The black Coffee and an angelic smile

 

 Who would pray to god to take the life of his or her  sibling? I know there are many people who would do it for the right reasons. I was one among them. Silently I prayed to god many times, to call my elder sister to his abode without prolonging her suffering. Then you may think, why I didn’t ask god to cure her instead of calling her to his abode. That’s because I don’t believe in unrealistic miracles. I was aware of the ground reality and the illusions created by false hopes. I knew that the best thing that can happen to her was a peaceful journey to heaven. The metastatic cancer had already affected almost every part of her body, leaving aside few critical organs. Hoping for a cure and recovery would be unrealistic and can only deepen the sorrow when the reality strikes. But realizing the inevitable and doing everything possible to ensure a peaceful departure is what all of us at home could do. Requesting the almighty not to prolong her pain was the best prayer we all could do. That’s what I did.

 This eulogy is not to mourn her death, but to celebrate her life. All who knew her, would agree with me to celebrate her life. To do that, I will have to tell, more about her life. She was

•   ‘Lilly Varghese’, my eldest sister, whom I fondly called ‘Vallyechi’ (means Big sister), and she called me ‘Kuttan’(means small boy).
• 16 years elder to me and was almost like a mom to me.
• ‘Lilly kutty’ or ‘Lillamma’ to my mom and elder brothers.
•  ‘Maayi’ (means aunty) to my daughter,  and nieces.
• 'Tichamma' to my nephiews.
•  ‘Lilly chechy’ to many others.
•  A sexagenarian, who touched many lives through her kindness, love, and affection.

Black coffee

 Anyone who has visited my house could vouch about the hospitality showed by vallyechi. Without exception, she would ask people if they needed tea or black coffee. She was very fond of black coffee herself and many have tasted the magical black coffee she used to prepare. Many of my friends, and relatives exactly mentioned about this hospitality. People including me could make the request for a black coffee or tea at any time of the day and without any hesitation she used to make it. There was nothing special in fact about the black coffee or tea recipe. Perhaps the secret ingredient that made it special was the affection she  put in and the efforts to comfort the people. She was not the greatest coffeemaker in the world. But I believe that the kindness and love with which she made coffee for all makes her one of the best coffeemakers in the world, in my eyes.

One call away

 

While I was consoling myself and trying to console my mom who was seated beside vallyechi’s mortal remains kept inside the mobile mortuary, mom whispered to me.

 “Every time you come home on leave, even before you come, your sister will arrange your room, keep the bed clean, change old bed covers and sheets, and ensure everything you need is there. Now there is no one to do that kutta”.

 I have rarely seen my mom crying. She is a bold lady who has seen many ups and downs in life. But she was weeping while uttering every word she said.

 What she said was true. Once I come home, as if mechanically programmed, all my senses will turn to vallyechi to ask for anything I need.

-        “Chechy where is my towel?”

-        “Chechy where are the almarah keys?”

-        “Chechy, where have you kept the property documents?”

-        “Chechy can you please give a glass of water?” (though the jar of water is within my reach).

-         Knowingly I would become lazy. I enjoyed being a lazy brother and she too found happiness in helping a lazy brother with mundane things like that.

 Now sitting in my room upstairs, I feel that vacuum very much. I find the soap, towels, bed sheets and all other things by myself, without even uttering a word. That luxury of being “served” by a beloved sister full of love and affection is not anymore.

 
The guide

 I owe a significant part of my “career” to her. From preschool days to class 10, her contribution to my studies was significant. Taking me to preschool was her duty. In higher classes, helping me to study and do my daily homework were included in her daily chores. She would wake up early in the morning, make coffee for me, sit with me on the wooden bench near the kitchen when I study, ask questions from the notebook to help me memorize the answers and help mom in the kitchen to prepare for my school tiffin. She often said that she didn’t achieve anything in academics. But what she didn’t realize is the fact that my achievements are built on the solid support she has given during my childhood.

 Unusual Letters

 While I was studying in University of Roorkee (now the IIT Roorkee), there were no mobile phones. Even the normal telephones were not available at all houses. More than the expensive STD calls, the best medium of communication at that time, was  through the postal department. I used to write and get letters from friends and relatives. Vallyechi used to write letters to me, which need a special mention. Without fail, her letters would have four to six  A4 size papers and every inch, including the margins and both sides would be utilized for writing. She would write every detail about everyone at home, in my relative’s houses, about the people in the village and township whom I know and many more details. I would feel like I am getting transported to those places through her letters. They were like a well-crafted travelogue.  Later, when telephones and mobile phones became a common thing, the letters disappeared. But when I used to speak to her on phone, the same rituals continued. She would narrate every incident that happened at home and surroundings. In the nomadic life I live, where I miss being with my mom and siblings, her narrations had always helped in bridging the gap I felt.

Unique Recipes

Another funny thing about her was the details with which she used to describe things. A good example is on recipes. While I was living the life of a bachelor, immediately after getting job, I dared to do some cooking during my spare time. It was partly to learn a survival skill and partly to cook my favorite dishes like my mom would cook. So, I asked vallyechi about the recipe of some of the common food items that I liked. The normal recipes we find in the cookbooks or internet will have the list of ingredients and the cooking methods only. Her recipes would include much more than that. She would explicitly mention, how to wash the vegetable ( e.g., wash the long beans two three times in the running water ensuring that the dirt is all gone), how to cut the vegetable ( e.g., the recipe for potato fry will have the drawing of the potato slice to show me the right size and shape of the potato). Once I had to call her over phone to take an on-the-spot help on cooking something. I was calling her with the oil pan over the burning stove. When I asked about the recipe, she was about the go into her usual descriptive way of how to prepare for the cooking. The I said,

“Vallyechi, if I keep listening to that long description, the vegetable is going to be burnt. Avoid all descriptions… trust me I will do it. Just tell me the ingredients and how to cook.”

Sacrifice

 In the early part of this year when she started limping while walking, no one realized that she will be a memory soon. Nobody including her had any wildest clue that her bones had already been captured by the cancer cells. A hospital visit later for some investigation revealed the metastatic nature of the ailment, which had by then grown into many parts of the body. That was a time when we had severe Covid cases within my family. My elder brother and family were impacted by Covid. My brother and his wife were admitted in the hospital with Covid severity. His kids were also impacted; but they were staying at home only for recovery. Hospital support in terms of food supply was coming from my home where vallyechi was instrumental in the food preparation and logistics. Though she was feeling uncomfortable due to the growing illness, she didn’t disclose it to anyone as she didn’t want to disturb the situation at home. She knew that her support was very much needed at that time. She chose to continue that over her own health. Only after the covid situation was under control, she decided to go to hospital for check up. By then her walking style had considerably changed. The hospital investigations, including some scans revealed the extent of deterioration of the bones and the metastasis. Rapidly her movements were restricted. An uncle of mine arranged for a wheelchair. Within few days’ time, she started the life within the confinement of few walls inside the bedroom and hall.   

 Heart breaking call

 During one of my routine telephone calls, I came to know about the unexpected hospital visit and the turn of events since then. Like many others at home, I was also shocked to hear about it. Vallyechi had spent a good lifetime fighting illnesses. Significant part of her youth was captured by some disorders in the autoimmune spectrum. I know very well that I don’t have the capacity to endure the pains like she did over many years. Then in the late stage of her life, when everything appeared to be in remission, I didn’t realize that it was a calmness before a thunderstorm. Even when I was told that the cancer is in advanced stage, I hoped there could be miracles. I had hopes on chemotherapy and availability of advanced medicines. But when I was told that she cannot be given chemotherapy due to her already weak body and very advanced stage of cancer, I fought hard to accept the reality that  palliative care was the only remaining option before us. As I live a gypsy’s life, far away from home, I could only feel her suffering through the calls and descriptions by others. It would have been difficult for me to see and experience all those in person, if I was near to her every day.  

 One last time

 As soon as I heard the details, I was completely shattered. I had to prioritize between the work schedule, commitments, urge to see vallyechi, and the need to safeguard myself and my family against Covid, before deciding on travelling to Trivandrum. By my nature, I usually get torn between such decisions which have lots of emotional elements. Now I thank god for making me decide on the need to come home and see vallyechi at that time, even though Covid in Kerala was still at rage.

 When I saw her, sat beside her, held her frail and weak hands in mine, looked into her eyes and watched the angelic smile hiding unimaginable sorrows behind it, she said to me that she is not afraid to die. She in fact prayed and wanted us also to pray to god, not to let her live with pain anymore. But she was afraid that her suffering is giving unfathomable pain to our mom. Even while going through the pain that impacted her every movement, she was worried about impacting others discomfort, especially our mother’s.

 “My life is of no use to anyone. All I could give to anyone is just sorrow”. During the candid conversations, she would often mention this. Though I can very well imagine the state of mind of any person, who has endured pains all throughout his or her life, I could not encourage her to keep thinking the way she expressed her mind. Instead, I said,

 “Vallyechi.. please don’t think that your life was a waste. Every life has a meaning. Everyone is destined to do something, which that person may or may not understand in full sense. At one side, the almighty gave you some sufferings. But on the other hand, you were the chosen one to shape the life of many people. Myself, as a kid and four of my nephews and nieces were taken care by you. Though you were not married, you did the duties of a mother to all of us. Those moments, filled with lots of love and care, were instrumental in our growth and helped us reach where we are today. So please do not think that your life is wasted. In a way, it is more meaningful than the life being lived by many of us.”

 Before coming back to Bangalore, I hugged her one last time as she was sitting in the wheelchair. Though I was coming to terms with the reality that she doesn’t have much time, I never imagined that I will not be able to see her alive before my next visit within few months’. Since that visit, her health deteriorated rapidly. From wheelchair she was almost bedridden. In November, I decided to come home for two weeks. I booked the tickets and made all arrangements for the travel on a Sunday evening, 21^st of Nov. On the last video call when I saw her; the condition was not great. Still, I had hopes of meeting her and holding her hands one more time. But the ways of god are strange. On the day of my planned travel, early morning, she passed away. I accepted the reality with a positive thinking that the almighty didn’t want me to see her in her worst phase. When I last met her in person, I could see her angelic smiling face. Let that be the memory of the last meeting that I will cherish for the remaining part of my life.

 Premonitions or Déjà vu  ?

Though she was not very religious person and never attended church regularly (except for family functions), couple of days before her death, she murmured about some church functions during her semi-conscious conversations. That triggered the thought of giving her “thailabhishekam” (anointing a person with holy oil) in my mom’s mind. She requested others at home to arrange for it through the church. Though the priest initially thought he may not be able to come on that day itself, he managed to come home the same night and complete the thailabhishekam. That ritual is made with a hope of a recovery for any sick person. My mom believed that it might help my sister to get relief from her pains and make a slow come back. As my mom was not given a full picture of the stage of the cancer, she still had hopes of my sister's recovery. The next day morning, by around 6 O’ clock, my sister passed away. A doctor staying nearby, came to confirm this and mentioned that she died due to cardiac arrest.

 Perhaps some déjà vu triggered the incidents, either through my sister’s act or my mom’s. We are happy that just before her final moments, she was given the holy ceremony one can wish for in a Kerala Christian family.  From the world of mortals, she flew to the world of immortals, where there is no pain anymore.  

 I don’t believe in premonitions, prophecies, fortune telling, astrology or any sort of such predictions. But I also agree that sometimes, the science I believe in and the logical thinking I always embrace, do not give answers to all questions and situations. A day before Vallyechi passed away, the home nurse who was with her since last two months, told my sister and sister-in-law that she had a dream of vallyechi being carried away by two angels. I confirmed this fact from people at home that the home nurse told this a day before, not after the death. I do not know how to explain it. But I do want to believe that she was carried away by angels.

 And the rains…

 This is a time when many parts of India, especially south India is being bombarded by heavy rains and floods. The day I travelled to home in Trivandrum, Bangalore was getting soaked heavily in rains. But in Trivandrum, that day (day Vallyechi died) and the next day during the funeral, it was unexpectedly sunny. Many people could come and pay tributes to her. Then again from the next day onwards it is raining all day, even while I am writing this. May be this is a human tendency to connect all the dots and proclaim that even the nature took part in our grief, temporarily stopped its fury, and made the sky  clear for two days. One may say it is a biased thinking. But in fact, that is how things turned out to be. Even the Reverent Father who came home for completing the rituals on the third day of her death, mentioned about the nature’s kindness, which normally I would have questioned based on ‘logical thinking’.  

 Epilogue

 Death of a loved one creates immense pain in all who loves that person. Sometimes the gap created by the nonexistence of that person will continue for a long time. In her case, more than anyone the vacuum is felt by my mother, who feels that her one side is paralyzed. Kitchen was the world for both my mom and sister.

 We all come with an expiry date. The marvel and thrill of life is that no one knows when the final moment for them is. As an inevitable process, one moment death will appear from somewhere to take each of us. This is a hard reality, and all that matters is how one lives through the time allotted to her/him in this beautiful world. My sister had her share of pains and sorrows. But undoubtedly, I can say that she was loved by many people. The vacuum her death created in our lives itself is a proof that how much she was loved by all. She had left a mark in the lives of many people who knew her. As my job requirements and life’s circumstances didn’t allow me to stay close to my home in Trivandrum, my wife Simi and daughter Joanna didn’t get much chance to live with vallyechi and know her more as a person. Many times, I silently wished my daughter would be loved and pampered by vallyechi. It was a birth right Joanna had. But god’s plans are different from mine. I know, this will remain as a sorrow deep in my heart forever.

We siblings are like five fingers. One finger is no more there. In the highway of life, where we all are travelling, she took the exit turn and left us. Rest all of us are continuing our journey in that highway. Someday, my time also would come to take an exit turn like everyone else. After I pay the price for my deeds, I may be judged and taken to heaven or hell (I am slowly beginning to bury my scientifically and logically driven brain, to bring forward more spiritually inclined thoughts nowadays). Wherever I end up, I am sure, I will meet my sister at the heaven’s gate.

I am sure you are already in the company of all those departed souls.

 Rest in peace my dear vallyechi.

 Love you forever

  

Yours

Kuttan

26^th Nov 2021

Precious few minutes

 

To know the value of one year                   : Ask a student who has failed a final exam. 

To know the value of nine months            : Ask a mother who gave birth to a still born.

To know the value of one month               : Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.

To know the value of one week                 : Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.

To know the value of one hour                  : Ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.

To know the value of one minute              : Ask a person who has missed the train, bus or plane.

To know the value of one-second             : Ask a person who has survived an accident.

To know the value of one millisecond      : Ask the person who has won a silver medal in the Olympics

(A quote a received through E-mail, long time ago)

This is my story. Every time I think of it, I get more and more convinced that nothing happens accidentally. Everything happens for a reason. They occur as if planned by someone in minute details. My life, where I am today, the comforts I enjoy today, the social status I have earned today, everything could have been totally different, had I lost few minutes on a very important day two decades back. This is that story...of the precious minutes that secured my life.

It was the year 1996. After completing graduation, I was preparing for post-graduation entrance examinations. I wanted to pursue Master of Computer Applications (MCA) or M.Sc. in Geology, which was my major during graduation. As my role model teacher from the graduation encouraged me to aspire for post-graduation from prestigious institutions in India, I applied to many of them, including Pondicherry University, Anna University, Cochin University, IIT Kharagpur, and IIT Roorkee. Till graduation, I studied in Kerala only. I had never ventured to go out of my hometown for studies. So, I was bit hesitant to go out to far off places for post-graduation. But the constant encouragement from my teacher and the dreams of standing on my own feet were acting as catalysts for my ambition of doing post-graduation from a prestigious institution outside Kerala.

Most of the institutes I aimed were near to Kerala. But IIT Kharagpur and IIT Roorkee were at the Northern part of India. The physical distance as wells as the psychological distance to these universities were huge for me. I could not apply to IIT Kharagpur due to some reason. But I applied to IIT Roorkee, which was then known as University of Roorkee. At that time, the examination centre was only at Roorkee. Therefore, all the candidates had to travel to Roorkee (which was in Uttar Pradesh then, now in Uttaranchal). Due to this inconvenience there were only few candidates from South India for the entrance examination. Mostly it was dominated by candidates from Bengal, Odisha, Bihar and Delhi. In spite of all these odds, I decided to travel to Roorkee and write the examination. In the university’s prospectus, it was mentioned that the candidates must come prepared for starting the academic life, if they are selected. Therefore, I had to go with all necessary preparations for staying in the hostel, if I am selected.

The only time I had travelled to a long distance from home was to attend a navel engineering entrance examination in Bhopal. That time, I was accompanied by my elder brother who had worked in New Delhi for many years. During that journey I was under his constant care. But this time, I was alone; rather I chose to be alone. I was nervous as well as excited to make a lonely trip to one end of the country from the opposite end. Though my brother said he can come with me, I was adamant that I will go alone. After lot of discussions, my mother also agreed to it.

I had to go to Cochin first to write Cochin University’s entrance examination and then from there, I was supposed to travel to Chennai. Almost two days of train journey from there would take me to New Delhi from where another five hours of bus journey would take me to my destination, University Roorkee in Uttar Pradesh. As per the plan, I would reach Roorkee just on time; one day before the entrance examination.

I planned everything in detail. Tickets were booked. My bag packs were kept ready for the hostel life in case of selection. First, I appeared for the Cochin University examination. In Cochin I stayed in Simi’s house who was my distant relative. She is the lovely lady who is sharing the good and bad times in my life with me, my wife. As I said earlier, nothing is a coincidence. Everything is scripted by someone superior. I never thought at that time, Simi would one day be my wife.

I didn’t know anyone in Chennai. So, my brother requested one of his friends to fetch me from the railway station and help me in the travel to New Delhi. The day I finished the entrance examination for Cochin University, I started my journey to Chennai. Simi’s father accompanied me to the railway station. I bordered the train which was supposed to reach Chennai early in the morning. My connecting train to New Delhi was the Tamil Nadu Express (TN Express). I remembered it’s departure time as 9.30 in the morning. After a good sleep in the night, I reached Chennai early in the morning. As planned, my brother’s friend was there to receive me.  His house was bit far away from the station. I do not remember the name of the place now. When he asked about my travel plan and the departure time, I mentioned that the train I need to board is TN express is departing at 9.30 AM. The he took me in his motorcycle to his home.

When we reached his home, he said that we don’t have much time if the 9.30 AM train must be bordered. So, I quickly ate the breakfast and again rushed back to the railway station in his motorcycle. In between he asked me couple of times about the departure time. I kept on saying that it is at 9.30 AM. I was confident of the timings as I only booked the ticket.

I had one big bag pack and one small pack with all eatables from home. When we reached the Chennai central station, I asked one gentleman standing outside the parking area about the platform number to board the TN express. In my watch it was almost 8.50 AM then. The moment I mentioned about TN Express, that gentleman had a strange look in his face. Then immediately he said,

“It is Platform 10. It will depart sharp at 9.00 AM. Go …go…run”

I felt like being blind for a minute. Frantically I looked at my railway ticket. The time of departure was mentioned as 9.00 AM. Even today I do not know why I had the idea that the departure time is 9.30 AM. I also do not know why I didn’t even bother to check the time much before the departure.  Maybe I was overconfident on seeing the departure time as 9.30 AM. May be I was lost in thoughts.

I could not even thank my brother’s friend. He also asked me to run to the platform. I was already in a frantic mode. I took my bags and ran towards the platform. To make things worse, I was running from the 1^st platform and the train I had to catch was in the 10^th platform. I had less than ten minutes. I thought I won’t make it, if I have to climb the stairs and run all the way to the 10^th platform within that time. There were many things at stake; my dreams, my career and hopes of my family. With all my force I ran like a sprinter. Fortunately, in Chennai central station, there are no stairs between the platforms. I could reach the platforms from the ground level itself.

I ran towards the platform 10.  The last compartment was near me when I reached the train. I asked the guy who stood at the door whether it is TN express or not. He said yes and asked me to get in. By then the train had started moving. I had reservation to travel to New Delhi. But there was no time to look for my reservation compartment. I just threw my bags in to the compartment and jumped in. Soon I found that it was the general compartment and it was already full. Some kind fellows gave me a little space to sit. I thought I will get out of the general compartment and find my seat in the reservation compartment at the next stop. Then I found that TN Express had very limited stops in between. After Chennai the next stop was in Vijayawada in Andhra Pradesh.

I sat in the general compartment. After long time, when the train reached Vijayawada, I approached the Ticket Examiner. He said that since I didn’t show up, my reservation was no more valid. But he said, I can go to any sleeper class and stay there. At that time, I was not wise enough to argue about my rights or to buy another seat by paying him. I just believed what he said and went to one of the sleeper compartments. During the night, I put a newspaper on the floor and slept near the toilet.

I felt sad as well as excited. I felt sad on missing the comfortable travel in spite of having reservation. But felt excited on being the brave lone traveller, facing the troubles, solving everything myself and marching towards the foothills of the mighty Himalayas from God’s own country, all the way from south India.

I reached Delhi safely. My friend’s sister was there to receive me and take me to the Inter State Bus Terminus (ISBT). From there, I took a bus to Dehradun which was going through Roorkee. After five hours of journey, I was in Roorkee. Rest everything happened as per the script written by the best writer. I reached there on time, wrote the examination next day, cleared the entrance examination with second rank, studied there for three years, got the degree of M.Tech in Applied Geology, and finally became the only guy from Geology Department to be selected by Schlumberger that year. A career with Schlumberger was something like a dream come true for a person like me at that time.

As I went through all these phases in life, perhaps I didn’t realize that everything happens for a reason. I just went through those phases without trying to connect the dots. Now when I look back, I feel that everything appears planned by someone. Also, I realize the importance of those precious few minutes before I got into the train. If I was late by few more minutes, perhaps I would have missed the train. Then I would not have reached Roorkee on time before the examination. I would have missed the exposure I got in Roorkee. I wouldn’t kick start my career with Schlumberger. Then, my fate and career would have been something totally different.

I had very small dreams while I was a student doing graduation. I didn’t even dare to dream big. Taking care of my family, giving them some comfort and having a good house in place of the old house with thatched roof where we lived were my small dreams. But the chain of connected incidents, which I believe are not accidental coincidences, took me through a journey, which allowed me to dream more, attain the stability I dreamt of and fulfil the commitments I had. All those events have an origin to the precious few minutes I had in front of the Chennai Central station. I thank the almighty for everything, the good and bad. In bad times, he showed me the way to sail through it and gave the courage to face it. In good times, he let me enjoy the comforts and happiness I deserved. I thank him for every minute in my life, especially for those precious minutes, without which I would have been sitting somewhere else right now, doing something else, instead of telling you my story.

Jose

Bangalore

22 Jan 2021

Christmas - now and then

 

Which parents would play pranks on their kids? Well, I did one this year to my six-year-old daughter Joanna. Does it qualify as a prank? I do not know. But surely, I lied to her, with a good intent. I would request you to be patient and read though this  to know why?

Throughout my life, the month of December has been a month of excitement. Sometimes that excitement was accompanied by nervousness and sadness as well. If I look back, there were different phases for my Christmas celebrations.

When I was a kid and a schoolboy, the month of December was that of absolute joy. Once the school closes for Christmas holidays, the festive mood would set in. Golden or red colored stars made up of glossy paper will be lit in front of my house. I would be anxiously waiting for the postman to deliver beautiful Christmas greetings. Perhaps kids of the current generation who are used to sending greetings in WhatsApp and facebook, may not be able to understand the kind of warmth and happiness brought though paper Christmas cards. Cards from all relatives, and some friends, would decorate my study room and I had a grand collection of cards which I collected since many years. Before the 25^th of December, there would be Christmas carol party visiting our house and singing melodious carols. On Christmas eve, our house will be busy with my mom and sisters preparing for the celebrations next day. They will be preparing delicious snacks and would keep the ingredients ready for the delicious “appam” (pan cake) for the Christmas day. They will also prepare many snacks. On the Christmas day we will have many visitors. Some of them  our family friends and others our relatives. Most of them will bring Christmas cake and join us either for breakfast or for lunch. The delicious breakfast or lunch will be followed by an assortment of cakes- Plum cakes, cakes with icing on top etc. For some more days, my dominant snack item throughout the day would be cakes, right after I wake up till, I hit bed. It was a wonderful time.

 When I was in College, the situation didn’t change much. What changed was me. I was no more a kid. I was a teenager. More than my IQ, my EQ was taking a steep ride upwards. I was becoming more and   more aware of the situations around me. I was conscious of the financial situation at home and the responsibilities each member had to undertake.  I realized that every Christmas, my mom and sisters would be working non-stop inside the kitchen, preparing dishes for all of us. Visitors will come and go. Once the merry mood of the day subsides, my mom and sisters would be dead tired. I am talking about a time when we used to manage all household chores by ourselves and we didn’t have any maids to help. Of course, having a maid was a luxury for us even to imagine at that time. As a teenager becoming aware of this, I was worried. But I didn’t have a solution. Even while enjoying the Christmas feast, a part of me will be in the kitchen, thinking about my mom and sisters.

When I was studying for graduation, some of my friends, including girls, asked me to invite them for Christmas. I was in dilemma. On one hand I was happy to invite my good friends to my home and let them be part of our celebrations. I was happy to share the joy of Christmas with them. On the other hand, I was worried that I was adding more guests to the list of people who would anyway be visiting us. I had around ten friends whom I wanted to invite. More than this, I was bothered by an inferiority complex that was hidden in my mind for many years. My house was a thatched house (roof made up of coconut leaves), which stood like a historical monument in that area, surrounded by all good modern houses. It was literally in a semi dilapidated condition. Perhaps, with the maturity I have today, I wouldn’t have worried. But at that time, wishing secretly to god to help me with improving life conditions, I was nervous and sad. With our financial condition at that time, it was impossible for my family to build a better home.  A part of me was feeling ashamed even with the thought that my friends would see me living in a thatched house made up of mud walls. The other part desperately wanted to bring friends home. Finally, amidst the dilemma, I made a call to invite them. I still remember the scene vividly in my mind when my friends saw me greeting them in front of my thatched house, with trembling hands and a nervous mind. But I overcame that few seconds of intimidation very quickly. We had a good time together in the true spirit of Christmas. I was happy that I invited them for Christmas.

After I got a job and I built my own house, of decent standards, I decided to take my friends to a hotel where I can treat them for Christmas. Christmas should be the time for celebrations. So, I insisted my aged mom not to prepare too many items at home. I would order few things from outside so that my mom and sister can get some rest and in fact they can use that time to talk to the visitors we have. What is more important is to have the family gathering and enjoy the time together.

As I have chosen to be a geologist, my life was almost like that of a gypsy. Travelling and being away from my parents most of the time were the norms. I would visit my own house like a visitor once or twice a year when I get my annual leave. It was mostly during Christmas I used to go home. Even after marriage, mostly I had Christmas celebration at home either at my family or with my wife’s family. Then life changed. I was posted in Malaysia for four years. My little daughter Joanna was born during that time. She added a whole new level of happiness to our lives. We tried to make the Christmas a joyful event with her. Sometimes I could not travel to hometown. Then I would celebrate Christmas with my small family, wherever we are. When Joanna was one year old, we went to Singapore and we will not forget the great Christmas we had there. Though we were on our own, the festive mood, the ambiance in the city filled with Christmas mood  and Joanna’s smile were more than enough to light up our Christmas spirits.

Well, now let me come to the point where I started the story. This year, despite being an unprecedented year full of challenges, me and my wife were thinking of how to make the Christmas special for our daughter. Even though we are in house arrest since February, the mood of Christmas was setting in by end of November itself. We were planning for the Christmas related activities. It was then Joanna asked me

“Papa, is Santa Claus real? Does he  live in the North Pole and brings toys for Kids? “

Last year as an honest parent, I had told her, that Santa exists only in stories. But somehow when she asked that question again, with lot of curiosity, I thought for a while, before telling her anything. Immediately I thought of playing an innocent prank.  I said.

“Some people say he is real. For those who believe in him, perhaps he is real”

“Ok. If that is the case, if I believe in him, will he bring gifts to me too?”

“Of course Joanna, if you believe, he will” I said.

That conversation ended, there. I discussed this and the plan I had in mind, with my wife. We then decided to put some excitement to the whole plan. Next day during our casual chat, I encouraged Joanna to write a letter to Santa asking for gifts. I had actually underestimated the reasoning capacity of a six-year-old kid when I made that suggestion. Though she took up the idea, she started showering lot of questions to me.

“Papa, it is Corona time now. There are no flights. Then how will my letter reach Santa? He stays in North pole, right? She asked me.

 “Don’t worry Joanna, I will find a way. There are many children waiting to send letters to Santa. I will ask the security uncle to collect all letters and to make arrangement to send it to Santa.”

That evening, I asked my nephew, Tarun, to play a role of Santa in this prank. I changed his name in the contact list of my phone to Santa and asked him to put up a profile picture of Santa in WhatsApp. Being a nice boy, he readily agreed to play the role. I then deliberately kept my phone near my daughter and pretended to be busy in my office work. I had asked Tarun to call in my phone and speak like Santa. As scripted perfectly, he called few minutes later. My daughter was happily watching her cartoon programs in TV, when she saw the phone ringing. She was extremely excited to see the caller as Santa.

“Papa , Papa, Look, Santa Claus is calling”

Again, as planned, I too pretended to be super excited. I took the call and we talked loudly, with speaker mode on. My nephew spoke to Joanna and asked what gifts she wanted. As she was excited and shy at the same time, she could not think of any gifts immediately. So, my nephew asked her to write a letter mentioning the gifts she had in mind.

That night, she wrote a nicely decorated letter to Santa. She wanted three gifts, a "toy tea set", a "Santa costume", and a "princess mask". I promised her to send the letter to North pole, through the security guard. Next day I took the letter, went down and kept it in the dashboard of my car. As soon as she woke up, she started asking me about the letter.

“Papa did you post my letter?

“Papa, would it have reached Santa?”

“Papa, I still wonder, how the security guard will send it to North pole when Corona virus is still there”

To keep her hope and Christmas spirits alive I said.

“Don’t worry Joanna. Santa must get the letters. He will figure out a way to get it. You don’t worry about that too much”.

That day itself, I searched in Amazon and ordered for the toy tea set and Santa costume. Unfortunately, there was no princess mask available. As it was COVID time, all that available in the name of masks were just face masks for prevention of infection. So, I didn’t order that. We thought of convincing her with some replacement gifts later.

Since I ordered these items much before Christmas, it took only three four days for the two items to arrive though Amazon. I took extra care for receiving the parcel while Joanna was not sitting near the front door. I kept it hidden from her view. In the night, I unpacked the toy tea set and put them into a gift bag and put that inside the stockings she kept hanging on the bedroom door handle, anticipating Santa to put the gifts. I also wanted to write a reply to her letter. Though my initial idea was to print one, just to avoid my handwriting, I couldn’t do as my printer cartridge was empty. Then I decided to write a letter in my own handwriting, deliberately trying to alter it a bit. While she was fast asleep, I kept the toy tea set in the gift bag, inside the stockings. Sadly, the Santa costume that came was much smaller, though I ordered a larger size. So, the only gift I could arrange was the toy tea set.

The next day morning when she woke up, she saw something protruding from the stockings. She immediately jumped out of the bed and grabbed the stockings. Her little eyes were filled with excitement on seeing the gift and the letter from Santa. As she carefully opened the gift box and saw the toy tea set, she screamed with happiness. Equally, as parents, we also felt that excitement on seeing our little one experiencing the joy of getting gift from Santa. Then came few unexpected questions from our daughter.

“Papa, did it actually come from Santa.? Or did you order it from Amazon?. Also, this letter…it looks like your handwriting. Did you write it?”

First question was not surprising as she is used to seeing me order things from Amazon very frequently. But I never thought that she will analyze my handwriting. In fact, one day before, I had prepared a "treasure hunt" game for her and made lot of instructions in my own handwriting, which she had to read through. She immediately tried to correlate that with the letter from Santa. Now I had a choice, either to reveal the truth and say that I bought all the gifts through Amazon and wrote the letter myself or deny it and keep the belief alive. Deliberately, I decided to stick to the second choice. Sometimes, it is good to stick to certain beliefs, as long as it does not hurt, self and others and it only provides positive outlook. Anyway, in few years’ time, she will realize the truth behind Santa and she will also realize the lies I told were with real good intention only.

“No Joanna, neither I ordered them nor I wrote the letters. Anyway that is not important. What is important is that you got your gifts. Isn’t it?

“Why he didn’t bring all the three gifts I asked? Is it because I was bit grumpy these days?”

“Not at all my dear. Didn’t you read the letter from Santa?

She couldn’t agree anymore and she was happily playing with her new toy sets. My wife had already ordered two other toys in place of the two items we couldn’t get as per Joanna’s original request. Till those items arrived, she used to check the stockings everyday morning to see if Santa has kept his promise or not. In few days' time I arranged for two replacement toys which I placed in a gift bag on the door handle along with a letter from “Santa”.

As suggested by my wife, I tried to make this year’s  Christmas special for our daughter. I don’t know if I rose up to her expectation. But definitely I tried to make it memorable. Apart from bringing the excitement of Santa’s presence, we had good family time together, experimenting with cooking and a newly discovered passion of acrylic pour painting. I played the roles of Santa to get Joanna the gifts she needed, an assistant chef to my wife for making homemade Christmas cake and the traditional Appam (a kind of pan cake) on the Christmas day, and assistant to my daughter for beautifying the house with Christmas decorations. Though it was a strange Christmas, as COVID restrictions didn’t allow us to travel and visit any of our relatives, we used the self -imposed restrictions for better family time, just with the three of us.

As I step into the next year, I remember with gratitude, that I was able to celebrate this Christmas  with my family. Despite the pandemic, I could fulfill all my family needs and spent the Christmas day happily. Even when there was dullness around us, we tried to lift our spirits. I truly consider myself fortunate. Many people were not that fortunate to celebrate Christmas like me. All I want to do at this moment, is to join the countless men and women who are praying that the world changes soon and the life springs back to normalcy. I don’t know by when and how. But I am sure  we all will get through this pandemic. Sincerely hoping to play the role of Santa again, and spread the joy of Christmas in many more years to come..

Jose Varghese

Bangalore

4th Jan 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wise rag picker....

Even before the sun can peep from the horizon, before it can make the dew drops on leaves vanish, Chellamma would start her journey from her small river side hut, towards the garden near the fish market. During the four kilometer stretch from the riverside to the garden, she would pass through the housing colonies, the public school, the local taxi stand, and my house, which was near the small Catholic Church. To the people all around in that locality, she was just a rag picker. For some of them she was a figure to be made fun of, and for some others, an excellent character to frighten their naughty children. The untidy figure, with dark wrinkled skin, hair style like that of a which in fairy tales, would convince anyone, why the children get frightened on seeing her. She would start her journey by picking up the empty plastic covers, used up batteries, fallen twigs from the wayside trees and garden, and would fill up her basket with it. Somehow she would earn her bread from those small things. When she would pass through the local taxi stand, the mischievous drivers would call her by her nickname. One can realize her vocabulary in slang at that time. Unfortunately the drivers always wanted to annoy her and hear the from her mouth. I used to wonder how could they amuse themselves by hearing the abuses from Chellammma’s mouth. Unbelievably, all these were the part of her routine. Very few people in the area knew her real name. Instead she was known by the name “Poodi”, the meaning or the origin of which, nobody knew. Everyone in my house knew her much better than anyone else in the area. That was because, she used to stop only in front of our house, on her way back from the garden, to have some rice soup, or dosa or lemon juice or even a matchbox. It was an amusing sight to see her lighting the beedi, which she would carefully take out from the small plastic bag tied to her waist.

I knew her since my childhood. She used to visit my grandmother every day during her return. My grandmother retired as the Jail warden in the city’s Central Jail. She would be sitting on the steps near the backside door of our house, reading the Bible in the morning, sometimes trying to tell me stories of Jesus, the saints, and the traps set by Satan. But by around 11.00 am she would be waiting for Chellamma to come. When she comes, she would sit on the gravely ground of the backyard, under the shadow of the thatched barn, to talk to my grand mother. She would smoke beedi, and tell some stories, sometimes do nothing but gossiping. The colloquial language she spoke was another amusement for the youngsters at home, including me. I would hide behind the door and peep at her, to see her smoking beedi and enjoying herself by looking at the smoke rings getting dissolved into thin air. My mother would give her something to eat and drink. As a gratitude for this, she would help my mother by buying fish from the fish market. She used to call my mother ‘Amma’ though she was much older to my mother.

She had a brother, who was a hunchback by birth . He would beg in the bus stands and if I can believe what others say, sometimes he used to do pick pocketing also. Whenever I see him, I used to think about the Hunchback of Nostradam Church. Chellamma also had a daughter and a grandson. But she was always independent and never she tried to intrude into the life of her daughter who was divorced by her husband, a thorough gambler. Chellamma knew that the income her daughter is generating from the riverside Mill was just enough to kill the fire burning inside two stomachs. She used to say “ as long as there is god, the trees will fell twigs for me, people will throw plastics bags for me, I will earn some coins with that….and above all..a glass of rice soup would be assured from amma….what else I need?”

Only on two or three days in a year she would put up with tidy cloths. One of those special days is Onam, the festival of Keralites. That day she would be in a dark red or dark green blouse, a silk bordered white dhothy and a white shall. On those days she wouldn’t forget to have two more things…a patch of sindoor on her forehead and jasmine flowers on her hair. My eldest brother would then, for the sake of fun, ask her whether it is her wedding anniversary or not. She would blush like anything, forgetting the fact that she is an old lady, with a smile showing the orange coloured teeth tainted with pan. It would be followed by the stories of her late husband, the memories of which she still cherishes and the silent listener would be my grandmother.

For us, the members of my family, she was not a mere rag picker. I never felt anything because, I was just a kid, still trying to get away from her frightening face. My mother never forgot to keep her share of food and drinks everyday. By chance if Chellamma do not turn up on a day, my mother and grandmother would ask my sister “ I don’t know why……Chellamma has not come for the soup”

When the time wheel turns, everyone has to move with it…. me too. From a kid I grew into young man. So many changes occurred to me. Procession of unforgettable incidents happened in front of me. But hardly any changes occurred to Chellamma. Her attire was exactly the same as that of the past years. Like the rivers and mountains witnessing the rising and setting of sun and moon, she witnessed the deaths and births in my family, along with us. She participated in the rituals, which followed the funerals of my aunt, my grandmother, my father and the baptism ceremony for the kids of my brother and sister. I still remember the curiosity with which she watched the newborn baby crying on my sister’s lap. Just like I used to get frightened on seeing her, my nephews and nieces also got the privilege to be afraid of her, just because of her appearance. In fact in the recent years, her appearance had become worst, partly because of old age and the loss of memory claiming the rest of the part.

After becoming an earning member in the family, working in a far away place, the only source from where I got updated about the incidents in my small locality and whereabouts of the characteristic souls from there, was my sister’s letters. That time I didn’t have phone connection at home. The only means of communication was to be at the mercy of our postal department. My sister would write detailed letters, may be in seven or eight foolscap papers with each and every inch of that paper utilized. In that letter she would describe every individual I know, may be about someone getting married, may be someone passing away, or how the small township is progressing, how the country roads on which bullock carts plied, now bear the imprints of the wheels of the majestic vehicles like Maruti Esteem and Honda city, or construction of concrete mansions on either sides of my tiny thatched home, making it a black spot on a white paper and so on. Always while reading those letters I used to feel that I am there at my home, feeling the nearness of those individuals mentioned in the letter. Most of the time, there would be a line about Chellamama in those letters. It may be about her health or may be the new pranks my nephews and nieces are playing on her and her affectionate response to all those pranks. Once my sister had mentioned in the letter that instead of having daily visits, Chellamma’s visits have become once or twice in a week only, as she is unable to walk properly. She was not an exception to the vulnerability of old age. In one of those letters my sister had narrated an incident, which made me respect Chellamma as a wise human being, much above the status of a rag picker.

One of the residents of the locality, a lady, was admitted in the medical college hospital due to some sever illness. That lady was staying near the Catholic Church by the riverside. When she was discharged from the hospital, my mother and sister thought of visiting her. Unless some unavoidable circumstances arise my mother would never venture to go out of the house. That was primarily due to arthritis seizing her legs. If she had to walk, then it would be like a snail’s creep. On a relaxed afternoon, when the sun was not so hot, both my sister and mother started off to visit the lady. Her house was near the church, which was about a kilometer away from my house. On their way, while they were walking past the stationary shops in the local market area, they saw Chellamma coming from the opposite way. She had the empty basket over her head. Since old age had taken its toll on her, she used to start her journey in the afternoon only. Getting up early and picking up everything useful to her was a Herculean task for her in that old age. When she came closer, my sister and mother smiled at her and extended a warm wish as they used to do whenever Chellamama comes home. But to their surprise, Chellamma neither responded nor paid attention to them. Though it was in a clear and loud voice, they called her by name, she didn’t listen to them and walked away. My sister was surprised at that strange behavior in Chellamma. She decided to ask her about this next time when Chellamma comes to have soup. After a week, Chellamma, came to our house on her way back from the days work. After giving her the soup the first thing my sister asked was about her unusual behavior on the road. She thought Chellamma would say that she couldn’t hear or see them because of the day by day deteriorating hearing power and eyesight. But her reply was something different.

“My child……, I saw both of you from a distance. I heard you calling me and asking me about my health. But I deliberately avoided you. Didn’t you notice that you were talking to me in front of the local market area and the taxi stand. All those ill hearted mischievous people were watching everything. If a rag picker like me, talks to people like you, my child….the shame is on you. I have nothing to be ashamed of or to loose But the people around can think of you bitterly if you let them see you care for a rag picker like me. If I had responded to you by stopping there, I would have brought disgrace to you. Chellamma has not been to school to learn…but I have seen the life and know the people around me. I would be loyal to Amma for the food she gives to me..and moreover for the care she gives to me….so my child..never ever try to talk to me on the road. I will not give attention to you, if you try.”

My sister said she stood speechless for some time. She said she had never thought of those words from a lady like Chellamma. She proved that, to be a wise human being the schools or certificates are not necessary. On hearing that incident I also thought that Chellamma is better than many highly educated senseless creatures whom I know in the locality.

On my last vacation, while I was sitting in the kitchen, over the big wooden box for storing the food items and utensils, a place I liked since childhood, my sister was updating me about the incidents in the locality for the last one year. Chellamma’s demise was one among them. She was already going through a tough phase of physical uneasiness. Though it cannot be called a tragic death, it was in an unusual way she succumbed to death. She was on her way to pick the twigs and plastics and she was working near the railway track. She was walking through the unpaved road by the side of the railway track, two kilometers away from my home. She was picking up something from the edges of the metal lining of the track. She didn’t hear the train coming. She heard the whistle of the train only when it was very near. Though she was pretty far from the rails and the moving train, she was still closer to the track’s metal lining. She made a futile attempt to walk farther away, but the weak limbs didn’t allow her. Then the strange thing happened. The fast moving train made a rush of the air towards the sides and that was strong enough for Chellamma to loose her balance. She fell towards the side and hit her head on the heap of rocks by the side. Her frail body couldn’t survive that impact. The witnesses for her last moments were the people sitting in the teashop near the railway crossing. They informed her daughter immediately. Next day morning she was cremated. That marked the end of the long journey Chellamma had had……… not the picking of twigs and papers, but of struggles for her existence in the world, of being the puppet for amusement by the people, of being like a member of our family, seeing the flowers blooming and fading in it. Both my sister and my mother went to see her daughter after the funeral as they came to know about the incident only after the funeral. For the outside world, she went into oblivion as a rag picker only. For us, she was not a mere rag picker…… but a wise human being.

(wrote this sometime in 2002 0r 2003)