The shacks in front of our apartment are now empty. They used to be occupied by migrant laborers and their families. Nearly twenty people lived contentedly in these huts until the corona crisis changed everything.
It is the seventh day of the COVID-19 induced lockdown in India. A lot has changed over the last week.
The shacks in front of our apartment are now empty. They used to be occupied by migrant laborers and their families. Despite the lack of basic facilities like water, toilets, and electricity, nearly twenty people lived contentedly in these huts.
My balcony overlooks this area. So, I would see them every day as they went about their daily tasks.
Eight children, all of whom were below ten years of age, used to live there. Sweet, innocent kids. They would smile and wave whenever they spotted me in the balcony and say hello when we passed each other on the road.
These little boys and girls have big hearts, sharing whatever they had with each other. Whether it was a packet of biscuits or a toy that someone gave them, they would share it amongst themselves. They would also feed all the stray cats and dogs with whatever little they had.
All was well till Covid-19 arrived in our city. The 21-day lockdown was announced and their parents were forced to stay home. It meant that their pockets were quickly becoming empty. Meanwhile, they were all cramped together in the limited space, under the scorching summer sun.
On Friday morning, I noticed that the whole community was unusually busy. The children were dressed in their best clothes and the mothers were coaxing them to eat well at lunchtime.
One of the little boys noticed me in the balcony and waved. He pointed towards his cat. Since he would often do that, I thought he was just showing me something interesting. Later, he called his sister and they both waved at me. I waved back as usual.
Later that night, a mini truck arrived on the main road. I saw the whole group pile their belongings in and board it. That’s when I realized what the children had been trying to convey—that they were going away and were leaving their cat behind. They had waved goodbye!
My first reaction was that of relief. I was glad that their parents wouldn’t be faced with the ordeal of finding food for their families when they had no jobs. I was relieved that they wouldn’t be cluttered up in the limited space where social distancing was impossible. I felt that the children would be safer in their village, where Covid-19 hadn’t reached till now.
But not anymore!
The news reports have been full of harrowing stories of hundreds of migrant laborers stranded in the middle of nowhere. Those who reach their villages are denied entry, even stigmatized for coming from cities where the rich brought the deadly disease. It is not just the virus, but also hunger and heat that they must now battle.
Could my little neighbors be in a similar situation? I don’t know and have no way of finding out whether they are safe. While I throw tidbits to their cat, I wonder if my little friends have had their meals or are hungry.
I realize how insignificant our problems seem to be in comparison. We have enough food to tide us through the coming weeks and comfortable homes to stay safe in. All that we must worry about is not becoming sick. But it isn’t the same for the families on the streets.
I just hope and pray that my little friends are safe. Till they return unscathed, I will remember how they excitedly waved goodbye, blissfully ignorant of the challenges that lay ahead.
Stay safe little ones, wherever you are! I can’t wait for the day when you will be back and we can greet each other once again.
I have never equated temple visits to holidays. As far as my experiences go, visits to temples have mostly involved rituals of waking up at odd hours and standing in long queues to attain brief glimpses of deities for mere seconds.
However, our last trip to Kudajadri turned out to be incredibly different and the journey of a lifetime.
Ever since we discovered that Mr.D suffered from traveling sickness, I have never looked forward to journeys involving rough roads. So, when the husband suggested visiting Kudajadri on our trip to Kollur Mookambika temple, I naturally resisted.
Thankfully, he didn’t give up and convinced me to give it a try.
We reached Kollur on a Sunday evening and stayed at Mahalakshmi Regency, a hotel that is conveniently located just opposite to Mookambika temple.
After an early visit to the temple next morning and a quick breakfast, we were ready to travel to Kudajadri by 8.30 a.m. At this point, I must mention that the journey to Kudajadri can only be undertaken by jeep. So, our family of four joined a group of 6 others for the 21 km ride.
As I climbed into the dusty and rickety Mahindra jeep, I was reminded of the jeep rides I’ve been on as a young girl, being squashed and hurled in all directions on rough rocky roads that led to remote locations where distant relatives resided.
Suddenly, I felt nervous and unsure of my decision.
With our fellow travelers
Nevertheless, we set off. The initial part of the journey was uneventful. We shared introductions with our fellow travelers and the children kept track of the numerous hairpin bends along the way.
The jeep flew across at full-speed, with our macho driver pulling on his khaki uniform and slowing the jeep only when we passed police check-posts.
Half an hour into the journey, we stopped for a brief chai break after which we began the journey uphill.
I quickly realized that the road was worse than I had imagined. It wouldn’t be fair to even call it a road for it was rather like a rocky kutcha path framed by boulders and stones. On the four-wheel drive, the jeep just kept swaying in all directions, tossing and turning us within it.
As I clung on to the overhead crossbar for dear life, my kids heavily crashed into me from either side.
The husband, as usual, had perched himself precariously on the edge of his seat, trying to capture the journey on his camera. I wanted to tell him to stop, but it was too noisy and he looked too excited. Pretty certain that he would either drop his mobile phone or fall off his seat, I decided to let him be while desperately trying to keep myself upright.
Despite all the commotion, I couldn’t help noticing the beautiful scenery outside. Even as we climbed up the red roads in a dust storm, it was impossible to miss the lush greenery on either side.
Forty-five minutes later, we reached the foot of the hill and mustering all my strength, I dragged myself outside. As I stood there trying to stop the ringing sound inside my head, the husband announced there was no time to lose. There were three main spots to visit and our driver had set the deadline for 11.45.
Beginning the climb to the top
So, after visiting the minor deities, we quickly went to the temple that is believed to be the “origin” or “Moolasthanam“ of Mookambika. Unlike the majestic temple in Kollur, this was a modest shrine with a very small sanctum and idol. The priest told us the legend of how this temple came to be.
“It is believed that Goddess Saraswathi, the goddess of knowledge and wisdom, had agreed to follow Adi Sankaracharya to Kerala, where there were no temples dedicated to her. However, she presented the condition that the saint shouldn’t turn back and look at her till he reached their destination.
When they reached this exact location, the Goddess decided to play a trick on the holy saint and silenced the sound of her anklets. Sankaracharya turned to check whether the goddess had abandoned him. Since he had turned around, the Goddess refused to budge another inch. This would be where she would rest. Thus, a shrine dedicated to the goddess was constructed here.”
After paying our respects to the Goddess, we started our journey to the Sarvajna Peedam at the top of the hill. This is the location where Adi Sankaracharya is believed to have received enlightenment.
Being late March, it was unbearably hot. As we followed the marked path, we found ourselves on a remarkably beautiful hill. Looking down from the edge of the cliff, we could see the blue mist create a shadow that revealed the hazy outlines of green farms and trees.
We continued our climb till we reached a point where the path split into two. A fruit vendor directed us to the Ganapathi Guha, a nearby cave and landmark site. This tranquil spot was quite the sight—a serene idol of Lord Ganesha, nestled within a rock and decorated with beautiful hibiscus flowers.
Way to Ganapathi Guha
After spending a few minutes there, we continued on our journey to our final destination—the Sarvajna Peedam.
Almost at the top
It was again an uphill climb. We had already exhausted most of our water supply and it took us a good ten minutes to finally spot the small shrine that we had come so far to find.
Finally, at the Sarvajna Peedam
As relief flooded my mind and body, I found this simple structure to be strangely beautiful against the sunlit canvas of blue cotton clouds. It was a very small and compact little temple made of stone, with the inner sanctum containing the likeliness of Adi Sankaracharya in soapstone.
Sri Adi Sankaracharya idol at the Sarvajna Peedam
I sat there, feeling exhausted after the arduous climb, while the children explored the vicinity and ran up and down the rocks with fervor and unlimited energy.
I would have given anything to just sit there and stare at the scenic background. But the clock was ticking, and we had just 20 minutes to get back to our jeep.
So, we slowly started the descent. Although easier, there were areas where the rocks were slippery, and we had to be cautious.
I fell behind with my usual luggage of water bottles and snacks that I routinely carry on such journeys. Meanwhile, the boys and the husband ran several meters ahead of me. Although we didn’t stop anywhere, it still took a good 20 minutes to reach our jeep.
The ride was just as bumpy on the return, but we were all too exhausted to be bothered by it. The boys even dozed for most of the journey. We were back at Kollur just in time for lunch and after a brief nap, ready for the next leg of our journey.
Thus, our visit to Kudajadri ended on a happy note. I don’t know if it was the roller-coaster jeep ride, the divine serenity of the hilltop or the trials of trekking in a sari, but I was strangely enthralled and joyous.
I am glad we had the health and energy to accomplish what we set out to do on this trip. And I must say, the husband was right, this spell-binding location and the no-frills journey will always be part of my happiest memories of all time.
5:15: The alarm buzzes. My reflex kicks in and I automatically put it on snooze for 10 more minutes of uninterrupted sleep.
5:20: Jolted awake from a deep slumber…why didn’t the alarm ring yet, did I oversleep? Phew! It’s just 5:20. Might as well wake up now. Perhaps do Yoga for 10 minutes.
5:30: Water in the kettle, milk on the stove and coffee ready in a jiffy! What a great morning!
5:40: As I brush, many things run through my mind….suddenly jerked back to reality by a short hiss from the kitchen! There, the milk boiled over. A big mess to clean! Forget Yoga, that’s too far-fetched anyway.
6:00: Stove burners on full throttle. The pressure cooker squeals. I hope it doesn’t wake the boys. I frantically chop vegetables and chuck them into the pan just before the oil starts smoking. It’s a marathon, and I am awestruck at my multi-tasking abilities as I sip on my coffee! Yuck, it’s cold…it must be warmed.
6:30: I quickly iron the uniforms and fill water bottles. Suddenly realize I forgot to switch on the hot water. On the dash to the bathroom, I stop briefly to adore the cute sleeping faces of my little boys. Back to work.
6:45: Time to wake the boys. Mr.D won’t as much as sniff his glass of milk since there’s a layer of cream on it. Grumbling in vain, I run it through the sieve and pour it again into cups. They manage the rest.
6:55: It’s bath time, but where did the children disappear to? They’ve fallen asleep again. The yelling starts. As I drag Mr.P to the bathroom, Mr.D erupts into tears. Precious minutes are lost, but they are finally taking their baths.
7:10: The brats refuse to come out. Second round of shrieks start. Finally the drenched children are bundled in warm towels. They watch me as I set out the numerous parts of their school uniforms in order.
7:15: The uniform war begins. I tell them ( and myself) they must learn to wear it themselves. But they’re frustrated with all the hooks to get the belt through, the impossible tie knot and ID card that doesn’t stay put. Finally, I give in. Two minutes later, both boys are fully-dressed and rush to have breakfast.
7:30: 7 food containers to be packed. I work out permutations and combinations in my head and plan the food distribution, so nothing spills or mixes. Meanwhile, complaints from the boys permeate the air. “ Why does he get more sugar?” “ We don’t like this, we want bread for breakfast tomorrow.” I turn a deaf ear to all this din and struggle with my calculations.
7:45: Mr. Husband appears, he can’t find his socks. He once again warns me that my prime responsibility as his wife is to ensure he has clean socks everyday….it’s good he reminds me of my priority tasks every other day! In a minute I fish it out of the pile of clothes I haven’t had time to fold yet. Meanwhile the boys argue over a pencil. They decide to battle it out. As long as their uniforms stay intact, I am not bothered about how they sort out the issue.
7:55: Mr.P holds up the lift and the husband scurries out with school bags on either shoulder. Mr.D is busily examining the inside of his shoe, apparently reading something he has just discovered there. The husband announces they won’t make it to school on time. I stuff the little fellow’s feet into his shoes and send him out. He looks distraught. In no mood to cajole him, I just say goodbye. Finally they are off, a wave of relief sweeps over.
8:02: The calling bell rings, it’s Mr.P who has forgotten his lunch box. I rush out with it, yelling at him for being irresponsible. So much for the peace and calm, the mad mother is back! He decides its better to take the stairs than listen to my lecture while waiting for the lift.
8:10: I barely straighten out their room when the man of the house returns. We eat breakfast in silence, me mulling over what I seem to have forgotten, and he buried in his mobile. Oh, my coffee! That’s what I’ve been trying to remember. Leave it, there’s no chance of rescuing it now! I’ll hopefully have better luck tomorrow!
8:30: The husband’s left and the house is all mine. I decide to sit back and relax for few minutes before I log on to work. And there goes the calling bell…The husband’s back, forgotten his helmet! I silently murmur, “like father, like son!” and close the door. Peace at last!
Sometimes I wonder how much we take our lives for granted! We part from friends and family with the promise of meeting soon, whether it is the next day or after a while! Do we ever stop to think that there is always an uncertainty associated with such promises? Well, if things continue as it is, what could possibly go wrong to keep us from our intentions?
But there are times in life when this optimism is eroded and I hesitate to say goodbye with the promise of meeting again.
Last week, my friend passed away; someone young in the eyes of the world! I’d met him few months ago, while he was undergoing treatment for his fatal illness. After spending some time together, it was time to part ways…and I was lost for words. My husband nonchalantly commented that we would meet again the next time we were in town, and he nodded in agreement. All I could do was imagine how wonderful that would be, although I knew it was a remote possibility.
Saying goodbye is very difficult, especially when we know the other person doesn’t have much time left. However it is often inevitable. We try to be hopeful with our words, even when we are aware of the reality. It is nonetheless uncomfortable, just like when we must listen to a dying person mention that he may not be around for long or complain about having suffered enough. Do we respect his comments, openly refuse to accept it or just ignore it? It is never easy, and I still don’t know how to appropriately handle such situations.
Such harsh realities and unfortunate twists of fate at least temporarily diminish our optimism, but face it we must! For these jolts re-affirm that everything in this universe is momentary, unpredictable! Over time, we will shut these thoughts away and learn to overlook the past. But right now I am forced to worry a little more about what is in store for those I know. And most importantly, I am eternally grateful for all the times I have been able to keep up my promise of meeting those I love, again!
Today is a day that will go down in my list of important lifetime events. This is the day my boys, Mr.P and Mr.D are both at school at the same time, and I am alone and without either of them at home for the first time in 6 years! And, it is silent…eerie and quiet….and I find myself checking the clock more frequently than I should, to find out how much longer before I can have my boys back!
I’ll be honest, I’ve been looking forward to this day for so long…..especially since I’ve been spending every single day and night with the kids for the last several months, without a break. With moving house (in our case, this means we’ve once again shifted to a new country and started from scratch again!), and having had to home school Mr.P for the last six months while I worked simultaneously, it’s been crazy….my husband has probably lost track of how many times I’ve told him this is the last time we move, ever!!
So, I was eagerly waiting for this day to dawn, when I would have all this time to myself..when I could actually read an article aloud without being interrupted (that’s Mr.P who wants to know the meaning and interpretation of every sentence), to have my breakfast in one go (without having to take Mr.D to the washroom twice or even thrice, in between) and to take a nap without being tugged awake with an “Is it time for you to wake up yet?”, just as I was beginning to drift into oblivion! I adore my kids, but mommies do need a break, and I don’t think fifteen minutes in the shower on the weekend while the kids pound on the door, qualifies as one.
But, as I whisked both kids away to school today, I realized something has changed forever…I felt this dire need to prolong sending them off, so I could keep them with me for a little longer…. and as both boys hugged me hurriedly and smiled goodbyes, it looked like I was the only one feeling sad.
So, my little ones have taken off …. leaving me to my empty home and hours of loneliness! And I look at the clock going ticktock…One hour gone! Three more to go!
It’s been ten years since my father left us, and it is mostly the painful last moments that rock my mind as the day of remembrance approaches. Pain over the loss of a dear one will subside over time. The agony of the loss is severe over the immediately following days, and then as the frequency of memories dwindles, life seems normal. However, when those memories raise their head again, it is in painful succession and scorches our consciousness with their intensity.
Cancer is the worst enemy any human can have. I haven’t known a man with stronger willpower than my father, and yet he too helplessly succumbed to its grip. I try to shun those images of him with his hair falling and his inability to walk from the pain caused by disease. I try to replace them with fond memories of my childhood when he was happy and so were we. But it’s those terrible pictures that always reappear. Cancer is an all-encompassing devil, one that I pray never crosses my path again.
I do not want to dwell on those dark years. Instead, I want to celebrate his life, and remember him for the high-spirited, jovial person he was. So, here I run through the pages of my memories.
Papa had an eventful childhood, being the eighth of nine children. His playmates were his nieces and nephews, some of whom were older than him. He used to tell us about how he would miss school to accompany his father when he went to collect his pension, and I think of how awkward it sounds.
He left Ponani, an old village in Kerala, at the age of 17 for the bustling city of Calcutta, where he worked during the day and studied through the night. Before long, he completed his graduation and left for Bahrain. As children, we used to listen to his accounts of long train journeys across the country, of roadside meals, and how he later traveled to various countries across the globe…today, I am awed by the courage he had. I never realized the challenges he must have faced to embrace the great world he never knew. For a little village boy to end up as a manager at British Airways, his growth was phenomenal. His ambition and inclination to make it big would have been immense.
Some of my earliest recollections are of accompanying him to the library. Papa was an avid reader and book collector and would return from his trips every time with at least a book or two for us. He was also a full-blown atheist, seeking reason behind anything supernatural.
During my teenage years, we often had our arguments. We would quarrel when he wouldn’t approve of my friendships or the way I dressed. It amuses me today when I recall how conservatively I dressed, while he wanted me to be more fashionable. Isn’t it usually the reverse? When I opted for engineering there was a lot of resistance from him saying I should choose literature and not science.…but he finally gave in to my wishes. Ten years later, I realize the wisdom in his words. I have long since lost my interest in machines, the novelty in technology doesn’t interest me, but literature still fascinates me.
Papa spent years rebuilding Padmalayam, the house where he was born; from preparing the blueprint to hauling bricks and painting the walls. The house breathed of his effort and love, and I was often counted among the workforce on my weekend visits from college. It was like camping and while taking a coffee break from work, we used to discuss ideas, change measurements and redraw plans. Living on the construction site, we would barbecue fish on a brick fireplace he’d designed and save the bones for the cat he’d adopted there. He wouldn’t turn out any animal, and there was a time when we had as many as 12 cats to feed at home.
He also taught me a very important lesson, that it’s alright to break free and go crazy once in a while, without worrying about perfecting everything. We thus painted part of the roof bright pink and together enjoyed it every time someone frowned at it.
It was soon after the work was completed that Papa was diagnosed with cancer. I loved that house, but the memories and the sadness that followed broke loose each time I saw it..the thought that he would never be there again was overwhelming, so it was best that the house had to go.
It is difficult to sketch a lifetime in a page or two. His spontaneous jokes and laughter still resound in my mind. Not a day passes when I don’t remember him. The emptiness I felt when I saw his heartbeat still and the flooding of loss when the realization that he would never return finally sunk in…it still haunts me!
However, the limited time we had together has gifted me with a lifetime of memories. His grandchildren never met him, and only know him through me and my brother… But it thrills me when I occasionally see flashes of my father in them, in what they do and say…..Those things tug on memories, bringing a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes, but joy to my mind too….for my Papa continues to live, through all of us!
Till few years ago, traveling on long flights were no big deal for me; I would watch a couple of movies, or read a long book till the destination was in view…but, not anymore! Enter an active toddler into the equation..the whole story changes.
There was a time when I wondered why people found it so difficult to travel with kids. My elder son, Mr.P never caused any trouble during the umpteen journeys we took across the continents. I know that my younger one, Mr.D is more boisterous and fun-loving..but I always thought that if we planned a trip well, and took all the necessary precautions to keep the little fellow entertained and hydrated throughout the flight, it’d be a breeze.. Well, now I know! He’s taught me what an adventure globe-trotting can really be.
This mother is eccentric about planning even the tiniest details—to the extent that it irritates the man of the house so much, that he stops paying attention to what I say, weeks before we travel. Before he went into this shut-off mode, I had convinced my husband to book a night flight for the long journey from UK to India. Based on hours of extensive internet research, I was pretty certain that our little boy would sleep through the journey while I watched movies and took short naps.To keep him entertained during his waking hours, I’d packed an activity bag with his favorite books, toys and stuff.
So much for all that research and planning..believe it or not, Mr.D hardly slept at all. Rather, he decided to make use of this time bouncing on the seat and summoning the air hostess by tapping on the remote every time he took a break from this activity. With meal time, he discovered the tray table and then decided to master the Open-Close mechanism on it. He spent the rest of the journey fishing out life jackets from under the seats and aiming stuff from his activity bag at the passengers in front.The little guy had to be forcefully held in position while he screamed his head off during take-off and landing because his clever little brain had figured out how to remove the seat belt even as I strapped him in.
By the end of the ten hour flight, I was totally sleep-deprived and exhausted. As luck would have it, our connection flight was delayed by 3 hours, allowing Mr.D to nap during the wait.He woke up refreshed and energetic just in time to torment me again on the next leg of the journey. The rest of the details are all fuzzy as I had lost most of my mental abilities by then.
Dad wasn’t remotely affected by any of this, in fact he’d say it wasn’t too bad! After all, he was busy snoozing away in his “conveniently” far away seat and took charge at the airport when the little fellow was sleeping like an angel.
If traveling on long-haul flights is fun, try it with a hyperactive toddler—it wouldn’t take you too long to realize why moms like me dread vacations! Wish there was a check-in option for naughty toddlers….or else for moms! I’d prefer to snooze in the luggage compartment any day, than go through this madness again!!
Child abuse is a horrendous crime, and every child is vulnerable.The recent incidents prove that school isn’t the safe haven it is supposed to be..abusers will roam unrestrained even as institutions provide them access to innocent little children. Here are my thoughts on what parents can do to Prevent incidents in the future, rather than punish the abuser after the crime is over.
I recently happened to read an article on “The 15 Things You Don’t Owe Anyone At All (Though You Think You Do)”. You can read it here.
One of the points “You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your physical appearance.” got me thinking of the million times I’ve been urged to explain why I look the way I do.
Well, I’ve been thin forever, though not “unhealthy” as some people choose to call it.
Like most thin girls, I too have borne an unfair share of teasing and nicknames at school. I’ve lost count of the times elders have advised me to increase my food intake and dress to look plump. More recently people have begun commenting on how I should look more like the mother of two children (Now, when did that become more important than taking good care of the kids?).
The funniest part of all this is that I’ve never felt unhappy about being thin..I was born this way, and I count my blessings every for being emotionally and physically healthy. I am satisfied with what I see in the mirror and wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder!” I am reminded of this every time my son mentions how beautiful his mom is and tells me that he likes that he looks like me!
But, this obsession with size, will it ever end? Wouldn’t it be better to overlook a person’s physical characteristics, stop body-shaming them, and look at the numerous other positives they possess? Imagine how beautiful and pleasant every day would be?
Now, for those of you who continue to be at the receiving end of snarky remarks, a small piece of advice–just let it slide. If someone doesn’t like how thin I look—it’s their problem, not mine! If anything needs to change, it is their petty outlook!
Does how thin I look worry them? Well, their insensitivity bothers me to the same extent…I guess we’re even!
There are many moments in life, when I have wished life had a pause button. Such moments are magical, and they are what memories are made up of…
The smell of the damp earth during the first rain—magical and mesmerizing, as little droplets of water run down the roof and into little puddles…and everything around shimmers and glistens. The cool air dances with electricity, as deep dark skies are illuminated with streaks of bright lightning flashes. Hiding under the bed covers as thunder rages through the night, and searching to make sure mother is nearby.
The last day of school, when it is time to bid adieu to dear friends. Promises are exchanged to keep up and stay in touch. The sudden feeling of loss and anticipation of how things will be changed forever, intermingled with the relief that this chapter in life has finally concluded. Gazing back at the school grounds, as the realization dawns that this will be the last time that we walk out of the gates in our uniform.
Returning home from college, and watching my four-legged friend rush to greet me even before I reach the gate. The unconditional love that excited him, and made me feel extra-special.
Walking through the doors wide-eyed and worried about what lay ahead in the first job interview. The thrill of finally being there, but the fear of whether what was rehearsed will be remembered. The excitement when the selection list has my name, and the unreal feeling that this is actually happening. Pinching myself to check for sure.
The happiness of finding love. The joy of discovering the person to spend the rest of my life with. The dreams that are shared as we hold hands and begin life together. New experiences, challenges and arguments that follow, and the tears that turn to laughter when they are recollected later.
The awe of meeting my newborn for the first time. The bright eyes and tiny fingers of the perfect little person, that is my own. The endless hours that are spent gazing at this precious child, and realizing that this is true happiness!
Sapna Jayaram 