I Have A Question

As a mother of two, I had a lot of 'why,' 'but why,' 'how,' 'when,' 'where,' 'what,' coming at me, and at work there was no respite; I was a teacher. I faced a barrage of questions on a daily basis and not all of them were related to academics. Add to those the ones I asked myself on a daily basis. My replies were mostly direct answers to the question, but there were the occasional evasive, vague answers that weren't outright lies but definitely skirted the truth. There were the silent answers, the ones that come from a piercing stare or a blank one and some were convoluted explanations. There were also the "I don't know now but I'll let you know," frank admissions.

Questions need answers and not every answer is satisfactory or enlightening. People might say: "give me an honest answer," but often an honest answer is not what they want to hear or it might be they are not quite mature to understand the truth. And then there are questions that we don't answer because to do so would be more painful for us than for the questioner.

This brings to mind some situations which occurred and raised many questions in my mind.

Way back in early 2000, I was a member of a well known NGO, and also a member on one of their boards. It dealt with urban development: the development of street kids and women and children in the slums of the city. One of the things the NGO undertook was rescuing women and girls from brothels and from domestic sexual abuse. They had a shelter where these rescued girls and women were brought to, but the longest period of an individual's stay was fourteen days. After that, if their families didn't accept them, or the NGO couldn't rehabilitate them into society through jobs and secure boarding-lodging, they were removed to government shelters where, sad to say, their fate was no better than their previous life.

One day one of the women who had been rescued from a brothel asked to meet us. She was one of those who could not get a job. One of the board members had assured the woman that she would find her a job as a domestic help. Unfortunately, the board member's efforts bore no fruit. When the woman came in, the member spoke to her and apologized profusely. 

The woman heard her out and then said: "Madam, tum mujhe kaamwali rakh lo apne ghar mein." (madam, you employ me as a domestic help in your house)

The lady was taken aback but she had to reply. We were the benevolent group who rescued women from abuse and here was one of those unfortunate ones asking one of us to employ her. And it was obvious the woman was waiting for a reply.

"Mere ghar mein already kaamwali hai, nahin toh main zaroor rakh leti." (I have a domestic help already, otherwise I would have definitely kept you)

If we thought that explained everything and closed the conversation, we were wrong. The woman wasn't in the mood to let go.

"Jo aurat tumhare ghar mein hai, usko kahin aur bhi naukari mil jayegi. Kaamwali ka bahut demand hai. Usko jaane do na. Mere ko rakh lo." (the woman working in your house will get another job. There's a big demand for help. Let her go and keep me)

The lady member was cornered. We all turned to look at her, wondering what she would say. The silence and discomfort was so heavy it was palpable. One of the ladies came to her rescue and explained to the woman that it would not be a practical thing to do.

"Mere ko wahan se nikala kya woh theek tha?" she said wagging a finger at the lady. "Mai kamati thi, khati thi. Ab mere ko naukari nahin, paisa nahi. Yahan rehene ko nahin. Yahan mai theek hun, koi khatra nahin. Par tum log yahan se bhi nikal rahi ho. Jahan bhejti ho wahan bhi mera wahi hoga jo pehle ho raha tha. Kya achha kiya tum madam log ne. Mere ko bachaya bola. Ek se bachaya, doosre ko phenk diya." (You took me out of there, was that right? I was earning, eating. Now I have no job, no money. I can't stay here. I am fine here. I have nothing to fear. But you are sending out from here. Where you are sending me my fate will be the same as before. What good did you do? You claim to have saved me. You saved me from one and throw me to another)

Then randomly she singled me out, and directing her question to me asked: "Kyun madam, tum mere ko rakhlo." (Why don't you keep me madam?) I shook my head and she let out a raucous laugh.

"Ek last sawal puchegi tum madam log se. Mere ko kyun nahin kaamwali rakhti ho apne ghar mein? Doosre log se bolti ho isko rakho, lekin apne ghar mein nahin. Kyun madam?" 

(I'll ask one last question. Why don't you keep me as a domestic help in your homes? You ask others to employ me but you won't employ me. Why madam?)

And she turned on her heel and walked out.

Immediately the members began defending and justifying their stand to each other. It didn't matter to any one in the room what the other said. The person to whom it mattered had left the room.

                                                                    **** 

And more recently I was asked one of these don't-want-to-answer type of questions by the nanny (domestic help) I was watching an old Hindi movie and Helen was doing a cabaret. The conversation veered to this type of professional dancing in India and if it was a popular profession. I told her that these kind of dancers are not considered respectable by Indian society and so it wasn't a chosen profession by 'respectable' girls. She was appalled! 

"We have so many dancers here. I know a girl who is a pole dancer. These girls are just doing a job. Our society doesn't look down on them. It is their livelihood," she informed me.

"But there are so many other jobs they could do," I countered lamely.

"But what if they don't get any other job? What if they are single mothers? It is possible they are not educated enough, or can't do any other work. Many jobs have long hours and very low pay. How will she support herself and her child?"

I couldn't argue with that and honestly didn't want to either. Instead I spoke about social taboos, and then summed it up with the 'every society has its own values and social norms' excuse. It was good, I said, that her society believed in the dignity of labor to that extent. Ours, unfortunately, didn't even believe in the dignity of labor. She didn't quite get that and I didn't elaborate. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that as a domestic help in her country she enjoyed better pay, respect, and many liberties in her employer's home than her counterparts in India. She shook her head in disapproval. Then she said: "I have a question." I told her to go ahead and ask.

She walked over to where I was sitting and looking directly at me said, "I can understand that customs, traditions are different. But I am asking you if you too think these women are not respectable? Do you think that doing a pole dance in a bar is a bad thing?"

"Put in the situation you described, I don't think I do."

I thought it was over but I had another think coming.

 "Would you be friends with a pole dancer in your country?" She waited for an answer.

I was thinking hard; trying to choose my words; frame my sentences in a way that wouldn't hurt her sensibilities. But I guess what I was really doing was trying to find a way to wiggle out of answering that. She didn't shift her gaze and waited patiently. I knew I had to say something. So I countered with another question.

"If you treated your dancer friend the way she would be treated by society in India, how would it be?"

Her answer was prompt. She said she could never do that. I prodded her. Why couldn't she do that?

"I would be treated badly by everyone if I did. Even my children would be annoyed with me. I would be ostracized"

"Well, senora, that's exactly why I would not be able to be friends with a pole dancer in my country." I was glad she didn't ask if I would befriend one in her country!

I managed to get out of that one by making society the villain.

                                                                   

                                                                   ***

But Q&As can be fun too...and some on hindsight. 

The most amusing Q&As were the ones that transpired between Mummy and I. As a kid, and a rather tomboyish one who got into all kinds of scraps and fights, I faced a lot of questions. I dreaded the questions my mother would ask. Not because I was scared, but because it was tedious. I found her questions wrong; she found my answers false!  She'd see a bruise or a wound and along with the first aid the questions would start. Here's an example of one of our question-answer dialogues after I took on an older boy who was in a fight with my brother. I was not invited to the fight, I just jumped in!

"Who did you fight with?"

"No one. Someone fought with me."

"Don't lie to me, you must have hit first."

"Hmm...I did hit him first, but I didn't start the fight."

"If you struck first you started the fight."

"Why do you say that?" It was my turn to ask.

"Why else would someone fight with you? You hit a person, the person will retaliate."

It didn't make sense to me.

"Why would I hit someone just like that? There has to be a reason for me to fight."

"Why do you have to fight? You play with your brother's friends and act like a boy." I didn't get an answer to my question and the entire conversation went off-course.

"Boys also don't fight without a reason. And I didn't start the fight." I emphasized.

"Stop lying. You know what happens to children who lie?"

"Yes, they get punished by their parents and by God also."

"So say 'sorry' now."

"To whom? I am not lying."

"But you fought, yes? That is also wrong. So say 'sorry."

"Ok, sorry mummy."

"Good girl.

"Mummy, what is 'retaliate'?"

"It means to fight back. To give tit for tat."

"That's what I did," I said triumphantly.

She gave me a look and I ran off.

My conversations with mummy were always like this and even when I grew older I still couldn't get her logic. But I enjoyed sparring with her, and I'm sure she did too!

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Grey Matters!

Grey is the dominant color of winter these days. I wake up to grey mornings and peek through the curtains, desperate to see a chink in the clouds and a stray, struggling ray of yellow pushing its way through. I like the grey of rainy days, but when it gets cold I'd rather have yellow, red, salmon, orange but grey! That being said, I must add I like winter rains: drizzles as well as downpours. I just can't stand the dip in temperature.

There's something about rain and me...perhaps it's not only me...I find it romantic. These days that translates to nostalgia. So here in my little room, I'm all by myself and I play old numbers, gaze at the changing shades of grey outside, hoping for the sunshine tomorrow! Gone are my days of walks in the rain. So I keep myself happy with cooking 'rainy day' foods! We have many such assorted foods for wet, cold and dull days that cheer up a sagging spirit. I guess there is a way that leads from the tummy to the heart after all, and it doesn't apply only to the male species!

I have a dream; an aspiration. I intend to pursue it, but right now I've barely taken half a step forward and I'm already intimidated. It involves so much of technical and internet work, which always bares its fangs at me and sends me scuttling into a corner. However I've decided not to give up. That sounds braver than I feel by the way, but I am going to go through with it, my physical limitations and condition notwithstanding, even if it takes me a year (or more!) At times like these I wish elves didn't just dwell in fairy tales and were available to help me at the drop of a sigh!

It surprises me how the yearnings and wishes pile up in direct proportion to the years I notch up on my birthdays! Right now I wish I were closer to my native land and all my friends, relations and things familiar. Two decades ago, I'd not be so bothered about distances. Not for want of love but because distance would not rise as an insurmountable obstacle. There is more I don't take for granted today than I did earlier. Times, and people have changed and things are no longer as they used to be. I have learned more in the past decade. I take more trips down memory lane than I ever have, but I don't dwell there. The present may not be all that I'd dreamed of or hoped for, but what I have realized is far more than my expectations. I'd rather live in it and learn new things and move on, and while I'm on my way I might as well kick my heels and do a song and dance, even if it's only in my mind.

Among all the new things I learn, I stumble upon some newfangled words like 'pizzled.' I learned that it describes, quite aptly, a situation which leaves you puzzled and pissed off! In other words confused and annoyed. It seems that everyone has a word mint at their disposal. If the word gains currency, it will soon find its way into a dictionary. That's language, dynamic. But I'd rather form a new word like 'confoyed' to describe my state in a similar situation! I would like to hear of some more of these new generation compound words from you if you are reading this. Let's share.
Fill in the blank in the comment box: "I was ..................when/with/at what...........!

This has been an accomplishment for me! It has taken me a long time to type this small piece, (some disc probs compounded with other muscular probs have escalated) but I've finally done what I set out to do and now for the final review. Yoohoo!

"You just can't beat a person who never gives up."

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When Mummy Sang A Song

I heard a song by Bill Anderson: Mama Sang A Song, and it struck a chord with me. My mama sang hymns too, all the day. And as the song says, I think a lot about the time back when I was a girl.

Mummy was a SAHM. Of course back then the term was not in use because in my country, in those days, most mothers stayed at home. So it was no big deal. But unlike most mothers, mine had been a working girl before she married. She was a WRIN. That's what the women working for the Women's Royal Indian Navy service were called! Since Daddy didn't want her to continue working she resigned herself to being a housewife. The term 'home-maker' was not in use then. Mummy didn't seem to resent that. But life did not prove to be what she had dreamed it would be. 

She grew up in a well-to-do family. Although she was an orphan, she was the child of rich parents. Her foster parents were affluent too. My father on the other hand grew up in a respectable family, but 'rich' or 'well-to-do' were not tags ascribed to it. His father was a school teacher with ten kids, though respectable and certainly not in a hand-to-mouth situation, the family was just getting by comfortably. She grew up in a different society and their cultures and traditions were poles apart. But I guess it was a case of opposites attract. That didn't matter all that much either, what did make it difficult was the absence of the luxuries she had been used to and the extravagance. She used to go for breakfast to the Taj Hotel in Mumbai before she got married and took friends with her many times! Daddy gave her the best he could. There was no lack of domestic help; people to help around the house and kitchen and at most times, two people on twenty-four hour call. But that compensated for little. Her expectations went beyond the domestic arena. So life was difficult for her. There was a lot of adjustment involved at every step. But Mummy sang; she sang to build up courage; she sang to console herself; she sang to rekindle joy; she sang to calm her soul; she sang to cheer up her sagging spirits; she sang to fill the home with melody; she sang because she loved to sing.

When she was at a crossroad and didn't know where to turn, she sang "What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear, what a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer."

I remember her stirring and baking and cooking her way through delicious meals for the family as she filled the kitchen with tempting aromas and heavenly tunes: "The chimes of time ring out the news another day is through, someone slipped and fell was that someone you? You may have longed for added strength your courage to renew, do not be disheartened for I have news for you: it is no secret what God can do, what He's done for others He'll do for you...."

When Daddy put in for a premature retirement from the Navy, and moved the family to his home town in Punjab, she was devastated. Did she crack? No. She took it in her stride. And as she took to rural life, pumping water from a hand pump, washing, cleaning, and cooking with no domestic help she sang: "Tempted and tried we're oft made to wonder, why it should be thus all the day long while there are others living around us, never molested though in the wrong. Further along we'll know all about it. Further along we'll understand why, cheer up my sister live in the sunshine, we'll understand it all by and by."

When she was lonely with no one she could befriend in this Punjab town, she went through the day happily humming: "I've found a friend in Jesus, He's everything to me, He tells me every care on Him to roll, He's the lily of the valley, the bright and morning star, He's the fairest of ten thousand to my soul."

And when she lay down tired, at the end of the day, she'd fall asleep singing: "Safe in the arms of Jesus, safe from corroding care, there by His love o'er shaded sweetly my soul shall rest."

Mummy sang some other songs too, but her favorite and most sung songs were hymns. Although I have mentioned situations and some hymns she'd sing, it was not the only reason she sang. Mummy loved to sing. She sang alto in the church choir. Mummy actually taught us faith. Not in sermons; not in speech, but through her songs. She turned to God every time to replenish hope, love and joy not only when things became difficult for her but all the day long. And in doing so taught me a valuable lesson.

Mummy's singing brought peace and calm then, and today the legacy she left carries forward in my home and life.

I sing too. I sing a lot of songs of different genres, unlike my mother, but like her I sing a lot of hymns too. Like our home when I was a girl, my home is also filled with songs. I am so grateful for her singing. It made me happy when I was a girl and it makes for such precious memories now.

These lines from the song sum it up:

"God put a song in the heart of an angel, and softly she sang it to me.....

I get to thinking lots of times.....of the old home place where I grew up,

of the days both good and bad....

our home fire never flickered once, 'cause when things went wrong.....

mama sang a song...... 

And those were the greatest days of all, When mama sang a song....

No voice is left to fill those halls, And no steps to grace the floor,

For you see my mother sings in heaven now, around God's golden throne.

But I'll always believe this world is a better place (for me), 

because one time my mama sang a song.

I am a grandmother now but the memories of Mummy's singing, as she carried on faithfully with her chores and duties, still motivate and inspire me.


Thank you for the songs Mum. Thank you for the faith.

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Some Say this and some say that...Perspectives

We all have opinions and views about everything. What one sees and what one thinks about it, depends on how one sees something and how one feels towards the subject. Different perspectives throw different shades on the same subject and present it in a different light.  Two people may look at the same thing and describe it differently. It is like seeing a glass with water mid-way to the top. Some would see it as half full and some as half empty. It's all about attitude and perspective. George Carlin says: "Some people see the glass half full. Others see it half empty. I see a glass that's twice as big as it needs to be."

I typed perspectives into the Google bar and got a whole lot of quotes on 'perspective.' I enjoyed going through them and picked a few which I want to share with you. Some are funny, some witty and some mundane but all are debatable if you're inclined to debate! I'm not in that mood!

Perspectives:

*It is the obvious which is so difficult to see most of the time. People say, 'It's as plain as the nose on your face.' But how much of the nose on your face can you see, unless someone holds a mirror up to you? (Isaac Asimov)

*The optimist sees the donut, the pessimist sees the hole. (Oscar wilde)

*When a man wants to murder a tiger he calls it sport; when a tiger wants to murder him he calls it ferocity. (George Bernard Shaw)

*We see the moon as full, half or quarter. As far as the moon is concerned, he is always full. (Terri Guillemets)

*Flowers often grow more beautifully on dung-hills than in gardens beautifully kept. (saint Francis De Salles)

*It is seldom indeed that one parts on good terms, because if one were on good terms one would not part. (Marcel Proust)

*My play was a complete success. The audience was a failure. (Ashleigh Brilliant)

*Expectant of greater things we climb higher and higher - an effort that costs us much, leaving us short of breath to find only the ground below is much prettier. (Phillip Pulfrey)

*A boil is no big deal......on someone else's neck. (Jewish saying)

*The bat hanging upside down laughs at the topsy-turvy world. (Japanese proverb)

*In the ideal sense nothing is uninteresting; there are only uninterested people. (Brooks Atlinson)

*Just because a man lacks the use of his eyes doesn't mean he lacks vision. (Stevie Wonder)

*Retreat! Hell! We're just advancing in another direction. (Oliver Prince Smith)

*Not everything that is more difficult is more meritorious. (Saint Thomas Aquinas)

*An abridgement may be a bridge: it may help us over the water, but it keeps us from drinking. (Augustus William Hare, Julius Charles Hare)

*No one knows what they'll do in a crisis and hypothetical questions get hypothetical answers. (Joan Baez)

*What is true by lamplight is not always true by sunlight. (Joseph Joubert)

*Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but it is the lightning that does the work. (Mark twain)

*It isn't that they can't see the solution. It is that they can't see the problem. (G K Chesterton)

*I'm right-handed, whereas the fellow in my mirror is left-handed. I start shaving from the left; he starts from the right. Differences only in perceptions, but religious wars have been fought over such. (Robert Brault)

*People can tell you to keep your mouth shut but that doesn't stop you from having your own opinion. (Anne Frank)

*If you are going to say what you want to say, you are going to hear what you don't want to hear. (Roberto Bolano)

*At first, they'll only dislike what you say, but the more correct you start sounding the more they'll dislike you. (Criss Jami)

*Don't judge a man by his opinions, but what his opinions have made of him. (Georg Cristoph Lichtenberg)

*If you have to say or do something controversial, aim so that people will hate that they love it and not love that they hate it. (Criss Jami)

*One day you'll discover that the opinions of worthless people are worthless. (Piers Anthony)

*We don't get harmony when everyone sings the same note. Only notes that are different harmonize. The same is true of people. (Steve Goodier)

*We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses. (Abraham Lincoln)

*If it's true our species is alone in the universe, then I'd have to say the universe aimed rather low and settled for very little. (George Carlin)

*What people in the world think of you is really none of your business. (Martha Graham)

*Fairy tales always have a happy ending.That depends......on whether you are Rumpelstiltskin or the Queen. (Jane Yolan)

*Loving people live in a loving world. Hostile people live in a hostile world. Same world. (Wayne W. Dyer)

*Sleep is the best meditation. (Dalai Lama)


On that note I say ciao.

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Your Word

Recently, I came across a quote on commitment which reminded me of another one I had read, many, many years ago, that impacted my life. The recent one was:

"Commitment means staying loyal to what you said you were going to do, long after the mood you said it in has left you."

It sounds great, very strong, however it left me with a feeling of ambiguity. It does not convey the whole message.  The stress on caution was missing. In the spur of a moment, caught up by a wave of emotion, we may commit to something without even giving it a thought. What are we committing to? The reference to "the mood" is ambiguous. The mood could have been anything: frivolous, drunken, even just a dare or vicious, or bitter, or vengeful. What message is it conveying exactly? To a narrow mind, a narrow perception this message could be misleading. Before we make a commitment; a promise, we must be careful before we give our word. The message above seems to justify any commitment, made in any "mood." While commitments must be kept, it is important to know what we are committing to. Is it violating our value system? Is it going against the law of the land? Is it the right thing?   

The value of commitment was written on my heart when I was a ten year old. It was the year my father decided to put in his papers and take an early retirement from the Navy, to devote his time wholly to the Lord's service. After the formal send off by his department, daddy was invited by the Chief of Staff, Admiral B S Soman, to a private dinner at his home. My elder sister promptly gave daddy her autograph book for the Chief's autograph. The Chief obliged with these wonderful words of caution and wisdom:

"There is nothing more valuable than your word, so be careful."

I read it. I re-read it. I liked it. It sounded profound. I didn't get it. 

It was too profound for my limited intelligence in this area. So, as always, I had to ask daddy. And, as always, he sat me down and explained it to me, supporting it with biblical reference too. I nodded, it made sense but I still needed to think more about it. I mulled over it and then so many other matters of change occurred in my life, I had no time to ponder over such things as my word. But, neither the words nor the lesson was lost on me. I remembered. It was embedded on my heart. This small sentence with a huge message has stayed with me ever since; has nudged me, poked me, stabbed me so many times during the years of growing. If I thought I had learned it good I had another thought coming. Some lessons have to be learned and re-learned as long as it takes to get it. Even today, it kicks me hard, especially when I find myself caught in a maddening situation of honoring a commitment foolishly made.

It is better, any day, to say an emphatic 'no' (or a mild one) but a definite NO, rather than lie outright, or make lame excuses, or give outrageous, ridiculous reasons to wiggle out of keeping your word. 

Would you like to be known by the commitments you never kept? I guess not. So be careful who or what you are committing to.

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Throw Away My Journals?

"She always threw away her journals after filling up the last page. It was an act of acceptance, a way of releasing the past and finding peace." ~Moments of Joy and Pain, a Journal

Eleven months back, I did just that...threw away my journals. It wasn't easy to make that decision. I was loath to part with them. It was as if by destroying them I would lose a part of myself; my memories would fade and so a part of me too.

This wasn't the first time I had thrown away journals, oh no, I had shredded a few without any remorse or regret five years back and purged myself completely of memories of bitterness, resentment, and anger. At that point in time I had just come to a place of acceptance and forgiveness and it hadn't been easy getting there. Once in a while I'd come across these journals while looking for something in drawers and cupboards and I'd casually flip through the pages, more from curiosity as I didn't remember what was recorded in which one. As I scanned the pages something horrible would show up and I'd be compelled to read the whole account of incidents which although I hadn't forgotten, were no longer the subject of focus or attention. They were simply accounts of incidents like a news report or story that I was impervious to and as such they had no affect on me. I believed that. How wrong I was! As I read, the picture would emerge bearing all the anguish, sadness, pain, hurt, rejection, anger, resentment, and injustice that I had felt at the time of each incident or situation, and what I thought I had overcome, accepted and forgiven was actually not gone, but lying dormant like a reptile in hibernation. Just waiting to be revived and spring back with renewed vigour. I would relive the moments, and feel the emotions taking over and destroying my newfound peace and calm. Truth dawned: I had not really forgiven. To forgive and forget meant to forgive and forget the bitterness, the pain, the hurt; to shake off the negative feelings and move on. To say it was tough would be an understatement. I was battling myself. Finally faith, trust and spirit won and I was able to read each word and not feel the stirring of any unwanted and unwelcome feelings.

That's when the strings were broken and I was free. The journals went the way they should have gone a long time back. But as they say, "Better late than never."

To come back to the beginning again. Why was it difficult to discard some more scribblings collected, post the detoxing, over the years? These were not the 'Unhappy Diaries' kind of journals. So now it became a question of being cut off from my happy memories. Many questions, silly, absurd, and valid, cropped up. To my mind, of course, every question was valid and reasonable and every reasonable, valid and justifiable answer was out of the question! What if those wonderful, happy memories got wiped out...erased due to any reason, possibly amnesia or Alzeihmer's? It's so funny how even the lamest question seems so important when one wants to hold on to a crutch. So, an unnecessary battle ensued once again. I wonder at my proclivity for going to war with myself so many times. Long story short, 'joy' won! After all joy was in me, deep-seated, deep-rooted. I have a propensity to find joy in little things, in down times too. Tying my happiness to a few journals could not ensure recall if the thing that worried me most -  forgetting -  occurred! I carried those moments with me. As long as memory served me well, I would remember. So those went too. Am I happy? Can I remember and relive the joy? To both I say a definite yes, but to be honest photographs and videos do contribute in a major way! 

Have I done away with journaling? No, I haven't and I guess I never will. But things are different now. The purpose of writing is no longer what it was and that has made all the difference.

"Don't use your mind for a filing cabinet. Use your mind to work out problems and find answers; file away good ideas in your journal." ~Jim Rohn

Excerpt from Paulo Coelho's blog: On Writing.

"All creative processes, be they in literature, engineering, computing - and even love - always respect the same rules: the cycle of nature....Ploughing the field: The moment the soil is turned, oxygen penetrates places it was unable to previously....The process of interior revolution is very important - because, just as the field's new look will see sunlight for the first time, and be dazzled by it, a new assessment of our values will allow us to see life innocently, without ingenuity. Thus we will be prepared for the miracle of inspiration. A good creator must know how to continually turn over his values, and never be content with that which he believes he understands...Sowing: All work is the fruit of contact with life. A creative man cannot lock himself in an ivory tower; he must be in contact with his fellow men...He never knows, at the outset, which things will be important to him in the future, so the more intense his life is, the more possibilities he will create for an original language. Le Corbusier said that: as long as man tried to fly by imitating birds, he couldn't succeed. The same applies to the artist...Growth: there is a time in which the work writes itself, freely, at the bottom of the writer's soul - before it dares show itself.....It is this moment which the Brazilian poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade refers to, when he states that we should never try to recover lost verses, for they never deserved to see the light of day. I know people who during a growth period, spend their whole time furiously taking notes on everything which comes into their head, without respecting that which is being written in the unconscious. The result is that the notes, which are the fruit of memory, end up disturbing the fruit of inspiration. The creator must respect the time of gestation, although he knows - just like the farmer - that he is only partially in control of his field; it is subject to drought and floods. But if he knows how to wait, the stronger plants, which can resist bad weather, will come to light with great force.Harvest: The moment when man manifests on a conscious plane that which he sowed and allowed to grow. If he harvests early, the fruit is green, if he harvests late, the fruit is rotten. Every artist recognizes the arrival of this moment; although some aspects may not have matured fully....he understands that he must work from dawn to dusk, until the work is finished."


With that I sign off.

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Peccadillos

Friends, I have had many over the years. Some have drifted away, some passed away and with some I still bond. But, when I think of friends who have been partners in crime; well that’s another story. My friend and partner in crime was always my elder brother. Through our schooling years we had our share of adventures and were thick as thieves, we had each other’s back and we never tattled to our parents.

 

The scariest adventure, looking back over more than five decades, was when we went fishing for a whale. If it were make believe, it would have been quite in place, but we were not just the day dreaming kind of children. We dreamed and we set out to make it possible. So armed with a thin fishing line and the biggest fishing hook, which was about two inches perhaps, we were ready for our Moby Dick.

 It was a humid summer afternoon. No one goes out voluntarily on a hot Indian summer afternoon, which was why a girl and boy aged six and nine respectively, slinked out to get the biggest catch anyone could get with a thin fishing line and a two-inch hook. Of course, I was the girl and my brother was the boy. We jumped out of our bedroom window after making sure both mum and dad were asleep. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but I always followed the leader. That day my brother led me to the big bridge, that spanned a channel of the backwaters, and joined the island we lived on with the mainland. It was a big bridge with a highway and a rail track running on it.

 I was excited and felt like I was finally on a real adventure. My brother scrambled up an iron ladder that led into the underbelly of the bridge. I felt my legs begin to tremble. I knew it was fear but wild dogs wouldn’t drag that admission out of me. I stood rooted to the spot and looked up with a silly grin on my face.

 “Come on. Don’t stand there gaping like an idiot,” said the leader impatiently.

 I wasn’t so sure I wanted to follow the leader up there. But I couldn’t figure out how to wriggle out of that situation without confessing that I was scared. My brother turned and started walking away. I looked around at the deserted place and decided it was less scary to be with him than alone down there, besides who wanted to miss the joy of hooking a whale. I took hold of the rusty ladder and laboriously made my way up. Whatever elation I felt at achieving that feat dissipated when I saw what lay before me. I gulped. I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. My brother was about fifteen or twenty feet ahead of the abutment, standing on a narrow walkway about a foot wide. I was trembling from head to toe and I didn’t have to say a word, my fear was written all over my face. I felt like a condemned pirate walking the plank. I spread my arms like a bird in flight as I took one shaky step and then another. But unlike a bird in flight my extended arms helped to keep me, balanced, on the narrow path, as I made my extremely slow progress towards my brother. He looked back at me and I glanced down. A long way down, the waves with their frothy rims threatened to swallow me. I swayed and there was a loud warning shout.

 “Don’t look down.” I jerked my head up eyes wide with fright staring straight at my brother. “Okay, don’t walk. Go back and sit at the top of ladder,” he said with a hint of contempt. I was behaving like a ‘sissy’ and that was unbearable not only for him but for me too. But I was frightened out of my wits and didn’t mind being a ‘sissy.’ I decided to turn back. That was impossible. Manoeuvring into a turn made my head spin. I was stuck. I couldn’t go forward and I couldn’t turn back. I looked at my brother helplessly. He had put the bait on the hook and was rolling the line into a ball, which he then put into his pocket, with the hook end hanging out. We didn’t even have a makeshift rod! He was preparing to jump from the walkway onto the girders on the side of the bridge. That was some distance for a boy his age and not a tall one either. If he didn’t get a grip he’d plummet down. For a moment there I forgot my predicament as I shouted, “Don’t!” It was too late he was already airborne, and in a split second had grabbed the girder and was positioning himself securely with a leg in the right place, his foot against a beam, pushing his back firmly against another flat beam. He looked at me grinning like a chimp. It was too much for me. I lowered myself slowly onto the walkway, clutched the sides tightly with two small hands, and sat astride.

 As the great fisherman unwrapped his twine and I exhaled a big sigh of relief, I realised I felt more secure sitting astride than doing a balancing act like a circus gymnast. My brother whirled the hook adeptly and threw it. It didn’t go far. By then I was pulling myself along the walkway quite fearlessly and had reached where he was. I began to offer my suggestions.... “Roll out more twine”.....”Mind your foot doesn’t slip”....... “Do you think there are whales here?”

 “Keep quiet. You’re disturbing me.”

 

I shut up.

 If I had prepared myself for a long wait, especially after all that drama and effort, I was soon to find myself in the dumps. The fishing spree ended abruptly and unceremoniously with the hook and line sinking into the sea. In an effort to draw more twine, so that the hook would get into the water, the ball of twine fell out of my brother’s hands. Actually that was the only way the hook was ever going to get into the sea. We never had that length of twine. If we had, I am quite convinced, we would have caught Moby Dick!

 My fearless brother made a jump back to the walkway. Another heart-in-the-throat moment and he was hanging with his arms around the beam. Without a hitch, he pulled himself on top. My turn around didn’t go that smoothly, but I managed to follow the step by step instructions my brother called out and soon I was pulling-sliding, pulling-sliding my way back to the top of the rusty ladder.

 We managed to slip back through the window, and get into bed without a squeak. When mummy came to wake us for tea, she wouldn’t have imagined how close she came to losing us. A small slip and our adventure would have ended in tragedy. But, this is what memories are made of. As a mother, I am glad my sons aren’t such daredevils who throw caution to the wind. As a friend and a sibling, I cherish those moments and tomboyish peccadillos with my brother without regret.

 

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In The Driver's Seat

For years, ever since I could stand on my two, little toddler's feet, I have travelled comfortably ensconced in the backseat. And I was not a backseat driver either! That doesn't mean I had no voice, or that I didn't use the voice I had. However the fact that I had a voice and voiced my opinions didn't put me in the driving seat, simply because I knew what I felt, but I didn't feel what I said. No hypocrisy there, no double standards, just plain lack of confidence in my own abilities. Always an iota of doubt that kept me from taking the reins on my own. I needed a crutch all the time. Please do note, in my favour, I did not use the plural of crutch. I walked but with a limp. If I drove I would be a leg too short for the accelerator and the brake. It wouldn't be an ideal situation; I would be on a crash course all the time, literally. So though being in the driver's seat would have been the right thing, I lacked the right leg and the related right push to drive myself. My confidence limped!

 

 

I was and still am a dreamer. I dreamed big, I worked hard, and I fought harder to release myself from my insecurities; from my crutch. I lost every battle. There were only a few who encouraged me...my father and some friends. The ratio of encouragers and discouraging factors was certainly not in my favour, and didn't give me the requisite support I needed and I required more than an awful lot. I tended to see myself through other people's eyes, which is the worst thing to do, and there were more negatives than positives. Though I did believe the positive feedback, the majority's attitude always swung me back and forth like a pendulum between doubt and belief. My confidence was in place but it was fragile; handle with care fragile. It didn't take more than a tiny pebble to send it crashing.

 

 

There comes a time for those who dream to realize their fondest desires. There comes a time for those who wish to fly to spread their wings and jump off the cliff. There comes a time when destiny calls for you to step out of the boat and walk on water. There comes a time to strengthen your faith and put it into action. There comes a time when you have to pay dearly, sometimes, to walk alone without a crutch. My time came too.

 

 

My world crashed. My crutch with it too. I had two options; become fully lame or walk on my two feet. I was on the brink of something new, something unknown. Should I be scared and cower under the covers or should I take a leap of faith?  It was the worst nightmare of a fragile, china doll dreamer. I had a month to decide...a twenty eight day month...I didn't even get a thirty-one day month! I made my choice.

 

Within three months I was in the driver's seat. Ignorant, nervous, scared, anxious, incompetent and very insecure. I didn't know the rules, I lacked practical experience and I was totally unaware of unruly drivers on this highway called life. This is when the weaker me began to grow stronger. Through all the fears, one rose dominant and petrifying: the fear that I would not be able to protect, fend for and educate my children. This seemingly crippling emotion worked as my strongest motivator. All the hidden strengths surfaced: determination, perseverance, resilience, faith, hope and love. I was in the driving seat. My seatbelt was trust, the airbags were faith and God was my driving instructor! I had my share of bumps and dents, scrapes and near head-on collisions. I guess I had shifted gears too soon. I had moved from not confident to over-confident too fast and I became too self-assured for my own safety.  But I had a teachable spirit; one that learned lessons, sometimes the hard way! But all things considered I had an enriching long drive, in the driver's seat for twenty-one years, on the highway called life.

 

 

But all things come to an end, period.

 

 

Do all things come to an end, period? As it is written, God opens doors and shuts doors. So when one door closes another opens and vice versa. Well, my licence to drive has expired. That's a closed door. Will it be renewed or is it time to relax and enjoy the luxury of travelling in a chauffeur driven automobile? I am an incorrigible dreamer. I still have some dreams to realize, and whether this is one of them or not is immaterial, what matters is: I dream and I hope. I not only live, I am alive. This time round, sitting in the backseat will be different. It will be just that, a literal thing, not an analogy of my life!

 

I wouldn't mind being driven in one of these...I can dream, yes?



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I Forgot The Sugar...the tea-(cher) and the taught!

Photo by zirconicusso, FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Some days back I forgot the sugar, the sweetness that enhances the flavour of my morning ginger tea. No big deal, really. I am absent-minded and do silly, even stupid things when I'm elsewhere in my mind than where I should be. What made it a point of focus is that I had put someone in the dock...yes, that early in the morning...and was judging and criticizing, not constructively but just to let off steam. Some emotions were festering within due to someone's overbearing nature, bad attitude and arrogance. I believe letting off steam is alright. One has to release the pressure, but without passing judgment and hanging tags around the offender's neck...and definitely not as soon as one's feet hit the floor at the start of day. I mean I was shocked that I was (unconsciously) carrying malignant feelings about someone, somewhere, who did not influence my life in a major way, or play even a minor role in my development and growth. And yet, here I was allowing negative emotions to give freeway to the person to steal my joy...take away the sweet enjoyment of my everyday life. In other words I was focussing on the person and not the act. Now that's a no-no where I'm concerned. To learn, I confine my thoughts to what (the act or words) rather than who (person) as focussing on the person doesn't benefit in any way. And this was highlighted by my own run-away emotions. My unbridled mind and a cup of unsweetened tea taught me a valuable lesson that day.

Life Point:
When you allow bitterness from resentment to poison your mind and heart, you forget the sugar. You lose your sweetness; in your nature, thoughts, actions and life in general. You lose your joy and peace. Like the ginger tea without sugar my thoughts were sharp, pungent and not me. The 'I' or 'what about me' attitude had overpowered my heart and almost succeeded in poisoning my day.


Another lesson was re-enforced too: "Take it to the Lord in prayer." By taking it to His throne, I was given insight. I saw how I could forget to add sugar when I concentrated on being offended. I had shifted to resenting a person rather than learning a positive lesson from a negative action or attitude.


On a lighter note I also learned that when life throws you lemons, add a slice or two to your sweet tea, it makes a delectable blend of flavour!

Photo by Marcus/ FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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Come September!



Come September, I can never resist humming the tune made famous by the Ventures, it was the theme of the movie, Come September. Well, not throughout the month, just when the 1st comes up on the calendar! Then there are days in the month that remind me of daddy, David, and my former students and colleagues. September is a month for reminiscing.


September meant cooler weather, perhaps a few autumn showers; a prelude to winter, but that was before I made my journey to the other side of the globe. It's a complete turn around where I am now. We're heading into warmer weather, longer days and yes, Spring! Summer will be upon us before we can say Christmas! A summer Christmas, is going to be a first for me. I am not sure I am too pleased about that. All my life I have celebrated Christmas in Winter. There's something about winter that makes X-mas so much more beautiful. Since I have no idea what a hot Summer Christmas is like, I don't fancy it. Maybe it's because I imagine an Indian summer in Delhi, which is so terrible. But I'm open to it. I am keen to experience a Christmas sans coats, mufflers, scarves, gloves, caps, heaters, warm fires, glowing embers and icy winds. I guess I'll be keeping cool instead of warm this Christmas. And that sounds cool!


September had always been a special month of celebrations for me. The 5th of September is marked as Teacher's Day. It commemorates Dr S Radhakrishnan's birthday. He was the first vice-president of India. As a student or a teacher, it meant grand celebrations and felicitations for us at school. The celebrations carried on at home as well with a big dinner party to felicitate David, it was his birthday too and he loved to celebrate it. On the 15th Daddy's birthday came up. For me these dates were and still remain very special. The men I celebrated have long since passed on to the other side, but their impact on my life has been so great that these days hold significance even now.

My father: Jason James (left) and David (right)



These two were the only men who mattered to me. They got along famously, like father and son: one my father and the other the father of my sons. They will be my heroes always. They weren't supermen. They had their flaws and were very human, but they played pivotal roles in my life. I was seventeen when I first met David. So, I literally grew up with him.  And Daddy provided the motivation and inspiration that spurred me on. So September is their month.

 

To my father, who was my first teacher, to my teachers in the various schools I've studied at, I say: Thank you! I cannot let any Teacher's Day pass without a special mention of Mr Mohanlal Kakkar and Mrs Jolly. I am eternally indebted to Mr Kakkar, my teacher and mentor in my senior years in school. He remained my model during the years I evolved as a mother, a teacher and a mentor.


Spring is the time for new beginnings. A symbol of hope, abundance, revival and rejuvenation. A time that signifies fruitfulness. So come September, herald of Spring!

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In Retrospect: The Fortnight That was

A lot has happened in these last two weeks. Some things were beyond my wildest dreams and a few not quite as I expected. Dealing with the good and not so good proved to be a forward and backward cha-cha. There is a lot to look forward to with great expectations, and on the flipside the premature closing down of a project well begun has pushed me back where I was.

 

 

Let's start with the good. I prefer that. Well for starters, we're expecting two new additions to the family early next year. The news was kept under wraps but the 'cat' got out of the bag earlier than it was intended to! Since it was out, I informed my friends and family back home. I felt so elated sharing the happiness. It is true, happiness shared is happiness doubled. So why did we keep the news secret? Generally, down our side, people don't disclose such things till the fifth or sixth month of pregnancy. Call it superstition, plain prudence or wise discretion, that's the norm. Our efforts at secrecy failed because my daughter-in-law, M, was advised rest by her doctor, which meant an application for leave. Once the office knew, everybody knew! The few who were in the dark didn't have to wait long.

 

 

Last Sunday was M's birthday. Papa-to-be designed a cake which left nothing to be guessed. So everyone knew about the good news before they were supposed to! So much for zipping our lips. Here's the tell-all cake:l

 

 

Isn't it so adorable!

 

 

Getting her a gift proved to be more difficult for me. Because I don't understand or speak Spanish of any useful worth, going out shopping on my own would have been more frustrating than fruitful. So I  decided it would benefit me, in more ways than one, to suggest a 'practical' class in the Mall to my Spanish tutor. She thought it was a brilliant idea. I thought so too! I got a free ride, a translator and I did get to practice my Spanish (which is awful) and buy the gifts.

 

My first grandchild was also born abroad. However I couldn't be there. In fact I have missed so much of her growing up. She's three and a half and I know her only through Skype and Face Time! I felt bad about it then and carried that disappointment with me. However, in retrospect, I find God puts me where I need to be rather than where I want to be. I would have been of no earthly use to anyone three and a half years ago. I was barely of any use to myself physically. So I am grateful for this double joy; a bonus.


I have lost a few kilos, hallelujah, and I feel lighter in this area too! I hope I can keep the lost pounds just where they are: LOST! But if truth be told, it's been a sad story of lost & found for some years...sigh! This time round I took a positively decisive step toward the loss program. I discarded all the extra large clothes and kept only the size I fit into now. Then I looked into the mirror and said, "You will have nothing to wear if those pounds and inches find you again. Take that as you may, but that's how it stands." Do you think it will work...the threat and all? Right now There's this huge temptation staring me in the eye:

 

 

Get thee behind me Satan! Would it be very bad to take one bite...?

 

 

 

I went on a long road trip to the south. We had a night stopover in Chillan at a serene and tranquil place, I've forgotten the name of the resort, and drove sixty-five kms to Las Termas de Chillan the next day. At the start of the journey from Vina, I was happy and excited. This was the first long road trip after many years. My bane, travel sickness, was not far behind. Midway to Las Trancas it hit. As a result, I had to be off loaded at base further ahead, from where the others drove up into the snow-clad mountains. Though I tried my best to convince my son that I would be fine and no one had to stay with me, M stayed back too. I did not like that at all. She was missing all the fun because of me. I was the only one in this group of nine who was on the wrong side of fifty. The rest were youngsters her age. She was annoyed, which was to be expected, I was hurt to find myself the villain of the piece. I detested that role completely. I was downcast for the rest of the day and night. I retired early when we got back to Chillan. A sound sleep and an early morning quiet hour of communing with the Lord saw me bouncing back to being true to my name! I forgave myself. Thereafter, nothing could offend me as I refused to take offence.  I regained a sense of peace and calm. I put aside the incident. But it is one thing to regain your peace and quite another to maintain it. The feeling of being the wrong person at the right place at the wrong time for someone, led to sadness and loneliness. Forgiveness only released me from unpleasant emotions.

 

 

 

 

"What do you do with your love for someone when they die? Or the memories they've left? Do you pack them up in moving boxes and write strange names for them across the top? Then where do you put them and the rest of a life you were supposed to share with a person who left without warning?" ~Jonathan Caroll

 

Back in Chillan the next day, sitting in the lap of nature soaking in the beauty and awesomeness of God's creation, my mood was contemplative. Would it have been better if...what if David were here...would I even be here...my mind was spinning. I suppose a teeny-weeny bit of hurt remained from the previous day. There was no turmoil, on the contrary there was peace, there was joy, there was serenity, but there was pain too. Not the kind of bruising, harsh, bitter pain of anger or injured pride but the kind only one who has known deep love and loss can feel. The heaviness of regret, the longing for what wasn't and couldn't be. It was like a tiny soap bubble, its surface reflecting all the colours of the rainbow as it floated in the sunshine among the overflowing cups of joy. It was a contradiction with its emptiness in a world dominated by happy memories. Was it symbolic of my state of mind? Is that how I actually was...light, bouncing on the wind, showing off sparkling colours; a joyous exterior that belied the vacuousness within? But I was not empty within.

 

 

An empty pitcher can give nothing. I gave love, forgiveness, understanding, acceptance. I had peace, I had patience, I had joy. I believed, I trusted, I laughed, I cried. It was then I realized I was full. There was no empty space. I was floating around in search of an answer. An answer I already knew but didn't recognise. An answer that was so clear to the question: "Then where do you put them (memories) and the rest of a life that you were supposed to spend with a person who left without warning?"

 

 

 

I was living the answer. I knew where to put "them" and the "rest of my life." I was already anchored. That was the truth. The bubble was just that....ephemeral, a moment of illusion.

 

 

 

The realization was uplifting.

 

 

 

I had been in the doldrums with my packed lunches packing up on me, though I didn't admit it. The dual purpose of taking up the cooking project had been to keep myself occupied and earn something too. The need to be occupied was to fill the long hours of being alone. The need to earn was to satisfy my wants and little indulgences. But when I looked back I saw I never ever had to worry about my needs. They were always met. My prayers had never gone unanswered and finances had always miraculously been enough at the right time. I knew why the food project had died out and perhaps that is why I felt worse than I should. It made no sense to fret about it. The business of packing lunches was not all that lucrative but it provided a steady flow of cash which kept me independent in terms of supplying my wants. What ever the reasons were for that stream drying up, I was not going to dwell on it. The earning opportunity came without my asking and it went the same way. If I imagined there was nothing to occupy me, could I have been wrong? Perhaps there was something else I needed to explore. Or something I was already into that needed more time and dedication. Worry never brought me anything but sleepless nights and disease. When my hope is anchored in God, I simply need to continue my walk in faith. Why not? He's walked with me all these years, He's not going to give up on me ever.

 

 

Thus went the fortnight that was. When I shut my eyes I see mostly pretty pictures of that time. I am at a place of acceptance.

 

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The Joy of Simple Things

"Okay, let me tell you a story," she says. We were on Face Time and I was thrilled that she wanted to talk to me for more than a minute this time!

"I'm all ears," I replied tentatively, still not too sure that I'd have the pleasure of her 'royal' presence for a great length of time.

"One day Little Blue, Red Riding Hood was walking in the big black forest..." she began.

"Who is that?" I interrupted.

"That's me. I have a blue riding hood today. I have a yellow one too but it's dirty." It was obvious she didn't think much of my question as it was quite obvious why she was 'Blue Red Riding Hood'!

 

" Now who is going to be the woodcutter and who is going to be the saviour?"

"Saviour?" chips in her papa, surprised.

"Yes, saviour.....oh you can be the saviour papa! And you can be the woodcutter," she says pointing to her mom, "and who will be the Gramma?" she continues.

"I am the Gramma," I say happily stressing the "am".

"No, you're not," she says, stressing the 'not,' "she is the Gramma," and she points to a picture of her Nani, "you are the Big...Bad...Wolf!"

I was in splits. Could both of us be in the same frame without something interesting happening?!

I love being her Gramma even when it means that I'm the "Big, Bad Wolf" in Gramma's clothing!!

It's monsoon time in India and although I am not there I do have the pleasure of winter rains in Chile.We aren't experiencing heavy showers very often, but dark skies and cold moisture laden breeze in winter do a lot for the mind, body and soul. Walks on such days are so enjoyable and invigorating. Whatever time of the year, winter or summer, rain brings so many simple enjoyments of life. I do crib sometimes if it gets in the way of work, but how much can I crib when the aroma of pakoras and gulgullas frying makes me drool! Then of course there's the hot cup of tea...ginger or cardamom or just plain tea....I make myself comfortable in the sit-out and stuff myself with pakoras and sweet gugullas, sip my tea and watch the rain...lovely.

 

 

 

I have a tutor, 'K.' She's thirty-four, old enough to be my daughter and very sweet. She's patient with my stuttering, faltering speech which is ridden with abominable grammatical errors. She's encouraging no matter how often I display my total inability to recall what we did fifteen minutes ago. And God only knows how she tolerates my articulation which is a mixture of English, Spanish and French pronunciations gone wrong.

 

 

She doesn't mind my tea breaks and is equally pleased to drink Indian tea with me. It is quite a nice experience to be on the other side of the table in a class after being on the teacher side so long. I make lame excuses when I haven't done my tarea (homework) and fib when I want to bunk class! She sees through it all as any experienced teacher would and chooses to ignore it as long as I am enthusiastic about being in the class and learning...how much I learn is all about getting the 'horse' to the water. Whether it drinks, doesn't drink and how much it imbibes depends on the horse...and she has an aging mare to deal with! I sure admire her for sticking it out so pleasantly. But on a genuine note, I do enjoy my study session with 'K.' It certainly is one of my simple joys on this sojourn.

 

 

 

In India it is the norm to address a known elderly person as uncle or aunty, as the gender demands, and often even strangers are addressed by these terms out of a sign of respect. In bigger cities, these days, the norm has changed with shopkeepers, cab drivers and hospital, and office staff using 'sir' and 'ma'am' instead. However in the social context as with neighbours or general public, you become an uncle or aunt of all and sundry. Abroad one doesn't expect to hear it unless one is with a desi crowd,and then too only with non-immigrants. So, I was surprised when a young girl from this place asked if she could call me 'aunty' too, like the other Indian girls did. Why did it please me? I didn't give a second thought even when my domestic help, back home, called me aunty...it was expected and accepted. I suppose it was this very reason why her request made me happy...it was not expected, it was not the norm. It was a decision she made, for whatever reason, I didn't need to probe. It was enough that she wanted to call me aunty. Just another simple joy in my life here.

 

 

 

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Step #58

It has been some time since I wrote this. The first draft has been lying on my desktop, waiting...waiting...since May to see the light of day! In fact right after my birthday in May.

 

 

 

 

It was my birthday!

I woke up tired, still sleepy (we'd had a very late night) but so happy! I was with my family after a very long time. As I sat and sipped my tea, I reflected over the past years. I was up on the stairway to heaven: fifty eight stairs up.

It had been a long, arduous journey at times and I saw myself heaving up those stairs. It had been lonely; sad and painful. I sat down often and I spoke to my friend up there. I asked him things. Things I wanted to understand. But most of all I asked for strength to go on. He answered all my questions, but not always right then. Nevertheless, they were answered when I could best benefit from the answer.

 

 

There were days I had stomped up those steps seething with anger as the angry tears rolled down my face, because words failed to express my wrath. And in direct contrast there were those times I  skipped and danced up the stairway, bouncy and bubbly, singing or humming or whistling a tune. I also recalled simply gliding over the steps as if on wings...my heart was so light my feet barely touched the ground. That was the upward climb. But can a climb always be without its slips and falls?

 

 

I had stumbled on more than one occasion; I had even tumbled. Did that slow me, or make me want to stop and stagnate? No. The journey was never a problem. It was one I was eager to travel on; to move on. It wasn't one I would have chosen given a choice, with the benefit of hindsight. I doubt if anyone would, if they could peep into the future. So did I regret it? Did I regret the choices that took me on a sojourn of sorrow, pain, fear, abandonment and rejection? I can say with complete honesty, never. Perhaps in a moment of brokenness  I might have wondered if I had made a mistake in choosing the path I had, but that was never the final conclusion. With every step I advanced or rather crawled, that does sound dramatic but it was the speed at which I travelled, I realised I was on the right road. It was just that often times fear, insecurity or plain bad judgment, made me take a wrong turn or make stupid choices. I am human and I don't have 'super' prefixed to my natural state of womanhood, so I am entitled to blunder my way through! What matters is that though I might have strayed from the chosen path at times,  I returned and carried on regardless of the world and its opinions.


I would love to say, "I did it alone," but that wouldn't be true. I would never  have accomplished getting this far through major ailments, distress and grief, limited funds and less to rely on materially if it wasn't for God and my sons. But most of all it is because of my best friend Jesus, who watches out for me all the time, every time. I could not have done it then and I can do nothing now without Him. Though there was turmoil outside and I would grumble or get annoyed, inside of me there was a calm; a peacefulness, not the kind this world can give but the kind that only the Lord can give. I put every word in the Bible to the test. I put my God to the test and He never failed. I cast all my burdens on Him and He gave me rest. I carried my yoke and the burden was light. I was grateful and thankful at all times because there was always something to be thankful for. There were amazing moments, miracles, wonderful people, and unbelievable goodness from quarters unexpected...there were streams in the desert! From this gratefulness stemmed my joy. A joy that welled from my soul. A deep sense of contentment in any circumstance and love for my children; my family.


So on the fifty-eighth step, as I view the distance I have traversed and turn to move on to higher ground, I count the years and I praise God for His tender, loving mercies and grace. I am satisfied that as I have grown older and gained in years I have also grown up and gained in wisdom...and that process of growing up and learning has not ceased. I am still growing! Now isn't that something to be happy about!


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