That day as it panned out!

I wish I wake up one day and realize it had been a dream. A wild nightmarish movie from which you get up teary eyed, eat your popcorn and move on. I wish three years ago this day never happened! Yet when I pinch, I feel it. Feel the pain and the reality.

So I woke up that day and my dad was in his usual position, with a bible in his hand, deep in his thought. I looked over amma. She was very unlike her. Lying down on the bed. Unconscious. Her routine had always included cooking for the children and everybody else at home before we got up. And here she is lying down, not knowing that the world around her has woken up.

I went to dad and he said we have to go to Sivakasi today for she is not surviving this day! Was it some divine intervention? Or just the medical intuition? I don't know. We deliberated the pros and cons along with chithi who had just landed up from Triuchur. The pros and cons of taking her to CMC or any other place. Then decided it is wise to get going to Sivakasi.

We called the Ambulance. I along with a few younger cousins got ready in a car. I'm to reach home before the Ambulance and make things ready for her arrival. For she left sivakasi two months ago walking! And the world has not seen her in those two months. We had always maintained that she is doing well and she will come back to work, just to avoid visitors.

The hospital looked deserted. Every face said something is wrong. I asked people to not crowd and made way for the ambulance. For the first time in her life in sivakasi, her own tireless feet deserted her. She was carried in to her bed room. The family started singing. Two deep breaths. Ma, this is your house! Can you see the bed room? I said. She opened her eyes. And then closed it. Once and for all! Two more deep breaths and the body gave way to the soul.

There was a studied silence. For a few seconds nobody moved. My dad got his hand over her eyes and closed it to confirm the inevitable. Life, on my mother's earthly body is gone. That beautiful soul chose to live somewhere else.

The next day was a day of mourning for the family! And more so for the town. For the family, was hers but the town chose her. She was their adopted daughter. The wailing could be heard long and far. the poor, the downtrodden,  the rich and the influential, the young and the old, the business man and the rickshaw wallah, came to bid her farewell.

The church was packed! The burial ground even more. One man shouted over her body, 'Where will we go ma, where will we, the poor go?'

A friend happened to see her photo in the wallet of an auto driver after two years. She is my role model. She is my mother, said that man! One other friend had name her daughter after her.

I wish that day had never happened. The town is never the same again. For I know that entire town called her 'amma'. But I miss her more, for only two were called 'chellam' by her and I was one of them.

Blog no 200! And other random thoughts!

Tomorrow is the third anniversary of the dearest mother! And here am I celebrating my 200th blog.

 It is already eleven. The wifey has already slept. The world around me has switched off their lights. And here am I celebrating my 200th blog.

Is it that important? Where did this habit start? Why blog? How blog?  And how long have I been doing this non sense of writing in the middle of the night? How many read me? Are there at all people who read my blogs? These questions clog my mind!

And let me be very clear! My blog is my personal space. This is where I vent! This is where I come to hide, in full public view. My blogspace is my anger ground. This is my rest. My hobby. My first love. My thinking ground. This place hides my disappointments, my fears, my failures. I share my happiest moment here first.

The ones published are the ones for the world to see! The unpublished ones are mine!

I don't know where it all started! But I clearly remember reading through an author called 'Deepa Bhasti' and wished I can write like her. Found her mail ID and said I envied her. And bang came a reply. Deepa Bhasthi, my hero during that stage of my life has written to me. And she said, 'Sam you should blog'!

There started this Journey. It has been more than 6 years now. 200 times I have been published. Every blog is being read by more than a hundred. Once more than 1000 read one blog. Clearly my record.

This is blog number 200 people! I don't have anything else to say here, except that I'm here to write many more. Thanks for the readers.Thank you so much!

This bumpy Indian road is leading you nowhere!

It was late evening when I boarded that bus! I'm used to bad bus rides; I'm an Indian. But this was something else. The next day when I reached my destination, it was 06:00 PM. 24 hours of non stop bus ride. And we covered 390 Kms. All of 390 kms and it took me more than one full day.

The bus trudged along. Often stopping. Coughing! Twice the tyre was replaced. Once there was an engine breakdown. We all got down every time it stopped; made friends, often over chai, sometimes over roti and dhal; Took bathroom breaks and finally reached home.Tired. Dead.

Not one spoke my language. Not many had the same belief system. Yet we all laughed! Some times at our own inability, some times we fought with the driver. Yes, we fought between us. It was one big complex family, whining along a complex journey.  

That bus drive often reminds me of our country's development saga!

We start, stutter along, stop, replace tyres and move on again. Every time the tyre burst another new tyre with a lot of promise is fit and we start again. Only to realise it is the same old tyre, painted black! So it got punctured again. And then we replace the new one with the old one. Suddenly we hear a noise and the engine shuts down. We replace some screws and bolts and move on again. Till we reach the so called destination.

And then one man came! He promised to fix everything. New tyres, he shouted from roof tops! Developed engines, he said. He wore a new cloth with his own name printed on it. We wow'ed! He named the bus 'smart bus'. Changed the colour of the bus. Taught everybody one language! Made us believe it is easier to travel together with the same belief system. He went around the world looking at various buses and asked them all to join us in the journey. Told us some animals are our mothers and boarded them on to the bus. And told everybody to pay the same fee for the ticket. We got all too excited! Obviously! we love men with white beard and he had the whitest of them all!

So the front seat of scientific education was slowly taken out! A new seat called culture was brought in! It was rather old. But he said without that old seat the bus does not look good. So we agreed! A few opened their tiffin box to have lunch! And was lynched. You cannot eat different food, he said. You should eat only things which do not harm the neighbours sentiments we were told. The new comers in to the bus, the animals were given privilege of seat. Anybody who touched the animal were thrown out of the bus. How do you touch an animal, said he. They are our mothers. The animals shouted a loud 'Maaaa' and we all agreed.

So we have palmists, astrologers travelling with you given privilege of seats. Oh, the old culture seat you see. The animal stench is now researched in the laboratory seats. The cancer patients travelling with you will be cured along the way it seems! By simply touching the animal during the travel. 

Oh, you are driving in the wrong direction my dear country! Albeit, in a bus newly decorated. Lots of colours of course. But the roads are still bad. The potholes worse. The tyres are in fact just painted black. The rubber has come out. The stench still exists. The body was built years ago and will fall off any minute. The brakes are failing; The conductor's bag has a hole. The driver has no support system. There are no police around. All the traffic is going haywire. Suddenly the terrorists are shooting at you and the driver has no clue.

And sadly, you are driving towards a deep valley! And there is no returning back if you fall in to it. For this bumpy Indian road is leading you nowhere. 

United we stand! Divided we fall!

It was hot! The signal went red. I was one among the 100s who stood under the scorching sun waiting for the signal to go green. All eyes were on the signal.

I was cursing the gods when suddenly I heard this blare. A politician speaking her hearts out. As if life is not already bad enough, I listened to her shout on top of her voice.

"Hindus, we have to be united! If one of us is touched, we should all join hands. Nobody should dare touch us. If a muslim is killed, they all gather together. But if a Hindu is killed, nobody comes up together."

I have to agree, I have heard far worse speeches.By every religious entity.  But, this voice lingered on! I went to see my sick sister later that night, but those words kept ringing in my mind.

What audacity? Inciting violence openly! Why should we speak on behalf of our religion in the first place? Anybody being killed is bad. PERIOD. Irrespective of colour, creed, caste, religion! We all should join hands to prevent any killing. ANY KILLING! Not a Hindu, or a Christian or a Muslim being killed.

Dear friends, the politicos are dividing you! They need your vote. They don't care one hoot about you for anything other than your vote. They divide us, on  the basis of every nonsense possible to get our vote. The moment we listen to them, you lose. They win!

Join hands to protest killings. Killing of the Aqlaqs, the Auditor Ramesh's and the Immanuel's. Every Killing. Every Murder. Every lynching. Each life is equally important. One more life dead, is one more black mark on this already dark country. And so Join hands together.

For United we stand! Divided we fall!