17

Seventeen!!!

A sweet number.  Oh, not  my age.  Though I feel that way most of the time.  And I do sometimes behave like one.

At 5.25 am, 17 years ago, a nurse put a wet and squishy baby on my chest. I couldnt react.  I didnt even ask what baby it was.  No, I wasnt overcome with emotion to see my little one.  Infact, the nurse said to another one, please take that baby from her, she might push it away.  Actually i was in so much pain and was compeltely drained out to even look at the baby.

I remember swooning soon after that.

So it was actually a couple of hours later, when my dad came to me and said you have been sleeping (?) for a long time.  The baby is crying.  Thats when I looked at a wrinked, reddish and a cute little bundle wailing away and the glee on my mothers face told me it was a boy. 

I remember the 25year old girl transform into a woman, a mother, the time she set her eyes on this little one. and that transformational journey continues and I am so proud of being your mother Dennu.

It was this day, 17 years ago, yet another mother was born.

It was this day, this little one, taught me what parenting means,

It was from this day, I understood what my parents have done for me and what pains they have gone through for my sake.

It was this day, I realised nothing else matters in the world to me and my priority in life was just him.

and to this day, my journey has been great.

It is your birthday today Dennu, and  the day I was reborn as a mother 17 years back.

Love you baby and may the Lord watch over you throughout your life and while is  making you a better human being, let him also make me a better mother !!

Happy Birthday !!!

a meek SOS to you all

I realized that I have been wearing my heart on my sleeve especially on my blog – oh, it doesn’t hurt anyway. I only get encouraged, consoled, comforted with all the good words you folks got to say, and I may not say this as many times, but I am only too grateful to you all for the interactions, the love and the budding friendships that are emerging in this virtual space.

Ah.. I know I am getting all emotional, sentimental, lost and what shall I say.. in Doldrums? Okay, between you, me and the bedpost, let me tell you a secret.. I guess I am losing my marbles. ( If J was reading this, he would only exclaim, I am not surprised, I knew that 18 years ago )

So, why am I beating around the bush. Let me cut all the crap out and tell you all as to why I act so funny ( and this was the main reason, I dare not write a post for some time now).

Okay folks, you know what? My little one ( well, no so little though ) is writing his board examinations. The examinations are going on right now.. Yes, his TWELFTH GRADE BOARD EXAMINATIONS!. And there are a few, okay a lot of butterflies in my stomach and I am all knotted and twisted – truth be told all worried. There is no reason to be, as Sonny boy, unlike his 10th standard exams is doing a lot of stuff on his own and is focused. But you know, I am a Mommy and I guess mommies (some of us atleast) are made this way.

And I stepped into the blog today to tell you all to say a little prayer for us, yeah US. For Sonny boy to write his exams well and a l’il prayer for me, so that I don’t lose any more of my ..er.. em.. marbles :-) :-)

Longest hour

6th February 2013.

It was yet another ordinary Wednesday. Except that J came home pretty late from work the previous night and I was half asleep when he reached. Was a bit surprised that J was still sleeping when I woke up as I knew he had an flight to catch early that morning. I woke him gently and asked about his trip and he sleepily said that he trip was cancelled.

Since the slightest sound wakes him, made sure I tip-toed the whole morning when I went anywhere near the bedroom and he woke up only around 8 am. He came to me holding his lower tummy saying I wonder what it is but I seem to have pain here. I was checking about what he ate the previous night suspecting flatulence. Mornings are generally busy with working couples and we didnt have time to discuss about it more and I didnt check either.

While dropping me off at work, I felt his face was different from usual, so I asked him if he was fine. He had a grim look and said it is getting late for him.

Lunch time – I open my lunch box proud of making the lunch without help from J, and wondered if Sonny boy ate the lunch completely. I took a bite and wondered if J liked the Stir-fry I made. It was almost as if he read my thoughts – my mobile rang and it was him.

The way he called me, I knew something was amiss. There was a pause – so I asked him if he was okay. No answer. He asked me if I was free, and I told him I was having lunch, but tell me, I said, bit more worried. That’s when he said can you come to Adyar, I have terrible stomach pain. a bigger pause.

The world around me blurred. Like you see in movies everything around me was in robotic voice, including his voice over the phone. Where are you? I checked. Malar Hospital, Emergency room. My lunch friend looked at me and asked if everything is fine – I was closing my lunch box and said in hushed tone J is not well I need to go.

J and pain – not to be mentioned in the same lines. If I fuss about a miniscule bruise for a week, he is the type who would bear pain without any fuss at all. And so I know if he says it pains it must be really really intense.

I was still on phone - J who speaks normally in super sonic speed was talking so slowly that I knew he is in terrible pain. I was checking with him if anyone is with him, no answer and I heard the line disconnect.

My workplace is Ambattur (closer to Anna Nagar) and Joe’s workplace is Santhome, two corners of Chennai, roughly around 25 kms. Given the traffic diversions for the metro rail that is coming up it easily takes more than an hour.

I cannot describe to you what I was going through during that travel. I called J’s cousin who is kind of closer to this hospital to reach emergency at Malar. I was so restless. I could not even pray. I counted all the numbers on traffic signals just to distract myself. The events of the last night and the morning was going all over. I brushed every thought aside and kept myself blank. 57, 56, 55, 54, kept counting the numbers that were reducing at every traffic signal. I watched the moving traffic like a zombie. people were fading in and out of my vision.

It took an hour and 15 mins to reach the hospital – The longest one hour of my life thus far.

I ran into the Emergency ward and saw J dosing off. Shirt pulled off the trousers, shoes off. I put my shivering hands over his hair and he opened his eyes – the pain is okay now, he said. By then doctors came with the ultrasound and scan reports. It was a case of kidney stones.

We was on a heavy dose of pain killers. We had to admit him for a day to make sure the dislodged stone is out. J is now back to work and has even resumed his official trips.

I still shudder when I think of that call and that longest one hour of my life. I could only thank god that his official trip was cancelled that day and he made it safely to the hospital ( My brave man walked out of his office and drove on his own and just managed to bring the car to an halt in front of the hospital and staggered into the emergency where he could not even lie down due the intensity of the pain. While driving more than a couple of times he wondered if he will pass out.)

I truly do not know how to thank God for guiding us through this day.  Everyday now, we do not miss out on the litte niceities of every day life.  Every single day looks like a big blessing.

When did you grow up?

School bag slinging on your shoulders
You call out “Bye ma, Bye Pa”, every busy morning
I feel my heart walk out of me
Behind you, to make sure you are protected.

I see time slipping through my fingers
My little one stands taller than me today
A fine young man in the making
Like his father, maybe.

Your smiles welcomed me home as a toddler
Hugs and kisses and the need to be in my arms
Talking dime a dozen and wrecking havoc
With all the hyperactivity of a dynamite

It broke my heart to let you sleep alone
And it shattered me when you told nightmares
About the dark man in the corner of your room
Dragging your Pink Panther along in the middle of the night.

Homework, projects, studies, exams
Tennis, swimming, Karate, Cricket, falls from bicycles
Cuts, bruises, mischief, friends, crushes and our little conversations
I didn’t realize the years roll by

Today, I melt at the sight of you help me carry heavy stuff
Or when you put a protective hand around when we walk together
And when you ask, you want any help, Mamma?
Do you see me momentarily frozen in time?

In a couple of months’ from now
You will grow out of that school uniform too
And I am still wondering stupidly
When did you grow out of my arms?

Vincy Joseph

Mindless Prattle

I cannot perceive with any certainty
The frequency of your calls
that you make erratically, once in a blue moon

While I want to squeal in childlike happiness, I act casual
As if its just another random call
Although, its the most important one of all

Your voice is invariably calming
Sound of your laughter, my best medicine
And I value you immensely.

I hang on to every word, every sound
Like a rappeller hanging onto the rope
For it makes the difference of his life and death

I am heedful of every word that escapes me
For you are one who’d catch the simplest nuance
And have the ability to get under my skin

It’s all in the mind
And I end up cherishing
Even the silence in our conversations.

In spite of all precautions,

I plunge into mindless prattle
Capitulating to my vulnerability
and you catch me at unexpected moments

Yet, I may not utter any of these in our conversations
Lest I may unleash the sprite in you
And your devilry would be too complex for me to handle.

Vincy Joseph

p.s This poem is dedicated to a close friend, who is a busy entreprenuer, a globe trotter, someone who is a online social networking recluse.  My telepathy with this friend, surprises me to no end. :-)

Its that time of the year - our Anniversary !!!

This is what we told each other today, when we woke up.

18 Years!!! That’s half my age ( well, I missed an almost there ). Yet, Unbelievable.

When we started we never thought we will make it to this many years. Now that we survived the marriage without killing each other all these years ( yeah that was a possibility just with the remote of the telly), we are determined to make it as difficult as possible for each other – oh that does not deter us from living together for another 18 more years or more.

You know what, how ever hard I tried, I could not come up with a mushy mushy post today, but the fact is that 18 years still baffles both of us equally.

Okay Jokes apart, please observe a two minute silence today at 11.00 am.

And what did you think? That silence was for our 18th Wedding Anniversary?

No way. You got me wrong folks. Today is Martyrs day and the two minute silence was for our “Father of the nation”. To know more about Martyrs Day in India, go here..

I am a little disoriented with all the excitement of 18 year completion. Here is a man who grew a beard just because his wife loved men with beards, gritted his teeth and smiled when his wife cut her hair short, when he actually likes long hair, makes sure she is never alone in the kitchen, puts up with her channel surfing and watches all the crap that she watches patiently, allowed her to dream and made sure she is independent and a lot more.

I feel blessed today.  I am sure he feels the same too.  :-)

Inheritance: minus the Joy !

After  Ammama’s  demise in the month of November 2012, the world looks very different.  Even today, I cannot think of Ammama, without tears welling up and a huge lump in my throat.  Ammama is my moms mom  - The maiden visitors of my blog can view my writings about her here, here, here and here.

I was one of her favorite grand children,  ( I was the second in the list, I guess :) ) purely because of being a big chatterbox.  I would score definitely higher in that compared to all her other grandchildren ( she has 13 of them). I was also the only one probably to show affection openly, I would hug her, kiss her and when I sit next to her I keep holding her hands.  That was my way of connecting to her.

picture taken sometime in Jan2012 

There was one other thing I used to do – Earlier when Ammama travelled to cities where her children lived,  my mom and her siblings were against her wearing her traditional Mekka Mothirams.  These are unique jewelry worn by Syrian Christian women of Kerala starting from the 18^th century or so.  They are moon shaped ear jewelry  made of Gold worn on the upper cartilage of  the ear.  I have heard from Ammama that her ear was pierced when she was a little child and she used to wear  Mekka Mothirams when she was  barely 3 or 4.

She got newer and bigger ones for her marriage ( at the age of 13 ) and later in the 70’s or so my uncle changed and made them smaller as they were really big.  She wasn’t very happy about that. The Mekka Mothirams are very close to ammama’s heart and she always thought that she looked better with them.  So when her children protested to her wearing it when she was travelling,  ( purely for reasons of safety), her  heart sank. 

I loved Ammama, with or without the Mekka Mothirams but since I knew she liked it, I used to argue and fight with her children ( read my mom and uncles) to allow her to wear them.  One of my logical reasoning was that there is no one in our family who would ever wear a Mekka Mothiram and so wherever she is, she must be allowed to wear them. She is our cultural representative.  Most of the time  they gave in to my arguments and allowed ammama to wear it.  Of late, when she travelled they did not bother removing it. 

After her death, we have the 7^th day and 41^st day ceremonies in the church and at home.  I was so touched that  my older uncle and his wife stayed on at the Tharavadu, to attend mass and offer prayers at her cemetery daily for the next 40 days after her demise. Not many children would be willing to spend this kind of time for a deceased parent. After her 7^th day ceremonies, before most of Ammama’s children dispersed,  the family felt it was right that that I be given her Mekka Mothirams.  (Ammama was always a giver and she had so much to give all her children even after her death).  

The Mekha mothirams 

The Mekka Mothirams truly look strange to me now, because all I can see is an Ammama shaped void in between them. Its so painful to  look at them  and today I mustered the courage to bring them out and photograph them to tell you  the tale of Ammama’s Mekka Mothirams that I have come to inherit.  

New Year Post

2013 has arrived and we are already 10 days into the new year – nevertheless its not too late to wish you all a “A blessed New year!”

2013 brought my biggest dormant fear live. Couple of days into the new year, the 12th standard public examination Time table was released. I am sure you would want to know - 1st of March is when the exam begins. Me tensed ? worried? No you have it wrong. I am petrified. What a way to begin a year I say!

The last month was worse, if not bizarre. One of my cousins in her early thirties was diagnosed with cancer, and had to go through an immediate surgery. Before all of us cousins, got out of that shock, another cousin, a little older than me, had a heart condition that needed an open heart surgery. Unfortunately, she swapped some medication and ended up with a blood clot in the brain and had to go through an emergency surgery in her head before the heart surgery. How weird can it get?

Another young cousin, had to go through a simple gynaec surgery. She is the type who is scared of even an injection, and was very worried about the surgery. On the day of the surgery, all arrangements made, the nursing assistant called her name, and there she went – swooning down. Her pressure dropped and had to postpone her surgery. Her surgery was successful, initially, but she developed some complications later and had to come under the knife again, within 3 days of the first surgery. Poor soul. My maternal uncle had to go through an heart surgery second time, due to complications, an unexpected one again.

A close friends father and another friend’s mom ( at least this one I got to hear later) were in the hospital as they suffered heart attacks. All these in the month of December, keeping us on tenterhooks.

So many families in the hospital, more than wishing each other Christmas we were taking updates from the ICU’s of various hospitals across the country. More calls were made to comfort and console each other.

Christmas was nothing but sober. Ammama, is still on all our minds and hearts, and after all this growing up, many of us feel orphaned without her. :-( a new year without Ammama - I need to get used to this.

The positive thing about 2013 is all my unwell cousins, uncle and friends’ parents are out of ICU’s, recovering well, back at their homes. So, after all the dark black clouds, time for the silver lining.

A grandchild is on his/her way – My sister is expecting a baby. Dennu, is going to be a real Big brother. My parents would be seeing a baby feet after 10 years in the family and they are more than thrilled.

My wish for you as we traverse through this year, 2013, is this - strength for the day, Rest for the labor, Light for the way, Grace for the trials, Help from above, unfailing sympathy and undying love. Godspeed.

Was at it again....

yep, yep.  I was at it again.  ahhh.. the quilling, I mean.

Today is Anita's birthday. I have written about her many times in my blog before and truly consider her a blessing. 

Quilled this card for her, which took a little over 2 hours ( my timing has improved ).  I saw her eyes fill with happiness though she had a bunch of things going on in her mind.  She was in Chennai as her father was unwell and came visiting, not a great situation to be in. 

So, here is a peek into what I did for her on her birthday.

Close-up view of the card

The inside of the card with an extempore verse for her!!

The quilled card with pearl ensemble.

Does my Geisha look good?

While I may have to take the expert help of my blogger friend Ramesh in finding if this image is that of Japanese Geisha or a Chinese Geisha, I thought I will reveal to my dear blogging community the making of Geisha -  efforts I had put in completing my latest glass painting that I started sometime back in September. Though I completed the painting some time end October, my grandmom’s demise held me back in putting this up. I just couldn’t bring myself to put this up last month.

I am still grieving, the pain is better and has turned to something that I can handle. I should thank my Joe for listening to endless stories of Ammama, which I kept blabbering late into the nights and the poor soul was making a true effort to be awake and to listen to what I was saying inspite of arriving home late from work most days after his crazy schedules. What touched me the most was when he decided to abstain from eating non-vegetarian food for 41 days after her death, which normally children and grand children do. I went ahead and cooked fish which my mom-in-law loves, and when he saw me not eating that, and knew the reason, he quietly abstained from eating that and all other non-veg stuff.

My blogger friends, let me tell you the comments that you put up for comforting me, was truly helpful – I cannot tell you how many times, I would have read my post along with each of your comments – If I can handle my pain, your words had a good part to play. Gils, Ramesh, RS, Bins and Nancy, my gratitude to you all from the bottom of my heart.

I also had friends listening to me, calling me up and comforting me during this grieving period. There was this friend from Delhi, who called me all of a sudden one day and just asked me how I am doing. If I am okay – just that. (She rarely calls me) Sumai, I still hear the concern in that voice. How absolutely loving. There was another friend, who had so much to tell me about what was happening in his life, but chose to listen about Ammama patiently and only yesterday in my conversation I had figured out that. Many such calls and messages of comfort.

So, here is a quick preview of the step by step progress of the glass painting of a Geisha ( a traditional Japanese / Chinese entertainer) carrying flower pots.

Intial stages of the painting after the outlline and some layers of crystals

The earlier glass paintings I attempted used only paint and glass as medium, whereas now, I attempted the painting with crystals - the Geisha's dress is made of crystals and glass paint. Compared to my earlier paintings my timing has improved – was able to complete this much faster. ( thanks to my art teacher, Sujatha)



Close up view of the crystals



Just to prove - I really did the painting :-)

another view of the crystals

The final completed picture

I am trying my luck now with another form of painting - Keral Murals.  Oh yes, I will keep you all updated.

Did I really do that?

I walked into an art supplies store today to pick up some art supplies (obviously – what else can you pick up from there). Just realized that I needed something to enhance my spirits and I know art is something that truly can uplift my soul. That reminds me I need to put up a post on my completed glass painting as I had promised in the post here.

Since I dropped into the store after work and I was a wee bit delayed, I was, kind of  in a hurry to complete my purchases and get back home to my son. I had not planned for this trip in the morning and thought I should finish picking up the art stuff quickly. As usual the art supplies brought in the much needed excitement and even the names of colours that I was reading out from the list that I had, Prussian blue, Sap Green, Chinese white, Gaurboge hue was giving me the adrenalin rush and I was making multiple sales people get me stuff at the same time. Completely involved in the whole process.

Amidst my running around the store, I heard a childs laughter in the background. Crystal clear, sharp and quite focused. Remember I was busy, so I didn’t have the time to look at the child, I went about my business of choosing my stuff. Burnt Sienna, scarlet lake, Crimson my list was rolling … Happy with the progress, I was now hurrying up the sales people even more. Then I needed to choose my canvas and the measuring and cutting  was delaying me further.

Through the corner of my eye, I saw the father of the child carrying the little one and the little one was obviously happy at being in the store. The art supplies store also had some toys and they were asking for some specific type of Gun and in the background again I had the child squeeling about the toy he had asked for. The sales girl had just told them that specific toy was available.

I continued with my lists, was checking if I had all the supplies in place, circling the ones in my list, that the store asked me to come back later, and I heard the child say, again in the background – “ I also know to speak in English, wasn’t that English you all are speaking?” The child was saying this in the local language. I still didn’t look at the child.

Jus then the store owner walked in and started speaking in Malayalam and I wasn’t keen on wasting time, so I kept to my English and less of Malayalam so that my business will get over. The child spoke again – “But I do not know Malayalam” in a crisp voice. Now I really didn’t have the time it was getting delayed, my 15 minute business was taking more than 40 minutes.

So I was hurrying up the billing guy to finish up my billing. Just then the father muttered something to the child, while interacting with a salesgirl, and they both left the shop.

My billing was going on and one of the sales girls was telling the billing person “Did you notice that the child was blind in both the eyes”?

The world stopped around me for a moment. I hadn’t noticed. I was so involved in myself that I didn’t bother looking at a small child who was blind. The child was sounding so happy chattering away and here I was only bothered only about “ ME”. The sales girl continued “he is studying in the first standard and sounds so intelligent”

I could have spoken to the child, told an hello, shown some care to a little one who cannot see. I was so engrossed with myself and all the little messages of a simple child just didn’t touch me – they were so close, so clear, and yet I was deaf and mute to all that.

Somehow the laughter and voice of that little one continues to ring in my ears, reminding me of how I need to move the focus away from myself and take time to look around at what life has to offer :-(

G.R.I.E.F

I realize grief is a damn intense, yet complicated emotion. I have always thought that crying is the epitome of my emotional outpour. Today I realize it’s the smaller pains that get soothed by tears. Grief in contrast is a stronger misery, a gnawing ache that just refuses to get past.

I knew I loved my Ammama, a lot. When I heard she passed away, there was this kind of numbness that descended on me – no tears, no pain, just disorientation. This news was expected – in fact, I have been praying for her easy passage out of this world. We all knew this was coming, though her last moments were almost out of a best seller novel / movie.

I have written about Ammama here and here. She was a well built, tall and strong woman both physically and emotionally, a rustic. The photograph of her here must have been taken 4 years back, at 90 then, almost all her hair was still black and she could read without glasses :-0. Her world was Chalakudy town, her house and the church. She toiled in the house as if there was no tomorrow or as if there was no end. She would listen to no one – she continued working till she was around 90. After my grandfather passed away in 1995, shortly after my marriage, she had the audacity to live in that century old house alone for more than a decade.

That was the house where she was the first born child – after her ( my grandmom's) marriage, she had moved out of the house to my grandfathers house. For lack of a male sibling in her family, when the property was divided, she had the boon of getting the house and the property adjacent to the house while her two sisters got a bigger share of land. My grandfather was nothing short of a Casanova, happy go lucky fellow, a stark contrast to my grand mom and his wayward ways lead them to sell all property on his name in Pudukad, and my moms family moved into my grandmom's Tharavad (ancestral home). So for a brief period, 20 years or so, in her 94 years she did not live in this house, otherwise, all her life, she lived in this house.

The house, a traditional tiled one with a Kalam ( used for drying & chaffing paddy when farming was done in a full fledged manner), Thozhuthu ( Cowshed), verandah’s on all sides of the house and a Kaiyala ( which houses the abode of the karnavar, head of the house – my grand dad had a separate room ), used to be spick and span– she knew every tile on the roof, every piece of wood, furniture, utensils and every nook and cranny of that house inside out. Every grain of sand in the property will call out her name and every tree there would have been nurtured by her.

In my childhood, I knew no holiday resort other than this house. Even today, there is no holiday that can come close to the time that we cousins have spent in that house – roaming around this house, playing I spy and other games, eating, fishing in the pond, climbing trees, swinging, tending to Mangu ( our buffalo), praying, watching rain and most of all being loved to the core. There was a peace that transcended on us while we were there along with a strong sense of security. We didn’t have a care in the world that would affect us when we were there.

Her typical day started at 4.30 am when she wakes up, makes her kattan kaapi ( black coffee), gets her kanji (gruel) ready and by 6.00 am, she is off to the church for the Daily Mass. There is a specific place where she keeps the keys ( on top of the main door – which all her children, grand children and Great children knew) and she would never miss her Daily mass for whatever reasons. She might not sleep the entire night if we were coming from Madras, ( we were her favourite Madrasile makkal, children from Madras) but she would have gone for Mass at 6.00 am. She knew her priorities.

After mass and breakfast she goes out into the property and her life started there – watering the plants ( we had a lovely garden), clearing the weeds from different patches of land, tending her vegetable gardens, coconut trees, planting new ones, making sure there are enough fruits and vegetables for her children’s rare visits – she was prepared to host her 6 children, 13 grand children and families any time. Evening prayers were at 6.30 pm and she was off to sleep by 7.30 pm. She read newspapers regularly but scarcely watched TV. This schedule goes topsy turvy when any of us go there – she made sure we were all fed well.

Looking back, we all went there multiple times in a year. We went there for weddings / baptisms / house warmings and other family get-to-gethers. We made sure our arrival, departure and night stay was at Chalakudi, with her, in the Tharavad. I earnestly had wished I could spend a week there at Potta, with her and not go anywhere else. Never happened. She waited without a whimper of a complaint and whenever we went there, she was over the moon. We continued to be mesmerized by the taste of her culinary skills as I had described here. She unfailingly made oulose podi and unda ( a very keralite snack and sweet which every malayalee will be familiar with) whenever Joe visited her, as she got to know Joe liked them.

Content with her life, she never noticed that she was becoming frail over a period of time, we could see that – that’s when her youngest son, my uncle in Chennai with great difficulty convinced her to move out to live with her Sons in Bangalore and Chennai. She did that so reluctantly.

I remember spending time with her whenever possible while she was in Chennai and she used to worry about no one taking care of the house – she used to be agonized over her coconuts being stolen and the house going to the termites. It was later we realized to our shock that we are losing her to Alzheimers. To a point that in her last days she could not recognize most of her children and grand children. My poem on her here describes that.

On 31st October, my dad called me and said that she is not keeping well and my uncle was planning to take her back to kerala. I started immediately at around 10.00 pm to visit her and spent time with her. She could not recognize me and it was as though her memory was stuck on two names – all men were Johnson and all women were Annie. She repeatedly called me Annie. She kept the index finger and thumb together like a mudra / yoga posture and every 2 minutes told people around her to put the imaginary rosary on her neck. I did that multiple times on Wednesday when I spent time with her – told her to sleep and kissed her good night before I left her that night. Like a baby, she said okay to me and slept.

The next day my mom and uncle were taking her back to her house in Potta, Chalakudi, the house she was born, like how my uncle had promised her when he brought her out of the house initially. On her way, in the train, she woke up in the morning, had her morning cuppa and 45 minutes before reaching home, she just simply left all of us, without a word, without a moan. This was on 2nd November, all souls day and everyone called her a blessed soul in the church fraternity. Blessed she is, I know.

It was as though someone had planned all this. The house was clean, surroundings cleared of weeds,  for her arrival and none of us knew the house was getting ready to bid farewell to its longest resident.

All of her children, and grandchildren were able to attend her funeral, barring the one in Germany and my sister who is going through her first trimester. All her 4 great grand children too had been there for her. My son is her first great grand child.

I stayed on that night with my family and my cousins, aunts and uncles together ( like old times) after funeral. I saw mirages of my grand mom around the house. I could not sleep a wink the night. The house was colder, number, and lacked tenderness that I had experienced all these 42 years. Nevertheless, like when I was a little child, whenever, I used to leave my grandparents house then after our summer vacations, we told our farewell ( we used to say Tata) to the furniture, walls, trees, even the window railings and everything that you can imagine in a child’s fantasy. I did that this time too, may be for the final time, went around without being noticed in a crowded house, I touched everything possible saying a silent bye to my beloved house, and everything in it, with a pain that was consuming me, gritting my teeth.

From now on, its not my grandparents place – for the most important people of the house are no more, they are just memories.

P.S:

I continue to be disoriented a bit, hence the long babble. Putting it down in an attempt to get it off my chest. Thank you for reading and sharing my grief.

One last time

Finally,
I had to make that trip
that I had dreaded all along
to my beloved ancestral home
One last time.

To see you

Sans smile, Sans warmth

Sans movement,
Sans that rare flash of memory
A lifeless body.

Rest in Peace, Ammama
In your new abode.

Yealikutty Augusty ( 1918 - 2012 )

P.S: My Mom's Mom, Ammama, passed away today, 2nd November 2012. Please do pray for her souls repose.

A sweet revenge

I am a proud mother of a teenager - There are moments of  Joy, happiness, fun, laughter, Pride along with ample moments of apprehensions and frustations.

Nancy from reflections mentioned aptly in a comment for a post, that Teenagers are given to us to test our mettle - how true!!

My teenager has developed this aversion to face a camera and ever since he turned a teenager, the moment I turn around to click his picture and at the nick of the moment he will show a poky face into the camera and  I have ended up with a good collection of them. If I am not taking his picture, he will spoil the frame by putting his hand and all I end up with is close up of his palm.  If he clicks his own pictures, he keeps such a serious face, with twisted eyebrows to show that he is a tough guy.

I tried to sweet talk him out of  practice, and employed multiple other tactics to get him out of this but it was all in vain.  Sometimes, he would listen so nicely to me, just to come up with yet another funny face when i look through my lens next time.  I had almost given up on him and as Nancy mentioned in her comment again, I just grin and bear it.

One of these days, Dennu came to me and said, Can i use facebook for sometime?  ( Its been a strict rule that he gets to use the net only under parental supervision ) :-)  Ten minutes into his break time, he nudges me and says, Ma do you have any pictures of mine to put up in my Facebook profile?

This was an god sent opportunity that I have been waiting for years.  I took him through the multiple folders that I had of his numerous pictures over a period of  some years, with all those funny expressions and he was flabbergasted at the array of his own expressions.  and I asked him which of these would you want to put up and he realised he didnt have much choices.

On top of that I added saying on your wedding day Denno,  I am going to put up all these pictures on a ppt and show it to all the freinds and relatives and your new bride about how you have tormented me thorugh your childhood and that will be my sweet revenge on you.  We had a hearty laugh about that together.

Much to my surprise the next time I took pictures ( I take pictures all the time, by the way) I saw my son behaving so well and facing the camera with his most handsome smile.  

Here is a picture of him doing something he loves with rapt attention.  he knew i was taking this picture, but chose to continue with it.

But I realised he has not forgotten his old habits, when I went on to click this picture later.

Whats life without some good humoured pranks?

Serendipity

Guess what my most often made trips are?  you will be surprised to know. Infact, I astonish myself most of the time taking these trips. 

Oh.. not the ones that any of you have guessed - they are my nasty guilt trips. ( a result of conjured up imaginations in my idle mind )

As a working mother I beat my consience to death most of the time with these guilt trips about how I have not been able to spend time with sonny boy when he was young and I fight these ghosts in my mind quite often.  I have never been home (unless i am sick, in which case, there is no point being home - I normally take off when I cannot even crawl out of my home for work)  when the little one came back - he lived his entire childhood school days in a creche' (thankfully we found a decent place near home).  And i silently whack myself in my thoughts  if his performance is not upto the mark or for that matter anything to do with him.

So, when he was in Std X, I took a whole 45 days off from work for his exams and spent time with him.  Not that he enjoyed it, but to me it was Manna from heaven.  So much time with him making sure he eats, not get  distracted, working with him on his study schedule and taking breaks along with him, pepping him up and trust me I knew the entire 10th grade study portions.  No I am not exaggerating.  I knew it so well actually I wanted to write the 10th grade exams again.

Sonny Boy though thinks otherwise.  He says I tortured him to the core, never allowing him to sleep or to be on his own. He once had the nerve to tell me, Mamma, the way you tortured me, I was thinking I should not write what i know in the exams so that i fail in one subject. ( just to teach me a lesson) 

Ahhh...  My Jaw dropped when i heard that and I was wondering if I overdid my part during his exams that he had to feel this way.. Thankfully no such thing happened and later once ( just once) he did mention vaguely that he got whatever marks he got because of me too.. :-0.  and also very meekly confessed to me that he studied only during those one and a half months.  That does not change his opinion on my torture though.. I am in complete awe of him that he managed to get 80 percentile in his exams just by studying during those one and a half months.

Anyway, Sonny boy has grown up a wee bit more now, responsible and with hubby dear strictly against me sitting with him for his studies, has been on his own in his 11th and 12th grade.  With a change in school, ( he calls his school a substation of central Jail) things are looking up. 

With the 12th grade final exams fast approaching, ( March 2013), surreal tension is mounting for me. Oh no my son is as cool as a cucumber, hubby dear tells me not to sweat  the small stuff - but to me, everytime I think about his final 12th grade exam a little storm builds up in my head.  there is a knot in the pit of my stomach, which I try not to show to anyone at all ( except to you all).

Last week, after adequate preparations to sound cool, I casually asked Sonny Boy,  By the way, Dennu, do you think Mamma has to take off from work for your final exams?  Do you think it will help? Fully hoping an over dramatised " No Mamma ...  Pleasseee dont....." .. coming from him.  I was a little taken aback by his unusual silence. He then told me, yeah ma, I think so.  It will help, so that I wont get distracted.  I wont need you to teach me or to work with my schedules, but just be around here".

I wanted to run to him give a huge bear hug and dance with him.  I did none of that - I hid my astonishment and told him "Yeah baby, I will check if I can work from home" as casually as possible, amazed at my ability to hide my emotions.  Inside I was jumping for joy and  did a 100 sommersaults and felt like I atoned my purpose in life.

This is what I call Serendipity folks.  Do you agree?

Letting go!

I look at the vanishing moon
Amidst all the stars
In the night sky sprayed with them
And am reminded of our friendship

Do you realize it hurts
To remember there was a world
That was just ours
The conversations, fun, pranks and laughter

I know you are moving away
Slowly yet steadily
Intuitively I realise
I am allowing it to happen

Its not easy for me
To let go of you, my friend
You have given me so many memories
To cherish. But yet

I will continue to let the drift happen
Cos if you do not belong to me
Its better to let go
Than to pin you down.

Just want only the best for you
to be happy wherever you are
And if you really belonged to my world
I know you would be back.

Vincy Joseph

Art Attack

I get this periodic pangs of art attack and I indulge myself completely in it. The Quilling that I started earlier and described here, is one such example. I still cannot pinpoint a single reason for these sporadic afflictions, but that does not steal the felicity out of my attempts.

I am yet to figure out how I started glass painting. I had not gone for a class, not seen anyone do it, no I did not watch “You tube” either. I honestly do not remember what inspired me to pick up the material for Glass painting but I just did it. I only remember it was 10 X 10 inches glass and I was impressed with myself when the painting was done. I wanted to frame it and gave it to a person whom I knew did the job.

He took a unprecedented time for a simple framing and when I was losing my cool, more so because of the anxiety to see the final framed painting, he apologized saying that he had framed it in his workshop which was also running a glass painting exhibition of his daughter, and someone bought it for 2000 INR. I didn’t know if I had to feel good or otherwise. He offered me the money and I somehow could not accept it – this was around 8 years back. I couldun’t sell something that I did passionately. That fellow felt so guilty especially when I refused to take  money he gave me two of his daughters' glass paintings, which I still have.



J laughed at me saying “ how in the world do you believe all these stories that others tell you? “. His theory was this, he has either lost it or broken it and knows I would blow my top off if he says so, and hence he gave me this reason. He made you feel so good with this reason, that you even refused the money he offered. Anyway that painting wouldn’t sell for that kind of money. and ended that statement with a sarcastic  HA HA HA. Till date he stands by this theory. Maybe he is right. But wait he might be wrong too.



The Painter and the Painting - Circa 2005

I didn’t lose heart and proceeded to complete this one on the right. I did it on my own – no tutor / no tutorial. A critical hubby is my only proof. This was in the year 2005.



I do remember this though about the painting. I was completely stressed out doing my part time MBA and had a hectic job ( in which I had to learn, innovate, be creative and also travel) and with hubby in Manila for almost one semester and had to manage home and the studies of a Vth grade dynamite.

I started this after my, I guess 3rd semester exam. The painting took atrociously long time and I got totally passionate and involved in the painting, the satisfaction of which acted as a great stress buster. I remember doing this late into the nights after sonny boy slept and had to hide this from him lest he may spoil it. (this takes some time to dry)

The next one was this.



And was done after I completed my final exams and project of my MBA. It was cathartic to say the least – Kind of transition from all that maddening schedules and studies into a different world. I should say, finally all my hard work paid off both with my studies and my painitng. I didn’t dream that I would be the class topper let alone an university Gold Medalist in my MBA.

Both these paintings  had a very prominent place in our earlier home though they are carefully packed and stacked away in our apartment now. Didn’t want to drill holes into immaculate walls of our rented apartment.



Ahhhh.. Just got carried away with my past. I have joined an art class now and I started with a glass painting that includes crystal art. And you know what, it pays to have a Guru. :-) My art teacher taught me a couple of tricks that helped me to complete the outline that I earlier took around 5 to 6 hours in just say one and a half hours.

I am all excited and am waiting for the next class already. I wanted to tell you, all about this when my painting was done, but I could not hold on till then.. :-)  Silly me.

From the backyards of memory !!

Every now and then life throws everyone these jolts that makes you sit up and take notice of yourself, people around you ,the environment, the past and probably the future. These jolts come in the form of pleasant stuff and there are times when it is not so pleasant.

The last week I had a mail out of the blue, I didn’t recognize the mail id, it was quite cryptic starting with a SEG, which didn’t make sense at all. I was in half a mind to delete thinking it was spam, but reasoning prevailed, guess my intuition perked up and I opened it.

Surprise is an understatement here – I should term it Delight or may be even Ecstasy. My school mate and a dear friend had sent that mail and I wasn’t ready for the pleasant surprise.

A year back I had written about Networking sites and their small mercies in life and how I found this really long lost school friend here . I remember her asking me, “ Vincy do you remember how you used to hide birthday cards in my school bag a day before my birthday? And I used to wait to reach home to search my bag for your card” :-) funny I used to do that, why I wonder - I could have given it to her on her brithday...Yeah I did remember that when she nudged my memory.

I opened the mail and scanned the contents to be taken to the backyards of my memory.

It all started with quivering lips. I blinked hard to stop the wetness escaping and before I realized I was at it again – getting teary eyed. ( I am a world class crier and I seem to be one person who can cry at the drop of an hat. I am much better these days and thankfully do most of the crying in private. Its very cathartic.)

Let me tell what was in there – ML, my friend had scanned a hand made birthday card that I had given her when we were in high school. That’s around 29 years back :-)

I cannot imagine that she had preserved the card for close to 3 decades, a simple birthday card I had made, but definitely with the innocence and love of a teenager for her best friend then, – she stayed in hostels, moved multiple times, travelled, married and inspite of all this she had it and I hadn’t known.

To know one is loved  and valued this much, is a mammoth blessing. Moments like these pales everything else in life into insignificance, temporarily atleast. Humbled and speechless.

Here is the yellowing card, defying its age and let me stop before I get any more emotional. :-)

Stirring up Memories - Sept 8th

The Catholics across the world would know the specialty of 8th of September. It is the birthday of Mother Mary and I am a staunch believer of Mother Mary and that’s not the only reason for this day being special for me.

18 years back when my father was all anxious and making sure that his daughter gets married off to a Prince Charming who matches all his conditions, ( Yep, my father had a huge list of conditions, which could be fodder for a separate blog post in itself), a distant relative came with a proposal that kind of evoked some interest in my dad. Mine was an arranged marriage and friends who knew me then, swore on my Dad, that I will never get married looking at his conditions.

Well, my father managed to get me married and was successful in finding a guy who matched 80% of his expectations. Poor Joe, well poor me too – We are victims of my dad’s scheming or so we contend :(

Digressing from the topic that I begin to write has become more of a habit – Don’t be surprised, I am a proud Gemini. So back to the topic.

So it was on this fateful day 18 years back, Joe and I set our eyes on each other at a common friend’s wedding.

Ahh now don’t come to any conclusions – I guess Cupids missed their focus at the moment we saw each other so no arrow hit any of us, both of us never had any inner voice telling us “ This person will be your eternal foe”, I guess our intuitions went on a vacation that day ( probably together that’s why we were married), no seventh sense telling us, we would be man and wife.. no ESPs, no choirs giving a background score .. absolutely nothing.

I remember looking at the bachelor Joe and thinking .. hmm he looks a little fat( ofcourse he was, he was a good 20.5 kgs heavier than me!) but looks good.. that’s it. The relative who laboriously planned this meeting came to me and said, Vincy, that’s the boy have a good look at him. I remember replying with my nose up in the air, Ask him to take a good look at me. After our marriage Joe tells me he gave almost the same reply to my relative when told to take a good look at the girl.

Two utterly egoistic adults, perfect ingredients for an recipe to make an explosive marriage. After all the customary nuances of an quintessential arranged marriage we were married on Martyrs Day. Irony all along. We are still deciding who the martyr is amongst us :-)

We have had our fair share of battles ( oh what is a marriage without that), our ego trips (big time) and temper tantrums, but somewhere down the line, we fell for each other ( not the head over heels kind, but still the falling happened luckily in the initial days itself). We are not a “ romantic “ couple, we are very practical, but at the end of the day bury our little differences to make sure we give our son a happy family. We still fight tooth and nail, hold our differences of opinion, try ignoring each other ( never works more than some hours), but these last very short periods in time as years go by. We now have more grey matter outside our heads and guess wisdom prevails.

We are not the type to call each other every now and then, but I cannot focus when I know he is driving long distances on work or otherwise. He does not read my blogs but I make sure that I read it out aloud for him, kind of thrust it on him, ( a few of them atleast) and I realized he loves it, when one night he brought me Dale Carnegie’s book and asked me to read it aloud.

I don’t think we adore each other ( or do we?), all I know is this - In the simple chores that we do in our everyday life, Love blossoms every now and then and I guess that keeps our marriage going. We both have come a long way from our egoistic adulthoods, and I cannot think of a life without him.

So you see, it was on this day, September 8th 1994, I met my “Hero” and yes it is special :) :)