The Servant of God - Through Padma Shri Muthukannammal's Eyes

Every story has two sides to it. But sometimes, one voice gets lost in the clamour for change. 

Change is inevitable. Change can be good. But for some, the change means losing their very livelihood.

Srikant and I with Muthukannammal

This can be the story of any individual, industry, or profession.

Today, I write about the Devadasis.

I am not the first to write about it, but this may be the first time you hear of it. So, I write. 

Not the whole story, for who can know what the whole story was? But I write of one woman, and only as she narrated it to me.

Between the Rock and a Soft Place

During my Kanchipuram trip with my cousins, I heard the two ladies discussing a trip to Coimbatore and Pollachi. They talked about when the husbands would be free and how many days they could travel.

"Hey, why am I not part of this planning?" I asked, puzzled at this whole plan I was ignorant about.

"Of course, you are part of it. Nothing is finalized yet," they said. 

Taller than the Tallest

The wave rose

Higher and higher

Triumphant, belligerent

Invincible, feeling confident

Higher and higher,

Striking in the hearts

Fear and wonder,

Inspiring awe

'Never seen such a one

Ever in my life!'

Gasped the people

With popping eyes.

Wonder acted like a string

Tying them, despite

Fear giving them wings

Ready any instant to fly

The wave rose to its peak

And then the fall began

It took many in its fold

But finally vanished without a sign

Though memories 

Of this and others

Higher and smaller

Before and after

Became legends 

To be repeated

Several times

Amplified, exaggerated

Of that wave or the others

There remained no sign

For they had merged forever

Into the vast ocean

Indistinguishable

From the field of waves

Attempting to achieve

Those heights great

Another will rise again

In its place, no doubt

But it will merge too

And remain but in thought

The fame and name

Last a little longer

But will that make

The wave immortal?

Then the name too

Will be forgotten

The tides of time

Erasing it forever after

But in everlasting hope

Rise again it does

And though dashed

On the cycle goes

Rise and fall

Is part of it all

And on and on

Go on, it shall

Till the water 

Seeks the depth 

And remains content

Basking in glory great.

The Insignificant I

Wave after wave
of generations rise and fall
In that tumble of people
I am less than a little drop

The Extras

What is the plot?
Who are the actors?
What is the scene?
What is our character?

The Journey

 "Mamma, can we go by train?" Rupa's elder one, Advika, asked. "We never travel by train," the 13-year-old pleaded.

"You will get bored," Rupa responded mechanically as she checked the flight cost and availability to Chennai from Delhi in December.

Rupa's younger son Vivek looked up from his book and said, "Mamma will get bored, she means."

An Unhurried Life

I sow a seed
Trim a branch
Prune some leaves
I care dearly for my plants

Words

"Why? Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" he pleaded with her.

She looked at him confused. "No, nothing is," she said, feeling as if he were assaulting her with that tone of his voice - an urgent demand, a persistent plea that wanted to grab her heart and open it violently. She felt her heart trembling and shrinking. "Don't imagine things," she said and turned away to continue pretending that everything was as should be.

Tides of Time

Does everything that begins

have to finally finish?

Every step forward

take you closer to the end?

Be it made of stone
Or mere skin and bone

A Veil of Waves

They rose and fell, night and day, without respite. Sometimes in the middle of a hot day, they lay down dull awaiting the next breeze to rouse them again. Sometimes, in that dull moment, they sank to the bottom, pulled down by undercurrents. They rose this way and that, they were pulled this way and that. When the sun and the moon shone, when the the bright light brought them under the spotlight, they rose to capture the glory and imprison it forever. But when the orbs were covered and darkness fell, they touched new lows, grumbling and complaining.

Musings on Death

What is the formula
To measure our lifespan?
What is too young?
When is the right time to be gone?

The Unchanging Times

While returning from school, my second one started narrating a never-ending story about his friend's short temper. It started as a single episode - the friend refused to accept the verdict given by the toss (after my son refused to do so first, by the way) and how he shouted and how my son calmly ordered him to be quiet, etc.

Out of Depth

Alone, his back to the world, Mari preferred to dip deep into the pool of his emotions rather than have the noise disturb his peace.

What would he like, truly? Why, the view of the hills on one side, sloping down into green valleys with a silent lake in their amidst, where he could fish when he wished in peace.

Tracing My Mother's Footsteps

My school bus would be climbing the flyover, 10 minutes away from home. But already my nostrils would be ready to grasp the aroma of what my mother was cooking.

"Is it ribbon pakoda today?"

"Is it Mysore Pak?"

"Mixture?"

The guessing game added to the excitement of reaching home.

The Beginning is the End

Cosmos heaved. Every cell vibrated. And pulsated with a desire for a life of its own. To swim on its own, to move as it wished, where it willed, not to be trapped, not to be part of a whole but become a whole.

And it got its wish.

Fish... It swam, in a school, but still alone... Where it wanted, seeing, feeling, eating, on its own, sensing...

Sensing danger everywhere. Fear. Fear. Fear. Of not finding food. For it's life.

If only to live without this fear. To be strong. As the jaws closed on it, it's last wish was to be the predator and not the hunted.

A lion. Swimming without fear. Killing with impunity. Power. The king of the jungle. The world at its mercy. And yet, powerless against the tusks that bored, the horns that stabbed, age that withered.

To be stronger still. To be invincible. To conquer uncertainties.

The master hunter.

The master strategist.

The master destroyer.

The invincible.

Swimming. Flying. Climbing. Digging. Destroying everything on its path.

A big wave, and still it trembled. A strong gust of wind, and still it fell on its knees. A deafening thunder, and still it pleaded, "Please, help me, save me."

It wanted to be god - the creator, the preserver, the destroyer.

It did all that. And yet, it was created, it had to be preserved, it could be destroyed.

Not on its own. It could never become that which it wanted.

It cried, "Please let me become you." It begged.

Had it been dreaming all this while? Did it really happen?

The Cosmos heaved. It settled deeply and sighed in contentment.

The Point of Intersection

Seven steps together. Then 70. Moving up to 700... And the count keeps increasing.

How many together? How many in different directions?

Different interests. Different goals. Different approaches. Sometimes, even different languages...

What is the meaning of this relationship that came half way into our lives?. If the paths differ, why force two people to walk together? How do you keep it together?

Should one abandon one's own path to walk down another's? Can one force the other to enjoy the same sights and journey as ourselves?

Can even love make two hearts beat as one at every turning?

Will the paths tear them asunder, or will the heart give way?

These thoughts cloud the mind, and seem to plunge it in darkness. You cry out for light and lo! The mist clears. Why! Though the paths differ, the pace differs, the destination is the same! Even when you let go of the hands, the gaze turns to the same point. Though the hearts sing to a different beat, the tune is the same. When the eyes meet, the same thoughts connect them.

And you smile in understanding. At each other. At yourself. For it is at these points of intersection that you  find the true meaning of this relationship. It is then that you understand what the other means to you. It is then that you feel grateful.

You continue walking, taking 70000 more steps, 700,000... 700,000,000.

Inching Up Step by Step

"I got A+ in English, and aunty said very good for one of my essays," my son said with a broad smile. My heart jumped with joy. In the previous exam, the first he was writing in his 9 years of schooling as the initial years were in Montessori, he had shocked me when he said, "They asked me to write what I want to be in 20 years. I wrote, cricketer. What ma, they gave 20 lines to write! What am I supposed to write for 20 lines?"

Armed Against Anger

It was like a battery of bullets being discharged, a sten gun in action. Ta-da-da-da-da she went. Anger bubbled. She felt so wronged at her wishes not being given due respect, of being forced to do something she did not want to year.

Not As In...

"How did your day go?" Vivek asked when Sadhana returned from work.

"Mmmm..." she replied noncommittally.

"Is that a yes or a no?" he asked, more from masochistic intentions of needing evidence to lament later on.

"It was good," Sadhana answered, but her tone did not reflect 'good.'

Turning 180 degrees

I am not a sentimental person. I don't have a collection of memories of my children's childhood; nor do I run through their photos often.

And yet, this one moment made me smile and wonder.