Life is sacred... isnt it?

This adorable statue of baby angel which rests in the yard of the St.Peters' Church in Bandra caught not only my eye but also my heart. The inscription on it reads -




"I Am An Angel In The Making,
Please Do Not Block Me
Out Of Your Life"

Life Is Sacred
From
Conception To Natural Death

CHOOSE LIFE

Spreading happiness

Dear Ms.Sunshines,

I do not know your name like I know the rose, the orchid and the lily. All I know is that you bring a smile to my face every day...day after day... You personify beauty, positivity and optimism. I had heard that `The best things in life, they come for free’. But after meeting you I have started believing in this adage even more. You are inspiring. Although you are not on Facebook and Google+, I gladly welcome you friend into my small world...

P.S.: The delicate Ms.Sunshines live for a day. They grow in dozens on an obscure potted plant on the roadside in a busy polluted suburb of Mumbai. They bloom in the dawn, spread cheer and wither away by noon... and the next morning, they are back again in huge numbers to spread some more cheer... thus mother nature’s miraculous cycle of spreading happiness, more happiness and some more happiness moves on...

This also reminds me of a poem by English poet William Wordsworth that I learnt years ago while I was in school. Although the poem is titled `Leisure’, I believe it pretty much sums up our entire life in urban India. Here it goes,

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Speaking images..

I was passing through a busy market street on a rainy day in July. There I grabbed this prized opportunity of capturing the lovely Ms.Kitty in her deep slumber. She clearly seems to be making the most of the cool monsoon climate by curling up on this rolled jute mat lying outside a `kirana' (Indian word for a grocery store).

The jute rope beneath Ms.Kitty adds a new dimension to the image. It looks like an umblical cord attached to her. Did Ms.Kitty look like this while she was still sleeping in her mother's womb?

However, these four cutie pies do not seem to be agreeing to Ms.Kitty’s idea of a perfect siesta on a rainy afternoon. Unlike Ms.Kitty who finds deep comfort in cozying up all by herself, these four seem to be silently singing the song of “brotherhood”.

I found these pups all cuddled up on wet gravel alongside the creek on a rainy evening. Braving the not-so-conducive surroundings, these four seem to have found warmth and security in each other.

A gift from HIM

The other day I read an article in the soul curry section of TOI's Sunday edition 'Life', which was titled 'Prisoner of my image'. It was written by a man who refused to embrace his own people in his life just because they were not like him. He described as to how he kept running away from his leucoderma afflicted mother and a blind brother throughout his life for the fear of being mocked at by the society. He never acknowledged their presence in public for he was too ashamed of their defects.

No doubt, the society's non-acceptance of such people saddens me, but what hurt me the most was the cowardice of the man who could not accept his own people, the way they were, for apparently no mistake of their own.

On a rainy Saturday afternoon, I was heading for home in a Virar-bound local. There were a few passengers scattered here and there and most of them enjoying the luxury of the window-seat, an absolute rarity on other week days. At Dadar, one old woman and two middle-aged women got into the train. The old lady was their mother. All of them wore flowers in their neatly braided hair and were gracefully dressed in bright coloured sarees. However, one of the daughters didn't seen to be normal. As soon as she came in, she rushed towards a vacant window seat with a child-like exuberance and began clapping loudly. She kept smiling and talking to herself, made all kinds of strange expressions and blinked very often. All the fellow passengers were clearly distracted, some were even amused at the lady's naïve gestures. However, the accompanying ladies remained calm and took their seats adjacent her. I realised that she was mentally deranged.

After a while, she began insisting she wanted to stand by the compartment door and enjoy the monsoon scenes. The next thing I expected was that her sister would snap at her for the sheer inconvenience of having to manage an unpredictable person like her at such a risky position in the train compartment. But I was wrong. The sister obliged. She lovingly took her hand and escorted her towards the door.

From the fast moving train, the lady clapped loudly and bid good-byes to the people standing on the opposite station. To my surprise, her sister did not stop her or scold her even this time. Meanwhile, the old lady sat smiling and looking adoringly at her two daughters. The sisters talked and giggled all the time while they were at the door.

I found myself smiling too at the love and acceptance of the ladies for their own person who was just not normal or more roughly speaking a misfit for this fast-paced competitive world. My heart was lighter. After reading the TOI article, I had begun to believe that special people just cannot hope for a normal life in this world because of the most perfect people (atleast thats what you and me would like to believe about ourselves). A life in which they can speak, act and behave the way they want, without any inhibitions, without any barriers.

I would really like to thank the compassionate Higher force, who constantly lends me the nectar of hope and positivity through myriad situations I come across in life. HE has been eternally helping me discover a world which is still positive and full of hope every time HE sees me fall into the chasm of doubt and despair. I acknowledge HIS subtle yet firm presence in my life and look forward to HIS special message with every rising sun. Thank you so much...

Never say die

I used to walk down this road to reach my office. It was a road laden with traffic most of the time with restless cars and buses waiting for the signal. On one side of the road, business was brisk- with vegetable and newspaper vendors sitting in a line. Enjoying all those scenes and walking in the shade of the trees planted on the roadside, I reached my office better prepared to face the vagaries of the stock market. After all the more we praise life, we have more reasons to celebrate the fact that we are alive at this moment.

There was this guava vendor of whom my friend and me were great patrons. He would boast that even if one of those guavas in his basket didn’t turn out to be sweet he would give away all of them for free. And magically he never had had to do that. There was this skinny lady garland vendor with matted hair, who was the object of my pity. With every passing year her brood went on increasing. But the means remained more or less the same. She had been selling garlands for two rupees each each since years. Ironically, the buyers’ incomes had risen manifold. She used to feed her children half a bun and raw milk directly out of a packet each morning. They were about five of them in all shapes and sizes. Still a reason to celebrate!

One day I was treading as usual on my way to work, when I was in for a rude shock. Some authority had cut one of the huge beautiful trees on the pretext of widening the road. The vendors sitting under it disappeared, as the place was no longer shady. Even the scores of birds that used to chirp from its dense leaves each evening disappeared. There was no sign of life. After all the murder was committed for making our lives more comfortable. Till date I haven’t been able to figure whether our lives have become better after that.

All that was remaining of the tree was its trunk around two inches from the ground. I always looked at the tree a friend of humanity, which stood in the scorching sun just to provide shade to us. A friend who was shelter to scores of other beings. I knelt down and felt its surface, which was cut ruthlessly by someone who had no regard for life. I was pained. It wanted to live, be shelter to many more like us, but wasn’t allowed to..

It was one of the many countless victims of man’s goliath pride, which screams aloud that he is all-powerful and that he could do anything to mute beings. After all where would the helpless plants and animals go to complain? They do not have a police station dedicated to them. All that I knew was my friend was dead. It took a few days for that feeling to sink. Soon with a thousand people waking over it, the remaining bit of trunk was flattened to the ground level. As human beings, you and me need not worry about tsunamis, global warming, aliens, degrading values etc. We need to fear our very own fellow human beings, who are hell bent on creating disharmony in the rhythm of nature to meet their selfish ends.

Days and months passed by. Seasons changed. The cuckoo heralded the arrival of monsoon, with her sweet song. Within days, the rain gods arrived and the earth rejoiced. I was walking fast on my way to work, when my eyes went out to my friend who was killed long back. And what did I see! Small green shoots were growing from sides of the virtually non-existent trunk. My friend had resurrected...

It had a deep desire to live, just like each one of us. None of us wants to die and that too a painful death. We live for ourselves. The tree lived for us. It had defied death to give our future generations a chance at better life. I was touched by the whole planning of God.

A deep sense of euphoria engulfed me. I closed my umbrella, and felt the magic of the cool drizzle all over me. After all life is all about celebrating its magnanimity and little but sweet surprises!

Want love? Pay up

Just like any average Mumbaikar, I too indulge in my share of train traveling. I agree ‘indulge’ is too luxurious a word to use for travel in a local train compartment. But then its opens doors to hundreds of interesting personalities.

It was one of my typical joyrides back home. The compartment appeared to be bursting at the seams due to the sheer crowd. I was standing since the time I got in, a fact which most of you are aware of. And the mercury kept on rising second by second. I was my usual sweaty and tired self when I saw a mother and a child sitting on the seat. The child was quite cheerful and was interacting with the other co-passengers. He was about one and a half years old. I decided to steal some moments of joy from him.

I too smiled at him and struck off a conversation with him. I asked him all kinds of things like ‘Whats your name’? , ‘Where are you going?’. He answered all of them merrily in one word with that cute childish accent. Gradually he too began speaking a lot of things half of which I couldn’t decipher at all. Soon all the ill feeling created by the crowd, the sweat and the fatigue subsided. I took out a sugar candy and offered it to the child. Needless to say like any other child, he desired to take it. He gave a shy smile and looked at his mother for approval. When the mother gave a nod, he took the candy from me. I was just waiting for him to open it and put it greedily into his mouth, when something else took me by surprise.

The child went into deep thinking. After sometime he reached his tiny hand into his pocket and took out a coin and without a moment’s delay gave it to me. I refused to take it. But he wouldn’t budge. Finally I took the coin and it was only then that he started eating that candy. I secretly returned the coin back to his mother before getting off. The other co-passengers had a hearty laugh. Though I wasn’t really amused. Somewhere deep within my self, I was worried.
Are we communicating to our children something very dangerous? Are we giving them a feeling that they need to pay a price for everything? That they need to pay for love too?

The child was so gripped by the ways of our materialistic world that it couldn’t believe that he could ever get anything without giving money in exchange.

Is it just a child’s way of looking at things or an indication of a future where everything in this world, even love would come for a price?

Frozen in Time

2006 - India is in the midst of an economic boom. A fact strongly reinforced each day with the television and newspapers boasting of ‘The India Story’—increasing FII inflows, sensex zooming past the 14,000 mark, phenomenal growth in services read BPO, export of AAA rated brains, high-profile M&As to name a few.

Move in to Hope city. It’s a hot afternoon, with dust flying all over. The cloth market is teeming with activity—hawkers selling their wares, a herd of cheerful school children and businessmen at their bargaining best.

Dressed in a 60’s styled jacket and cap, he walked through the by lanes with a smile on his face, oblivious to the hustle and bustle around.

Moving slowly at a snail’s pace he would reach his dilapidated villa located at the border of Hope city. The many huge and dark trees surrounding his house seemed a century old. They looked as if they bore testimony to history and had a story to tell. There were so many dry leaves on the ground that not a patch of land was visible. Night fell upon the world enveloping it into a blanket of darkness.

He would enter in, sit for a while and get lost in thoughts. Then the croaking crows on his window would bring him back to the world. By then it would be evening. He would then light candles in front of the various deities he had collected with immense faith over the years. He would then come out of villa and sit outside.

Gazing at the stars, a content smile draws upon his wrinkled face..... That’s Stephen, for you.

Stephen’s unusual ways made me curious. His villa looked unkempt with dust and cobwebs seen all over. He really didn’t have any neighbours as such. All those who were stayed about half a kilometer away.

Each day I’d see Stephen passing through the same lanes in the same jacket and cap and of course with that inimitable smile on his face. He would not look at any one, not talk to anyone. The whole world seemed to him like some canvas, colourful yet lifeless. How could someone be so isolated, so detached ?

The question hounded me for many days till I decided to interact with Stephen. I waited in the lane. When I spotted him I said “ Hi Stephen”. He moved on as if he couldn’t hear at all. All my repeated efforts to strike a conversation with him were in vain. One day I went to his villa where he was gazing at the stars as usual. I went near and slowly said “ Aren’t they divine?” It was followed by a long spell of silence. Before I could say any further a feeble voice said “Yes”.

The magical stars had infused life into Stephen. He spoke!

Again silence followed. I said “ I like your jacket”. Stephen turned his head and looked at me with his stony eyes, smiled coyly and said “Thanks...Its my birthday jacket...Delna has gone to get candles for the cake. Waiting for her”. That was the end of the conversation. A deep silence followed. Once again the stars began to enthrall him as they had been doing unfailingly for the past so many years. And Stephen went back into his world—a world where none of us could enter.

After some investigation I found out that it was on his birthday the 17th of November 1962, that he had lost his wife Delna to a tragic accident. They were all set to cut the cake, when she realized she had forgotten to shop for the candles. Promising to be back with it, she stepped out of the home only to never come back. A speeding car hit her and she died instantaneously. When Stephen knew of this, he lost his mind. He didn’t cry, he didn’t speak. He began distancing himself from friends and acquaintances and refused to acknowledge them. He became a recluse, with the whole world seeming like an illusion and Delna being the only reality.

The rationalist in me started analyzing facts like ‘How did that jacket last for a good 46 years?’, or more so ‘How did he survive for so many years in such a mindless state?’ and things like that.

But then the fact remains that Stephen was a simple human being who had loved and was loved, a man who treasured life. For him love doesn’t just seem to die. The moment when Stephen and Delna had last lovingly gazed into each other’s eyes was immortalized in his soul.

With loving memories of Delna and the yearning to meet her, Stephen had frozen in time forever…