Cheating LIfe Cheerfully

One of our senior Fathers had been ill for quite sometime now; he was admitted to a nursing home, initially diagnosed Malaria, but later the physicians changed their opinion saying it could be thyphoid! The man who was known as a soft-spoken all these years, suddenly became over talkative. He spoke profusely and did not feel tired of talking for a long time. He would talk for about an hour and at the end of which would say that he was talking too much those days, and yet would not stop talking. He repeated many of the stories he had been obsering from the first day in the nursing home.

The physicians who were treating him were not surprised that he was finding it hard to cope with the nursing home routine; he did not like the food given in there, and so the sisters living close to our house, decided to offer him lunch every day, something what he liked a lot. Our college too prepared something for his breakfast and got it reached for him. At 85, it is normal that the senior citizens ask for a little more attention than they would otherwise ask for. He had a steady stream of guests and visitors, walking into his room in the nursing home, and he had to repeat all the stories to all of them, everytime they turned up.

Even at this age, he had a strong will power and stamina to accept it with a cheer, and tried to enjoy the days he stayed in the nursing home, sometimes the saline given round the clock. He had a fondness for a young caregiver (nurse), who took liberty to look after him with felial love and devotion. But he was not in favor with the senior caregiver, who deprived him of the pillow during the first three days, without consulting with the physician attending on him, and he could not forgive her for that. But he got along cheerfully with the younger nurse, and even spoke quite high of her.

Everytime I visited him in the nursing home or in the college, where he is now, he would make it a point to repeat again and again that he was definitely making a great progress. At one time, he even said that his hearing had improved after the stay in the nursing home, and his appetite too had improved. He surely plans to live upto the age of 95, and I would not be surprised if he really makes it, because he has the will power to live, with great cheerfulness. He is quite disciplined, and has his daily routine, which include an hour of evening walk in the nearby garden, meals at the appointed time, water 8 glasses at stipulated hours, and his diet is also quite constant.

If there is anyone who has zest for life, he is surely one such. Today as I walked into his room, he was on the internet, sending mails to his family back in Belgium about his health. After several days, he was back to emails, and he was quite happy to say hello to his nieces and nephews, who might have been worried what had happened to him. He has very little grudges, though he is not altogether free from prejudices, but knows how to occupy his time. He looks much better than what he was before the attack of fever some three weeks ago. I only wish I be like him, when I reach 85!

Looking through the Window

It is hard to pin-point what exactly has gone wrong with me today; the day began as usual; there was a more than usual share of office correspondence to be checked, and some official documents to be prepared, but beyond them all, there was nothing unusual,and yet I found something strange with me! There was a sense of restlessness deep within me and that made me show my anger at a friend who even after trying for four times on her mobile phone, continued to chat with her friend. I was annoyed and irritated, though I would not think she had done an heinous crime! But I do not really know what was responsible for this restlessness!

From the way I feel just now, I know somewhere something has been switched on, which could make my moods swing. It is possible that I had carried the uneasy feeling I felt as when I went to sleep last night; it was prompted by one of my friends, and she began the day speaking to me on a matter-of-fact tone, which really disturbed me. I might have disturbed her last night, and she was angry with me for that, and today she showed her indifference and anger through different ways. Maybe that is what has made me feel down all the day long. But I would be wrong to make her responsible for my feeling!

At least for today, I would like to own up my own feelings and mistakes, and am not going to look for any scapegoats! Often I find great pleasure in dumping my mistakes, blunders and weaknesses onto others, and claim innocence for me; the blame game is one of the first games we learn to play in our childhood days, and we are taught to play it well. But we are not children anymore (though many of us may behave so), and it is time we behave like adults. Until I own up myself as I am, I am building a big fat ego, which is like a bubble, that can be blown by a slight gust of wind! Then, why should I blow my trumpet, when I know for sure it will be submerged by mighty thunders?

If I can find so much of smoke all around me, is it not possible to find where all the smoke is coming from? I need to find the spark of fire, slowly and steadily eating up something which can be consumed. I sit quietly and venture to delve deep into the heart of my being, to the center of my body-mind-spirit complex! It is not an easy task to bring these three elements to a sync (short for syncronization). I look for the spark of fire at every nook and cranny of this complex, and I can find nothing which can be held responsible for the smoke. Maybe it is the smoke from the unresolved agenda of the past, but I am not prepared to pursue the past!

One question suddenly pops up in my mind: why should be down, whatever be the reason? Is there anything on earth, which can really make me sad? No one can make me sad, I alone can deliberately and willingly allow myself to be sad; in the same way, no one on earth can make me happy; I alone can decide to be happy, and no one can snatch it from me. It does not take much for me to cheer up - I can cheer up even without a mug of beer, or whiskey! All I need is to turn on the music CD that I love, and let myself be drowned by the music and melody, and at the end of the song, I would know there is a new current flowing over me, and I can look at the blue sky through the window, and smile!

Let the rice over-flow!

It may be a matter of shame, that being a Tamil, I do not know the origins of one of the most popular festivals of the Tamils, the Pongal, celebrated yesterday. Living in a culturally uprooted environs, I sometimes forget that it was Pongal, until a friend or two call me up or send me an email note wishing 'Happy Pongal', and there is hardly any remembrance of the harvest festival in the houses I live, for the simple reason the festival does not much matter to the people of this place, and I am happy to keep it to myself! But I know I am not alone in this, all the Tamils who are outside Tamil Nadu may go through the same.

But today I wish to re-create the Pongal myth and origins, and it may just be the pigment of my imagination, but coming from an agricultural background this is what I strongly feel. The harvest festival of the Dravidian tribe reminds me of the good and bad times our ancestors had in the land, with a name 'adi dravida' (which has come to connote for the mainstream the 'low caste' people). I imagine a time when crops failed, and there was too little at the end of the harvest. The people who had been hungry for days and months, looking eagerly for the harvest to have a stomach full, brought the fruits of their labor home, pounded the paddy, and got fresh rice for cooking.

The whole family gathers at the courtyard to cook the first meal from the harvest, and ready to have have their stomachs full, after days and months. There is nothing much to add with this - no special side-dish or normal festive dishes, only the 'pongal'. The festivity is shown through rejoicing when the rice bubbles up, and over-flows from the earthen pot, and when each member of the family goes to the neighbors asking them if the rice is over-flowing! That is the beauty of this festival, not being contended with the pot full of rice, people are concerned that their neighbors also have a pot full of rice to have their full!

Pongal, as far as I am concerned, is a cultural festival, which unfortunately is appropriated by the Hindus as their religious fesitival. As in most cases, the dominant group had the tendency to appropriate all the good things from the minority groups, and probably that is what happened with Pongal too. The cultural festival had been given a religious coloring, with the addition of a few religious rituals, but leaving aside the rituals and the religious connotations they may signify, the festival is basically a cultural one, and it has to be seen as such!

I would be very happy if there is a pot-full of rice in every house in Tamil Nadu, my homeland, on this day; that there is not a single soul going hungry to bed at least on Pongal day, and it is only under such circumstances can we all celebrate the festival meaningfully. Not being content with the pot-full of rice at home, if everyone moves out of their houses, to check with the less fortunate and the unfortunate ones to ask them that proverbial question 'pongiducha?' (has the rice over-flown?), and if they get an affirmative answer, then the festival can be deemed truly meaningful!