Write when no one sees,

write when no one reads,

because one day

those words you wrote

will be the light 

for those that are lost,

will be the drops of hope

for those who have lost it all. 

Dear poet write today

live tomorrow

and be a reference

the day after tomorrow. 

Dear poet you have power 

in your words,

you have sassiness

in your thoughts

you have strength

in your poems,

you have magic

that captivates,

you have tales

to tale,

you have songs 

to sing,

you have a voice

someone needs to hear.

Trying times and struggles were part and parcel of my life. But being an ardent devotee of God, I could overcome those painful ordeals and trials with God’s blessings. I would like to share a few unforgettable incidents from the pages of my book of life.

As a small kid of two and a half years I was taken by my parents to visit the famous temple of Lord Subramanian at Palani, Tamil Nadu. They used to tell me later that I was excited to climb all the steps to the temple on a hill. But when I was 3 years of age, I was bedridden with high fever. I was admitted to the hospital and blood tests revealed that I had Typhoid fever and later Malaria also attacked along with it. I was not responding to treatments. When my condition deteriorated and I became unconscious, the doctors advised that I should be shifted to a bigger hospital for better treatment. It was past midnight and my parents could not get any vehicles. Luckily one of our family friends came. His driver was not there but he was ready to take us to Calicut which was quite far. On the way also 2 or 3 hospitals refused to admit me as I was in a very critical condition. Ultimately, after 2 long hours, we noticed a hospital called Ganesh Medical Hall. They admitted me in ICU and treated me with IV Medicines, Oxygen and IV fluids. Thanks to Lord Ganesha, I opened my little eyes and smiled at my parents!

That was only a beginning of trying times. I was saved from death many times by the Almighty. My first delivery was normal. It was conducted by my own Professors at the Calicut Medical College where I studied for MBBS. After the delivery, I was shifted to my room in Pay Ward. But by evening, heavy bleeding started and I became unconscious. My Professors and other specialist doctors tried their level best to save me. But my BP dropped and they could not locate a vein in my body to start life saving IV medicines. Then God saved me from death as a staff nurse could start IV drip on a thin vein on my hand. Later I developed severe Anemia and was about to have Heart Failure. But one of my classmates donated blood in time and I was saved.

Both my husband and I were Officers in Indian Army. We were posted in Silchar (Assam) and I was working in the Military Hospital there. One day we were going to the local market on a two wheeler along with our 3 year old son. Then a truck came at high speed and hit us from the back. When my husband turned and looked, he was shocked to see that I was thrown out on the road and run over by the truck. Acting fast, he jumped out holding our son and both of them were saved. But due to God’s grace and blessings from the elders, I had a miraculous escape! The nursing officers working in our Military Hospital were coming along the way in a small ambulance, as they were invited for dinner in the house of our Commanding Officer. That was another blessing in disguise for me. They stopped on seeing the accident and were surprised to see me getting up with minor injuries. I was conscious with no head injuries or fractures. Actually I was lying in between the four wheels when the truck ran over me. And there were no protruding parts under the truck which could have cut my body into two. Immediately they took us to the Military Hospital.

One more incredible incident happened with us in Rajasthan when we were posted in Jodhpur. Our son and daughter were teenagers. We planned a trip to Jaipur by road in our own car. My husband was driving the car with me on the front seat and children on the back seats. It was around 11 a.m. and we were about to reach near the famous Ajmer Dargah. It was a broad highway. One truck was coming in front of us and then another truck was trying to overtake it. Suddenly an Ambassador car came at high speed in front of us.  We were on the extreme left side of the road. Instead of turning to our right side, the car hit with such an impact that the front panel of our car got crushed and we were sandwiched in between. The driver must have slept or lost control. That was a fatal accident but all the four of us survived with God’s grace. We were dragged out of the broken car. We did not have head injuries as we were wearing seat belts. My husband had fractures of both knees, I had fracture ribs and our children had minor injuries. So we survived that trying time too.

I realize that belief in God makes us stronger and only He can decide our path and destiny. The Bhagvad Gita says: ‘Know this for certain. My devotee is never lost.’ The path of the life of a true devotee is illuminated with divine light. God, the Supreme Father of all, hears every prayer. Prayers can change our lives. No one in the world loves us as much as God does. But we tend to remember God in adversity and ignore Him in prosperity. We should learn to count our blessings and thank God for his kindness. Those who face hardships but believe in God emerge as winners.

My journey of life was full of ordeals and struggles. But I came out as a determined survivor due to God’s blessings which can turn struggles into success and despair into faith. Miracles do happen by the grace of God. The very fact that I survived from many unfortunate incidents in my life, was nothing less than a miracle. Life is a long journey and God leaves His footprints on the way. I remember the famous poem ‘Footprints’ and God’s reply to the person doubting about Him in that poem:

“My precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trials and suffering, when you have seen only one set of Footprints, it was then that I carried you!”

Tears of joy roll down my cheeks and these words come out from the bottom of my heart with gratitude: “Dear God…That was you who saved me? THANK YOU GOD!”

She’s guarded by the angels,

She’s guided by the stars,

She finds her true home in the abode of Mother Nature;

Her heart is soft place which encases a strength they don’t see, but feel!

Amidst the noises of the harsh world which ask to toughen-up,

She feels free as she looks up at her feminine figures;

Her bloodline, her creators and nurturers,

The power their eyes hold and the love they continue to offer:

And there she knows, she can be warm, graceful and also an epitome of confidence.

There were about two weeks for Christmas. Nimal, his wife, Kamani and their youngest child, Mithun were getting ready for Christmas. They all were cleaning the entire house. Everyone was busy like bees, arranging the rooms, sweeping the yard, removing the cobwebs.

“Did son call? When is he coming?” Nimal raised his voice and asked whether Malith telephoned.

“Yes. He will come home on 24th”. Kamani replied.

Malith, the eldest son of Nimal and Kamani had gone abroad couple of years ago to pursue his higher studies. Everybody was waiting for him to come to celebrate Christmas together. Meanwhile, the mother of Nimal was lying on the bed. She was too old. So, everyone in the family had to pay special attention on her. Kamani had to wash her mother-in-law’s clothes. As Nimal’s mother had poor eyesight, others happened to sought out the right medicine for her and she had to be fed.

The days passed soon. Nimal and Kamani didn’t like to look after the old lady anymore. They thought of sending her to the elders’ home.

“We cannot do her work anymore. We also have work. I have to cook for the family. Nimal has to do his job to earn money for the family. How can we attend to her despite our busy schedules? Enough! Enough! What is this suffering?” Kamani shouted.

Nimal kept silent as he was always a calm and quiet person. He did not want to create disputes within the family. So, whatever his wife said he always listened patiently. He did not go against her decisions at any time.

“Grandma should be with us. She is too old. We must take care of her. How can she be kept in the elders’ home? They do not treat elders properly. They mistreat grandmas and grandpas. Won’t we come to her age one day? We all will grow old someday.” Mithun spoke on behalf of his grandmother.

“Who is going to spend money on her medicine? We do not have enough money to spend on her. We spend much money on your education too. The cost of living is very high nowadays. We have to manage money. She is a burden.” Kamani replied.

The days passed. All the members decided to take her to the elders’ home before Christmas approached as Kamani and Nimal wanted to celebrate Christmas happily without spending time on the old lady. But Mithun did not like this decision.

As the days passed quickly, the day of Malith’s arrival came very soon. It was 24^th of December. Malith dismounted from the cab which he hired from the airport. As soon as he got down he looked around. Everywhere was greenish. Having been abroad for couple of years, he was glad to be back for Christmas. He liked the pleasing and calm environment which was totally different from the environment of western countries. His parents and younger brother accompanied him happily to the house. He could see how the house was decorated. The Christmas tree was blinking, with Christmas carols being played softly in the background. Everything was perfect.

“Ahh. It was good to be home”

“Home, home, sweet, sweet, home. There is no place like home”

He hummed and whistled while moving around the house. Suddenly, he stopped humming.

“Grandma. Where is grandma? She is not here to welcome me. Is she sick? Is she sleeping? Then don’t disturb her. But, I will just take a look at her room” Malith went to his Grandma’s room quickly. He was astonished. The room had been completely transformed. It looked like a guestroom but without grandma. He was speechless.

“Mum. What has happened? His heart started to beat. Had she? Had she passed away during my absence?”

“No son. We sent her to the elders’ home. That place is much better for her. She will have company with others around her age there. If you want, you can go to see her tomorrow.”

“But mum. Tomorrow is Christmas. Isn’t she coming home for Christmas? Since when has she been away?”

Malith could not bear this. He loved his grandmother genuinely. He was very disappointed. Gone was the tone that he was humming and whistling. His face was upset. His parents brought up arguments in support of their decision. They did not want to spoil his vacation.

“Come on son. We have planned a delicious feast for you. Everything that suits your taste is here: pancakes, coffee cake muffins, plain hoppers. All your favourite dishes. Take a wash and come over. There is much to say, do and eat.”

“Yes .Don’t worry about grandma. She is living quite comfortable there”. We can visit her tomorrow evening.” said his father.

Malith proceeded to his room upstairs without uttering a single word. He did not notice the beautifully decorated banisters. Everything was lost on him now. He was angry. He felt restless. He couldn’t imagine what to do.

After a short while, they heard a whirring of a car taking off. All ran to the verandah. They saw the car turning out at the gate. It had to be Malith. Kamani and Nimal looked at one another bewildered, flopping on several chairs randomly. They were wondering what to say or do. They had not expected such a turn of events.

After sometime, they heard the familiar whirr of the car close to their house. It was Malith cheerily helping grandmother to get off and steering her towards the house. Grandma’s wrinkled cheeks were wet with tears. Malith’s parents look quickly abashed. Rallying themselves, they quickly invited all to dinner.

Malith spoke at the dinner table. “Dad, Mum, I want to ask you for one great Christmas present. Don’t ever send grandma to the elders’ home. Her place is with us. I have experienced loneliness away from home. You can’t realize how much she had been sobbing today. Those care givers told me and I saw for myself. Please! Please! Let grandma stay with us. We all will be going for midnight service. Won’t we? Grandma too.”

Malith smiled giving her a big hug. Finally grandma touched Malith’s head and said, “Nowadays young children have good moral ethics than their parents. You have a bright future my son.” Grandmother hugged and kissed Malith’s forehead.

The music was played in the background. Everybody enjoyed the dinner while talking about everything that happened during Malith’s absence.

You and I. We.

We. The People.

The people on the Earth.

The Earth is round.

Round is its shape.  But.

But what’s our shape?

Shapes.That’s what I see when I look around.

That’s what reflects into my eyes.

As I look into the mirror to find asymmetry,

I look around to find perfect symmetrical faces.

Perfect symmetrical faces,

With hearts that must be triangular,

Three sides, all treating me different at the same time.

Well, I guess they’rescalene, but the way they look at me is equilateral.

And snap!

One, Two, Three… Twelve.

Symmetrical beautiful faces, with triangular hearts,

Must have a cubic mind.

You know, six faces looking all over my face,

Determined corners just not to corner me.

And of course, those inelastic edges, twelve.

With just one measurement.

Snap!

One, Two, Three… Seven.

Symmetrical gorgeous faces, with triangular hearts and cubic minds,

Why can’t they be a Heptagon!

A bit unconventional,

A bit odd and surprisingly less referred to. 

With angles that are approximated,

And diagonals that involve complicated formulas.

Just the way you estimate my capacities and approximate my complications.

And snap!

One, Two, Three, Four, Five… Infinite.

You see, Infinite.

That’s how many faces you have.

Infinite symmetric faces, just to tell me that my this one face is not so symmetric.

Perhaps because you have always dealt with lines,

Which join infinite points just to make squares, triangles, and rectangles,

Which are often referred to and are a handy thing to be.

Unlike Hectagons, whose angles are approximated,

You don’t see them on a normal day,

And they are way too trigonometric for you to understand.

You and I. We.

We. The People.

The People on the Earth.

The Earth is round.

Round is its shape.

Shapes are not all that I can see.

After all, I’m way too curvy to be symmetric.

I can’t be measured.

Perhaps because I’m a freehand piece.

Obviously, not-so-symmetric.

Snap!

Crimson was her color, silk her cape,

Cream was her texture, glass her shape,

Sparkling were the eyes, smooth furs she did drape,

Injured was her soul, but all she did was escape.

Heels were her battle, blisters her foe,

Fabrics were the needles, a garb did she sow,

Glitter was her clutch, there she was a hoe,

Hid were all her bruises, for she had a status to quo.

Why was she a hoe? Why a prostitute?

Why the glares? Wasn’t she a damsel in destitute?

Are they cruel? Are they an institution of malamute?

Calling women, a name is their greatest destitute.

Standing at her funeral, reading her an ode,

Teary were the hearts, they said “she was a wench bode”,

Why let her decay then, why let her erode?

“In ecstasy, she went”, said I, for this, was never her abode.

“

The wonderful thing about the eye is that it reflects… The eyes are the window to the soul”

For this to begin you need a little bit of silence… And breeze, and trees and trees… Something has to come out of you so yes, to see this clearly you need to look with closed eyes…

‘The universe is a memoranda of many things incomplete’, I begin, with a haphazard mind as I scratch off the line. The air is thin and I’m running out of silence. It all starts with you and me and them. We wake up in world where bigger pencils enveloped in face masks and blues stand before us, each with open arms offering a huge welcome…those in hell smile the brightest and offer the best of hugs. It’s devoid of meaning but we squint, kick our legs and scream. If we don’t do that the finger close to us will prick again to remind us that hell is a place of hot things so we open our mouths and shout and shout and shout and watch the pencils become umbrellas in various shades of smiles. There’s an envelope above scenting of warmth and difference and red. It’s shaped different, different from the pencils we’ve seen so far so we observe, keen as our eyes search deep into its… Its eyes glimmer, and glow and dazzle… It’s blinding…

You see for each step you make there are a million words as to how better you should have done it. It’s always easy to ask for the Lion’s tale to counter the story of the hunt but no one wants to do the scribbling. We pause. This world is a glass cup and like ice cubes we dangle with every shake. The wonderful thing about cubes is that it’s always better when it’s double so we search for the glimmer, for that glow. The first time we see a ray we buckle it in a folded paper and slip into the source’s bag. Perhaps like the sun they’ll be willing to be generous… But some rays are flickers of dead torches… This we find out before another pencil mouthing different ways to climb the sky and how we’ve chosen the earth scourges us. But the earth is cool and soft and moist… We thin out…

The second time we found a pillar of roaring flames, strong enough to scorch our being and burn from inside out… This time we walked towards the flame and with our footwears off became secondary Mosses. And flames always respond so we burn, and burn and burn until our flickers become embers and smoke and dust… But then, doesn’t one have to burn to come out brand new? We persevere…

It’s decades now and the attics of our minds have become libraries of many things. For instance, flames and glows and dazzles are just colours, just like plant and growth and the sky, each for a different day, for a different feeling, like an outfit to be worn to show what your heart has become. And the second… The door of our mind opens slowly… I see it, the glow, the glimmer, the dazzle, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen… My mother reappears…

One late summer morning,

First time we met.

Fell I deep in love,

Found life in you,

Withstanding every pain, like a raging sea,

My love for thee is a strong rock.

Sweet memories I remember,

Laughing and smiling;

When thou said “I will join war”,

My heart ached,

Felt like death approached.

Nay I liked thee joining war,

My lover, me alone now:

Nay kisses sweet as sugar, nay joys,

Home a blaze, fear I gun shots.

Like a battlefield, my heart burning and burning…

Sleepless nights, thou keep earning.

Thou, a sacrificial soldier!

You say “I hast a duty to fulfil…”

“To save our country from evil.”

Counting fingers,

Day and Night…

Watch I each morning

Of thy homecoming.

Ever since I was a little girl,

I feared crossing streets alone

I feared walking the other side without someone holding my hand

I used to wait for someone else to walk that same path and shyly follow them

One such day, I saw a young girl,

Just like me she’d fear walking the other side

She looked at me and I knew the feeling she said through her eyes

I nodded and non-verbally guided her through my gestures

She smiled and thanked me

Ever since that day, I haven’t been afraid

Maybe she was an angel who mended a broken part of me

By telling me that no matter the cracks

I could still learn to dream, walk and cross an unfamiliar street

And maybe help someone too!

His hairs are wavy gray threads,

His hairs are wavy gray threads,

his eyes are two brown crystals,

his nose is a sculpture 

made by his ancestors,

her lips are succulent edges,

his face is that of a 55 year old man.

The speed of the decades

has changed his features,

but it has not taken away

his sensuality,

like a good wine

the years have made of him

a work of art

worthy of admiration.

When I see him,

when I speak to him,

when I listen to him,

describing his 

abundant past of feats,

I am impregnated 

with the art of his history.

His essence,

his personality,

his words,

his life,

is art to remember.

His mature image

may be the cause,

several works of art

may be the consequences,

among poems,

among songs,

among stories,

among sayings, 

among photographies

you can find

his splendid name,

with his name comes

an invitation to the art of preservation.