Refuge

Choose compassion..Choose happiness...

For ourselves as well as for everyone..

Our refuge is our good nature available for expression..


.

Why?

When two seemingly unrelated events occur simultaneously we at least owe it to ourselves to question 'WHY'

Its all about loving yourself..

I watched the tears streaming down her flushed cheeks..

‘Love you forever!’

Does that sort of love really exist? I wondered.I didnt’t know… Maybe it did..

‘Love you forever..!! You are mine.. Only mine..I want you forever whatever happens.. He told me.. ‘


'I didn’t know ‘whatever’ included his marriage too !'

She started to sob again

‘Sweetheart don’t cry.' I told her. He is not worth it.

Haven’t you heard it? ‘If he is making you cry he is not worth the tears.' I laughed at my own joke.

She continued to sob

Pl don’t cry like this. He is not worth it. I repeated driving in the point.

‘You have your whole life ahead.. Wonderful years.’

‘I cant promise that everything will be fine. Life is not that easy.’

I had taught her many things.. How to French braid her hair.. how to make a mean beef fry .. How to breathe with the wind.. Her mom’s untimely death had made my cousin, her father to put her in my care off and on.. And I loved it.. I definitely needed some female company for a change..

Having only sons. Two football crazy eating machines !!

Personaly I don’t think’ love u 4 ever’ kind of love really exist.. I mean the‘romantic couple’ walking into the sunset holding hands forever sort of love . It’s only a trap of our own romantic dreams.

I wanted to tell her that too.. But no I wouldn’t tell her that. She would have to learn it herself.

Certain things one has to learn by oneself.. Earn it .. as they say in the ads.

‘Life is a roller coaster ride my love.. Its bitchy one day, showering you with blessings the next. ‘‘Go with the flow…The more u resist life, more is your pain.’ I told her.
‘Have courage in yourself. Rejection is a great teacher.. Makes us understand that we can grapple with disappointment and then move on.’

She was listening now , rubbing her swollen eyes.

‘So your Prince charming went back to become the toad .’ I giggled..

‘So what? It has happened to many princesses and they have survived.. I smiled.

Now wash your face, I have a gift for you, its valentine’s day after all na.’

I gave her a DVD. ‘I have recorded two movies in it. Watch both today itself.’ I smiled.


‘Il cal tonight .Tell me who you want to be Clara or Annie.’

She picked up the cell at the first ring itself

'Ya I saw both..I understand..'

Her voice was hoarse. She had cried again I knew..

‘So tell me whom u want to be.’

‘Clara or Annie?

‘Clara.. For sure..' She whispered.

‘Hmmmm .. I knew that.. classy revenge.’ I giggled..

She laughed..

‘Ok sweet heart. Watch Clara.. Again and again’

Goodnight..Happy valentine’s day once more. And Remember.. It’s all about loving yourself..

I switched of the phone and walked to the mirror and smiled at myself....

The DVD had contained two movies . Stories of two diff type of women.. Clara of Padmarajans ‘Thuvanathumbikal ‘who had let go of her lover with a smile and moved on with her life and of Annie of Lenin Rajendrans ‘Chillu’ who had drowned in her misery.

I looked at myself in the mirror …admiring my dark eyes … the soft hair loose on my shoulders...

Yeah it’s all about loving yourself..


‘Happy Valentine’s Day I smiled at myself....

Maybe..

Death stared at me.

Her whole system was failing.. It was obvious.

Death was in the room already.. I could hear it in her rattling breath.. Her clammy skin..Her sunken eyes.

Her gaunt body was struggling to take in the oxygen through the mask.. Her hands and feet were cold and clammy.. But it was the eyes .. The tortured sunken eyes that gazed around.. Beseeching solace.. That struck me with the knowledge....I know that eyes.. seen it before..
I would be certifying her death before sunrise.. I was sure.

I examined her..

Oh I knew her history.. HIV positive.. Her husband had presented it before he passed away.. Leaving her two kids with her. 8yr old girl and six year old boy.

Both kids were HIV negative.... "Thank god..!!" Her brother who was looking after them now proudly told me that. "The kids are negative..!"Even before I asked about it..

She had been on treatment for past two years... But she had developed cancer.. Aggressive type.. Rare in women of 35yrs.. but expected in HIV positive cases.

"We want to take her home .. to Palghat .. now" Her brother told me..

"But how?""Her condition is too bad."

"She wants to see her kids now." Please refer her to a hospital at Palghat.

"But Palghat is too far off.. at least ten hours.. something may happen on the way."

"Yes. But it will happen even if we don't take her."

"But her condition is too bad. She wont survive the long road journey"

"What will you do if something happens on the way?"

"We will take her to some hospital."

"I cant permit it. Her condition is too bad."

" She wants to see her kids ."

"Then bring them here."

"There is no one to bring them."

"We want to take her."

"Well i cant permit it. I will not refer her in this condition. You get disharged against medical advice." I said walking off.

I wouldnt be a part to it. what if something happened on the way. our hospital and I could be blamed.. these were sensitive issues..

Me the woman and mom could understand them but me the doc couldnt support it.

They left.

I prayed that she should see her kids.. Nothing should happen on the way..

But she was sinking.. i knew it..

Ragini died half an hour before they reached home.

She couldn't see her kids.

Maybe I shouldn't have discharged her against medical advice.. Maybe I should have refered her.. In a fully equipped ambulance with nurse accompanying them .. .There had been no resources for all that..But maybe I should have tried harder and somehow done it..

Maybe then she would have survived half an hour more.. and she would have seen her kids..

I dont know..

Maybe..

Some people walk in the rain.. others just get wet.

My sweet little honey bee..

I don’t know what was it that woke me up.. I sat up in the bed and checked the time.

04.05

Oooooh..!!

‘ I needed bit more sleep..!!!’

I snuggled back ..Tossing and turning.. Trying to relax..

But no.. I couldn’t..

Something niggled at the back of my mind.

I raised the curtain and peered out of the window. There was nothing.. Only the pre dawn darkness outside..

Oh yes..! I remembered..

It must have been the mild worry of Gautam’s trip

My son’s first trip alone...to Malayatoor Church and back. I checked the time again his train would be leaving soon.. He would get down at Angamaly. Find a bus to Malayattor.. Climb the hill alone.. Pray at the St. Thomas church and return.

He would be back only at ten night..

He had already slept last night when I reached home..

Your money for the trip is on the table.. I has whispered and he had nodded sleepily without opening his eyes lest his sleep be disturbed.

The mom in me had to call him. Even though he had told me not to.

‘Yes?’ He sounded grouchy

‘Where are you?’

‘On the second platform.’

‘Has the train come?’

‘No. Announced’

‘Don’t let your bag out of your sight.’

‘Ok’.

‘Don’t talk to strangers.’

‘Ok.’

‘I’ll call in between’

‘No don’t call.’

‘Ok then sms me or miss cal me if there is anything’

‘Ok’

‘Edaaa… wish me Happy Birthday’

‘Huh?’

‘You forgot??’

No. Happy birthday. The train is coming. Bye’

‘Hmmm. Boys..!!’

‘It is in such moments I wish I had a girl.. ‘

I couldn’t sleep again.

Self pity washed over me.

Hubby was in some happy dreamland..

I decided to get up.. Could do with some quiet time in the silent house.. Some self reflection.. Some time to pray.. A leisurely cup of tea.. I walked downstairs.. Taj was also sleeping.. grateful for one day without his morning tuition.

‘Hmmm..’

The light was left on in the dining room… he must have forgotten to off it in the hurry..

I walked into the kitchen.. ‘Earl gray tea today’ I told myself..

I made a pot. Set a tray with my fav linen , cup and saucer and a plate of cookies.

Yes!!! Happy birthday to me…!!!

I walked into the lighted dining hall singing ‘Happy birthday to you Anu…!!!’

I stopped in my track

On the table was a gift wrapped parcel..!

On the top of it an envelope

I took the envelope first

On it Gautam has scrawled..

“To my mother who is always an eight year old girl at heart.

You are so special , your birthday happens to be mother’s day”

I opened the envelope inside it was a card with a smiling honey bee prancing around flowers . I read.

"This sweet little honey bee is here to tell you mom that you make our home a special place to come back to always.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”

I opened the parcel.

Inside it was a teddy with an adoring smile and a huge pink heart with ‘MUM’ embroidered across it !!!

My eyes moistened.. I dialed his no: .. No he had told me not to call during his first adventure trip alone.. I texted instead.

THANK YOU SWEET HEART..!!

Instrument..

The sky was a clear blue. The leaves rustled softly in the mild breeze.. People stood in groups chatting quietly outside the old church..

I walked inside.. Some were listening to the hymns .. Some praying.. Some deep in thought.. saying their last goodbyes..

There were no tears.. Only a quiet awe of the figure that lay in the coffin.. Of a life lived so well..

I gazed at the calm face.. I could see the twinkle behind the closed faded eyes. The snow-white beard still gave him that Santa clause look. I could hear the soft sing song voice so common in people from Cochin.. I could hear his soft laughter as he made fun of himself.. his ‘begging’.. He would laugh wryly… holding his palms beseechingly..

He would come and wait silently outside for me to finish my patients ..I chided him lovingly many times.. It hardly took few minutes. Patients could wait..

‘ No.’.. ‘.. Then I won’t be able to talk to you. I would have to go away fast.’ He would laugh softly

He would then ask me in detail about my family.. He had a special affection for my boys. He would then give me updates about the child I sponsored.. Anecdotes about the interesting things that happened when one looked after and cared for two hundred and thirty seven unruly boys. I would give him the monthly amount for his orphanage The Poor Boys Home run by Franciscan Brothers.. He would show me photographs of the boys.

Once in a while very gently he would talk of the spiraling expenses and make me raise the amount.. I paid mechanically.. as I talked to him. The amount was not much.. and I did it automatically as I talked to him

‘Lots of places to visit.. Jeweler shops.. Hotels..’ he would say as he rose up to go

‘.Hmm I know you have lots of rich friends.’ I would laugh..

Yes!!. All rich friends..!!.. To beg..!!.... Holding his hand beseechingly.. He would laugh his huge tummy jiggling

His Christmas cards were always the first one I received. A group photograph of all the boys in the orphanage with a simple Christmas message at the back, I cherished is cos it always was the first reminder that Christmas season was arriving

The good news always came from him.. My favorite Santa Claus.

Brother Julian had died on duty they told me.. He had gone to a bank to collect money from some employees there.. And was on his way to a few shops..

He followed the same visiting schedule every month he had once told me once.. ‘Organized begging..!!’ He had laughed..

I watched the silent figure.. so many wreaths surrounded him.. From jeweler shops.. Textile shops.. Hotels.. Resorts..Organisations

I gulped .. willing my tears away..

Piles of wreaths. Expressions of love and thanks from hundreds... People with more money than they needed.. Who didn’t feel the pinch but needed the gentle prodding of this old man who had gone from doorstep to doorstep gathering the bread crumbs to feed three hundred and thirty seven boys. And hundreds before them

The money was not enough to care for one child but he nominated each regular benefactor as the parent one child.

The feel good factor it gave made people wish to give more..

So much goodness had happened through him..

And we had all gathered to thank him.. For making us do something good..

He had been an instrument for so much goodness.. To so many boys to find a life..

An instrument..

“Lord make me an instrument of your peace.."

My favorite prayer by St Francis of Assisi..

Miracle..

"Take frequent feeds.. bland food ..it will sooth you.. "I smiled at her

"I don’t feel hungry..” She bowed her face..

“But you need to eat frequently.. Your pain is due to hyper acidity..” I persisted

“I don’t feel hungry at all”

Her eyes filled up.

I watched the plump unadorned face....there were black circles under her eyes

I felt impatience rising within me

“Saradamma.. You need to move ahead.. Concentrate on your family..” Was my tone a bit sharp ?

She started to weep..

I felt so helpless..

She was depressed . Still in mourning.

Her thirty one year old son had died in an accident two and a half years back

Leaving a young bride and one year old girl child.

Saradamma hardly saw them .They were in Mumbai.. With her daughter – in laws parents..

“Take more interest in life.. Eat good food.. Go for walks.. Temples..”

“Don’t you want to go to Mumbai..? Visit them ? “

I smiled encouragingly..

“I don’t like going anywhere”

She started to sob..

“Please don’t cry. You are the pillar of your family. Think about your husband..”

“At least get out of the house.. Don’t just sit and brood. Go to temples then ..Get close to God”

“I used to be very close to God.. Now don’t feel that too” she shrugged.

I would have to suggest professional counseling for Saradamma..if things didn’t improve in her next visit.

“Take frequent meals.. Go for walks.. Pray more. Your problem is hyper acidity. Go out of house I spoke fast writing the prescription”

Patients were waiting me had no more t time to spare that busy Monday morning..

Mourning your child death.. Is there any pain more intense than that ?

I know a couple who distributes laddoos on their dead son’s birthday.. Every year. To the whole school where he studied.

A mother once asked me if they could donate the organs of her brain dead teenager ..

I remember a woman I met on a train journey to Mumbai.. She talked to me late into the night the tears falling unabashedly down her cheeks. She didn’t even bother to wipe them away ..

She talked and talked.. Describing how exceptionally smart first born had been.. An IIT student. He had died in the hostel at Gorakpur.. With undiagnosed cerebral malaria.. Fourteen years back.

But once the tears had died, I remember her eyes glowing in the dim light as she spoke of her grandchild for whose wedding she was going to Mumbai.. About herblooming garden.. How one day old kanji water did wonders for her anthuriams and roses..

She even told me the recipe for perfect lime rice.

( I still follow her recipe)

As a child I had heard stories about a brother of my mom, who had died at the age of twelve due to typhoid.. My grandma used to stand on the terrace during the weeks following his death.. gazing up at the sky waiting for the stars to fall down..cos she believed that definitely the world was ending..

But the grandma I knew was so full of life.. Laughing incessantly. She loved cooking and would feed the whole brood lovingly.. Her mysore paks. Halwas.. Mutton chops.. Dried mango pickles…all were out of this world..

I remember her in her eighties bringing me steaming coffee at 4. AM as I sat reading for my medical entrance. Watering her plants herself..

They all had survived.. And moved on.

When one survives life’s devastations.. With acceptance.. Strength.. Courage .. And Hope.. There is so much power in that.. It becomes a miracle..

I would have to suggest professional counseling for Saradamma..

She too must move ahead.. With smiles.. With hope in her heart.. And love in her soul.

To be a child..

“Know you what it is to be a child? It is to be something very different from the man of to-day. It is to have a spirit yet streaming from the waters of baptism; it is to believe in love, to believe in loveliness, to believe in belief; it is to be so little that the elves can reach to whisper in your ear; it is to turn pumpkins into coaches, and mice into horses, lowness into loftiness, and nothing into everything, for each child has its fairy godmother in its own soul.”

-Francis Thompson

dance in the drizzle..

Dark dull clouds filled the sky..

I looked around with pleasure…

The road along the side of the canal stretched ahead. There was not a single soul in sight.. only the soft soft rain.. and the wet chilly breeze..

The moist earth was totally drenched.

I watched the slow unhurried drops slanting into the burgeoning canal... millions of tiny ripples danced in the waters..

The coconuts palms glistened as they swayed gently in the wet breeze.

A few bird sat brooding on the electric wires. Not bothering to sing...

The leaves and the flowers drooped… overburdened with the last night’s rain..

I shivered with pleasure as the rain drops fell like pins and needles on my skin... ....the chilly breeze stung m y cold cheeks

My dress was getting damp.. My shoes slowly soaking...

The soft sound of the drizzle had awakened me from sleep early morning....I had rushed out..

I love to walk in the drizzle..

I took in a deep breath as I walked briskly.

Four short inspirations... then four short expirations...the fresh cold crisp morning air was literally cleansing my system. I matched the rhythm of my steps with my breaths

She was walking towards me fast , her bare feet faston the sodden ground.. She wore a graying polyester skirt that reached mid calf...a dull brown blouse hung loosely over the dark skinny body... A thin cloth possibly torn off from a sari was wrapped around her head and shoulders...

I smiled at her warmly but she didn’t notice me as she walked past across me.. crouching under the thin cloth.. her frown deepening.. her body cringing with discomfort as each drop fell on her face...

I looked back to see her walking hurriedly..

Unmindful of the dark murky beauty unfolded around her.

The beauty of the drooping flowers... the soft rhythm of the drizzle... the millions of ripples dancing on the water...

Yes.. she was hurrying towards the tiny shop attached to a hut that sold minor provisions..

Probably to get something for the breakfast.

Throw back that cloth , take a deep breath and smile at the clouds sweetheart..!!

I wanted to tell her.

Allow the drops to caress your cheeks. Let the chilly breeze play with your tendrils.

Close your eyes .. Pull out your tongue and taste the fresh drops...

Breathe in again...

Smile flirtly at the clouds...Cajole the birds to sing... Pat the drooping flowers playfully and watch the rain drops dance around madly.
Dance in the drizzle sweetheart.

Love the rains...She is your friend...’

Dance in the monsoons that batters your life sweetheart... That’s the best way to beat them...

Make sorrow your friend..

Yes sweetheart.. dance in the drizzle