A midsummer wedding

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.

It was time to say good bye .The guests started leaving. hugging and kissing each other, wondering when will they meet again.. I remembered Scott Peck’s words - love is not effortless. On the contrary, love is effortful. When we love, we take an extra step .Like R took a night train reaching in the morning to attend the wedding and left by the evening train. Her busy work schedule will allow only that much. Still she made it, even if it is her husband’s cousin’s son’s marriage. An aunt went through a rigorous ayurvedic massage for her aching knees because ‘God knows when will be the next family reunion like this !’. The groom’s grandmother took every care not to fall ill during the wedding because she felt this is the last wedding she will witness in her life time. She didn’t want to miss it at any cost. The list is endless.As Scott Peck puts it “ love is a verb, not a noun”.For many of us it is, at least in India. Thank God for that !

Empty Nests

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….

Two normal children growing up in a middle class family. The mother ambitious and idealistic ,giving her best to her children but expecting the best out of them .Her concerns were practical-cooking for the children, feeding them, disciplining them and above all coaxing them to be the best.She liked to believe that her children were special , although they didn’t show any signs of unusual brilliance, at least nothing that she approved of. Perhaps she wanted to live through them .She believed that Khalil Gibran didn’t know a thing about parenting when he wrote his famous lines “On Children”. Meanwhile between report cards and showdowns about poor performance, time flew by without any one noticing . When the children grew up and took roads less traveled, she stood at the cross roads thinking that may be Khalil Gibran did have a point…….

She laid down quietly on the bed looking at the mounted pictures on the wall,shimmering in memories, waiting for the next season when her fledglings will come home even if it is for 4 days……..

Where man is rendered helpless

“ Mom, R.. passed away”, my son called up to convey the sad news. It was a shocking news . I didn’t know he was ill and was in the hospital . It took some time to absorb its reality .I was thinking about R..I remembered his rich baritone voice, now suddenly silenced forever. Who would have broken the news to his widowed mother that her only son is no more. How his young wife would have taken the news ? Theirs was a love marriage. I had attended the function. It was a Tamilian wedding. R.. was a Tamil Brahmin and his bride a Bihari. She looked beautiful in the resplendent 9 yard Kanchipuram silk sari. She married R out of love knowing fully well that he is hemophiliac and HIV positive, something which he got in his childhood during a careless blood transfusion. R bore his condition and its

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.

Life@60

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 60^th birthday M wrote to me quoting Tennyson “ ……. the best is yet to be . ” You bet !

Notes from a grandmother

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 !!!

Thiruvathira thoughts

Compared to other parts of India, Kerala Hindus have very few festivals. Thiruvathira is one of them. Celebrated in the month of December-January, the legend is that Goddess Parvathi fasted on this day for the well being of her husband Lord Shiva. Women in Kerala follow suit. The fasting starts 2 days prior to Thiruvathira.On Rohini the fasting is done for the well being of brothers and on Makayiram for children. Don’t get carried away by the word fasting.It simply means no rice preparation ! You can have anything vegetarian under the sun. Traditionally ,on Thiruvathira day women go for an elaborate bath in the family pond early in the morning singing songs depicting the romance of Shiva and Parvathi with a bit of soft porn thrown in between! A full moon in the sky, the fragrance of jasmine in the air…the scene is straight from an old black and white movie. After the bath a visit to a nearby Shiva temple is a must . Afterwards women gather in the family courtyard and perform the traditional Kaikottikali.These are all now things of the past only to be seen in the tourist guides .The only thing that remains now perhaps is the special dishes that are prepared as part of the celebrations. A vegetable curry made of many root vegetables,pulses and coconut and a sweet dish made of arrow root powder,coconut and jaggery are some of the highlights.Watching my mother gulping down rawa upma for breakfast ,porridge made of broken wheat for lunch and something similar for dinner for 3 consecutive days,I asked her if someone has ever fasted for the welfare of the women in the family . She stared at me and I stared back at her .

I am still waiting for an answer….

Bridges Across Time

It was the 28^th 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.