The countdown for winding up has begun ticking., just like my biological clock has been for a while... Anyway im diverting...
The sound of the clock ticking away is getting louder by the day...
Its time to start flooding the floors with my resume.
The first time that I am actually asking someone for a job... Or attending interviews.
Lets hope this works if it does in the next 60 days.
I walked in. As i pushed the gates open i notice how things have changed.
The cows dont come stand outside waiting for the old lady to give them kitchen wastes and dried pooja flowers....
The moneyplant crawling up the trunk of a tree older than me was withering away....
The house redone in colors....
I climb the stairs leaving my shoes the way i used to as a child one floor down.... Touching the railing for reality and to help me stay standing....
I walk...
I walk tall.... Draped in a saree, into the house i left in a pinafore and swore i would never go back to....
The house that saw me color my hands the day before my wedding which was offered as a peace gesture... By a lady that will be rolled up to the gates anytime now...
I walked into see the same furniture of the past... The same wall hangings... Nothing changed... Everything the same but yet different...
I saw the old lady wailing like she was orphaned while surrounded by her children and grandchildren....
I saw all the relatives that were slighted turn into one mass of humanity showing grief and support to the lady who kept tangibles closer than blood bonds....
As i entered the kitchen and turned to see the storage room that the old lady hid food and hoarded everything when i was in the house like how you would in the presence of a house help....
Coffee offered and declined. I amot sure if i can push anything down my throat from the kitchen of the house.... I move away to a quiet corner....
The lady i saw in the hospital two days back clawing her way to consciousness is being carried in.
Decked up as a bride while a widow. The rituals being conducted. In the same place that kittu was. As i stood in the same place that i did 7 years back. Then i was moved for what ever it was worth i had in my heart the space to forgive him... But now my eyes refused and so did my heart.
Unattached i looked on. The cleansing ritual was begun. The womenfolk struggled, i stepped in. Clinically and efficiently stripping her of any dignity she had left and helped them get over it all.
All i kept thinking was that I need to wash my hands thoroughly after.
I did realise that i was more shaken to see Gubas dad when he was taken on his final journey.
She was carried by four unrelated men. Her tributes were strong from people on how selfless and how helpful and kind she was.
These words to relate to this lady lying there infront of me were.....
Selfless.
Kind.
Helping.
Pure.
Maybe. But to me. My family. Me. These were not the first words that would come while thinking of her. Nonetheless. There i was. The prodigal grand daughter. The one that defied a lot of the predictions set out by her the cunning son and the old lady.
No i will not eat thank you i say.
I am told not to loose health over grief.
The practical person advising me hardly knows how i have never been fed in that house anything but leftovers... How i swore i will never eat there or even drink water from that house ever again...
How i swore to myself to never enter the house again but the black bony claws of death has brought me back for the sake of the lady that birthed me....
The one or two who were perceptive enough to look into my eyes asked how long has it been since you came here....
Long...
Too long....
But never long enough i say....
As i sit in the veranda that my little one loves to supervise everyone from the neem tree swayed... Gently the leaves did sing to me...
Throwing me back into years long gone...
The years where a house that once stood with a green asbestos shed as cover for a single proudly parked car...
The big neem tree supporting the weight of a creeper with veins thick as my child wrist...
Under which a little one was buried.... Who years later i still remember trying to dig up from the bossom of the rich soil and the roots of the resilient tree....
The flowers which she spinkled were gathered by me.... The tiny white drops which in the heat changed into gold... Up climbed the industrious child in her paavadai or pinafore depending on the day of the week.... At a time where no safety nets were thought to be put for the child that climbed up the wall onto a small projection of the roof jutting out somewhere in between the two floors of which one was the terrace all for a jar full f dry neem flowers... Golden colored little beautiful delicate flowers that tasted so divine..
Sweep the sit out.. Climb... Sweep the projection... Scramble onto the terrace using broken pots as a foot hold and then... Scoop every heap you made...
If the sun sets the flowersll get damp she said....
And if they get damp your little one will not get her milk she said....
Sitting and drinking her coffee in a well made cozy cane chair that looked like a bucket...
I realise Now as i sit drinking my coffee under a neem tree.. It feels surreal...
All faults known.
All blemishes seen
All the dents and bumps revealed.
Acceptance a blessing.
One thats rare and not taken for granted.
The space given respected
The eyes soften upon resting on the face
All worries forgotten
All forgiven
Arms ever open
An easy smile to light tired eyes
The understanding dawns
The blessing held close to the chest
Heart slows down into calmness
An all encompassing calmness descends
What happens in life must.
What is meant to be will be.
Philosophy is easy to think out loud and let things go by without any more thought to it.
It is as it is and so it will be.
But
What makes it as it is.
Can we change the course it takes.
Can a small stone in the riverbed change the course of the mighty river that flows through.
The strong currents that pull the stone... Can it be resisted?
History shows that even a blade of grass can change the course that life takes...
The stone can make a ripple.
The ripple may take the form of a wave somewhere along...
That wave may change a life eventually...
Let me be the stone.
Let the strength to endure the current pervade me.
Let the ripple unknowingly formed thus give rise to a mighty wave that washes a souls feet...
The grains of sand from the feet of that great soul may redeem me of my sins past present and future...
