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