Not about you and me

It's not about you,it's about me.
It's not about you,it's about them,
Whenever did I say it was about me?

It does not matter,
Whether it's about me or us or you or them,
It's not about taking cudgels,
It's about setting things right.

It's  when two can't see, a third steps in.

Pins,paste, plaster can be a measure,
Asking  help will also be a pleasure.

Seek to find, ask to be given,
Nothing comes free.
When  measure goes down
Exercise the choice to let it be.

Thanksgiving

Devastation struck,
A perfect storm for an attendant,
All rolled into one,
Shocked and numbed to the core,
Sense and sensibilities flying around,
Tears streaming down untold,
Seemed like the end of the world,
Embarrassing the ward straight to the heart.

It was then that  few women came forward,
With gentle ease calmed the tears,
Gave courage to a fellow woman in distress,
Rallied around and did their best.

Words fail to thank  enough,
Remembering always with  deep gratitude,
O Madams Zakia,Shefalika,Laila,Mary,Lizzie,Two Sisters and more,
Surely representatives of the faith in the Lord,
Touched  a soul and gave a new lease to life.

Woman thy name is change

Changing face of woman adapts to changing domains,
Changing domains pose serious challenges,
Changing roles bring conflicts in identity.
 As a woman changes others do not change with her,
Every other woman wants change in other women,
Reluctant to change themselves.
Change is taxing for  the different roles,

Changing the face in the mirror brings peace around,

Same woman subjected to different changes lacks identity.

Change yourself if you want to be called a mother,

Change again if you want to be called a wife,
Change once again if you want to remain a sister.
Change once more if you want to be called a daughter,
Change to decide if you want to be retained a friend,
Change the face in the mirror for whatever the role is destined to be.

The Caretaker

It was a landlocked place with few inhabitants and a few work in progress construction going on.The silence was very comforting except for the occasional express trains speeding by.Standing at the doorway  I could see the husband and wife duo  taking sand bags on their heads to the second floor of of the building in progress. Their only child aged two was happily playing in the nearby sand heap and also assisting by shoveling some sand into a sack and lugging how much ever he could lending support to his parents.

The child hummed along .I heard no complaints of not having good toys or  biscuits or Kentucky Fried Chicken or the Cornerhouse Ice Cream.It sounded rather strange.Perhaps not subjected to  enough exposure. As soon as the time neared  for end of a  day's work they quickly freshened to better presentable and left for the day. I felt strangely happy  at how the three of them supplemented each other.

Through the windowsill I became  a daily witness to the caretaker and an young inmate of the nearby bungalow.Perhaps for paucity of funds or perhaps the exorbitant fees for  a maid, the caretaker doubled as a domestic help. These services went unpaid and ignored and not accounted in GDP.

It was a routine, by 10 or 11 each day the young inmate woke up,quickly freshened as if to catch the express train and quickly slung a bag as if  leaving for making better prospects in great haste and returned each evening  in a great rush as if something was misplaced.

It amused  the onlooker because  no value was added anywhere except in  fantasy.This was a daily affair.  Conversations were few and far between. Sometimes just to ask  for the  insipid menu to decide whether it is worthwhile eating. This has been a routine for quite sometime.
The onlooker wondered at what was their role in life .It was just pushing each day to the next, no aim at all in life.

One day a bard came to this landlocked place. All the inhabitants came out to listen.Few did not understand  and were amused as he sang. Through his song he narrated the story of his  family

The HURT

It was  while interacting with the girls and boys  who are ever so grateful to their benefactors for  allowing them to see light that one could understand the sharp contrast  between the haves and the havenots which my friend Sheila was  talking about.
 As always facts  are facts.The  sharing of testimonies  left one high and dry.All of us have read  but when hearing  a live recount left us spell bound dumb with emotion..it continued," What education  could I think at that time when I was living in fear of my life every second. Now that I am  a survivor, it is difficult to get over the trauma, but in this peaceful surroundings devoid of boom boom and shrieking cries of  helplessness as I sit I find the need to rehabilitate myself, educate myself,  I do not know whether my parents and siblings  are alive as  I am among the very few survivors when the boat sunk riddled with bullets.

In Solidarity with you

When death lays its icy hands, I don't know for sure what I would feel,fear, courage or a smile to greet it with open arms?I  will not be able to express that feeling at all as I do not know. Every second is changing.

I am forever in the constant pursuit of thanking people who have touched my life and who have molded me to a person I am today.I leave no stone unturned in this pursuit for death may not be far behind. I hold no malice nor harbor vengeance.My heart skips a beat no more.There is no adrenaline rush also. I am at peace both on the inside 'n outside.

Two women   in the course of a week,has made me think  What is life  after all? One a mother another a daughter.One bereft of  son the other father.Both are disturbed and have their own tales to tell. Stories of joys and unfulfilled chores.I listen patiently to let them pour it out to empty their minds of  their deepest thought for they trust in me. I absorb and carry that trust forward without a second thought.

I know for sure I bring about a peace to those mourning, the Lord above guides me through.I know not what I express, what I say , which deep chord I touch, but I firmly believe He acts through me.In doing so I develop a new bond of goodness and peace and continue in my endeavor of being a good human being.

The Gallery Seater

Holy cow! The IPL  is in full swing. What a time when exams are over. No one hovering over or pestering to get back to books .Most of the  bosses having lost an opportunity  to glare and  breathe down necks during the day.

As per schedule the fields are  ready with kings, super kings, elevens, challengers, riders, warriors, chargers , tuskers, devils etc in the  fray  for the coveted championship. Off the field the  gallery/VIP/box/TV viewers are all geared up,  well armed with placards,  face masks, colored wigs to  share the enthusiasm while the batsman  is lunging the ball with force to hit a four or a six, or the bowler, taking wickets  or the fielder  fielding well in his domain. It is nothing unusual of course.  Time  passes with a lot of off field discussions by viewers, cricket lovers and others.

I also don’t  miss a chance to comment or clap a hand. O he missed that shot, how sad he dropped a catch, the bowling was superb, blah, blah it goes on endlessly.

My little daughter in height just looks up and stares at me as she finds it absurd that I am watching a live cricket match. She is ignorant that I love limited over’s match. Well how would she because I never betrayed a trace of emotion for the game these many years. Very natural for her to think I had gone bonkers.

She started watching me from the corner of her eyes as if everything was not okay.

 But I continued being myself. If one is at the stadium the enthusiasm is infectious, whereas at home it is a live match in the living room on the sofa. The potato chips and snacks are steadily gorged upon while a match is in progress.

As an afterthought after all the excitement died and while I lay in bed, I thought how stupid I was! Arre ‘what difference did my clapping or comment make to the batsman, bowler or fielder. No difference at all. I am  sitting here 100’s of miles away and  neither the batsman nor the bowler nor fielder know me .Here I am in full  throttle, cheering .

Whereas each of the players on the field was waiting for the crucial moment to act. It was this which  would make a difference to the game.

Eureka, I sat up and realized that action is what counts in every sphere of our life. Comments, gossips  etc do not add any value at all. The moment inertia is sidelined and action starts there is momentum and value addition begins because  by standards hard work  has begun.

Dhoni ,Gilchrist,Gayle and all the players caused action and effect while I remained the Gallery seater.

I mused, I will continue  to remain the gallery seater without action and value addition unless I decide otherwise.

For a change I will switch sides to bring the action and excitement in because I am the maker of my destiny.