Our beacon light

“St Josephs be our beacon light, in this wild and tempestuous night..

Be our radiant, guiding star o’er life’s troubled seas, till dawns eternity”

Some songs are so much a part of you, that the lyrics and the  melody  come to you magically, even though the last time you sung it maybe  a couple of decades ago; standing in  that expansive school ground, hemmed in on all sides by beautifully preserved school buildings, which are more than a 150 years old.  It’s the morning assembly time, when the scorching sun coats everything in your line of vision, in a hazy white layer, like looking through a curtain of ivory, gossamer thin mulmul or muslin.  The assembly always ends with the school pledge and the dramatic swooning of some students who cannot stand the heat and the subsequent scramble to whisk them away to the ‘sick room’. The girls file into the class rooms, smartly dressed in their navy blue pinafore, which falls exactly two inches below the knee.

There is something about school teachers that makes you gush like a school girl, even as you introduce your school going child to her. You remember the teachers along with their little quirks, the lessons they taught you, which ironically have little to do with academics and most importantly the quiet, unobtrusive way they helped you evolve from wide eyed, giggly girls to young ladies; ready to deal with real world outside the school.

The class rooms are bright and airy with high ceilings, exuding an old world charm, with wooden desks that have been used by generations of girls before you; the carved inscriptions giving you a glimpse into their school days. The class rooms open out into wide parapets, where you spend many a recess hour, sharing tasty morsels of lunch with your friends, while doling out delicious bits of school girl gossip or spread out your books, trying to coax your brain to cram in as much information as possible, before an exam. The first floor class rooms open out to wooden planked corridors that creak every time you run though it and makes you stop for second to ensure that it has not crumbled under your weight.

The chapel is like an oasis of calm in the frenzy of activity that marks a typical school day .It is cool and dark with an arched doorway and marble flooring which feels cold, even through your stockinged feet. You sit on the polished wooden pew, letting the scent of incense, the soothing soft murmur of a nun deep in prayer, her wooden rosary keeping count and the intermittent toll of the chapel bell lull you into a state of tranquility.

Outside the chapel, the school ground is abuzz with the hustle and bustle of lunch break. You come across a group of girls, deep into a game of lock and key or basket ball, someone trips and scrapes her knee and is taken to the office room, where the staff in charge brings out the large first aid box and dabs the wound with a smear of tincture of iodine, its startling purple shade covering up the wound. In the distance, you can hear the strains of the trumpets and the steady beat of the drums as the school band does its practice sessions. Sports day is fast approaching and the two opposing teams red house and blue house, recognizable with the red and blue badges practice hard to beat each other in an eternal battle for supremacy.

The screeching sound of the electric bell   as it slices through the quiet afternoon signifies the end of another long school day, filled with laughter, learning and friends. You pack your bags and say your goodbyes, safe in the knowledge that tomorrow you can do it all over again.

“Education is the movement from darkness to light”- Alan Bloom

Thank you St Josephs,  for being our  beacon light.

All photographs taken by the talented Saina Jayapal.

The space between my thoughts

They blur the difference between friends and family, understanding me in a way only friends can and being a part of my life as only family will. They give me each day, a part of their lives that they can never take back, bits of themselves. They are the ones who will pick me up when I falter and fall, after they are done laughing. Some days they are the voice in my head that whispers out my worst fears, loud enough for me to hear it, and confront it. Other days they are bubbly cheerleaders, who make me fall in love with myself. They form a little haven into which I can escape for brief spells of rejuvenation, when the world around me, overwhelms me with its demands.

They give me the freedom to speak without thinking, and they help me place those pieces of thoughts into the right grooves, like a complicated jigsaw puzzle, which makes complete sense when you look at the completed picture.

They don’t hesitate for a minute, to point out my flaws as well as celebrate my success .They are the ones I will not hesitate to call at 3 am(their time) if I needed a good rant; for I am confident that after screaming at me first, they will come up with the perfect solution; even at 3 am.

They are more important to me, than any word I can use to describe them. They are the space between my thoughts, that little space in which all the magic lies.

As a meditation teacher rightly said" All the wisdom in the world is located in the gaps between breaths, in the space between thoughts”*

*source

Twinned for life

I don’t have the faintest recollection of ‘meeting’ the twins; just like I don’t remember ‘meeting’ my sister or cousins. They were always there, an integral part of my growing up years.

They were my first friends, I suspect my sister’s too.  We lived in two separate countries, in a time, where video calling and whatsapp might pass off as a science fiction movie. They came each year, when the fat bellied dark monsoon clouds gathered in the skies and the land was covered in a lush shade of green that is at once startling and calming, a shade of green that is unique to Kerala.

The twins and us

We have spent countless happy hours talking, playing or watching movies together. My favorite game was the one we played with their amazing collection of dolls. I always chose Jane, who in my eyes was the most beautiful doll, ever made. Her long silky ebony black hair combined with her emerald green eyes gave her a mysterious, exotic beauty that left me mesmerized. The dolls came with a wardrobe collection, which looked straight out of a high end Parisian boutique.

 Then came the miniature furniture; the little kitchenette, with its brightly colored cooking range, crockery unit with an inbuilt plate rack with tiny yellow plates, the color of egg yolks. I loved setting the table which was shaped like four pizza wedges, which could be put together to form a circle with inbuilt grooves for plates and cutlery.

In my mind the twins have always been a singular entity, like a coin with two sides. It was always, “Let’s go to Susan-Sandra’s house” or “Did Susan-Sandra call? It was in conceivable to think of one without the other. Their beautiful family was generous to a fault, letting us into their lives so that we felt like one of the family. We loved the sleep over sessions, where we would stay up late into the night, snug under a warm comforter gossiping and giggling. Then there would be make over sessions, where we would smuggle cosmetics from their sisters' room (they have two beautiful sisters, who we were in awe of) and preen at ourselves in the mirror, our faces slathered generously with all available items of makeup.

We would then sleep late into the day and tumble out into the kitchen, where the twins would make us breakfast. My sister and I watched in wonder, as they deftly cracked up eggs and mixed it with milk and sugar and dipped thick slices of bread into this mixture, which looked like liquid sunshine.

 I can still picture Susan by the stove, flipping over the French toast sizzling in a glob of butter, filling the kitchen with its mouth watering aroma and Sandra laughing at something we said, pouring out chilled orange juice into tall glasses.

Now although we are scattered all over the globe, the memory of those  beautiful monsoon days filled with laughter and the innocence of youth, scented with fragrance of friendship, binds us together.

We are twinned* for life.

*Twinned:  http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/twinned

Hush Little Baby!!!

Keshav's first gift was from his dad; who was in London when he made his grand appearance into our lives. I don't think his proud dad realised, when he bought that teddy bear from the duty free shop in the airport, that he was buying a piece of history!!!(I am a drama queen!!)
"Hush"(that was what the teddy was christened..refer to how Hush got his name at the bottom of the post)
became an inseparable part of Keshav's life. It sometimes became hard to remember that it was "only a toy".
  What does one call something
      -  that gets the most hugs and kisses from the baby of the house
      -  is the only one who can turn torrents of tears into dimpled smiles
      - can coax him to eat his meals
and can make the baby reach out to him in a toy shop full of attractive toys.(.to name a few of Hush's accomplishments)
Well, i can think of only one name ...a perfect friend!!!
Here is wishing my nephew a life filled with lovely companions,who make his life richer and fuller with their friendship and may they be able to live up to to the reputation of his "first friend"

PS: How Hush got his name
"Hush little baby" was Nachikaet's favourite bed time lullaby when he was smaller. When my nephew was born i passed on the book to my sister and it soon made it to the top 5 bed time lullaby's of my nephew ..and the name stuck!!!

Here is a snap of Keshav with Nachikaet holding Keshav's precious "Hush"