A long lost monsoon..

The rain had been merciless. Had been the whole night. Beating down on the rooftops. Washing down the dust and grime..

The op was almost deserted. It always was during the first few days of rain. Then slowly, as epidemics of viral fever and respiratory infection erupted and spread, the op would get crowded, the wards overflowing, the staff too falling sick one by one.


My first case was a very draining one..I looked into the worn out eyes of the woman. Her daughter cowered besides her scorched by shame. She wouldn’t look at me.
The rain was gathering momentum. I had to raise my voice to make myself clear.
‘Accept it. Your daughter is four months pregnant. There is no question of abortion now. She will have to deliver the baby.’
The woman stared at me leaned back on the wall, bent her head as if in deep shame, and started to weep.
I glanced at the girl again

Why were women so stupid?

'Yes why so stupid ..?' I wondered again as I drove home that evening.

The wipers wiped off the raindrops falling on the misting windshield. But the rain was persistent. New drops. New patterns on the glass… to be wiped away again and again. I switched on the dim lights of the car, driving cautiously. The wet gleaming roads were skidding. The drains overflowing.

I made a mental note to add more soups in the menu.
Boiling water steeped in tulsi leaves to drink. Panikoorka leaves in the hot bath water…To prevent fever..



I remembered another monsoon and another sixteen year old.. guilty of yielding to empty promises and cajoling lips.

I walked into my house. my younger son was sprawled on the sofa, watching TV.

‘Didn’t go for tuition?’

‘Not feeling well.’

‘Hmm’. His chubby cheeks were flushed. The huge eyes drooping
I stroked his forehead pushing back the long hair. His forhead burned.
‘Ate something’?

‘No.’
‘But you must. Along with your tabs’.

‘Soup?’

“No tummy aching’.

‘Toast and hot milk.’?

‘Ok’
‘As I waited for the milk to boil I thought about Gayathri again.

She kept intruding into my thoughts today... after a long time..

The rain.. the pregnant girl… my son's fever..

I had been in 6th std. It was monsoon..My folks had gone to Kumily to attend a marriage. I had fever. I was to stay back with the new servant girl. Gayathri.

The day passed off fine.

She sat besides me on the floor. Served me hot kanji and pickle.

I felt a bit sick but loved all the attention being lavished on me.

It was drizzling as I slipped off to sleep in the afternoon..

I woke up dreaming that I was drowning in water.

The rain was pattering wildly on the roof. The windows had been closed. The curtains drawn across.

There was no electricity but Aa candle was burning and I was covered with a blanket.

Gayathri looked up from the book she was reading and smiled at me.

‘Chechi called. They will be late.’

‘The road is blocked. Some huge tree fell on the road.’

‘Don’t worry’. The dark gentle eyes smiled at me. Her nose stud flashed in the dim light.
‘I am here. You sleep for some more time’

I closed my eyes. The rain was persistent. Gathering momentum.

It started from the pit of my gut. A small shiver. My core felt frozen .. waves of chill spread all over my body. My teeth chattered. I was shivering.

‘Molu.. Molu..’ I could hear gayathri call urgently. She was rubbing my hands and feet. Running here and there covering me with more blankets.

‘Molu take this..’

I opened my mouth ,she poured hot kanji water into my mouth. The hot scalding liquid scorched my throat pleasurably. I opened my mouth gulping down more and more as I felt it warming my core filling my hunger..

I slowly opened my eyes the dark eyes smiled reassuringly. The nose stud flashed.

‘Sleep’.She whispered.

‘I am here’
She sat besides me on the floor and started to sing.

'What’s that ..?' I murmured sleepily.

‘Narayaneeyamm’

I lay with my eyes closed. Drifting off to dreamless sleep..

‘Molu’.
I woke up to feel soft hands on my cheeks.

‘ Better?’

My mom sat on the bed. Morning light flitted in through the open windows. Raindrops dripped softly the leaves of the guava tree outside. It had stopped raining.

‘Hmm better’. I smiled sleepily hugging her.

‘My son drank the hot milk and ate the toast. I gave him the tabs and tucked him in his bed.I looked forwards to the rainy evening ahead. My hubby was out of station. He would be coming the next day only. The trains were cancelled.

Some tree had fallen on the tracks.

I looked forwards to reading late into night cocconed under the blanket ..drinking coca.. while the rest of the world slept .. the rain pattering wildly on the roof .. the wind howling at the windows..

But somehow I couldn’t read.. I kept thinking about Gyathri..

I adored Gayathri after that. I loved the way her tummy jiggled under the half sari as she ran around cleaning, cooking and washing. Her glass bangles clashing, her payals dancing.

She made unniapams for tea.. sweet crunchy ones..

She gave me warm water steeped in tulsi leaves to drink and mixed crushed panikoorka leaves in my hot bath water ( To prevent fever she would smile at me ).

My uniforms were dazzling and neatly pressed.. she braided my hair deftly..

She would sit besides me singing narayaneeyam as I slipped of to sleep at night.

The sky was over cast when I returned home from school, one evening to find that she had gone.

‘Why?’

My mom would not tell why.

'When would she be back?"

No she wouldn’t be back.

‘Go out and play.’

My mom looked distracted. Upset.

‘Play’?

Didn’t She notice that it was drizzling outside?

I never saw gayathri again.

My confusion about her was cleared years later..

My grandfather had been buried the previous day. I sat watching an old man poking the canvas roof of the pandal from below with his huge umbrella. The pandal was sagging with the previous night’s rain. I watched water flowing down from the sides of the canvas with each poke..

‘Molu’.

I turned around to see my mom with a seven year old girl.

‘Remember Gayathri ?’

‘ Gayathri’?

Memories of a long lost monsoon.. Deft hands braiding my hair.. sweet crunchy unniappama.. The sound of rain gathering momentum… Fever and chills..Hot liquid burning my throat... Nose stud flashing in candlelight… Gentle eyes smiling reassuringly… A husky voice reading narayaneeyam..

‘Gayathri? Where is she?’

‘Didn’t you know? Gayathri died in her childbirth.’

‘Oh..!’

I looked at the skinny girl. Huge lonely eyes gazed at me. Unruly curls framed the cute face.

‘Her father married again…?’ I guessed

‘What father?’ ‘Molu, Gayathri was betrayed.’

‘Betrayed? But you never told me?’

‘You were too young at that time to understand.’

‘She trusted the new police constable. Didn’t know that he was already married. He never returned to the village. She was expecting him to come for her when she came to work for us.

Oh..!’

‘It was too late when I came to know.. she was almost four months pregnant .

Why were women so stupid..?' I wondered again.

I slipped into the bed hugging my sleeping son. His body was cool . The fever had left him.

I lay sleepless hugging him..

The rain was gathering momentum.. again..

Mr. MN is a regular patient in our hospital. A 70 yr old hypertensive and a diabetic, he comes for regular checkup.
Every one abhors him.
Cos of his rudeness.

He picks up a fight with everyone. To the op counter clerk, to the doctors, to the sisters, to lab staff’ to the x-ray technician’ to the pharmacist.

Added to it he has patches of leucoderma all over his body and his snarling face.

Today morning I walked towards my room. And there stood Mr MN commenting rudely about doctors arriving late for duty. The fact that I was a bit late added to my irritation. I walked in head high as if I had not heard him.

The lady hospital attendant walked in looking fraught.
'Horrible man.' He was abusing you very badly.
Before I could reply. Before I could lay down my bag and take my steth out Mr. MN barged into the room muttering loudly about doctors coming late. He sat down on the chair.
I couldn’t trust my self to speak. I just placed my bag on my table and walked out.
To control myself or to teach him a lesson? I don’t know. Maybe both.

:))
I returned about five minutes later. He sat staring at me coldly.

‘Come sit here. I pointed on the stool besides me.’

‘ Oh ! You have only a stool for examining patients? ‘
He glared at me.
I pretended not to hear.

‘Hmm tell me your symptoms.’

‘I have pain abdomen and numbness both legs and feet.’

'Hmm any vomiting?'

‘No. I had told about my pain abdomen to the doc who had seen me last time. He gave me some stupid medicines. I have no relief.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Is your blood sugar under control..? Show me the results.’

He took out the report.

‘That’s the report. Who knows if anyone can trust the lab reports?’

It went on and on. Me asking questions softly and him being bitchy.

I asked him to remove his shirt and lie down on the couch so that I could examine his tummy. Then I examined both the legs in detail. Talking very pleasantly and softly.

Slowly the rudeness started to crumble. He started to wring his hands shyly while answering my questions. His voice became soft.


I came back and sat down.

‘You seem to have hyperacidity
Are you under any tension?’

‘Yes doc. He said quietly.’

He then talked for forty minutes non-stop. Yes he had a lot of tension in his life. His wife suffered from paranoid schizophrenia.
Since the past thirty years.
She doesn’t go out of the house. She is paranoid of every one. Doesn’t trust anyone. Even their grandchildren.

He talked and talked I listened.

Finally I advised the tabs he had to take and the diet he had to follow. In detail.

He quietly listened.

He got up to leave. Reached the door and turned back
He smiled at me.

‘I’m sorry doc. Sometimes I cant help my self. I behave rudely I know.’
‘I understand. Its cos of your family problems. I smiled back.’

The poor poor man.

I had been seeing him for the past several years. But I had not bothered to find out the kind of life he lived.
‘Treat the ‘person’ not the disease.’ I remembered reading somewhere.
So true.

I looked forwards to seeing Mr. MN the next time.

Alone.

Recently during my morning walk Inoticed something. The herbs and grass grow close together. The shurbs stand slightly wide appart. But the trees, the taller and bigger they are stand wide appart.

They stay alone.

Today I came across these words.

'Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone...

Stand together not too near together for the pillars of the temple stand appart.'

-Kahlil Gibran.

P.S. That is another pix of Veli.

The breeze flirted around lazily, playing with my hair, nuzzling my cheeks, pulling at my shawl idly.

The lake rippled and giggled. The flowers danced in gay abandon. The sandy stretch just lay there slumberous.... sedated. The ocean rose up in spray, crashing and roaring deeply.The blue, blue sky smiled serenely.

I felt calm, contented.

I was at Veli. Alone. With my journal and camera.

To be with my thoughts, soak in the nature, centre myself.

I do it off and on. When I need some 'Me' time.

Take a day off and drive to Veli.

Wander around alone, listen to the birds , gaze at the clouds. at the water plants bobbing serenely in the water , kids feeding the pigeons and the geese .
Marvel at the birds that swoop down on the rippling lake in a flash and fly away with the catch.

Take the pix of whatever catches my fancy..

Obeserve my thoughts silently..

Then relax in the floating restaurant, sipping tea, relishing the crisp spicy pakoras and write in the journal whatever i feel like with the roar of the ocean in the background.

The landscaped lawn at Veli is lovely

It includes the figure of a full-bodied woman lying on her back with one hip and knee slightly flexed. Her body is deliciously curved, moulded from warm earth and covered by soft, lush grass.

To me, she is the embodiment of a woman confident with her lush body, relishing her sensousnes, comfortable with her sexuality.
I have seen people especially women watch her surreptiously through the lashes never daring to admire her openly. They gaze secretly and then shift their eyes.
Her unbridled sensuality seem to be a threat and embarrassment. Even men seem to be uncomfortable around her.

I have taken her pictures from many angles, but it never did come out right.Needless to say that I know next to nothing about photography

Somehow, I was never able to capture her mood...her spirit...

That natural, innocent wantonness.

Anyway that breezy morning I decided to give it one more try.

I walked around her with my camera aiming from different angles.

'No. She was evading me'

I walked back about 20 feet and tried to capture her.

'No, I couldn't'.

I had to get her full figure and I could get it only from above her . I looked around.

'No, there was no building around.'

Then an idea flashed. Maybe if I could climb on her flexed knee, I could capture her fully.

I clambered my way up her body and climbed on to her knees,

'Maybe I could make it this time’. I kneeled down, tilting my camera to the right angle.
'Hmmm..... She lay before me ..! Unrestrained..!I aimed to click
'Hey!Hey...!!Come down...!!'
The voice was harsh. I turned to see the security guard gesturing at, me wildly.

I pretended to ignore him and turned back to click once again.

"Madam come down, you are not permitted to climb up there".
His eyes glared at me.

A few women workers had gathered .I had not noticed them.

'She walked around! Then she went away, then climbed on the top..!.'
They reported to the security officer. They stared at me accusingly measuring me from top to bottom, making me feel like a pervert.A shameless, immodest woman.

'But, it’s not written that photography is not permitted.'
'Landscaped lawn are meant to be walked upon'
' Her pose and mood is to be admired'

I wanted to tell them all that but I knew I couldn't reach out to them.

'Okay...Okay.’

I Smiled at them, walking away as fast as i could.Iwanted to escape from those censoring eyes.I didn't want to spoil my mood arguing with them.

As I walked away, I could feel those eyes boring down my back.

Typical attitude of the society towards sensuality and sexuality.Towards sex.

I felt sorry, for the artist who had crafted her so lovingly.

P.S. That is her distorted pix. All that I could capture of her. Maybe the purpose of the geese is for people to pretend that they are feeding them and gaze at her secretly..!

:))

Anniversaries of the heart..

“The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart,
The secret anniversaries of the heart”

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sun rays slant across the dry field coating it copper gold.The earth was dry, ,brown, and crusty. Blooming bougainvilleas blazed here and there. Fluffy white clouds wandered lazily across the sky.

I listened to a group of teenagers playing cricket on the other side of the field. Their shrieks and yell filling the warm summer air. Exams were over..


My mind floated back lazily to those long lost summer hols at my Amminja’s with my brood of cousins and neighboring kids.

Thirty years have vanished.

I can feel the hot summer sun burning my skin. I can hear my uncle talking, my Aminja’s laughter leading the rest.

Those mad days

Hot sunny days, Summer frocks, Lush juicy mangoes, Burgeoning jack-fruits, iced lemonades ,fragrance of jasmines blooming at dusk, summer storms.

Playing Cricket, badminton and football, the hot sun burning our brown, sweating, grimy bodies.

Ice-sticks, red yellow and milky white.. bought and savored secretly from the ice-cream man

Raw mangoes cut and mixed liberally with chilly, salt and coconut oil shared in damp dark leafy corners our tongues burning, our eyes watering.

Watching the thunderclouds build up with excitement and impatience … jumping and leaping around in abandon and delight as the heavens open and the rain lashed across drenching the dry crusty earth.

Balmy summer nights performing plays in the portico as adoring adults clapped and cheered.

Dark- Room pillow fights…

Make believe tree houses…. picnics….swimming, fishing.

The excitement. the wonder ,the love the sharing,the security.

The delights of childhood celebrated those long lost summers.

Captured forever in the fragrance of jasmine,the mangoes, the lemonades, the balmy summer nights. the fresh morning air following a night of summer storm.

One summer and many summers after that, a red rose was found every morning at the bottom of the huge flight of steps that led to my grandparents home . We came to know that it was from a secret admirer. A lanky teenager in the neighborhood who adored a lovely cousin of mine.

This made our summer hols all the more exciting. I remember running down the steps early morning giggling and laughing as we spotted the rose.

We are now spread out in different parts of the globe leading different lives.

But those shared summer hols bonds us forever permitting us to pick up where we had left off on the rare occasions we meet

We are kids again, giggling as we remember this…teasing as we remember that…thoughtful as we remind each other that the lanky teenager still remain a bachelor supposedly pining for my lovely cousin.

The sun had dropped below the rim of land. The boys had finished their game and gone home. A faint breeze cooled my skin .The trees were turning an ominous black.

’ Sweet are the memories you left behind’

I silently thanked my long gone Amminja as I walked back home for accommodating the whole brood with pleasure.

Gifting us beautiful summers.. Holidays of the heart that are remembered every summer..not restricted by the passage of time.

Jal Rekha

The dew that melts away… The waves that crash and recede… The rainbow that fades… The night breeze that plays with my tendrils and silently sweeps away… They all murmur to me.

“Nothing is permanent.”

Nobody is mine forever. There is no ‘my’.

I must accept that I will have to let go at one time or another.

I may share tears, laughter, hope and despair. I may be loved, betrayed, admired or hated… But everything passes.

There is only me and the deep, deep silence around me.
There is only me and his grace that guides me.

Advice

The room was silent and dimlight. The doors and the windows shut. She was alone.

The nurse lifted the net that hung over the bed so that I could examine her.

40% burns.
8 weeks old.

The upper body was exposed. The skin was charred. Cracking and peeling, exposing raw, oozing areas. She had no hair, eyebrows, nor nipples. Contractures were developing on her neck.pulling her lower lip,sticking it to her chin. Exposing her teeth.

Her ears were burnt out.
I called her name. She opened her eyes.
Pain, agony, loneliness and despair stared back at me. Filled her eyes and poured out as tears.
‘How are you?’ I smiled at her. ‘Slept last night?’
I was seeing her for the first time, doing my routine rounds before breaking off from night duty.

Words poured out.
“Sever pain… Itching…Cant sleep… No appetite.. I am fed up… I want to go home.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“My kids are having exams today. She started to weep.”

“Gosh!
She was in deep despair. She needed tremendous psychological support to carry her through her despair and the deep agony that lay ahead.

I had to say something.

“Take it as a test for your resilience… your patience… your strength…”

I smiled at her again.

“ Bear it for some more time.”

She stared at me as if I had gone mad.

“Testing? Suffering? Patience? It has been nearly two months.”

“ I know, but maybe you have to suffer a little while more.”

She kept staring at me as if I didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Accept it. Amma, that is the only way. “

I smiled back softly. I felt like hell. I knew that I must sound like a supercilious bitch with superfluous advice.


True. I knew nothing about what I was talking about. I couldn’t even imagine the extent of pain, suffering, loneliness and despair that she was going through.

I didn’t even have the time, the patience or the energy to sit with her for some more time.

I had more patients to see. Finish my work fast and be home before my boys left for the exam.

My neck felt stiff and sore after the sleepless night. I had to soothe it.

My neck, which had troubled, nagged, pained, frustrated,disheartened and despaired me for the past 6 weeks.

Yes, what right did I have to talk to her about resilience, about patience ?

It was rumored that hers had been a suicide attempt.

Suicide?

A mother with two kids?

I couldn’t imagine it.

But what could I advice her?

After all, Who am I to judge ?

The Magician

‘Outstanding is the new normal and the unthinkable, sheer simplicity!’

At least, it is when Federer is around. He is a stage performer in a play where he writes his own script. A big, well defined tournament, where results reflect not only mastery of the game, but also tests the deep depths of human toughness and endurance. A grand slam tennis tournament. Tough for all, except for Federer that is. He just goes on to win it without dropping a set. As simple as that! The fact that he was not at his best makes it all the more scary. Therein lies the mystique of the man.

In such ambiguous times, the Nadals and Roddicks are not the archenemy, although broadcasters will play up or even come up with a rivalry if need be. In actuality, they are mere props for Federer to showcase his talents. Even as he is annihilating people and bringing them down to their knees, he has a smile on his face and gives a pat on the back afterwards. A sportsman.

Nothing stirs a tennis fan like seeing a cross-court half volley taken in the run by Federer for the opponent can do little but gaze in awe with his eyes wide open. The greatness of the man for me doesn’t lie in the number of matches he wins, but the manner in which he wins them as if he were just killing a fly. Magical.

Today is the day of the sportsman who has more endorsements and fan support. And they will go to any extent to get the same. A player is how he is presented. Anything that comes loose and unpackaged is viewed by the public mainly with condescension and is summarily dismissed. Effect of the media. Not the case with Federer. He commands respect with his game and not by praising the fans. However, the media has been helpful. As Federer his himself said after winning the 2007 Australian Open grand slam,

“Nobody would know how good my forehand was,
if I hadn’t been playing every match on center court.”

A proof of the phenomenon that is Roger Federer. No theatrics. Just the game.

Some believe that Roddick, Nadal and the like are good enough to spring a few surprises. Maybe. But that is all. To even dare to dream about more is not just hypocrisy. Its humour. Roddick’s strokes are powerful but lacks consistency. Nadal’s form is a wave of ups and downs. Yes. Federer is in a league of his own. The kind of leagues of Schumacher and Tiger woods in their respective sports. That few is the number of such leagues in this generation of world sport. Only Bjorg and Sampras can run him close in the open era.

As his opponents try to catch up, the gap seems to widen even more. While they are foraging for scraps of hope, Federer might want to take a break to make tennis a more fair sport. But for now, all that can be done is to keep on trying. Federer might just make an error. Wishful thinking, maybe. Just try and hope for the best. What else could possible be done in this unfair world.

-Gautam

Well, that was my son Gautam.

:))

I was not well for the past one month. Cervical disc disease. Had to undergo rest, physiotherapy and pain. It is said that doctors are the worst patients. It was true in my case. It was a pretty bad one. Kept imagining all the worst possibilities. Prayer centered and consoled me a lot.

I am better now. Will b joining duty tomorrow. I wont b blogging actively for the next 6 weeks.

Love and hugs. Miss you all.

See you later.

:))

Best Wishes..

I sat in the car waiting for the class to be over. It was getting late than usual..Prof M.J’s drone could be heard faintly through the mike. I felt happy that we had chosen this place for Gautam’s entrance coaching.

Expensive yes. Strict too.. But Gautam liked it. And the timings were ok

I remembered those long lost days... Preparing for admission in the med school. Reading… re-reading. Writing…. As if life depended on it...Tutions..Tests..

It had not been so easy for us...

My parents had supported. Vaguely.

Now it was different. Parents put their entire life on hold those two years. Taking the kids to tuitions and coaching centers. In the wee hours of morning. Or late night… the city roads unsafe even for boys to travel alone during such odd hours.


We had chosen this place cos of two reasons. One, Gautam liked it. And two, the timings were ok.

5.pm to 9pm three days in a week. At least the family could sleep..!!

I gazed around. Parents stood in groups. Chatting. Some like me preffered the solitude in their cars.. cherishing the time alone. Lost in their thoughts. Listening to music.

The wind blew in playing with my tendrils. My cheeks felt cold. The December air was misty. Chilly.

I switched on the FM station.

‘Maniyara deepam ananjal pinna karimizhi random nanayaruthe..’
I listened idly as KJ yesudas crooned deeply. The lover was consoling and strengthening his departing beloved. He was begging her... to never permit her deep dark eyes to be wet once the lantern was dimmed on her nuptial night.

I sighed. and leaned back on my seat.

That was when I noticed her. She stood in the shadows. Close to the wall of a house, a few meters ahead. She wore a purple nylon sari. The borders draped tightly… Suggestively… Over her bulges. Her hair was teased into tendrils around her face and loosely plaited,decorated with jasmine flowers. Her lips were painted blood red.

She looked …well….. Ready for action..

I watched riveted as I saw car lights coming up the street. She too saw it and stepped out from the shadows. Her movements controlled. Sure.
The car moved ahead without slowing down.

She coiled back into the shadows with equal ease.


I watched her. Fascinated. Curious. I wish I could talk to her but didn’t dare to.

How did you land up here in the shadows? Ready to sell the softness of your skin. The lushness of your curves. The skill of your lips…?

I wanted to know.

Innocence? Desperation..? Pure greed…?

Do you dread tonight? Or are you just not bothered? Seasoned by your past. Hardened by practice. Shrouded by numbness.

I could see her talking rapidly into her cell. I remembered reading somewhere that life was easier for them with the advent of cell phones. They could do their own networking now..

Do you have dreams..? I wanted to know. Will your kid hate you?

Why does everyone hate you..?

The sound of engines starting up woke me from my thoughts.

The class was over. Boys and girls were coming out chattering loudly. I sat wand watched mutely as she lurked back into the shadows again.. Eager to escape from the car beams.

Why was hr car not coming? Maybe he was waiting for everyone to leave….

Maybe he was parked among us.


‘Mama…!!’

The doors opened and shut forcefully as Gautam and his two friends clambered in noisily

‘Lock the doors.’

I orderd mechanically, Starting the engine

I glanced at her as we moved ahead. She was burying herself into the shadows. Her back to me. her pallav covering her body...

I kept watching her through the rearview mirror.


“Goodbye..Hope your car comes soon. Hope he is good to you. “

I wished silently..



I thought about her again as I drifted off to sleep that night.

“Where are you now..?”


‘Maniyara deepam ananjal pinna karimizhi random nanayaruthe”

“I know that you are not doing this for yourself.” I wanted to tell her.


“Enjoy baby…”

“Continue your good work.”

Positive thinking for prostitutes..!!!.

I smiled sleepily.

If you are bold enough..

"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life

-St Francis of Assisi

I love this small prayer. It acts as an internal compas helping me to direct my thoughts,relationships and actions..

St. Francis' prayer is a bold one, asking for strength to give of ourselves to meet the needs of others.


Of course I often find myself falling short .. But it sort of inspires me to try to do better..

He is one of the saints I adore cos of his beautiful thoughts, focus on peace , his love for animals, birds and the enviornment..

So if you're bold enough, pray the prayer.

:))