The Temptress of Gujarat

This is the English version of 

குஜராத்தின் மாயாஜாலி

This outpouring of my heart happened years ago and when I read the news that during his visit to India President Obama's request was that during the state dinner the famous Modi’s own Dhokla “ the taste of Gujarat” is to be avoided I thought it’s apt occasion to share my views too on dhokla,” the taste of Gujarat”

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In the friendly city of Ahmadabad, Where business goes on till midnight

Where with head held high. brightly attired women walk along with might

 ‘Das Dhokla Shop’ they said ‘Is where you savour the taste of Gujarat’

Hungry at heart we proceeded to that Shop, famous around the corner

We saw the Dhokla beauties exhibited, charming and colourful

In varied shades of Yellow and green.  Green and white, White and orange

With dark brown chutneys they beckoned, these temptresses of Gujarat!

With their very look, they flooded our mouth with salivating  joy,

These temptresses of Gujarat!

Amongst us three we got eight types indeed! For a princely sum of rupees sixty!

Friendly they were Soft and succulent Tasty and tastier, At times Sweet, At times sour

The combo was great, We yielded willingly to these sensory pleasure they tempted us

And we fell for them (naturally) polishing off the whole lot! Not knowing their potency!

I still wonder how these small nuggets, these soft sweet nothings had the magical power

To metamorphose into demon within! They ballooned inside me, a genie released,

I couldn’t stand or sit I lay down on my tummy to expel this beast

Rolled on the floor, made innumerable visits to the toilet, I bent over and tumbled

All in the effort to extricate this  “Dhokla demon”

Whatever I tried, locked within me this terror ruled the roost increasing in vigour,

My body humbled, my head in tatters of pain, my muscles slackened like a jelly,

My pains mounted. my innards a gurgling volcano ready to erupt,

My thought of the impending train journey and the auto ride to the station,

An ordeal too distressing to even to think, but oblivious my innards rebelled.

The two loving companions, my daughter and niece and comforting words,

A generous dose of antacid did help in combination with the jolting Auto ride

The entire contents of my stomach, the eight sets of Dhoklas, all remnants

Like a powerful stream, a sprouting Vesuvius, they flowed and drenched

The mother earth of Gujarat to where they rightly belonged.

Mr. Obama indeed is a clever man, Once bitten twice shy

He could have never relished the wonderful Indian republic day,

The charm and charisma of the Gujarati PM…..

If only he had yielded to the temptress of Gujarat!!

The Tablecloth - A Link to the Past

This is the English version of மேசை விரிப்பு - சந்திப்பின் சங்கமம்

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited  about their opportunities.

When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve. They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On Dec 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm - hit the area and lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home.

On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church. By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry.

The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the centre aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again. The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church.

The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job. What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone

at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between. The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.

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 True Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid Who says God does not work in mysterious ways.

Forgive me if I am Ungrateful

This is the English version of
நன்றிகெட்டு நான் நின்ற நேரங்களை மன்னித்துவிடும்

A message in the Facebook got into me and stuck inside me like the mask of Jim Carry in the film MASK..

It was a beautiful message by Auxilia, one of my dear nieces, friends with me in FB.

There was a picture of two African girls, may be sisters and the elder one carrying a dirty plastic can  was trying to quench the younger sister’s  thirst and we know there was not much water in there and the caption was “ Forgive me Lord if I am ungrateful”

 My inner most thought at that moment was on very many occasions I could have been more grateful.

There is a small school near my house. As I returned from the morning walk I was happily surprised to see a stunning rangoli (Kolam) in varied colours in front of the school. The lotuses were literally laughing as in a village pond. I stood there for some time to enjoy and absorb it’s beauty. 

“Amma what are you looking at?” came a voice from behind me.

I turned and saw a middle aged lady smiling at me.

 “Did you do this beautiful piece?” I queried her.

“I like drawing rangolis and kolams ma” she said  “Today I got up early in the morning, prepared the front yard and loved doing this rangloi since today is the parents’ day in the school” she smiled again.  I congratulated her and  extended my hand and she shook it lightly like most  people  who are new to  this exercise.

 The other day as I was sweeping my front yard which was filled with dry leaves from the neem and vilvam trees, she was coming  from her shopping with a heavy bag and enquired why my servant was not there. I told her that she was on leave for the day.

“ Can I do it for you?”

“It’s ok..... part of my exercise today.” I looked up and smiled

She stood there watching me.

 “My hand is paining, amma “she continued “too many items to carry!.”

“You can change hands ” I suggested

Laughing out she pulled up her sari on her left side and I was  perplexed to see a stump of a hand!

“ I fell in love with this man (the present watch man in the  school) when I was in my native village and when the news spread, my father’s prestige was at stake and before I could wink my eyes  he  pulled out his big sickle and cut off my left hand off and here I am, a single handed woman” She laughed. “Usually my husband does the shopping  but he is busy today”

After this personal encounter I used to watch her whenever I crossed the school.

She was a wonder to me as she sprinkled water to clean the school courtyard gripping the bucket with her half hand.

She was a wonder when she drew a perfect kolam shifting the kolam powder around with the same hand.

Most of all I wondered at the smiling face she presented not just to me but to the parents too who came to pick up their children.

Her smiling face with kind words put many those people at ease who were not highly educated.

The lady too is not highly qualified!

She had not done a course in HR management

But she is playing the role of a HR person to the school without ever being conscious about it!  She is a miracle who can forget her short comings and give out from her happy heart! She loves to pay attention to the emotions of the parents thus making them follow the trend she had set.

What a blessing that she is to her family and to the school!

She is human capital, par excellence, which I think should be invested by each one of us in a  larger measure with a heart filled with  gratefulness!

Adventures on Air Mali

As narrated by Fr. R. V. Mathias

This is the English version of  மாமாவுக்கு ஒரு ஸ்பெஷல் அனுபவம்

I was sitting in the Paris airport to take the Air Mali flight to Bamako, its capital. That was the cheapest flight available. As the International Chaplin for young Christian workers I usually think of the economics and Air Mali was the right choice. The journey was to attend the meeting of the young Christian workers Bamako, the capital city. With me was another priest from France, also connected with the same movement.

The flight was in the afternoon and was on time.  It was a Boeing 707, a gas guzzler by design and a tubular structure with three plus three seats with the aisle in the middle. There was no separate first class compartment as we see today but the front 10 odd seats is allotted to the first class passengers. We took off at the right time but even after quite some time, the plane was not gaining height. Out of curiosity I looked out of the widow and to my surprise I could see the Eiffel tower at a distance! As I was sharing this info with my companion the flight was losing further height and at that moment, there was an announcement. And with apologies the pilot announced that due to a technical snag, we had to head back to the Paris airport and as soon as the technical snag is rectified, we would take off and reach the destination more or less on time. As it was lunch time we were expecting a good food in the flight but had to be satisfied with the available airport snacks.

After some hours there was a request to board the plane and we were back to our seats wondering as to what time we would reach Bamako. The plane took off and gained height. We were happy with the whole process and were settling down to our thoughts.

 But that was not to be!

 

We could feel the flight turning back and losing height again. Passengers were worried. Was there one more snag? And this time there was no announcement either!

As we were back to square one at Paris airport the passengers were agitated and angry and many of them cancelled their flight out of sheer frustration. Then the unbelievable happened. The crew went about asking the passengers to contribute U.S. $ 100 each. The reason for the collection was to purchase aviation fuel.

They had run out of fuel!!!

The airport authorities refused a refill for two reasons: one was that there was a huge backlog of payment due to them from Mali Airways and second they were angry with the pilots for wasting the gasoline for taking off without properly rectifying the technical snag.  Were they humouring the passengers by showing them an aerial view of Paris? Despite their fervent request and assurance to pay all the dues the authorities would not budge and said that unless they paid cash there would be no filling up and hence the collection from passengers.

The pilot came to each of us with the request for money and assured us that the money would be paid back as soon as we reached Bamako.

We had no other go than to shell out whatever money we had and wishfully hoped that we would get it back!

With cash paid and gasoline full, we were back again the skies and a good meal was served.  As the contended and happy passengers were trying to relax, the entire cockpit crew (after setting the cruise control on auto pilot) came out to thank each and every one of us for the timely help.  As they were progressing through this thanks giving, suddenly the plane hit an air pocket and the plane plunged with a big thud and levelled off once again. Lo and behold, in this process the cockpit door slammed shut and as the door was designed for anti hijacking it could not be opened from passenger side!!! The crew were running helter-skelter and no amount of muscle strength could nudge open the door!! The whole cabin was frantic and the fear factor included as a bonus!

One of the crew members found an emergency fire axe and finally managed to break open the door! And the pilots rushed into the cockpit and never showed their face again. No announcement came either.

As we checked our watches, the six hour flight from Paris to Bamako was due to arrive at the destination any time. We looked out for the airport for any sign of city lights. There was none visible.  But we had started the descent and announcement for fastening our seat belts came through. As we were wondering what type airport this would be, the plane came down with an enormous thud and didn’t stop there but continued with more such bumps. There was a pall of gloom in the cabin when at last the plane decided to stop.

Then the crew members came out and spread their prayer mat and for how long we didn’t know, they went on with their prayers and none of the passengers had the guts or energy to ask them to show their way out. It was a philosophic moment for the whole group!!

And the end of the prayer was not to be the end of our adventure! From the cockpit the chief pilot thanked the passengers and continued that due to lack of fuel they had force landed on a military airstrip and thanked God that he was world war pilot and hence well versed with the location and hence could bring down the flight safely to the ground!! He assured us that we would be picked up the next day morning.

Yes we were thankful for small mercies.

And the pilot continued that as there were no passenger alighting amenities, we would make use of the emergency chute to go down and cautioned us not to go down with our shoes lest they tear the slide.

In the midnight with no lights around we were dropped one by one unto the bosom of mother earth, with a welcoming freezing temperature and buzzing loads of enormous mosquitoes!

There was no shelter except for a dilapidated shed. Since Mali was a hot place no one ever thought of warm clothing to protect them against that cold at midnight in the desert! We huddled in the shed tired and weak!

The next day we waited for the arrival of our transport to Bamako but no one was sure when that would arrive. Around ten in the morning there a roaring sound and we lifted our heads in chorus to scan the sky. What a wasteful exercise! At a distance we saw a dust storm brewing which was advancing towards us. We somehow managed the night’s cold but didn’t know how to protect ourselves against this new menace! The roar stopped and as the dust settled down we witnessed two military trucks in front of us. We were confused. Then the pilot explained that Bamako was two hundred miles away and this would our transport to the city. We were at our wit’s end but were too weak and hungry to evoke any response.   In haste we were hauled into one of the trucks while our luggage was loaded on to another. The high way to Bamako was a true bone shaker.

We finally reached our destination in the evening.

Important point: as promised they returned the money collected from us.

Lure of the Dollar

This is the English version of - பட்டம்

I was not surprised when Dakshinamoorthy  our ‘aasthana tailor’ was bitten by the bug with which every Indian is afflicted at some point of life:

“To go abroad, to amass wealth in dollars, pounds or rials, and  come back to India and lead a comfortable life.”

The visit from a lady from Malaysia to his tailoring shop had metamorphosed Dakshina (that’s how we call him) into an entirely different species. The lady placed an order with him to make two dozens of sari blouses and within a week Dakshina delivered the whole lot with precise fittings!! Pleased with such a perfect work with perfect timing she placed another  order, this time  for a dozen churidhar sets and lo and behold! the same magic repeated itself. “minimum time with precise fittings!!”

 We wondered if it was the same Dakshina who used to drag us, his old customers even over six months for a blouse!!

The satisfaction in Dakshina’s handiwork  made the lady think.

“Why don’t I start a business with such an excellent tailor? He will be happy to go abroad and make money and it will not hurt to add some more dollars to my kitty.”

When the lady made the proposal of working in Kuala Lumpur, Dakshina  couldn’t believe himself. Is it a dream? He took his right hand behind and pinched his bottom really hard without letting the lady know what he was up to. It hurt and pained. He winced. Was the tea boy standing nearby observed his actions? He was not sure.

And Dakshina’s heart was doing a triple jump record creating a new record. Luckily no one could observe this inner reaction!

“Is it this easy to go abroad?” Dakshina wondered.

He had heard of people paying through their nose by selling their precious lands and properties or borrowing from money lenders to pay to the job agents. But today this precious opportunity is falling on his feet like manna from heaven. Without moving one little straw he is going to go abroad!

The Malaysian lady left with the promise that everything would happen very soon and she would let him know. From then on Dakshina was living in a different world altogether. Never an early riser in his life he got up around 4.30 in the morning. “There is a time difference of two and a half hours between India and Malaysia it seems” he said to himself “and from now on I have to acclimatize myself to that country. Can’t afford to be late.” He was even dreaming of Malaysian ladies coming out of his fitting room praising his excellent work!

At some point of her conversation the lady had mentioned that Malaysia is a Muslim country. Dakshina  thought that propitiating those Gods would augur well in his career and so he made a visit to the famous dargha near Higginbothams in Mount Road and promised to recompense when everything went through.

“Dakshina what do we do in your absence?”  we asked him.

“My brother will take care of your needs amma.” Dakshina said without batting an eyelid. He very well knew that his brother was a lazy goon and what he did in the shop was to make button holes and attach hooks to the blouses. In his Malaysian dream, his good for nothing brother had been promoted to be the main tailor!!

His passport reached him quickly thanks to the lady officer working in the passport office who happened to be his customer. And now Dakshina was expecting the divine call from Malaysia. Months passed by… Nothing moved…. Neither was there any phone call nor a letter.

Slowly Dakshinaa came back to the old routine.

He cursed himself for taking that lady seriously…. .

He cursed himself for trumpeting about Malaysian trip.

He cursed himself for waking up at ungodly hours.

He cursed himself for going to the dargha. ‘Lord Kapaleeswarar had punished me rightly.’ he thought.

He cursed his brother for not learning the trade.

And happily for us it was back to business at Dakshina’s tailor shop, with the usual delays and of course the usual compensating smiles and perfect stitchings!!

All of a sudden it all happened in a week’s time! The lady from Malaysia had come back with all the necessary papers and Dakshina  would be accompanying her to Malaysia in a few days!! Lucky chap!! When anyone under takes an air travel for the first time they would make a lot of enquiry about how to proceed, what are the papers to be filled in the airport and how to put on the seat belt etc. The fear of being alone there for the first time would take off all the fun from the travel. But this blessed man was going royally in the company of the well travelled lady!!!

Many a marriage took place in the locality without the handiwork of Dakshina. During Xmas when we came back from the midnight mass there was no one waiting near our gate with the bundle of stitched clothes. Even though the children were unhappy for not having a new dress for the midnight service they would be happy to see Dakshina as if Santa himself had come down with gifts. We missed all the fun.

One day as I was negotiating my way through the audacious flower sellers near Kapali temple I turned back when someone said  “amma how are you?”

 “ Oh hello Dakshina how are you? When did you come ? Is it a holiday for you? How long are you staying  here? How is business over there?” I was excited

“Everything was fine for him it seemed. And the lady true to her words had set up a shop in the centre of Brick Lane, the hub of Indian population in Kuala Lampur and the business was going good. But profit sharing between the two has reduced his quantum.

“Why should I hide it from you amma?” he said “I am earning almost the same as I was here may be a wee bit more . And why should I leave my family and people like you to get that pittance there?”

I almost leapt! “Good good “ I thought “ Dakshina is back in Madras!”

But that joy was destined to be short lived.

Dakshina  had bigger plans.

 “Why should I hide it from you amma?” he started with the same prelude “There are many tailors in Kuala Lampur who are doing independent business. I became friends with many. What else to do in a foreign land? Whenever we get time we sit together talk and drink kopi. They call our ‘kaapi’ (coffee) like that there. And they suggested that I can also have a business on my own provided I have the proper papers. And I am here to organize everything . And if things work out fine I can also pull this lazy chap over there.” he continued “If you are a graduate you can get the papers very easily.”

“Are you a graduate Dakshina?” I asked half in curiosity and half in wonderment

“Why should I hide it from you amma?” he started with his  favourite prelude “You very well know I am an illiterate. I can put my signature in Tamil and English. But amma there are agents to do all these. You pay them the amount and they will get all the papers ready for you.”

“ Ok, Dakshina  all the best” I bid farewell to him.

‘Even the occasional visit to Dakshina’s brother is not going to be possible anymore.’ I sighed

Months passed. One day as I was passing Dakshina’s shop I saw him sitting on the machine.” Why Dakshina, haven’t you  left yet?” I asked curiously

“ Amma there is no country like our own” he said philosophically. As an afterthought he added “Why should I hide it from you amma?” and thus narrated the following story.

 On the day of his interview he dressed neatly and put all his papers in the new attaché case he got from Malaysia. He went to the Malaysian embassy and walked in with all confidence. The officials were courteous and after talking to him for some time one of officers casually asked the name of the university from which he graduated. Dakshina  thought for a minute. He usually got all the materials needed for the shop from Parry’s Corner and whenever he took the number 21N bus  the bus conductor used to call out ‘Madras University stop’. So Dakshina  happily said it was Madras University. When the man wanted to confirm it again and he repeated the same answer. How did the poor fellow know there were umpteen numbers of universities flourishing in India? The officer told him that his papers say that he was a graduate from Karnataka University and told him that it was a case of fraudulence and he could be arrested any moment.

“ Amma, I didn’t know what to do. I just prostrated myself in front of the officers and begged them not to hand over me to the police in which case my whole family would commit suicide and told that I don’t want to step into their country anymore. I don’t know how it happened. Lord Kapali should have been dictating terms from inside them. They reprimanded me and threatened me but at the end allowed to go free.

We got our tailor back on the old conditions of extreme delay and compensating smiles!!