Mud Baby

Fancy to find a mud baby

Rising out of the lotus pond;

His shorts and ‘tee’ stuck to his body,

His face, arms, hands, legs and feet

Were covered in dark, oozing mud!

Why there was a mud baby

In the miniature lotus pond,

I do not know!

He looked sad and listless;

Nothing could energize him.

Then a white fairy flew in

And held the muddy hands.

She carried him far away

To a land where no one ridiculed.

He was cleaned till his skin shone bright

And he wore white garments like the fairy

When he came back to his own land,

He shone above everyone.

The people were amazed

And they  whispered,

”Is this the ugly mud baby?”

”I am the same mud baby.

Now I am loved and cared for.

All the filth of ridicule was washed away

By the white fairy of love and her people.

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My Mother

In this world of realities, my mother was the beacon that led the way in my life.  From her, I learned the values of life.  A vessel of generosity, she opened the door to humanity.  She saw people as human beings, irrespective of rank and station.  She told me that the people around us were all children of some “mothers”, whether they were master or servant.  Welfare of others was of paramount importance to her.

She was always generous with food. People stopped by after the morning Mass.  They never left without breakfast.  She had a regular acquaintance for Wednesday lunch in honor of St. Joseph.

She always cared about the well being of her domestic help.  I have memories of her directing the girls about personal cleanliness.  She watched over them and directed them when they washed their hair.  She gave particular attention when they washed their clothes.

The mental wellness of those who worked for her was very important for her. She lent books and magazines for those who worked under her.

She never ate food delicacies without sharing them with her underlings.  If there was not enough, she used to cut them into smaller pieces to go around. 

My mother’s cooking was out of this world.  But she never looked down on others’ cookings. She taught me to respect the efforts of others. She discouraged me from looking down on them.

My mother was a natty dresser.  She was meticulous in pleating her clothes in the traditional manner.  Although  of a height of five feet, she knew how to hold a dignified stature.

She was a gifted natural singer.  Everyday our family sang at least two songs after the family prayer in the evening.  She came from a family that sang.  Her brother taught himself how to play several instruments and got together with his friends and had music sessions.  At home, he sang with his sisters and was the accompanist. My mother had cherished memories of her appearing on the stage as divine apparition of Virgin Mary and sang. We all inherited her singing genes at varied levels.

My mother was very neat.  Her housekeeping was excellent.  While she was in school, her teachers kept composition book on top when the District Inspectors came for assessment.  

 To me, Elizabeth Joseph was the quintessence of “ Mother”.

 

I Love You

Is it so hard to say,

”I love you”,

When a word, a sigh,

A glance and a quirky smile

Dance into memories

Igniting a warmth

And the heart takes a leap

To eventually subside.

Heart is so recalcitrant

That it cannot look

At love in the eye

And proclaim,

”I love you”.

Only when intense moments

Have passed,

Never to return

When time’s compass revolved

Leaving one with eternal loss,

And clutching at heart

To soften the ache.