The Zero Calorie Hour

The Zero Calorie Hour

I don’t know about you, but I love my food.
The junkier the better.
Sadly my good friend Sharmila doesn’t share my sentiments on food. She’s so slim, trim and graceful, she could ride a feather.
She’s into fad diets. She once spent fifteen days on just boiled vegetables and she told me it was a lifting experience.
It would be, I thought, especially if you lived near the sea, that too in the windy months.

And yesterday I had dropped in at her place with some sweets fried in ghee. Actually they were meant for me, but I had managed to source some lettuces for her.

“Sin!” she cried when she saw my pack which said ”real ghee in our sweets!”.

” Just a little” I said apologetically.

“Fried sin!” she cried again.

“I’ll have just one” I said weakly but she snatched the bag of goodies from me and threw them in to the loft.

“From today you go on a diet” she commanded.
”What’s your weight?” she asked sternly.

“------------- Plus or minus ten kilos,”I said.

“@@##$$$$%%*^%!”she said and I blushed.

“Woman, you’ll not live beyond fifty!” she said cheerfully.

I’ll live that long, provided I don’t get swept away by cyclones, tsunamis or get shot by kind people, who have to kill me for their cause.

“Now, have this, you’ll become lighter and prettier!” she pushed a china plate towards me.

“Nice plate” I said wondering when she’ll serve food.

“These lettuces carry no calories, but they’d be filling. You can have just one after you get used to it” she said.

Lettuces? I had thought they were part of some design on that plate. There were two of them, thoughtfully arranged on that plate so that they wont feel lonely.

I burst out sobbing and she held me through my tears. Nice girl. All the while she told me I should try self hypnosis and “feel light”. She chanted that mantra for some time and I did feel considerably lighter after that.

Hip hip hurray for hypnosis!But what’s that thing slumped on the sofa? That looks like me! Omigod! That’s me! And I must be dead! No wonder I feel light!

“Hey, wake up! see, I told you’ll feel filled up with this magic food! You’ve fallen asleep!”It was Sharmila.

I was back in my body and I must tell you I just loved every extra pound of it.I pried myself away from that sofa and made a dash for her front door.

“I know of a certain zero- calorie food! Great on your skin too! Its called… water!” I said and scooted out of her place before she could shoot me.

Adi Shankara-A Malayali

“Adi Shankara was a Malayali”

The statement was made in all earnestness and, hearing that, as you’d ve done, my first instinct was to laugh.
Then I looked at the expression on the young lady’s face and it reminded me of my nine -year old son’s face when he thought he’d discovered an Earth-shattering truth.
We were discussing her thesis on the vernacular architecture of Kerala and the discussion had turned to the great men the state had produced.
I reminded her gently that, even by the post-dating standards of white and
Brown babu-“scholars”, Shankara lived more than 1500 years back and Malayalam had not been born then.
She seemed to accept and I think that was because, unfortunately for her, she happened to be a student pursuing a degree in architecture and I happened to be her guide.
“Ma’m, he must’ve spoken Tamil then!” Said a colleague who believes that Tamil pre dates all the other languages in the world . ( I don’t believe that, call me a traitor –of- the-Tamils if you want!)
Well, Sanskrit must’ve been the English of those times and Shankara composed all his great works in that language,though he calls himself a “Dravida –shisu”(Aryan invasion theorists, note! Shankara didn’t consider himself an Aryan! These divisions were once only geographical and now, political J)
However he might have spoken Tamil when he had to talk to people who didn’t know Sanskrit.
Such arguments have no end, and it doesn’t do any of us any good when we call Ramana maharishi a Tamilian or Ramakrishna paramhamsa , a Bengali.

Great men like them carried a message for mankind and they should be respected as such
And not as a “Malyali or a Mara [means brave-word courtesy, regional parties] Tamilian!

All this linguistic talk reminds me of a friend in Hyderabad, who lamented the formation of linguistic states and said that it ‘d divided the country needlessly.

“I thought the first martyr in the language struggle spoke Telugu, I am surprised you say this” I told my Telugu –speaking friend.

“That was mere politics and what do ordinary folks like us have in common with that?
Why, do you agree with everything that your Dravidian party politicians in Tamil nadu say?”
He was right.
Even though I told him I thought that the divisions based on languages were inevitable, in a place like ours, I cant help thinking that it has done more harm than good,especially
statements like the title of this article.

The State less Sindhis

And not all of us are happy. I’ll always remember what the kindly old shopkeeper in Sharjah said of himself.
I was wondering in Tamil whether he was a fellow Indian or someone from the sub continent.

“I am one of those stateless Sindhis”.
He said in perfect Tamil and surprised me further by saying that his family had lived for a while in Madras after the partition.
We take our state-hood for granted and forget that a community which has suffered the pain of 1948 doesn’t have a state like we do. They have their own language, unique culture and customs not to mention high-profile leaders and yet no state of their own.
We have new states like Jharkhand and Uttaranchal and our power-mongering babus might be planning more, but what about the Sindhis?
Too many questions remain and as ordinary folks what else can we do but ask questions?
Glad we have the freedom to ask questions,anyway.

Coming back to the problem, now that we have linguistic states are we doomed for ever?

I don’t think so.
Instead of stuffing their version of History in the name of detoxification down our collective throats, our babus can try to enlighten people about the culture of other states in a more detailed way.
A lot of changes can be made in and through the text books. People can retain some regional pride, doesn’t hurt, but they can still be made aware of the greatness of the whole.

And, Joy-filled Flows The Yamuna

And Joy-filled, Flows The Yamuna


Slowly, I am flowing,
carrying my fond hope
that the promise will come true
after all these years.
Nay, not a century,
I have waited for eons
Without a single glimpse
of the dark skinned prince.

The Ganga , the special one,
is in touch with
the fair one’s matted locks,
she flows with bliss
And ever since she glimpsed
Dasaratha’s beloved boy
She is beside herself
with unchecked joy.

I may be the lesser one,
but I have to hope
That today will be the day.
and today he would come.

Suddenly, very suddenly
fat rain drops fall on me
And become a torrent
in no time at all
Rain -laden clouds darken the sky
Thunder booms, lightning streaks
strange light patterns
across the dark sky dome

Is this the day?
Lord, is this the day?
I dance and sing
I slosh and swoosh
I throw naughty waves
All over my watery body
And joy filled
I almost jump over my banks




This is the day!
Yes! This is the day!
Yes! Says the Temple bell
Yes! Say the pretty birds
who are rushing home
Yes! Say every rock and
Pebble on my way.
Yes! Says my soul.

I stand still and watch
as a man from Mathura, with a
Basket in his hands, walks.
His gait unsteady, his gaze steady
Towards me he walks
Holding his basket safe
What could be so precious
To be carried on a rainy night
as dark as this?

My penances pay off
and I wake up from trance
Silly Yamuna!
Don’t you know what’s in the
Man’s basket, beneath the rags?
Not some earthly treasure, you fool!
The treasure of all treasures
has arrived in all his glory!

The prince has come!
The fruit of penances
has really come!
The slayer of sins has come!
The lord of compassion
has finally come!
The very essence of the Vedas
has come!
The one and only one
has come as a human once again!

I pause and reflect
This is my day
in all my long river life
and I’ll live up to it!
I watch with anxiety ,as
holding the basket tight
the man stops in my bank
his eyes wide with fright.

The frail man needs to cross
my swirling waters to reach
that place where the great one
has planned a stay
in a home away from home.
To the sky, the father looks up
And cries out his name
Just then a thunder booms
And pulls me out of
deep trance once again.

I muster all my might and
every bit of stored up strength
I make a space across my width
wide enough for a man to stand
It hurts a little to part up
but what is it, before the savior
who has decided to fill my cup of joy ,
so much that it brims all over!


The father sheds tears of joy
And happily across he walks
The blue safire on his head
Lighting up his entire path.
I long to touch the little feet
But hold myself very still.

My mind goads me to touch him
Go, on , Yamuna,
He might be a new born
But he’s still the mighty one
Your waves will not harm him
So go touch him! Touch that tiny feet1
For, this may be your last chance
and only he knows when
he’ll come back again.
Touch his feet, woman!
It’s now or never!


No , I will not,
As I am a mother
my heart seems to say
I will not rise up
And touch the newborn feet
If I have to wait for a
Million million eons
I will wait, but touch now, I will not.
For, that’s a tiny baby
already touched by rain
and a heartless cold wind

And then it happened
Pink little feet alight with glory
peeped out from the basket, they
thrashed and thrashed until they
reached down and
touched my waiting waters,
cleaning away years of
sorrow and collected sin.

Blessed am I, for my waiting
has now been rewarded.
And if ever you feel that
my waters taste salty, be aware that
they are but happy tears
shed by a simple river that glorious rainy night.

Nandlalah

                          Eyes that shine


He’s been after me since morning, this Krishna
His greedy eyes upon the pot of butter and sweets
“Ma, please!” he begs with false tears, my heart melts
What good is any food, unless the thief eats first?

“In a few minutes” I say, my custom bound self
wanting to finish the puja first, as I get things ready
Krishna pouts, but sits like a lamb next to the shelf
Just where the pots of goodies are, smelling heady

As we sing the praise of the lord, Krishna glows
He looks not like an earthly child, I can’t describe
the feeling that shook me up from head to toe
As the puja finished, he gets back to his naughty self.

I can‘t describe either, the glow in those eyes
As I was about to feed him the coveted sweet
And if I had a million lives, I would give them all
For that look of pure bliss on his face, yes I would!

And as he smeared his pretty face with butter
I wondered whether this was the same one who
Sat like a god descended on earth, lost in himself
Glowed like someone out of this world, a while ago.

He read my mind,” Ma, to you, I’ll forever be a child
As I promised in the times we’ve passed through
If you want truth and knowledge, you shall have that
If so you want anything else, you can have that too!”

“Son, I am but a simple woman, with little wants
I have got this bliss with penances, so I want not
what the sages seek, all I want is simple love
So any time my mind tries to take over my heart
Throw your blanket of maya around me, for the only
Identity I want forever, is the title” Krishna’s mother”

Ramblings of a new Expat

 RAMBLINGS OF A NEW PARDESI

After nearly six months of self exile away from the cyber world it certainly feels good to be connected again.Last year this time I was sitting in my Chennai apartment and blogging and it still feels strange sitting in this apartment in Sharjah, UAE.
The Sharjah I’d always associated with cricket matches is where our family lives now.
Six months ago I landed at Dubai Airport and was immediately struck by how huge it was. Those who are already familiar with international airports might not have been impressed but I was overwhelmed because of another reason . Two reasons actually. My two little boy-terrors were zipping around the place shouting “Yipeee!”
As people gave me sympathetic looks a doctor we had met at chennai airport came forward to help.
I was asked not to wait at the tail end of any line and I was told as a lady, I could simply sidestep the males and get ahead .I did that while feeling a little guilty.But a long queue of men looked detached as I and few other women got our formalities completed without waiting.
The good Doctor waited until we met my husband in the lobby and we thanked him for his timely help.
 
As we traveled from Dubai Airport to Sharjah,past the stiff date palm trees,past the gleaming glass buildings,[in this heat?] my husband said he’d been worried that the kids would prove to be too troublesome .
”Well…they were acting like kids. But for the Doctor I’d still be there in the airport”
Before I unpacked things in the second floor apartment that is our home now, I called my Dad.
“You wont believe this”I told him about my adventures with the kids and how I was helped with the formalities.
My dad laughed.
“I told you you’d have no problem there”He said.
It turned out that my dad was worried about his little girl who was traveling with two little ones of her own and he’d asked the Dubai bound Doctor if he could help with the immigration formalities.
Thank God for Dads.I choked up a little said bye and hung up.
Thank God for kind folks who don’t mind spending time to help overwhelmed moms of hyper active kids.
And God bless “Ladies First”theory when it comes to Airport formalities.
Sometimes I just don’t want equal rights.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Subasri Narendran

You and I

You are the infinite one, the great boundless
You are the one that’s within and without
Every thing in this very physical world and
those other worlds I can only imagine about.

I am the flawed one, the absolutely worthless
Surely not at all a design flaw, dear designer
But a case of maintenance flaw, gathered over
So many many years of gross misdemeanor.

Some folks say you are not at all needed
To prove how every thing came about
Most folks say you are very much needed
To give them solace, soothe when in doubt.

I swayed this way and that way for a while
And then, finally liked the idea that you exist.
A good force, a good thought in a world very wile
A presence, an idea on which the great ones insist.

Makes ordinary me feel safer and surer
Of my stay here, in this suffocating lair
To think and believe someone’s up there,
To soothe, to hold and to offer endless care.

The weird insurance policy, infinite its surrender value
The willing toddler who’ll walk in to any heart pure
The magic mirror reflecting what the observer holds true
The one and only one who’ll bail folks out of rut, for sure.

Yours is the face in the crowd, a presence unseen
Until the scales fall from someone’s eyes very keen
Only you know how many times you whiffed past me
Whenever I was down, hit by many situations mean.

Forms though you have many, formless too you can be
Paths there are many, to be one with you ultimately
Wars there needn’t be, for, you are a magic tree
With fruits of the kind what each one wants them to be.

I think of all those crazy deals and petty barters
I tried to make with you, almost every other day
Whenever things went wrong in my life’s quarter
Whenever I begged ” please ,don’t turn me away”

All those nickels promised, in all my ignorance,
To the one and only one who owns the universe.
All those “contracts” drawn, in my sheer arrogance
To the timeless one who is beyond word and verse.

All those salty tears shed, all those nasty brawls
Whenever I didn’t like at all the bitter pills I got
And all those all too hasty thank- you scrawls
Whenever I loved those gifts I eagerly sought.

Then again , the never ending “I want now” list
The all-new “please, bail me out of this!” list
All those dreams showing your faces through the mist
As I’ve been trained to see in my very short quest.

Was that really you? Or was that some illusion?
Was that my brain playing a nasty trick on me?
Was that you who said,” Hey, stop fretting
Worry not, I’ll take care” to a down and out me?

You know, like many, I too am looking for magic,
For a special rainbow which I can have and hold.
In a pathetic world which is, if any , all too tragic.
Always putting a ginger foot in the threshold.

The fun we seem to have in this “here now “ world
Is just a little sugar on a large piece of leathery dough
When bitten into, hard to spit out,so tough and cold.
A little more for some, a little less for some,though.

I do appreciate, whenever I visit a healing place
As a visitor, that Iam better off than most and
My loaf of life has more sugar , a sigh crosses my face.
I know I shouldn’t complain at all in the end.

I believe there are folks who get to talk to you
Who have gone up the ladder of consciousness
Who have reached almost there, their souls anew
And felt that bliss which is beyond the guileless.

I am still in the rut, well below ground level
That ladder way beyond me, in a faraway lane
extending in to the clouds of thoughts and spirit
While I am deeply rooted in the physical plane

Throw more boulders on my path if you have to
Give me more tests and trials if you really want to
Try my endurance if you need to, but forgetting you
is something your stubborn daughter will not stoop to.

For, she knows every problem comes with a toolkit
Faith being its golden key, thanks many for the gift,
Dear parent. With your grace she’ll add sheen to it
And with your help, can help friends find one like it.

That aside, patient one, I have another deal to offer
It’s this, I don’t want me to be me, but you!yes!you!
This little soul wants too much, way beyond its worth
The lowly sparrow wants to fly like a falcon, true.

So many major flaws, so many many doubts
So many wrong moves ,so many doubt-filled kinks
Not a well run company, this hopeless lout
Yet, I suggest a total take-over now, oh, yes!

And ,you know,frankly you don’t get much
In this very funny deal. Whatever that I own
I’ll surrender my all, which is your gift as such
Make a new me out of me and I’ll not be alone.

All that I own, my remaining term in this earth
My flawed mind, my strength that’s undependable
My less than perfect heart, take it all for all it’s worth
And dwell in me, for you would it be impossible?


Think your thought , speak your speech
Do your deed, all through imperfect me
Who doubted, who ranted, who looked around
All her life, the truth always beyond her reach.

Finish this unfinished, complete this incomplete
Water this barren soul, infuse it with pure joy
Of your knowledge, loosen those ties that bind
And, never, ever, leave this worthless toy.

I would like to lock you up now in my heart cage
And throw away the keys, but I am all too raw
And unsure of myself, you know, am no sage
So imprison yourself, leave not, the game will be a draw

But, before that, a word of caution, oh, great one
This heart of mine is bullet ridden, too many shots
Far too many hurts to take a lot of love all at once
Oh, gardener, like a wee blade of grass with weak roots,

This just cannot take too much water, might collapse
Needs a drop, now and then, and not all at once.
But needs water to stay afresh. Yes! Easy are the hurts
For the grass is used to being walked all over.

But love? The all encompassing , all powerful love?
The kind of which no true blue human is really guilty?
Little by little please, to begin with. No hurry
The grass might need lots of time to become a tree sturdy.

Seeking the ultimate is my job, granting is yours.
May be I am too greedy, but seek I have to.
For, if not in this term, I may yet get a chance
In one of my next terms. But seek I have to.

This is may be my too confident first step, oh great one
I know you’ll take at least two steps towards bridging
That huge gap between you and me, made by me
In some space-time my soul wanted to get away from you.

So there, this is my application. This is my final deal
with you. Mistakes, please pardon, Oh, patient one
Consider my plea and gladly I’ll wait for the seal
Of promise from you, my job for the term well done.

Thoughts: October 2005

Boy Brigands


At the risk of sounding politically incorrect ,I want to say that I am happy my second offspring is a boy too. And before I duck a flying tomato I want to say it has made
life easier for me.
As a mother of an active seven year old boy, I feel I’ve become immune to that particular strain of homo sapiens. I am savvier and wiser as far as bringing up boys is concerned. So when boy no. 2 arrived I thought one more wont hurt.
Read on to find out why and learn some earth shattering truths about life with little boys.

Survival tips

*Buy nice baby wear in blue for your little boy when he is in the less harm full stage.
Once he reaches toddler age, buy pants, shirts, if possible, shoes and socks in a dirty brown color because that’s the color they’ll be coated in for the rest of their lives.

*Buy things for their endurance. The more like you the better. But if your boy is breaking up less fortunate things with the new unbreakable toy that you got for him, get philosophical. No point in getting mad.

*Photograph boys within seconds after their daily bath [if its daily] that’s when you can see the real face under the grime.

*The concept of “fair sex” is a myth .Men might be fair too. I haven’t run my male relatives, i.e., father, husband, two boy brigands and some assorted cousins of the male kind, thru’ a car wash yet. But I have a fair idea they would be a lot easier to look at, once the grime collected over many years is removed from their fair faces. [I am planning to be more politically incorrect. In case you are planning footwear and brooms for me, see that they are good. I could use them]

*I am all for child marriages [the more rotten tomatoes, the merrier] especially if you can send your child to his/her in –laws. But the flip side is you might end up with two children instead of one, but one has to take the risk.

*Though mothers of little girls tell me their darlings are as bad as boys [some yardstick],
I am sure even the worst of them will not gouge the eyes out of a teddy bear or kick soft toys around like they are footballs. So don’t buy stuffed toys.

*You need not worry about beautifying yourself if you have boys at home. No make up can hide the tiredness on your face. Your boys will pay you a lot of compliments whenever they do something naughty and want you to take it easy when you find out about it. Well, that particular habit stays on even after they grow up [for those who do]

*Forget pearls and silks. Both are bad stuff anyway. What you really need is a pair of worn out jeans and T-shirts to mismatch. You’ll anyway be spending most of your life cleaning the floor up or looking for things carelessly thrown around.

*.If your boy wants to leave home after his studies, shed sentimental tears, but let go.
Live on with your spouse if you have any energy left.

I have to sign off now because I just heard a loud crash in the living room. It could mean anything because all the males in the family are watching a cricket match in the TV and…
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© Subasri Narendran 2006 All Rights Reserved

Thoughts

Thoughts

Krishna, my friend

The palace is far away,
and my body is tiring
Sweat pours down my forehead
blurring my vision.
My sun scorched feet
are begging to be relieved.
My food-starved stomach
is angry and revolting.
And my rest- starved body
is promptly following.

But I can’t give up now
They’ll be waiting
Hungry and eager with
hope , their only ally.
One more mile,please!
One more mile
And one last chance
For lives almost lost.

Those must be the flags
of the proud city
Will a wreck be let in?
I’ll have to try.
My walk unsure,
I look up at the
Gem studded walls
I cower as one of the guards
Glares at the tatters
In my barely so, shawls.

Will he remember?
If he does
Will he welcome a
child hood friend
dressed in torn clothes?
Will he?

I stumble into a
pair of spears barring my path
and stammer his name
when roughly asked.

I look up as a
pair of strong arms
hold me steady
and recognize his smiling face.
through my instant tears.
From then on
I lose all sense of identity
I float in to a dream.

A dream where he hugs me
Asks about my loved ones
Orders his people
To bring this or that
for the very special guest.
Wipes the steady tears
With his shawl soft
Serves a meal
for this skinny wreck
with his wife, a smiling goddess.

This I could take, yes,
But not what he did next
with my little gift.
Filled with glee, like a child
he snatched my little bag
of parched rice
Yes, my sweat drenched
dirty bag of parched rice!

“Enough please!”
No, it wasn’t his queen
who held his hands
as you’ve always believed
but I !for,
I have enough sins
In my tattered book
and additions I don’t need.


That soft mouth used to
eating the richest of foods
That soft mouth pampered
by Mother Yashoda,
Those soft lips whose one smile
takes away all pain,
turns a little red
thanks to my parched rice.

I cry out loud, and
he holds me through my sobs.
No, I will not ask him
for any help, this one hug is
enough for me, Iam reborn.
this will do, for this
and many more terms.
Call me a fool, but I’ll not ask.

My own life,
And that of the little ones
are blessed now.
And together we’ll cross rough waters.
Later, with farewells said,
I float towards home.

I cry harder as
I see a vision never imagined
A smiling wife
Well fed kids
A happy house
All filled with riches.

As we sort out, I wonder
Is this the real test by
my dear friend?
Now that I’ve been touched
Nothing else can taint me.
The gold around me
remind me of his face
The gems, his eyes
These too can vanish in a flash
But I will not fail
For I‘ve been touched by
the one, the Vedas hail.

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© Subasri Narendran 2005 All Rights Reserved

Krishna is about to fall asleep

Krishna is about to fall asleep, hush!
His lotus eyes now opening
Now closing
Long lashes now meeting
Now parting
Rose bud lips curving in a smile
Hush! Hush! hush!
Krishna is about to fall asleep.

Not so fast, oh, northern breeze
My baby had a long day today
Blow just right,
Neither too cold
Nor too warm,
My little one needs rest.

He had much work to do,
My Krishna
Pots had to be broken
Butter had to be smeared
Tails of bright eyed calves
were asking to be pulled
steps had to be climbed
and plants in the front yard
had to be terrorized, so hush!
Hush again you naughty breeze!

And, over there in the sky, through the
Eastern window, is that you Chitra?
I’ll keep this window open for you
and your other sapphire-star friends.
Take turns to see my little one
And behave yourselves!
For, when he opens his eyes, you’ll
find his eyes brighter than the
brightest of you, don’t you dare gasp
It might give my little one a body ache.

Wait, who let you in, you cheeky waft
Of jasmine fragrance?
Didn’t you have
Enough today with Krishna?
You can play with him in the morning
Now, be a good jasmine creeper
Pull your fragrance away
You might hurt his tender nose.

“Mother” whispered the jasmine plant
through her soft fragrant waft.
“mother, I come not to disturb
the little one, but to see you
The woman who has penance
enough in her books,
Who gets to stroke those tiny feet
everyday. I too have
a little penance in my book
Mother, today was the best day in
my short jasmine life
For, those rosy feet touched me!

Yes! Krishna kicked me in the stem
With his tiny feet!
The very feet the Vedas are Seeking
The touch of which liberates
Man and beast from life’s dream!
The touch of which the
Sages are praying for.
Yet, he chose me
A lowly jasmine creep!
With one kick he showed me
Who I am and who he is!

This will do for me, mother
Even if I have to come back
a million times as
plant bird beast or man
This will do.
Glory to you, mother,
Glory to you.


As the fragrance of jasmine left
Yashoda fell in to a soft slumber
Which the next day, as a dream
She’ll remember.
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© Subasri Narendran 2004 All Rights Reserved

KITTU’S TREE FRIEND

Kittu kitten wanted to play.

It was morning. It was also summer vacation time.

“Bhavani’s holidays have started!” Kittu happily thought and ran into Bhavani’s room.

“Hi, Kittu!” Bhavani called out.

“Coming to play?” Kittu kitten asked.

“Sure!” Bhavani said and both of them happily ran outside to play.

They reached a big banyan tree at the end of the street.

A big brown cat was dozing under the tree.

He sleepily opened one of his eyes and said ”Kittu, is that you?”

“Yes, chacha! Coming to play?” Kittu eagerly asked.

“What sort of a cat are you? All awake in the morning! Let me sleep!” Babu brown cat grumbled.

Bhavani laughed. “Yes, what sort of a cat are you, Kittu!” she said.

“Sh… rrrr… sh… rrrr…”Babu brown cat snored.

“He’s slept off! Who will play with us now?” Kittu kitten wailed.

“I Will!”a booming voice said. It was a deep throaty voice.

Bhavani and Kittu were surprised. Who was talking?

“I am talking” the voice said.” I am Bunty the banyan tree!”

Bhavani and Kittu looked up at the big shady tree.

“Hey! I didn’t know trees could talk!” Kittu said.

“If kittens can talk trees can talk too!” The tree laughed.

“Can we play running and catching?” Bhavani eagerly asked.

The banyan tree laughed again.” No, we trees don’t move here and there!”

“Then how do you eat? Someone brings food for you everyday?” Kittu wanted to know.

“Ha ha! We trees make our own food!” Bunty said.

“Where’s your kitchen, then?” Bhavani wanted to know.

“Ha ha! We trees don’t need a kitchen for that! Mr. Sun here gives us some energy”

Bunty banyan tree pointed skywards with one of his branches.

“Then Ms. Earth gives us water and vitamins!” He pointed to the ground with a hanging root.

“That’s great! My daddy told about this. It’s called photo.. something” Bhavani said.

“Photosynthesis ! Photo means light. Photo synthesis means food made from light” Bala said.

“Don’t you feel bored being in one place?” Kittu wondered.

“Not at all!. We plants like it! Only then we can help animals and people! And we help cool the air around!” Bala said.

“Bunty, how many hands you have! You can write your homework very fast!” Bhavani exclaimed.

Bunty laughed hard. His many hanging roots swayed wildly as he shook with laughter

“They are my roots! When they become old enough they hold on to the ground and start growing like me!
So you can say I am not really one tree but a lot of trees! My grand uncle who lives nearby is soo…ooo big!”Bala said.

“Now can we play?” Kittu wanted to know.

“Yes, you both can hold my hanging roots and have a swing! So many children do that and I just love it!” Bunty said.

Bhavani and Kittu had a great time swinging from bunty’s roots.

They also played “rustle-a-leaf” with him.

“Bunty, the elders just laugh when I tell them Kittu talks to me. If I tell them you talked to me they’ll laugh even more!” Bhavani said.

“Well, child, people with a child’s heart can hear me talk! And I am not the only one who talks! The rivers talk, all the animals talk, even rocks talk!”

“And you don’t need specially ordered ears to hear that! Only a nice little heart!” Kittu touched his chest with his front paw dramatically.

The three of them laughed and the sweet sound filled the place like frozen music.

After sometime Bunty said ” Folks! It’s time for breakfast! Your Amma will be waiting! Come here every day and we’ll play a game!”

Bhavani and Kittu gave Bunty a thank you kiss.

“Bunty, We love you! You let us play, you told us about a lot of things, thanks a lot! We’ll come every day!” they said, and ran away happily.

Bunty the banyan tree rustled his leaves with joy. He felt healthier and greener.

Well, there’s a shining Banyan tree, [Yes! Trees can shine too! ] near Indira nagar water tank in Adyar, Chennai.

Yes! It shines because it knows it is loved!
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© Subasri Narendran 2005 All Rights Reserved