Every time I see the heaving earth
Under a dark and angry sky
I feel there is going to be a row
Of tempest or a storm.
It’s just a fight of sound and fury
Of course, signifying nothing
For when it ends the sky is blue
And the earth is cool and calm.
I watch it from my window
The clouds crumbling into drops
Then gathering might with rising strain
And falling to a steady flow.
It’s a wondrous sight to watch the rain
Beads of rain that play a game
Of run and chase along the lines
Shimmering strings of silver
Sliding down the eaves
The roses and the jasmines
Dancing in the shower
They beg the impish droplets
To be more mild and tender.
Even as you watch
The strain goes weak and soft
The few stray drops that stay
Like lingering boys at play
Are called away by mamma earth
And put to bed on her bosom soft.
Now the sky is blue again
And the earth is cool and fresh
It is sometimes good to have a fight
If that will set everything right.
25th October 1988
Monday, August 31, 2009
A MOTHER’S PRAYER
You are a gift my precious son
That God decreed to us
To bring love and life and laughter
Into this happy home
Like a helpless little angel
That strayed away from heaven
So sweet, so soft, so pure you lay
Like a shining pearl in an oyster white.
Life centered round your cradle
For Mum and Dad and Big Brother
Your instant smiles and sudden tears
The talk of the day from morn till night.
The first smile that showed a milky tooth
The first step that made you stumble
The first word that you lisped with triumph
Were great news that brought delight.
But time the speedster rushes by
Sparing none its magic touch
As birthday candles grew in number
The cradle bars gave way to you.
Gone are the days when your tiny hand
Held my thumb and watched with wonder
The world around in its glory and splendour
A bruised knee, a broken toy
Shattered your little world of joy
But a hug, a kiss or a tender word
Brought blossoms back to your tearstained face.
Gone are those days of angry screams
Of measles, mumps and running nose
And sleepless nights with tummy aches.
As now you stand at the gates of youth
Brave and strong and full of life
A constant prayer my heart does make
To hold you above all spite and fear
To teach you face all odds and falls
To keep you away from drugs and booze.
When your heart aches or spirit wanes
Know your mother is always there
On earth or in heaven she’ll always reach out
To soothe your soul and wipe your tears
For you never grow up in your mother’s love.
So, sing the song of life my son
Be it of mirth or sorrow deep
For it is not the song that counts
But the melody you make of it.
For Sanju 18th October 1989
That God decreed to us
To bring love and life and laughter
Into this happy home
Like a helpless little angel
That strayed away from heaven
So sweet, so soft, so pure you lay
Like a shining pearl in an oyster white.
Life centered round your cradle
For Mum and Dad and Big Brother
Your instant smiles and sudden tears
The talk of the day from morn till night.
The first smile that showed a milky tooth
The first step that made you stumble
The first word that you lisped with triumph
Were great news that brought delight.
But time the speedster rushes by
Sparing none its magic touch
As birthday candles grew in number
The cradle bars gave way to you.
Gone are the days when your tiny hand
Held my thumb and watched with wonder
The world around in its glory and splendour
A bruised knee, a broken toy
Shattered your little world of joy
But a hug, a kiss or a tender word
Brought blossoms back to your tearstained face.
Gone are those days of angry screams
Of measles, mumps and running nose
And sleepless nights with tummy aches.
As now you stand at the gates of youth
Brave and strong and full of life
A constant prayer my heart does make
To hold you above all spite and fear
To teach you face all odds and falls
To keep you away from drugs and booze.
When your heart aches or spirit wanes
Know your mother is always there
On earth or in heaven she’ll always reach out
To soothe your soul and wipe your tears
For you never grow up in your mother’s love.
So, sing the song of life my son
Be it of mirth or sorrow deep
For it is not the song that counts
But the melody you make of it.
For Sanju 18th October 1989
A SNAPSHOT
I stood in terror and wonder
As lightning splashed the world aglow
Sending silver through the chords of rain
And shudders of rumbling thunder
Shaking the world out of slumber.
I sensed the mighty magic hand
Opening the gates of heaven wide
To a gallery of wondrous art
That made a marvel even of a leaf.
Sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce
In myriad shades of light
He painted for me the visions bright
Just for a click of the eye
But it got to freeze for keeps
The power and the beauty
Of a moment so dense and divine.
As lightning splashed the world aglow
Sending silver through the chords of rain
And shudders of rumbling thunder
Shaking the world out of slumber.
I sensed the mighty magic hand
Opening the gates of heaven wide
To a gallery of wondrous art
That made a marvel even of a leaf.
Sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce
In myriad shades of light
He painted for me the visions bright
Just for a click of the eye
But it got to freeze for keeps
The power and the beauty
Of a moment so dense and divine.
MY KINGDOM
I sat beside the dreamy stream
The dawn was melting into day
And the world around seemed gay.
The birds with joy began their choir
From up the trees and down the lawn
The leaves with breeze played gleefully
Making shadows on the grass.
A butterfly came fluttering by
There were rainbows on its wings
It came waltzing in the sunlight
And whispered to a rose.
The flower blushed and shed a drop
A dew of perfect happiness.
My heart alone felt out of place
But then I heard my love afar
Singing through the fields he came
On his lips a smile of silent bliss
In his eyes a look of tender love.
He came to me, my eyes met his
There to see another world
With the blue above and green below
The grass and the roses and the butterflies
But there - I was queen of all.
November 1967
The dawn was melting into day
And the world around seemed gay.
The birds with joy began their choir
From up the trees and down the lawn
The leaves with breeze played gleefully
Making shadows on the grass.
A butterfly came fluttering by
There were rainbows on its wings
It came waltzing in the sunlight
And whispered to a rose.
The flower blushed and shed a drop
A dew of perfect happiness.
My heart alone felt out of place
But then I heard my love afar
Singing through the fields he came
On his lips a smile of silent bliss
In his eyes a look of tender love.
He came to me, my eyes met his
There to see another world
With the blue above and green below
The grass and the roses and the butterflies
But there - I was queen of all.
November 1967
FARHA
Farha was a beauty queen
With regal robes of molten gold
And delicate dapples of woolly white.
Her clear blue eyes a seat of wonder
Sleek and slim and swift in stride
She moved around with fluid grace
Stealing from all a second glance.
Her mother was no rare beauty
Her father was no noble
But she of course was royal
And royally did live.
She had the softest bed
She ate the richest food
And never left her palace
To mingle with the mean.
She knew the key to every heart
And entered without knocking
Young and old all fell for her
There was magic in her charm.
She made dull hours shorter
And joys linger longer
Even in her mischief
There was a winning way.
The gods must have been jealous
Of the lovely little life.
She was still so young and blooming
When they took her away from us.
In a coffin small and soft
We put her little body
To sleep alone in her dark abode
And left the tomb with tears unshed.
The glowing gold and soft white clouds
Of the eastern sky at sunset
Wakes Farha up from memory’s corner
The dearest kitten we ever had!
For Thankam 1989
With regal robes of molten gold
And delicate dapples of woolly white.
Her clear blue eyes a seat of wonder
Sleek and slim and swift in stride
She moved around with fluid grace
Stealing from all a second glance.
Her mother was no rare beauty
Her father was no noble
But she of course was royal
And royally did live.
She had the softest bed
She ate the richest food
And never left her palace
To mingle with the mean.
She knew the key to every heart
And entered without knocking
Young and old all fell for her
There was magic in her charm.
She made dull hours shorter
And joys linger longer
Even in her mischief
There was a winning way.
The gods must have been jealous
Of the lovely little life.
She was still so young and blooming
When they took her away from us.
In a coffin small and soft
We put her little body
To sleep alone in her dark abode
And left the tomb with tears unshed.
The glowing gold and soft white clouds
Of the eastern sky at sunset
Wakes Farha up from memory’s corner
The dearest kitten we ever had!
For Thankam 1989
THE LONE BIRD
There is a secret bond between us
The lone bird and me.
She chirps me up in the mornings
From the mulberry branch by my window
Sometimes she pecks in the lawn
With her mate all concern for her
But I sense in her slight steps
The burden of a boredom.
She looks at me with fearless eyes
Which speaks to me of distant dreams.
In the evenings against the setting sun
As she floats across the sky
A black dot among her friends
I can spot her as the odd one out.
Even as she sweeps and swoops
Her wings in rhythm with the others
I know she does it with her soul apart.
At dawn, day or dusk
I see her daily without fail
And in her silence I read the message
Of a solitude that stirs the strings
Of the loneliness I share with her.
My loneliness is my constant companion
It fills my heart and soul
Sometimes even runs through my veins
And shrouds me aloof from all company.
It rings in my laughter
And echoes in my deeds
Like the lone bird I flit and float
With the secret solitude in my soul.
The lone bird and me.
She chirps me up in the mornings
From the mulberry branch by my window
Sometimes she pecks in the lawn
With her mate all concern for her
But I sense in her slight steps
The burden of a boredom.
She looks at me with fearless eyes
Which speaks to me of distant dreams.
In the evenings against the setting sun
As she floats across the sky
A black dot among her friends
I can spot her as the odd one out.
Even as she sweeps and swoops
Her wings in rhythm with the others
I know she does it with her soul apart.
At dawn, day or dusk
I see her daily without fail
And in her silence I read the message
Of a solitude that stirs the strings
Of the loneliness I share with her.
My loneliness is my constant companion
It fills my heart and soul
Sometimes even runs through my veins
And shrouds me aloof from all company.
It rings in my laughter
And echoes in my deeds
Like the lone bird I flit and float
With the secret solitude in my soul.
ADIEU! MY CHILD!
Georgekutty!
Without word or warning
You vanished like a shooting star
As heavenly hands whisked you away
To the eternal shore of peace and bliss.
The days that come and go
Are soaked now with fond thoughts
Of that twinkle in your eyes
And that dimple in your cheek.
Of your brisk ways and calm confidence
Of the mischief in your smile
And the wit in your words.
Our hearts ache with the burden
Of words of love unspoken
And tender touches of affection
We never made a chance to give
Because we never knew
The call would come so soon.
With beauty and brilliance
Blended so much in abundance
The Gods must have had second thoughts
That you were too good for us mortals.
Up there with the angels
As you spend your joyous hours
Down here we tread the time
With a constant whisper in our souls
That we’ll meet you there some day.
[Georgekutty, our fair and handsome nephew was a trainee pilot officer when he died in a plane crash on 25th March, 1991. It was the first practice flight he made. All the 24 young pilot officers and the pilot of the plane died in the crash.]
Without word or warning
You vanished like a shooting star
As heavenly hands whisked you away
To the eternal shore of peace and bliss.
The days that come and go
Are soaked now with fond thoughts
Of that twinkle in your eyes
And that dimple in your cheek.
Of your brisk ways and calm confidence
Of the mischief in your smile
And the wit in your words.
Our hearts ache with the burden
Of words of love unspoken
And tender touches of affection
We never made a chance to give
Because we never knew
The call would come so soon.
With beauty and brilliance
Blended so much in abundance
The Gods must have had second thoughts
That you were too good for us mortals.
Up there with the angels
As you spend your joyous hours
Down here we tread the time
With a constant whisper in our souls
That we’ll meet you there some day.
[Georgekutty, our fair and handsome nephew was a trainee pilot officer when he died in a plane crash on 25th March, 1991. It was the first practice flight he made. All the 24 young pilot officers and the pilot of the plane died in the crash.]
DARKNESS BEFORE DUSK
On the cold hard stone bench she sat
A silhouette in the twilight
Listening for the sound
Of the slow, secret steps
As the night spread its shroud
And put the day to sleep.
She always loved the dusk
That set the world in tender glow
Put silver on the grass and leaves
And told the birds it was time to rest.
It always came with a magic wand
That lent daintiness to the dirtiest ditch.
But today-
She saw only the shadows
Longing for darkness.
She knew the time had come for her
The dusk of life was not for her.
Not for her the eventide
To see the smiles and tears of noon
Take colours and become
Fond dreams of the past.
She watched the trees take monstrous shapes
And mingle with the night.
With heavy heart she turned away
And lo!
She saw the hidden glow behind the hills
That told of light and hope beyond.
[I wrote this when I heard the news of a young and brilliant student of mine dying of leukemia. She had been an old student but had made for herself a place in my heart with her sparkling youth and brilliance. She died in the United States.]
A silhouette in the twilight
Listening for the sound
Of the slow, secret steps
As the night spread its shroud
And put the day to sleep.
She always loved the dusk
That set the world in tender glow
Put silver on the grass and leaves
And told the birds it was time to rest.
It always came with a magic wand
That lent daintiness to the dirtiest ditch.
But today-
She saw only the shadows
Longing for darkness.
She knew the time had come for her
The dusk of life was not for her.
Not for her the eventide
To see the smiles and tears of noon
Take colours and become
Fond dreams of the past.
She watched the trees take monstrous shapes
And mingle with the night.
With heavy heart she turned away
And lo!
She saw the hidden glow behind the hills
That told of light and hope beyond.
[I wrote this when I heard the news of a young and brilliant student of mine dying of leukemia. She had been an old student but had made for herself a place in my heart with her sparkling youth and brilliance. She died in the United States.]
I WANT TO BE A STAR
When I have said the final good-bye
And am at home with you O God
If you would grant me a little wish
I’d ask to be a star my Lord.
Somewhere near the majestic moon
I’d like to have my fixed place
From there to watch my dear ones
And let them know I still care.
Then they won’t miss me in their joys
For if they turn towards the sky
They’ll see me share with them their smile.
And when their hearts are heavy
I could be there to wink at them
And ask them to take it easy.
And am at home with you O God
If you would grant me a little wish
I’d ask to be a star my Lord.
Somewhere near the majestic moon
I’d like to have my fixed place
From there to watch my dear ones
And let them know I still care.
Then they won’t miss me in their joys
For if they turn towards the sky
They’ll see me share with them their smile.
And when their hearts are heavy
I could be there to wink at them
And ask them to take it easy.
OUTSIDE ROOM NO.56
Everytime I stand here
In the embrace of the breeze
I feel on top of the world
And my heart overflows
With a joy and wonder afresh.
At the utmost fringes of my sight
The dim blue hills touch the skies
Tumbling clouds in bundles
Waltz away in the wind
Along the vast blue floor.
Tree tops beckon in every shade of green
Splendid spreads of sparkling hues in between
In humble pride they give way
To random steeples of iron and steel.
Beneath the leafy canopy
The entertainment of life goes on
In harmony and in discord
Man, beast and butterfly
Each its royal role enacts
In agony and in ecstasy.
It is just a patch of wonder
From the Great Painter’s canvas
And as I see the lone bird
Scanning the space with silver wings
My spirit flutters too
Like a bird against its bars
To sail out and soar to heights
And throb and breathe with the mighty.
[Inspired by the sight outside room no.56 on the top floor of the new wing at B.C.M College.]
In the embrace of the breeze
I feel on top of the world
And my heart overflows
With a joy and wonder afresh.
At the utmost fringes of my sight
The dim blue hills touch the skies
Tumbling clouds in bundles
Waltz away in the wind
Along the vast blue floor.
Tree tops beckon in every shade of green
Splendid spreads of sparkling hues in between
In humble pride they give way
To random steeples of iron and steel.
Beneath the leafy canopy
The entertainment of life goes on
In harmony and in discord
Man, beast and butterfly
Each its royal role enacts
In agony and in ecstasy.
It is just a patch of wonder
From the Great Painter’s canvas
And as I see the lone bird
Scanning the space with silver wings
My spirit flutters too
Like a bird against its bars
To sail out and soar to heights
And throb and breathe with the mighty.
[Inspired by the sight outside room no.56 on the top floor of the new wing at B.C.M College.]
AT TIRUNELVELI
The sun rushes home
Leaving to the lake its golden glory
The rocks stand dark and high
Proud guardians of the lovely landscape.
There is music in the wind
Fragrance in the air
The flowers flaunt their colours
Against a heavenly sky.
Like the soft petals of a blossoming bud
My heart unfolds to the beauty around
It floats like a feather
And sings a silent solo.
With you along it’s a duet
Of two souls in harmony.
I feel like a superstar
On this silver screen of beauty
Acting out the living script
Of our love story
Written in God’s own hand.
30th December 1994
Leaving to the lake its golden glory
The rocks stand dark and high
Proud guardians of the lovely landscape.
There is music in the wind
Fragrance in the air
The flowers flaunt their colours
Against a heavenly sky.
Like the soft petals of a blossoming bud
My heart unfolds to the beauty around
It floats like a feather
And sings a silent solo.
With you along it’s a duet
Of two souls in harmony.
I feel like a superstar
On this silver screen of beauty
Acting out the living script
Of our love story
Written in God’s own hand.
30th December 1994
POTTED PLANTS
I stand on the balcony of this sixth floor apartment
My little oasis - with a few potted plants
And a creeper that goes up a PVC pole.
I can read the yearning of these leaves
As they stretch out to embrace a sheet of bare sky
The blessing that comes between the concrete giants.
Floating clouds and flapping wings
Soft and amber hues of sunset
Air that throbs with music and fragrance
The feel of grass under the feet
The ring of rippling water in the ears
The taste of nature in every breath
Are all that I left behind
When they pulled me out and put me in this concrete pot.
I am showered with the water of love
And offered the best that life could afford
But I stand amidst these potted plants
Beaming with all the colours of spring
I share with them the pain and loss
Of amputated roots elsewhere.
My little oasis - with a few potted plants
And a creeper that goes up a PVC pole.
I can read the yearning of these leaves
As they stretch out to embrace a sheet of bare sky
The blessing that comes between the concrete giants.
Floating clouds and flapping wings
Soft and amber hues of sunset
Air that throbs with music and fragrance
The feel of grass under the feet
The ring of rippling water in the ears
The taste of nature in every breath
Are all that I left behind
When they pulled me out and put me in this concrete pot.
I am showered with the water of love
And offered the best that life could afford
But I stand amidst these potted plants
Beaming with all the colours of spring
I share with them the pain and loss
Of amputated roots elsewhere.
THE MULBERRY BUSH
First came the clouds
And then the rain
Piloted by the swirling winds.
The sky sulked
As the wind tossed the trees.
They swayed and stooped
And begged to the relentless rain.
Some fell, some leaned or lay prostrate
My mulberry bush, it shook and shivered
Its tender leaves took the heavy drops
And let it down the earth to drown.
What held you up when the mighty fell? I asked.
The silent answer came
My heart holds on to my roots
That always heads towards the center - The Life.
And then the rain
Piloted by the swirling winds.
The sky sulked
As the wind tossed the trees.
They swayed and stooped
And begged to the relentless rain.
Some fell, some leaned or lay prostrate
My mulberry bush, it shook and shivered
Its tender leaves took the heavy drops
And let it down the earth to drown.
What held you up when the mighty fell? I asked.
The silent answer came
My heart holds on to my roots
That always heads towards the center - The Life.
MY FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY
1997.
I turned fifty in June this year.
They say the fiftieth birthday is a great day in one’s life and needs to be celebrated.
Well, my great day did not turn out the way I thought it would.
To be frank I am a very sensitive and sentimental creature. I depend a lot on the love, care and concern of those I love - especially my family. They too know it.
That is why they make it a point to have dinner outside on my birthday every year. They don’t care much for hotel food. But they know I love it. Actually it is not the food. It is a real luxury not to worry about the menu, about the cooking and above all the washing and the cleaning. Now, as this dining out has become routine on my birthdays, what I enjoy most is the thought behind it.
I had a feeling that my fiftieth birthday was going to be an extra-grand affair. But I knew it wouldn’t be. My husband happened to be in Madras with a very busy schedule of dubbing and editing his latest film. My sons Bobby and Sanjay had to appear for different entrance exams that day - one for his M.D and the other for U.G.C. They would leave early in the morning and would be back only late. That left my daughter Thankam, my maid and myself at home to celebrate the “grand”day. No fun, no music, no dining out.
I went to bed the previous day quite depressed. I thought this was going to be the dullest day in my life. After supper I left the others watching some late programme on TV. Sadly and slowly I slipped into slumber.
The telephone woke me up early morning. It was my husband who never bothered to get up earlier than 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning. “Hello”, he said “Happy Birthday”.
I wanted to sulk. But he had really gone out of the way to be the first one to wish me. I shouldn’t.
“Not so happy without you around.” I said.
“You know I couldn’t help it. Now, what’s special today?”
“Nothing - with nobody at home.”
He could read my tone. “We are postponing the celebration to a combined one next month, okay?” he assured. His birthday fell in July.
As I walked into the kitchen, the aroma of a freshly baked cake seeped into my nostrils. There it stood on the dining table with the white butter cream telling me “Happy Birthday Darling Amma” against a dark chocolate icing! It was Thankam’s surprise for me. She had made it herself with the aid of the maid after making sure I had gone to sleep. Later she told me how she had closed all the doors leading to my room, and that it was all over only by 2 a.m. My heart went out to her. I sneaked into her room. She was in deep sleep. I planted a kiss on her forehead.
Sanjay had to catch an early train. After dropping him at the station, Bobby offered to take me to my parents on a flash visit before he left. It was as though he had read my mind. It was just a 20-minute drive and I always made it a point to visit them on my birthday every year. I was wondering if I could make it this year. The offer came like a birthday gift.
Back home, with Bobby also gone, I drifted slowly into the silent hours of a dull Sunday when the telephone rang. A totally unexpected call from an old student of mine. She introduced herself to me and told that she was now working for Doordarshan. Then she asked me if she could interview me for one of her T.V programmes.
“Doordarshan?…and me?” Public performances embarrass me. But still I felt flattered and important. It was not the publicity part of it but the awareness that she thought me good enough for her purpose. [To this day I do not know when it was telecast. I didn’t ask her when it would be - because I couldn’t gather the guts to watch it with the feeling that hundreds might be watching it along with me elsewhere.] Thankam too got excited and started lecturing me on what I should wear and how I should fare.
Another unusual thing that happened on that day was an unprecedented number of phone calls from my students. They all called to wish me on my birthday. The usual calls from friends and relatives I could understand. But I don’t know how they got the wind of it. It was really a heartening experience!
The interviewers came and I went. I don’t know how I fared. Before I was out of its impact the doorbell rang. “From your husband in Madras”, a courier stood before me with a cute little parcel.
I opened it. In disbelief I looked at the beautiful HMT watch with its beautiful golden strap. Even I wasn’t aware of my secret wish for a watch like that until I saw it. How did he know?
The evening was busy. My in-laws close by called in for a casual visit. They were all praise for Thankam’s cake and their greetings came like a bonus.
There was so much warmth and affection surrounding me from far and near that day. As I got into bed that night I suddenly realized that I didn’t get any time at all that day to entertain my anticipated depression.
It was a great day indeed!
I turned fifty in June this year.
They say the fiftieth birthday is a great day in one’s life and needs to be celebrated.
Well, my great day did not turn out the way I thought it would.
To be frank I am a very sensitive and sentimental creature. I depend a lot on the love, care and concern of those I love - especially my family. They too know it.
That is why they make it a point to have dinner outside on my birthday every year. They don’t care much for hotel food. But they know I love it. Actually it is not the food. It is a real luxury not to worry about the menu, about the cooking and above all the washing and the cleaning. Now, as this dining out has become routine on my birthdays, what I enjoy most is the thought behind it.
I had a feeling that my fiftieth birthday was going to be an extra-grand affair. But I knew it wouldn’t be. My husband happened to be in Madras with a very busy schedule of dubbing and editing his latest film. My sons Bobby and Sanjay had to appear for different entrance exams that day - one for his M.D and the other for U.G.C. They would leave early in the morning and would be back only late. That left my daughter Thankam, my maid and myself at home to celebrate the “grand”day. No fun, no music, no dining out.
I went to bed the previous day quite depressed. I thought this was going to be the dullest day in my life. After supper I left the others watching some late programme on TV. Sadly and slowly I slipped into slumber.
The telephone woke me up early morning. It was my husband who never bothered to get up earlier than 9 o’clock on a Sunday morning. “Hello”, he said “Happy Birthday”.
I wanted to sulk. But he had really gone out of the way to be the first one to wish me. I shouldn’t.
“Not so happy without you around.” I said.
“You know I couldn’t help it. Now, what’s special today?”
“Nothing - with nobody at home.”
He could read my tone. “We are postponing the celebration to a combined one next month, okay?” he assured. His birthday fell in July.
As I walked into the kitchen, the aroma of a freshly baked cake seeped into my nostrils. There it stood on the dining table with the white butter cream telling me “Happy Birthday Darling Amma” against a dark chocolate icing! It was Thankam’s surprise for me. She had made it herself with the aid of the maid after making sure I had gone to sleep. Later she told me how she had closed all the doors leading to my room, and that it was all over only by 2 a.m. My heart went out to her. I sneaked into her room. She was in deep sleep. I planted a kiss on her forehead.
Sanjay had to catch an early train. After dropping him at the station, Bobby offered to take me to my parents on a flash visit before he left. It was as though he had read my mind. It was just a 20-minute drive and I always made it a point to visit them on my birthday every year. I was wondering if I could make it this year. The offer came like a birthday gift.
Back home, with Bobby also gone, I drifted slowly into the silent hours of a dull Sunday when the telephone rang. A totally unexpected call from an old student of mine. She introduced herself to me and told that she was now working for Doordarshan. Then she asked me if she could interview me for one of her T.V programmes.
“Doordarshan?…and me?” Public performances embarrass me. But still I felt flattered and important. It was not the publicity part of it but the awareness that she thought me good enough for her purpose. [To this day I do not know when it was telecast. I didn’t ask her when it would be - because I couldn’t gather the guts to watch it with the feeling that hundreds might be watching it along with me elsewhere.] Thankam too got excited and started lecturing me on what I should wear and how I should fare.
Another unusual thing that happened on that day was an unprecedented number of phone calls from my students. They all called to wish me on my birthday. The usual calls from friends and relatives I could understand. But I don’t know how they got the wind of it. It was really a heartening experience!
The interviewers came and I went. I don’t know how I fared. Before I was out of its impact the doorbell rang. “From your husband in Madras”, a courier stood before me with a cute little parcel.
I opened it. In disbelief I looked at the beautiful HMT watch with its beautiful golden strap. Even I wasn’t aware of my secret wish for a watch like that until I saw it. How did he know?
The evening was busy. My in-laws close by called in for a casual visit. They were all praise for Thankam’s cake and their greetings came like a bonus.
There was so much warmth and affection surrounding me from far and near that day. As I got into bed that night I suddenly realized that I didn’t get any time at all that day to entertain my anticipated depression.
It was a great day indeed!
GOOD BYE SWEET MOTHER
Mother Teresa died at the ripe old age of 87 on the 5th of September 1997.
She had been through the throes of so many ailments for the last few years. She had been pulled back from the gates of death so many times. Everybody knew the end would come any time.
Yet, for me, the news came like a bolt of thunder from a clear blue sky. The untimely death of Princess Diana of Wales and all the stories that followed was the sensation of that week. I too, like many, didn’t want to miss any of it and sat glued to the television that Friday night when the BBC jerked out with “we have just heard that Mother Teresa has died. Please stay with us till we confirm the news.”
As the reality of the news seeped into me what surged inside was a deep feeling of guilt - and anger - towards myself.
Mother Teresa is the only human idol I have had in my life. She became my idol from the very first time I heard about her. If there was one human being I yearned to see in my life it was she. I have wished a thousand times secretly and aloud to be able to go to Calcutta just to see her, stand beside her and touch her if possible. But there were always excuses for not going. Now, with deep regret, I realize the injustice I have done to myself. I could, if I really wanted it, afford the money and the time to make a journey up to Calcutta. I have lost the chance of that fulfillment forever.
Everytime I heard that she was ill a strong and sincere prayer went up to God to spare her for us…and I know the whole world prayed with me. The world needed her very badly. Even her presence on T.V had a spiritual serenity that overpowered me-and I am sure it was not my experience alone.
The power that made Mother a miracle was her faith. She had infinite faith in goodness. She herself was the embodiment of goodness. But she believed that goodness was latent even in the hardest of hearts. With this faith of hers she moved millions around the globe.
She was the embodiment of love. She loved Jesus above all and saw Jesus in the poor, the sick and the lonely. She showed supreme loyalty to her Lord and Master. Nothing inhibited her. With that real dedication she worked wonders. With only five rupees and a heart full of human kindness and love Mother set out to the slums and gutters of Calcutta and gave it in abundance to those who needed it. Her belief, her action and her prayer was all of a piece. Doing unto others she acted her way into prayer…and praying she believed her way into action. I don’t think she ever believed in speeches. But when she spoke, her words were very simple and direct. She was always brief but invariably she spoke of love and service and penetrated people with the sharpness of her conviction.
Mother had not the glamour of beauty, the halo of royalty or the magic of fantasy about her. She never asked for the name and fame that came after her. But the small and frail figure of this weak old lady carried within her the tremendous strength of pure goodness and godly love. She proved to us goodness and love never go out of fashion. Her very presence was purifying and people could not but bow their heads to it.
Her selflessness held back prejudices of all kinds - social, political or religious - and made her the beloved of all races, faiths and parties. She was a candle that burned with a steady flame in a stormy world. Mother is gone but the fire of that candle has poured itself to many little candles all over the world.
This is only a shadow of what I feel in my heart. I could go on endlessly about this beloved person who was so real and so close to my heart though I haven’t seen her even once. She was sent specially to us from heaven to teach us once more the lesson of love - the lesson number one to turn this world into a haven of peace and joy.
Mother, my soul is on my knees at your memory, would ever be. Now as I look back at a dream that would never be realized for me, I have to console myself with the thought that I lived while you lived, under the same blue sky watching the same moon and the same stars that you have watched - at least fifty years of my life.
She had been through the throes of so many ailments for the last few years. She had been pulled back from the gates of death so many times. Everybody knew the end would come any time.
Yet, for me, the news came like a bolt of thunder from a clear blue sky. The untimely death of Princess Diana of Wales and all the stories that followed was the sensation of that week. I too, like many, didn’t want to miss any of it and sat glued to the television that Friday night when the BBC jerked out with “we have just heard that Mother Teresa has died. Please stay with us till we confirm the news.”
As the reality of the news seeped into me what surged inside was a deep feeling of guilt - and anger - towards myself.
Mother Teresa is the only human idol I have had in my life. She became my idol from the very first time I heard about her. If there was one human being I yearned to see in my life it was she. I have wished a thousand times secretly and aloud to be able to go to Calcutta just to see her, stand beside her and touch her if possible. But there were always excuses for not going. Now, with deep regret, I realize the injustice I have done to myself. I could, if I really wanted it, afford the money and the time to make a journey up to Calcutta. I have lost the chance of that fulfillment forever.
Everytime I heard that she was ill a strong and sincere prayer went up to God to spare her for us…and I know the whole world prayed with me. The world needed her very badly. Even her presence on T.V had a spiritual serenity that overpowered me-and I am sure it was not my experience alone.
The power that made Mother a miracle was her faith. She had infinite faith in goodness. She herself was the embodiment of goodness. But she believed that goodness was latent even in the hardest of hearts. With this faith of hers she moved millions around the globe.
She was the embodiment of love. She loved Jesus above all and saw Jesus in the poor, the sick and the lonely. She showed supreme loyalty to her Lord and Master. Nothing inhibited her. With that real dedication she worked wonders. With only five rupees and a heart full of human kindness and love Mother set out to the slums and gutters of Calcutta and gave it in abundance to those who needed it. Her belief, her action and her prayer was all of a piece. Doing unto others she acted her way into prayer…and praying she believed her way into action. I don’t think she ever believed in speeches. But when she spoke, her words were very simple and direct. She was always brief but invariably she spoke of love and service and penetrated people with the sharpness of her conviction.
Mother had not the glamour of beauty, the halo of royalty or the magic of fantasy about her. She never asked for the name and fame that came after her. But the small and frail figure of this weak old lady carried within her the tremendous strength of pure goodness and godly love. She proved to us goodness and love never go out of fashion. Her very presence was purifying and people could not but bow their heads to it.
Her selflessness held back prejudices of all kinds - social, political or religious - and made her the beloved of all races, faiths and parties. She was a candle that burned with a steady flame in a stormy world. Mother is gone but the fire of that candle has poured itself to many little candles all over the world.
This is only a shadow of what I feel in my heart. I could go on endlessly about this beloved person who was so real and so close to my heart though I haven’t seen her even once. She was sent specially to us from heaven to teach us once more the lesson of love - the lesson number one to turn this world into a haven of peace and joy.
Mother, my soul is on my knees at your memory, would ever be. Now as I look back at a dream that would never be realized for me, I have to console myself with the thought that I lived while you lived, under the same blue sky watching the same moon and the same stars that you have watched - at least fifty years of my life.
IF WORDS COULD SPEAK
If it is money, power or physical stature that makes a man significant - well, this is the story of a very insignificant man, because he had none of these. He was a small man, he ignored power or position and he was penniless when he died.
But he died in the luxury of love. His investment of selflessness and sacrifice doubled and redoubled in the hearts where he had deposited them. He himself was a bank officer who advised his customers to save for the future. He had not much to save. Whatever he had was spent on those he loved. It looked stupid and reckless to some. When he was told once that parenthood was eventually a thankless job, his retort was to deserve it first.
He deserved it to the full. He had not much to give his dear ones in the form of money or materials. But he loved them to a capacity beyond imagination. By being a loving person himself he taught his children how to love. He sustained that warmth of love about him till the last moment of his life. He taught them integrity by being a trustworthy person-by facing life’s griefs and pains without being broken by them. He convinced them that life was for growing, and all experiences, good or bad, can be useful in that growth.
Work for him was not just a means of making a life materially. It was also a way of making life meaningful. His children took it as a legacy from him. The waxing and waning of work in his office was sensed by his family. They always knew when the stresses and the strains came. At the end of every financial year, when accounts tallied and closed on the 31st of March, the whole family would heave a sigh of relief. Significantly he closed the accounts of his life also on the 31st of March 1998.
His affections were not confined. Cousins, nephews, nieces and friends basked in his love. He was concerned about all. He offered a gentle hand and loving touch to all those who visited, which made a small house seem a big one. They were moved not by the style or show but by the climate of his heart…and so they came often.
With silent dignity and invisible courage he faced the crises of his life. There were many, when life seemed to be at a dead end. The bank he worked for was liquidated, he lost his job, and there were no savings to fall back upon. The struggle was hard. But he made the fight and carried on the duty of raising his children. He did it with patience and self-sacrifice which held nothing back for himself…not even the solace of sharing his anxieties with us.
He was gentle to the core. His children cannot remember a single incident when he lost his temper.. and in return for all that they tried never to hurt him. He was old and sick .It was the most natural thing for him to be irritable and complaining. But even when he knew the end was near he was unnaturally and admirably brave, calm and pleasant. What bothered him most was the thought that he would become a burden to others in his weakness.
The fact was we vied to be at his beck and call.
His family consisted of his wife and four children. Each one believed his or herself to be his favourite. There were hard times in their growing up. But they were happy times too, because of him. Simple surprise gifts, short picnics, encouraging words and acts of compliment-there are so many that will be forever etched and treasured in their memories. He could not always afford to take them out to movies or journeys. Instead, he opened to them the world of books and literature which has now become a way of life for them. He kept them busy and interested with card games, riddles and puzzles. When he was there to lead, polishing furniture and weeding the vegetable garden was like a family entertainment. An old biscuit tin, sealed around, with a slit on top was the common money bank to which they all contributed their little mites. It always took a long time to be full. Opening it at last was a ceremony and a celebration. No book need tell them that the poor have their pure and simple joys.
As they grew up, there was nothing they did not share with him. Hopes and fears, events and achievements, friends at college, the books they loved - he knew everything about them. They were given lot of freedom which they never misused .He had absolute trust in them.
He was so proud of his children. Every progress they made, big or small, thrilled him. This love and pride and concern never stopped. It flowed on to their spouses and their children. They in turn loved and respected him. He was a special grandfather who will always be remembered with deep fondness.
I shall forever be proud of this man. He was my father. Being his firstborn I had the longest term of love with him. But Daddy is no more. With him gone, I know I will never be the same again. Time might dull the pangs of pain that trigger tears at every memory now. Life might slowly come back to its normal course. I might work steadily and even laugh heartily again. But I know something for sure.. a part of me lies buried with him. The loss will be felt forever.
But he died in the luxury of love. His investment of selflessness and sacrifice doubled and redoubled in the hearts where he had deposited them. He himself was a bank officer who advised his customers to save for the future. He had not much to save. Whatever he had was spent on those he loved. It looked stupid and reckless to some. When he was told once that parenthood was eventually a thankless job, his retort was to deserve it first.
He deserved it to the full. He had not much to give his dear ones in the form of money or materials. But he loved them to a capacity beyond imagination. By being a loving person himself he taught his children how to love. He sustained that warmth of love about him till the last moment of his life. He taught them integrity by being a trustworthy person-by facing life’s griefs and pains without being broken by them. He convinced them that life was for growing, and all experiences, good or bad, can be useful in that growth.
Work for him was not just a means of making a life materially. It was also a way of making life meaningful. His children took it as a legacy from him. The waxing and waning of work in his office was sensed by his family. They always knew when the stresses and the strains came. At the end of every financial year, when accounts tallied and closed on the 31st of March, the whole family would heave a sigh of relief. Significantly he closed the accounts of his life also on the 31st of March 1998.
His affections were not confined. Cousins, nephews, nieces and friends basked in his love. He was concerned about all. He offered a gentle hand and loving touch to all those who visited, which made a small house seem a big one. They were moved not by the style or show but by the climate of his heart…and so they came often.
With silent dignity and invisible courage he faced the crises of his life. There were many, when life seemed to be at a dead end. The bank he worked for was liquidated, he lost his job, and there were no savings to fall back upon. The struggle was hard. But he made the fight and carried on the duty of raising his children. He did it with patience and self-sacrifice which held nothing back for himself…not even the solace of sharing his anxieties with us.
He was gentle to the core. His children cannot remember a single incident when he lost his temper.. and in return for all that they tried never to hurt him. He was old and sick .It was the most natural thing for him to be irritable and complaining. But even when he knew the end was near he was unnaturally and admirably brave, calm and pleasant. What bothered him most was the thought that he would become a burden to others in his weakness.
The fact was we vied to be at his beck and call.
His family consisted of his wife and four children. Each one believed his or herself to be his favourite. There were hard times in their growing up. But they were happy times too, because of him. Simple surprise gifts, short picnics, encouraging words and acts of compliment-there are so many that will be forever etched and treasured in their memories. He could not always afford to take them out to movies or journeys. Instead, he opened to them the world of books and literature which has now become a way of life for them. He kept them busy and interested with card games, riddles and puzzles. When he was there to lead, polishing furniture and weeding the vegetable garden was like a family entertainment. An old biscuit tin, sealed around, with a slit on top was the common money bank to which they all contributed their little mites. It always took a long time to be full. Opening it at last was a ceremony and a celebration. No book need tell them that the poor have their pure and simple joys.
As they grew up, there was nothing they did not share with him. Hopes and fears, events and achievements, friends at college, the books they loved - he knew everything about them. They were given lot of freedom which they never misused .He had absolute trust in them.
He was so proud of his children. Every progress they made, big or small, thrilled him. This love and pride and concern never stopped. It flowed on to their spouses and their children. They in turn loved and respected him. He was a special grandfather who will always be remembered with deep fondness.
I shall forever be proud of this man. He was my father. Being his firstborn I had the longest term of love with him. But Daddy is no more. With him gone, I know I will never be the same again. Time might dull the pangs of pain that trigger tears at every memory now. Life might slowly come back to its normal course. I might work steadily and even laugh heartily again. But I know something for sure.. a part of me lies buried with him. The loss will be felt forever.
MEMORIES IN FRAME
Turning the pages of our family albums is a favourite pastime for me. I assume that it is so with many. But I have learnt that even a casual cruise through just one album takes a lot more time than you intend to. So you have to see that there is no milk on the stove to spill over and no cake to get burnt in the oven before you sit down to open one.
Once you open the album you get lost in its pages. Every little picture inside becomes a frozen moment from the past triggering memories and associations. For instance, that album of old photographs of your childhood-it is so hard to believe that little “chubby cheeks” staring at you from Mama’s arms is yourself-now over fifty-and that young lady carrying you is your seventy year-old mother in her twenties! That long and lanky youngster is now a grey-haired overweight brother in middle age! So many of them - your siblings, cousins, playmates…forever young and impish in those pages. There are also very dear faces you might see no more, smiling at you…and you feel the warmth of love wrapping you up. “Once upon a time” suddenly becomes “now” and alive. The next minute the film of memory rewinds and you are playing hide and seek or fighting with your sister for the comics.
What about that album of college days? Each snap is a treasure of memories - happy faces in every angle enjoying picnics, parties, excursions. Cinderellas and Cordelias and Ophelias on the stage. So fresh, so young, bubbling with laughter and joy. You make instant decisions to communicate with each of them very soon. But they all get dissolved in the daily chores that take away all your time. Still you move around with a hum on your lips. At least for a short while your wrinkles, thick waist and grey hair become a camouflage. In your heart you realize that the remnants of the young girl of dances and dreams. The music of youth still echoes in us.
…And you can surrender all surroundings into utter oblivion as you sit down to watch those photographs when your kids were young. There they are, with their angelic faces that hold still the wonder as each murmuring beat of time reveals fresh mysteries. I close my eyes and picture them-their innocence, their dependence, their mischiefs. I know they still live concealed in the tall youths who have grown into men. How soon the years roll by and we parents say “good-bye” to the child and “hello” to the youth.
It all happens so fast. Children are young for such a short time. In the place of my little girl I suddenly see a pretty young woman. The sons who once held my hand in confidence now walk in places I cannot follow. But it looks like it all happened only yesterday.
November 1998
Once you open the album you get lost in its pages. Every little picture inside becomes a frozen moment from the past triggering memories and associations. For instance, that album of old photographs of your childhood-it is so hard to believe that little “chubby cheeks” staring at you from Mama’s arms is yourself-now over fifty-and that young lady carrying you is your seventy year-old mother in her twenties! That long and lanky youngster is now a grey-haired overweight brother in middle age! So many of them - your siblings, cousins, playmates…forever young and impish in those pages. There are also very dear faces you might see no more, smiling at you…and you feel the warmth of love wrapping you up. “Once upon a time” suddenly becomes “now” and alive. The next minute the film of memory rewinds and you are playing hide and seek or fighting with your sister for the comics.
What about that album of college days? Each snap is a treasure of memories - happy faces in every angle enjoying picnics, parties, excursions. Cinderellas and Cordelias and Ophelias on the stage. So fresh, so young, bubbling with laughter and joy. You make instant decisions to communicate with each of them very soon. But they all get dissolved in the daily chores that take away all your time. Still you move around with a hum on your lips. At least for a short while your wrinkles, thick waist and grey hair become a camouflage. In your heart you realize that the remnants of the young girl of dances and dreams. The music of youth still echoes in us.
…And you can surrender all surroundings into utter oblivion as you sit down to watch those photographs when your kids were young. There they are, with their angelic faces that hold still the wonder as each murmuring beat of time reveals fresh mysteries. I close my eyes and picture them-their innocence, their dependence, their mischiefs. I know they still live concealed in the tall youths who have grown into men. How soon the years roll by and we parents say “good-bye” to the child and “hello” to the youth.
It all happens so fast. Children are young for such a short time. In the place of my little girl I suddenly see a pretty young woman. The sons who once held my hand in confidence now walk in places I cannot follow. But it looks like it all happened only yesterday.
November 1998
THE PANGS OF PARTING
Our richest experiences are not always the easiest. I learned this when the time came for me to say good-bye to BCM College after a deep and long relationship. Physically I have been looking forward to my retirement. But mentally and emotionally I am still trying to overcome the trauma of a great ordeal.
For the last many years I had taken BCM for granted. It is only at this moment of parting that I realize the strength of that cord that connected me to her. I have been a part of BCM for the last thirty four years-add one more for my pre-university course here and that makes it thirty five. Of course, thirty five years is a long time in one’s life span.
I grew along with BCM. The skinny, slim girl of twenty one has grown physically into quite a rounded figure with receding hairline and exceeding waistline. Wrinkles and grey hair have started showing. I grew from a girl, to wife, mother and mother-in-law during this period.
Society might see me as wise[?] old matron. The truth is that my years in BCM have put into me a perennial romantic teenager. The music of youth still echoes in me. I show outside the grown-up part. But inside, very often, I become the laughing girl, the dry teenager and sometimes the dreaming youth. My girls have taught me to sing and dance with them-in my soul. A part of me will always remain young - thanks to BCM and my students.
When I joined BCM I was as young and green as my students. I learned with them and ripened as a teacher. I remember now the sleepless nights and nerve-wracking terror I used to experience as I stepped into a class of gazing girls with a new poem or essay or grammar lesson. Even hours and hours of preparation could not make me confident enough. But even without my awareness an inspiration grew. One girl in the classroom suddenly looks at you with understanding and enlightenment, another face suddenly becomes alert or yet another suddenly writes down what you have said-and your day is made. I go home and prepare for more such rewards the next day.
Sometimes a student takes me into confidence and leads me into uncharted areas of experiences that I hear from her. They make me smile, they make me cry, they make me think of thousands who suffer similarly. The teacher in me transforms into a friend, a guide, an elder sister and very often, a mother. I might retire officially from BCM. But the great consolation is the feeling that I may not retire from the minds of my students. Many of them keep in touch even after leaving the BCM nest. It makes me so proud to learn that wherever they are, whatever they are, they are now exerting their powerful influence on their family or community in some way or the other. When I hear of their successes, their usefulness and their honours my heart leaps within me to think they are my students. What a reward this is for a teacher!
Working with the management of BCM was a unique experience. How could I thank them enough for the encouragement, acknowledgement and appreciation I always had from them? I knew I was not worth it. But it worked always as an incentive to deserve it.
Then, there is the love and concern and support I enjoyed from my colleagues-both teaching and non-teaching. Their sincere smiles and endearing words wrapped me in a warmth of affection that always lifted my spirits. I could not find the right words to describe my indebtedness to them all. Too many words would only suffocate my real feelings. Friends, I want you to know that you were important to me.
I find it very hard to put a brake on my emotions as I think of my dear friends in the English department. The department was [is] my home away from home. Our love endures because we do not merely love one another, but we love many things together. It is a sense of lifelong belonging. The long years of love and friendship have formed for me a story-bag full of memories and incidents to be recollected repeatedly in my tranquility. Etty’s poetic outbursts, Lucy’s alliance with lime juice, Monamma’s fiery speeches, Leelu’s gentle humour, Indira’s delicious pickles falling like manna from high into our non-vegetarian lunch boxes! I am going to miss Valsa’s quiet intelligence and wisdom blurting out at the right moments to solve our problems, Mano’s and Matilda’s sweet delicacies, Josi’s hilarious jokes and Prema’s gentle ones, Renju’s right repartees and Dolly’s silent appreciation, Fincy’s sweet smile and my little Teena’s daughterly affection. I will forever be grateful for that wonderful day at the sailing club. As we sat by the lake with the birds twittering and the breeze writing poetry on the waters, so many times my mind went truant to feel your collective and condensed love falling all over me like a benediction. I could not get over it for a long time. That night I was restless in bed. I could not sleep and I found out I was crying when I felt the wetness on my pillow. I still don’t know whether it was happiness or sorrow. Maybe it was both.
Of one thing I am certain. BCM was God’s blessing to me. I shudder at the very thought of all that I would have missed if God had decided to put me elsewhere in life.
For the last many years I had taken BCM for granted. It is only at this moment of parting that I realize the strength of that cord that connected me to her. I have been a part of BCM for the last thirty four years-add one more for my pre-university course here and that makes it thirty five. Of course, thirty five years is a long time in one’s life span.
I grew along with BCM. The skinny, slim girl of twenty one has grown physically into quite a rounded figure with receding hairline and exceeding waistline. Wrinkles and grey hair have started showing. I grew from a girl, to wife, mother and mother-in-law during this period.
Society might see me as wise[?] old matron. The truth is that my years in BCM have put into me a perennial romantic teenager. The music of youth still echoes in me. I show outside the grown-up part. But inside, very often, I become the laughing girl, the dry teenager and sometimes the dreaming youth. My girls have taught me to sing and dance with them-in my soul. A part of me will always remain young - thanks to BCM and my students.
When I joined BCM I was as young and green as my students. I learned with them and ripened as a teacher. I remember now the sleepless nights and nerve-wracking terror I used to experience as I stepped into a class of gazing girls with a new poem or essay or grammar lesson. Even hours and hours of preparation could not make me confident enough. But even without my awareness an inspiration grew. One girl in the classroom suddenly looks at you with understanding and enlightenment, another face suddenly becomes alert or yet another suddenly writes down what you have said-and your day is made. I go home and prepare for more such rewards the next day.
Sometimes a student takes me into confidence and leads me into uncharted areas of experiences that I hear from her. They make me smile, they make me cry, they make me think of thousands who suffer similarly. The teacher in me transforms into a friend, a guide, an elder sister and very often, a mother. I might retire officially from BCM. But the great consolation is the feeling that I may not retire from the minds of my students. Many of them keep in touch even after leaving the BCM nest. It makes me so proud to learn that wherever they are, whatever they are, they are now exerting their powerful influence on their family or community in some way or the other. When I hear of their successes, their usefulness and their honours my heart leaps within me to think they are my students. What a reward this is for a teacher!
Working with the management of BCM was a unique experience. How could I thank them enough for the encouragement, acknowledgement and appreciation I always had from them? I knew I was not worth it. But it worked always as an incentive to deserve it.
Then, there is the love and concern and support I enjoyed from my colleagues-both teaching and non-teaching. Their sincere smiles and endearing words wrapped me in a warmth of affection that always lifted my spirits. I could not find the right words to describe my indebtedness to them all. Too many words would only suffocate my real feelings. Friends, I want you to know that you were important to me.
I find it very hard to put a brake on my emotions as I think of my dear friends in the English department. The department was [is] my home away from home. Our love endures because we do not merely love one another, but we love many things together. It is a sense of lifelong belonging. The long years of love and friendship have formed for me a story-bag full of memories and incidents to be recollected repeatedly in my tranquility. Etty’s poetic outbursts, Lucy’s alliance with lime juice, Monamma’s fiery speeches, Leelu’s gentle humour, Indira’s delicious pickles falling like manna from high into our non-vegetarian lunch boxes! I am going to miss Valsa’s quiet intelligence and wisdom blurting out at the right moments to solve our problems, Mano’s and Matilda’s sweet delicacies, Josi’s hilarious jokes and Prema’s gentle ones, Renju’s right repartees and Dolly’s silent appreciation, Fincy’s sweet smile and my little Teena’s daughterly affection. I will forever be grateful for that wonderful day at the sailing club. As we sat by the lake with the birds twittering and the breeze writing poetry on the waters, so many times my mind went truant to feel your collective and condensed love falling all over me like a benediction. I could not get over it for a long time. That night I was restless in bed. I could not sleep and I found out I was crying when I felt the wetness on my pillow. I still don’t know whether it was happiness or sorrow. Maybe it was both.
Of one thing I am certain. BCM was God’s blessing to me. I shudder at the very thought of all that I would have missed if God had decided to put me elsewhere in life.
SPEECH AT AAICHE SEMINAR (INTERCOLLEGIATE AT CHAITHANYA, 22/03/1999)
When I was given this opportunity to speak today I found it both tempting and treacherous. To talk at a teachers’ seminar about excellence in teaching is a grand affair. It makes an impression that you must be an excellent teacher. That was the tempting part. The treacherous part was that when you speak there is the chance for that mistake to be quickly exposed. Anyway I took the challenge and here I am.
With the UGC pay revision around the corner, and the corresponding demands made upon the teachers, life has all of a sudden become hard and hectic in our colleges. At least that is how I feel. In the thirty years of my teaching career, I haven’t worked and worried as much as I did this year. Committees, seminars, workshops and NAAC reports have put so much upon our shoulders that nowadays we don’t know what is happening to each other. We have become strangers in our own departments. We very badly miss the occasional treats, the chats and the laughs.
They say today’s stress becomes tomorrow’s good old days. Let us accept all this with the hope that it is all to work out a better system of education for our youngsters as they enter the third millennium. There is a lot of talk about equipping ourselves with the most modern in arts, sciences and humanities. New subjects and courses have entered the curriculum and we are bound to be experts in computers and the internet and whatnot. The youngsters of today are exposed to much more scientific and technological knowledge than we were, and we have to be very alert and up to date if we want to deal with them as competent teachers – which means, if you want to be an excellent teacher in the next millennium you have to be constantly learning and improving yourself.
Everybody is talking about academic excellence. Yes. It is imperative, but we must look at the matter from the other end also. As we help the next generation across the threshold to the next century there are quite a few things that tend to be overlooked. In an effort to expand the brains of our students to thrive in a rapidly progressive world, the rich legacy of moral values and spiritual strength go very low in the list of priorities.
It is amazing what frightful forces men have brought under their control. But sadly we see that they cannot always control their own hearts. They can speed with the sun, but they cannot speed mercy or justice or peace – for they are not in them. They can ban the midnight and turn it into day, but they cannot ban the malignancy of their minds. They can illuminate the heavens, but not their spirits. They can divide and fuse the atom, but they cannot fuse God to their souls. We are shocked everyday by headlines reporting soaring crime rate, riots, sexual orgies, divorce and juvenile delinquency. Sometimes it looks like the very structure of our civilization is crumbling.
Only through proper education could we save the next generation from utter ruin. But in modern terms ‘higher education’ is defined as deeper, narrower and more specialized. It is becoming uncomfortably obvious that what ought to be higher about higher education is education for breadth. This is what we should aspire for as teachers.
It is high time we acknowledged the double mission of education. On the one hand it should develop new knowledge, transmit new knowledge to the young and sharpen the intellectual tools of the student. On the other hand it must try to help the students to develop the attitude and pattern of conduct which will enable them to live affirmatively and productively in the world. Education is only half way if you expand only the brain of the student. It becomes complete when the student learns to develop a desire for goodness, an eagerness for knowledge, a capacity for friendship and above all a concern for others. Unfortunately this side is often neglected. If one as much as mentions the concept of character formation or value education in the professional meetings of higher education the response is usually one of derision and amazement.
In this direction even the most modern and all-round computer could not do what a good teacher can. The computer has been accepted by many as the very competent and most efficient teacher that has all the information ready for you at the touch of a finger. Of course computers are amazing, but they can never come close to being as effective as human beings. A computer is not creative on its own because it is programmed to behave in a predictable way. Creativity comes from looking for the unexpected and stepping outside your own experience. Computers cannot do this because their intelligence is artificial. But a good teacher can work wonders here.
It is our responsibility not to let science and technology freeze the coming generation into an emotional ice-age. Let us become teachers in every sense of the word. A good teacher must be learned and eloquent. He should master his subject. A genuine love for the students is also necessary. Without that love there cannot be any real teaching. Genuine concern, steady character, patience, endurance and punctuality are the essential qualities of a good teacher.
But these days our main concern is the text book, the syllabus and nothing more. We are more hurried than our students. We have no extra time or patience for them. The art of perseverance is rapidly becoming extinct. We depend on everything instant. We have become slaves of clocks and calendars. The tragedy is that our students are also infected by the same mechanical attitude. The result is we miss many of the simple heartening pleasures of teaching. The recognition and respect outside the classroom or campus, or look of sudden understanding inside the classroom were enough to fill our whole day with satisfaction. But these days our students are not able to give us this satisfaction-because very often we are not able to give to them.
What has gone wrong, and where? Let us try to evaluate. But remember evaluations are made not to prove but to improve. Every time I try to assess myself as a teacher, I compare myself with the most wonderful teachers I had in school and college. It is not the actual teaching of a lesson or a subject that I recall - but their optimism, their initiative and their devotion. The key to their dynamism, I now understand, is the quality of faith, plus imagination plus enthusiasm. One session with them and you could leave like recharged storage batteries.
I wonder if I could ever become that. What they had was commitment…and there is lot of difference between interest and commitment. When you are interested in doing something you do it only when circumstances permit. But when you are committed to something you accept no excuses, only results. Let us become committed to our profession. Accept service as its own reward. We know that the light of one lonely candle can work more than you expect, in pitch darkness. We can be lights in a darkened world.
When you try your best and your best is not good enough, leave it in the hands of God. He will take up the rest. Thank you.
With the UGC pay revision around the corner, and the corresponding demands made upon the teachers, life has all of a sudden become hard and hectic in our colleges. At least that is how I feel. In the thirty years of my teaching career, I haven’t worked and worried as much as I did this year. Committees, seminars, workshops and NAAC reports have put so much upon our shoulders that nowadays we don’t know what is happening to each other. We have become strangers in our own departments. We very badly miss the occasional treats, the chats and the laughs.
They say today’s stress becomes tomorrow’s good old days. Let us accept all this with the hope that it is all to work out a better system of education for our youngsters as they enter the third millennium. There is a lot of talk about equipping ourselves with the most modern in arts, sciences and humanities. New subjects and courses have entered the curriculum and we are bound to be experts in computers and the internet and whatnot. The youngsters of today are exposed to much more scientific and technological knowledge than we were, and we have to be very alert and up to date if we want to deal with them as competent teachers – which means, if you want to be an excellent teacher in the next millennium you have to be constantly learning and improving yourself.
Everybody is talking about academic excellence. Yes. It is imperative, but we must look at the matter from the other end also. As we help the next generation across the threshold to the next century there are quite a few things that tend to be overlooked. In an effort to expand the brains of our students to thrive in a rapidly progressive world, the rich legacy of moral values and spiritual strength go very low in the list of priorities.
It is amazing what frightful forces men have brought under their control. But sadly we see that they cannot always control their own hearts. They can speed with the sun, but they cannot speed mercy or justice or peace – for they are not in them. They can ban the midnight and turn it into day, but they cannot ban the malignancy of their minds. They can illuminate the heavens, but not their spirits. They can divide and fuse the atom, but they cannot fuse God to their souls. We are shocked everyday by headlines reporting soaring crime rate, riots, sexual orgies, divorce and juvenile delinquency. Sometimes it looks like the very structure of our civilization is crumbling.
Only through proper education could we save the next generation from utter ruin. But in modern terms ‘higher education’ is defined as deeper, narrower and more specialized. It is becoming uncomfortably obvious that what ought to be higher about higher education is education for breadth. This is what we should aspire for as teachers.
It is high time we acknowledged the double mission of education. On the one hand it should develop new knowledge, transmit new knowledge to the young and sharpen the intellectual tools of the student. On the other hand it must try to help the students to develop the attitude and pattern of conduct which will enable them to live affirmatively and productively in the world. Education is only half way if you expand only the brain of the student. It becomes complete when the student learns to develop a desire for goodness, an eagerness for knowledge, a capacity for friendship and above all a concern for others. Unfortunately this side is often neglected. If one as much as mentions the concept of character formation or value education in the professional meetings of higher education the response is usually one of derision and amazement.
In this direction even the most modern and all-round computer could not do what a good teacher can. The computer has been accepted by many as the very competent and most efficient teacher that has all the information ready for you at the touch of a finger. Of course computers are amazing, but they can never come close to being as effective as human beings. A computer is not creative on its own because it is programmed to behave in a predictable way. Creativity comes from looking for the unexpected and stepping outside your own experience. Computers cannot do this because their intelligence is artificial. But a good teacher can work wonders here.
It is our responsibility not to let science and technology freeze the coming generation into an emotional ice-age. Let us become teachers in every sense of the word. A good teacher must be learned and eloquent. He should master his subject. A genuine love for the students is also necessary. Without that love there cannot be any real teaching. Genuine concern, steady character, patience, endurance and punctuality are the essential qualities of a good teacher.
But these days our main concern is the text book, the syllabus and nothing more. We are more hurried than our students. We have no extra time or patience for them. The art of perseverance is rapidly becoming extinct. We depend on everything instant. We have become slaves of clocks and calendars. The tragedy is that our students are also infected by the same mechanical attitude. The result is we miss many of the simple heartening pleasures of teaching. The recognition and respect outside the classroom or campus, or look of sudden understanding inside the classroom were enough to fill our whole day with satisfaction. But these days our students are not able to give us this satisfaction-because very often we are not able to give to them.
What has gone wrong, and where? Let us try to evaluate. But remember evaluations are made not to prove but to improve. Every time I try to assess myself as a teacher, I compare myself with the most wonderful teachers I had in school and college. It is not the actual teaching of a lesson or a subject that I recall - but their optimism, their initiative and their devotion. The key to their dynamism, I now understand, is the quality of faith, plus imagination plus enthusiasm. One session with them and you could leave like recharged storage batteries.
I wonder if I could ever become that. What they had was commitment…and there is lot of difference between interest and commitment. When you are interested in doing something you do it only when circumstances permit. But when you are committed to something you accept no excuses, only results. Let us become committed to our profession. Accept service as its own reward. We know that the light of one lonely candle can work more than you expect, in pitch darkness. We can be lights in a darkened world.
When you try your best and your best is not good enough, leave it in the hands of God. He will take up the rest. Thank you.
SPEECH MADE AT THE CORE COMMITTEE MEETING TO RESTRUCTURE THE SYLLABUS (18/11/1997)
When I was asked to preside over this meeting today my first impulse was to resist. But then I thought this was the only opportunity for me to congratulate and thank the authorities concerned for finally deciding to take this vital step towards restructuring the English curriculum in higher education. So, first of all, congratulations and thank you. We, I mean myself and my fellow teachers of the English department of BCM College had been yearning for something like this for so long. Caught in the web of a prehistoric pattern of syllabus and teaching we found ourselves helpless and handicapped, and did not know which way to turn. There were of course changes, only in the list of books which appeared in time and more often out of time. Very often the same books and authors reappeared after intervals of disappearance! The board of studies always remained inaccessible and virtually invisible. Nobody asked us for complaints or suggestions. We were learning to live with the fate of teaching such an interesting subject to so many uninterested students. We knew that the fault was not with the students. Hence it is so heartening that we teachers too are asked to play our part this time. In fact, we are the most qualified, because we are the ones who could read the pulse of the students – their requirements, their standards and their handicaps. What evolves out of this workshop would be worth a try.
Now that I have a chance I think I have the excuse of twenty eight years of teaching experience to voice my humble thoughts on this matter. First of all I am totally against reducing English to the level of just a tool or instrument for communication for special purposes as it put here yesterday. Education, we all agree, aims at the total development of the human personality, and you will also agree that the utmost of science and technology alone could not bring this about. The sciences might expand the brain. But it takes language and literature to initiate our students to the science of the soul.
I don’t want to go into any detail. But I want to say that the restructuring should take place on three plains. I am talking mainly about Part I English because with us Part III is in infancy and I don’t feel competent enough to make solid suggestions.
Except for a small minority our undergraduate students see our English classes as an unwelcome necessity. For most of them English is a hard nut to crack from school onwards. While even very simple and direct English is so difficult, we are there to baffle them with textbooks full of abstract ideas from authors like Russell, or Wells or Orwell. You could see them getting mentally frigid or numb before your very eyes. They gladly resort to the guides in the market and it becomes a matter of mugging up. The average student gets through, but with no knowledge of or interest in the subject. In the process of getting these heavy matters through, there is not enough time to improve their language or other skills. Now that we are thinking of useful improvements let us make it light and easy and interesting for them by giving them at the same time a taste of good poetry, prose, fiction and drama. Taught in the right way it should induce them to dive deeper into the subject on their own account.
Next is the plain of evaluation. We stick to the age old pattern ‘all questions carry equal marks’, ‘annotate any five of the following’ etc. So stereotype that with a good guide and memory you could get through rather decently even without reading the text books or attending a single class. The evaluation method should be such that it makes attending classes and reading text books imperative.
Now I come to the final plain. Left to work for years in this stagnated system we have reached a kind of lethargy that resists any change or effort. Restructuring means change – and change means a lot of new thinking and effort. One reason that real revolutionary change did not take place for so long has been the fact that there is a tendency to resist anything that involves strain and effort, especially if you have been lethargic for a long time.
I am reminded of the story of a man who was found searching for something in front of house.
“Have you lost something?” Somebody asked him.
“Yes, my keys.”
“Where exactly did you lose them?”
“I don’t know, maybe inside the house.”
“Then why do you look for it here?”
“Because here there is some light. Inside the house it is dark – and I have no lamp.”
That is what we have been doing. Going round and round the same circle under the dim light of acquired experience. It is high time we got out of that circle and tried new ventures to find the keys that would really click with our students. It is challenging. But how do we teach our children to face challenges if we are not ready to face them ourselves? In a world that is rushing after anything that is instant and practical, it is our duty to save them from losing the remaining strains of sensibility and humaneness. We could contribute a lot to this through the subject we are teaching. Let us have this noble duty in mind when we are doing this restructuring. I wish us all good luck in the endeavour.
Thank you.
Now that I have a chance I think I have the excuse of twenty eight years of teaching experience to voice my humble thoughts on this matter. First of all I am totally against reducing English to the level of just a tool or instrument for communication for special purposes as it put here yesterday. Education, we all agree, aims at the total development of the human personality, and you will also agree that the utmost of science and technology alone could not bring this about. The sciences might expand the brain. But it takes language and literature to initiate our students to the science of the soul.
I don’t want to go into any detail. But I want to say that the restructuring should take place on three plains. I am talking mainly about Part I English because with us Part III is in infancy and I don’t feel competent enough to make solid suggestions.
Except for a small minority our undergraduate students see our English classes as an unwelcome necessity. For most of them English is a hard nut to crack from school onwards. While even very simple and direct English is so difficult, we are there to baffle them with textbooks full of abstract ideas from authors like Russell, or Wells or Orwell. You could see them getting mentally frigid or numb before your very eyes. They gladly resort to the guides in the market and it becomes a matter of mugging up. The average student gets through, but with no knowledge of or interest in the subject. In the process of getting these heavy matters through, there is not enough time to improve their language or other skills. Now that we are thinking of useful improvements let us make it light and easy and interesting for them by giving them at the same time a taste of good poetry, prose, fiction and drama. Taught in the right way it should induce them to dive deeper into the subject on their own account.
Next is the plain of evaluation. We stick to the age old pattern ‘all questions carry equal marks’, ‘annotate any five of the following’ etc. So stereotype that with a good guide and memory you could get through rather decently even without reading the text books or attending a single class. The evaluation method should be such that it makes attending classes and reading text books imperative.
Now I come to the final plain. Left to work for years in this stagnated system we have reached a kind of lethargy that resists any change or effort. Restructuring means change – and change means a lot of new thinking and effort. One reason that real revolutionary change did not take place for so long has been the fact that there is a tendency to resist anything that involves strain and effort, especially if you have been lethargic for a long time.
I am reminded of the story of a man who was found searching for something in front of house.
“Have you lost something?” Somebody asked him.
“Yes, my keys.”
“Where exactly did you lose them?”
“I don’t know, maybe inside the house.”
“Then why do you look for it here?”
“Because here there is some light. Inside the house it is dark – and I have no lamp.”
That is what we have been doing. Going round and round the same circle under the dim light of acquired experience. It is high time we got out of that circle and tried new ventures to find the keys that would really click with our students. It is challenging. But how do we teach our children to face challenges if we are not ready to face them ourselves? In a world that is rushing after anything that is instant and practical, it is our duty to save them from losing the remaining strains of sensibility and humaneness. We could contribute a lot to this through the subject we are teaching. Let us have this noble duty in mind when we are doing this restructuring. I wish us all good luck in the endeavour.
Thank you.
Speech made at the inauguration of the literature association at Baselius College [6-11-1997]
I agreed to come for this function for two reasons. One, almost everyone in this department is friend of mine, and I am obliged to them. I also have few old students doing their postgraduation here. It would be rude and ungrateful if I declined the request. Two, challenging though it was, I was secretly flattered that you had chosen to have me to inaugurate the activities of your prestigious association.
I said challenging. Give me a class and a subject to teach. I think I would perform to perfection. But believe it or not, even after twenty eight years of teaching, facing an audience makes me very nervous. See, even as I was entering this campus, it seemed like somebody in the vicinity was beating a bass drum. Then I knew it was only the thumping of my heart. Now that I am among friendly and familiar faces I feel my heartbeat coming back to normal.
I wanted a subject to talk about. But your friend Vinod made it very difficult for me when he said I could talk about anything under the sun. I spent a lot of time thinking and finally I thought I will speak about the advantages of having a taste for literature, for I assume that all of you are students of literature. But remember that just because you have opted for literature for your graduation or postgraduation it does not mean that you necessarily have the taste for the subject. You may realize this taste in you at any time of your life. It may be some person or some experience that opens the door and exposes you to this wonderful world of literature. It is for you to choke or nourish it.
In my case, I was forced into this world. When I was very young, I was a sick and weak child. So at home and at school I was insulated from any kind of physical activity in the playground. While my brothers and sister and friends ran around playing hide and seek or catch and run I was left alone to wander with Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel. But what began like a curse soon became a craze. I studied in Mount Carmel School, Kottayam and I remember a time came when I exhausted all the books in the library. My teachers began to lend me books from their own homes. By the time I was in high school I knew literature was my subject. I really enjoyed my B.A and M.A years.
But I miss this enjoyment in most of the present generation students. It is not in the case of literature alone. Most of them chose their subjects not for the love of it but for its prospect in the job market. You miss a lot of fun that way-especially with literature.
To a student who approaches it with real interest, literature is a magic world. You could talk endlessly about it. To be very brief, good reading is a matter of taste. It has to be acquired. What you get from classrooms is only support. Only practice and experience can help you to recognize a really good work of literature. It is not the language but the life in them that really matters.
I think I could put it like this. There is a mulberry tree near my bedroom window. It is bushy and makes a good shelter for little birds in the summer heat. Last summer, one day, there was lot of twittering and I ran to see what was wrong. A young bird had fallen down and our cat was chasing it. I rushed out and reached in time to save the bird from the cat. I held the little bird in my hands, one hand cupped over the other. I couldn’t feel the weight of the bird. It was so frightened that it was very still. But I could feel its heart beating. It must be like that with a good story or a poem. You should feel the heartbeat without feeling the weight of what you are reading.
Once you reach this point you will wonder at what it can do to your person. It will sharpen your sensibility. It will heighten your compassion and understanding. You will be able to judge people better. It will make your life richer because good writers will take you to unchartered areas of experiences and emotions and help you to look at things with a wide perspective. As you grow older it will expose you to the world of wisdom and intuition, and help you to leap from thinking to understanding.
For example, take the case of a simple flower. For a man who trades with it, it is something to buy and sell for money. This is its lowest value. It can also be an object of intellectual interest for a botanist and for that matter a nettle may sometimes be more interesting to him than a flower.
But for a writer – for a poet – it becomes an object of joy. It becomes a thing of beauty and truth, a window from which we may look into the beauty and truth of the universe or the beauty and truth of our own souls.
They say making a speech is like falling in love. It is difficult to begin with but once you start you don’t know when or how to stop. I will stop before I get into that dilemma.
Thank you.
I said challenging. Give me a class and a subject to teach. I think I would perform to perfection. But believe it or not, even after twenty eight years of teaching, facing an audience makes me very nervous. See, even as I was entering this campus, it seemed like somebody in the vicinity was beating a bass drum. Then I knew it was only the thumping of my heart. Now that I am among friendly and familiar faces I feel my heartbeat coming back to normal.
I wanted a subject to talk about. But your friend Vinod made it very difficult for me when he said I could talk about anything under the sun. I spent a lot of time thinking and finally I thought I will speak about the advantages of having a taste for literature, for I assume that all of you are students of literature. But remember that just because you have opted for literature for your graduation or postgraduation it does not mean that you necessarily have the taste for the subject. You may realize this taste in you at any time of your life. It may be some person or some experience that opens the door and exposes you to this wonderful world of literature. It is for you to choke or nourish it.
In my case, I was forced into this world. When I was very young, I was a sick and weak child. So at home and at school I was insulated from any kind of physical activity in the playground. While my brothers and sister and friends ran around playing hide and seek or catch and run I was left alone to wander with Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel. But what began like a curse soon became a craze. I studied in Mount Carmel School, Kottayam and I remember a time came when I exhausted all the books in the library. My teachers began to lend me books from their own homes. By the time I was in high school I knew literature was my subject. I really enjoyed my B.A and M.A years.
But I miss this enjoyment in most of the present generation students. It is not in the case of literature alone. Most of them chose their subjects not for the love of it but for its prospect in the job market. You miss a lot of fun that way-especially with literature.
To a student who approaches it with real interest, literature is a magic world. You could talk endlessly about it. To be very brief, good reading is a matter of taste. It has to be acquired. What you get from classrooms is only support. Only practice and experience can help you to recognize a really good work of literature. It is not the language but the life in them that really matters.
I think I could put it like this. There is a mulberry tree near my bedroom window. It is bushy and makes a good shelter for little birds in the summer heat. Last summer, one day, there was lot of twittering and I ran to see what was wrong. A young bird had fallen down and our cat was chasing it. I rushed out and reached in time to save the bird from the cat. I held the little bird in my hands, one hand cupped over the other. I couldn’t feel the weight of the bird. It was so frightened that it was very still. But I could feel its heart beating. It must be like that with a good story or a poem. You should feel the heartbeat without feeling the weight of what you are reading.
Once you reach this point you will wonder at what it can do to your person. It will sharpen your sensibility. It will heighten your compassion and understanding. You will be able to judge people better. It will make your life richer because good writers will take you to unchartered areas of experiences and emotions and help you to look at things with a wide perspective. As you grow older it will expose you to the world of wisdom and intuition, and help you to leap from thinking to understanding.
For example, take the case of a simple flower. For a man who trades with it, it is something to buy and sell for money. This is its lowest value. It can also be an object of intellectual interest for a botanist and for that matter a nettle may sometimes be more interesting to him than a flower.
But for a writer – for a poet – it becomes an object of joy. It becomes a thing of beauty and truth, a window from which we may look into the beauty and truth of the universe or the beauty and truth of our own souls.
They say making a speech is like falling in love. It is difficult to begin with but once you start you don’t know when or how to stop. I will stop before I get into that dilemma.
Thank you.
CHRISTMAS MESSAGE AT BCM COLLEGE (1997)
When suddenly this morning I was asked to give you the Christmas message, I felt totally at a loss. My first impulse was to duck out. Then I told myself “This is your college, your colleagues and your own dear students. What makes you so nervous?” And so, here I am.
But I could not land on anything specific. I have just put together a few stray thoughts to share with you.
This is my fiftieth Christmas. One thing I have been noticing is that the feelings and thoughts aroused by the Christmas season as the years go by, take deeper meanings and wider perspectives. When you are a child Christmas is pure excitement and the excitement depends on the glamour of the star that you hang at home, the crib, the fireworks, the sweets and all the new clothes. Then it gives way to promises of love and friendship, cards, carols and prayers. As you grow older you reach a time when you realize that Christmas is not simply getting as much joy and happiness as possible. It is giving as much as possible to your dear ones – because at the age of 18 or 20, you think that you are going to live till the end of the world and that you have all the Christmases to celebrate. But at the age of fifty you know you are more than halfway through your life and you are not so sure of even the next Christmas. Time becomes precious and you want to make the best out of it.
My message to you would be the same age-old one that the angels sang 2000 years ago in Bethlehem when Christ was born. It is the same message that rings all over the world now during Christmas season. Yes “Glory to God in the highest” – Let us praise him for this Christmas we celebrate together – “And peace on earth to those of goodwill”.
Let us take the second half. God send his only son Jesus Christ into a world without peace because there was no goodwill among men. Unfortunately after all these years we still seem to be at the same point. What is happening to all the peace and goodwill on earth?
There are so many other desirable things for men on earth and why did the angels sing about peace? They didn’t sing “talent and beauty to those of goodwill”. They didn’t sing “wealth and fame to those of goodwill”. I think it is because peace is the fondest gift God has reserved for his very special children – his children with goodwill.
What is this goodwill? A lot is being spoken about it. Bishops and priests speak about it in the church. Kings and rulers speak about it. You hear about it spoken at the summits and seminars on universal human rights movement – and it tends to make one thing that it something unattainable for the common man. But all the effort and time and money spent on these are not going to work if the human rights of the common people around us are not properly respected. This can be done by the spirit of goodwill alone. Goodwill is having the willingness to do good to others so that they will e happy. Goodwill is helping a friend out with notes and explanations when he or she has missed a lot of classes. Goodwill is getting up and giving your seat to a more deserving person in a bus or a train. It is waiting for your turn in a queue or at a counter. It is giving company to the lonely. It is a comforting word to a sad friend or a compliment to one who has achieved something. It is being a good daughter at home and a good student at college. This kind of goodwill is something you can gain with practice and effort and a little sacrifice. We all have it in our souls. Bring it out – like sculptor who carves out a beautiful statue out of a lump of rock. It is in there all the time. He chips off a bit here and a bit there and at last the beautiful statue emerges. Let us chip off our selfishness, laziness and indifference and bring out the shining gem of a soul in us.
This morning, as I sat in the library thinking about what I should speak to you, I noticed this patch of light moving up and down the ceiling and the wall. I saw it was the mischief played by the glass on my watch which had caught a ray of the sun from outside. I played with it for sometime, directing it towards the dark corners behind the cupboards – and then it struck me. We are also like that. We are all like broken pieces of glass the whole design of which we do not know. But with what we have let us throw light into the darkened corners of the hearts of people with love, knowledge, understanding and compassion.
I am reminded of a story. It is about a notice that was pasted in the elevator of a poor apartment building saying “Lost 100 dollars. Finder please give it to Mrs. Harrison of apartment number 18.” When Henry saw it he was concerned. Everybody in the building knew Mrs. Harrison. She was a lonely old lady, weak and sick too, who earned her livelihood by washing and scrubbing for others. The money must be all she has. So Henry went up planning to give her 100 dollars telling her he had found it. But when she opened the door, her face told Henry she had found it already. “Yes, John from the third floor got it. Mrs. William also got it. So did Mrs. Jackson. They all brought it to me and all the time it was lying deep in my coat pocket.” This is the kind of concern and goodwill that must permeate through a Christian society.
Let us wish and pray that our BCM home will be another Nazareth this Christmas – filled with the love of Christ. May his joy and peace bind us and live in us always. Wish you all a very happy Christmas.
But I could not land on anything specific. I have just put together a few stray thoughts to share with you.
This is my fiftieth Christmas. One thing I have been noticing is that the feelings and thoughts aroused by the Christmas season as the years go by, take deeper meanings and wider perspectives. When you are a child Christmas is pure excitement and the excitement depends on the glamour of the star that you hang at home, the crib, the fireworks, the sweets and all the new clothes. Then it gives way to promises of love and friendship, cards, carols and prayers. As you grow older you reach a time when you realize that Christmas is not simply getting as much joy and happiness as possible. It is giving as much as possible to your dear ones – because at the age of 18 or 20, you think that you are going to live till the end of the world and that you have all the Christmases to celebrate. But at the age of fifty you know you are more than halfway through your life and you are not so sure of even the next Christmas. Time becomes precious and you want to make the best out of it.
My message to you would be the same age-old one that the angels sang 2000 years ago in Bethlehem when Christ was born. It is the same message that rings all over the world now during Christmas season. Yes “Glory to God in the highest” – Let us praise him for this Christmas we celebrate together – “And peace on earth to those of goodwill”.
Let us take the second half. God send his only son Jesus Christ into a world without peace because there was no goodwill among men. Unfortunately after all these years we still seem to be at the same point. What is happening to all the peace and goodwill on earth?
There are so many other desirable things for men on earth and why did the angels sing about peace? They didn’t sing “talent and beauty to those of goodwill”. They didn’t sing “wealth and fame to those of goodwill”. I think it is because peace is the fondest gift God has reserved for his very special children – his children with goodwill.
What is this goodwill? A lot is being spoken about it. Bishops and priests speak about it in the church. Kings and rulers speak about it. You hear about it spoken at the summits and seminars on universal human rights movement – and it tends to make one thing that it something unattainable for the common man. But all the effort and time and money spent on these are not going to work if the human rights of the common people around us are not properly respected. This can be done by the spirit of goodwill alone. Goodwill is having the willingness to do good to others so that they will e happy. Goodwill is helping a friend out with notes and explanations when he or she has missed a lot of classes. Goodwill is getting up and giving your seat to a more deserving person in a bus or a train. It is waiting for your turn in a queue or at a counter. It is giving company to the lonely. It is a comforting word to a sad friend or a compliment to one who has achieved something. It is being a good daughter at home and a good student at college. This kind of goodwill is something you can gain with practice and effort and a little sacrifice. We all have it in our souls. Bring it out – like sculptor who carves out a beautiful statue out of a lump of rock. It is in there all the time. He chips off a bit here and a bit there and at last the beautiful statue emerges. Let us chip off our selfishness, laziness and indifference and bring out the shining gem of a soul in us.
This morning, as I sat in the library thinking about what I should speak to you, I noticed this patch of light moving up and down the ceiling and the wall. I saw it was the mischief played by the glass on my watch which had caught a ray of the sun from outside. I played with it for sometime, directing it towards the dark corners behind the cupboards – and then it struck me. We are also like that. We are all like broken pieces of glass the whole design of which we do not know. But with what we have let us throw light into the darkened corners of the hearts of people with love, knowledge, understanding and compassion.
I am reminded of a story. It is about a notice that was pasted in the elevator of a poor apartment building saying “Lost 100 dollars. Finder please give it to Mrs. Harrison of apartment number 18.” When Henry saw it he was concerned. Everybody in the building knew Mrs. Harrison. She was a lonely old lady, weak and sick too, who earned her livelihood by washing and scrubbing for others. The money must be all she has. So Henry went up planning to give her 100 dollars telling her he had found it. But when she opened the door, her face told Henry she had found it already. “Yes, John from the third floor got it. Mrs. William also got it. So did Mrs. Jackson. They all brought it to me and all the time it was lying deep in my coat pocket.” This is the kind of concern and goodwill that must permeate through a Christian society.
Let us wish and pray that our BCM home will be another Nazareth this Christmas – filled with the love of Christ. May his joy and peace bind us and live in us always. Wish you all a very happy Christmas.
DAISY CHERIAN
Born on 29th June 1947, Daisy started her teaching career at the age of 21 years. She joined B.C.M College For Women, Kottayam as an English teacher in 1968. An instant sensation among her students, Daisy had innovative ideas on teaching. She went on to become a Professor and subsequently the Head of the English Department. After an eventful 34 years of teaching she retired in 2002. With an enviable number of students, now scattered all over the world, she still finds time to take part in literary activities of the college and also of other institutions which hold her vast teaching experience in high esteem. She is still popularly known among her students by her maiden name, Daisy Luke.
Daisy lives at Kottayam with husband Kariachen and elder son Bobby. Younger son Sanjay and daughter Thankam rely on regular communication to taste the sweetness of her grandmotherly anxiety if not the innovations in her kitchen.
Daisy lives her life to the fullest as a loving wife, mother, grandmother, daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She makes it a point to keep every avenue of interaction one of much warmth and spirit, all imbued with her overall sense of optimism and grace.
Daisy lives at Kottayam with husband Kariachen and elder son Bobby. Younger son Sanjay and daughter Thankam rely on regular communication to taste the sweetness of her grandmotherly anxiety if not the innovations in her kitchen.
Daisy lives her life to the fullest as a loving wife, mother, grandmother, daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She makes it a point to keep every avenue of interaction one of much warmth and spirit, all imbued with her overall sense of optimism and grace.
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