Carol

On Christmas day she was born

And Carol she was.

She caroled into my life

And filled it with musical notes.

She filled life with melodies

And her happy notes filled my life.

Her golden locks wafted merrily

At anyone she came in touch-

Her children, her spouse,

Her friends, her students,

And anyone else 

Who wandered into her life.

Spreading her music,

She passed through our lives

Like a comet that streaked through,

Blazing its tail!

 

 

Tale of Jason

Life is not easy for everyone.  Sixteen year old elf Jason firmly believed that.  The Christmas Season was approaching.  Santa Land was going to be a busy hive.

Jason worked in the toy train and car workshop.   These were popular gifts for younger children.  That means that the production scale was large.  Each elf was responsible for large quantities of toys.

Jason was very concerned with due reason.  Recently he had found that he had a hard time staying awake.  Normally, he was always seen with a winning smile.  But, his face showed a worried look.  How was he supposed to fulfill his quota of toys?  He looked at the heaps of toys other elves had completed.  He sighed deeply.

Santa always kept a watchful  eye on his young elves.  He took great care in nurturing the budding talents and natures.  He believed in positive reinforcements.   He had been watching Jason for a few days.  He noticed that something was bothering the young elf.

On one morning, Santa sauntered up to the toy train workshop.  He stopped at Jason’s  work table and listened to the deep sigh.  He decided to address the issue.  He asked, “ Hi, Jason,  is anything the matter?”

Jason raised his doleful eyes.  He had the most beautiful eyes.   They were sad now.  Another deep sigh escaped.  “Santa, I am having a hard time in making my trains.  I feel drowsy all the time and I am not able to finish making the trains.  I am worried that I am going to fall short.”

Santa’s smile was kind.  He wanted to energize Jason.  He sat next to the young elf and said, “Jason, I have an idea.  I am going to a make a contraption that will keep you awake.  Then you will be able to finish like the other elves.”  Then he left leaving behind a hopeful elf.

Evening came and the sun was reaching the horizon.  The elves were putting their works away and leaving for home.  The workshops were closed.   Santa quickly approached the toy workshop and entered it after unlocking the door.  He turned on the lights and walked towards the cupboards where all the spare parts were stored.

Santa chose a very strong string, a pulley and a 5” bell.   He attached the pulley to one of the rafters of the ceiling and pulled the string over it.  One end of the string was over Jason’s worktable.   He attached the bell to the end which was pulled over the groove of the pulley.  He pulled the unattached end of the string and seconds later heard a satisfactory “ping”.   He found his contraption satisfactory.  With a smug smile, he closed the door and left the workshop.

Next morning, Jason went to his desk and sat down.  As usual, he began to feel drowsy as he started to work on attaching wheels to a blue train.  Suddenly Santa was by his side and casually said, “ Jason, I want you to try something.”  He pointed to his contraption and tied the string to his right hand.  He pulled the string and suddenly the bell tingled.  He said, “Every time you fall asleep, your hand will drop pulling the string.  Then the bell will ring and you will wake up.”  Jason  yanked the string and the bell tingled with a clear tone.

Everyone resumed work and soon got used to the tingling of the bell periodically.  Jason noticed that he advanced in completing his task.  The number of completed toys kept going up.   Soon the competitive edge of Jason’s work became well known. The constant smile on Jason’s face bore testament to his success.  The beautiful smile was back.

Sunsets Heartaches

Cattails threw shadows

Into placid stream surface,

Gleaming at the setting.

Beak to beak crooning,

Floating on curvy waters,

The swans patterned heart throbs.

From the west oozed

Burnt orange blaze, and

The waningred red glow

Silhouetted life’s moments

In earnest molecules.

And in pallid seconds,

In the midst of the angst of torment,

Between the demented heaven

And the heartbreaking earth,

The struggling soul gasps.

I am Fortunate; I am a Reader

I am fortunate.  I had opportunities.  I became a reader for life.

Hamlet equivocated, “Words, words, words…”.  Words fascinated me.   All around me, there were details.  I needed words to express them and to store them in memory.  Curiosity overcame me.  I needed words to express what I discovered.  Printed words opened a repository of words.  Here I found my treasure.

My childhood till the seventh year of my life was spent in a polyglot world.  We lived in Mangalore.   At home, we spoke Malayalam.  To my dismay, when I started schools at five years of age, the medium of instruction was Karnataka.   I was not aware that I would be immersed in an unknown language.  In the Catholic church, the payers and sermon were in Konkini. My older sisters often spoke in English which they learned in higher grades. My Mother spoke to the domestic help in Thulu.   Words surrounded me.

My family moved to Kandassankadavu, my parents’ hometown.  Everyone spoke Malayalam.  Students started English in fifth grade and Hindi in sixth grade.  Kandassankadavu is a rural community situated ten miles west of Thrissur, the closest city.

I grew up listening to stories.  I had four older sisters. Annie and Baby were avid readers.  There were five sisters and one brother.  When the young ones were sick, the older sisters were responsible for entertaining them. Most of the time, it was by telling stories.  Annie and Baby took over this job.  They were both great storytellers.  I was exposed to fairy tales, Arabian Nights tales,  Pancha Tanthra fables, Aesop’s Fables, Bible stories and many others.   Cinderella, Snow White and Seven Dwarfs, Little Red Riding Hood, The Three Bears, Hansel and Gretel,  Shaharazad, Ali Baba, Sinbad, Aladdin and others became alive.  They also read stories to us.  They showed us comics and explained the dialogues.   Thus I came to know Phantom, Mandrake the Magician, Flash Gordon, Br’er Rabbit , Curly Vee, and so many others who came into my world.   I became impatient about waiting for someone to read stories and tell stories.  It became imperative that I read.  The change in medium of instruction did not deter me.   

Unlike the other households in our village, my home had various reading materials.  There were English and Malayalam dailies, Reader’s Digest, Mathrubhumi weekly, and Catholic publications such as Mary Vijayam Sathya Deepam, Amma, and Catholic Digest.  Astonishingly, the village had a Reading Club.  It subscribed to several periodicals and magazines in both English and Malayalam.   The Hindu, The Mail, and The Indian Express were the regular dailies in our house along with Mathrubhumi, Deepika and Malayala Manorama.This was wealth indeed.  Many American and Indian publications entered this Club’s collection.  It had hired a courier to take four publications to the houses of the members on Mondays and Thursdays.  Thus, a family could read eight periodicals every week.  It was a real hustle to get your hands on one when there were more than one reader.  Publications such as Life, Today, Span, Illustrated Weekly of India, Kala Koumudi, Jana Yugam, Shankar’s Weekly, etc. became familiar friends.  Only later I realized that not many of my contemporaries had this privilege.

Mathrubhumi weekly was a veritable source of all levels of Malayalam writings and translations of classics from other Indian languages and foreign languages. In my younger days,  I read “Adventures of Tom Sawyer”, “Treasure Island”, “Horrors of Dracula”, “Sherlock Holmes” stories, etc. In Malayalam.  

In sixth grade, I read my first English book, “Adventures of Robin Hood”.  After that, there was no stopping me.  Jane Austen, Dickens , Mark Twain and others became very familiar. I asked my sister’s advice about what books to read.  There was a copy of Jane Austin’s “Emma” in the house.  I read it in eighth grade.  It was a struggle.  But I wanted to leave a mark on my reading life.  I found many books left over by older family members.  

I was lucky that my school was my neighbor.  The Sisters of the Carmelite Congregation ran the school.  They were very friendly.  The Headmistress, Sr. Corsina, encouraged my reading and used to lend me the new book arrivals.

The Kerala syllabus of those days included many English, Malayalam and Hindi classics in prose and poetry whether in school or college.  In the younger grades, the English books were abridged to make it easier for younger readers.  So the language retained the purity unlike the simplified versions.  Thus I was in the company of Shakespeare, Austen, Dickens, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Keats, Swift, Shelley, Coleridge, Stevenson, Mark Twain and Milton to name a few. College curricula in those days emphasized Humanities.

College opened the door wider.  Even though I majored in Mathematics, my college did not offer much in graduate studies.  I elected English Literature and my reading widened.  Studying became a hobby. Later, my marriage took me to the USA.  I managed another post graduate degree in English.  The public libraries in the USA are its best feature. I thrived I in reading.

My life can be put in a nutshell as the product of reading.

Not Yet

It is not yet time for “Good Bye”

When I have not fully loved and lived

With every fiber of my being stretched,

Thinking every thought

And feeling every emotion to the utmost.

Let me not step into the wintry days

Sans life and sans color.

I yearned my heart to leap

At every glance, at every touch;

I craved the glow of love

To envelope me snuggly

To feel the warmth of love.

“Wait”, my heart spoke

And I held my breath

Before the death knell of “Good Bye”

Drowned me for ever.

Summer Girls

Summer slipped in

Taking stealthy steps

Lagging behind nippy May

Which cool-caressed cheeks.

The sun began to linger

Making days longer

And humid air

Pearl-beaded foreheads.

The light-washed scenes

Brought warm-colored thoughts!

What a joy it was

To watch summer girls

Waltzing in

To parks and picnics

In their floral-print dresses,

Wafting their flutter sleeves,

And dripping sunlight in their smiles.

The ubiquitous bird-watchers

Stood by gleefully,

Sighing in deep satisfaction

While the elderly reminisced

About the bygone summers

Of spent youths.

My Stout Heart

Oh, my heart

Was so fragile

And brittle like crystal.

So easily broken

By an unkind word

Or cruel gesture

That could scratch

Or even crack!

I hid them.

And wore Teflon

For the world to see

An unscathed mien.

But deep within my tender heart

I felt the wounds.

Yet, covered they were

From probing eyes

Concealing all the hurts

Showing to all the world

An unbroken facade.

Time, in its inimical fashion,

Passed unhindered,

Not seeking palliatives.

The heart lived-

Albeit stitched  and patched-

Unlike the crystal

Surviving as a whole

Surviving sturdily 

The buffets of time,

The thorns of relations

And the cruel ills of society,

Declaring to the world,

“I have lived

And have grown stout”.

After Freeze

Cold bit my fingers

In the flurry

As I scraped ice

From windshield

And windows.

I blew hot breath

Into frozen fingers.

But it was pain

That pricked through tips

As blood defrosted

And began to flow

As feelings came alive

Bringing back memories

Of excruciating life

As blood awakened

And channelled through limbs.