A victory in defeat

 

I was a teacher in a Matriculation school in a small town. As a teacher, I strived hard to impart knowledge to my pupils sincerely and to the best of my ability. I tried to kindle their interest in the subjects taught in different ways. I spent more time on the slow, admonished the laggards and encouraged the bright. My mission was to ensure that the gap between the best and the weak boy was abridged by raising the latter's level. It was a tough job but I never gave up on my objective.

I felt good knowledge of lessons alone is not adequate for students to learn at the school. I tried hard to inculcate in the children that the richness of life is not measured only by the high marks scored, degrees acquired, the wealth owned or the positions held but largely by the moments spent in wiping the tears and touching the hearts of the needy, in helping the aged and disadvantaged, in sharing the knowledge and in making the world a better and safer place to live in.

In one particular class, I had a challenge in the form of Karthick. A well-built boy of about 15 years, gruff in tone but pleasant by disposition and endowed with high stamina, he excelled as much in sports as he failed in his studies. All my special attention on this young boy was unsuccessful as he continued to get poor grades. I used all methods in vain to kindle his interest in studies by cajoling, threatening and even punishing him. I could not accept defeat but knew no way to resolve the matter.

In desperation, I talked to a colleague of mine who was teaching that class earlier and mentioned how Karthik posed a great challenge to me. She laughed and comforted me saying that I was not alone in such a predicament. She added that the boy’s father was an alcoholic and his mother an illiterate woman. There were daily quarrels and beatings at home in the evenings between the parents in the presence of their only boy. The conditions at home were far from salutary and it was a wonder the boy had not turned into a vagabond and wrong ways in that uncongenial atmosphere.

 I sympathised with the boy and doubled my efforts to make him a better student by coaching him freely in the evenings. But no matter how much I struggled, he stood at the bottom of the class.

It was recess time one day. There was a sense of defeat in me. I was cursing myself for my inadequacy in motivating him to succeed and felt that I too along with his parents should share the responsibility if he failed to come up in life. It was then I heard a commotion outside in the veranda by the side of the staircase. When I came out, I saw a crowd of students around someone on the ground.

One boy came running to me and said “Vignesh fell while he was walking on the parapet wall and has broken his leg and arm. He is writhing in pain. “ Even as he was narrating what happened, I saw Karthick rushing towards the crowd and coming out with the boy, who had hurt himself, in his strong arms and walking towards the gate. He had run to hail an auto before he came to lift the boy. That he took the boy to the nearest clinic is not so important for me to relate as the singular point that amongst all the brighter boys who stood curiously watching Vignesh in pain, it was only Karthick who came to his assistance on his own and acted as a leader with compassion. It struck me that he may not be bright in his studies but he excelled himself as a compassionate and helping person in times of need, unlike the others of his age.

There was another instance about Karthick that I came to know very soon. There was a big school function where all the parents and students participated. The dais was a little away from the gate and involved walking two hundred feet. There was a big crowd as was expected. Some of the boys chosen to help the invitees as volunteers in white uniforms with a big coloured ribbon to distinguish them were seen standing at the gate guiding the visitors.

One frail old lady past eighty with a hunch back came in a rickshaw with her grandson. With a walker in hand, she struggled to move even a short distance and was seen pleading with her grandson that they better return home. The boy was reluctant and refused to go back even as the uniformed boys in ribbons were watching them with amusement.

 I learnt Karthick appeared from nowhere asked her to get into the rickshaw and himself pulled it close to the dais. He lifted her bodily and made her sit in a comfortable seat. This was beyond the call of his duty as he was not one of the uniformed boys. What impelled him to act as he did was his compassion.

 From that day onwards, I stopped worrying about the poor grades of Karthick. He may not become even a graduate and may not even be the type of boy that the school would expect of its students to come up with high marks in the final board examination. But he stood tall in comparison to others in his class in compassion and kind ways.

 None of my teaching the prescribed lessons would have given him these God-endowed gifts. No university degree would announce these sterling qualities that Karthik had in immense measure. He might not have scored a centum in mathematics or high marks in physics but he had scored an A plus from my heart. I felt my heart swell with pride and the sense of defeat had vanished. I was determined to make him the class leader from the next day.

Christmas is a time for giving and sharing

I usually write a story about the Christmas spirit on this day. Here is a very old story written more than a decade back repeated   for the benefit of my many new readers and the pleasure of my  regular motivators

The teller in the bank was surprised when he saw a tiny hand proffering a few soiled notes in denominations of one, five and ten. He looked at the figure. A young boy of ten years in much worn and tattered shirt held together by a safety pin was looking at the teller with some anxiety. “Sir, can you please give me 20 five rupee coins instead of that”’ the small voice squeaked.

“Why do you need the five rupee coins. They are in short supply you know” said the teller curious to know the purpose.

“Tomorrow is Christmas. I want to give to the poor who assemble before the church” he said.

“You don’t yourself look well provided for. A new shirt would do good for you” said the teller and continued, ”How did you get this money, by the way?”

“Sir, this money was actually saved by me over the year for getting me a new shirt. But there are many needy even without a shirt. My teacher told me yesterday that Christmas is for giving and sharing,” he answered.

The teller was overcome with emotion at the lofty young mind before him. He wiped his eyes and said “I will add 20 more coins to your 20 as my share. Please distribute to the needy tomorrow at the church and elsewhere.One more thing, do meet me after lunch today here at the bank. I have a small Christmas gift for you. I am impressed with you. What is your name?”

“Thank you, Sir. Santosh is my name. I will surely come after lunch” he replied as he left after collecting 40  glistening new five rupee coins.

In the afternoon the boy was surprised to see the teller telling him, “Though young, you taught me the true message of Christmas. Thank you very much” and handed him a packet containing a new shirt and shorts.

May the miracle of Christmas fill your heart with warmth and love. Christmas is a time of giving and sharing. It is the time of loving and forgiving. Merry Christmas to Everyone!

Rajadurai's compassion

 “Venkatesan, I welcome you to our department. Savitri Madam has gone on maternity leave for six months. You can handle the classes she was taking. I know it is for a short duration. Let us hope something comes up in six months as we are expanding” said Rajadurai, the head of the department for Mathematics

“Thank you, Sir. I pray that I will be able to continue here as a regular teacher. I need the job as I have a large family to support” I replied.

“I know, Venkatesan, you have your mother and four siblings to care for. Six months is a long time. Things can change for the better. Do not worry. God will find a way for you” he spoke in a comforting tone.

“Thanks again, Sir. I need your blessings. I will give my heart and soul to the job” I added

Though the salary for a temporary teacher was paltry, the new income would help me greatly in keeping the hearth at my home warm. Rajadurai, who was nearing 60 took a paternal interest in me and frequently enquired about my work and the support needed. He also complimented me that the feedback he got from the students and some of the parents was flattering and added that he had mentioned about my good work to both the headmaster and the correspondent.

My brothers were still in school with my sister learning typing. My mother fell sick often needing treatment. I was struggling to make both ends meet with my meagre income. One day Rajadurai told me that he was coaching a few boys from another school and found it a burden. He asked me whether I could help him by taking tuition for these boys. I knew inwardly he was doing this to help me being aware of my difficult circumstances but made it appear as if I was doing him a favour. I was touched by his kindness and could do nothing but hold his hands on my chest in gratitude as tears swelled in my eyes. The added income made things easy for me though the sense of guilt that I was depriving him of his income was pricking me.

The six-month tenure was drawing to a close. It was then Rajadurai paid a surprise visit to my house and took a glance on all sides. It was a small portion with a hall, two rooms and a kitchen My sick mom lay curled on a bed in one corner of the hall. She was coughing continuously and I had to take her to a doctor. Poverty was writ large on our faces and the house. The prospect of loss of my job soon and the regular income was staring at me. The school fees of my siblings had to be paid. I was at my wit's end. There was nothing to offer to my benefactor except a glass of water. He sized up the situation in no time. He did not speak much and left in a few minutes after exchanging pleasantries.

Three days later I was called by the headmaster as soon as the school hours started. That was the last day.  I knew I had been called to be informed that my tenure was over and that my services were no longer necessary. I found the school correspondent also seated with him.

“Good morning, Venkatesan. We are sorry your tenure will be over from today. Savitri will be joining us tomorrow. We are very happy at the sincerity and devotion you have shown in your work. Parents keep telling me how pleased their children are with you and your teaching. What is your plan for the future?”

Attempting to restrain the tears, I said “I have no idea. I need this job most but I am aware my term has ended. I dread the forthcoming days.” Choked with emotion I could continue no more. The headmaster stood up and came near me. Patting me on my shoulders he said “Do not worry. You will continue to work with us hopefully regularly. Please attend the school as usual.”

Bewildered at the turn of events I looked at him in utter disbelief. The headmaster smiled at me and said “Go to your benefactor and prostrate before him. Rajadurai Sir has applied for voluntary retirement on personal grounds effective from tomorrow. I asked him for reasons. He did not say anything except that he was comfortable financially with his well employed sons and that he could hang his boots without any inconvenience. He specifically requested me to employ you on a regular basis. I strongly feel that he took this decision impelled by a wish to help you. He used to come to me frequently pleading for one more regular teacher for his department to accommodate you. When I told him last week that the management had turned down the proposal, he submitted his papers two days later. He refused to withdraw despite our persuasion.”

I rushed to his house the same evening only to be told by his son “Dad had left with Mom on a long pilgrimage. He wished that I should convey his felicitations to you on your regular appointment in case I visited the house. I had never seen him happier than when he took his retirement.”

"Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting."

 

Was it a faint signal?

Sushil had beer almost daily in the evenings after office hours with his friends at the local restaurant. They occupied the same corner table and shared the bill equally. For the last fortnight, It was the same waitress who served them daily. Her large blue eyes, smiling face and swaying hips did something to Sushil that can hardly be explained and he knew he was in love with her. He tried many times to pick some conversation with her but she never spoke one unnecessary word with him though courteous. There was a certain professionalism in her that forbade any overtures to her from him. Sushil was not defeated and his visits continued hoping someday she would relent.

One day as she was bringing the tray with bottles, glasses and ice, she accidentally dropped the napkin. Sushil immediately pounced on it and gave it to her with a flourish. Impressed with his chivalry. she took it from him with thanks, a smile, and what he presumed was a faint wink unseen by others. 

Sushil was astounded by this gesture and announced with great joy and gusto to his friends,” Hey, today’s beer binge will be on me. Drink as much as you wish.” His puzzled buddies were surprised at his generosity and wondered what went wrong with their usually tight-fisted friend.

He could not sleep the whole night and was tossing on his bed thinking about her and her secret wink.  He fantasized about what if she were unmarried and looking for a male friend. He expected that she would respond favourably if he approached her tactfully as he was well employed, good looking and free from any encumbrance. He decided to pursue the matter by visiting the restaurant alone.

The next evening, he left the office early, dressed himself well with a liberal spray of cologne and was at the usual table sharp by 4 pm. The hall was almost empty as it was a bit early. He was eagerly waiting for her to appear. There was no sign of her for nearly 15 minutes when another young lady came to take orders.

 Disappointed, he kept quiet for a while but summoned the courage to ask,” Where is the other lady who usually served this table? I was expecting her here."

“Are you asking about Sushri? She has just come. I will send her presently if you are very particular about her,” she said with a mischievous smile.

"Not like that. Please send her if you do not mind. She has been very professional, well-mannered and served us well when I was with my friends here last evening. Just wanted to thank her."

It took some time before he heard a voice from behind, "Good evening, Sir, I am Sushri. My colleague told me that you wanted me specifically to thank me for serving you yesterday. Yes, I remember your kind gesture yesterday and wish to thank you myself. What would you like to have?" she said as she got ready with the small notebook for his order.

"I wanted to thank you not only for the very good service you always render but also for your sweet acknowledgement when I procured the fallen napkin. I was thinking about that last night and wished to meet you today," Sushil said.

“What sweet acknowledgement you are referring to?” she asked with surprise.

“I saw the faint twinkle yesterday at the corner of your left eye when I gave you the fallen napkin," he said.

"Oh, no, It could be an involuntary twitch of the muscle that happens once or twice a month. What did you take it for, a wink or what? goodness gracious" she asked.

“Yes, I took it for a subtle wink and wished to talk to you,” he replied greatly disappointed.

“Gosh!, I am sorry, I get this involuntary twitch of the eye muscle once or twice a fortnight. Please do not mind. I will come presently with your order,” she left

As he was sitting morose, she came with a tray in her hand and said as she placed it on the table, “Here is what you wished for. I hope it pleases you,’ she said with a smile when Sushil saw the faint wink again for a tad longer in her eyes.

Sushil sat bemused thinking whether it was a twitch or a real wink hoodwinking him saying it was involuntary even as she went inside giggling all the way.

A fitting finale

Three days hence, the greatest and much-awaited final was to be played. It was considered the acme amongst tennis tournaments played across the world. A win in this hallowed place was considered a high-water mark and much longed for by all professional tennis players.

Alfred and Benson, the two top-ranked players have been engaged in the rivalry to establish their individual supremacy over the other. They have held the top two rankings for the last three years continuously. Alfred led the overall head-to-head series at 10-5. Alfred, being senior in age by seven years to Benson, has been dominant all these years with none to come anywhere near him. It was only after the advent of Benson that Alfred met a true match to test his skill to the utmost. He had been hitherto winning in all the tournaments so effortlessly that the final always appeared a tame one-man show. It was no longer so.

These two had contrasting styles. Benson in mid-twenties has raw muscular power with amazing stamina, a bewildering variety of strokes and the agility of a cunning feline on the court. Alfred, with his rich and long experience at the top position, had the answer to every player. Quick-footed, calm and collected and with a courtcraft that never took him by surprise, Alfred had of course the age to contend with.

He wished to end his career with a convincing win in this tournament over his arch-rival. He had been working towards this end ceaselessly. But Benson is no easy pushover and in the last two final encounters, he had won easily over Alfred with his stronger physical endurance capability. Benson had a high regard for Alfred whom he deemed as his role model when he was young. He wished Alfred to make an exit in all glory and honours. But once he entered the court, the professional pride ruled, giving no room for sentiment. Though Benson felt sorry for the ageing Alfred, he tried to make him run across the field and tire himself to clinch the match.

Benson sincerely wanted Alfred to get all the honours in what was his last final. That he felt would be a fitting tribute to his friendly rival and a measure of regard he had for him. He, however, wished it to happen without himself having to lose, an impossible outcome with a tiebreaker.  

As luck would have it, Benson developed a temperature two days before the date of the match and the antibiotic injections did not help in bringing the viral fever down. He was feeling weak but felt inwardly happy that all the efforts of his physicians to make him fit for the final event did not fructify. The media was all agog on Benson’s fitness and speculating on an easy walkover for Alfred bringing him fittingly the championship in his last tournament.

Alfred was not happy at this denouement. He did not wish for a walkover. He wanted to fight and win a manly game over his rival to claim the championship by his prowess and not by default. He sincerely prayed that Benson would recover to give him a chance to snatch an honourable victory on the court in front of the adulating crowd that he was accustomed to. His mood was swinging between hope and despair.

It was on the morning of the final that an unexpected development took place when Alfred sprained his ankle when doing a workout. Not all the efforts of the physio and the doctor could give him any relief, as he was hardly able to walk, let alone run.

The tournament committee, in the absence of any rule or precedent where both players could not play in the finals on medical grounds, unanimously decided to declare both players winners and award the championship to both of them in what was considered an unprecedented step in the annals of the tournament. Benson breathed a sigh of relief that God had answered his prayers through this happy ending.

Perhaps there is a time  to decide for persons at their peak, especially in sports,  to quit gracefully when they can and not when they must.

Bringing cheer to a lonely heart

Woman’s week at gym

This is not mine. I found this in my mailbox. I have no idea who wrote this wonderful but hysterical piece:)). I wish I knew for giving credit to the lady.  I am in splits and couldn't stop laughing for a full minute!! I wish to share with you this hilarious piece.

Dear Diary: For my birthday this year, my husband got me a week of personal training at the local health club. Although I am still in great shape since being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try. I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swimwear. Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress. 

MONDAY: Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god—with blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile. Woo hoo!! Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines... I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring! Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!

TUESDAY: I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT! It's a whole new life for me. 

WEDNESDAY: The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot. Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members.. His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster. Why would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other crap too. 

THURSDAY: Butthole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late—it took me that long to tie my shoes. He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom. He sent some skinny witch to find me. Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine—which I sank.

FRIDAY: I hate that jackass Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobic instructor. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it. Christo wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the darn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich. The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director? 

SATURDAY: Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY: I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun—like a root canal or a hysterectomy. I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!

A stranger's gift

Once in two or three months, Shanmugam visited a small temple dedicated to Lord Shiva situated inside a mini forest. Apart from the usual Linga, there was the idol of Mahadeva with his hair piled up, a crescent moon tucked in it and Ganga flowing down symbolically. With a coiled serpent around his neck and a trident on the left hand with a damroo tied to it, He was smeared with ashes and sported a Rudraksha mala. It was believed He was powerful and granted boons if sincerely prayed. Shanmugam’s sole purpose was to seek His blessings to save him from the morass of poverty. It was believed serpents moved about freely in the area but never harmed anybody,

As the sky was cloudy, Shanmugam wished to reach home before it got dark. He chose instead of a proper road, a shortcut from the temple through the mini forest that saved his walk by two kilometres. As he walked hurriedly through a narrow winding path amidst bushes, he found it very lonely with not a soul visible. He increased the pace to get out of the forest soonest. Luckily the sun had not yet set and it was not dark as yet.

When he turned on a bend, he saw to his relief a little away on this desolate stretch  a man standing at the edge of the pathway looking at him. As he neared the man, he found him to be tall, lean and dark and also appeared somewhat strange. His face was elongated horizontally between the ears and the head above narrowed at the top reminding of an inverted rhombus. His eyes were narrow but flitting brightly from one side to the other.

Shanmugam felt uneasy but still welcomed company in this deserted area.

The man saw a flask hanging on Shanmugam’s shoulders and requested him for water. The flask contained toddy, an intoxicating local liquor, that Shanmugam was habituated to. He readily gave a cup. The man drank with gusto. Shanmugam became less apprehensive of the guy and prodded him to walk faster.  But he could not keep pace with Shanmugam as he walked rather wobbly.

When they came out of the forest, they both sat down on the mud to rest and finish the remaining drink. Both soon became inebriated and lay on the ground prattling loudly. It was then the strange man gave Shanmugam a marble-sized stone saying,” You have been very nice and friendly. Keep the thing carefully for it is very precious.”

Shanmugam accepted the elliptical stone that was covered with mud and said,” Thank you very much for the gift. My house is nearby. Do come with me and have your dinner,”

“I will come with you up to your place but will leave immediately without having dinner,” the man replied.

“You must have something to drink at least if you are not ready for dinner. What about coffee, tea or juice?

“I will have a small quantity of cold milk. Preserve the precious stone very carefully and you will soon be rich,” he replied.

When they reached the small tiled building, Shanmugam’s wife saw him drunk in a dishevelled condition with mud all over his body.

 ” How many times should I tell you not to drink outside our home and drink whatever you wish to while at home? I do not want you to fall on the road and create a scene,” she yelled at her husband without noticing the stranger’s presence near the door.

Handing her the precious gift, he pleaded with her, “We have a kind guest. Do not get angry and I promise not to drink outside in future. I met him on the way from the temple and he has given me this valuable stone that will make us rich. As it is covered with mud, polish it gently with your sari and you will see it shining in red. Please get him a glass of cold milk. He declined to have dinner with us.”

She hurriedly swiped the stone with her sari and found to her amazement a gem shining a shade that was a mix of pink and red. She rushed inside to the kitchen followed by Shanmugam to get the milk. When they came out with a glass of milk, the stranger was not to be seen. Wondering at his mysterious disappearance, they moved towards the front door when they saw to their horror a long cobra slithering out through the door. When they gasped in fear, it raised its hood and stared at them for a few seconds before disappearing into the bushes outside.

Looking at the pinkish-red ruby (manik) shining stone in her hand, the mysterious disappearance of the odd-looking stranger and the appearance of a cobra with its raised hood for a brief moment at the front door, made Shanmugam wonder aloud whether the Lord has, at last, answered his prayers. Inscrutable are the ways of God, his wife conceded.

 

Cynthia's thanksgiving

Cynthia was cycling early in the morning along the long stretch of road as a part of her daily exercise. She chose this lonely road very rarely as it was free from heavy traffic and was lined by trees on both sides giving a shady and cool ambience. Only some stray trucks could be seen at long intervals. When she started this day, she hesitated for a few seconds to take this route as the sky was overcast and cloudy but decided as she felt she could make it before the rain came.

As ill luck would have it, the sky broke loose when she was midway and what started as a drizzle became a downpour. She looked around and could see no houses or a shelter to escape the rain except one house a little yonder. She cycled fast, left the cycle at the gate and ran on the pathway to the door of the house that was deep inside. She was completely drenched. As she rang the bell and waited for it to open, she looked around. The lawn was uncared for with litter and leaves scattered all over. The windows were all closed indicating that the house was uninhabited. The downpour was torrential. She pressed the bell again and kept the finger long on the switch.

After a long interval, the door creaked open slightly. She saw with surprise a handsome man in his early forties, strangely well-dressed at this inappropriate time in a three-piece suit, smiling at her.

 “Please come in. I am sorry I made you wait. Make yourself comfortable. I see you are drenched but can offer you nothing, except a towel “he said.

When she looked around for a place to sit, she found the sofa and chairs all covered with dust. Cobwebs were hanging everywhere from the ceilings, windows and walls. The floors looked dusty and had not been swept for a long period. He looked incongruous in his smart dress in a place so despicable.

As if reading her mind, he said “Yes, I am sorry the place is not presentable. That was the reason for my hesitation initially to let you in. But the rain is so heavy that I had not the heart to turn you away.”

Are you living alone? The place looks uninhabited and desolate” she asked.

“Yes, I am living alone. I am sorry I am not able to entertain you with tea and snacks. There is water in the tap. Better you don’t use it.” he said

“Sorry for asking this. Aren’t you scared to live in what looks like a haunted house? Can you not get someone to keep the place clean just like you? Please excuse me for my reckless question “she said

“I am accustomed to living here. True, the place is not looking good. I am unable to get it cleaned as much as I would wish. If you have no objection, I have some work upstairs. I will go. Please be at ease and you can leave the place when the rain stops without having to take leave of me. Just keep the door closed as you leave” he said, taking the stairs to the first floor. As he was climbing, she could see him smiling at her as she mumbled her thanks.

After he left, she peeped into the kitchen on the other side of the hall. There were some unwashed cups with brown stains, cockroaches running all over and a few plates and dirty saucepans around the place. Here again, the whole place was filled with cobwebs with soot hanging all over. There was a stale smell that made her feel like vomiting. She closed her mouth and nose with her kerchief and came out hurriedly near the front door. She never liked the place and wished to get away as quickly as possible. Luckily for her, the rain had subsided and there was only a slight drizzle.

Cynthia opened the creaking door softly and as she turned to look at the staircase to see if he was there, she saw on the mantlepiece a large framed photograph 4x2 feet in size of a person in a three-piece suit. She looked intently and it was the same smiling gentleman who was talking to her. Stifling a scream with her hand and with hair that rose to stand on its ends all over her body in fright, she ran out to the cycle at the gate as fast as her legs could take praying to the Lord all the time. It was only after reaching home that she could breathe calmly.

When Cynthia opened the newspaper the following morning, she saw at a corner a news item,

A YOUNG COUPLE WAS ASSAULTED AND ROBBED ON A DESOLATE ROAD. THE GOONS TRIED TO MOLEST THE WOMAN AFTER TYING THE INJURED MAN TO A TREE.

IT WAS ASCERTAINED FROM THE MAN, THAT THE WOMAN WAS SAVED AT THE NICK OF THE MOMENT WHEN A DARK SKELETON-LIKE APPARITION WITH HOLLOW EYES AND SUNKEN CHEEKS APPEARED FROM NOWHERE BEFORE THE GOONS IN A THREATENING MANNER, MAKING THEM RUN AWAY IN PANIC. THE POLICE ARE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR THE CULPRITS.

She could not resist the thought that the suited man in the house could have been the ghost who helped the hapless woman and how gentle he was to her. As she read further, she found her surmise correct as the horrible incident had happened near the entrance of the haunted bungalow a short time after she had left. It was a narrow escape for her. She shuddered to think what could have happened to her on the road if she had delayed her departure. She crossed her chest with her hand grateful to the Lord for saving her. She knelt before the Lord’s picture with tears in her eyes and her heart suffused with gratitude and joy.

“God’s miracles are unbelievable.  He can make impossible things possible…Glory to God…”

Joy from an unexpected quarter

Palani, an incurable alcoholic beat his wife Bhagyam daily in the evenings for money for his booze. A lazy loafer, he brought no money for the house. With three young children to feed, Bhagyam worked hard in many houses. Life was a humdrum daily grind with only back-breaking work. It was the last week of the month with not even a grain of rice let alone other essential ingredients to cook a broth. The leftovers she brought from houses where she worked hardly helped to keep even the kids from hunger at the end of the month. In desperation, she often toyed with the idea of suicide along with kids but would abandon such thoughts, when she saw their trusting eyes and start visualizing a better tomorrow.

This particular day, she made in the dim light a thin gruel from broken rice she had borrowed and diluted liberally with a small quantity of buttermilk that one household had given. Hardly adequate for all and it only kindled more hunger. Each one had a glass with a small quantity kept aside for the worthless Palani.  The chimney lamp, the only source of light in the hut, was flickering starved of kerosene.

As Palani entered, he saw the children along with their friends in the neighbourhood jumping with joy amidst peals of laughter. Bewildered, he saw a smiling Bhagyam with her eyes glued on a new but small TV placed on the rickety shelf in the corner, a freebie from the generous government, ahead of a municipal poll. He too joined in the gaiety for a few moments oblivious of the irony of a TV in the hut bereft of electricity but chuckled later at the prospect of some money on its sale for his booze.

 

 

Mother too is a teacher

 “Arun, the food on the plate is getting cold. Why aren’t you eating?” asked Lalita

“I hate this South Indian food that you make daily. I will complain to dad that you are starving me often if you do not make pasta, noodles or North Indian food, “replied the eight-year-old boy.”

“I love to cook different kinds of foods for you, but this cannot be a regular occurrence. Your dad also does not like them much. I cannot make many varieties daily as I have to rush to the office. Be a good boy and eat what has been served,” explained Lalita with great care and concern.

“No, I would rather starve than eat this horrible stuff,” defied the brat.

“Do not try to blackmail me. If you starve for a day, it will not hurt you. If you are not eating, you had better go to your room. I have already explained to you why and if you still have a problem, there is nothing I can do.

“I will tell Dad that you have starved me and thrashed me when I protested.”

“When did I ever beat you? Why are you lying? I have given you a lot of affection, but you still hurt me when you talk like this. Tell your dad what you like, but my conscience is clear,” said Lalita

Ravi lost his first wife when she gave birth to Arun. He struggled to bring up the child despite having the help of his sickly mother. He refused to marry again despite his mother’s pleas. After his mother’s demise, things became worse. He lost opportunities of promotion as he would not go to other places. He confided his problems to his colleague Lalita who always gave him a patient ear. Gradually their meetings grew frequent, and both soon found they were in love. They got married once Lalita expressed her willingness to be a mother to the boy.

Lalita really liked the boy and took care of his needs without any prompting from Ravi. Being disciplined herself, she tried to inculcate the same in the slightly wayward boy making him do things like getting ready for school on time, doing homework without fail, and keeping his things at appointed places in an organized manner. He resisted this and rebelled sometimes. Lalita would not easily let go. But in the matter of his food, she was not really very strict. Every now and then, the boy would demand a pizza, chat, pasta, tacos, or noodles and when refused would threaten her. Often, she would give in more out of affection than fear.

She was expecting daily that Ravi would talk to her about the boy’s complaints when they were alone. But he never spoke about it. He was loving and affectionate to her as ever. She wondered whether he was waiting for her to broach the subject lest she got offended. She could not bear the suspense of his total silence. When they were alone watching TV one day, she gently asked him whether Arun had complained about her.

“Ravi, I think I have been a little strict with Arun on his homework, tidying up his things and getting ready for the school bus. I have also not allowed him to eat often the junk food that he is fond of. He rebels no doubt. I do pamper his taste buds once in a while but not whenever he wants. I wonder whether he spoke to you about this,” she asked softly.

“Good you are disciplining that brat. He is naughty sometimes,” he said

“You haven’t said whether he spoke about my disciplining and refusing to yield to his demands.”

“Frankly he has never spoken a word against you. In fact, he was telling me one day that his teacher was praising him for not failing even once to submit the homework and that the credit went to you. He likes you very much. Why did you ask? Did he ever threaten that he would complain to me?”

“Yes, he always does that. That was why I was a bit concerned” she replied

Suddenly she found herself hugged from behind by tiny hands. She turned to find Arun giggling accompanied by Ravi’s laughter. The boy sat on her lap and said “Amma, I love you more than my dad. He calls me naughty and a brat. When I came to drink water, I heard what you were telling Dad. I am sorry for scaring you with the threats that I would complain to Dad. I found it an easy way to get a Maggie or pasta from you though not as often as I would like. I promise I will not do so again." He added innocently, “Tell me, Amma, is it wrong for a young boy to love pasta, noodles and such?”

“No, not at all provided it is not eaten frequently,” said Lalita even as she hugged the boy smothering him with kisses.

Elementary, my dear Watson

It was already past noon on a hot day and the sultry weather made it unbearably oppressive. Neela found the busy road outside neither noisy from the honking of vehicles nor did she hear the loud voices of hawkers to attract customers. Neela peeped into her mother’s room to see her sleeping soundly on the bed in the cool comfort of the AC. Neela sat quietly on the recliner by the side of the bed. It was a Saturday afternoon with no office work and she closed her eyes wishing to relax for a while. The steady and soft snore from her mother Shyamala made Neela turn to see her face.

It brought to her mind the frequent bickering with her over what her mom perceived as her disinterest in settling down in life. She was highly qualified and had a well-paying job. The fact is she was in no hurry to marry and had also not found a man to her taste. She was already 29. With the demise of Neela’s father two years back, her mom felt responsibility had fallen on her. A month back her mother was pleading with her to allow her at least to find through her contacts someone suitable for her leaving the final decision with Neela. She could not bear the pathetic sight of her sobbing mother beseeching her repeatedly and Neela in a fit of remorse agreed. Ever since the old lady was calm and satisfied that a big hurdle had been crossed even as she spread word among her contacts.

The sound of the doorbell woke Neela up from her reverie and she rushed to the verandah to find a young man standing outside with a packet.

“There is a packet for Ms. Neela, possibly containing a book or two. I would need her signature,” he said holding a form in his hand. He was a tall and sturdy man who looked handsome despite his clumsy beard and drooping moustache. The dark mole on his forehead over the eyebrow was prominent.

“I am Neela. You can give it to me. But, are you in the habit of guessing the contents of the packets you deliver to the customers?” she asked with a mocking smile.

“Here is the form for you to sign. I object to the insinuation that I pry into others' packets. It was as plain as the nose on your face that the packet contained books. You can open and see for yourself,” he replied in feigned anger.

Aghast at the way he spoke to her but impressed with the way he spoke in fluent English; she took the packet after signing the form but did not allow his insolence to go unrefuted. She asked him in an angry tone,” How dare you speak to me like this? Which courier company are you working for? I would like to speak to them. What is your name?”

“Why are you taking offence at a simple guess and making a mountain of a molehill? Anger doesn’t suit you, young lady,” he said with an injured innocence on his face.

Hearing the loud conversation, Shyamala hurried to the verandah and looked at the young man and the red motorbike parked near the gate.

“What is the problem, Neela? Poor man, he has come in the hot sun to deliver a parcel and is perspiring all over,” she asked.

“Amma(mom), he has the audacity to guess the contents of the packet and when I question him, he has the cheek to tell me that anger does not befit my face. I wish to lodge a complaint with his company about his bad manners,” Neela spoke agitatedly.

“Calm down, Neela. I see no great misdemeanour in his guessing the obvious content and telling you about it. He has not opened the packet after all. When you shouted at him undeservedly, he still paid a sort of tribute to your face by saying that anger spoils it,” the old lady said to the chagrin of her daughter and to the surprise of the young man.

 Turning to the young man she remarked,” Your face is familiar though I am unable to place it readily. I think it would be best for you in your profession to speak to a minimum to the point as you are meeting various kinds of people. By the way, you are sweating a lot. Do come inside the verandah and have a cool drink. May I know your good name? Could it be by any chance Sudhanva?”

He gave a surprised look at her but drank the Coke hurriedly. “Thank you, madam, for the kindness and for the cool drink that I badly needed as my throat was parched and dry. I like the positive way you look at things, a rare trait these days” he said.

Turning to Neela. he said before leaving,” I am sorry to have upset you. Please do not spoil my livelihood by complaining to my office I hope you get another packet soon when I can present it with greater civility and manners,”. As he closed the gate and got on to the bike, he smiled at her waving his hand. Leela's face turned slightly red as she watched him speed away on his bike but was confused and curious to note that there were no other parcels on the bike for delivery.

She opened the packet and found to her delight two paperbacks, ‘The Winemaker’s Wife by Kristin Harmel and Falling in Love Again by Ruskin Bond.’ What a nice choice but who could have sent these so thoughtfully, she wondered.

Later in the day, Shyamala told her, “I have already told you about a young man 32 years old who is coming to meet you tomorrow at 4 PM with his mother. He has a doctorate in Economics from an American University with a diploma in management from Stanford and is in a very good position in the US. They are happy with your profile and like you from the photo I showed them. Please do not go out in the sun but make yourself free for the whole Sunday.”

“Do you have his photo?” Neela asked.

“No, you are going to meet him anyway tomorrow. I wish that both of you warm up to each other and hope this alliance fructifies by the grace of God,” Shyamala said. After a pause, she added, “His mother lives in our locality just two streets away and I have met her in the park many times. It was only two weeks back I broached about my search for a match for you when she volunteered her interest in you for her son,” she explained.

Sharply at 4 pm the next day, a young man with his mother and two other ladies came as promised and were received warmly by Shyamala. Neela was in her room waiting eagerly to be called.

After the pleasantries were over, Neela was called to the drawing room. She entered demurely in a fine silk sari adorned with selective jewellery. When she turned to see the young man, she was taken aback for a moment when she saw the dark mole above his eyebrow and was struck by his similarity with the courier guy she was arguing with the day before. Otherwise, this man was clean-shaven with well-combed hair in trousers and a casual T-shirt of good quality. She could discern a faint smile on his face when he looked at her. He handed her a small box with a flourish making a gratuitous remark that he was neither aware of the content nor could he make a good guess.

Neela looked at him puzzled by his remark bringing to memory the tussle had with the courier guy the previous day. There is something more than what meets the eye, she thought to herself.

His mother broke the intervening silence and asked her son,” Sudhan, have you met her earlier by any chance the way both of you reacted to each other?”

“Let me explain, Amma, in a while. Turning to Shyamala, he asked her “What made you ask me yesterday, whether my name was Sudhanva?”

“I saw the name partially on a red motorbike parked in the portico of your house when I visited your mom with the rest of the name covered by a tarpaulin. I remembered your name is Sudhanva from the conversation I had with your mother. It is one of the thousand names of Lord Vishnu. Hence when I saw the same red bike on which you came to deliver a packet to Neela, I surmised it could be you in disguise trying to have a look at her before the formal meeting. Am I right?” Shyamala explained.

“Smart lady! You are absolutely right” exclaimed Sudhanva to the laughter of others.

He turned to Neela and asked, "What made you look at me with puzzlement?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson, your dark mole on your forehead is a dead giveaway. By the way, I thank you for the two excellent books I was looking to buy,” she remarked as she extended her hand that was clasped with alacrity by Sudhanva.

 

The debt of gratitude

Usually, Delhi airport would be very crowded and some days there would be mayhem causing a lot of inconvenience and delay. Luckily it was not so today and Madhavan could board the plane for Chennai easily. The plane was expected to depart on time. A brief profile of Madhavan would not be amiss here.

Madhavan has been working with the Government of India in New Delhi for decades and residing in a large apartment allotted to him. He had a year for superannuation. After a good education, his two sons and one daughter found jobs abroad in the US, Australia and Germany and settled there. He wished to spend his final years in Chennai where he had spent all his childhood till he completed his education. His wife had no objection as she had her siblings and other relatives in Chennai and other towns nearby. He was on the lookout for a small plot of land to build a modest house and had spread the word among his relatives and a few friends about his requirement. Nothing was materialising as quickly as he had hoped for.

He was bound for Chennai to attend a conference for two days. Having been away except for occasional visits, he was wondering who could help him in locating the land as he had lost touch with the folks he knew.

As his mind was reminiscing about his younger days, his memories took him to his boyhood friend and neighbour Pacha of the same age but short in height. While Madhavan lived in a separate bungalow with his parents, sisters and brothers, Pacha resided in a thatched hut at the rear corner of a vacant plot next to Madhavan’s house, The owner of the vacant plot, it seemed, lived in Singapore or Penang and the residents in the street have not seen him. There was a barbed wire fence separating the house and the land.

Pacha’s father Manoharan, a Tamilian, was a painter by profession, colour-washing and painting houses in the locality with irregular income, especially during monsoon months. His mother Bhuvana was from Andhra and Pacha had two sisters. It was a tough living for them with a meagre income. They were a nice family, non-interfering and helpful when a need arose. Although not on socialising terms, the relationship was neighbourly and cordial.

 Madhavan suspected that his father had the house colour washed every year, more to help Manoharan with some money than real need. His mother too did not lag behind his father and gave without fail daily the leftovers to Bhuvana. Here again, Madhavan felt his mother was consciously cooking more than required for the sake of the poor family. After a few months of use, she also gave the family her saris and his sisters’ clothes. The coconuts, plantains, papayas and mangoes that the trees/plants yielded were shared liberally with them. Madhavan’s father was a lawyer with good practice and was affluent. He got varied gifts from his clients on all festive occasions some of which were again given to them by his mother. Pacha’s family was treated with dignity despite their poor circumstances.

Madhavan lost touch with them after he moved to Delhi but had heard from his mother that Manoharan had fallen one day from scaffolding and broken his legs and was rendered unfit for work. The two girls had discontinued study and took up jobs as caregivers to aged people either immobile or affected by dementia. Pacha who had studied up to class ten undertook odd jobs till he finally attached himself to a politician as his acolyte and assistant. Years passed by and Madhavan’s parents had passed away and their house was sold. Pacha’s family, he came to know, were forcibly removed from the plot years back by some relatives of the owner. Their whereabouts were not known.

When there was an announcement about the fastening of seat belts as the plane was to land soon, Madhavan woke up from the reverie and wondered whether he could ever meet Pacha again.

The next day he was busy the whole day in a conference with state government officials and business honchos that included foreign companies too. It was there he befriended a senior state government official with whom he worked closely during the day. They decided to meet the next day in the official’s room to finalise some pending issues before the report was made. They took a liking for each other and the official insisted on Madhavan having lunch with him the next day.

Things went smoothly the next day and by lunchtime, the pending issues were sorted out for the report to be ready by evening. It was during lunch with the official, that Madhavan mentioned his efforts to find a small plot for his house through the Government Housing Board. The official suggested Madhavan should meet the minister in charge of Housing and Urban Development that afternoon if the minister was free and in office. Madhavan was lucky to get an appointment at 4 PM thanks to the efforts of the official.

When Madhavan was ushered into the large and luxurious room of the minister, he found a fat and short man in a spotless white shirt and dhoti standing to receive him. The face seemed familiar and Madhavan was trying to recollect when the minister exclaimed with a beaming face,” Are you not Madhu who lived in T. Nagar years back.”

“Yes Sir, would you by any chance be connected to one Pacha who lived adjacent to my place?” asked Madhavan deferentially.

“Hey Madhu, how could you fail to recognise me? I am the same Pacha, your good friend. Thanks to the affection and support of my benefactor to whom I attached myself when young as his errand boy, I have risen in the political party and am presently a minister after a long stint as Corporation Councilor, and Chairmanship of several government boards. Nothing of these would have been possible but for the kindness and benevolence of your parents in feeding and educating us when my parents were struggling against poverty. My sisters are married and well-settled in life. I have dedicated my life to working for the betterment of poor and disadvantaged sections as your parents did in a small way. I have not married,” he said.

“I am so fortunate and lucky to see you, Pacha, in a comfortable and high position. I attribute this good turn to your parents who were honest and hard-working and never strayed from a straight path despite the poverty,” Madhu replied.

“Madhu, I am happy you will be coming soon to Chennai and I want your help in guiding me on the several philanthropic activities I am doing. I heard about your search for a plot of land to build a small house. I came to know your children are abroad. It is not safe for elderly people to live alone in separate houses.

Let us not get involved in government lands. I have a well-thought-out suggestion. I have built four apartments next to my house in Raja Annamalai Puram, spacious three-bedroomed apartments, each slightly more than 2,000 square feet in area. I have rented them out and one of them is vacant. I have decided to transfer that apartment to your name if you kindly agree and thus the matter bothering you would get sorted out. What do you say?” asked Pacha.

“A 2000 sqft apartment in RA Puram must be costing a bomb and I cannot afford it. I am looking for a tiny plot, not in a posh locality, to build a small home,” Madhu demurred,

“Who asked you for money, Madhu? Why do I need four apartments beside a house for a single person like me? This is not given to you but is a very small token of boundless gratitude of me and my family to your parents. But for them, we would have all starved. I cannot take a no from you. If you feel embarrassed, you can donate a small portion of the money you intended for land towards the charitable destitute homes that I have built. When it is convenient for you, please visit Chennai with your wife so you can both see the apartment and register the sale deed. That would discharge me from my debt of gratitude to your parents” pleaded Pacha as he hugged him affectionately.

Madhavan was very happy that the power, high position and fame he had acquired from the political field had not sullied Pacha’s noble character and he continued to be an honest and humane person devoted to the cause of the poor. Madhavan was also pleased that he could continue to be with his friend adjacent to his house and assist him in his philanthropic activities.

 

Kanakadhara

Tirumalai was leading a humdrum life working as an accountant in a private company. With a small salary that was barely enough for his family of wife, two children and an old mother to take care of. The month ends were a struggle to make ends meet. His mother fell sick frequently due to bouts of asthma needing immediate medical attention. The quarterly school fees and the extra expenditure on festive occasions were two things he dreaded most. He was a pious and honest man given to no vices. God-fearing man, he did his daily puja twice in the morning and evening, praying for greater financial comfort.

He remembered one incident often told by his mother in his younger days about how Adi Sankara invoked the blessings of Maha Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, for a poor woman who had nothing to give him as alms except a dry gooseberry fruit and how the Goddess showered gold on listening to his Kanakadhara Stotram. Little wonder, he chanted this sloka daily with devotion but to no effect so far.

When his wife reminded him about the due date within a week for the school fees, he kept quiet. though seething within, with anger and disappointment at the total indifference of Goddess to his intense pleas for improving his financial circumstances. He decided in frustration that day would be the last one for his daily prayer to Goddess if She did not pay heed to his prayers. He arranged things in the puja room mechanically, lighted the lamps and decked the idols with flowers. His mind was not calm but perturbed at his inability to increase his income.

As he sat for the prayer, his wife was busy in the kitchen, the children readying themselves for school and the maid swiping the floor. He commenced his prayers by reciting Kanakadhara Stotram instead of reserving for the end as he did usually and did not say the other prayers. Instead, he looked at the Goddess's picture and complained as if She was standing before him,” I have been praying for years sincerely with sincere hope you would come to my succour as you are known to be compassionate. But there is no sign of your having heard my prayer. You have been indifferent to my struggles. Where else can I go to get my grievance sorted out? I have lost all hope in you and decided to stop asking you anymore if you do not help me here and now,”

He closed his eyes not knowing what else to do. The minutes trickled past with nothing happening. As he got up in disappointment and anger, he smelt the heightened fragrance of incense, the tolling of the bell on its own and the increasing brightness of the oil lamps. A thrill passed through his spine as he looked up at the picture to witness in disbelief a shower of shining gold blocks in the shapes of small cubes, spheres and circular coins on the brass plate with flowers and Tulsi leaves. It stopped within a few seconds leaving a small pile already. His wife, children and the maid were standing outside the puja room patting their cheeks with their palms.

He eyed the plate with greedy eyes and clasped it close to his chest even as he triumphantly looked at his wife and children. But they, overtaken by the suddenness of the miracle, were seen prostrating before the Goddess in gratitude for the immense unexpected blessing. Soon they picked three pieces from the plate to feel the rare gift.

The ungrateful Tirumalai, who was gloating and jumping over the successful outcome of his threat to stop the puja, forgot to fall at the divine mother’s feet. Outraged at his despicable behaviour, his wife admonished him for his lack of grace and gratitude even as she rushed back to the kitchen. The children too withdrew quietly leaving him alone in the silence that ensued.

He sat on the floor and started counting the number of pieces. He left the plate before the Goddess in the puja room and started thinking about what to do with the newly acquired wealth till his wife called him for breakfast. As they were eating, the maid screamed,” Amma please come here at once to the puja room.”

All of them rushed to see the gold pieces on the brass plate had turned black like charcoal. Tirumalai took one and found it light. It broke into two pieces when he applied pressure and left a black line when scratched on the floor. He was crestfallen and hit his head with his hands cursing himself. “It serves me right, the wretch I am, doomed to poverty.”

When his wife looked at her children meaningfully, they drew the three pieces each from their pockets to see them sparkling in golden colour and were seen beaming in joy.