She laughed “ You know how it was then !”
“ I also didn’t think so ”, she said without batting an eyelid. “ But you know how the family pressure works. For once, I listened to them and that was a Himalayan Blunder . You know we should listen only to our heart, never to others.”
“ But you need guts for that ” I said.
I watched her closely as she made tea for me . Her skin is still flawless, I noticed with some envy. “How much sugar ? ”, her question woke me up from my reverie. “” No, no sugar for me . ”., I said rather sheepishly. She glared at me .
“ What is wrong with you ? Look at me ,no old age baggage, no sugar , no blood pressure”.
“ Even the diseases are scared of you ”, I retorted.
“ Ha , ha , don’t be funny !”, she said with an affectionate knock on my head.
It was time for me to leave . Like all good things of life this also had to come to an end. I went home sending a silent ‘thank u ‘ note to the newspaper which spurred me to make this long overdue visit on a rainy Tuesday morning .
Jai ho has entered the Webster dictionary. Talk of the influence of films in our lives! I remember how me and my younger sister used to transform ourselves into Prem Nazir and Sheela religiously every evening from 7 to 7.30 pm. (there was no television those days ) We will enact all those romantic scenes , sing and dance mostly to one single dedicated audience ie; our mother. The moment we get into action my elder sister and younger brother will quietly leave the room with some pretext or other. They probably found our ‘entertainment ‘ quite silly. Although they had the decency never to mention this to us. So we danced along……… I was always the hero and my sister the heroine.
There was this old uncle of ours, “an almost sanyasi” who will be meditating in a corner. Prankster as I was, I will do the Menaka number in front of him from the then famous film “Shakuntala” imagining him to be Viswamitra. My mother and sister will burst into laughter and uncle will slowly open his eyes . By that time I would have vanished from the scene. He will innocently look around and then go back to his meditation again ! (Dear departed uncle, forgive me my trespasses ! )
Then came Chemmeen . Soon our 7 to 7.30 show turned to scenes of Karutthmma and Pareekutty. Those were the days!!!
Eventually I got married. Life took a different turn. But not for long. Came Sholay and our household was bursting forth with its dialogues. It was almost like a competition between me and my sons-to talk like Gabbar,Veeru or Dhannu at the drop of a hat, whether the situation demanded it or not. I can never forget S’s ( and his false baritone )“Kitne aadmi the ?” or “tera kya hoga Kaliya ?“ or “Sochlo Thakkur,agar Gabbar ko pata chal
I wonder if my sons and my sister remember those days, buried as they are in their hectic lives now. May be they will be embarrassed to read this. Or perhaps they are plotting to murder me ! Sorry folks , the news of Jai ho entering the Webster stirred up many memories. The nostalgia was deliciously irresistible…………
I marveled at their energy, the amount of talking they could do all 24*7 except while sleeping which was very little. Must be catching up with all the news. I did a bit of eaves-dropping to find out as to what they were chatting about so excitedly all the time ? Mostly it was about their childhood, their parents and their siblings who are no more. They were 9 brothers and sisters, only these 3 surviving now. Their talks mainly centered on their mother who ,widowed at the age of 32 had to struggle to bring up 8 children ( the eldest daughter had got married by then ), their food, education and marriage.
Sometimes I heard them giggling reminiscencing about some of their secret admirers or suitors…
One of the agendas my aunts had during their stay was to give a smart look to their elder sister ie; my mother. They were able to convince her about the advantages of wearing a gown instead of the traditional ‘mundu’ (which me and my sisters had failed to do so far). To inspire her further my aunts sported some of their own gowns with laces, bows and frills. Finally my mother gave in. I could see that she was quite thrilled about her new smart look. Then one of my aunts suggested to cut her hair short so that it becomes manageable . With a twinkle in her eyes my aunt added that the new hair do will make her look like Vijayalakshmy Pandit with all those golden locks. Mother didn’t like the idea. She felt it was too old fashioned. She preferred to look like Ms. Gursharan Kaur (our Prime Minister’s wife ). “ She looks Khandaani and modern enough,” said my mother. My aunts had to settle for that.
Item no.2 in the agenda was to feed my mother with all the delicacies they could lay their hands on in the market including hot chilly pakoras. I was worried about my mother’s delicate stomach, but who cares ? She enjoyed every bit of the attention she was getting ,behaving like a thoroughly spoilt child.
Occasionally ,my aunts’ attention will turn to me .This was item no.3 in the agenda. So there were constant advise and tips on health food, yoga ,ayurveda, spirituality and what not! After all for them I was still a kid !
But by the end of this one month’s ‘sisters-get-together’ I could not even pretend to be polite.
Finally the holiday was over and it was time for them to part. Whispering a soft ‘take care’ to each other they got into the waiting car. My mother stood at the gate watching the car slowly picking up speed, her eyes moist with unshed tears. Slowly she walked back to the house, her back bent with age, leaning on the walking stick, her only support . I know that she is going to miss them for quite some time. Suddenly I felt jealous of these sisters who belonged to an era to which I can never belong.
What is Ahimsa for you ? For me ‘Ahimsa’ was always synonymous with Mahatma Gandhi or vice versa. As a child I remembered 2 things about Gandhiji’s ahimsa ; that he was a vegetarian and that he got us freedom without guns and swords . Since I am a vegetarian I thought half the battle is won .Since I am not a politician or a social activist the second part didn’t bother me. So I went on happily .But as you grow old your sensibilities become subtler. Then came a time when I gave up wearing silks and I patted myself ! Good job! But there continued a nagging feeling within me. What more is there to ahimsa ? Slowly the answers came. For me now it means a whole lot of thing like :
Appreciating life’s little nameless acts of kindness and of love.
Keeping our enthusiasm alive even if it is not reciprocated.
Having the courage to apologise when we are wrong.
Not using people.
Not wanting to settle scores .
Not using repartees just to show that we are smarter.
Not being the ‘devil’s advocate’ .Empathize,empathize,empathize!
Letting go. Moving on.
Removing our blinkers.
Recognising that there is neither winning nor losing in relationships.
Sharpening the intellect. Conquering emotions.
Being happy when we are alone.
Wanting others to enjoy life even when we are not around.
Knowing it is time to quit !
This is me @60! What is your take on Ahimsa ? Do send me your list…..
PS. Ahima is also being gentle with the ‘delete’ button when you receive unsolicited SMSs and email forwards…….
When the old ancestral house was sold I didn’t cry. I watched with dry eyes as the house was broken down brick by brick. Somehow I could take it philosophically. But when they cut you down it was as if a part of my past was being ripped apart. You were part of my childhood. It is strange but I always thought of you as a female, a sort of mother figure. I could snuggle against your big warm bosom and whisper my childhood woes. You were a silent witness to the agonies and ecstasies of my growing up. . Come April, sweet, warm and filled with promise of spring. And you were ready to burst forth with the sweet fleshy mangoes which the children savored greedily. Some raw, some ripe. We children loved them anyway. And the long sturdy swings that hung on you ready to raise me up in the sky! Holding me firmly on your lap you would whisper in my ears “Sky is the limit, my child”. And I always believed you. I walked along the strangest paths that life took me through and now finally I thought I have come back to your comforting shadows at the twilight of my life.
No, I am not talking about menopause. Nor is it about men. Those are all things of the past . There are more important things in lfe. I am talking about the maid scene in my life now. Let me put things in the right perspective. Well, after my retirement we decided to settle down in “God’s own country ”. (Whoever coined that phrase has a wry sense of God) We came with many happy memories of our child hood and holiday visits. So far so good, till our troubles started. Kerala, as you all know has been declared as 100% literate State. While I was away from Kerala I used to bask in this reflected glory and will proudly talk about it till I had to face its flip side. With a high rate of literacy, the maid servants problem is increasing day-by-day. Added to it is the money pouring from Gulf ( till the recession ). My home town is a sort of pilgrimage spot and a number of shops have mushroomed in the town. Most of the sales persons are girls/women. Their salary is pathetic still the job is on high demand due to the ‘glamour’ and the air-conditioned comfort attached to it. The not-so-lucky lot opt for construction work where the payment is reasonably good. The net result is that there is hardly any help available for household work. Those who are available ask for a price and other perks. Take the case of Madhavi, a maid who worked for us for 2 days. Reason for her leaving ? That we watch only ASIANET where as she wants to watch the soaps in SURYA ! ( We came to know about it later through a reliable source ) Had we known, we would have sacrificed ASIANET for SURYA . After all what is more important ?
Then came Gayatri , a ‘sweet eighteen’ year old. While working in the kitchen she will be singing and doing some ‘mudras’ with her fingers. She did not miss an opportunity to remind me that she was the ‘kalathilakam’ of her school. Well, the ‘kalathilakam’ left after a couple of weeks for reasons best known to her.
Yesterday while having her tea, she looked at me and asked ‘ Will you miss me when I am gone ?’ And that is what we call icing on the cake !!!
It was a long awaited wedding . An arranged marriage is unheard off in our family at least for the last 2 generations. So the excitement and curiosity were on a high. Imagine the parents getting an upper hand ! The groom’s cousins asked him ( some loudly ,others secretly) “Are you sure you are doing the right thing ? ”.His enigmatic smile silenced them for the time being. The excitement of matching the horoscopes, the boy and the girl ‘seeing’ each other and both saying ‘yes’, we went through the entire rigmarole.
Two days before the wedding relatives started arriving, aunts,cousins,uncles along with their families. Music, dance, mehendi. Now –a –days there is no such thing as a ‘malayali wedding’. Films and television soaps have opened the world for us and now everything is a mix. Finally the D-day arrived. The groom arrived wearing a richly embroidered kurta and a dhoti. And the bride looking gorgeous in a designer sari, decked in gold from throat to naval ,gold bangles dangling from elbow to wrist. I looked around to see that touch of Kerala somewhere. No, there was none especially in the younger generation. I could see only salwar kammeez or ghagra-choli. No pattupavada or dawani or the long oily plaites. They looked smarter with the hair open and a string of mullappu dangling from one side. No jhumkaas. Only designer jewellery and sequenced dresses. Here is globalization in the true sense. The feast was thankfully pure Kerala, no innovations there ,so far. The ceremony over , the bride went home taking the groom with her.I know my north Indian friends will gasp, but that is pure Kerala for you.
He walked towards the waiting car, with his usual casual expression etched on his face. Only this time he didn’t push her away gently when she hugged and kissed him good bye. As the car moved away her eyes blurred and she walked back into the house, unabashedly letting the tears flow down her cheeks. He had squeezed out these 4 days out of his busy work schedule “to spend quality time with my parents ” as he laughingly put it ,to cover up the embarrassment. That is him. Disliking any display of emotions , she was remembering….
accompanied problems quite stoically. At least he pretended to be brave. I remember the arguments my son and R used to have as to how R is not taking enough care of himself or some such thing which normally happens between friends. R and his wife did a lot of work for HIV infected people . Things were almost normal in their life or so we all thought. But every time R fell ill his mother and wife must have gone through hell. I wonder if they were ever prepared for the eventuality . Or for that matter, is anyone of us ? At least I am not. As the great poet John Donne put it “Every man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind ….therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.” Perhaps I am reminded of my own mortality and the uncertainties of this joke called life.
We are a class of ten ,a mix of men and women, average age group being 60 plus. We are learning Sanskrit at this ripe old age, that divine language which the Hindu Gods speak, so they say. What unites us is our love -a love for the language that defies age and reason. What else can explain as to why S limps into the class bearing the pain in her knees, D squinting at the black board with her failing vision and the way P barges into the class apologizing for being late .( She baby sits her grand daughter) Our teacher is a 30 something young man who is as eager as his students . We are a studious lot eager to lap up as much as our aging brain permits us to do . Let me admit at the outset that when it comes to learning, it is not all that divine. It has its moments of agony. The language is terse and not easily digestible. Grammar is tough and confusing ( “Only in the beginning”, assures our teacher) The more I try to learn it the more evasive it becomes.
But all of us are having fun.
Seriously, life @60 need not be serious at all. We can be adventurous since we are no more in the rat race. We can give family a break, our career a break, explore the unexplored ,do what we always wanted to do but didn’t have the time or energy. It is the time to rediscover oneself. It is the age to explore and experiment. Like my friend M did. ( May be she was 50 or something at that time) She chucked a well paid job, migrated to US and plunged into spirituality and spiritual healing or something like that. The point is that she dared and is living life king size. On my 60th birthday M wrote to me quoting Tennyson “ ……. the best is yet to be . ” You bet !
Notes from a grandmother
It was love at first sight when your dad handed you over to me. You were bundled up in a hospital blanket. I can still recall that tiny dimple on your right cheek as you pursed your lips. I was desperately trying to see something of your dad in that bundle as you cradled so comfortably in my arms. But, no, you were a carbon copy of your mom. Your mom had a triumphant gleam in her eyes as she looked at you and me. She laughed when I pointed out that those dimples on your tiny fists were exactly like that of your dad. For the time being we settled for that.
It was time for us to take you home. I settled down in the car all ready to put you in my lap when your dad matter-of -factly carried you to the back of the car and buckled you to a tiny seat. I gasped but was immediately reminded that here the rules are blind even if it is a grandmother’s first love. All the way home I was nervously looking at my bundle of joy who was oblivious to all this and was sleeping blissfully.
Home sweet home, I assumed that you will be all mine, only to realize soon that you are mine but not exactly the way I thought. Your parents were hands on , what with all the classes and counseling sessions they attended prior to your arrival. I was allowed to give you an oil massage and bath, rock you to sleep and even feed you sometimes, but all these under the supervision of your efficient parents. For women like me who are accustomed to being in charge (read: bossy ), the experience of being a grandmother was pretty humbling. I learnt a lesson or two :
· Dr. Benjamin Spoke is outdated.
· Accept that your parents are adults fully capable of looking after you.
· It takes time to be a fully accomplished grandmother.
But there is (almost) always a silver lining , I found out that quite soon. During my last visit , your mom mentioned that your mom and dad were planning to go out for a couple of days leaving you under my care ! My heart missed a beat .Hooray! I have graduated !!!
Compared to other parts of
I am still waiting for an answer….
Bridges Across Time
It was the 28th of December. As I was getting ready for our family get together, I hurriedly glanced through The Hindu to read Usha Jesudasan’s regular column on ahimsa. There was this story about 2 brothers both farmers worked in nearby plots sharing their machinery and workers. One day a small misunderstanding ruined the relationship. One day a young carpenter came looking for work. The elder brother was happy. ”I am glad you came to see me first.”, he said. “ I want you to build me a huge fence, so that my brother cannot look over it and see what I am growing.” He was going to be away for a few days, but looked forward to seeing the fence on his return. When he returned ,he saw instead, a beautiful bridge that connected his land to his brother’s. Angrily he started to walk across the bridge. But the other brother thought that his brother had forgiven him. So he took his brother’s favourite cookies and ran across the bridge to meet him and told him how much he had missed him and how sorry he was for allowing the misunderstanding to grow.
Although I was touched by the story I didn’t think about it further since I had a busy day ahead. But while at the family get together, suddenly it occurred to me how relevant the story is .Old aunts, uncles, their daughters and sons, grand children , all were having a great time at the family meet. I watched them as they laughed, danced and sang without a care in the world. I recalled how so-and-so had a fight with so-and-so years back. And how this aunt was hurt by her niece’s behaviour. Many such funny thoughts came to my mind and I wondered where have all those ill feelings gone now?And I remembered the story.
Yes, they have learnt to build bridges unlike many of us who carry the injustices done to us in our hearts. I have seen in many families hate and conflicts are carried down generations. True, some memories are painful. But it is up to us to put an end to it and carry on without the baggage of the past. If they are not healed they can be destructive .Words like reconciliation, forgiveness, understanding and empathy are still valid. Let us look at ourselves and see where all bridges need to be built or help those who need to build it.
Life @60
It seems “no room at the inn” is a common phrase in America.The story is of Mary and Joseph knocking on the door of an inn in
The first thing I learnt about life in a small town in Kerala is that you can never lunch alone. You will always have company, that too unexpected! Here literally Guest is God , expected or otherwise. Initially I used to marvel at the simplicity with which my mother would ask ‘just dropped in guest’ to join us for breakfast or lunch depending on the time. She would never worry if there is sufficient food for an extra person. Here I am, used to a city culture for the last 35 years, where guests are invited for a meal with so much deliberation and planning. All my protests and reasoning fall on deaf years. The struggle is on…For the time being “there is room in the inn for all”.
