My Sword and My Shield

The school ground was teeming with children, parents, teachers, kids, et al. ─ every corner and crevice was chockablock. The who's who among the students were on their toes, rushing about with the last- minute preparations. The sun was blazing down on us, with no sense of mercy. A few hundred selected students, like me, had no choice but get sun burnt. Dressed in our crisply pressed uniforms, we were bracing ourselves up for the most important event of the day: the march past parade. Plus, I had a more important role to play (display) that day. On the other end, the school band was getting its acts together. The harried teachers and the cool PT master were seen busy fixing the flag. The Principal Sister Vera also seemed to be in a hurry; she was preparing for the arrival of the chief guest. Respected parents were trying their best to spot (snatch) the best seat available, just to catch glimpse of their 'under the radar' wards.

I stood there alone; with a lit torch in my hands… the PT master ensured that I was on 'everyone's radar'. Something suddenly shot up my spine then. Was it confidence? May be…I thought. With a burning torch in my hand I stood out from the crowd and looked around at my not-so-lucky seniors and juniors. "I've earned this place for myself," I thought, as I sprinted across the school compound with the lit torch. (Being an all rounder in sports, I had place, position, and praise flowing in abundance). I then proudly positioned myself in front of the group; I was the leader of my march-past group as well. Plus, I had this gold medal to collect. (I had stood first in my class for the 100m dash.)

In no time, prize distribution ceremony was announced. My name was called upon as the winner of 100m dash. With spring in my steps, my airy self scaled the stage to collect the medal. The school principal and the chief guest offered me their heartiest congratulations. My sister stood there among the march past participants silently watching the proceedings. When her name was called upon, she walked up to the stage to collect her medal. As a matter of fact, she too stood first in her class in the sprints.

By the way, she was the school champion: being the frontrunner of our respective classes we were pitted against each other for the final race and she won. I couldn’t take the humiliation. How could I lose to my younger sibling? As deemed fit, I created a hue and cry and put up a fit on the ground. The nuns immediately understood what was happening and took matters in their hands: the race stood cancelled. Thanks to the selfish, sadist in me, my sis lost her medal. How Mortifying? How Awful? You may think. But, did this incident upset her? I’ll never know.

My sister was the elder in the family, though I’m elder to her by a year. Yes, she was the one who won the 100 meters dash, but I was the one who bagged the medal; she was the one who won the prize money for her A grade marks, but I was the one who collected it (thanks to the mistake committed by the higher authorities, for I was considered to be the brighter one); she was one who made it to the school bus stop first, but I was the one who boarded the bus first; she was the one who got to choose the clothes first, but I was the one who grabbed the best pick; she was the one who bailed me out when my vehicle broke down frequently in the dead of the night, while I didn't care to keep the petrol tank filled; she was the one who fed the family on my mother’s absence, while I was left peacefully to feed on my books.

Come to think of it, my sister is a symbolism of maturity and selflessness. She was always mature beyond her years. She always did the hand-holding and shielded me from sorrows of life: when it should and could have been otherwise. Even today she doesn’t confide things in me (I don’t know why?). Her way of managing trouble was to sleep over them; cry over them, when no was around. If that’s not enough, she will figure a way out by talking to her God. Bringing the roof down on non-serious stuff was my forte, not hers. When my marriage was on the edge, her endearing advice to me was, “Jini, mellow down. Keep your rebellious streak in check, because it’s taking your marriage down.” I heard her, for I had implicit faith in her. Who knows me better than her? My marriage was just a year old, while we were blood bond (and still are) for 24 long years. She knew me in and out. While my friends sympathized and shared my sorrow, my sis often snapped at me saying, "Change your attitude and get a hold over your life."

All through the growing years she wore my hand-me-down dresses and hair-clips with no complains. And yes, she was in the good books of all her friends, while I was a loner all my life. Even today, when she has landed a plum corporate job, she doesn't fail to socialize, because friends matter to her. The concept of fair-weather friends doesn’t exist in her dictionary. She stands with them in their thick and thin as she stood by me always. And, today, she's a big support for my parents too.

My sis on the right

If there’s something called rebirth, I want her back, because I want to pay her back. I’ve never tied a Rakhi to her, but she has always been my silent angel flying to me and rescuing from difficult situations - she's my shield and sword.

I want to be her shield and sword someday.

Man's Search For Meaning - I've got a confession to make...

She was the darling of the family: cooked really well, could give any model a run for her money and more than anything else, she was very close to my hubby. I hated her like the ‘other woman’ in my man’s life. I hated her for being the ‘be all and end all’ of my hubby. I hated her and I hated God for not making me like her.

In fact, we shared the same roof for six long years, but I could never ever share a word with her. But after reading this book, I don’t know what, but something changed within me; and I decided to seek atonement for my past sins. (That is after nine long years, seriously it took me that long to reconcile with her.) Today, I am glad that I share a friendly relationship with her. But, what if I had never came across this book? Would I’ve remained the same ruthless person, who could not stand the sight of her sis-in-law? Whose only mission was to snatch away the only brother from a loving sister? I simply can’t fathom that situation now.

Today, I experience peace within myself. One soul-searching line from this book that helped me change my unforgiving mindset forever was: “Live as you were living for the second time. Present is past and the past can be amended.” I was jealous and felt guilty about it at the same time, but I was not ready to forgive her for being the ‘spotlight’ of the family. This book made me do what I thought was almost impossible for me to do: seek atonement.

No wonder the book is popular. And its popularity made me browse it in a jiffy. I had first time seen this book in the hands of a priest during my higher secondary years. Since then, the name and the author of this book have stayed with me. I knew one day I’ll read this book. And, today I am glad, that is after 17 years long years, I did manage to get hold of this book. Have read it twice now, but still feel the need to read it a couple of times more, so as to fully grasp the wealth wisdom dealt in this book at length.

Victor Frankl, the author and the protagonist of this book, is a holocaust survivor. He is both a neurologist and psychiatrist, who survived the atrocities of the Auschwitz camp bravely. I don’t think Auschwitz camp needs an introduction here, or does it? Where the weak were gassed daily; where abeled bodied people were treated like animals and made to work day and night; where inmates had nothing to cover their frozen bodies, except a shred of cloth and over-tight shoes; where sick were treated like the dead and left to die; where the rare-spirited ones were fed on few slices of bread and thin soup, where sleep was a luxury; but Frankl survived, despite all odds. And he did not survive alone; he also ensured that inmates around him also made adequate efforts to survive.

Now, what kept him alive, when he knew that his whole family had been taken as captives by the Nazis and were probably gassed? His why of life? His mission to pen a book on logotherapy, which would help thousands of miserable souls find meaning in their lives? His conviction: that a person who has a why in life will survive anyhow. Frankl believed that no matter what the circumstances of a person are, he has this infallible capacity beat the odds and emerge successful, as he proved during his lifetime. Nothing, but his life validates his belief and research. A must read for those seeking WHY in their lives.

Some thoughtful quotes that will stay with me forever:

1] The more one forgets himself, the more he actualizes himself.

2] No one has right to do wrong even if wrong has been done to them.

3] Turn your personal tragedies into triumph.

4] Suffer proudly not miserably.

5] Love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It’s finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases somehow to be of importance.

6] An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior.

7] Dostoevsky once said “There’s only one thing that I dread: not to be worthy of my sufferings.

8] If one cannot change his situation that causes suffering, he can still choose his attitude.

9] At any moment, man must decide, for better or for worse, what will be the monument of his existence.

10] Suffering is an ineradicable part of human life. Without suffering and death, human life will not be complete.

11] In some ways, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice.

12] There are situations in which one is cut off from the opportunity to do one’s work or to enjoy one’s life; but what can not be ruled out is the unavoidability of suffering. In accepting this challenge to suffer bravely, life has a meaning up to the last moment, and it retains the meaning literally to the end.

13] Man is not fully conditioned or determined but rather determines himself whether he gives into conditions or stands up to them. In other words, man is self-determining.

14] Suffer proudly; not miserably.

15] Nietzsche’s words: ‘ He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how’.

Fishterians In My Family

Have you experienced a ‘Fish High’? What??? A Fish High??? Yeah! A Fish High! Ask my pa-in-law about it. He experiences that often. Just request him to get some fresh fish from the market and he is already on a high. Then the routine that he follows is something that keeps him hooked on his high − gingerly cleaning up the fishes, chopping them into small fine pieces and then rustling up a yummy meen curry for the whole family. UMMM! (My pa-in-law is a handy cook and he doesn't mind exhibiting his culinary skills once in a while.) His fascination for fishes is a given thing in the family, so much so that he won’t mind paying a king's ransom for some quality fishes. He shares a deep, deep bond with his fish friends (and this is no exaggeration). In fact, he can have fishes in any form: curry, fried, pickle, chutney,with coconut, without coconut, so on and so forth.

In case you don't know, every mallu worth his salt is a die-heart fish fan. And if you are a mallu, and that too from the southern part of Kerala like my pa-in-law, the craze for gorging on yummylicious fish curries and fried fishes come inherited. People here won't mind having fishes in the morning, fishes in the noontime and fishes and more fishes when the sun goes down’. My people in Kollam (Quilon) eat, speak and breathe fish, day in and day out. Kollam abounds in backwaters and so do fresh-water fishes. You will find them all year around (except during monsoons). The families here own both small and big boats, and most of them are involved in fish trading. My mamus, in fact, can catch fishes with bare hands, while my hubby’s uncles and cousins are proud owners of life-size-boats used for fishing in high seas.




Apart from fishes what makes Kerala so endearing to the Keralities, and probably to the rest of the world, is the carpet of greenery. Each and every inch of our tharavadu (ancestral home) and surroundings perfectly resonate with the theme, ‘God’s Own Country.’ Tall coconut trees, jack fruit trees, teak wood trees, etc., make it almost impossible for ordinary mortals like us to peak heavenward. Forget about figuring out flying aeroplanes in the sky, even the sight of the sun and moon become a priceless moment for us. Only when the natural light wills it way through blanket of greenery, you’ll come know there’s a sun or moon shining out there.

So, for my pa-in-law relocating to a dry state like Gujarat was more of a nightmare than a dream come true. But his survival instinct kicked in and Ahmedabad has been a home for him for over three decades now.

Kerala though rich in flora and fauna, has the largest number of migrants because of lack of industrialization. It would be better off living in Ahmedabad than going Gulf, he thought. But, though he managed to put Kerala on the back of his mind and decided to stay put in Ahmedabad, thanks to the flourishing mill industry here, he was unable to forget his fish friends. He would get up as early as 5 a.m. and reach the market before anyone does, so that he could lay his hands on freshest fishes. He would go around the city scouting for fresh fish supplying destinations. Fishes such as prom frets, lady fishes, surmai, sardines and so on were on his hit list.

Once he's home from the market he fills the freezer with his priceless treasure. Of the many kgs he has got for the family, he would choose the best of them, clean them, cut them and then pester his dear wife to make a spicy curry and even fry some. His passion for fishes is so infectious. that everyone in the family looks forward to a sumptuous meal flanked by fish curry every Sunday.

Fish weekends are a smiley weekends for my family (a breakaway from the everyday routine of dal, roti and rice); however, it turns out to smelly weekends for our neighbours. Not just our next door neighbours, even those living two floors above us can smell fish being cooked in the closed walls of our homes. The one living above is Swaminarayan. I don’t know how does this family tolerate us? They don’t even use garlic or onion in their food and imagine them smelling fish. Well, we have been living in the same flat for over 8 years now, but our beloved neighbors have never uttered a word against us, let alone complain. I appreciate their generosity. Even the security guard downstairs knows when fish is being prepared in our house. The smell (read: aroma) spreads far and wide. We do our best to put away the so called smell by lighting incense sticks all around the house, and by burning natural mosquito repellants. But all these traditional methods of doing away with the smell doesn't help much. As a last resort, we use room sprays, etc., just to make visitors, who drop in out of the blue, feel comfortable.

Considering the consternation our poor society people suffer(how can I not sympathize with them in their sorrow?) I feel it's high time for companies to introduce sprays that has a far-reaching effect −something that would act as a breath of fresh air for the majority of the non-fishing eating community. Nevertheless, I do dread the day, when someone from the society orders my family to stop making fish and do them social favor. Undoubtedly, that would be the doomsday for my pa-in-law.


This entry is part of "Smelly To Smiley!"contest on www.indiblogger.in.

My 60-second Addiction - Priceless

Today's Prompt is priceless: What's something wonderful you have in life that can't be bought, sold, or traded for money? 

 

Priceless Treasures

My son’s laughter;
My mom’s love;
My father’s drive;
My hubby’s support;
My sis’s patience; 
My bro’s selflessness;
These are my prized possessions;   
Not worth trading off for anything in this world.

Pure relationships are always priceless : no room for price tags or status tags

 

My 60-second Addiction - Mom

"No man is poor who has a Godly Mother" - Abraham Lincoln

Divine Love

She is the light of my life;

She is the flame of forgiveness;

She is the best friend who’ll never turn her back on me;

I may bury her existence, bruise her soul; but she will always bless me.

My diabolical deeds and my abominable words doesn't stop her from loving me.  

She is none other than my mother.