Saturday, January 21, 2012
VALENTINE’S DAY
There’s a pleasant chill in the air, and I heard a neighbor’s daughter making plans for Valentine’s Day… I couldn’t resist thinking of something that happened three years back on Valentine’s Day...
The V Day dawned bright and clear. There was an inexplicable thrill and chill in the air. Even though married for years, my daughter’s youthful passion and excitement for Valentine’s day celebrations had rubbed off on me too, and I found myself hoping that some random gift or greeting card would come my way; either from my husband or from a caring friend. Even a box of chocolates would do, I reflected hopefully…
The door bell chimed and there was a courier person at the door. Both my daughter and I made a beeline for the door. It was a beautifully wrapped gift , and inevitably for my daughter- a gift from her long time best buddy.
My husband was poring over the newspapers, completely oblivious to any V day celebrations. I sidled up to him and informed him that it was Valentine’s Day. All I could elicit out of him was a grunt in reply. Not to be discouraged, I asked him about a gift. He looked at me incredulously as though I had gone out of my mind, and went back to busying himself with the days’ news.
Well, the media and souvenir stores had done their bit to create an atmosphere of romance and thrill in the air. As I sat around racking my brains as to who might possibly send me a gift (a near vain hope, but no harm in hoping), my mobile beeped. It was an SMS from my long time buddy Jatin. We were great buddies and were fond of sending funny messages up and down.
The message was – Send me your address.
I texted back- Why?
Reply- Please send. I am coming over to your place.
Needless to say, I had my hopes high. At last, a good friend of mine had sensed my need to be cheered up and had decided to drop in with a bouquet of flowers, or a box of chocolates!!!
I immediately texted him my address and even ventured to ask him when he was turning up. He replied that he would let me know.
With each chime of the hour, I waited with bated breath for my friend to turn up. Finally, it was late evening and yet there was no sign of him. I texted him asking whether he would be coming and he replied that he was on his way.
The clock struck 7. I sat there in my living room feeling irritated for being kept waiting inexorably. My daughter shot me a pitying look but I assured her that my friend would definitely turn up with either a box of chocolates or a bouquet of flowers, in honor of our long standing SMS buddy ship.I thought I heard her snigger but decided to pointedly ignore her.
At last, the door bell rang and I hastened to open the door. Yes! My friend had come! I opened the door to find a beautiful lady, Jatin and his son waiting out there, their faces wreathed in happy grins. He introduced me to his beautiful wife and we struck a rapport immediately. He then handed me an ornately crafted invitation card inviting me with family to attend his daughter’s “Arangetram” the coming week. I promised to do so, gladly.
After exchanging pleasantries, they left and as soon as the door closed, my daughter collapsed into fits of laughter. “Mom, where are your boxes of chocolates and bouquets of flowers?”
Undeterred, I replied- Ahem, it is not the box of chocolates or bouquets of flowers that is important. His gesture of friendship counts most. He brought his family over to meet me and he thought it most important to invite me first for his daughter’s dance recital. What more do I want than that most beautiful gesture of friendship?’
Needless to say, I cherished that gesture of his more than any box of chocolates or gifts. Even to this day, we remain the greatest of friends. Yes, Valentine’s Day is not only for couples or lovers. It’s a day to honor true friendship as well.
Friday, January 13, 2012
TRUST YOUR DREAMS ENOUGH TO BRING THEM TO LIGHT
Most of us have dreams. And lots of us do pursue our dreams ardently. I too have a pet dream buried deep within me, but until recently, I paid very little heed to the nudging and prodding of my mind.
Right from childhood, I had fallen headlong in love with words. Being the youngest of the three siblings, and with quite an age difference among the three of us, I used to feel a lot alone. Until I learned to read, and a whole magical world of words opened up to me. Being a very imaginative person, my imagination soared as I kept reading and the stories took on a hue and color of their own. I vividly imagined being one among the Famous Five, or being Perry Mason arguing out a very difficult legal battle. As I continued to read, I imagined myself being one of the lead characters in the stories and novels.
As years passed, books were my constant companions. I continued to read voraciously. At School, my English teacher noticed my penchant for words and assigned me to take part in several inter school essay writing competitions. Even though I was assailed with self doubts, I won prizes galore at all of those essay competitions. On leaving school, my Principal called me to her office and advised me to take up journalism. God knows what got in to me but I decided to major in Commerce, a decision I regret to this day.
Years later, after a series of jobs teaching at schools, and working in the Insurance and Banking sector, I found myself feeling dissatisfied with life at large. I kept doodling articles and stories at home to tide over my unease. One fine day it struck me that I had all along turned my back on my greatest dream and passion- to be known as a writer. I penned down an article and sent it off to the New Indian Express. I was so sure of a rejection slip but wonder of wonders-it was published with my by-line! That was enough compensation for the years of dissatisfaction and nagging doubts that had continued to haunt me.
I kept contributing to leading dailies, magazines and online portals and all my articles continued to be accepted. I mustered up enough courage to apply to a magazine and I was appointed as Associate Editor. My joy knew no bounds. My dream was, and still is, to be an acclaimed and well appreciated writer. At least I had made a start.
One fine evening, two years back, while randomly browsing through Face book, I noticed a posting inviting contributors to the Chicken Soup series. I had no doubts this time about sending in a short story, but had not quite imagined that it would be accepted, let alone be published.
Six months elapsed and one fine evening, a package was delivered at my residence in Chennai. It was an attractively packaged cover and curious about its contents opened it gingerly to find two glossy books from Chicken Soup series!! And a cheque enclosed within. Chicken Soup series had sent me my own copies of the book where my story had been published. I turned the pages to read the story published in the Chicken Soup for the Soul Indian women series. My name and a brief write up about me as an author were included. To the complete amazement of my husband and daughter, I burst into tears. Tears of joy!
This had been my calling. If and a very big “IF” it is…. If only I had heeded the advice of my School Principal, and cashed in on my strength rather than meandering my way through life…..
“Better late than never. Good going. More power to your writing. Pursue your dream of making it big in the literary arena”-Maya Mohan, my English teacher, mentor and current Principal of my school had this to say when I informed her about this. She hugged me warmly and blessed me.
Her words continue to resonate in my mind. True to her words, true to my heart, my dream will be realized in Divine Order.
Right from childhood, I had fallen headlong in love with words. Being the youngest of the three siblings, and with quite an age difference among the three of us, I used to feel a lot alone. Until I learned to read, and a whole magical world of words opened up to me. Being a very imaginative person, my imagination soared as I kept reading and the stories took on a hue and color of their own. I vividly imagined being one among the Famous Five, or being Perry Mason arguing out a very difficult legal battle. As I continued to read, I imagined myself being one of the lead characters in the stories and novels.
As years passed, books were my constant companions. I continued to read voraciously. At School, my English teacher noticed my penchant for words and assigned me to take part in several inter school essay writing competitions. Even though I was assailed with self doubts, I won prizes galore at all of those essay competitions. On leaving school, my Principal called me to her office and advised me to take up journalism. God knows what got in to me but I decided to major in Commerce, a decision I regret to this day.
Years later, after a series of jobs teaching at schools, and working in the Insurance and Banking sector, I found myself feeling dissatisfied with life at large. I kept doodling articles and stories at home to tide over my unease. One fine day it struck me that I had all along turned my back on my greatest dream and passion- to be known as a writer. I penned down an article and sent it off to the New Indian Express. I was so sure of a rejection slip but wonder of wonders-it was published with my by-line! That was enough compensation for the years of dissatisfaction and nagging doubts that had continued to haunt me.
I kept contributing to leading dailies, magazines and online portals and all my articles continued to be accepted. I mustered up enough courage to apply to a magazine and I was appointed as Associate Editor. My joy knew no bounds. My dream was, and still is, to be an acclaimed and well appreciated writer. At least I had made a start.
One fine evening, two years back, while randomly browsing through Face book, I noticed a posting inviting contributors to the Chicken Soup series. I had no doubts this time about sending in a short story, but had not quite imagined that it would be accepted, let alone be published.
Six months elapsed and one fine evening, a package was delivered at my residence in Chennai. It was an attractively packaged cover and curious about its contents opened it gingerly to find two glossy books from Chicken Soup series!! And a cheque enclosed within. Chicken Soup series had sent me my own copies of the book where my story had been published. I turned the pages to read the story published in the Chicken Soup for the Soul Indian women series. My name and a brief write up about me as an author were included. To the complete amazement of my husband and daughter, I burst into tears. Tears of joy!
This had been my calling. If and a very big “IF” it is…. If only I had heeded the advice of my School Principal, and cashed in on my strength rather than meandering my way through life…..
“Better late than never. Good going. More power to your writing. Pursue your dream of making it big in the literary arena”-Maya Mohan, my English teacher, mentor and current Principal of my school had this to say when I informed her about this. She hugged me warmly and blessed me.
Her words continue to resonate in my mind. True to her words, true to my heart, my dream will be realized in Divine Order.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
SOLITUDE
Yet another cold and clammy evening made interesting and lively by reading through letters written years back by family and friends...its sad that the art of leter writing has died down.
Technology has made life easier and faster but deprived us of life's tiny pleasures. Emails connect us to our dear and near, but they need to be cleared periodically from the inbox and they are lost to us forever. Not so with letters- they can be treasured, cherished and read countless number of times, allowing us the pleasure of being able to relive those precious moments in time.
Letters are like our favorite paperbacks- silent partners and soulmates, who are easily accessible at any time.The words leap out at you painting beautiful imageries of days past, people not -so-easily -forgotten, but tucked deep away in the recesses of our hearts, those wonderful folks who made their entry very briefly into our lives leaving indelible marks in our hearts....
One such letter from my nephew evoked memories of Onam at Ernakulam. Settled for more than a decade at Chennai, those long ago days spent with my sister , nephew and neice evoke fond memories. "Roopsangam has come to town, Kabi" my nephew had mentioned in the letter, detailing every tiny thing transpiring at Ernakulam those days. My mind flew back literally to those days when my sister , myself and our kids used to frequent Roopsangam at TDM Hall, Garden Vareily expos at Rama Varma Club, street side shopping, sticky cotton candies licked enjoyably, pop corn, pori and drinking glasses of frothy sugar cane juice to top it all...
I smile at the memory of all of us trudging back home after each day of Onam shopping , with our hands full of knick knacks, odds and ends, purses nearly empty but our hearts overflowing with merriment and joy.
As I sit here at Chennai on this cold winter's evening, these letters brought some much needed respite and cheer. If only we could travel back in time, and watch happy grins blossom on the faces of my daughter, neice and nephew, making inevitable plans for more" karakkam"(shopping) the next day.
Each letter in my collection evokes fond memories.. sometimes sad, sometimes hilarious. Its a kind of time travel we embark on with these letters. Several of those near and dear ones have passed on, leaving behind fond, yet misty eyed memories. My Dad, uncle(Jayan Mama)and many more have moved on ... But my Dad still continues to live and offer profound advise through several of his letters....
Memories continue to be cherished and treasured through these huge pile of letters... no technological advancements can erase them.
Technology has made life easier and faster but deprived us of life's tiny pleasures. Emails connect us to our dear and near, but they need to be cleared periodically from the inbox and they are lost to us forever. Not so with letters- they can be treasured, cherished and read countless number of times, allowing us the pleasure of being able to relive those precious moments in time.
Letters are like our favorite paperbacks- silent partners and soulmates, who are easily accessible at any time.The words leap out at you painting beautiful imageries of days past, people not -so-easily -forgotten, but tucked deep away in the recesses of our hearts, those wonderful folks who made their entry very briefly into our lives leaving indelible marks in our hearts....
One such letter from my nephew evoked memories of Onam at Ernakulam. Settled for more than a decade at Chennai, those long ago days spent with my sister , nephew and neice evoke fond memories. "Roopsangam has come to town, Kabi" my nephew had mentioned in the letter, detailing every tiny thing transpiring at Ernakulam those days. My mind flew back literally to those days when my sister , myself and our kids used to frequent Roopsangam at TDM Hall, Garden Vareily expos at Rama Varma Club, street side shopping, sticky cotton candies licked enjoyably, pop corn, pori and drinking glasses of frothy sugar cane juice to top it all...
I smile at the memory of all of us trudging back home after each day of Onam shopping , with our hands full of knick knacks, odds and ends, purses nearly empty but our hearts overflowing with merriment and joy.
As I sit here at Chennai on this cold winter's evening, these letters brought some much needed respite and cheer. If only we could travel back in time, and watch happy grins blossom on the faces of my daughter, neice and nephew, making inevitable plans for more" karakkam"(shopping) the next day.
Each letter in my collection evokes fond memories.. sometimes sad, sometimes hilarious. Its a kind of time travel we embark on with these letters. Several of those near and dear ones have passed on, leaving behind fond, yet misty eyed memories. My Dad, uncle(Jayan Mama)and many more have moved on ... But my Dad still continues to live and offer profound advise through several of his letters....
Memories continue to be cherished and treasured through these huge pile of letters... no technological advancements can erase them.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Nostalgia
Reading an article in an old magazine about swings, Onam celebration and the good old days of yore set me thinking about my childhood days in the town of Kovilpatti.
I too had a swing(oonjal) , a wooden one. It was just a plank of wood with holes driven into it through which ropes were attached.
Knowing my passion for going up and down on a swing, it was my Dad who had made this tiny plank oonjala for me to regale myself. Its funny how as we grow older, our minds return to those good old days... That tiny plank of wood used to give me untold pleasure and thrill for hours on end.
The swing was fastened to the garage beams and I used to wait for evenings after school to swing on it endlessly. Having had siblings who were years older than me, this swing used to be my respite from boredom and loneliness.
Its amazing how our minds can recall every tiny detail of our childhood. My best friends during those lonesome days used to be the " kuzhiyanas" that used to make tiny mounds out of the sand in my Dad's garage. It used to be such fun watching them make intricate and symmetrical pathways in the sand .
Was I lonely? Never. I had my thoughts to keep me company, my imagination that used to run wild' my swing and of course my " kuzhiyanas".
I too had a swing(oonjal) , a wooden one. It was just a plank of wood with holes driven into it through which ropes were attached.
Knowing my passion for going up and down on a swing, it was my Dad who had made this tiny plank oonjala for me to regale myself. Its funny how as we grow older, our minds return to those good old days... That tiny plank of wood used to give me untold pleasure and thrill for hours on end.
The swing was fastened to the garage beams and I used to wait for evenings after school to swing on it endlessly. Having had siblings who were years older than me, this swing used to be my respite from boredom and loneliness.
Its amazing how our minds can recall every tiny detail of our childhood. My best friends during those lonesome days used to be the " kuzhiyanas" that used to make tiny mounds out of the sand in my Dad's garage. It used to be such fun watching them make intricate and symmetrical pathways in the sand .
Was I lonely? Never. I had my thoughts to keep me company, my imagination that used to run wild' my swing and of course my " kuzhiyanas".
REACHING OUT
Being a people's person, what I love most is observing people, befriending them and giving them free rein to pour out their tales of woe or humour . I pride myself on being a patient listener and more than talking about myself, I prefer to listen.
The art of good conversation is rapidly dying out , particularly , the art of listening. It never ceases to amaze me, but it takes very little effort to get people to talk about themselves.
Often , during a random conversation, after I have got them rambling on about themselves, I try to get in a word about myself, just to test out my theory. Ninety percent of the time, I end up getting half hearted nods, and impatient looks. Indeed the art of patient listening is fast dying out. I immediately bring them back to their interests and lo and behold! they immediately perk up.
Of late , I had befriended a psychologist friend. Little did I know that they too have issues to sort out and they too would need someone patient enough to listen to them. After days of listening to her, I perked up enough courage to ask her about something that had kept niggling me all my life. Immediately on starting to confide, I noticed that she was inevitably nodding impatiently, and she hardly noticed that I had stopped talking! Thts how life is... life's healing happens deep within onelsef and not at the psychologist's clinic.
Delve deep into your mind, be still, take much needed breaks from technology, muster up enough will power to switch off your mobile ,and relax your mind. You will be surprised at the answers that your mind can produce....
Reach out, and for a change, listen to your buddies, but never try to confide your sorrows to others... you dont have a market for your troubles...
Smile and the world smiles with you. Cry and you cry alone...
The art of good conversation is rapidly dying out , particularly , the art of listening. It never ceases to amaze me, but it takes very little effort to get people to talk about themselves.
Often , during a random conversation, after I have got them rambling on about themselves, I try to get in a word about myself, just to test out my theory. Ninety percent of the time, I end up getting half hearted nods, and impatient looks. Indeed the art of patient listening is fast dying out. I immediately bring them back to their interests and lo and behold! they immediately perk up.
Of late , I had befriended a psychologist friend. Little did I know that they too have issues to sort out and they too would need someone patient enough to listen to them. After days of listening to her, I perked up enough courage to ask her about something that had kept niggling me all my life. Immediately on starting to confide, I noticed that she was inevitably nodding impatiently, and she hardly noticed that I had stopped talking! Thts how life is... life's healing happens deep within onelsef and not at the psychologist's clinic.
Delve deep into your mind, be still, take much needed breaks from technology, muster up enough will power to switch off your mobile ,and relax your mind. You will be surprised at the answers that your mind can produce....
Reach out, and for a change, listen to your buddies, but never try to confide your sorrows to others... you dont have a market for your troubles...
Smile and the world smiles with you. Cry and you cry alone...
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