Little Healing Hands

She at last sits on the swinging chair

Wiping her sweat with a shallow sigh

Many are still the chores that wait

For her to attend before she rests

Without a reward she moves on her way

Not for a penny; she works all day

No one asks her or even thinks she needs

A day to rest, or some air to breathe

Taken her for granted he comes

Evening, night, at any odd time

She stands there to serve him food

With a smile, or else he’s sure to shout

Her heart at times yearns to laugh aloud

To chat a while with someone dear

She is called wife, but treated as slave

She is a woman, she’s but a name

Her spirit dies, her soul withers

Her body and mind ails with age

In thirties she looks like a haggard old being

Her prayers are silent tears that flow

There comes her little girl looking so puzzled

‘Mama, are you tired?’ she asks so sweet

Then goes and brings a glass full of water

‘Drink mama, drink’ she compels with love

She sits beside her, looks into her eyes

‘Can I help you, mama? You take some rest.’

 Mama’s heart fills with joy, she hugs her babe

A new stream of life makes mama smile

She puts her babe on her lap and kisses her brow

Grateful to her for the healing touch of love

Cuddling her closer, with tears she prays

‘God, spare my child from my wretched fate’

Tightly holding hands, they walk to the kitchen

Sweet words so cute make mama cheerful

Little hands take onions and lift them to her mom

‘What else, mama?’ ‘Nothing dear, I’m well’ 

Child is a wonder, the best healer for a mother

Those twinkling eyes are the brightest light ever

That innocent smile reflects the heart of a giver

Child is a treasure; age matters never!

Kill four and leave the rest??

I kept on staring at the September 11th newspaper title in horror without knowing how to react: ‘One in four men admits to committing rape’. I was badly shaken after seeing the reasons for a man to rape.

1.           The most common reason; men’s belief that they have the right to sex, regardless of consent!

2.           Second most common reasons: for fun or due to boredom

3.           Anger, as punishment etc.

Then comes a line: “While large majority of men supported the ‘abstract idea’ of gender equality, many believed domestic violence was acceptable and that household work was the women’s job!

September 13^th Friday brought the news: Delhi gang rape: All four convicts sentenced to death!

So, how many criminals are left to roam free in our country? If we kill these four, will our women be safe? Will men stop raping? Nothing, except a comfort that somewhere, some justice is done. Truth is, you have one man among four, around you to devour you, if you are another Nirbhaya unlucky to become  Nirbhagya!

Who said that women can be raped without consent? Rape itself is murder as life is lost from body and soul after a rape. Rape is theft as it steals all the dignity of the victim.

And who is even interested to know the reason for the rape or sexual abuse? We, women are really not after the reason and statistics. We are human beings like men and we don’t want men to think of raping or abusing or even touching us. Why should you? You may have your reasons and justification. If you have a problem, admit it and take proper treatment. Don’t use women as your punching bags to show your tantrums.

We aren't meat to be eaten or slaves to be slaughtered. We are God’s Creation meant to be your mother, your sister, your wife, your daughter, your friend, your partner.

We are neither an object of violence nor a subject of discussion. We are women. You be human.

Life with my poor brain!

I have heard a lot of times people saying this to me: 'Everything is your imagination. Everything is in your head. You think too much.' I truly lost hope when the doctors also started saying the same to me: when I went to a Cardiologist with a chest pain, to a Neurologist for the numbness on my feet etc. The worst blow was my visit to a famous orthopedic surgeon in Kerala. An Ortho in Chennai had already suggested a surgery to cure my lower back and neck pain and I went to Kerala to a second opinion from this experienced doctor. I took two days off from my job, took a train from Chennai and reached Kottayam. As I couldn't travel by bus, I took a taxi till home. The same evening I went with my mom by car to see this reputed Ortho.

We had to wait for an hour before he came to his cabin. I handed over my scan report and X-ray and narrated my plight. Without taking a look at the reports, he turned my back and neck in all angles possible. I wanted to scream, but I maintained my composure and may be that was probably the mistake I did! He just gave me back the reports and X-ray without even looking at them and told me bluntly: ‘You don’t have any problem. It is all psychological!’

I was nearly in tears and felt so furious because I had to pay 200 rupees (10 years back) for no good reason. Thanks to my cousin who is a pediatrician, I was sent to another Ortho and I managed to get some relief.

Then, for years I never visited any doctor as I developed an aversion towards them. I applied some balm and tied band on my forehead whenever my headache became unbearable. When my legs got tired I would dip them in warm water mixed with salt. I would relax when I had chest pain. Years went by and there came a day where I couldn't bear my headaches and I felt numb below my knees. So finally I decided to meet a Doctor!

I went to a neurologist. He gave me some tablets and told me to meet the physiotherapist and psychologist in the same hospital. I obeyed like a little girl. With much difficulty I climbed the steps to meet the physiotherapist on the first floor. He made me lie down, then stand, and then sit. Then he started his speech. ‘Madam, you must take two glasses of milk diluted with water, drink at least three litres of water, eat greens, egg whites, (a list of a few other goodies to eat) to improve your calcium level. Your muscles are weak and that’s why the nerves get stressed, so I have to teach you some exercises. But as you are weak now, I can’t do anything. For the next three days, take hot water shower (as hot as possible) for 15 minutes, morning and evening. And come back and I will test your stamina and then decide the exercises!! Continue with whatever work you normally do or else your nerves will go weaker’

He was getting to my nerves. Anyway as I had no other way, I obeyed what he said. In Salem’s hot weather, I sat under the hot shower for 15 minutes every morning for three days. I would come out of the bathroom so tired and lost. I pushed myself to school where I could hardly function. By evening I was almost dead and I decided not to be again in that 15 minutes inferno. I called him and told me that this is making me so tired and his reply was, ‘Madam, it is not tiredness, it is relaxation!’

Then came the appointment with the psychologist. She didn't get a clue of anything whatsoever. She told me this. ‘You have a lot of unfulfilled dreams in your mind. You aren't happy. So, we (she and I) have to make the ‘inner me’ happy. She suggested some breathing exercises; to inhale and hold the breath and exhale all the sadness out. I couldn't even breathe properly due to my chest pain and I hated the idea of digging all the past and segregate the sadness and exhale it out. I thought that is pure madness!

The tablets were making me sleepy and restless during the day and I was becoming weaker and weaker. I regretted going to the doctor as my condition before the treatment was at least manageable.

So I stopped the tablets, the hot water bath and didn't think of ever doing that stupid breathing exercise. My family suggested that I need physical exercise and I argued that none of the females in our family of any generation has done any exercise and no one has any problem whatsoever. But my physical condition was bad enough to get admitted to a hospital.

I decided to go to another neurologist. I went and told him my problem and made a statement: ‘My pain is real. I am not imagining anything. I am not making up stories.’ Shocked to hear it, he smiled and asked me the reason for my statement and I told him that I lost trust in Doctors because all blame my head and tell me to think positive.

He examined me physically and tested my grip with the fingers and toes. He asked me a few questions and was very happy with my positive answers about life. But then I heard the worst thing from him. ‘Yes, your problem is in your head!’

Before I got up from my seat he added, ‘I mean, with your brain. Probably there can be a chemical imbalance that causes the brain’s malfunctioning and I think if that is regulated, all your physical illness would go’ He further told me, ‘It is purely biological. It is not due to the external factors or thoughts. It must be treated as we treat a typhoid or malaria. No psychologist or counselor can help a positive person like you, as you think wise and straight. But I wonder how come as an educated person you ignored your symptoms for such a long time!’

 

To all the doctors who told me that the problem is in my head, I have only one doubt to ask. If heart or liver or kidney or lungs have a problem, you treat the patient. But when you suspect that there is a problem with the head, you leave the patient at the mercy of prayers or advice or positive thinking. Isn't head an organ? As much as each organ has a way to be healed or treated, shouldn't brain be treated and healed? And moreover that sly mocking smile when you say that suggests that anyone except a doctor is a fool?

I don’t know much about medicine. But one thing I am sure of. Brain causes feelings. Positive thoughts or advice or environment can nurture the brain and help it to heal. Negative thoughts and situations could damage the brain’s function. But if you have to feel good, your brain must make you feel good.

And my final statement is, even if the problem is with my head, my head is not in my hands for me to fix it.

Just a little time to live...Just a little time to love..

Earth spins mad in haste

Humans haste in utter waste

No one cares for the gen next

Greed consumes each asset

Height is might for structures built

Buyers rush despite its rate

No more sand in rivers left

Everything on Earth is swept

Houses packed with stuff redundant

Old ones dumped inside high loft

Wardrobes inhabit clothes just bought

Old and torn ones in suitcases kept

Higher in the ladder, to a new height

Each one moves in quest to mount

Smiles false and power lost

Yet not forgoing their target

With the motto ‘sky is the limit’

Every chance to fall, they resist

Scared even to take some rest

They fight to remain in their best

Excess jewels in lockers intact

Extra money the banks protect

Number and size of cars attest

The wealth each earns in this planet

Trees felled without foresight

People killed, their kin left aghast 

Blood and corpses make world infect

Sooner or later all forgotten as past

Rat race is the sole thing taught

To ignore and forget the poor lot

To run forever and never to quit

Till death drops them to the pit

Love and kindness take the back seat

Arrogance and pride keep hearts apart

Guns and missiles ready to fight

Peace is discussed but never kept

Can we take some rest, be pleasant?

Create the laughter that we do forget?

Care for others who wait in want?

Close our eyes to our ego, a bit?

Far & Rare Is Near & Dear

The one who leaves is never a friend

Friend’s love won’t change in trend

He came from nowhere for no big reasons

He stayed with you on all four seasons

Calling him 'friend' was almost delight

A comfort was he, in life's twilight

When you lost your mind and stood alone

You lost your friend, then left forlorn

When night was dark and stars moved out

You turned a loner, a loser, no doubt

Pain was nil as your life had frozen

Memories came as dreams, a dozen

Your thoughts never spoke a word in fact

And there was nothing in you to act

When all was over, with mind insane

You heard a word from a far off lane

A forgotten friend's call, a voice from nowhere

The love she poured took you somewhere

Your good old friend who you forgot a while

Came to lift you with a gift of smile

Gold is gold, though it is old

Time can prove that old is gold

Friend? Is it the one who you love the most?

Is it the one who loves you the best?

Is it a thought or just vanity?

Is it a product of your insanity?

You may not get your answers ever
Yet a friend is no one who leaves forever

How I wonder!

Look at the plastic lining of the bulbul's nest

And here is the inside

Since childhood I wonder about many things that I see, hear, touch, feel...

The funniest of all would be my wonderment when the radio is switched on and I hear people speaking or singing. I would wonder how those people can shrink to the size of a radio and how they could go in and come out, invisible to my eyes!

Everything around me made me wonder..how, when, what..

Everyone around me seemed to understand everything and I kept wondering why I am so ignorant. 

As I grew up, I started understanding the theory part of it, but continued wondering how on earth things are done practically. Again, no one else seemed to have a problem nor they wondered at the little things of life.

I used to watch the spider making its web, from beginning to end and would stand stunned at its amazing talent and perfection. The honey bees making its honeycomb in the hexagonal shape and storing honey that they collect from flowers, birds making their nests collecting small sticks and coir pieces from the garden..everything made me wonder.

The rain coming with a hissing sound from the nearby hills and finally pouring down from the tiled roof, sound of thunder and flash of lightning, (I truly believed it when someone told me that lightning is the flash when God takes photos and thunder is the sound heard when God puts coconuts on the attic.) colours of the sky, the wind, the sun and moon and stars appearing and disappearing, moon becoming bigger and smaller...and what not..practically everything made me wonder.

I was so fascinated by the book Alice in wonderland and I was consoled by the fact that there is yet another kid like me.

And even now there are times I just watch and wonder...

The climber in my garden was hanging down from the car park and I thought to myself that without help it cannot find a place to roll its tendrils. The next day I found it attached to the hook that was nearby and I wondered how it saw the hook which was out of its way..

Then one day I spotted the bulbul’s nest on the tree, with a plastic coating! I thought it was an accident. But then, I found the same done on many nests. The inner layer made with twined soft strings of coir, and plastic was always used in the outer covering. I thought of the folks who nickname ignorant people as 'kuruvimoola' (bird's brain) and I wondered what is so wrong with the bird's brain!

Recently, I exclaimed about these things to my friend and she smiled at me and my innocence and told me fondly "it is intelligence..intelligence of nature'

Wow! That was a good answer that satisfied me.

Apart from these things outside me, there are some feelings inside me which makes me wonder if..? will..? could..? may..? and they confuse and sometimes make me sad..

But then, I go to my happy corner of innocence, without trying to know the reasons or answers, and I sing the happy melody of the little innocent girl who sang 'Twinkle twinkle little star" and I become happy. And then I wonder how a little song could make me so happy!!

When life dreams to live..

She was a singer, a composer, a poet. But no one knew her name and she never got any fame. She tuned her thoughts and hummed them as songs. As her soul danced to her voice, she knew her talents. Echoes rippled in her home and garden and reached back to her own ear. Except for her pets, no body heard her sweet voice.

Life had designed for her, a small shop instead of a big stage. In her dreams she moved up the steps that lead to the stage, floating in the applause of her fans. Reality brought her to this little shop where she ironed cloths from morning till dusk. Her soft voice and swift hands took her through each day. In the evening after her prayers, she used to sit at the corner of her room to create a new melody with her new born thoughts.

She never knew that he is a journalist; the man who used to come so often to get his dress ironed. He was so curious to know about her unique tunes and styles. He asked a thousand questions and showered her with praises. She was as casual as her songs were, she answered him in short phrases or in a smile. One day, he came with a newspaper and showed her the article that he wrote about her. He was so happy that it got published on the Sunday's best column and was enthralled by the popularity that awaits him. In no time he would become a hero!

She was excited too. At last, she thought, 'I am going to step on to that huge stage.' He had no time to listen to her words. He didn't even wait to get his shirts which she was about to finish ironing. As he disappeared from sight, she was at a loss; a feeling of cheating? using? She wasn't clear, though.

For a few days she couldn't write a thing nor hum a tune. The stanzas of her songs published in neat lines in that white newspaper filled her thoughts and her eyes. She learnt one more lesson and felt, a loser. She gathered herself back and continued her life. Her words became more powerful and her tunes, melodious. Her pain and struggle refined the artist in her.

As she ironed the cloths she thought. 'May be one day I will become a writer or a singer and I will go on that great stage and my life will change its path and I will become a celebrity.' Years passed, she tried her best to be what she desired to be. Except her, no one thought that a girl with a little shop by the wayside has dreams to fulfill.

A dream is a dream is a dream! She sang under the pine tree in front of her house; with her violin to accompany her, with no one to clap. Every day she envisioned a large crowd of music lovers who would surround her with praises and compliments for her work. But she knew that the way to the big halls where artists perform is out of her reach. There would be thousands to scream as those artists walked and everyone applauded for anything that they sang. Not because they were better singers than her, but they had a name, fame, and money to be on any stage.

Nothing big happened ever in her life. None of her dreams became real. She understood that talent alone won't suffice to be where she wants to be. She remembered her school days where girls got chances to perform on stage only if they were rich, fair and pretty. There was something that she blocked her popularity; her poor lifestyle, her poor cloths, her poor looks? She sighed on reading the lines of the famous poet Thomas Gray, written in her notebook:

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

'May be I will reach only this far.' She closed her book and pen. Tunes played all over her being, raising her to the platform of joy. The stage may not be for all, but no one could take away the source of creation. Her heart conceived powerful thoughts and they were delivered as words and they played in the tunes of her songs. She felt a smile lighting her face. She hummed the new tune and her violin repeated it to her delight. Her room became the stage and her soul formed her audience. She was more than happy.

The day broke bringing a new beginning. A new dream replaced the old one. She dreamed of her happy being, to fly free to the paradise of happiness, to feel the freedom of her soul, to bring life to the lifeless through words and sing to brighten the darkest depths of Earth; this was her new born dream she held.

She finished her prayers and household chores. She gave her father his tablets, her mother, a kiss. Like a brave warrior she took her steps to her little shop a few miles away. People started coming and she started ironing. As happy as she can be, she did her work in the melody of her songs. She felt fresh even at the end of the day. She went back home with the most beautiful thoughts. 

Days and months went by, seasons changed and years rolled; her dream became her life itself. She made her life the Big Stage that she used to dream of. 

'Are these your compositions?' asked the stranger on the block. He had heard about her from his neighbour, the journalist; everything, including how he became popular after the real life article that he wrote about her. She wasn't skeptic about the stranger. She smiled and made her answer short, 'yes', and she continued her work. To his request, she agreed to show him her poems and sing a few, playing her violin. In her home, to a one man audience, she performed her soulful performance. He had no words to thank her or to appreciate her. His eyes twinkled with joy and his smile spoke more than any word could. 'Beautiful!' he tried to put his emotions into words, but they got chocked before he spoke.

He remained a stranger in her life; a stranger who would be eager to see her new works and hear her new tunes, a stranger who would bring her flowers to compliment her, with his one and only word, 'Beautiful'. That's what she was; a beautiful soul who lived in a beautiful world beyond the little shop she had, the menial job she did, the humble house she stayed. 

She sat near her pets with her papers and pen. Her thoughts were ready to occupy the empty spaces on the white sheets. She wrote the title neatly on top of the page. It read, "Beautiful"