Category: Food For Soul

I am blogging this after a conversation with a friend. I am afraid at the cost of repeating myself for an umpteenth time, i will have to dig from my mother’s school now.

My grandma told me the reason my mother decided to teach the hearing and speech impaired middle school girls. Like any teachers’ training aspirant, she had enrolled in a staff training college in Santhome. But one day when her classes were on, in walked Mother Superior. Out of the entire class, she picked my mother and told her, ‘child, anyone can teach normal kids. but it takes a special someone to teach special kids. go to the class teaching special skills and start teaching deaf and dumb (as they would be referred then) girls.’ This changed my mother’s life as she thought she had gotten her calling. She became a teacher on course completion and served over 16 years teaching teen girls who could not speak or hear – until the very last day of her life.

I and my sister grew up literally in this school campus. It is in Gemini. For term holidays and for their school days, sports days etc., we would be there with our mother until the day she passed away. This school also contains a section for the blind. I grew up thinking disability was normal. I never viewed the loss of speech or hearing or eye sight as handicap at all for years. Watching the blind children in sports day competing in Lemon and spoon race etc, and playing with deaf and mute girls in my mother’s class as equals, probably had had an effect on me that sustains me until today. Back then I had no idea, these were my learning days.

Pious Hindu, my mother still took us to chapel in their catholic convent. Like typical hindu girls we touched the feet of Mother superior and other sisters in her school every time we went there. We lit candles in the chapel and we also visited the Santhome cathedral and Besant Nagar church a little before Christmas to avoid crowds. But we never got mixed up still. Our Hindu roots stayed unwavering through all this.

My mother also had been the first Hindu teacher among the school staff. Before her, only catholic nuns were teaching in their missionary school. After my mother, a few more Hindu teachers joined the school. The initial influence of the christian fraternity was there in my mother who was refusing marriage to serve the disabled kids, but my grandparents prevailed and had her married. So naturally I became the first staff kid in their entire school history, and i remained the most celebrated one until my mother’s last.

In the years when my mother was around, for every Diwali she would hire cooks to make hundreds of sweets like laddoo, jelebi etc., at home along with tins of murukku to distribute to her entire school as most of their kids were hostel girls from poorest families who had abandoned them. Some kids had parents in foreign countries or other places in India who would never pay a visit. My mother and one more teacher regularly brought home 4 to 5 girls for Diwali to celebrate the festival with us. She would get for these girls bangles from Mylapore Mada veedhi and also new clothes. The highlight was, taking them for shopping along with her. It is only after my mother left I understood her sensitivity in these matters. She could not bear the idea of young girls holed up in hostel during Diwali so she would seek special permission from Mother Superior to get home those stranded in their dorms with nowhere to go.

The devotion of teachers in my mother’s school was such that, in order to explain a crow to a blind student, one of the staff caged cleverly a crow in their terrace and brought it to school with the beak tied! The blind children had a chance to touch and feel the crow to know what a bird it really could be. I still remember to this day how animated my mother was telling us about this real life class story. It is in this section of the school that Kamal Hasan filmed his ‘Raja Paarvai’ and my mother did get to watch a lot of shooting then. Every evening I would wait for my mom to tell me what happened at the film set.

The blind section as well as the deaf and dumb sections of the school enrolled boys upto class 5 in those days. From middle school, only girls were allowed to continue. My mother was in charge of class 6 to 8. It meant she went with the girls upto class 8 from class 6 teaching all subjects. She remained with these girls for a 3 continuous years before returning to take on a fresh batch at standard 6 again. Each class had a maximum of 10 to 12 girls, with every girl fitted with a mike and a hearing aid. My mother spoke the sign language of the deaf and dumb to them and had yearly staff training for improving teaching methods. Because she remained with the girls for 3 years, she shared an intimate familial bond with her class girls always. For the girls, their teacher who was with them 8 to 3 for all week days became an obsession. After her they refused to learn from another teacher for next 6 months, Special kids are known for their adamancy. It took the school more than half an year to coax my mother’s girls to accept an other teacher in her place.

I cannot forget the mass in memory of my mother in their school chapel when there were over a thousand blind, deaf and dumb children crying their heart out. For the first time I cried for my mother in happiness because I saw how much she was loved by her children. Indeed the entire school had turned up for her last journey including the catholic church, filling streets. They took over her final ritual after the Hindu ceremonies and read from Bible etc. My mother was also a daughter of the church at the same time.

This brings to my memory the girl Rosy who was my mother’s pupil who finished her SSLC. She was an orphan who had lived in the hostel lifelong. School rules required that once a candidate finished school, she must not remain a single day extra in the campus. Church found a boy for Rosy to marry. Only, she needed a place to stay on for a month or more until her wedding date. My mother got Rosy home. I and my sister called her ‘Rosy akka.’ She was with us for over a month and one day her groom came to see her. He sounded pompous and my mother put him right in his place. She was assertive that Rosy was not in any way less than him. There was tension in the air. But then he finally came around. They had a happy marriage and after the wedding the couple did visit us once. What stays in my memory is how my mother was protective about Rosy like a mother hen, defending her and indignant that her girl must be thought inferior to anyone because of her handicap.

I have to mention Lakshmi Periyamma here (that is how we called mother’s colleagues. either periyamma or chithi) who also worked in my mother’s school, who had joined long after her. She lived in our street too. She was widowed immediately after her marriage and she came from an Iyer family. Only daughter to her rich parents, her father had retired from govt service drawing handsome pension by those days standards. They were comfortably off even if Lakshmi Periamma cut a sorry figure. My mother had utmost sympathy for her situation. The family lived in a far spacious house than ours. Financially they were equal or probably better off than us. Never did once this periyamma mix with the kids the way my mother did when she was around. Not a single girl came home. Nor were sweets shared with the kids. Rosy akka could have comfortably stayed with their family instead of ours. We were 6 of us sharing our house and with Rosy we became 7. What prevented Lakshmi periamma from taking Rosi to her home. Caste. I don’t have much respect for my own Mudaliar community, but I can say this one thing about my folks. So long as you don’t go after their sons and daughters they are fine. Generally a bit they are inclined towards charity. Many do put humanity first over religion. This is what I told my friend today. What prevented Lakshmi periamma from putting humanity first over religion was the shastra sampradaya. In spite of being a devout Hindu, what my mother refused to let anything come in between her and humanity was the Dharma which she believed in and practised in real life.

Raised by this woman until my 14th year almost, how could I ever think otherwise.

The difference between Lakshmi teacher and Susheela teacher perhaps is the difference between Shankaracharya and EVR Periyar in my opinion. I don’t believe in a faith that relegates humanity to a secondary position over customs and rituals. It so happens that it is those in the service of God who seem to miss the of essence of Dharma sadly. Dharma is unfortunately in the hands of some narrow-minded sections who interpret Dharma totally wrong. மனித நேயம் இல்லாத ஆச்சாரத்தில் எனக்கு உடன்பாடும் கிடையாது மரியாதையும் கிடையாது.This strong conviction of mine will not make me any less Hindu.

Thanks a zillion my dear mom, wherever you are shining from as a bright star in this universe… It will be 39 years this July since you left me, but there is not a day I don’t think of you or weep for you. You just made your daughter cry. Why did not I hug you more when you were there, why did not I talk to you more. What a fine woman you were. Do you know mother, I don’t see many like you even 4 decades after you left. Which is why I remember you more with each passing day. You taught me empathy, you taught me compassion, you taught me that nothing is more important or sacred over humanity. From your staunch independence as a working woman from 1966 when you married, i gained my own bold and independent streak. In your absence you manifested yourself a lot in me that I am becoming more and more like you every day. Only I am living longer than you.

I remember you giving your new favourite sari to our housemaid Kanniamma a teenager who took an instant liking to it. You did not think twice before wrapping the sari around her the very next moment. You got her married with seer senathai as if she was your own daughter that when you passed away 3 months after her marriage, she and her husband gave their first born your name ‘Susheela.’ They even printed your name in their auto, Ma. I am so proud of you, even so long after you have gone…

Thank you so much for making me the way I am. Your grandson is even a step forward. You are the first person I want to embrace when it will be my time. God took you back soon because you were a Goddess too. You are my guiding spirit, guardian angel. With lots of love, your daughter. How I wish I could cook you a meal for you, get you a sari… My mother who refused to wear silk that came from killing thousands of mulberry worms, except for her wedding day and grihaprevesham…

I am a chip of that old block. Don’t expect me to be any different…

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என் தாய் போகாத கோவிலா பண்ணாத பூஜையா. அவளுக்கு தெரியாத தர்மமா கர்மா வினையா.

The Sai Baba shrine in Mylapore… My mother was probably their first devotee. As a little girl she and my aunt used to go there when it was a thatched hut and had no visitor. Literally nothing. The founder sadhu would bless my mother every single day. She had become his favourite child. My grandma used to say, my mother was a very special atma with a lot of blessings. That is why she left early.

Beloved to her alma mater, that’s my school, my HM Ms. Satyabhama sent my class teacher and my sister’s, to lay wreath on my mom on behalf of my school. An honour like none received.

Someone with refined aesthetic senses, my mother sewed rarely and nurtured a beautiful terrace garden that bloomed with myriad flowers all the year around. In my parents house at a different place, my mother planted dozens of trees some of which live until today (while some were felled). Unique were the ceylon red coconut trees that she planted with her own hands. After her time, we gifted her sewing machine to a poor tailor. A voracious reader of Tamil novels, her precious and possessive collection of sepia tinted bound volumes from the torn pages of Kalki., Kumudham, Anandha vikatan were taken away by friends never to be returned. A hindi film buff, her last muse were Nazia Hassan and Zoheb Hassan and Runa Leila of Bollywood music.

Fondly remembered by our former neighbourhood Mamis who recall my mother getting the first mixer grinder and tv in our street. Saturdays were devoted to grinding kitchen powders and chutneys for all mamis of the street.

There was not a life my mother did not touch in the short span she lived. “There will be none like Susheela’ say the Mamis, the Susheela I never got to know wholly.

The way I care for my househelp etc., makes my hubby wonder whether I was born a housemaid in my previous janam. I don’t know about that. But I merely think I can become that voice for those unheard, unseen people that’s all. And where can I share their agonies. Only here in my blog. The way they struggle for their livelihoods, their tough survival conditions and their simple way of life touches me most. The injustice of it all angers me. I honestly feel connected to lower middle class lot, I don’t know why. May be because of my mother who used to take us girls to her school until she was around. Growing up with blind and deaf-mute girls who we got to meet and play with as kids every month and during vacations, watching the girls in running and sack races, lemon and spoon etc., all that must have touched something in my heart. Many of my friends find this empathy of mine unusual. Never felt, the girls in mother’s school were different. The notion of disability never entered my mind for decades because I was used to treating the handicapped as pretty regular from early on in life. Same applied to the poor. My mother got our housemaid, a teenage girl, married a mere few months before she passed away. She footed the entire expense and treated the girl like her own daughter in our presence. No special treatment for us daughterss over our maid who mostly lived with us. We two daughters ate our food or snacks with our maid Kanniamma who was mere few years older than us. That sense of equality probably got deep-rooted in my heart.

Most of all I reckon that those who work as housemaids etc., are there only because of their birth conditions. We only have to do a quick stocktaking to realize the injustice and unfairness of it all. Is anyone from my circle/community working as housemaid? driver? plumber? grave digger? scavenger? How come I and my family have a good birth? How come we have access to finest things in life that we take for granted? How come we are privileged and we assume we are born to this. On our way to here, who did my forefathers suppress. Whose livelihoods and dignity did our ancestors tread upon. At whose expense am I here at all.

These are the exact thoughts that I harbour which makes me go soft to the poorest. Sometimes their ignorance and helplessness can make me cry. Their mere unquestioning of their state, mutely submitting to injustice can depress me.

Reservations etc., can improve lives but the stigma attached to generations of oppressed will take a millennium to clear. Not a favour, we are paying for damages.

If my words can stop even a single soul to pause and reflect, that I shall count as my greatest victory.

I write for my own feelgood factor, not to impress.

It so happens that today I received my CC certificate from TM International. Means, I am a certified Competent Communicator. (Must be the first 50+ housewife to crack it hahaha)! The problem is, I have not always seen a correlation between the levels or certifications and the degree of proficiency that has been demanded of the hierarchy as you climb up the ladder of Toastmasters. Sorry, I had to wait for this date to pour here my frank opinion on TM. I have enjoyed the journey no doubt about it, but I am kind of wary of the phoniness sometimes. For me, each and everyone of us must truly DESERVE being there, merit every single step we take forward to becoming DTM or whatever…. If I hadn’t believed so, I would have been a CC in 6 months. I took long pauses because I thought I needed to honestly grow up to the level I would move to. I felt I should truly belong there. I am a grammar police as well and I can’t stand rambling or nonsense substance sugar-coated in glamour. I believe in stuff. Worthy stuff. But I don’t deny having listened to some well crafted beautiful, moving speeches on the other hand in these last 5 years I have been into speeches. These rare ones are true life stories sans exaggerations. In any case, public speaking is not my forte, my passion is for the pen.

Not that i am a voracious reader or writer, yet writing to me is cathartic, therapeutic. That’s why I pour down my words into blog posts. Started with my Malaysian days to fill in long lonely days after leading an extremely busy (working mother) life until then. That was upto 1998.

Words give a definition to raging thoughts that swirl into phrases proper and then settle into short and long sentences and finally amass into sensible neat paragraphs. What a work of art this is. A lot of editing and re-editing follow but that’s the ecstasy, with words tangoing one over another into unorganized piles and hence the resorting and rephrasing and re-paraphrasing. The net output may be entirely estranged from what originally was the germinated idea that led to the torrential outpour of your imagination. We swerve, we reconnoiter, we evolve and then we emerge! That’s how at least my posts flipflop and make it to publishing point! May be had I honed this skill I would have ended up least as a sleazy reporter in a yellow magazine! But then I need no audience, no reviews – and had it been not for stats in the blog I wouldn’t have even bothered to check who is reading from where. Earlier I used to be wary of uninvited visitors, now I have come to accept the inevitable reality that there is no privacy online. That you are fully exposed. So even for me there needs to be a kind of restraint now, i try to not divulge too much personal details but it happens otherway around. Because, when you write from heart, you write real life stories which is not really a figment of your imagination…. I need no window dressing, I need no commissioning. It’s just plain me all the way…! So when you are that direct, what is there left to conceal….

Whatever, nowadays reading amateur authors whose simple prose is to only relate a hearty story sans frills, with no intention to impress readers with the clout of their English language proficiency, I am smothered by this feel-good factor, because I see a potential amateur secret writer-publisher in me hahaha! This is how you write from heart I suppose! Two hoots to these good samaritans! I am not for the icing in the cake always, i would better take a big chunky bite of the cake first!

Writing even if as an amateur, naturally made me wonder about delivering speech on stage, the next logical step. This is how I got into trying out my luck with speeches. My personal speech journey has not been good at all! The gratification I derive out of writing from my heart goes missing when I have to act out in front of a select set of audience. It is somehow too very cosmetic but then I didn’t want to leave it untried. The tailor-made speeches to score a point with a bunch of speakers who are on the same boat as you hardly made me feel good about myself. But what it did manage to do was bolster my self-confidence. I became much more outgoing from being a little awkward much more vocal (than already!) and more conscious of the use of conjunctions, pauses etc. I learnt the knack of continuity mostly.

The plus with a short speech is that, you can keep your audience engrossed without the risk of boring them with a long speech. Attention span is better and you are 100% received.

But then after listening to India’s political speakers who are so mic-savvy, I knew a good speaker is born, never molded or made. We are pros here in India, we have naturals who need no brushing up or memorizing. Who transcend all borders and who colour their elocution with such awesome quotes that you know you cannot afford to miss a single word when they are on the dais. These men and women set the stage on fire with their matchless oratory skills and histrionics. Inspiring speeches that shake you and leave you in a sweet mess!

I guess only democracy spawns this breed of bold courageous outgoing speakers who resonate and ring like the very thunder! Do they really script their speeches?

Descending to the lesser world of officeroom kind, speech drapes a different outfit in such organized settings. It is mild, inoffensive and peppered with civil greetings.

Speech to me still remains a sore point. We speak to impress audience and that somehow hits at the base of my need to find fulfillment in expression. When we address a crowd, we cater to their whims and fancies, we limit our natural rhythm and flow, we become unnatural. We set ourselves boundaries. We are not to touch taboo topics, we have to play upto the arena and we cannot infringe upon many a sensitive territory. I have tried to master the art of delivering a truly good speech but have failed miserably I must say. Reason is chiefly this. Animation without substance beats me. Substance without emotion trips me. Emotion that is faked again stumbles me. I am unable to walk out of this trap and hence I can hardly make a decent eloquent entertaining and more than all a CONVINCING speaker.

Allow me the vast uninterrupted online space to fill a 100 pages, I can do it no time. I can make a mincemeat of anyone and everything shedding my inhibitions, shredding their false shrouds to smithereens in no time. I am a self-certified keyboard warrior over a certified CC really.

This is my hometurf. Who is here to stop me.

2019 was unlike any other.

In this one year,

I visited 38 ancient temples in Kumbakonam-Mayavaram belt with my school friends gang after some meticulous planning. In fact for Chitra Pournami that fell on a friday in April that year, I was sitting teary eyed in front of my ishta devta Mother Lalithambika in Thirumeeyachur for over 5 hrs reciting Lalitha Sahasranama at least for 3 times and then singing in chorus many bhajans along with my friends and other devotees. The temple was very crowded. We got our Mother Her favourite silver anklets. There is no way I can put into words the range of emotions that washed over me in those 5 hours. At that moment, I was ready to take leave of everyone and everything at the lotus feet of my Mother. From Brahadeshwara temple in Tanjore to Airawateshwara in Kumbakonam and rest, we covered vast grounds in mere 5 days in very hot April starting our days by 4 am and retiring to bed by 11 pm. All of us are middle aged women – friends from school days. We all have our health woes. Then what gave us the strength and will power to go on. I wonder whether I can ever repeat this feat in future.

Before embarking on Kumbakonam Mayavaram tour, I had already paid a visit to the temples of Kanchipuram. Of course, as Kanchi is stone’s throw away it is not a surprise still periodical darshan of Kamakshi and Ekambareshwara and Varadaraja temples is like tonic to me. This was with my Zumba gang.

Earlier with my school friends I had also visited the Chengleput temples – Eri Katha Ramar temple, Bhagavathy temple at Mel Malayanoor and Selva Lalithambika temple, which is not on tourist map.

Before it was time to leave for Doha, a short stop at Madurai on way to Kodai couldn’t be missed for a million dollars. Mother Meenakshi beckoned.

Of course, not before visiting our Kula Deivam in Arni, a must for us. We don’t do anything without getting Her approval.

A friend from Hyderabad flew down to Kerala and four of us friends were scouting the Athirapalli forests going up on the mountains until Valparai where we doubled down to get back to Thrissur the day after we had a hearty darshan of none other than Shri Guruvayurappan at Guruvayur and of course the unmissable Vadakkunathan (Shiva) and Bhagawati before I exited India this time from Kochi.

Guess I flew in and out of India at least half a dozen times. There was still time to go on a short holiday to Azerbaijan with my hubby and then later on to Turkey. Both were different kind that I enjoyed maximum, unaware that Turkey could be our last vacation in a long time to come.

Before Turkey, my zumba gang booked me into Tirumala Tirupathi tour. I was still in Doha when arrangements were made. Within a couple of days on landing, it was time to leave for Balaji darshan on the last day of Purattasi. Believe me or not, it took us not more than 1.5 hours in queue for a glorious darshan of Venkateshwara, the lord of the seven hills. As I neared the sanctum, all prayers were forgotten; with eyes watering for no reason, all that my heart was filled of was Balaji. None else. You called me without my asking, why. I kept asking. Nothing else mattered. I was there.

Three awesome days at a Kotagiri tea estate cottage was simply out-of-the-world when the entire Zumba gang was there. This was back to back after Tirumala-Tirupathi.The orchestration of the entire tour was by my friends who gifted us an unforgettable fun-filled vacay with girlfriends for a lifetime. I discovered that going places with friends is on entirely a different and unimaginable plane compared to holidaying with family.

Before the end of the year, it was time for a Karnataka round trip covering the Mangalore coastal belt with my Doha wives gang. My second visit to Mookambika temple in Kollur, first to Sharadamba temple in Sringeri among others.

With Mookambika, this is my life experience. From 2001 I am doing this Kuthuvilakku Puja assuming Mother resides in jyothi swarup in the flame reciting Lalitha Sahasranama (which I am reciting since 1993). First I was using my mother’s tall brass diya Pancha muka one, now i have moved over to small and compact silver diya. I never believed I would be visiting these holy shrines at all shuttling between Qatar and India. My hubby wanted to just stay home whenever he visited. My friends and I weren’t bold enough to go on temple tours on our own. This we are doing in last 5-6 years only. But I always told Mother Goddess, even if i couldn’t visit Her, She was there in my thoughts and prayers always. Never made a conscious effort therefore for visiting Kollur but the train tickets were booked by a Doha friend of ours without even my knowledge for his wedding in Udipi. And that’s how I ended up at Mookambika unasked for.

During my first visit to Mookambika temple in 2010 i think along with my hubby, it was not very crowded. I stood with my eyes closed in front of my Mother. A priest walked to me and said, ‘hold this diya (a small size kuthuvilakku) and show the aarthi to Mother right from where you are.’ I couldn’t believe it. My hubby who stood with me understood in a moment what was happening to me, and the significance of the entire development. I lost sensation of my entire body right then and felt like floating. Felt extremely light like a feather, as the priest handed over to me a same 5 wick (pancha thiri) mini kuthuvilakku like I used in my Puja, encouraging me to do the aarthi. Mother was caressing me as I performed the aarthi in total stillness. I stood pretty close to Devi as much as it was allowed. At that moment I knew, my Mother heard me every single day, every single time. She honoured me the way unimaginable to human mind. I never once asked to visit Mookambika. She summoned me out of the blue to Her abode. I could be the smallest ant worthy of squashing, but She still got down to my level even if I could not lift myself up to Her level. I felt connected and only my husband knew and believed the same way I did. I related this to my closest friends who were stunned to hear this story.

This second time in Nov 2019, just as my foot touched on crossing over into the Mookambika temple doors in Kollur, I felt a shocking vibration course through my body. Like if you get a mild shock on touching a power point. Barely lasted for 30 seconds. I was here with my different gang of friends again. I wasn’t prepared for this welcome, but I knew at heart my Mother was waiting for my return. We had late night and morning darshans, double bonanza. Blessed to have a darshan of my Devi in Her golden chariot. Blessed to see Her in her golden lehenga. Just staying the night over very close to the temple was enough for me.

I kept asking Mother, why Ma. Kamakshi, Meenkashi, Lalithambika, Mookambika, Sharadhamba, Durga (Kateel and Patteeswaram), Abhirami, Garbarakshambika just to name a few avatars of Hers apart from Balaji darshan. Left out was Athivaradha and Arunachaleshwara temple at Thiruvannamalai (finished in fag end of 2018) and Chamundeshwari in Mysore (covered in January 2020). Why such an avalanche of blessed darshans.

So much has happened since. I flew back to India on Dec 1st, 2019. Never did I imagine that our life course was set to change forever and my return to Doha would become a big question mark. Not that I regret. I started 2020 too with a visit to my street Shiva temple for midnight zero hour darshan. Visit to Kapaleeshwara temple and Mundagakanni Amma temple very regular. Even Navashakthi Vinayaka temple in Luz. My favourite is Devastana Balaji temple run by TTD in T. Nagar.

A complete roller coaster of emotions since December end but all is well that ends well. I now understand the significance of the events of 2019. Life has since given me back to back promotions 😀

Sometimes when I pray only tears stream down my eyes. There is no way I can explain this to others. I just know that my Mother Raja Rajeshwari is hanging on to every single word of mine. All the more it is important for me now to be more responsible and cut down on the negative things. But then we are human. To err is human.

During this Navratri I only wish to record that, Mother listens to every heart. There are subtle ways She lets us know that She is listening. I got married as an orphan. Today if i am at least in this station in life, it is not without Her guidance and blessings. Before my wedding, everyday I would be before the Durga in Valleeshwara temple, Mylapore and Karpagambal in Mylapore. Mundagakanni Amma. Not to leave out our street Renuka Parameshwari. Making jaggery pongal for Mundagakanni for years, decades now. Used to make within the temple precincts but age has caught up with me now. My energy level is low so I now make it at home and take Her the offering. Also for the local Devi temples here that are Kaval deivam for this locality.

In january, I don’t know why I rushed a visit to our Kuladeivam and then to make pongal for Mundagakkanni amma and our Kaval deivams. Normally I do it in Aadi and if i am there in Thai month, if time permits I do it. Yearly once, a ritual. But this year, I finished my annual ritual well in advance in Jan. After corona, there is hardly scope for the ritual now.

She is the Mother for the motherless. Just surrender. Without questioning. More accepting Her direction in total faith. That’s what I do.

Used to attend Varahi homams once upon a time for over 2 years every Amavasya. From then on, I tell myself, ‘Vaa endru azhaithaal vaaradhiruppalo Varahi.’ I take Her everywhere with me. She is my courage. She is my strength. I pray with Her to kill my self pity even after all these years. I am on my way to become a grandma. Mother has more than compensated me over years. I acknowledge Her direct hand in my life, yet as a lowly human form, all I can think of is about myself. My world is very small. How I wish I could break this jinx and become less self centered.

Navratri to me is awakening of these powerful emotions. I have a different kind of relationship with my Mother Goddess. I have arguments, I call Her ‘vadi podi’ – I don’t know if anyone will understand this equation between us.

To my Mother I pray for the gentlest heart that can understand others and bring happiness to everyone. To recite the Lalitha Sahasranama in every birth of mine and be able to visit Thirumeeyachur and Kapali temple in Mylapore in every janam of mine. I don’t think i will break the birth cycle in another 1000 years 😀 To have the same family every birth.

I think I prayed very much for same things in my previous janam. Just an intuition. In every single Devi temple I stepped into in 2019, i managed to recite Lalitha Sahasranama. I wish I could die with Mother’s name on my lips even as I chant Her nama.

Mother exists for those who believe in Her. Sometimes all I long for is to keep my head in Her lap and go to sleep forever and never wake up, in content and peace.

Why did these geniuses want to leave their signatures (mudras) (like watermarks) everywhere?

Some time ago, Kanda Shashti Kavasam sung for Lord Muruga aka Subrahmanya, Lord Shiva’s second son was eye of a controversy. Every Tamil child grows up singing this ‘Kavasam’ and in fact, there is a scientific opinion on the popular Thamizh prayer that, the nuanced pronunciations in the lyrics can keep off Alzheimer’s, for the tongue twisters they are. The same is also said to be true of Sanskrit slokas and mantras such as Vishnu Sahasranama, Lalitha Sahasranama for instance, that are ages ancient. Repeated chanting of these can do wonders to your memory and delay aging process of the mind.

What caught my attention about the Kavasam uproar was that, how Bala Deva Raya signed the Kavasam composed by him at Thiruchendur, one of the six of the ‘Aru Padai Veedu’ – the shrines devoted to Lord Muruga throughout Tamil Nadu. ‘Bala deva rayan pagarndhadhai’ is the verse with which the devout signs off the Kavasam in his name that he first recited in the seaside Murugan temple famous for its Skanda Shashti celebrations during which time Lord Muruga rains arrows at Padmasura, the asura (demon) king, and the enactment continues to this day in the beach adjoining the temple drawing tens of thousands of Muruga bhakts throughout India for the annual occasion.

Hanuman Chalisa is similarly signed off by Tulsi Das.

Every keertan by Thyagaraja, one of the ‘trimurthis’ of Carnatic classical is signed by composer Thyagaraja with invariably the closing verse ‘thyagarajavinutha’ that’s his trademark mudra or seal. Few others who have left their signatures include Harikesanallur Bhagavathar and Purandaradasa.

Which made me think, how nicely and intelligently these great men have copyrighted their renderings in bygone eras!

I have not observed this branding practice in Thevaram, Thiruvasagam, Thirupugazh, Thiruppavai etc. Nor have I picked up anything of this kind in Meera bhajans etc. To my knowledge, few doyens who reigned supreme in the classical music arena have patented their compositions as did some from northern India with their Samskrit compositions – in their own unique way! Clever!

Just found this curious! None seems capable of resisting the lure of vanity! Not all of us want to go down into the oblivion without making sure that we will be remembered forever! I find this signature similar to an artist leaving his/her initials in the masterpiece he/she creates that may survive to eternity. Great kings etched their names into stone masonry on temple granite walls. Some emperors got engraved their vain glory to posterity on their marble tombs. Some in history did not have a chance to leave a signature, yet they remain in our psyche, not having been banished to obscurity. Time has always done justice to these heroes be them scientists or architects or medicos or mathematicians or literary geniuses. Or even noble princes. That is how we have Vedas, Upanishads to Yogas in our midst until today. We remember Sushrutha to Bhaskara. Valmiki to Agasthya. Some signs have been erased by invaders and marauders, some signs did not exist at all, and some survived the onslaughts to reveal to us the history as it unfolded through centuries.

https://www.livemint.com/news/india/time-capsule-to-be-placed-2-000-feet-below-ram-temple-in-ayodhya-11595825200609.html

Recently, a time capsule was buried under earth during the ground breaking ceremony for Ram temple at Shri Ram Janam Bhoomi in Ayodhya. That got me thinking and that is how i tied Kanda Shashti and other things to each other. Just connected the dots and found it all absolutely amazing. I shall keep looking for more signatures in whatever literary composition or sanskrit sloka or mantra i may come across for a telltale sign left by the author.

Finally I have this confession to make: i am good at nothing. A mere passerby. And I may be completely wrong.

Lever is dropping the word ‘fair’ from its fastest moving fairness cream brand in the Indian market, ‘Fair & lovely.’ And I have a confession to make: it is something i can’t do without either. My tube of Fair & lovely is really like my foundation/moisturizer that I wear whenever I go out (MRP < Rs.100/-) That is my make-up maximum. Otherwise at home, I use natural Ayurvedic moisturizers or skin nourishing lotions. The foreign brands that I have experimented with are Body Shop and Loreal (not in India) but i have slowly come out of these. None of these are fairness creams. Meant only for skin maintenance/repairs. Basic minimum. Why I use Fair & lovely is that, it is non-greasy and gives a smooth finishing comparable to or even better than any expensive foreign brand foundation that one may use (which may cost over 1 k or 2k). Mine is cheap and best and non-allergic. I hate Lever company but I like this product of theirs. Vanity is not healthy but wanting to look crisp must be okay. I appreciate Kangana’s stand and adore her uprightness and non-materialistic attitude. Nandita is another classic black beauty. Tamil cinema has had dusky women like Saritha, Suhasini, Sujatha for leading ladies. The fairest ones from Madras like Vaijayanthimala, Hema Malini, Rekha, Jaya Prada and Sri Devi went to Bollywood rejected by Tamil filmdom (except for Sri Devi and Vaiji)! That must tell you something…

Never owned a mascara or foundation in my life, never will. It is good to know I have like minded friends from school who share similar values. Have never owned a make-up set. May be lipsticks and eye pencils in the loose and face compacts. That completes beauty routine (for parties only) for some of us.

Many of us go for facials. In my case, I started with visiting beauty salons very late in my life – after my 36th year. I go for mostly gold facials once or twice an year that are turmeric based. In India, we get herbal/Ayurvedic facials which is our greatest advantage. These can bring a glow to our face without making us appear fairer. The de-tan is natural. I don’t think removing the tan is by itself bad. It’s like removing the top soil grime, nothing more. It can’t make you permanently fairer. Maximum a shade lighter, that is all. But I learn, there are now expensive toxic methods to completely change/replace your skin, if you so wish. Yes, you can buy somewhat permanent fairness these days (that may last upto years). I can name a few Bollywood heroines and Tamil Nadu women politicians who have supposedly gone for such skin treatments. This is the reason some salons have cosmetic dermatologists in their payroll.

While condemning the clamour for fairness, we have to know the difference: it is nothing wrong in wanting to look good and presentable. Neat and nice. Most of us middle-class and middle-age women are for like reparation and skin maintenance only. Our age demands it.

Even for hair, so far I have not resorted to chemical dyes. Only the natural henna. Most of my friends are like me. India again has the home turf advantage here. We have shampoos that are non-soap based. Completely natural. (I am limiting myself to skin colour in this post).

More than that, any accentuation to fairness is vain and distasteful. I don’t even attempt it because I believe in myself first. I don’t want to look paper white like South East Asians or Arabs or Europeans or Americans because I am not them. I am Indian, and I am a Madarasi, a Tamil, and I am proudly dusky. Someone married me for what I was, what I am. And that someone is a responsible man, not just any tom-dick-harry. Like in my case, for most girls, skin colour plays no significant role in our life as far as India is concerned. I graduated, got a decent job, married – all in my chocolaty brown skin. Briefly for a while, my skin colour was refered to as ‘wheatish’ in my Kundali (horoscope) around the time of my marriage. Never before or after that.

So that is why I was pretty much offended that the Fair & Lovely commercials showed as if we women got anything and everything done capitalizing on our looks and gender. Which is so much untrue. It is an insult to our very womanhood, this downplaying of our hardly won battles and success stories. Such a belittling way to portray women. The ads need a tweak first. Their grand lies do more harm than flatter.

The south is pretty comfortable in dusky tone. Let north Indians stop calling us Kalia. The north easterners are called ‘chinkis’ by north Indians as well (for their resemblance to chinese).

But fair or dusky, I do have the habit of rubbing a lemon slice in my face regularly to de-tan naturally. We use haldi (turmeric meant for grooming purpose; this haldi is bit different from the haldi we use in our kitchen) and chandan (sandal paste) and coconut oil for skin toning and improvement down south.

I believe strongly that we all have to look and feel beautiful inside out. Insides first. Physical workouts are the best way to beautiful self. That by itself takes care of all our beauty concerns. Physical stamina and fitness will automatically radiate to our skin and face. Similarly if we are happy than brooding, that reflects in our face as well. This kind of radiance one can spot readily in newly married women, pregnant ladies etc., for instance.

Next comes our food habits. Vegetarian food habits delay the ageing process. Infuse lots of fresh greens, vegetables and fruits and wholegrains, pulses and nuts in your everyday diet and see the difference. While this may have nothing to do with your skin colour, you can notice a telltale welcome change in your skin tone. After all that, there is the gene factor.

When the foundation deep inside is firmly rooted, the superstructure will be good, in my opinion.

I am always for a healthy sheen and skin. I can’t believe some women spend obscene sums on chemical beauty and make-up products. Mostly these are other Asian women from Middle East and Far East Asia who indulge so much in frivolous superficial beauty. You can never catch an Indian woman spending such indecent sums on vanity – except for in some rare cases of north Indian women. Kerala women like it best to appear with coconut oil dripping from their faces hahaha! Tamil Nadu slightly better than that! But I love and respect the fact that they couldn’t care less!

I guess Indian women invest more in precious gems, gold, diamonds and in silks when it comes to clothes. And real branded accessories that are worthy of the price. I have seen such an elitist shopping interest in our NRI women abroad. Our tastes are eclectic.

Times may be changing even for us Indian women but certain things ingrained in us by our grandmas hardly leave us so easily. We are still a very traditional community adhering to our own set customs and values.

As someone who never used a chemical soap for the first ten to twelve years of her life (besan for skin and shikakhai for hair), I can vouch for the healthy effects of our natural beautifying ingredients right from our kitchen shelves. These are tips passed over generations. I still follow the ritual of soaking in coconut oil head to foot twice or thrice a week, at least for an hour before shower. Rain or shine. I believe this is the best natural anti-ageing treatment that we can give ourselves within the four walls of our home. And it costs very minimum. Only the pure cold pressed unbranded coconut oil from our nearby farms (in India).

Ayurveda has natural nourishing beauty products that can improve skin tone and de-tan us without the harmful side-effects of imported chemical brands. To my knowledge, many Indian women and beauty salons in India make good use of these.

I figure that, women spend more on vanity when they lack the sense of security and self-confidence. Also when they may have forgotten their roots and tradition and are westernized. Indian women are well placed generally and may still be culturally oriented. Well accomplished careerwise, well qualified and settled early in life. My view is that, therefore our women don’t need to look to hooking men or retaining men or even dating men! By 25-26 we are mothers already, taken. We start our lives pretty soon. Delayed marriages are happening of late in India, even so our women are extremely smart. Very few accord extraordinary importance to grooming, at least down south. When there is solid substance, why do you need any other crutch. In south India, being coffee brown is natural. No big deal. I come from the land that gave the world the Sundar Pitchai of Google, Satya Nadella of Microsoft and Indira Nooyi of World Pepsico. What role our Indian skin colour played in the global success of our sons and daughters?

India ladies: beauty with brains. Both Mars Mission rocket scientists as well as successive Miss World/Miss Universe title winners. With the brown skin.

Prejudices exist everywhere. In Arab countries, we cannot even pronounce our Hindu Gods’ names in public. Cannot openly pray/worship. Is n’t this far worse than racism. What ethical rights Islamic nations have in even condemning racism in any part of the world. Pot calling the kettle black.

Before talking so much about ‘Black lives matter’ – let every nation on earth turn secular and democratic first. Black Lives Matter or Islamophobia merit discussion in some societies only when they reciprocate 100% equally and justly whatever freedom they expect to enjoy in open secular democratic countries.

Within India, as I said, the distinction is there between the north and south. In fact, i have faced racism more in my own country whenever I have come across north Indians, over foreigners abroad. Of course, this kind of racist remarks have been mostly harmless. Either that, or we down south are thick-skinned.

Having said that, I like to feel beautiful inside out and have always considered myself beautiful! I don’t need certification from anyone on that! Beauty also lies in the eyes of the beholder. To groom well effortlessly is my mantra. I mean, to groom decent. In India, i feel no need to use even perfumes that block our sweat glands! India is airy lol! Even when it comes to clothing, i prefer desi yarns and weaves and natural vegetable dyes. Ethnic motifs, ethnics clothes. A sari is the most beautiful and sexiest fashion statement in the world! If women are gifts, then the sari is the best gift wrap indeed! I feel most beautiful when I drape my sari.

BE ORIGINAL, BE BEAUTIFUL, WEAR YOUR ATTITUDE IN YOUR SLEEVE. BE JUST YOU. Most importantly , do not become cheap imitation of the west. Music or clothes or food or culture, uphold your native heritage. Stand out. Let your individuality do the talking. You just don’t become ‘them.’

Feminism is oversold and so-much cliched. I am NOT a feminist. I am me. I don’t consider it wrong to want to look good. As I said, any obsession with this beauty concept is though unhealthy. Fixation on these distractions will waylay us on our journey to reach our true goals in life.

I remember my granny saying, ‘Karuppe azhagu, kandhale ruchi’ which translates into ‘black is the most beautiful and the (browned) crust (in the pan) is always the tastiest (in food).’

Hahaha!

Actually, i don’t even feel the need to justify or defend my brown skin that I am too very comfy in.

Positivity Overload reminds me of the Emperor’s new clothes. Excuse me.

Positivity is overplayed a lot of late. Negativity bashed ever since Corona virus became the topic of our conversations. One group flushing with positivity felt that any corona news was more toxic than the virus itself. The sanest way to stay alive was by shying away from mass or main stream media as well as social media. It is true to some extent, that fake news are doing rounds. We are all adults who can filter news as to what is real and what is fake. If it is indeed fake, we are free to dismiss it and move on. If it is real, we can still deal with it given our resources. We can learn from experiences or we can simply mute/block/delete data. As simple as that.

What is positivity to these faint-hearted. It is banishing reality, living in denial. Life is not an odyssey of good times alone. Positivity 100% is as much toxic as 100% negative outlook. In fact, it is the polar opposite. Staying optimistic acknowledging reality is a different scenario though.

In most cases, the negatively portrayed people are talking from their experiences. Theirs is cautious optimism, carefully cultivated in the face of adverse reality. To those who have been shock absorbers for a life time, it is natural to indulge in risk analysis before taking a step forward. In fact, the skepticism gets so ingrained in you that building of trust takes it own sweet time. But once the confidence is gained, the trust so built can be unshakable.

Negative portrayers are responsible people who weigh pros and cons. Their negative outlook is reserved to their closest circle, not for all and sundry. This is one tightly-wrung highly stressed bunch.

Overt positivity on the other hand is a privilege some are born with. Mostly the positivity proclaimers never are in the driver seat. These people delegate responsibility. Responsibility thus diluted, shirked or passed on to next level risk takers such as mostly spouse/family, the supposedly positive outlook ones can afford to stay upbeat retaining their composure. Stress level is negligible.

The same positive group also sometimes may miss out the everyday negativity they may be subjecting their friends and family to, with their (un)solicited

• opinion on superficialities such as clothes, etc
• opinion on others choices
• opinion on others faith and beliefs
• forcing their way/opinion on things/issues
• hijacking conversations, deciding conversations, steering conversations
• never self-doubting, projecting and oozing 100% confidence
• wanting to have the last word in every conversation
• believing the best in themselves and the worst in others

Negative outlook group at the best or at the worst, are sincere and ultra cautioners. . If you notice closely, the caution is for saving someone from something ugly and therefore never intentionally cruel. Theirs may be constructive criticism. Negative people still may not single out anyone for scathing attacks. The negatively projected are risk takers who are willing to try untested waters before anyone decides to take the plunge. The negative minded know their limitations and are super-conscious of reality checks. Lacking a safety cushion unlike the privileged, the dooms day prophets are aware of consequences and therefore plan ahead. They are listeners first. They seek clarifications for doubts. They don’t assume things and never take things for granted. Limiting damages becomes their utmost priority as they count in the risk factor. If it can help, they share their stories to trusted circle. Well intended, these cautiously optimistic unfortunately get labeled in return as ‘sinks.’

You may never catch a negatively portrayed friend talking you out of your party dress for wrong colours or whatever. The negative group has in all probability walked the difficult path. They have their priorities right. They know what matters and what is frivolous. For all their supposed negativity therefore, the negatively portrayed friends know what to vote up and what to vote down. Their negativity is all about prudence, never a judgment.

You may be a positive person totally if

• you have not stood in a PDS queue an entire afternoon
• you have not stood for hours for school admission or university admission for your kids in hot sun
• you have not taken a driving test in India
• you have not commuted regularly by city bus
• you have not tended to your inlaws or cooked for your inlaws or have had your inlaws at home with you
• you do not entertain/feed friends and family at home
• you do not look after others kids/babysit
• you do not cook/clean/iron on your own
• you have not lived life without a maid/driver/cook
• you have always had someone to run these aforesaid errands for you
• you are of the opinion that you can pay/substitute for humanitarian/physical works/services with monetary compensation
• you have never worked for a single day in your life (in the case of housewives) reporting for duty to someone hierarchically your superior, waiting with bated breath every month end for your salary to get posted.
• you downplay humanitarian/physical services
• you have not missed trains/flights and have been holed up in railway stations/airports for hours/days
• you do not share equal responsibilities with your spouse economic/familial or whatever
• you are kept in the dark on your exact family status
• you are not a decision maker in your family finances/businesses
• your spouse asks you to mind your own business
• you have not mingled with Indian crowds
• you have never been a part of the general janata living the average life of a fellow Indian citizen
• or in general YOU HAVE NOT STEPPED OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE ever in life…

Such a wonderfully positive feeling group is always 100% politically correct. On the record. To the dot. Very diplomatic. High up in their ivory towers, the cautiously optimistic people to them will always seem the sinks.

Well, the negative ones hardly bother. Otherwise, we won’t belong where we do today. For every step forward, we turn to look back two steps if we have trodden the right path, taken the right step. We value suggestions and welcome wise counseling. We have dealt with disappointments and failures. Most of all we do not live a life of mirage for others. We live a life for ourselves. Since we have had no pressure to impress anyone in the first place, and we dare with our negative approach, we are real and brutally honest.

There is hidden negativity in most of those who think they are positive people. What the heck, that is hardly my agenda.

The negatively stereotyped refuse to count the chicks before they are hatched. They wait to see the colours at the end of the rainbow. They do believe there is light at the end of the tunnel. That is the final word.