Is it just me?

Ever since I joined the 'techie' group
And my fingers got accustomed to the keyboard
I find it increasingly difficult to wield a pen on a paper
Even though mostly all I need to do is sign over a black dotted line
Is it just me?
I can download almost any book online for free in a matter of seconds
But my love of reading from a 'real book' cant be conquered
I simply cant stop myself from frequenting the book shop by the corner
Is it just me?
I get ecards on all milestones in my life
and e-mails from friends all over the world
But the greeting cards from school friends
are still safe in my box of precious lil stuff
Is it just me?
No matter where you are in the world, I can see you
Its just a click on an IM window
But nothing beats the feeling of seeing you
when you come back home
Is it just me?
And it goes on and on...
I often wonder -
Is it just me?

Pick on someone your own size

It was the month of June. The monsoon gods were benevolent than ever. Rain mercilessly lashed the place.

All seemed to be good until one day we spotted 'it'. At Different places. Different times.

'It' was ..

a tail's end...it drove us to our wit's end when it happened to be there for one moment and ceased to exist for another,

a dash from one room to the other...my hopes were dashed when my mother casually gave it a name 'A Rat!'.

Well 'it' was a tiny lil rodent... that had decided to visit our home and unleash all doom!! And doom it was...perturbed sleepless nights ...I didn’t sleep that night or the next or the nights after that ... covered myself from head to toe in two bed sheets, skipped the mandatory (until then) midnight leak. Scared to bits by the slightest movement or touch, I refused to move around the house without a 'chaperone'.

My peace of mind was 'shattered'...The prospect of returning from school unnerved me. The prospect of leaving the house for school was a welcome relief. I knew I couldn’t keep up with these extremes of emotions for long!

I begged my mother to find and kill the rodent. Tried my best to convince my grandparents that there was an 'uninvited visitor' in the house, who had decided to stay longer than expected. The only outcome of my pleas was some rat poison cakes placed in 'strategic' locations, all untouched. And that was the humble and simple first step of 'Operation Smoke Out' !

As 'amateurs in the game', my sister and I were shown samples of the rat poison cake, instructed not to 'touch' or 'taste' or 'smell' them ( what was anyway the possibility of eating a bright blue bar that resembled the 'Rin' bar???). The locations were disclosed to us in great secrecy and hushed tones lest the little rodent would eavesdrop on us hidden in 'bunkers' behind the cupboard or under the bed.

And then one 'fateful' day... I woke up listening to bits and pieces of discussions. Words like 'chickpea', 'water', 'cake' , 'blue' were interspersed in the conversations. My mother had left some chickpea soaked in water overnight. And the little visitor had sampled quite a lot of them. Well wasn't 'it' messy!! Bits of the half - 'devoured' chickpea lay all over the kitchen floor and in some parts of the home. What is worse the water in the container had turned blue!! (We had heard of water turning into wine but not blue!). My mother took a resolve to beat out 'whoever' had ever so even dared to lay a finger (or a tail) (or a gnawing tooth) on her chickpea. Well all that was good to hear and know, but I didn’t quite expect anything.

That evening when I was in my room, I heard some noises. ..in my room!I ran out and claimed, 'The rat is in my room...I know I know for sure!!' Mother dismissed me at the very instant - 'You are just imagining things.' She asked my sister, the trusted lieutenant, to go to the room along with me. Barely 2 minutes later were we both out! And the 'Smoke Out' squads were at work.

My grandmother was at the helm screaming out instructions to my grandfather, the only brave one, who volunteered to thrash the rodent to death with a stick that was used to brush away cobwebs. He thumped the stick as he marched along, in tune to my grandmother's bellowing voice. We prodded and pushed my father behind him. He reluctantly hobbled behind him, keeping a good distance. My sister and I had already climbed onto the diwan in the living room and clung onto each other. My mother kept scanning the room to monitor movements of the enemy...to check if the enemy had passed us or not.

Thump! Thump! Thud! Thud! Thump!

Some more thump-ings and thud-dings.. No idea about the whereabouts.

And just as fingers were beginning to point accusingly at my sister and me for making up stories. Grandfather called out 'There it comes!' We tried to peer into the room from where we were standing, but never once relinquishing our bases.

What followed was my father dashing out from the room screaming 'ahh..right behind me' .

Close on his heels was a tiny ball whizzing off at the speed of light or so. It went aimed right at my grandmother as she stood in the way. She was plump and had a roundish figure. I often wondered how she balanced but I was proven wrong! In display, was a 'ballet' performance by her, twirling from left to right, then right to left on toes, all the while dishing out instructions to anyone and everyone who cared to listen in the pandemonium unleashed.

Well the little guy seemed to have outwitted us, but I was so relieved that I could sleep in peace in the one 'rodent- free- for- sure' room in the whole 'rodent infested' house. I think I was going over the board but I really could do with a peaceful night's sleep.

That night the rat made sure my grandparents didn’t sleep. I woke up to yet another uncertain day...for in the morning, my grandmother confirmed the dreaded - there were more than one!! She had pledged something to St George to get rid of the rats.

When I dragged myself back to home that day, my mother stood waiting for me, with her best big smile on. Finally the fish, oops the rat, did bite...not just one but two of them. One was caught and thrashed while roaming around the house in an intoxicated gait. The other was spotted in the unused old washing machine. The dead 'bodies' were in the yard awaiting burial 'rites' from my father who was searching for the tools.

Gleeful that the 'torture' had come to an end, I ran towards the spot and shook my fist at the remains-

'Pick on someone your own size'!

And marched back, ever the brave heart! ;)

Tried, but..

Tried in vain to

catch the moment in folded palms
Forever the same...can it freeze in time ?

let the laughter ring...last and just be
A withering hope.. will it echo later in hollow moments of empty promises and futile hopes?

let the faces be sketched in memory
A salvage ...to summon when memory fades until it fails?

to bite away the pain..
for more often that not
you can never know the last you..
would be enquired about,
matter to someone to be shown how much,
belong somewhere,
get a smile, a hug unasked for,
have a shoulder to cry on,
have a compatriot to share a joke,
can be yourself.

to be grateful
to know this is the last.

You might get a moment to decide,
or maybe you get years.
But no matter what..
The moment will elapse.
The hour will go by.
Time will run away.

There's no turning back.
This is a one-way.

There's no second chance.
This is the only one.

There's no retry.
There's only a legacy - A memory that's etched.

There's only a choice.
To trudge through the 'Today' you chose,
Bearing the legacy of 'Yesterday',
Looking out for the slightest ray of hope
in the fog of doubt,
Hanging onto every word of fate
to hear a favourable verdict,
For a Tomorrow you dream of.

Foot in Mouth

The winner is...ME!!

I just have this unique knack of blurting out what exactly (or maybe just about anything) is in my mind.
I just do not know when I will learn to be diplomatic or subtle.
I do not know when I will learn to think before I open my big mouth.

Shouldn't I have mastered it by now? Well I don't know for sure.

Well I should have or maybe it is okay because there are so many people who do it.

Well maybe it doesn't matter to them because they get the privilege of so many one-liners to their credit.

Forever Santa

Shhhh!
Ya better watch out! Ya better not cry!
Ya better not pout! I'm tellin' you why...
Santa Claus is comin' to town.
He's makin' a list, and checkin' it twice.
He's gonna find out who's naughty or nice.
Santa Claus is comin' to town.

My earliest memories of Christmas is waking up to the voice of Jim Reeves belting out a xmas number. I would know christmas was round the corner when most mornings began this way. My father, a die hard fan of music, used to play christmas songs from a recorder. He had a huge collection; his favourites being Jim Reeves, Carpenters among others.

My sister would plan how to decorate the christmas tree. And I, her forever satellite, would revolve around her plans and do my bit..We used to make stars, wreaths, santa faces, mistletoes ( I never knew then if you stood underneath a mistletoe, you could get kissed!!), gingerbread men, candy sticks, candles and arrange them all around the tree. My sister would come up with a new idea every year. The last time we decorated a tree, she made a cute little crib. The nativity scene with the angel descending...Can you imagine that? Maybe not .. because it was prettier than you can imagine.

Our house used to overflow with delicacies! My mom used to bake batches of fruit cakes for everybody we knew. Her cake is relished by friends (we moved from that city years ago) even now when we meet up. We used to sneak around to lick the batter. Do you know that there's no greater joy than trying to do that when your ma wont see:) I do it even now.
My mother used to save the egg shells for the santa faces..that was christmas!!

We also used to make greeting cards for our grandparents, other relatives and friends and post them well in advance. The cards we used to receive would be arranged some where in the living room..

The house used to look so beautiful..with the lingering 'christmasy' feel:)

One Christmas was so special.

I'm tellin' you why.... Santa Claus is comin' to town. He did come!!

That Christmas.. I woke up to find two books under my pillow:) My sister and cousin brother were also surprised to find two books each under their pillow:)I got a book on Alladin. My sister and cousin got books on King Arthur.

Well weren't we surprised and thrilled to bits!!

I used to read that book many years later too. It is the prettiest book I have. The jewels that Alladin discovered shines through the pages..

Over the years, I lost track of the book. But never memories of that day. For that was the Christmas when Santa visited me!
It was much later that I came to know that it was my dear little father who decided to be Santa!

He sees you when you're sleepin'.
He knows when you're awake.
He knows if you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness sake!
Ya better watch out!
Ya better not cry!
Ya better not pout!

I wonder if I wasn't a really good kid later for that was the first and last time Santa remembered me to give me a gift when I was sleeping. :) My forever Santa..

The Tithe

Tithe is an offering in thanksgiving to one's God. It is the one-tenth part of a revenue and is a practice followed religiously since centuries. Through out the Bible, there are references to different people who have offered their tithes, small or big, unfailingly. An act of gratitude to the benevolent God!

I had never followed this ritual. Nevertheless read on for I think the real life story that unfolds below will make you think about it.

My grandparents have their own land and house in my hometown. I think this is a huge blessing considering the scarcity of land nowadays.
We came to our hometown to settle down when we were kids. It was a relief that our praents didn't have to go through the pain of finding/building an appropriate place to stay as we already had one, which was meant to be ours eventually.
In the early days spent there, i used to observe my grandfather toiling with some tools in the land besides our house in the evenings. As dusk approached, my grandmother used to shout from inside asking him to get into the house. Some days, before he finished up, he usually called one of us kids. If I were the chosen one, I would make my way grumbling, wading through the mosquitoes, ants and leaves on my face, hands and legs. I would often find him scratching at the mud until he would pull out a vegetable. Sometimes it would be a vegetable called ''chenna' in my native language. He would place it besides some others that he had collected. He was working so that our land gave some produce. Apart from such etables, we also had 4 coconut trees and a huge mango tree. It was 'Eden'. I always used to be in awe.

Some years later, a painful decision was taken to sell a portion of the land. The present layout was such that the house stood in the center with portions of land on either sides. The one that was chosen finally was the one that gave us the vegetables, mangoes and coconuts. The other land had some jasmine bushes apart from coconut trees of course.
I often wondered how they all felt about it and came to the decision. Was it difficult? But i was too young to understand the emotions. Moreover, all signs of emotions were hidden by a shield of practicality. Secretly, my sister and I, young as we were, vowed to buy the land back when we would grow up and make enough money.

Years went by, there was not much activity on the piece of land that was sold. A silver lining!! We might, after all be able to buy the land back..However, even after two years in our respective jobs, neither of us could cough up enough money to buy the land back. But hope was adrift.

Just a few days earlier, my mother mentioned that the present owners of the land were felling down the coconut trees and the huge mango tree. There could be only one motive for clearing up the land - I thought with a feeling of loss, which my mother confirmed too.

Coming up two days later was Hosanna, a day when christians all over the world commemorate Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem. On that day, eons ago, it is believed that people welcomed Him with carpets of palm leaves. Keeping in tradition, families would contribute palm leaves to their parishes and churches, which would inturn be distributed to the believers.

I often used to wonder how so many palm leaves could be collected. My mother was thinking of contributing palm leaves from our remaining land. In the other side, the workers were clearing the land. So she asked them if they could cut some leaves for us from our trees after they were done with their work. They agreed to do so, but said that as they were already felling the coconut trees in the sold piece of land, they might as well give us leaves from those trees.

That evening, our Maruti car was filled with palm leaves. It turned out that as it was a rainy day, climbers refused to go up the coconut trees in many places. There was a low collection in the church until my parents reached there with ours. We ended up supplying about three-fourth of the leaves, with only two other families contributing otherwise.

It felt good to hear that. I rejoiced as a thought crossed my mind. Without realising, we had given our 'tithe', when we least expected to. The land gave back to the creator its last produce.